Chương 1: ASHES OF BLACKTHORN- Part I

Blackthorn burns beneath a sky drowned in smoke. Flames roll across the thatched roofs with restless hunger, devouring homes that have stood longer than most men remember. The narrow streets have become rivers of ash and ember, every gust of wind sending sparks twisting across the dying village. Smoke clings so heavily to the air that the moon above looks pale and sickly through it. Each step I take sinks into soot, shattered timber, and the remnants of lives that ended too quickly. At my hip, Nemain stirs.

The cursed blade rests quietly within its scabbard, yet I still feel the pulse of it through the leather beneath my hand. Slow at first, patient. Then stronger as the scent of blood thickens around us. A whisper brushes the back of my thoughts. Dddraw mmme. I ignore it and keep walking. The firelight paints Blackthorn in violent shades of orange and black. Familiar homes have become hollow skeletons of charred wood while burning beams collapse into the streets with showers of sparks.

Somewhere deeper within the village, a horse screams in panic before the sound vanishes beneath the roar of flames. Then another scream cuts through the smoke, a human, terrified.

"Please! Somebody, help me!" I move before the thought fully forms. Heat presses against my face as I push through the smoke-filled lane ahead. Burning debris cracks beneath my boots while drifting ash swirls around me in thick grey currents. I round the corner of a collapsed stable and find her kneeling beside a shattered cart. Aibell, innkeeper Rua's daughter. Blackthorn had never been more than a stopping place along my travels, yet somehow, I always found myself returning.

Rua never asked why I wandered alone or where the scars came from. He simply pushed a bowl of stew across the table, complained that I looked half-starved, and insisted I stay the night before disappearing back into his kitchen. Aibell always pretended the fresh bread she'd left outside my room had been left over from breakfast. It never was. A raider now stands behind her with one arm locked around her shoulders while the edge of a blade rests against her throat.

A thin line of blood trails down her neck, dark against her soot-streaked skin. Three more linger nearby with weapons drawn, their faces half-hidden behind smoke and firelight. The man holding her grins the moment he notices me.

"Well now," he says.

"That's a fine blade you're carrying." His eyes linger greedily on Nemain's hilt.

"Hand it over and the girl lives." Aibell's breathing hitches. Her eyes meet mine through the smoke, wide with fear and desperate hope. For a moment, I say nothing. The wind shifts around us, carrying the smell of burning wheat and blood through the ruined street. Timber groans somewhere nearby as another roof begins to sag beneath the fire. Nemain pulses once against my side. Lllet mmme fffree. My hand rests lightly against the scabbard.

"You should leave," I tell him quietly.

"You think you're in a position to threaten me?" The raider laughs.

"I think you have no idea what you're asking for," I warn. He presses the blade harder against Aibell's throat. She gasps softly as another bead of blood wells against the steel.

"Last chance, druid." The word carries mockery instead of fear. Most men who call me that speak with reverence, hatred, or suspicion, this one sounds amused. That alone tells me enough. I draw a slow breath and glance toward the burning homes around us. The village is dying. The village is dying. Roofs collapse, timber splits beneath the heat, and smoke rolls through the streets like dark water as the wind twists strangely between the houses, stirring ash into uneven spirals. I listen to it.

Old instincts stir beneath years of scars and exhaustion, faint and fractured. Nothing like the power I once carried beneath the old groves, yet enough for this. The ash at my feet shifts with the next gust of wind. The raider notices the movement a heartbeat too late. Smoke and soot explode upward into his face. He curses violently and recoils, blinking through the cloud as ash fills his eyes. His grip on Aibell loosens. I move before he can recover. The distance between us vanishes beneath a single step.

My hand closes around his wrist while the other slams into his throat hard enough to drive him backward into the shattered cart beside him. Wood cracks beneath the impact. His blade slips from nerveless fingers and skids across the street. Aibell stumbles free with a gasp. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Run behind me," I tell her. One of the raiders lunges before she can answer. A rusted sword flashes through the smoke toward my ribs. I twist sideways and the blade scrapes across my coat instead of gutting me open. The man overextends. I seize his arm, wrench him forward, and drive my elbow into his jaw, bone cracks. He spits blood across the ash-covered street and crashes into the burning remains of a fence. The second raider reaches me a moment later.

This one carries a woodsman's axe with a splintered handle blackened by soot. He swings low and hard, aiming to split my knee apart. I leap backward as the axe bites into the dirt where my leg stood a heartbeat earlier. The force of the strike sends ash exploding around us.

"Thought druids were supposed to be fast." The man grins.

"I used to be." I answer. He barely has time to frown before I kick the embedded axe sideways. The haft jerks violently in his grip, dragging him off balance. I step into him and slam my shoulder into his chest. We crash through the remains of a market stall together. Burning timber collapses around us in a shower of sparks. Pain flares across my back as I hit the ground hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs. The raider recovers first. He snarls and reaches for the knife hanging at his belt.

Nemain pulses against my hip. Dddraw mmme. I ignore the whisper and grab a broken plank from the wreckage instead. The raider tears the knife free just as I drive the jagged wood into his face. He screams as blood pours between his fingers while he staggers blindly backward into the burning stall behind him. Flames catch instantly along his oil-soaked cloak. His screams become something animal as fire races across his body. The smell of burning flesh fills the air.

The first raider finally clears the ash from his eyes and charges me with a roar. I rise just as he swings, steel whistles toward my neck. I duck beneath it and feel the wind of the blade pass over my head. The motion sends pain lancing through my shoulder where old scars pull tight beneath the strain. The raider pivots quickly and drives a boot into my chest hard enough to send me stumbling backward across the street. Not trained then. Desperate. Desperate men fight harder than soldiers.

The raider advances again, sword raised high. Behind him, Aibell crouches beside the broken cart with one hand pressed against her throat. Terror fills her eyes, though she stays silent despite the chaos around her. Good lass. The raider swings again. I catch his wrist this time. Pain erupts through my arm from the force of the impact, but I hold on and twist sharply. The sword turns in his grip. He curses and slams his forehead into my face before I can disarm him. My vision blurs.

Warm blood runs from my brow into my eye. The raider tears free and lunges again with a snarl twisting his soot-covered face. Then the roof above us groans. We both hear it. The fire has eaten through the beams overhead. Burning timber cracks apart while sparks rain into the street. The raider hesitates while I do not. I drive my boot into his stomach hard enough to throw him backward beneath the collapsing roof. The world erupts in flame and splintering wood.

The burning structure crashes into the street with a roar that shakes the ground beneath my feet. Heat slams into me like an open furnace as sparks whirl through the smoke in violent waves. The raider's scream lasts only a few seconds before the fire buries it completely. Silence follows. Not true silence as Blackthorn still burns around us. Flames crackle through shattered homes while distant screams echo deeper within the village. Somewhere nearby, horses shriek in panic against their stalls.

Yet compared to the violence moments earlier, the quiet feels unnaturally heavy. The last raider stands frozen near the alley mouth. Fear has replaced the greed in his eyes. Smoke drifts between us while embers swirl through the ruined street. Nemain's whisper slithers softly through my thoughts. Kkkill hhhim. My hand rests against the hilt for a brief moment. The sword pulses eagerly beneath my palm. I leave it sheathed.

The raider stares at me for another heartbeat before turning and disappearing into the smoke without a word. The ruined street grows still once more. Behind me, Aibell presses trembling fingers against her throat while blood seeps slowly between them. Her breathing shakes as she stares at the bodies burning around us.

"You could have drawn it," she whispers softly. I glance briefly toward Nemain. The sword has gone still again, though disappointment lingers faintly at the edge of my thoughts like an unwelcome breath over my shoulder.

"The blade was not made for men like them," I tell her. Aibell's gaze drifts toward the inn farther down the road or what remains of it. The roof has already collapsed inward. Fire pours through the windows in bright waves, sending sparks spiraling high into the night. Her face crumples.

"My father stayed inside," she says quietly.

"He tried to save what he could." I remembered Rua standing behind the inn's counter with flour on his sleeves, laughing as he claimed travelers always arrived hungry and always left too thin. He had fed me often enough that I had long since stopped arguing over the barter. Somehow, I'd always believed a man like him would outlive the rest of us. I follow her gaze and already know the truth. Nobody survives heat like that. Aibell lowers her head while tears mix with the soot streaking her cheeks.

In that moment she looks painfully young despite the blood on her throat and the ash covering her clothes. Rua hadn't been the only one. One spring, Ciara and her husband had spent half a day helping me drag a mule from a flooded ditch after refusing every offer of payment. Another winter, an old wheelwright whose name I'd never learned quietly replaced a cracked wagon wheel while I slept, grumbling that travelers had enough problems without broken carts. Small kindnesses, freely given.

I hadn't realized how much they'd come to matter until I found myself standing in the middle of their dying village. I rest a hand gently against her shoulder.

"I'm sorry." Her breathing shakes once before she forces herself upright again. Another crash thunders through Blackthorn as a nearby house collapses into flame. Then I hear a child screaming somewhere deeper in the village. Aibell's eyes widen. I turn toward the sound immediately. The fire is spreading faster now. Streets that once felt familiar have become deathtraps of collapsing wood and burning debris. Somewhere within that inferno, someone is still alive. I look back at Aibell.

"Can you still run?" She swallows hard before nodding.

"Good," I say quietly.

"Stay close to me." Together, we disappear deeper into the burning village.