A deadly bloom, p.18
A Deadly Bloom, page 18
part #1 of The Plague Bloom Series
Though a part of me is proud for having stood up to my assailant, another part of me feels weak.
I shouldn’t have had to be in that predicament, I think. I shouldn’t have had to fight him. Kill him. I shouldn’t have—
The door opens. “First bucket,” Peter says, hefting the heavy metal pail into his strong, muscular arms and dumping it into the tub.
The second bucket comes soon after, then the third, followed by the fourth.
By the time he’s brought the fifth in, the tub is adequately full, and warm enough to be comfortable.
“Do you need anything else?” Peter asks as he secures the door behind him.
“Clothes,” I say. “If you have any.”
“I’ll see what I can find.”
He slips out of the bathing chamber and disappears into the depths of the house.
I reach up and begin to unbutton my jerkin. Sticky with sweat and blood, I am forced to pry it from my skin.
“Bryce?” Peter asks a short moment later. “Are you decent?”
“Come in,” I say.
He slips inside the room, a pair of trousers and a simple shirt in his arms. I try not to notice as I catch his eyes wandering over the exposed flesh of my chest.
“If you need anything,” he says, carefully backing out of the doorway, “I’ll be right outside.”
“Okay,” I say.
He departs without another word.
Once I’m sure he won’t return, I slip the jerkin over my shoulders, then shimmy out of my pants before submerging myself into the water.
Though comforting in that it will allow me a moment’s worth of peace, the bath will not take all my worries away.
As the blood pools away from my person, reminding me ever-so-harshly of the events that have just occurred, I lift the bar of soap from the groove in the tub and begin to scrub at my dirty, blood-covered skin.
There’s no denying it.
What was once safe no longer is.
Our world is changing—and not just on the grounds below.
On hands and knees we scrub the blood from the floorboards. Sweating from the exertion, and constantly having to haul new water in from the reclamation system outside, it seems like it will never end.
“Peter,” I say.
“Yeah?” he asks as he brings another bucket in from outside. Sweat beads his forehead, which is flushed from the many trips he’s taken outside.
“I can’t thank you enough for helping me.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Bryce. You’re my friend, and that’s what friends do.”
“How many friends end up cleaning a stranger’s blood off the other’s floor?”
“Not too many,” he says.
The silence that comes afterward feels like a curse upon my life. Ever so silent, the world outside continues on—with the swallows who’ve flown in along the Sky Whales singing, the wind outside whispering. I try not to allow myself to be lost within the serenity, but find myself doing just that.
For a moment, everything seems fine, even peaceful.
Then the trudging sound of footsteps enter my ears and I am torn from the moment.
“Miss Song?” a familiar voice asks.
I blink, stunned, to clear my eyes, only to find Kaelan Hawthorne and his band of Elves standing outside.
“What happened?” Kaelan asks.
“It’s a long story,” I say. “Do you want to come in?”
The Elves enter cautiously, careful to tiptoe around the bloody floorboards, and position themselves on the far walls. Each of their nostrils flare, and I can tell by the looks in their eyes that they know something is wrong.
“Someone died here,” Florence says, his hawkish gaze sweeping over the floor.
“There was a man in my home,” I say. “He was… stealing things. And apparently looking for you.”
“Us?” Kaelan frowns. “Why?”
“I couldn’t get a confession out of him, but… I think he was the one who poisoned Delvin.”
“Why, though? What would drive him to do such a thing?”
“He hated Elves,” Peter says. “The guard has had problems with him before, but he’s never… well… tried to kill anyone.”
“Until today,” Kaelan says. He steps forward. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “He… was too slow. He didn’t get a chance to touch me.”
“You’ve your mother’s warring spirit,” the Elf says.
“Thank you,” I reply, unsure whether to take the statement as a compliment or curse. I look down at the floor beneath me and frown. “I’m just glad it was me who walked in and not one of you.”
“Why is that?” Delvin asks.
“Because if he’d seen any of you… and he was determined enough…” I shiver.
“I understand,” Kaelan says. “You don’t have to say anymore.” He presses a hand against my shoulder and tightens his fingers around my shirt. “Rest. Both of you. We’ll finish cleaning this up.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Because we really don’t mind—”
Kaelan narrows his eyes.
Sighing, I rise and say, “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Bryce. It’s better you rest now while you still can.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter asks. He squares his shoulders as he rises to make his stocky frame appear larger.
“There’s already unrest in the streets.”
“What do you mean?” I frown. “I thought everyone agreed that we would work together?”
“That isn’t the case,” Delvin says.
All eyes turn on him.
The younger-looking Elf frowns and says, “There’s been protests on the far edge of the Earthwalker—women, mostly, a lot of them with young children, their husbands, too.”
“What’re they saying?”
“That the guard should be the ones organizing the militia, not some fifteen-year-old girl.”
“Huh?” I ask.
“They’re calling you the Lamb of War,” Neverwind says, stepping forward to look out the nearby windows. “A rather insulting title considering all you’ve done for these people.”
“I’m no lamb,” I say.
“They view you as nothing more than a girl. Some of them aren’t even sure that you pulled the Lance from Kira’s tomb.”
“Who did they think did it then?” Peter asks. “You?” He centers his gaze specifically on Neverwind.
The dark-eyed Elf laughs. “We have made it quite apparent that we do not believe in your God. Considering the heresy surrounding religious icons, many find it hard to believe that a devout believer like Bryce would defile a God’s grave.”
“I had no choice,” I counter. “They can’t fault me for that.”
“They don’t, my dear. They simply think that you are lying.”
I pale. “Lying?”
Neverwind nods. “Fortunately for us, these beliefs run through few. Most see you as an asset to our cause, and are doing their best to ensure that we survive the coming battle.”
“What’s happening now?”
“The engineers who live upon Eula are working with the blacksmiths to create siege weaponry that should help counteract the threat below,” Kaelan says. “Ballista. Trebuchet. Catapults. The Linduan people are also devising a plan to create a controlled burn.”
“Won’t that just stir up any of the flying Fallen?” Peter asks.
“Fortunately for us, there are few true flying Fallen. What you witnessed during the Scourge were intelligent lifeforms who faced a mass extinction when their food sources were exhausted.”
“You mean the Harpae starved to death?” I asked.
“Yes. They did.” Kaelan closes his eyes. “They were known for eliminating their dead before they could become Fallen, but once they began to starve, it was impossible for many to keep up the process. They literally were too weak to continue their rituals.”
“How sad,” I say.
Kaelan nods. “Yes,” he says. “Either way, it’s nothing for either of you to be concerned about. The birds who succumb to the disease normally exhaust their limbs once they take flight. Their bodies cannot simply sustain themselves for long.”
“So there isn’t going to be another Scourge?” Peter asks.
“No. There isn’t.”
Peter and I both sigh.
“Now that that’s been made clear,” Kaelan says, “the two of you should consider resting. The next few days are going to be hard on everyone.”
I can only nod.
“Bryce,” Peter says. “Do you need me to stay?”
“You don’t need to,” I reply, turning to face him. “Thank you for all of your help, Peter.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” the young man says, stepping forward.
He wraps me in a brief, one-armed hug, then kisses my cheek before he departs.
I can only wonder, as I watch him disappear down the road that leads to the temple, whether or not we’ll survive come time we reached the Valley of the Fallen.
The Lamb of War.
This thought echoes throughout my head as I lie in bed thinking about the day. Numb from the events that occurred earlier this afternoon, and knowing that the tragedies will only continue to worsen as time passes on, I toss and turn in an effort to become comfortable in a bed that I have slept in for years, to no avail.
Come on, I think. It doesn’t have to be this way.
“You don’t have to panic,” I whisper. “You don’t have to worry.”
Don’t I, though? I have, with one declaration, become an icon in this war against the Fallen—and have, as a result, made myself a centerpiece in the grand scheme of things.
As I think about this, piecing everything together like a girl would a puzzle on a hot summer day, I begin to realize that everything I’ve done has led up to this moment.
Stepping into Up’en da—
Spearheading the mission within the temple—
Entering, and then opening, the tomb of an almost-forgotten God.
I’d seen, in my mind’s eye, an image of the past, a hope for the future, an evil in the south, and as a result, had taken from Kira’s final resting place the very weapon our Great Book has always said could slay any foe.
I long to touch the weapon—to feel it in my grasp and to hold it close to my chest—but know that it wouldn’t be appropriate, not in this case.
A knock comes at my door, startling me from thought.
“Hello?” I ask, convinced that I am simply hearing things. “Is someone there?”
“May I come in?” Kaelan replies.
I swallow, say, “Yes,” then push myself upright and straighten my posture.
The door—already cracked—opens, revealing an Elf whose nightshirt is barely clinging to his frame. It is obvious that he was in bed; or, at the very least, preparing to lie down. “I heard something,” he says, “and thought I should investigate.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I was… talking to myself.”
Kaelan watches me with his kind eyes and strides into the room, perching himself at the edge of a bed like a bird on a wooden precipice. He then says, “What were you saying?”
“That it is ridiculous for me to panic when I don’t know what will happen.”
“You have every right to be scared,” Kaelan says. “There’s no guarantee that any of us will make it out of this alive.”
“Us?” I ask. Kaelan nods. “You mean to say that the Elves are going to fight this battle with us?”
“The Sky People have always watched over those Groundlings below. Why would we turn our backs on you now?”
“I—” I start, but sigh, tightening my hold around my blankets. I take a moment to compose myself before finishing, “I don’t know.”
“We are here for you, Bryce, just as we’ve always been.”
“I know you are. It just seems… selfless… that you would help us when you could simply fly into the Promised Lands and forget about us.”
“Humanity is owed a great relief, my friend. They have suffered immensely from this devastating plague.”
“What’s going to happen if we can’t build the siege weaponry in time?” I ask. “Are we going to… well… die?”
“The siege weaponry will be most beneficial only in the hours leading up to our entrance within the valley. Legend says that, once we reach it, the Earthwalkers will descend to the ground and offer their final goodbyes.”
“Will they… die?”
“I do not know, Bryce.”
“They’ve carried us for so long. It seems… horrible that they would simply cease to exist.”
“They were raised by Kira for one purpose only: to save those people who believed.”
“I know.” And I do, too, because what purpose would the Guardians serve if not to grant protection to us? Surely they would not have walked all these hundreds of thousands of miles otherwise. Right?
I do not know, but rather than question it, I lift my eyes to face Kaelan and say, “I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Screwing up when it comes time for me to take hold of the Lance.”
“You truly mean to sacrifice yourself for your people?”
“I… I don’t—”
Kaelan silences me with his eyes.
I swallow. “You don’t think I can do it,” I say a short moment later, “do you?”
“I did not say that.”
“But you thought it.”
“Your abilities only extend so far, Bryce. It would be better to let an Elf wield the Lance in the name of your God.”
“Why?”
“Because as Sky People we are adept at fighting above the ground.”
“I don’t think the people of Eula are going to like that.”
“Whether they like it or not makes no difference to me.”
“So… you’re saying that you would take the Lance and… wield it for us?”
“I would do whatever it takes to ensure your people’s survival.”
“What about me, then? The Lamb of War?”
“You need simply be the voice of reason to those who would think otherwise.”
“I just wish there was more I could do,” I say, and sigh. “I feel like a stupid little girl with no true gifts and no physical talents.”
“You slew your fair share of the Fallen.”
“But they were merely husks of what they could have been.”
“And you believe the Fallen in this valley will be different?”
“I don’t know.”
Kaelan sets a hand over mine and laces his fingers into the curve of my palm. “You are more capable than you believe. Sometimes rising up is hard enough.”
“I just don’t want to fail my people.”
“You have not failed your people, Bryce. If anything, you have saved them.”
“From what?”
“Themselves.”
I close my eyes and breathe in the cool night air.
Kaelan stands. “I should go,” he says. “Tomorrow will be long, the choices made difficult.”
“Thank you for coming and checking on me,” I say. “It… it means a lot.”
The Elf merely nods before slipping out the cracked door.
As I succumb to the pillows and blankets, the sheets and the linens, I close my eyes and try my hardest to believe in myself.
It’s harder than I could’ve ever imagined.
18
Food for Thought
I rise early the following morning, before dawn’s light has truly lit the sky. I dress, casually, in clothes that are light and comfortable, and make my way into the kitchen, where I, with trembling hands, stoke a fire in the stove and gather the eggs that have been waiting to be cooked. The Elves are still sleeping, but they won’t be for long.
If I can do anything, I think, it can be this.
So I crack the eggs, part the shell, allow the yolk to fall into a greased frying pan, and then begin to cook.
It isn’t long before the first of the Elves awaken in the opposite room.
“Is someone cooking?” Delvin’s familiar voice asks.
“It’s me,” I reply.
The young Elf comes shambling into the room. Shirtless, and hair in disarray, he reaches up to part his bangs from his eyes and says, “You don’t have to do this.”
“What? Cook?” I wait for his nod before I continue. “It’s keeping my mind off what’s to come.”
“I don’t think any of us can keep our minds off what’s to come,” the young Elf offers, crossing his arms over his lean but muscular torso.
Maybe not, I think, but doing this at least offers me some form of solace.
The first of the eggs steam on a plate not long after the other Elves rise to face the day, tempting us with their succulent scents and perfect, yolk-filled centers.
For a moment, everything seems normal.
Then I realize that we are about to be at war.
At the table, around which the Elven men are waking up, I lift my eyes from my food to face Kaelan—who, proud in his posture, lifts his own gaze to look at me.
“Will you continue to cook as the day progresses?” the Elf asks.
“It’s one thing I can do to help,” I say. “I can sew, too, but… I’m not sure how much that’ll help.”
“Food raises morale,” Florence offers.
I nod and continue to eat my eggs.
Moments after I have finished, and just as I am beginning to rise with my plate in hand, a knock comes at the door.
“Bryce!” Katelyn Hero calls. “Open up!”
“Coming!” I return. “Could someone—”
“I’ll do it,” Delvin says, accepting the plate from me before I can ask my favor.
I smile, nod, then turn and open the door.
Outside, Katelyn Hero stands waiting, a basket filled with loaves of bread beneath her arm. “Katelyn Hero reporting for cooking duty sir,” she says, and giggles as she peers into the home.
“I’m happy to see you,” I say.
“Same,” she replies. “Can I come in?”
I step aside to allow her passage. “Hello gentlemen,” she says.
“Hello,” the Elves reply.
