Chapter 29
Kyla reached down and scooped up the child in front of her. The young female whimpered in her arms and clung to Kyla's neck. She pulled another along by the hand trying to get the children to move faster. A bruise was forming on her cheek from a backhanded blow she had taken when she wrenched on a male's wing to get him to drop the child he was trying to carry off. The male had turned in rage and knocked her aside with ease but then snatched her off the ground when he realised she was human. He likely would have snapped her neck had the crone not slammed her staff across his head and crushed his face with the butt end of the stick.
Kyla had stumbled away and run for the training ring, hoping to find Mor and some shelter. The children had followed her instinctually and more joined them as they fled. Kyla has seen magic flaring as Feyre picked off the attackers while simultaneously trying to organise the novices.
A group of males had surrounded them, herding the children in close. Kyla spun wildly drawing her dagger but Enoch and the crone attacked from the outside and distracted them long enough for Kyla and the children to slip through. She made for the cover of the trees with a swarm of young Illyrians around her.
Now she stumbled through the snow, breathing heavily under the weight of the child and herding the others along. "Fly! You need to fly! Even from tree to tree! We need to cover our trail!" she urged the children. They swooped in and out of the trees ahead of her but some were too young to fly far. She collected the ones on the ground getting them to run as fast as their little legs could take them.
She dared a glanced over her shoulder and saw a male closing in fast. The trees were too dense for his wingspan at least, but he had no troubles running through the snow. Just before he reached them Kyla hunched over, protecting the child in her arms from his strike. But instead he slammed into a shield of hard air the crone had thrown up.
The old Illyrian had her arms outstretched holding the shield in place so Kyla could flee, but the mortal just gapped up at her.
"You have strong magic! Who are you?"
"Run, stupid girl!" The shield cracked but before the male could move a sword cut through the air and his head fell to the ground. Enoch leapt over the body and lifted a child from the ground before leading the way.
An arrow struck the tree above their heads and Enoch dropped low to a crouch, placing the child on the ground beside him.
"I will find the shooter while you lead them away. You know the spot," he said to the crone.
Kyla's head spun between them. "What do you know? Tell me!" But the crone grabbed Kyla's wrist and pulled her away as Enoch drew his sword to face the attackers. Kyla twisted out of her grasp and grabbed Enoch's only remaining wing, forcing him to look at her.
"You lied to me," she spat in his face. Enoch's eyes grew wary and he glanced at the crone. "You're not old and crippled at all. You are the great warrior you've always been." Enoch grinned and ran into the trees with a roar.
Cassian kept his eyes to the ground but all of his senses stretched wide to pick up any disturbance in the forest. The tracks were difficult to follow, as if someone had tried to hide them. Every once in awhile they found a mark in the snow where a child had landed, and Cassian guessed they were flying between the trees. But there were foot tracks, adult, with a smaller stride following behind. Kyla would be on foot and had a child in tow, he thought.
He dared a glance at Azriel who was watching his back, eyes on the forest and tension in his face. Cassian could feel the stress pouring off his brother as he tried to overcome the faebane and dissolve into shadows to search for his mate. Cassian hoped the other males in the party could keep their instincts in check to stay alert. Their children were out here as well and tension was high.
He picked up a trail of blood and followed it to a gasping male in his dying breaths. He saw a wound in the male's side. Not particularly large, but deep and blood rushed out with no sign of clotting.
"This clan is as pathetic as reported," the male gurgled as blood leaked from his lips. "You have females doing your fighting and mortals raising your young."
Cassian leaned in close, the point of his sword to the male's throat. "Tell me where she is and your death will be swift," he said with lethal calm. But the male just coughed and sputtered, dying before Cassian got the chance.
Azriel approached him glancing down but then looking back up to the forest surrounding them. "He died from a simple wound. Poison?"
Cassian shook his head. "I don't care how, so long as it was painful."
Movement caught Cassian's eye and he raised his fist to get the surrounding warriors' attention. Everyone froze as Cassian crouched low and advanced through the trees. On the edge of his vision he saw it again. He twisted with sword drawn but saw only an animal sitting in the trees, watching him calmly.
"It's just a fox. Probably drawn by the smell of blood. Let's get back to the trail." But Azriel barreled past him heading straight for the fox. "Az! What are you doing? The trail will go cold!"
The fox turned and fled with Azriel right behind. Cassian whirled and ordered the warriors to follow but keep their senses open as Azriel paid no attention to his surroundings. He was entirely focused on the fox, even stumbling at times over logs as they crashed through the forest. Cassian could feel an edge of panic coming off his brother and his pace increased as well.
Then Azriel crashed to the ground taking in a face full of snow and the fox disappeared through the trees.
"No! Come back! Where is she?" he called after the fox in desperation.
Cassian ran up behind him. "Azriel, it's a fox! What is going on?" Then he looked down and saw her body in the snow, neck snapped. It was the old Illyrian crone that had been the reason they came to the camp in the first place. It was she who had led the children out of the camp, and the attackers had ended her easily. Cassian bent down and brushed her eyes closed.
Azriel knelt beside her, his shoulders hunched. "We never got to speak to her. We should have gone the first night we arrived, but with everything..." He looked up at Cassian. "Immortality has made us forget the importance of time."
Cassian just shook his head and looked at the males that had circled them in a defensive position. The stench of death wafted through the night air. Death and blood. He furrowed his brow.
The crone wasn't bleeding, her neck was broken. So where was the smell of blood coming from? He looked around and saw that there were also no tracks around the crone. She had been the one covering their trail, and now she had hidden wherever the group had gone. Or maybe the children had all been picked off.
Another scent caught his attention. Wood smoke and...a tang of herbs? It was unfamiliar and made his nose burn. He twisted his face and followed the scent. The entrance to a small cave was concealed in the terrain beside them. He walked forward slowly with his sword drawn, approaching the cave entrance with trepidation. His warriors followed. Cassian's heart began to race as he drew nearer to the entrance and the scent of death and blood grew stronger. Dread began to fill his bones.
A few steps into the cave his eyes adjusted to the light of a small fire and he froze in horror. The warriors gasped behind him, every one of them breaking their training. Some even cried out and dropped to their knees in despair. Cassian scanned the small cave, his body practically convulsing in rage.
It was a tomb. The bodies of more than a dozen children lay on the ground or slumped against the walls. Pools of blood leaked out beneath them or they lay in twisted, broken positions. The males just stared and stared, not believe their eyes. Azriel stormed up beside him and Cassian instinctively reached out to grab his arm.
"She's not here," he said forcefully. The cave was small and the bodies were clearly all Illyrian.
"She must be. The fox…" Azriel mumbled as he took in the horror scene in front of him. A warrior screamed in agony and ran forward scooping up the body of his child, clutching it to his chest.
"This doesn't make sense. Why would they kill them? They were trying to take them," Cassian wondered aloud.
He looked away from the grieving father and stepped further into the cave, checking all the bodies for life. He reached down to feel for the heartbeat of a child whose throat had been cut and then pulled his hand away from the body, still warm from life.
Still warm.
He stilled as he realised how close they had been to arriving in time. Too close. He looked down at his hand and saw there was no blood on it, even though he had just touched the child's neck. He touched the blood again but it didn't transfer to his hand. It was an illusion.
He whirled and stood in one motion. "This is a trap!"
The warriors were instantly at the ready, swords drawn, searching for the threat. Cassian lurched around the fire, knocking over a small bowl of smoldering herbs on his way. Was it is poison in the air? They needed to get out of the cave immediately. But before they could move a great whoosh left the cave like the hillside was exhaling a deep breath.
The air rippled in front of him and Kyla's figure took form. She stood tall, holding both hands in front of her, clutching an amulet. Her eyes were squeezed shut tightly as she muttered under her breath. She was sweating profusely and trembling under the strain, her lips dry and cracked from saying words over and over again without pause. Then her eyes snapped open as she drew in a sharp breath. Shock and fear flashed across her face before she crumpled to the ground.
Azriel was kneeling beside her instantly. He lifted her head and shoulders gently, searching for injuries. Kyla gasped for air and twisted away from him, scrambling on her hands and knees before she vomited onto the cave floor. Azriel gently placed his hand on her back as she continued heaving. Her arms gave out and she collapsed to her side, shivering violently as she brought her knees to her chest. She was not well, but she was alive.
Cassian heard coughing and whimpering beside him and tore his eyes away from his favourite mortal to see the children of the cave were not dead at all. They began sitting up, blinking sleepily, some crying. The blood had vanished from their bodies though many still had cuts and scrapes.
Azriel looked up from Kyla to Cassian. "It was a glamour. Designed to deceive whoever came in here into thinking they were dead."
Cassian exhaled sharply. "How? Was Kyla holding the magic?"
Azriel just shook his head in disbelief as the warriors began collecting the children and reassuring them. Cassian ordered the males to take the children back to camp while he and Azriel crouched over Kyla.
"How is this possible?" he asked Azriel.
"There were once witches among the humans. It was said they studied with the fae to learn magic. They were hunted down and slaughtered after the treaty was signed. She could be…" Azriel's voice trailed off as he reached down to brush the hair away from Kyla's face. She continued to shake violently her eyes wide in shock, and didn't seem to notice Azriel's touch.
Cassian could feel this brother's worry as deeply as if it were his own. Through Azriel's bond they had all become hyper-aware of Kyla's emotions, whether from instinctual protectiveness of a family member or a magical connection.
"We need to get her to camp," he said gently to Azriel.
Azriel crouched low over Kyla and placed a hand close to hers, but not touching. "Kyla, we're going move," he whispered gently. He licked his lips and hesitated before going on. "I need to carry you. Is that alright?"
She didn't respond but reached a trembling hand out and grasped his fingers. Azriel closed his hand around hers and gently scooped her up as she closed herself tightly into a ball. Cassian carried two children with him and they left the cave.
Rhys shifted uncomfortably in his chair as they sat around the war table discussing the attack. Survivors had been collected and casualties accounted for. No one had been taken, though it was unclear if any of the attackers had escaped. Discussion now centered around identifying the attacking clan and retaliation. A headache formed when his powers had returned slowly and he drained them immediately healing the wounded.
"The cowards have no tattoos tying to them any clan. Where did they come from?" a captain asked.
"Mercenaries? Why would they want children? Females, I can understand, but are they training them young now?" another asked.
The conversation went around in circles again as Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose and controlled a sigh. He caught movement at the door of the tent and saw a child subtly trying to get his attention. It was the messenger he had requested come find him when Kyla woke. Rhys glanced up to see if Azriel had noticed, but the shadowsinger was scowling down at the map on the table, clearly not paying any more attention than he was.
Rhys rose discreetly and slipped out the back without anyone noticing him. So bent on revenge, the Illyrians didn't even notice their High Lord leave the discussion, he snorted. The child flew off when she saw Rhys had gotten the message and Rhys stalked through the town of resurrected tents and buildings still smoldering.
He was so lost in thought he didn't notice immediately the number of people milling about the square. Females huddled and whispered together. Males stood together as well, trying to look inconspicuous. Some children chased each other in a game until a father reached down and grabbed one by the arm, shushing them sternly. As he approach the tent where they had housed the shivering human, Rhys saw several female novices watching him carefully then scanning the crowd around them. They were guarding her, he realised.
He nodded to them and stepped through the flap. A female bent over the cot murmuring something to Kyla. She stood up quickly as Rhys approached and nodded to her as she passed him to leave the tent.
Kyla face was pale and clammy and she was trying to control her shivering. He lowered himself onto the stool and smiled down at her.
"S-ssso cold," she whispered.
Rhys nodded. "The magic took a lot out of you. But you can rest now, they're all gone." He started to reach his hand out but caught himself before he rested it on her shoulder. Instead he pulled the blankets up higher.
"Can't stop...the crone, she has power...she did the spell and taught me the words." Kyla swallowed, her eyes wide and searching. "She left us. She left to draw them away. I held the spell, but she's coming back."
Rhys reached for a cup of water by the bed and held it to her lips. She gulped it down thirstily, hardly breathing between swallows. Her head fell back and she closed her eyes panting lightly.
"You need to find her. She knows something. She was angry with me. Angry for putting myself in danger. You can search her mind, Rhys. You can get her tell me." She tried to sit up but instead just rolled to her side. Rhys tried to get her to lie still without touching her shoulders and making her uncomfortable. He didn't want to tell Kyla now that the crone was dead and her knowledge lost.
"Just sleep now and recover from the magic. We can talk about it tomorrow."
Kyla rocked her head back and forth as though the weight of the blankets was holding her down. "Can't sleep…it's too much...too many words…" She looked at him in desperation. "Please…"
Rhys nodded gently and slowly placed a hand on her forehead reaching out with his magic and pulling her down into a deep rest. Her face relaxed finally and she stopped shivering.
Rhys found the camp-mother who was watching over her just outside. "More heatrocks and warming blankets, if you can. Keep this place as quiet as possible and let her sleep deeply." He looked up and saw he was being watched carefully. Conversations had stopped as people leaned in to hear an update on the mortal inside. A mother with a child on her hip approached tentatively.
"Excuse me, High Lord. We came to stay thank you to the mortal-Kyla. She carried my son through the woods. I owe her everything," she pleaded.
Rhys blinked at her and then glanced around seeing a line up of parents wishing to pay their respects. Kyla had saved the lives of more than a dozen children by leading them away from camp, and holding that spell. He cleared his throat and spoke up, but not so loud as to wake her. "Kyla needs to rest. She doesn't have the stamina of Illyrians or other faeries. I'm sure she'll be happy to talk with each of you in a few days."
There some grumbling about 'a few days' but most groups moved off and back to rebuilding their lives. Rhys walked past one of the female novices, unofficially standing guard, and muttered to her. "No one but the Inner Circle enters the tent."
Azriel walked through the camp in the dark hours before dawn. Cassian had been up late organising scouts and spies to send out and uncover the identities of the attackers. Rhys and Feyre would be awake soon to help with the funeral that would happen today, honouring those who had fallen in the raid. They had lost eight females and four children. But so many had been saved because of Mor and Feyre, and the determination of the novices. It would not be long before they were granted the Blood Rite, Azriel thought.
Unsurprisingly he found himself nearing the small tent where Kyla slept. Another cot had been set up inside for Mor, both in case the human woke in the night and to keep her many admirers away. The parents of the children she had protected in the cave were painfully grateful. They brought food and blankets, offered services, and lit candles outside in thanks. Each was acknowledged but firmly turned away as the mortal lay recovering. Rhys had quieted her racing mind and pulled her into a deep sleep, the kind of unconsciousness they entered when their magic had been drained to the last drop.
The sentries stiffened as Azriel stepped out of the ice fog, his looming form taking shape. They technically weren't guards. They kept a respectful distance from the tent, talking in low voices, sharpening blades and pretending like they weren't watching whoever came down the path. With Mor inside the risk of an unwanted visitors was low, but that seemed to only strengthen their resolve. Mor had taught them, fought with them, and now lay vulnerable in a deep sleep of exhaustion in the same tent as the girl who had saved their children.
Azriel nodded his thanks to them as he wandered by. Through the walls of the tent he picked up the heavy breathing of Mor's deep sleep and-nothing else. He strained his ears to hear Kyla's even breaths and steady heartbeat but only silence greeted him. He whirled and walked to the tent so quickly, a female down the path leapt to her feet, a hand going to her sword. Azriel tried to calm his breathing and control his impulse to rip the tent door off. He peeled it back gently and peered inside, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Mor lay sprawled on the cot closest to the door but on the far side of the tent the blankets were peeled back and the cot was empty.
Azriel's heart began to race as he ran all the possibilities through his mind. Where could she have gone? How come the sentries didn't come find him when she woke up? He was wound so tightly a tap on the shoulder startled him and he spun, drawing his sword in one motion. Rhys was standing behind him with his hands raised in surrender, his expression equally surprised. Azriel immediately stood down and started to explain himself but Rhys quickly put his finger to his lips and pointed to Mor's sleeping figure beside them.
The males retreated from the tent several paces before speaking.
"When did she wake? How come no one told me?" Azriel accused.
"I don't know and because you are not her mother, so don't take it out on me," Rhys responded. Azriel snarled at him but kept walking.
"I just mean...what if she needs something," Azriel tried to clarify as he stomped through the snow.
"I know exactly what you mean. And I know it's made worse being at this camp. I'm trying to help you find balance, not keep her from you. We all are."
Azriel huffed and ground his teeth. "Is someone with her now? She's so weak...if something happened…" He paused walking and tried to reach down the bond. But he wasn't Daemati and couldn't pick up on specifics like Rhys and Feyre could. The mating bond whispered her deepest emotions to him even though she was unaware of it. Sometimes he felt guilty for reading her heart. But mostly he thanked the Cauldron for being able to be near her.
Rhys looked around and reached out as well. Her mental shields kept him out mostly though he could pick up on immediate memories and thoughts before they got locked away. She didn't even know she was doing it and the magic behind the shields was still a mystery to them.
A flash of anger pricked Azriel's spine. He moved his legs and followed the tug through camp. They arrived at a tent set off to one side, candles and pine bows lining the entrance. Azriel swore softly and ran his hand down his face. She was inside the tent where the bodies of the dead lay in preparation for the funeral pyres. How she had known about it or found it in the dark, he had no idea.
He stepped through the door and saw several figures sitting next to the bodies of their loved ones. Candles burned in silent vigil next to them, the light sparkling off of hoarfrost in the tent. Mothers and daughters, sisters and wives lay in a neat row. Azriel couldn't remember if he had ever seen so many females lined up at once. On the battlefield they were collected individually, or lined up between male soldiers as they fell. Seeing so many dead females at once seemed to have a greater impact.
Rhys spoke the words Azriel was thinking. "They should have all been trained."
"Then they would have at least stood a chance," Azriel added bitterly. It was arrogance that left them defenseless.
Two male children were among the ranks. Barely more than toddlers, one had caught an arrow in the chest and the other's wings had been hacked off and he bled out. Mor had stayed up most of the night, sewing the wings back on to carry him to the afterlife.
On the far end of the row a figure stood, bundled in a heavy coat with her hood drawn in tight against the chill. She wasn't a small person, but seemed petite compared to the faeries around her. Her arms were crossed and she stared down at the body in front of her.
Rhys and Azriel approached carefully so as to not startle her. She didn't look up or acknowledge their presence, but continued her hard gaze as though she could will the body of the crone back to life.
"What was her name?" she croaked through dry lips.
"Eskrie," Azriel answered gently. "It seems everyone has forgotten how old she was."
Kyla nodded, keeping her eyes on Eskrie's face, so Azriel went on. "She was a bit of nomad. Travelled from clan to clan selling potions and spells, settling here and there for a century at a time before moving on."
When Kyla didn't say anything Azriel looked to Rhys for a hint on how much she knew about the crone. Rhys just shrugged and shook his head but Kyla interrupted their silent conversation.
"She said I was dead. Said I shouldn't be here."
Rhys' furrowed his brows as he looked down at Eskrie's body as well. "You shouldn't read into it too much. Everyone says that her mind was gone. That she spoke nonsense."
Kyla huffed lightly. "That would explain why she said the spell was ruined by a mate. Whatever that means."
Azriel's head shot up and he looked at Kyla's pained face and then away quickly. He swallowed hard and tried to speak but found a cough in his throat instead.
"Where did she come from?" Kyla asked tersely.
"No one knows. She showed up about two or three hundred years ago and was...eccentric back then. Kept to herself and spoke to few until Cassian met her last week. She would leave for weeks on end and suddenly reappear, so people left her alone mostly," Rhys explained simply.
Kyla looked up and turned her head slowly to face Rhys. "Cassian spoke to her last week?" She pinned him with a glare. "You knew she was here?"
Rhys shifted uncomfortably under sharp eyes. "We only just found out. It was one of the reasons we thought we should all come-"
"You knew and didn't seek her out, didn't talk to her?" Kyla's voice rose slightly.
Azriel stepped in to explain. "We did when we got here but she wasn't there. Then there were meetings and-"
"And drinking, and sparring, and male hormone driven war games."
"Lots of things happ-"
"I've been here for a week teaching physics and play fighting, when the only lead we've ever had was sitting next door!"
Azriel looked to Rhys for assistance and brought his hands up in defense. Rhys took a step closer to get Kyla's attention and she backed away automatically.
"When did you think we should talk to her? When did you decide it would be good to tell me? After your meetings, your Blood Rite? In case you've forgotten, I don't have forever to work this out! I've already spent half my life rotting in a prison and she was the only person who's ever shown any clue of knowing who I am!" she screamed at Rhys.
Azriel stepped closer and kept his voice low. "You are-"
"Mortal? Human? Kyla? I don't know where that name came from! She gave me a spell and I held it for hours! Hours! I held it until I thought I would die under the weight of it, but once again I didn't! What am I?!"
Rhys glanced around the tent and gestured for her to stay calm. "Kyla, you should keep you voice down in here…"
"Or what? Do you think they're going to wake up? They're dead! All of them! Those girls are dead because of male faeries! Stupid males and their damned arrogance and traditions! Because of male blood lust and savagery! They're dead and I'm not! I'm alive with no idea what I'm doing here!"
She was backing away from them as she screamed in their faces. The males glanced at each other and around the tent to see if anyone was listening. Azriel could feel fury but mostly despair pouring off of her. Despair at not knowing about her past and her purpose, feeling lost in a world of powerful beings and things beyond her control. Rage and pain passed across her face as she pushed by them to exit the tent.
It was still dark outside though dawn was creeping on the horizon lighting the sky to the east. They followed Kyla at a respectful distance as she stomped her way through the camp. Her paced slowed though, as her anger drained her small reserve of energy. She stumbled down the path, visibly struggling to continue but refusing to turn and ask for help from the males she knew were not far behind.
She came around the last corner before her tent and her knees buckle. Rhys and Azriel simultaneously lunged but it was a sleepy-eyed Mor who caught her before she hit the ground. Mor looked down at her flushed cheeks and sweaty brow in concern then questioningly to the males. Azriel made a gesture that said 'I'll explain later' and backed off reluctantly while Mor helped his mate the last few feet to the tent.
