Ashes by Stelmarta

Hello, again! Here is chapter 13, and only a day late! Ain't that a nice treat? I don't have much in the way of notes; I just wanted to say hi. This chapter is dedicated to…um………Hayao Miyazaki, the creator of many anime classics, like Nausicaa of the Valley of the Winds, Princess Mononoke, My Neighbor Totoro and lots of other stuff. He's cool.

The next chapter may be a while, it will be longer, and it's the last chapter (well, they'll be an epilogue, too), so please be patient for me. ^_^



PART XIII – The Avengers

The key turned slowly in the rusty lock. The door swung open, wondrously blinding light streaming into the small cell. The prisoner was a woman, badly starved and neglected. Her skin, in better days, had been the color of polished ebony, but was now streaked and sallow. She reached out a thin hand to the girl standing in the light of the door.

"What can I do? How can Esma help you?" she spoke in a thick Cesarion accent that almost overpowered her hoarse voice.

The girl seemed a bit surprised at the prisoner's enthusiasm, but held out the key, "You could unlock the rest of the cells in this hallway. If you don't mind."

Esma smiled, "I would be happy to help a friend of Rhys." She took the key from the girl's outstretched hand as if it were simply a piece of cold metal, not the freedom that is was to so many prisoners.

The girl dashed off with a parting salute, and Esma, prisoner no longer, stepped out into the hall, ready for the retribution to begin.

~*~

"What the deal with the prisoners?"

"Well, Rhys' definition of 'able-bodied' was a bit liberal, but they're certainly willing to fight,"

Laesha was in a small dark hallway that ran parallel to the main corridor by the cells. Rhys had purportedly hid a cache of weapons behind a storage bin, buried in the cold dirt floor. Owl had already unearthed the hiding spot and had begun to sort and stack the rusty blades, cast-offs of the Order, but serviceable. All the prisoners had been freed by Laesha or were being freed by helpful others like Esma. A short line of them had already begun to form by Rhys' store of weaponry.

Laesha's hands were shaking. She had never attempted anything like this before, and she wasn't sure she could handle the responsibility. Eighty-nine people would be counting on her for leadership. Eighty-nine half-starved, vengeance fixated, adults were depending on a sixteen-year old girl who had never been farther than twelve leagues away from home.

Owl, noticing her trembling, shook her gently. "Don't worry, Laesha, we're in this together, all of us."

She let out a nervous giggle, "Am I that transparent?" He gave her a dim smile, meant to be reassuring, and turned back to the hole.

He was right, though. She took a deep breath. She wasn't leading anybody into battle. Her call to vengeance was nothing compared to some of these others. All she had gotten from Cayn was a forced march and a week in prison. Others had been captured months ago and had seen nothing but the inside of their cells since then. These eighty-nine people would rebel as they saw fit. No plan, no matter how well laid, could survive the hatred she had seen in their eyes. The least she could do was point the way to Cayn.

It was out of her hands.

~*~

Owl gave the last of the weapons to the prisoner in front on him, luckily the last in line. Rhys had arranged things impeccably; everything was where it should be, every detail accounted for. All except for the possibility of discovery. And even then, he had made sure that the plan would work in his absence.

Owl was having serious doubts as to whether they would ever see him again, but wouldn't allow worry for his friend to interfere. Rhys was just one more soul that needed avenging. One more comrade who had fallen to Cayn's sword.

But each time he repeated that to himself, it sounded more and more like what it was: a hollow attempt to stave off the sorrow long enough to wreak his vengeance.

He shook himself from his thoughts, only to find himself alone in the dark back corridor, realizing that Laesha had just told him that everyone would be assembling in their cell, armed and waiting only for their last instructions.

He had no idea if Cayn had managed to discover the extent of their plans, or if he had summoned Rhys simply on a fleeting suspicion. But even if the entire Order were waiting outside of the prison to slaughter them, the plan would go forward. Every single person who had been freed this morning would rather die in the open air with a weapon in hand than wait for Cayn's sacrifices in the damp and dark. Owl knew that without needing to ask any of them, because he felt it himself.

Weapons. That's what was missing, his bow and his dagger. That dagger had been handed down from his grandfather to his father and then to him. And now some fanatic was using it to eat his supper. A month ago, this thought would have made his blood boil, but things were different now. It wasn't just about him any more; ninety people had become involved, all with their own agendas and equally valid grievances. And the gods were part of it too. This had become too serious a game for heedless fury and rash actions, and so he couldn't allow them anymore.

Weapons. That's right, he didn't have any. Laesha was going unarmed, saying that the steel should go to those who weren't able to summon poison tipped claws at will. But Owl had no trump card at his disposal, except perhaps his wings, and besides, he wanted to fight this battle without the aid of magic. A fair fight.

He crouched down to the hole where the store had been hid. There was the faint glint of steel at the bottom of the shallow hole, the very last of the stash. Someone else's discard was better than nothing at all. He reached in and pulled out a long dagger of Tori make, a longbow, and a quiver full of arrows.

They were his.

They were his own, his own, dagger and bow and quiver. Well used and cared for, even after they had been taken from him.

The last gift of a generous friend.

But there was something else in the hole, a piece of dirty and crumpled paper. Owl picked it up gingerly, as if expecting it to crumble into dust. On it was scrawled: "For Shular".

Owl placed his trembling hand over the crumpled paper, anger beginning to flood his heart again.

"For everybody," he whispered hoarsely.

~*~

After the last instructions had been given, the prisoners, or as they had begun to call themselves, the Avengers, had set out on their mission. All eighty-nine of them were in various stages of emaciation, exhaustion and illness. Captivity had not been kind to them. And these were the healthiest of them. The others waited below and rested.

There had been no need to immobilize any prison guards, Rhys made sure of that, so they had no problems getting up to ground level. The stairs were narrow and ill-lit, moving in a shallow spiral. The wood steps creaked and complained under the weight, but the Avengers remained eerily silent, for ones so close to vengeance.

When reaching the top of the flight of stairs, each paused for a moment, feeling the first breath fresh air since they had been locked up down below. There was only was only a small room up top with a door to the outside and some storage areas. Following the rest of the prison building, it was dim and decrepit, with more mold on the gray stone walls than could be found on the floor of Graemoon forest.

Once everyone had made it up heads began turning to Laesha, waiting for guidance. Though she might not realize it, the Avengers had begun to see her as the leader of their enterprise. This perhaps originated from the snide question asked of her: "And where are your weapons, little miss? Gonna fight them with your fists?" She replied by unsheathing a very sharp claw and a "yes". There were some laughs, but there was no doubt in Owl's eyes that she had won their respect. She had responded to that respect and unconsciously taken charge, despite her earlier nervousness. This was fine with Owl; he was too concerned with Crow and Cayn to care much about the rest of the prisoners.

Laesha, sensing the eyes upon her, motioned everyone outside. The aurora was blazing in the early morning sky, in defiance of the laws of nature that dictated that it couldn't exist. The entire band was struck silent at the sight, in awe of the dancing lights and the sensation that something was waiting, anticipating something great. Whether it was Cayn or a higher power was unclear and immaterial. A wind stirred the trees, but the rustling leaves made little noise, as if they too were awestruck by the heavens.

Laesha cleared her throat and began to speak, still gazing at the sky, "So is everyone clear with their duties?" she asked, her voice sounding dampened and hollow, as if the aurora was swallowing up all sounds. The Avengers all nodded and tore their gaze away from the wonder. They began creeping slowly towards the barracks, where the guards would be silenced and the soldiers of the Order imprisoned in their own barracks.

Laesha started to go after them, but halted when she saw that Owl was moving in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I'm going to free Crow," he replied flatly.

"Wait until we're done with the barracks, then we'll have no problem getting her out," she said, every inch the commander.

"No." he said impassively but with a level of force that she hadn't heard before, "I don't give a damn about the Order! Crow is the only family I have left and I won't leave her to Cayn any longer than I have to."

With that he turned brusquely and began his way to the Temple. The Order was unimportant, they seemed like nothing more than a delay to him, something that could be sidestepped, but otherwise ignored.

"That's fine, Owl," called Laesha after him, "But I'm coming with you." He stopped and looked back at her, slightly taken aback by the conviction in her voice. She exchanged a few words with a thin black woman, and then scampered up to where Owl was standing.

"Well, let's go then," she said, with considerably more enthusiasm than Owl felt.