CHAPTER 11
Idira woke parched and perspiring. She peeled off her blanket and emerged from the house's suffocating heat to find the sun already high in the sky. Heat waves shimmered on the horizon, making the distant hills waver, their low ridges distorting in the broiling air. Unambi nodded at her as she passed him on her way to the well. Clad only in his kilt, he crouched in the shade of one of the acacia trees, sharpening one of the knives he had brought from the ship's galley.
She hoisted up a bucket of water and filled the wooden cup that hung from the hook on the beam supporting the well's roof. It had hung there ever since they'd left all those years ago. It might have needed a good cleaning, but otherwise, it was as if she had never been gone, the intervening years irrelevant. She drank, marvelling at the icy coldness of the water when the air was so hot. In a rare moment of fatherliness, Papa had once said he believed the well tapped into an aquifer fed by the mountains' glaciers. She refilled the cup and brought it to Unambi. He took it with a nod, drinking as she eyed the stove, wondering anew if they would be able to salvage it. It looked clean, very clean, better than she ever remembered it. She opened the latch to the fuel chamber and looked inside. It was spotless. She glanced at him, astonished. He got up and hefted it under one arm, carrying it across the yard, the door to its fuel chamber still hanging open, wobbling back and forth as he lurched up the porch's steps.
It took longer than she expected to get the stove back into place and the pipes properly connected. When Unambi finally lit it, the house filled with smoke. With a muffled curse, he doused the kindled flames and went up onto the roof, holding a long stick. Straddling the roof's peak, he probed the chimney pipe, working to free an old bird's nest lodged halfway down. Bits of branches and feathers rained down onto Idira, sticking to her hair. He slipped a little and her heart juddered, dread gnawing at her. He righted himself in time but from then on, Idira couldn't stop herself from fretting. She hopped from one foot to the other, eyeing the treacherous slates, calling to him, warning him, terrified she might lose him too. He must have known, because when he was done he came down and without saying a word, gathered her up into his arms and rocked her back and forth, singing a little troll song to her. She clung to him, letting him stroke her hair as she mourned Myra, Benny, Kip and Vanessa. She even cried for the books she had had to abandon in Moonbrook, to moulder in the darkness, unloved.
Over the next few days Idira didn't accomplish much, now her ordeal was finally over, she succumbed to an overwhelming fatigue. She would fall asleep laying on a blanket under the trees, sleepy from the heat and the warmth of the sunlight dappling her pale skin. Unambi didn't say much, he kept himself busy working in silence, lost in his thoughts, distant. Idira left him alone. She understood. She needed time to herself as well. Too much had happened over the years without either of them ever having the time or space to come to terms with their many traumas. Now that her oppressor had fallen, she had time to grieve, to reflect, and to heal. The months spent in the darkness, locked in tight confinement had done something to her, robbed her of something, she could feel the lack within herself, a hollowness. She hoped it would come back, with time.
Whenever she wasn't sleeping, she spent her time sitting at the top of the cliff path, looking out over the sea, her legs dangling over the edge, savouring the wind in her hair and the sun on her body. Sometimes her murloc friend came to sit with her, burbling to himself as he looked at the sea, happy just to be. His joyful presence warmed Idira's shattered heart, bringing life back into her soul. Each morning she rose to find a fresh-caught gift waiting on the doorstep; fish, squid, crab, once a woven seagrass basket full of clams.
After a week spent idling, Idira felt herself growing restless; feelings of anger and resentment began to plague her. Unambi said keeping busy was the best way to move on from the 'bad tings'. He offered to give her little tasks, things to occupy her mind, which would also help him in his work. The first task he gave her was to collect seashells. For three days she scoured the beach, helped by the murloc, carrying back whatever she could find gathered into a linen towel.
Under the butt of his dagger, he smashed the shells into small fragments before adding them to a soupy, foul-smelling mixture of clay, grass, and hyena dung he'd prepared in one of the old slop buckets he'd found behind the house. When it was the right consistency, he smeared the substance into the cracks in the walls of the house, filling the gaps and crevices. Idira wasn't too happy about the smell, but he promised her the stink would fade once the sun baked everything dry.
Her next task sent her back to the beach to hunt for the toughest, thinnest stalks of sea grass. Her murloc, whom she had started to call Margle, met her at the bottom of the path and followed her, watching, curious, as she hunted for the right ones. He caught on quickly enough and after disappearing for several minutes, returned carrying more than a dozen in the time it took her to find three. By lunchtime, they'd already gathered two large bundles. She carried them up, wondering what Unambi needed them for. When she reached the top of the cliff path, she found him on the roof, straightening the roof's slates at the back of the house.
She called out to him, holding up her bounty to show him, but he didn't look at her, instead he turned, abrupt, and peered around the side of the roof in the opposite direction. He sank into a low crouch, though she doubted whoever he was looking at would have seen him since he was already quite low down on the roof, almost to the eaves.
He dropped to the ground and gestured for Idira to go to him, she hurried over, following him as he moved to the corner of the house and peeked around the edge.
He pulled back. "Dat be no wanderer," he murmured, uneasy. "Someone be comin'."
Idira felt her heart stutter. So, Vanessa had told on them after all.
"Let's make for the boat," she said, setting aside the bundles. "We can row out of sight until they leave."
Unambi shook his head. "We can't be stayin' on da boat foreva. Dey can already see dat da boards be gone. Dey won' be leavin' witout ansa's." He leaned out to look once more. He let out a breath of relief, his posture losing some of its tension. "Dere be only da one. A young one."
"Do you want me to go and talk to them?" Idira asked, hoping she sounded braver than she felt.
Unambi narrowed his eyes, watching their visitor. "Dat might be da best," he said. "If ya be runnin' inta trouble Unambi will come ta ya. Jus' ya go an' see what dis boy be wantin'. It might be we got nothin' ta fear, it might be we do, eitha' way, we got ta be knowin'."
Idira heard footfalls approaching, scuffing, cautious against the dusty earth.
"Hello?" a young man's voice called out, hesitant. "Is anybody here?"
Unambi nodded at Idira and moved aside, letting her pass. She brushed the sand from her dress and pushed her hair back, trying to tidy it a little. She stepped out. The visitor turned towards her, defensive, his hands hovering over the hilts of his daggers.
"Oh," he said. He sagged, his relief tangible. He moved his hands away from his daggers. "Where are your parents?" he asked, eyeing the house, noting the improvements.
Idira shrugged. "Not here."
"Um, then when will they be coming back?"
"Never," Idira answered and moved a little closer to him. He looked vaguely familiar. She tried and failed to place him. Maybe she had seen him in the kitchen in Moonbrook, Cook was always taking deliveries. That had to be it.
He glanced back at her. "Then who removed the boards and took away the—" he blinked, and stared at her incredulous. "By the Light!" he exclaimed moving closer. "Is it really you?"
"I don't know. Who am I supposed to be?" Idira asked, noticing his cheeks had begun to darken. Maybe he was hot. She should offer him some water. She went to the well, fetched a bucket and filled the wooden cup. She held it out to him. He didn't move.
"Aren't you thirsty?"
"Oh, um, yes, actually I'm really thirsty. It's just—" he took the cup and drank, noisy. He handed back the empty cup and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Everyone thought you were dead. They said no one survived the attack in the mines."
Idira shrugged again. "Well, here I am."
"Of all the people I could have met today!" he burst out, excited. "It's like I'm dreaming. You're Idira, right? Jac Northshire's daughter, the one VanCleef raised? Everyone in Moonbrook has heard about you because you have magic purple eyes. I heard a story once, I don't know if it's true, but they say you almost killed Jac out at Klaven's Tower using your eyes. I used to see you sitting in your window, looking out at the square. I smiled at you once." His cheeks went red again. He looked down and scuffed the toe of his boot against the side of the well. "I'm sure you wouldn't remember."
Idira stared at him, her memory organising, that's where she remembered him from, the apprentice from the blacksmiths. He was the only boy who had ever smiled at her in the whole time she had lived in the house. He had changed a lot since then. No longer a boy but a young man, his square jaw just beginning to sport the very first signs stubble. His short dark hair stuck up in several places, messy and little dirty. His leather armour looked old, and was patched in places, though he was clearly beginning to fill it out admirably well. He thrust out his hand to her.
"I'm Logan. I patrol the north-western part of Westfall for the People's Militia. I'm based in Sentinel Hill. It's pretty dead up this way, nothing ever happens here, that's why Borda gave me the job until I get some more experience. Worst thing I've had to face so far was a hungry Roc. I killed it. No problem."
She took his hand, and he pumped it up and down. "I can't wait to tell the others you're alive and safe. I'm sure they will—"
A knife slammed into the beam supporting the well's roof, right beside Logan's head, little splinters of dry wood splattered against Logan's armour. He yelped and spun around, scrabbling for his daggers.
Unambi strode over and pulled the knife out of the beam, his eyes yellow slits, menacing. "Ya don' be tellin' no one about da girl."
"Wha- what are you?" Logan spluttered, his eyebrows climbing so high, they almost disappeared under his greasy mop of hair. He glanced at Idira while still somehow managing to keep one eye on Unambi at the same time. "Is this thing holding you here against your will?"
"He's my friend," Idira said, "and he's right. You can't tell anyone I'm here."
Logan eyed Unambi, uncertain. He looked at Idira again.
"Why not?"
"Because it's what I want," Idira replied, quiet.
Logan didn't say anything for a long time. He sighed and shook his head. "Alright, I won't say anything, but I'm only doing it because you want it, not because he says I have to."
"Who else be comin' dis way?" Unambi asked, shoving his way into Logan's space.
"No one," Logan said, backing up until his backside pressed against the wall of the well. "I mean, at least from the People's Militia, there's only me. There haven't been any reports of Jac's men in this part of Westfall for more than a year, though it doesn't mean it won't ever happen. With Jac, you can't ever be sure, although we are doing a good job of keeping him in the south-east." He picked up the cup and dipped it into the pail of water and took another drink, trying and failing to act nonchalant. "Shame he still has Moonbrook though. Now VanCleef's gone, it'd be nice to have our town back."
Unambi leaned in until his tusks almost touched Logan's face. "Can ya be gettin' us some tings?"
"Like what?" Logan croaked, backing away until he leaned over the well at an awkward angle. His boots slid in the dust and he lost his balance. He scrabbled to grab onto the well to stop himself from falling in, his face turning bright red once more.
Unambi pulled back. "Tings for da farm, like seeds, an' nails, an' we be needin' some propa' furnishin's for da girl."
Logan pushed away from the well. He crossed his arms over his chest and paced in front of Unambi, giving the appearance of considering what he needed to do, though it wasn't convincing, since Idira had seen his hands shaking.
"You don't want me to tell anyone she's here," he said, "but I'm supposed to find a way to get furniture to you without anyone asking questions?" He scoffed and rolled his eyes at Idira.
Unambi glanced to the north. "What be up dat way?"
"Elwynn Forest and eventually, Stormwind." Logan stopped pacing, suddenly wary. "Why?"
"Ya be sayin' dat no one be comin' dis way besides yaself, so ya can be bringin' da supplies from da north."
Logan scratched his neck. "Well, ye-es, but that's only part of the problem. I would also need money, and as you can see, I don't really have any."
Unambi grunted. "Wait dere." He went into the house and came out gripping a pair of VanCleef's golden candelabra in one hand. He tossed them down onto the ground in front of Logan's worn, dusty boots. "Dis be helpin' ya wit dat problem."
Logan's eyes widened. He knelt down and traced a dirty finger over one of their intricately cast curved arms, reverent. "I'm not even going to ask where these came from. But this could get you everything you need, and probably more."
"So ya be helpin' da girl or not?"
Logan stared at the ground, considering. He looked up at Unambi. "I'll do it. But I'm not doing it for you, I'm doing it for Idira." He came back to his feet. "I could come back on my next free day and collect these on my way to Stormwind."
"Den we do dat." Unambi nodded. "When ya come back we be havin' a list ready for ya. And if ya be stealin' dis for yaself, Unambi be findin' ya and leavin' ya wishin' ya neva' been born."
Logan looked offended. "I'm no thief, if I was I'd be in Moonbrook with Jac's men, and not in the People's Militia fighting against him."
Unambi narrowed his eyes, searching Logan's face. Logan glared back at him, defiant. Unambi nodded, slow. "I tink ya be tellin' da truth."
"Huh!" Logan huffed, offended anew.
He turned to look at Idira, where she still stood by the well. She noticed he had very blue eyes, like the sky. Two spots of colour flared anew on his cheeks.
"I'll get you real nice things, I promise," he said, soft.
When Idira didn't say anything, he turned back to Unambi. "My next free day is in twelve days, I'll get here before dawn. It's going to take all day to get to Stormwind, buy everything and come back, but I don't mind. It'll be an adventure. I lived in Stormwind for awhile a couple of years back when my family fled Moonbrook. I know of a buyer in the Old Town who'll buy these no questions asked."
He left soon after. Idira watched him as he moved across the fields into the heat waves, his body distorted by the liquid light. He stopped at the crest of a hill and turned to wave at her. He shifted his weight, squinting in the glare of the sun, waiting for her to wave back, when she didn't he turned with a noticeable sigh and moved down the hill, looking back at her one last time just before being swallowed up by the horizon.
"Do you really think we can trust him?" Idira asked, uneasy. She didn't like the thought that after only a few days they had been discovered. What if Logan told someone, his pride at having found her overcoming his fear of Unambi? Their idyll would come to an end and she would be taken away from her best friend. A sudden wave of bitterness washed over her as she hung the cup Logan had used back onto the support beam. When she was a child, no one ever came to the farm except for Benny, and he only made the journey because of Myra. A flash of anger shot through her as she yanked the water pail up tight against the well's roof, to keep the dust out of it. This was her father's fault. If it wasn't for him and his gang of thugs, there would be no need of a patrol.
Unambi's chuckle breached her thoughts. She turned, annoyed by his attitude and glared at him.
"What's so funny?" she snapped, irritable. "This is serious, and you're laughing?!"
"Ya be frettin' for nothin'," he answered, his gaze moving to the hill Logan had just descended. "Ya can trust dat boy, more den ya eva' be knowin'."
Idira had no idea how Unambi could be so certain, but he didn't say anything more. He just shook his head, still chuckling and headed back to his work on the roof. He got as far as the side of the house before he erupted into laughter, laughing so hard he doubled over and wiped the tears from his eyes.
"Dat Light," he panted as he slapped his thigh, "oh dat Light! It be workin' in da most mysterious ways."
Twelve days later, just as he said he would, Logan arrived an hour before dawn, during that soft, quiet time when the night held its breath, and all its creatures lay silent and still, waiting for the first light of a new day.
He came in, his boots scuffing, loud against the bare floorboards. His hair had been washed and combed and his armour looked recently polished. He pulled a little linen bag from his belt and held it out to Idira. She opened it. A warm, bitter scent rose up from the dark beans nestled inside. She looked up at him, perplexed.
"It's coffee," he said, smiling, shy. "It's from my rations, I thought you might like to have some. You'll need to grind it first of course." He took the bag from her and looked around the empty house searching for one. His cheeks reddened. "Oh right. You don't have one. I didn't think about that. I'll just, um, make sure to buy you one today. No problem." He handed the bag back to her, awkward.
Unambi held out the list. Logan looked it over. "Um. I'm probably going to need to buy a horse and wagon to get all this back to you."
"Ya be doin' whatever ya need ta. Jus' ya get dese tings."
"Right. I can do that. I know a lot about horses and wagons from working in the smithy." He looked up, eager for their approval. No one said anything. His cheeks flamed anew, bright red in the stove's firelight. He scratched his head. "Well, I guess I better be going. Lots to do." He knelt and wrapped the waiting candelabra into some lengths of wool, packing them into the hessian sack he'd brought. He looked up at Idira. "The cloth is so they don't clank and draw unwanted attention." He tapped his forefinger against his temple. "I was thinking ahead."
Idira said nothing. His cheeks darkened again as he hefted the bag onto his shoulder and turned to go. He went to the door and reached out for the door's latch.
"Wait," Idira said, her heart clenching. She couldn't bear to waste her chance. She had already spent twelve days dithering over this. It was now or never.
He turned, his face brightening, hopeful. She went to her book about growing up and pulled out Nin's bank note. She held it out to him, hesitant.
"Use this to buy me as many books as you can."
He reached out and took it, his eyes widening as he read the amount. "I can get a lot of books for this. Um. What kind of books do you want? Fairytales I guess?"
Idira shook her head. "Books about using magic. Anything you can find. Oh. And maybe some books about the hero Khadgar, too, if they have any." She felt warmth creeping into her cheeks. She turned away, embarrassed. "That's all. You can go now."
"Um. Right. No problem. I'll get your books." She heard the rustle of the note as he tucked it into his tunic. The door opened and his booted feet scuffed their way out and down the steps.
"Bye!" he called out from the shadows. This time he didn't wait for a reply. He moved on, hurrying towards the north, his footsteps swallowed by the silence of the night.
The day dragged, hot and oppressive. They occupied themselves making nets for the crab traps from the sea grasses Idira had collected and then spent several days rubbing with fish oil before hanging them to dry in the shed's rafters.
Making nets was slow, laborious, and not very challenging. Unable to escape her thoughts, Idira sat on the porch and endured in silence the gnawing fear she had made a terrible mistake trusting Logan with her bank note. He was probably never going to come back, and worse, he was probably going to tell someone about them. He had almost all their gold now, so why wouldn't he? He had nothing to lose, he could just go to Stormwind and live like a king.
She yanked on the softened stalks of grass, weaving them tightly together, her movements jerky and rough. She shouldn't have given him the bank note, it was a foolish, thoughtless thing to do. But as he stood there, about to leave, she couldn't resist taking the chance. The thought of having books which might explain her magic and how to use it had driven her to stop him. At the time, she couldn't bear the thought he might return trustworthy, and bookless. It would have plagued her with regret for years. But now she regretted having trusted him. Of course he would not come back. He was probably spending her gold right now, sitting in a tavern and buying drinks for everyone, pretending to be a big man.
She huffed, furious as she tied off the completed braid and set it aside onto the pile beside her. Without thinking, she gathered up three new stalks, her fingers working, automatic. Unambi was wrong, they couldn't trust him, they couldn't trust anyone. That boy was going to betray them, she was sure of it. She jerked the strands together, her movements matching her thoughts. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. If she ever saw him again, she would slap his ridiculous, red face right off his head.
Dinner came and went. Idira went onto the porch and watched the sun lower its bulk onto the horizon, streaking the western sky in brilliant shades of deep pink and purple. Across the sky's twilit canopy, the brightest stars blossomed, twinkling, bright and happy, heralding the arrival of their lesser companions. Darkness crept over the land and the chirp of crickets began to fill the night air, crescendoeing as the ground radiated its heat back into the atmosphere. She glared at Unambi from her vigil on the porch steps, her arms crossed over her chest. This was all his fault. He had thought it was funny. Well now he would learn his lesson. He didn't know everything, after all.
The hours passed. Thick clouds scudded across the sky, obscuring the light from the stars and moon. The night deepened and the darkness thickened. Despite her indignation, Idira felt the heaviness of fatigue creeping up on her. She fought it, struggling to keep her eyes open, ignoring Unambi's suggestion she go inside to sleep; his promise he would stay up and wait. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog from her mind. It was starting to be hard to remember why she was there and not in the hammock. A brief glimmer flared, dim in her mind. That's why. She had to remain on the porch, to prove she was right. Right about what? Nothing came to her. She couldn't remember. Her eyelids drifted down, leaden. She fought to open them. It was too much effort. She lowered her head onto the rough planks, pillowing her forehead against the crook of her arm. She would rest her eyes just for a few minutes, at least until she could remember why she was sitting the porch's steps in the dead of the night and what she was right about.
The sound of hooves hitting the hard earth drifted into Idira's awareness. She blinked, trying to clear her vision and found herself on a wagon, the one she rode in all those years ago as it left their yard on its way to Moonbrook. She looked back at the house, at the pot belly stove standing forlorn in the yard. She would have to tell them she knew they didn't come back for it. She looked down at Blackie on her lap, safe within her crate. Soft voices broke into her thoughts. One of them sounded like Unambi. That didn't make sense, she glanced up. Unambi sat across from her on the wagon, smiling to himself. The murloc, Margle crouched beside him holding a dead crab in its hands. She stared at them, confused, this wasn't how it happened. Where was the furniture they had left with, the chickens? She glanced at the front, expecting to see Myra and Papa and Borda. She gaped. Khadgar's broad back faced her, the material of his blue woollen tunic pulled taut, his gloved hands working the reins as he drove the horses. Sitting on the bench beside him, Logan talked non-stop, his hair sticking up every which way, going on about coffee beans and needing to buy a grinder.
Idira woke with a start, her mouth and eyes dry as dust. She lifted her head, slow, working out the kink in her neck. Her arm flopped down beside her, asleep, she rubbed it, enduring the uncomfortable sensation of pins and needles as the circulation returned. It was still dark. The horizon had just begun to lighten, turning a paler shade of dark blue, heralding the approach of dawn. From deeper in the yard, a metallic rattling sound rang out followed by the heavy sigh of a horse. She sat up, her heart pounding. For all of Azeroth that had sounded like a horse shaking its head, rattling its bridle. Had Logan really come back after all?
She bolted off the porch, still rubbing her tingling arm. The huge shadow of a draught horse coalesced against the brightening sky and behind it, a shapeless mass of items, cram packed together, towered above the wagon. She stared, disbelieving. He had really done it. He had gone to Stormwind and bought them all the things they needed. She looked again at the sky. He must be exhausted. He wouldnn't have slept for a full day. Guilt slammed into her, for all her awful, hateful thoughts. All the time she had been doubting him, he had been working, giving up his rest day for them, and for nothing in return. She had to thank him. Lifting the hem of her dress, she rushed around to the back of the wagon.
"So ya finally be awake," Unambi said as he lifted something out from the back of the wagon and handed it to her. It smelled of leather oil and soap. She held it up to the faint light, curious. A horse halter and lead. He went up to the horse and started stripping away its harness. She looked around, searching the shadows for Logan. Maybe he had gone to the outhouse. She stood on her toes, trying to see past Unambi.
"If ya be lookin' for dat boy," Unambi murmured, "ya jus' missed him. He be runnin' back ta his people before he be gettin' in trouble for bein' late."
"Oh," Idira answered, shame filling her once more, coupled with a deeper layer of regret. How long would she have to wait to thank him? A month? More? She wondered when he would next return on his patrol.
Unambi took the halter and lead from Idira and slid it over the horse's head, patting its nose, affectionate. "Dis be a fine horse he bought for us. Too bad we won' be keepin' it."
"Why not?" Idira asked, worrying he intended for them to eat it, like they had had to do with the ones in Moonbrook near the end.
Unambi sniffed and walked the horse toward the lean-to, where once, long ago, another horse had lived until Papa had killed it and made them eat it. The horse went into the stable, docile. It turned and whickered, waiting, patient, for its feed and water. Unambi lifted up the old rope, frayed with wear and age and dropped its loop onto the hook on the wall. The horse stood just inside the rope and pawed the hard-packed earth.
"We don' be havin' da grain ta be givin' dis one," he said as he patted its strong, muscled neck. "Even if dat boy brought some feed for it, dat won' last long. Nah, dis one deserves a better life den dis dry ol' place. So dat boy be comin' back ta sell it."
"Oh?" Idira perked up, heartened to know the horse wouldn't be eaten. "When will that be?"
"He be comin' back on his next free day." Unambi eyed her, his eyes glittering in the faint light of the new day. "Dat's fifteen days from now, so ya be havin' plenty o' time ta be thinkin' how ta thank dat boy." He went and hefted two bags of grain from the back of the wagon and threw them over his shoulder. "Now dis poor horse be needin' food an' water, an' den we be gettin' ta work. Dere be plenty for us ta do dis day, ya jus' wait an' see."
He hadn't exaggerated. It took most of the morning just to unload the wagon and carry everything into the house. More than once Idira wondered how Logan had managed it all on his own. As they unloaded the wagon, it became obvious he had thought things through, purchasing and loading the largest items first: the bed, a mattress (a luxurious feather one, not straw like Unambi had put on the list), two dressers, the table and wardrobe. Idira worked hard and without complaint, even as the heat from the sun poured down onto her from the cloudless, deep blue sky, and her skin glistened with perspiration. She fancied her labour might offset her guilt, just a little. It did help, but not as much as she'd hoped.
That afternoon and evening as they arranged and re-arranged their new things, and the house went from being an empty shell to a cosy home, Idira couldn't help but feel affection for the boy and his foresight, he'd even bought several colourful rugs and two sets of matching curtains, though neither Unambi or Idira had thought to put them on the list. She considered the incredible sacrifice he had made for them. Not only had he given up his time, but Unambi murmured the boy had risked his life carrying a fortune of gold on his back out of Westfall and into Stormwind.
She glanced for the hundredth time at the wooden chest containing all her new books, longing to go to it and turn the key in its lock, to discover what wonders awaited her, but she forced herself to wait. There would be time enough for that later. First she was going to learn to use the grinder he'd brought back. He had bought them coffee beans, packed in a large sack hessian sack with a fancy label stamped with black ink on the front. She cut the sack's ties open and breathed in the beans' warm exotic scent, like warm earth and woodsmoke and the sky after a storm. She put a small scoop of the precious beans into the grinder's hopper and turned the crank. The crushed grains came out, their aroma even stronger, sending up both sweet and bitter notes at the same time. Her mouth watered. She couldn't wait. She was going to make the best pot of coffee ever, and then, she was going to look at her books.
Over the next two weeks, Idira spent every free moment she had going through her books. Logan had managed to buy fifty-two books for her, three of them about Khadgar, though they didn't tell her much about him as a person; they only detailed his achievements in the many battles he had fought up until he left Azeroth, never to return. One of the books did have a full-page colour illustration of him standing tall and proud, his staff raised, crackling with magic as he wielded it against powerful humanoid creatures with green skin, hefting enormous double-bladed axes and clubs.
At first, she had no idea what the creatures were so she asked Unambi, but he said he didn't know either. Later, as she read through the book, she learned what they were and where they came from. Orcs, more frequently referred to in the books as The Horde, had reached Azeroth via a massive magical portal opened by dark magic from their home world, Draenor. As she read, she finally learned why VanCleef had to rebuild Stormwind. The orcs had nearly destroyed the city as they marched across the Eastern Kingdoms, leaving destruction in their wake. Idira had never known the reason why Stormwind had to be rebuilt, but now she understood.
These orcish invaders had been a terrible threat to Azeroth and from what she read, Khadgar had been the main reason for their defeat. The destruction of Stormwind might have happened seven years before Idira was born, but to learn that Khadgar had been there, fighting against the orcs, perhaps looking just like he did in the picture in the book, made her feel warm and tingly inside. He had been so close, just on the other side of the mountains.
But now he was gone. When the portal couldn't be kept closed, Khadgar had decided to take Azeroth's fight to their world. He must have won, because the portal had fallen silent. The books said no one knew what his life was like there, or even if he still lived since everyone who had travelled with him on that expedition had never returned.
Idira smiled to herself as she cleaned the fish for dinner. She knew. Perhaps she might be the only person in Azeroth who knew Khadgar was still alive and living in that strange, sunken stone city. A ripple of pleasure shot through her, making her shiver despite the late afternoon's broiling heat.
She wished she could see him again, even as a shadow, just to be certain he was safe. In those rare precious minutes when Unambi went down to check the crab traps, she would close her eyes and try to see Khadgar, but nothing ever happened. Her theory seemed to be correct, they only transcended the impossible distance between them when they called to her Light at the same time. She positioned the last fish on the cutting board and slid her knife into its belly, reminding herself if her theory was true, she had been fortunate to have even seen him those two times. Still, she wished she could see him again, just one more time.
A tendril of hair slipped free from its pins and fell over her eyes. She rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead and pushed it away, her thoughts turning to her other books. She had only managed to browse through them so far, with so many things to do around the farm, she didn't have a lot of time to spare, but nothing she had read could explain her abilities or even how to begin to harness them. She knew Unambi had been captured because Arinna didn't know what Idira's magic was, but still, it was she who lived with it and knew it best. They might have missed something. She had to try.
With every new book she opened, she harboured the hope she would find something, anything, even a small reference she could latch onto, a trail she could follow, but there was nothing. The books talked about every other kind of magic in great detail, but not one of them even came close to hinting at what lived within her. Unambi had said nothing as she went through her books in the evenings, sitting on the rug with her back against the book chest, a dozen books piled up around her. She sensed he was giving her time to work out things in her own head. One day she would ask him what he knew, but first she needed to do things her way.
She sighed and set the fish into the pan for frying, keeping the heat low since she had nothing but the oil inside the fish in which to cook them. Among other things, Logan had brought a bag of sweet potatoes back from Stormwind, she stirred the ones she had peeled, tumbling up and down in the boiling water. She sighed, they would probably be done long before the fish. Cooking was harder than she'd expected it would be, everything seemed to be about timing, something she found herself not particularly good at.
Outside the kitchen window, clad in their new red-chequered curtains, she glimpsed Unambi watering their garden in the soft light of the lowering sun, singing quietly to himself, wearing a ridiculous floppy seagrass hat he had made to shade his eyes from the sun. His hat making abilities aside, she had to admit he had proven to be an adept gardener, preparing the soil beside the house with organic matter from the sea, and enriching it with broken shells, fish entrails, bones and crushed crab carapaces. Together they planted several rows of sweet potatoes as well as the okra, corn, leek, bean and tomato seeds Logan had brought back. Already little shoots were coming up out of the ground, bright green, their tiny leaves unfurling. She had never seen Unambi so content as he had become over the past days. She whispered a prayer, asking the Light to protect them. In her heart she knew one day it would end if she was destined to meet Khadgar in that floating city, but for now, she hoped their idyll would last as long as possible.
Logan came back, just as he promised, blushing and looking at his boots as he scuffed them in the dirt, saying it was nothing when Idira tried to thank him. He said he knew of someone who wanted to buy a horse and wagon, a farmer called Furlbrow, who lived near the bridge to Elwynn Forest. He told them he thought he could get all their money back, so they would have lost nothing. He left, promising to come back as soon as he was done.
He appeared on the horizon just before dinner time, whistling a jaunty tune, his dark hair sticking up in every direction and his boots raising a trail of dust behind him. Idira watched his approach from the rocking chair on the porch, shading her eyes against the light of the setting sun. He was a fine looking lad, even if his demeanour was awkward and a little immature. She tried to imagine what he would look like grown up. He would probably be handsome, like Benny. Strong too, judging by the size of him. She guessed he was between two and three years older than her, since blacksmith apprentices start at the age of fourteen and she had first seen him when she was approaching twelve.
She smiled, pleased, anticipating her chance to show her gratitude for all he had done. She had hit upon the perfect thing, an invitation to dinner, he couldn't blush and scuff his boots out of that one. All men loved to eat, of that much at least she was certain. When she had suggested her plan to Unambi, he had murmured his approval before adding his intention to surprise the lad by letting him keep the money from the sale in return for all he had done for them. With another set of gold candelabra stashed under the floorboards, he reckoned they could afford it.
Idira went into the house, tied on her apron and checked on the dinner simmering on the stove, a seafood stew with sweet potato and the last of the leeks Logan had brought from Stormwind. It smelled delicious. She ground several precious peppercorns into it and tasted it. Perfect. She hurried to set the table, finishing just as she heard Unambi greet Logan out in the yard. They came in, Logan glanced at Idira, then down at his feet, blushing right up his hairline. Idira decided to take charge.
"You'll stay for dinner?" she asked, wondering why he was always blushing like that. "I made seafood stew."
"Oh?" he looked up from under his thick fringe, taking in the table and the pot on the stove. "Um. Well I am a little hungry, I guess. I mean, if it's no bother, that is."
Idira smiled, pleased. "Of course not! I wasn't going to take no for an answer anyway."
His eyebrows shot up. "Really?" he asked, his voice breaking, coming out high, like a boy's. He turned an even deeper shade of red.
"Yes, really," Idira answered. "Go wash up, both of you. I'll serve up."
When the sun had gone down and the stars filled the sky, Logan left still thanking Unambi for letting him keep the money; an astonishing amount as it turned out. For Logan, it equalled a half-year's wages. At first he didn't want to take it, insisting they might need it, but Unambi made sure Logan couldn't refuse, saying it was a matter of troll honour.
"Well, if it's about honour, then," Logan had said, as he eyed the gold pieces laying on the table, still uncertain.
Unambi pushed the money across to him. "Ya be takin' it or I be havin' ta fight ya for disrespectin' Unambi's gift."
"Right. No problem," Logan said, hurrying to drop the coins into the pouch tied to his belt. "I can take the money, but I promise I will take care of it and not squander it. One day, Idira might need my help again. You never know."
"Ya neva' know," Unambi repeated, slow, his eyes gleaming with approval in the candlelight. He went to the door and opened it, indicating it was time for Logan to leave. "Wheneva' ya be passin' by on ya patrol," he said, soft, "ya always be welcome ta dis house. Always."
Hesitantly at first, then with more confidence, Idira began to believe her prayer to the Light might have been heard, her wish granted for a peaceful, quiet life. A year passed, the garden flourishing under Unambi's gentle care, supplying them with vegetables and staples. He decided to plant one of the smaller fields with wheat, his first harvest so bountiful, he didn't need to plant any wheat the second year. Logan brought them chickens, providing the farm with fresh eggs, though Idira refused to allow either Unambi or Logan to kill the chickens for their flesh. Margle visited often, his courage growing by increments until one day she turned to find him standing behind her as she worked in the kitchen, holding up a crab, shy in his new surroundings.
The days and nights blended together, warm, identical, unchanging. It rarely rained, but when it did, it poured, brought in by heavy clouds blown in from the sea, drenching the dusty earth and turning the air cool and humid for days.
Logan visited every time he passed by on patrol, carrying a small cache of supplies hidden in his backpack; honey, sugar, flour, coffee beans, things he knew they wouldn't have. As the years passed and he moved up in the ranks of the People's Militia, he no longer worked on patrol, his duties keeping him in Sentinel Hill or fighting Jac's men in the south and east. After his patrols stopped, no one else ever came by. Idira wondered if he used his station to ensure their continued protection. He still managed to visit, however, turning up on his horse at least once a month.
Besides the goods he brought from Sentinel Hill, he also carried news, just as precious. Soon after Idira reached her seventeenth year, she learned the People's Militia had broken Jac's stranglehold on the eastern part of Westfall, and had even begun to reclaim parts of Moonbrook, or, at least what was left of it after years of vandalism. Still, it was progress, Logan had said. Jac would soon fall, and after years of misery and oppression Westfall would belong to its people once more. They would rebuild.
The years sped past, comfortable and calm, Idira's peaceful, rustic routine broken only by Logan's visits. In what seemed the blink of an eye, she reached her twentieth year, her girlishness long gone, her breasts and hips straining at the seams of Myra's old dresses, worn thin with age and use. Logan went to Stormwind and came back with a thick bolt of cerulean blue linen, scissors and thread for her. He'd said it was a late birthday present as he handed it to her with a confident smile, his boyish awkwardness long gone, replaced by the easy assurance of a man full grown and experienced around women.
She'd smiled with delight as she touched the fabric, suspecting his gift meant he might be courting her, the way Benny used to do with Myra. Logan was handsome. Very handsome, in fact. Neither had she failed to notice how his body rippled with solid muscle under his leather tunic. He had long since replaced his daggers with a massive two-handed sword; its scabbard strapped to his back, the sword's enormous goatskin-wrapped hilt rising high above his left shoulder.
On his last visit, when he saw the woodpile was empty and Idira needed to light the stove for dinner, he had offered to fill up the pile for her. He had shed his leather tunic and shirt and worked bare-chested in the broiling heat, his tanned and taut body making Idira experience feelings she hadn't felt before. Shy, she went inside and watched him from the sitting room window, half-hidden by the curtain, her fingers drifting to her breasts, imagining what it would be like to press her naked body against his. He looked up and caught her watching him, her hands on her breasts. He smiled, cocky, confidence oozing from him and carried on with his work. Cringing with embarrassment, she fled into the kitchen to work on her dress.
The blue linen was very good quality. It felt expensive. Despite Logan's attention and obvious interest in her, she still thought of Khadgar, though under Logan's influence and innuendoes, her thoughts had become much less innocent than they used to be.
Lately she had begun to imagine Khadgar without his tunic, holding her against him, his mouth on hers. Alone in her bed, she would replay the time she had seen Benny and Myra together in the hidden room in the cellar, and imagine doing those things with Khadgar, her cheeks burning from her naughty, shameful thoughts.
Though she longed for it, she never so much as even dreamed of Khadgar again. She had begun to wonder if her Light and her connection to Khadgar had been an artefact of her childhood, something she lost as she grew into womanhood. When she asked, Unambi said he didn't think so, that it only worked when it needed to protect her, and since she was safe, there was nothing for it to do until it would be needed for its real purpose, whatever that might be.
The night she had seen Logan chop the wood, she lay in her bed, wondering if Unambi was wrong and perhaps she was meant to be with Logan. She bit her lip as her hands drifted over her full breasts, her fingertips caressing her nipples, thinking of Logan when he caught her looking at him as he chopped the wood, imagining his strong hands on her breasts instead of hers. She closed her eyes and imagined him kissing her. She snatched her hands away, suddenly uncomfortable. No. It felt wrong, like she had just imagined kissing a brother. She pushed her thoughts of Logan aside, thinking instead of Khadgar, her hands creeping back to her breasts, touching her nipples, imagining his hands there. She sighed as her nipples hardened. She opened her eyes and stared at the rafters. It could only be him. She turned onto her side, hoping with all her heart one day she would find him on that balcony like her dreams foretold. If not, it seemed she was destined to lead a lonely, loveless life.
The summer Idira turned twenty-two, Logan came to the house with news. He paced back and forth in the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest, his leather armour creaking in the warm, dry air. He turned to look at her, his shoulder-length dark hair tied back in a leather thong. A recent scar across his cheek made him look older than his twenty-five years. He hadn't shaved, but his stubble suited him. He had tried to kiss her once, the first day he had seen her in her new dress, made from the material he had bought for her. Despite her misgivings, curiosity overwhelmed Idira, so she let him. Their lips had barely touched before he had pulled back, abrupt, and stared at her, taken aback, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth. It's like kissing my sister, he'd shuddered. Idira nodded, fighting the urge to gag. It had felt just as wrong to her too. From then on, the innuendoes stopped, and he treated her as a brother would, as fiercely protective of her as Unambi.
But right now Logan was furious. It seemed not only had Idira and Unambi survived the champions' attack on VanCleef's ship, but VanCleef's daughter Vanessa had also survived and had remained hidden in plain sight at the Saldean's farm; the child they had taken in and named Hope had grown into a young woman who pretended to be an upstanding member of Westfall's community. He eyed Idira, suspicious, distant.
"In all these years, why didn't you ever tell me?" he asked, anger edging his words, making them sharp.
Idira rubbed her palms up and down against her hips, nervous, rucking up the smooth material of her dress. She had never seen Logan like this before. He frightened her a little.
"You would have killed her," she answered, quiet. "She ran away the night we arrived. I thought she just wanted to put everything behind her, have a normal family after all she had been through. How could I have expected she would rise up like this? She was just a little girl!"
"Indeed," Logan grated out the words, "except that VanCleef's blood courses through her veins." He slammed his fist into his hand. "Just when we were starting to reclaim Westfall this had to happen. Until today I had no idea who our new aggressor was, despite all my investigations. We only knew someone was gathering forces to their cause, while killing my spies in Moonbrook. But now I know the truth!" He glared at Idira, hostile. "I discovered it quite by accident while I rode here, to see you! One of our patrolmen writhing in his death throes, lived long enough to say she told him her name as she cut him, saying 'Hope' is a lie." He moved closer, menacing. "But here is the bitterest irony of all, that conniving, vengeful creature will take anyone into her ranks, even the enemies of her father." Logan nodded, terse as Idira raised her hands to her mouth. "Before she killed all my infiltrators, I had been getting reports Jac was losing control, his men in-fighting and jockeying for power, the entire structure of his organisation fragmenting. We were using it to our advantage, but now she has come along, determined to gather Jac's disaffected to her cause, the little bitch wants Moonbrook for herself. Now once more, our enemies are organising, and under someone we could have easily contained long ago."
He glared at her, quivering with rage. When she said nothing he scoffed and turned away. Anger emanated from him, hitting Idira like a wall. He clenched and unclenched his fists, his shoulders rising and falling as he huffed, agitated.
Idira went to him and touched his arm. "Perhaps I could talk to her, explain to her she is wrong. She is still young, she only turned sixteen last month."
Logan scoffed. "Talk to her? It's far too late for that. Do you know how many have fallen to her blades?" He turned and glared at her, uttering the number as though it were Idira's fault. "Twelve. Friends, all of them. You should have told me."
"Yes," Idira murmured, trying to keep up, struggling to reframe the image of the little girl who played with wooden animals and listened to fairy tales into a cold-blooded, vengeful killer, willing to work with the very men who had bombed their home and drove them into the mines. "I see that now, if I could turn back time, knowing what I now know I would do things differently. But what good does it do to—"
She stopped. The glass panes of the windows had begun to rattle. From far out in the sea, a deep rumbling rose up, a low, ominous reverberation unlike anything she had ever heard before. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted, fuelled by a sudden deep sensation of dread. On their hooks against the wall, the copper pots and pans trembled, their clatter growing with each passing moment. The cupboards jiggled free of their latches, their doors falling open one by one, the plates and bowls stacked inside juddering to the cupboards' edges, tumbling to the floor. Jagged crockery shards slammed into the walls and furniture, and smacked against Idira's skirts.
Logan grabbed her hand and dragged her to the door, dust from the rafters tumbling over them. Idira stumbled after him, choking, trying not to trip on the hem of her dress as he bolted down the porch steps and around the side of the house toward the cliffs. He staggered to a halt, panting.
"What in the Light?" Logan gasped.
Idira gaped, incredulous, as she stumbled to find her feet. Logan caught her, steadying her. It was like something from one of her fairytale books. Only this wasn't an illustration. It was a real monster, living and breathing, coming straight at them.
At least five times the size of VanCleef's ship, a massive molten dragon flew low over the ocean, its enormous red and black wings beating a powerful, deep cadence. Waves rushed away from their heated blasts, building in force, rising up as high as the buildings in the square of Moonbrook, slamming into Stormwind's battleships trapped in the creature's wake, the waves battered them, tearing the juggernauts apart as though they were no more than toys.
As the creature drew closer, Idira stared, horrified. This was no typical dragon, nothing at all like the ones from her books. Its body had been covered by massive black metal plates, sheathing it like a suit of armour, but its armour had been bolted right onto his flesh with gigantic rivets. Molten lava seeped out from in between the cracks in great viscous drops, wherever they landed, the seawater evaporated into explosive geysers of steam. Clouds of thick ash spiralled out from the dragon's wake, spreading out across the hissing, burning sea. The dragon lifted its head and opened its mouth, its lower jaw crafted from a massive piece of metal, jagged and vicious looking. A vast swathe of molten fire spewed forth from it, incinerating the ships caught in its path. As it neared, the ground's shaking intensified, quivering from the deep reverberation of the dragon's wings. The cliffs cracked open and huge chunks of the hard-packed, dry earth loosened and tumbled away, carrying boulders and bushes with it, smashing them against the rocks on the beach far below.
She felt Logan tighten his grip on her hand, pulling her against him, protective. Down on the beach, a blur of movement caught Idira's eye. Margle ran, his little legs pumping, racing, desperate to reach the cliff path, keeping one eye on the incoming tsunami, its wall of water churning with shattered and burning pieces of ships, the water thundering so loud, it drowned out even the deep pounding of the dragon's wings.
Idira waved at the murloc, frantic, urging him on even as he reached the bottom of the cliff path and rushed up the hill, zigzagging around the falling rocks and earth. Idira bit her lip, begging the Light to protect him. She went to move closer to the path, to look down and watch his ascent, but Logan yanked her back, his expression fierce. He shook his head.
"It's too dangerous!" he yelled.
Her heart pounding, she turned her attention back to the sea, as the tide fell back, sucked far into the sea, exposing the hidden depths of the sea's floor. She eyed the climbing wall of water and the cliffs, gauging their heights. It was going to be close. Margle bolted up over the crest of the cliff, and ran behind Idira's skirt, clinging to it, gibbering in terror.
"Ya be gettin' up on da roof!" Unambi bellowed as he came barrelling towards them from the wheat field, his grass hat skittering behind him, buffeted by the wind, caught by its strap around his neck. He rushed over and scooped up the quaking murloc and ran to the house, with one quick movement he lobbed the poor thing up onto the roof's tiles. Idira followed after, tugging on Logan's hand. He stood stock still, transfixed by the dragon flying over the waters, burning Stormwind's ships, desperately firing their cannons at it.
"Logan!" Idira yelled, terrified. The wall of water had met the tide and now a solid barrier rushed towards them, gathering speed, furious.
He started and turned. Still holding onto Idira's hand he bolted toward the house where Unambi waited, ready to hoist them up onto the roof. Idira ran as fast as she could, but her skirts kept tangling in her legs. Logan's arm went round her waist and she flew up into the air, landing on her stomach with a rough thump against his leather clad shoulder. She hung upside down, his arm gripping the backs of her thighs so hard it hurt. She lifted her head. The water had reached the crab pots. They exploded, smashed by the water's onslaught.
"Hurry!" she screamed, pounding on his back. Unambi's strong hands took hold of her, and she lifted even higher. He spun her round. The roof loomed before her. She reached out and grabbed hold of the eaves, scrambling up onto the roof's peak, Logan and Unambi right behind her.
"What about Blackie?" Idira cried, searching the yard for her cat, frantic. "And the chickens?"
"Dere be no time for dat," Unambi hollered, the wind gaining force, tearing his hat free, sending it sailing up into the sky.
They clustered together, clinging to each other, watching, horrified, as the roaring, churning wall of water rushed towards them. It slammed against the cliffs, with a deep boom that shook the house. A spray of freezing water exploded over the cliff wall, drenching them and splattering the roof with seaweed dredged up from the deepest parts of the sea. Idira clutched onto Unambi and Logan, as the sea surged against the top of the cliffs, frothing, white, angry; ships' masts and shattered hulls roiling and turning in the violent waters.
The waves rose, inexorable, breaking over the crest of the cliff, rushing, hungry toward the house, knee deep, the bodies of dead fish, crabs and octopi tumbling, helpless in their watery grave. The sea crashed around the house's stone foundation, submerging the vegetable garden beside the kitchen. It swept under the porch, smashing into the steps, the force of it carrying them away into the yard. It raced, hungry, toward the chicken pen, the birds scuttled to the opposite side, huddling up tight against the wire, pushing their feathered breasts against it, trying to escape. Idira pressed her fists to her mouth, tears burning her eyes. Please. Not the chickens. She searched for her Light, seeking to protect them. Nothing happened. She tried harder. Still, nothing. She whimpered. Logan's arm came around her shoulders, squeezing her, reassuring her. He pressed his lips against her hair, distracted, kissing her head as though she were a child, hushing her.
Halfway across the chicken pen, the waters slowed, its depth decreasing even as it continued to creep towards the chickens, menacing, oblivious to their desperate, terrified cries. The wave stalled, the edge of the waters seethed but moved no further.
Stillness came, a dense bubble of silence settled over the farm, so still Idira's ragged breathing sounded like a roar in her ears. Far to the east, the acacia trees dotting the horizon leaned sideways, caught in a sudden blast of wind. It rushed towards the farm across the plains, flattening the wild grasses, and driving the tumbleweed, reckless over the land toward the cliffs. The wind slammed into them, cold and humid, heavy with the rich, briny stink of the deep ocean. It swept back over the cliffs and across the sea, returning to wherever it had come from. The waters followed it, sliding backwards, gaining speed as it scythed back to the cliffs, streaming, frantic, back to the sea, sucked by the force of the ocean's gravity struggling to return to its equilibrium. It poured over the edge of the cliff into the retreating sea, littering the mud-swept yard with dead and dying sea creatures.
Out over the sea, having no more boats left to destroy, the dragon roared and changed course, its body tilting at an improbable angle. It lowered its head, opening its mouth wide, preparing to exhale.
"It's heading straight for Stormwind," Logan said, rising to his feet, pale. "They can't fight that. No one can."
The metal-encased molten dragon disappeared behind the mountain range separating the coast of Westfall from Stormwind's harbour. In the distance the faint sound of horns blared, what sounded like hundreds of them. The sound of explosions and screams carried to them on the heated air, driven across the mountain range by the power of the dragon's great wings, the cries of the dying reaching all the way to their farm in Westfall. Above the mountains, the sky darkened, blackening with ash, soon even the light of the sun was lost as the city's cinders spread out, covering the sky's canopy, enclosing the world in gloom. The underside of it glowed orange, reflecting the flames of Stormwind as it burned. The dragon emerged from the other side of the mountains, gliding over Elwynn Forest. It flew on, veering to the north, incinerating everything in its path.
Logan sank down, his jaw slack, disbelieving. "Stormwind is gone. It's the end of the world," he whispered, stricken.
Idira looked down at Logan, who sat pale and trembling, staring out at the burning wreckage of the ships, strewn across the sea. From across the water came the wails of the survivors, mourning their dead. What about Nin, Arinna and Bishop Mattias? How could they have survived that? She pressed her hands to her head, overwhelmed. Was everyone she loved meant to die? It was too much, too sudden, too vast, too strange. She looked down at the chickens. They still huddled together, frightened, pressed up against the fence, at least they had survived. She looked at the broken pieces of the porch's steps laying in the middle of the yard. It had gone far. She blinked. A sodden patch of black fur lay tangled within the splintered wood. No. Her heart started to pound. No. Please. No.
"Blackie!" she cried, scrabbling to get down from the roof, her eyes never leaving the cat, hoping against hope Blackie still somehow lived.
Ignoring Unambi's pleas for her to wait, to let him help her get down, she tumbled down from the roof, and landed spread-eagled, face first in the mud. She leapt to her feet and ran to the shattered steps, tripping over shipwreck debris, dead fish and crabs. Within the tangled mess of wood, Blackie lay silent and still, her body small and limp. Idira could hear Unambi coming, but she couldn't wait. Her heart in her throat, she tried to lift the sodden wood, but it was too heavy, and all she managed to do was tear her hands on its sharp, jagged edges. Unambi reached out and pulled the pieces away, careful not to hurt the cat. Blackie slid free, boneless, down onto the mud.
Her hands shaking, Idira picked up her cat and cradled its lifeless body on her lap. Seawater leaked out of Blackie's open mouth, her wide-open eyes, filming over in the drying air, betrayed her final moments of pain and terror.
Idira choked, tears burning her eyes. "She hid under the porch, the place she always went whenever she was scared." She lifted the muddy, soaking cat up against her chest, cuddling her against her filthy dress. "Why didn't I think of it? Why didn't I go to you?"
Logan and Margle arrived; the murloc reached out to touch the cat, tentative, it gurgled, sad. She felt Logan's hand on her shoulder. He squeezed it, murmuring how sorry he was for her. She shook him off and shifted, putting her back to him, clutching the dead cat to her chest.
"Just leave me alone, please," she whispered, her throat aching.
One by one they left, making desultory attempts to clear the yard. Idira looked down at her lost companion, grief and guilt overwhelming her. She cradled her in her arms, like a baby, stroking her face and kissing her nose.
"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, as her tears spilled onto the cat's fur. "I loved you, so much."
After all their years together, just like that, Blackie was gone. She lay limp in her arms, the reflection of the burning skies the only light left remaining in her companion's silent, empty eyes.