A Sacrifice of Names

Chapter 16

A/N: please note that the following chapter(s) will contain mentions of blood and death.

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Stay close.

In the mere blink of an eye it all became too much to process. Under Brenhin's watchful gaze Earie managed to pull the large sweater over her head, her hands trembling as she slipped into her pants just before another torturous scream reached them.

"W-who..." she managed to stutter, but Brenhin shook his head, again searching for her hand to help her back up. Something on his features had changed, as if the shadows had darkened, dulling even the usual jesting gleam in his blue eyes.

"Stay behind me, be as quiet as you can possibly be."

Lips parted again to speak, but she was quick to silence herself, heeding his warning. He did not let go of her wrist, but pulled her along at a pace she found difficult to keep up with, quietly praying this would not be the moment she would stumble over her own feet.

Her gaze kept drifting over her shoulder, frightened of the possibility that even now they were being followed by something unseen, but the shadows remained unmoved. Whatever had followed them, ill-intent or not, it had already reached the camp.

Like an already bad dream had taken a turn for the worse.

The unnerving sound of shouts and screams grew louder, metal clashing against metal. The sounds of battle one would only hear in movies nowadays. Earie wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, anything to get rid of the sight she hadn't been prepared to see.

The smell of blood wasn't entirely unknown to her. As a child she had often suffered from innocent nosebleeds or the accidental cut on her knee whenever she had been a little too rough on the playground. She hadn't forgotten about the sharp, rusty smell that had oozed from the wound on the side of her head from a few weeks prior either, but this was something else entirely.

It was not just blood, but the sinister smell of death that reached them both.

Through her books Earie had accepted death. She had never known her grandparents on her father's side and had been too young to understand what was happening when her grandfather on her mother's side passed. Death had only truly reached her the day when her grandmother passed. Her mother had been devastated, but for quite a while Earie had felt conflicted about her own grief. She had been there for her parents, had helped them arrange the funeral, take care of the house and all old belongings so it could be sold. She hadn't allowed herself to shed one tear, but the feeling of loss had continued to gnaw at her till the point her mother had taken her aside and told her to listen to her body, to whatever feelings she had managed to stow away for weeks. After that she had found herself a quiet place to hide, a stack of books next to her. Books about loss, death, and family. For days she had wept, written letters to both her grandparents. Letters no one ever read but the fire in which they were burned afterwards.

This, however, was not the kind of death she had come to terms with.

Shock seeped through her eyes at the unfolding tragedy they found upon stepping into the clearing. Brenhin's grip on her wrist tightened, forcing a plaintive whimper past her lips.

They were greeted by the motionless eyes of one of the Light Court fae, her life taken by a neat, but deep cut on her neck. Her blood coated the grass next to her head, her body left there like a forgotten doll.

Earie felt herself grow sick.

"Stay close," Brenhin reminded her, his lanky fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife, holding it up in front of his chest.