A Betrayal of Storms by Ben Alderson

Chapter 2

In waking, I remembered little of my mother. But it seemed her featureless face haunted my dreams more often than not.

Hair so black it gleamed with a subtle blue shine. Thick and wild, even the smallest of breezes seemed to coax the strands into a dance. Her voice was soft, so much so that it would likely lull the loudest child into sleep.

And her ears, two twin peaks on either side of her blurry face. Long and proud, never hidden, always peeking through her hair.

That was it. All I could conjure when I thought of her.

I supposed my mind clung to those details because it was what Father would remind me of. The same features I had taken from her; obsidian hair and a gentle-toned voice. And my ears, although not as long as hers, stood out painfully among the realm of humans.

The dreams of her would never last, quickly morphing into nightmares as I longed so desperately to see her eyes. To remember if her lips parted when she smiled, or if her cheeks presented dimples when something amused her. Little details, that to some, would not matter. But to me... well, I would trade the world if I could.

Just to see her. To remember her eyes, or the curve of her mouth. Any other details that were kept from me was a secret I longed for more than I did the very secrets of the world.

But those secrets would never be revealed, because she chose to walk away from me. In the dark corners of my mind, I often pondered why she did not return. Gods knew Father missed her too. I could see it in the quiet moments when he lost himself to a thought.

I dared ask him about her. It had been years since we shared the last, deathly short conversation about the whys and hows of her disappearance. So, no matter if it was a dream I saw her in, or in the muddled mess of my consciousness, I always found myself reaching for the bracelet of iron around my wrist.

The last thing she gave me. And that made it my most prized possession.

I woke to screams. Distant yells and cries that sounded like cats fighting in the streets of Grove. I pried my eyes open a tad, only to snap them shut beneath the glare of daylight. Raising a hand to cover my gaze, I found that I couldn't. My wrists had been tied together by rough knots of rope.

It came rushing back to me, everything that had happened. James and the black clothed guard and his strong fist. Throwing my eyes open, I blinked away the shock of light to take in my surroundings.

I was in a cage. One that moved. Wheels squeaked beneath me as I registered the cart-like vehicle that rocked violently across a dirt path. Around me were tall bars of obsidian metal that gleamed in the light. Straining my neck upwards, I took in the covering of equally dark material that was connected from one side of the cage to the other.

The autumn sun kissed its warmth down upon me but did little to keep the chill wind from nipping at my nose and exposed arms.

Looking down, I gulped as I witnessed the loose trousers and once white tunic that I wore to bed. But bed was a far distance in all manners as I was now sitting within a moving cage.

Mutterings of a conversation sounded at the front of the cart. I looked at the backs of two guards, each dressed in familiar dark stained leathers, as they tugged at reins connected to the trotting horses before them.

"Hello!" I shouted, tugging at my wrists. My jaw ached and my head panged with the echoing of pain, the leftover memory of the punch that had knocked me out cold. "This is a mistake. You've got the wrong person."

One of the guards turned their head, only slightly, then focused back on the road ahead. "Ten coins for me," he said, nudging the man to his side. "Looks like the bet is mine."