Flames Like Vines

The Raid, Part 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This is a companion story to ICE LIKE FIRE, the sequel to SNOW LIKE ASHES. I say "companion" as it parallels the beginning events of ICE LIKE FIRE -- and as such, you will find a few minor spoilers for ICE LIKE FIRE.

If you are the sort of reader who screeches in horror at the thought of a spoiler of any kind, LOOK AWAY NOW.

But if you are the sort of reader who flips through the pages of a book, perusing lines here and there before you've quite finished it yet...well, read on, dear rebel reader. Read on.

***

Ceridwen draped against the curve of the umbrella tree's trunk and waited for the caravan to approach. The intoxicating aromas of Summer in the afternoon flooded her senses: waves of heat, trees baked dry in the hot sun, a ground parched and aching for the mid-year rains.

She pressed her fingers into the grooves of the rough bark. Simon used to chase her up trees like this one. Sometimes after their studies, he would pull Ceridwen out into the forest of plants in their palace's garden-impala lilies with their soft ivory and magenta centers, aloe that healers would pluck fresh from the garden, and so many varieties of succulents, flowers, and trees that it would take days to recite their names.

The high walls protected Simon and Ceridwen from the bandits that plagued Summer, and under the heat of the noon sun, they would climb the tallest umbrella tree and sway from the high branches, pretending they were the monkeys that jittered in the outer forests.

Their garden enclosure may have kept them safe as children, but now that Simon was king, it couldn't keep him safe from bandits anymore.

Especially when Ceridwen was one of them.

Thunk-thunk.

Carriage wheels.

Ceridwen shifted, the beige scarf that covered her face tugging against the bark as she focused on the tree across from her. The tree's flat, sprawling top and slender trunk cut into the dull tan of the landscape. A flash of light glinted from one of the branches, signaling to her.

We're in position.

Ceridwen slid a knife from the sheath on her hip and stayed close to the branch, invisible in her tan clothes. She waited, easing her breath in slow, controlled exhales, until every movement, every thought, every piece of her became part of the tree.

Then she saw them. Three wagons, their backs completely enclosed like rolling boxes, crawled down the road, dust swirling around their wooden wheels. Oxen lugged each along, their massive ivory horns and hairy pelts coated in the gunk that came from traveling with neglectful masters. One driver to each wagon, and one soldier each trotting alongside. Six men.

Summer's ground would drink much blood today.

The caravan drew closer, each wagon jostling over the uneven ground. The sun's rays climbed up the hill, creeping toward the soldiers' eyes. A few more moments, and the first one would be blinded for the briefest of seconds, long enough to never see her coming.

The bark of the umbrella tree tore against Ceridwen's palms as she pushed off, body curving through the air, knife clenched in one tight fist. The soldier barely had time to look up before she straddled the horse behind him and jabbed her blade into his neck. Warmth spurted onto Ceridwen's hand as she yanked her blade free and tossed the soldier's body to the ground. She deftly wiped away the blood with the edge of her cloak and grabbed the horse's reins, kicking the steed forward, faster, blocking the caravan from going any further.

The rest of her party exploded around the caravan, ripping drivers off their perches and planting arrows in bodies. In less than two breaths it was done, the ground littered with dying men.

Ceridwen pushed her horse around the first wagon while other members of her party neared the remaining two. She dismounted just beside the back door, next to the great iron lock that held the cargo safely inside.

"Key?" Ceridwen shouted as she sheathed her knife and ripped off her headscarf. Tangles of fire-red hair spilled around her and she inhaled, but even the warm caress of sunlight did little to slow the adrenaline that rushed through her. Her limbs shook with each moment the wagons remained locked.

A rustling followed, her companions searching the dying bodies. "Aye," a call came up. Lekan sprinted forward, a key ring dangling from one hand.

She took the ring from him. The heavy lock fell off, clunking in the dirt by Ceridwen's boots. She passed the ring to another man beside her, who hurried it away to the next wagon. Lekan remained next to Ceridwen, his presence a reassuring weight.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out, and she pulled open the wagon doors.

Light streamed into the dark wagon, revealing all manner of faces blinking at her in the brilliance of the Summer sun. Some were bloodied, some bruised, but all had a brand on their right cheek.

Only the lowest of the low received brands: the captives who would stock the brothels.

Despite the price people paid for attractive captives, marking the purchases as indisputably Summer's trumped all, so they would be less likely to escape or be stolen. The swirling "S" would have been elegant if not for the lumps of melted, singed flesh around it, scarred and raw.

Ceridwen's companions pushed around her, reaching into the wagon with water, offering bandages or nourishment to the stunned prisoners.

Come quickly, please, we must hurry, they whispered. The longer we stay here, the less chance we have of getting you to the border.

"You're freeing us?"

Ceridwen caught a little boy as he stumbled out of the wagon. He looked up at her, the still-tender S on his cheek pushing skin into his eye in an unnatural lump. His pupils sat in a vortex of hazel that burst out of his golden skin. He touched the area around his eyes awkwardly, wincing at the brightness of the sun, the warmth, and-

Flame and heat.

He wasn't wincing at the brightness of the sun. Ceridwen had seen this reaction before.

"Yes," she forced. The boy steadied himself on the dirt and accepted a water bag from one of her companions. Ceridwen shot her eyes to the woman who stepped out behind the boy, and the man behind her, and the other prisoners who now stretched in the hot Summer sun. All of them winced, hanging their heads or touching the skin around their eyes, some gingerly pressing on their new brands, but most exploring their own faces like they weren't used to being so exposed.

Because they weren't. If these captives were from where Ceridwen feared, then every citizen of that kingdom would be accustomed to wearing masks. But such things were considered frivolities in Summer, where faces needed to be uncovered to fetch the highest price.

"Where are you from?" she heard herself ask. All her companions' reports had spoken of a haul in Yakim's capital, Putnam. But Summerians revered Yakimians for their dark skin, their brown eyes, their black hair-lit with accents of brown, not hues of Autumnian gold. And that's what Ceridwen should have seen now, not olive skin. Not hazel eyes. These people were from-

"Ventralli," one woman finished Ceridwen's thought.

***

Part 2 will be up this Thursday, and look for ICE LIKE FIRE, out 10/13/15!