Keira glanced around the larder as she slowly, and ever so quietly, eased her way down the tightly twisting staircase. Boots in hand, she was careful to avoid the loose floorboard on the last step, poised to give her away. She crept across the cold flagstone floor in her stockinged feet until she reached the heavy wooden door to the garden. Opening it just a crack, she slid out into the night, gently closing the door behind her. She kneeled to slide the boots over her stockings, already beginning to dampen with the early morning's dew.
"Bit early for a stroll, don't ye think?"
The voice cut through the dark, and Keira whirled around, spare boot in hand and at the ready. It took a moment for Keira to recognize the warm baritone voice she knew so well, soft-spoken and with just a hint of a half-forgotten lilt. She blew out the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and glared at the figure, barely visible in the setting moonlight. He was carelessly lounging on the garden wall to her right, mostly unseen in the pre-dawn mist.
"You should know better than to sneak up on people!" she scolded. Irritated—and slightly embarrassed, truth be told—at being caught unawares, Keira's voice came out sharper than intended.
Danny snorted. "Yeah, the thought of my impending demise was absolutely terrifying...and by shoe, no less. What a way to go."
Keira could hear the laughter in his voice and, tempted though she was to return it, reminded herself of the inconvenience that his sudden appearance now posed to her plans. She turned back to finish lacing her boots with a scowl. Standing, she strode decisively toward the stable, avoiding his gaze. Though she knew he'd follow her, she tramped on through the damp grass. If he wanted to stop her, he'd damn well have to be direct about it.
She could hear his soft footsteps behind her, and felt her annoyance grow. Reaching the stable, she whirled around, ready to get on with it.
"What do you want, Danny?"
Her eyes had adjusted to the moonlight and could now make out the fair-haired, green-eyed problem in front of her. He didn't answer, just stood there, a knowing look on his chiseled face, cheekbones perfectly contoured in the hazy light.
"Well, you followed me out here," Keira snapped. She blushed as she glanced away, annoyed with herself for noticing just how good he looked first thing in the morning.
Danny shrugged. "I was awake anyway. I couldn't sleep and came out for some fresh air. When I saw you, I figured you must have some grand scheme in the works." The left side of his mouth twitched up in that roguish half-grin all the village girls went wild over.
"Curs'd block-headed roan," Keira muttered under her breath, slipping quickly into the local dialect she employed almost exclusively for profanity.
"You know Nazor forbade you from further meddling." Danny spread his hands wide, being his usual, annoyingly rational self. "I know you want information, but if you start openly asking after Marek and his associates, it's bound to catch the villagers' notice." He paused, then added, "What with him being dead now and all."
She couldn't deny his logic. Damn him.
"I know, I know. I just wanted to hear what people are saying, see if we can discover anything useful. After all—" She swallowed and caught hold of herself. "—I'm the reason the Legion's got none of the information we needed. I have to fix this, Danny."
Keira implored him with her eyes, and he studied her, clearly torn between wanting to both please her and protect her.
What else is new? She thought.
He pushed his blonde hair up off his forehead for a moment, only to let it flop right back into his eyes—a nervous mannerism she knew he'd picked up from Elliott.
"Besides," Keira continued, seizing the opportunity to wheedle him further. "What harm could listening do? I'll keep my distance, I swear!" She could see him starting to give in, losing his conviction, and her tone softened, almost pleading. "This is all my fault, Danny. You know I can't just do nothing."
She watched him expectantly, looking for that familiar spark she knew so well, that look of slightly pained resignation that said, I know you have to do this. I don't like it, but I understand. A moment more, and...There! There it was.
He grimaced and gave a slight, barely perceptible nod. Heart lifted, Keira spun around and jogged to the barn, gathering up tack for the horses before he could change his mind. She felt Danny close behind her and knew, without looking, that he'd be anchoring his longsword to Boyd's saddle. Despite her earlier reservations, she was suddenly very glad to have him at her back. A foot taller and tightly muscled from years spent laboring on Nazor and Elliott's farm, Danny could be scary when he tried, especially with that intimidatingly long blade he carried. Not that Keira was utterly hopeless with a sword—Nazor, had made sure of that. All the same, it was comforting to know he was there, looking out for her.
That was the thing about Danny, she thought, smiling. With you or against you, but always beside you.
* * *
The sun was just peeking over the horizon as Keira and Danny rode into Abalás. Keira felt the familiar sense of excitement that always accompanied a trip into the picturesque riverside town, its market vendors preparing to hawk the day's wares. She took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of fish, river kelp, and the salted incense that kept the food fresh as it made its way downriver to Port Galaén.
"Perhaps we should drop in at the bakery first?" Danny suggested. "The fishwives are always gossiping in there."
Keira rolled her eyes. She knew precisely why Danny wanted to stop by the bakery, and it wasn't to hear the latest gossip. Still, she followed him, saying nothing.
No sooner had they entered and browsed the morning's offerings when Lacy—the baker's pretty, doe-eyed daughter—was at their side. She oohed and aahed over Danny's sword, the same sword, Keira wanted to remind her, that he's had the past six months. Danny clearly didn't mind, though, leaning casually against the wall and tousling his hair in that way Keira knew all the village girls loved. Keira just shook her head, saying nothing, and instead sidled over to the display shelves, hovering near a gaggle of gossiping women. Babies bouncing on their hips, they giggled in pseudo-hushed tones, the way you spoke when you wanted everyone around to hear your news, but wanted them to think you didn't care a bit. Keira listened intently as she pretended to peruse the pastry options.
"You 'ear the news?" asked one woman darkly. "Taxes set to increase by three tenarii next year."
"I swear," replied another, "them dinas'll never be 'appy, not 'til they've bled us dry, one by one."
"Well, what do you lot think of what happened to old Marek?"
"Why, what's happened?"
Keira braced herself, not knowing what rumors the Legion had spread regarding the old snake's death.
"Dead," spat the first, smugly satisfied by her own piece of foreknowledge.
"He ain't never," exclaimed her companion, clearly delighted by this morbid insight.
"I 'eard his own 'lawmen' got him, middle of the night-like. Probably wanted more money, I say, greedy lot like that." The other women nodded in agreement, such things obviously to be expected when mixing with such unsavory peoples.
"Serves him right, I say," declared a third woman. "He's as bad as them dinas, that one. Always overchargin' taxes, takin' more'n his fair share. Everyone knew it," she assured the others, a self-fashioned expert on the subject.
Satisfied that there was little else to be gained from the conversation other than the women's obvious dislike for downlanders, or "dinas," Keira continued to scan the room. Her mouth twisted into a scowl when her gaze lit on Danny, who'd somehow accrued an entire flock of preening girls, their high-pitched giggles doing nothing to improve Keira's rapidly souring mood. Danny caught her eye and subtly signaled toward the door. Not waiting for him to politely extricate himself from his female admirers, Keira yanked open the door—a bit too roughly, if she was honest—and let herself out into the shining mid-morning sun.
When Danny emerged from the bakery, he promptly informed her that one girl's father worked for the local Tiarna as his personal surveyor. He'd heard from his friend—the lord's personal valet—that the Tiarna had called for an investigation into the sudden death of his chief tax collector, Marek. He'd also launched an inquiry into the funding source of Marek's personally procured bodyguards.
"Seems not all of Marek's superiors were aware of his 'lawmen's' activities," Danny said, looking amused.
Keira snorted and answered dryly, "Well, not exactly an eyewitness account there. Couldn't your little friend have been a teensy bit more specific?" Keira quickly regretted the note of bitterness that crept into her voice at the end and glanced at Danny to see if he'd taken offense.
He merely shrugged, saying, "Fair enough, but I think it's probably worth a discussion with the Tiarna himself. Don't you think?"
Keira couldn't argue with that, but still doubted how much the local lord would tell them, even given Elliott and Nazor's connections among the higher-ups in the area. Nevertheless, she turned her horse to follow Danny up the road toward Merchant's Hill and the home of the Tiarna, the local lord.
* * *
Keira could already tell the day would prove unseasonably warm for mid-spring. She was casually wondering if they'd have time for a dip in Lake Abel before returning home when a tremendous crash shocked her out of her reverie.
The horses skittered, and Danny and Keira each grappled with the reins, trying to remain seated while desperately looking around for the source of the noise. Danny spotted it first—the construction site of an enormous home that sat on the edge of Merchant's Hill. Danny spurred Boyd on up the street, with Keira in frantic pursuit. As they neared the site, she realized with a start that it was the Tiarna's home that was being renovated. Screams filled the air, and a sickening lump settled in her gullet. Her eyes settled on the pile of stonework that had fallen from a scaffold, one corner rope snapped, its cargo tumbling to the ground below, where—
Keira's eyes widened.
No, no, no, she thought. There are kids. Why are there kids here?
Keira urged Cerise onward, past Danny, who'd slowed to better take in the scene. Her eyes darted across the scene as her mind tried to deny what they insisted to be true. There had been kids playing at the base of the house walls, directly in the falling stonework's path. She could see them crying, clinging to their mothers. Who are they? The workers' children? Why were they playing there?
Not the point, she decided, riding up to the nearest woman.
"Is anyone missing?" Keira called down to her. The woman looked up, tears in her eyes as she clutched a wailing boy to her chest.
"Lil' Anya Cuball, the poor wynnie, haulin' pebbles just below when it fell. They're tryna dig 'er out now, but..." Her lip quivered as she glanced down at the shaking child in her arms; he couldn't have been more than five or six.
Keira didn't wait for her to finish. Spurring Cerise forward again, she galloped up the remaining hill toward the crowd of laborers desperately shifted through the rubble. A shout rang out as one man stumbled away from the wreckage, arms clutching a girl of about ten years. She lay limp, straw-colored braids obscured by the gray soot that dusted the length of her tiny body, her tattered blue dress stained red with blood.
"Molly," Keira breathed. Could it be? The girl had her cousin's hair color, those same braids. But it couldn't be...could it?
Without thinking, she was off her horse and sprinting toward the young girl, who'd now attracted a wailing crowd. The laborers argued over what to do, who to call for. She had just started elbowing her way to the front when a firm hand grabbed her wrist and a voice in her ear hissed, "Keira, what are you trying to do?"
She looked up into Danny's questioning eyes before shaking him off.
"I have to do something. It's Mo—I mean, she's just a child," Keira amended quickly. It was no use, though—Danny had heard her slip.
"That's not Molly," he whispered gently. "You know it's not. Let them take her to the healer. You cannot expose the Legion, not here, not in front of all these people."
Keira glared at him, her eyes narrowing. "You know they can't help her," she hissed back. "We're the only chance she's got."
And with that, Keira continued pushing her way to the front of the crowd. I can't lose her, not again, she thought. She knew it was irrational, knew this wasn't actually Molly. But she couldn't help it—the instinct was too strong.
Her breath caught when she spied the crumpled child in the center of the circle. She'd trained as an EMT in her former life, all part of her grand plan to go to medical school one day. She'd seen her share of gore, but the sight before her made even her stomach turn. The side of the girl's face was swollen, hair matted with blood and dirt from a crushing blow to the side.
Keira kneeled beside her, ignoring the murmurs of the watching crowd as Danny urged them back, giving her space to work. Hoping to limit prying eyes is more like it, she thought, shaking her head. Too late for that.
As she kneeled above the girl's bruised face, she felt for the whisper of breath she hoped desperately was still there as her fingers frantically sought the pulse in the girl's birdlike wrist. Yes! She felt both, wispy and thread-like, but definitely present. She did a quick sweep of the girl's body, feeling for hidden wounds or broken bones. The head wound was the most obvious, but Keira was more worried about the instability she felt when she pressed the girl's hip bones together. A broken pelvis could be deadly, she knew, especially in a child this small. She could easily bleed out internally with no sign on the outside. And that wasn't even counting the blood-soaked dress that clung to the girl's legs. Keira quickly located the source—a large gash on the inside of the girl's leg.
She pressed a knee down into her groin, hard, trying to stop the crimson flow, but Keira could already see the effects of the girl's blood loss—her paling skin, the thin line of sweat that beaded her brow and upper lip. She would lose her, and soon, if she didn't do something quickly.
Think, Altman, think, she ordered, racking her brain for something, anything she could use to stop what everyone knew was coming. Her pneuma could fix what was broken, that much she knew. But while broken pottery and torn fabric were simple enough, she seriously doubted she'd be strong enough to mend broken bones—not in time to save the girl, and especially not a shattered pelvis.
Then a thought occurred to her. What about blood vessels? She knew they were tiny, only a few cells thick at the most. Could she mend them with her pneuma? She knew surgeons often cauterized bleeding vessels, burning the ends until they sealed themselves off. Based on the amount of blood, though, she suspected that this girl had severed her femoral artery. Even with her basic pre-med biology, Keira knew that cauterizing such a gigantic vessel would merely cut off blood flow to the limb, leading to gangrene and even death.
No, the only chance this girl had was for Keira to try to knit the two ends of the blood vessel together, restoring blood flow to the rest of the leg. How much energy would that take? Keira knew that order—in this case, the bonds to connect cells together—could not be created out of nothing. Order could only be generated from the energy released by progressive disorder. To create, one first had to destroy.
But did she dare? She was talking about trying to harness the energy of chaos, a feat that many had tried and failed to accomplish. She was on the verge of despair when the words from an old lecture of Elliott's came suddenly to mind.
Like flows deftly unto like.
It was a lesson from years ago, one in which Elliott had explained that energy from broken bonds was most easily channeled into the formation of similar ones, even if they belonged to someone else.
It was worth a shot.
Reaching deep into herself, Keira drew upon her pneuma. It quickly sprang to life, following the lead of a hesitant whistle, it twisted and turned, knotting itself into the shape desired. Placing her hand on the girl's blood-soaked leg, Keira sent it deep into the confines of bone and sinew, feeling it wind its way deftly between planes of muscle and fascia until she realized with a start that she'd found what she was looking for. The two ends of the severed artery hung ragged, their shattered walls dark with poorly clotted blood. Eyes closed, she reached quickly for the dagger at her hip, knowing with absolute certainty what she must do.
She acted without hesitation, savagely piercing her own palm, dragging the blade's edge smoothly, deftly, across her skin. Even as blood poured from the wound, in her mind's eye, Keira watched as the ragged edges of the girl's arteries began slowly, surely, knitting themselves together. She felt no fear, even the pain blunted by the thrill that was her creation. She was Pneumos herself, wielding destruction, bending it to her will and forging order out of chaos.
The artery repaired, Keira lifted her knee and felt the crimson tide sprang forth, rushing to fill the vessel's void, perfusing the limb and bringing life to deadness. Again she shifted her mind upward, reaching, searching through muscle and bone for the injury she knew to be there.
And there it was: a branch off of a main artery, sliced by cracked bone and pumping oxygen-rich blood into the cavernous recesses of the girl's cracked pelvis. Deeper still Keira's knife dug, and she felt her own body protest. But drunk as she was with the power that coursed from her severed flesh and into this girl's tiny body, she could hear nothing over the roaring in her ears.
Brawny hands shook her roughly from her trance, a voice ordering, "Keira! Stop now! It's too much!"
Her eyes flickered open, meeting the terrified olive-green gaze before her. Dazed, she watched more than felt as Danny pulled her up and away from the young girl. Pushing through the crowd with one hand, he kept her firmly pinned to his side with the other. Looking back, Keira saw with a distant sense of satisfaction that Anya's eyes were open. Though crying and clearly in pain, she was able to answer questions from a woman who smiled in delight even as tears coursed down her own face, her hands clutching the girl as if she might disappear at any moment.
They had made it back to the horses when Keira stared at her own palm as if it were someone else's, watching as it turned slick with blood. Danny sat her gently on the ground, and she watched as blood flowed down her forearm with the absurd sense that she probably should do something to fix it. Then he was rinsing off the cut with the water from his canteen, mouth set in a firm line and eyes shadowed. Keira flinched at the sting of the cold liquid and saw his jaw clench, but still he said nothing. She had the strangest urge to cackle at the absurdity of the situation, but seeing Danny's face, quickly thought better of it. Only when her hand was clean and bandaged did he finally look her straight in the eye, and she had to stop herself from shivering at the look he gave her.
"What," he demanded, grappling with intense emotion, "the hell was that?"
* * *
Check back next Friday for the next chapter!
I'll be posting one chapter per week in the lead-up to the launch of Book 2 - Haven Enduring, Coming July 2021!
Want to read faster? Find the full book wherever online books are sold (Amazon, B&N, Kobo, GooglePlay, etc.)