Firelight
an excerpt

At first there was an absence of noise. Not silence. This was worse. She struggled to open her eyes before realizing that they were already opened. There was a total absence of light as well. She lay on the ground, writhing, struggling to feel. Her body felt broken and strange. She ran her fingers over smooth limbs. Noises were starting to expose themselves. A steady drip, drip, drip. The sucking sound of animal feet pulling in and out of the sodden ground. A call, here and there, like birds singing out to each other.
There were no birds here, of that she was sure.
Memory seemed clearer than reality. She could remember fire, the taste of blood like iron in her mouth. She remembered feelings of loss and hopelessness, so strong that a keening wail rose in her throat. The wail broke through the quiet like a mortar through a wall. The strength of her voice amazed and horrified her. She broke the wail off, suddenly, without letting it die naturally.
Silence fell again, broken only by the steady dripping and her own muffled sobs.
She lay, naked, covered in black grime. She shivered and shook, thin pale hands scrabbling at her skin. She was realizing now that she could see. She was out in the woods some where, far from any light or signs of people. She was naked and cold.
She had absolutely no idea who she was, where she was, or why she was.
She pulled herself to a sitting position, examining her bone-white hands, thin feet, slightly muscled arms and legs. She felt at her face. This body seemed so unfamiliar. She remembered herself as taller, thinner, darker. When did she become so small? So easily broken? So frail?
"Who am I?" She asked the darkness.
The darkness answered back:
Am I, am I, am I...
The woman jumped, startled. "Who are you?"
Are you, are you, are you...
Memory suddenly fell like a veil over the present. She saw a bright, green wood, a man's body fallen on the ground, blood spreading like a pool. Again she screamed, this time letting the wail die it's natural death. It trailed down to a fresh bout of sobbing. If only she could remember who she was and how she had gotten to this place.
The woods here were bare of leaves, black and murky. Everything seemed painted with gray and brown and rot. It seemed like the waiting room for the dead, the way she'd imagined it when she was a small child. Was she dead?
"Am I dead?" She asked the night.
Dead, dead, dead, was the reply.
"Who was he?"
Was he, was he, was he...
"Is he dead?"
Dead, dead, dead, echoed out again.
Yes, the woman thought, I must be dead. I must not be able to remember who are what or why I am, because I am still in shock from my own death. Only these woods seemed to solid and real to be the woods of the netherworld, and her own body felt too solid and real to be a spiritual one.
So what was happening? What was this?
The woman struggled to her feet. Her legs shook uncontrollably, unsure of themselves. She fell back to the muddy ground with a resounding smack. Laughter rang out in the woods. It took her a moment to realize that she wasn't the one laughing. Her body curled back on itself by instinct. She looked around, searching for any sign of who might be there. The sky was dark, there was no moon or stars to help her.
There was no sign of anything at all.
Then, slowly, black seemed to separate from black. Thin creatures seemed to be moving. Forward and backward, side to side, they moved so quickly her eyes couldn't seem to focus on them. Her eyes couldn't focus, that was, until bright red points started shining in the darkness. The creatures were looking back at her.
"Who are you?" She called out.
Are you, are you, are you...
"Why are you doing this to me?"
To me, to me, to me...
One figure seemed to separate from the others. It moved towards her, slowly and slickly. It spoke with a voice that was clearly audible. Dark, like oil, darkly this figure glimmered. "My, how the mighty have fallen," he said.
"Who are you," the woman said. It was not a question so much as a statement of her own confusion.
"I am what I am," the figure replied. "I am here to watch your triumphant return. Though, might I say, dear heart, that triumph isn't generally naked in the mud. I would have expected angels to fly you down to the earth, yourself dressed in silk and diamonds, with a halo of white-hot gold. Perhaps the heavens are not pleased with your performance?"
"I have no idea-"
"Of that which I speak," the voice said.
I speak, I speak, I speak, the multitudes affirmed.
The woman stared helplessly at her dirty hands. "Can you tell me who I am?"
"Oh, could I!" The figure laughed, "I could sing you a thousand songs and dance a thousand dances about who you were, but all I care about is what you have become. Small, weak, nameless, and left alone for me to glory over."
Glory over, glory over, glory over...
The woman forced herself back to her feet. "I will not sit here to be mocked by the darkness!"
The darkness, the darkness, the darkness...
"But, dear heart, you have no choice!"
No choice, no choice, no choice...
Anger welled up inside the woman. Harsh and powerful, it blocked out all thought. It coursed through her veins, heating her cold skin. The taste of iron returned to her mouth, swelling up behind her eyes, obliterating her vision. All she saw was red.
The figure laughed at her, "angry, child?" He asked, "do you want to hurt me?"
Hurt me, hurt me, hurt me...
"Stay with it," he said. "Stay with that anger. Stay with that pain, feed it to me!"
To me, to me, to me...
Again she looked at her dirty hands. Suddenly she was struck by the fact that it was not mud she was covered in.
It was blood.
The iron taste in her mouth kept growing stronger and stronger. Her legs were shaking. Her head was cloudy. All she could see was that man, that man in the meadow, covered in blood. This was his blood. His blood.
"His blood," she said.
His blood, his blood, his blood...
Suddenly she was alone. Completely alone. The woman looked around, feeling small and pitiful and scared. She had to find clothes to wear, food to eat, some kind of shelter. She could tell that this was not a world where one should ever be alone.
She ran.
*
Zantra sat on her balcony, hands folded delicately in her lap. She looked out over the darkness with tired eyes. Soon she would be summoned for tea with the Queen Mother. She would have to pretend to be shy and unassuming. She would have to laugh at stupid jokes and gossip like a child and pretend to care to learn all of the ins and outs of court intrigue. Right now, in the silence, she could look over the lights of the city and feel some kind of peace.
Peace, blended with horror.
In a few months she would be sitting here, looking out, and she would be the Queen. She would be observing her minions. The thought made her want to scream. For the rest of her life, she would live in the darkness. A darkness of the soul, a darkness of the morals, but also the literal darkness. For over a hundred years the city of Dechi and the surrounding land had been shrouded in darkness.
A hundred years ago was the golden age of Ayre. The lands of Eludel, Lauo, Maar, and Dunhaven had come together under the rule of Asunmae Dechi. That was the time of the Betrayal. The Prophecy of Betrayal came true.
A woman stands
In the Garden of Light
Sheds the Blood of the Beloved
And Dark covers the Land
People had said those words for ages. They stood as a warning to young women about to marry. Don't let your anger conquer you, or you will live in darkness. Their origin had been all but forgotten, until Asunmae Dechi's betrothed was killed on the day of their marriage, and the world fell into darkness.
The Caer, the creatures of darkness, came into the land. They blotted out the sun. The people of light, the Elirii, fled. There were pockets of light, here and there. The town where Zantra had been raised was one of them. Those were places where the Elirii were still revered. Where people believed that the prophecy of Betrayal was an incomplete teaching. They spoke in whispers of a further line:
In the Morning rises the Sun
There would be a morning, they believed in it. All over the world the sun rose in the morning. Travelers from far away lands would come to the people of Dechi and would promise them that there was hope. The Caer could be fought back. The sun could return to the sky.
The people of Dechi were too afraid to fight. Blood had been shed in the sacred garden, the Elirii had deserted them. There was not a single weapon made by man that could pierce the heart of a creature of darkness. Men had tried and had been driven insane. They couldn't leave Dechi, either. Every child born under the darkness had a dark mark on the back of his neck. If a marked man left the darkness, he would die in his sleep.
Thousands had tried, only to be dragged back to the borders and tossed across. Eventually people just stopped trying. Zantra wasn't marked. She was born in the light. Her mother had given her life for Zantra to be able to leave Dechi and forge a life elsewhere. What her mother hadn't known was that her father had owed the King a blood debt. When the King learned that Zantra had been born, he demanded her for his son. Zantra had been dragged back, in the night, carried by the Caer.
She had lived in the town of Laodicea, in the light. She had believed the prophecies of a morning to come. Every day, she had gone to the border, praying that the darkness would be gone. The darkness stayed, and so did Zantra. At first she stayed because she didn't want her father to be killed. Then, she stayed because she wanted to be Queen.
In any case, she had stayed. So here she was, looking at her soon to be minions. Waiting to be called for tea with the Queen Mother. Hating herself, passionately.
*
The woman had come across a town. One moment, she was running in the darkness. Her feet were bloodied and torn. She was running out of breath. She could sense the dark figures following her. Then, suddenly, a town sprang out of the darkness. The woman stopped. She looked. She wondered what her next move should be. Should she just walk in to the town and beg for help? Would they think she was insane, lock her up? She couldn't remember her name, or why she was here. She didn't know where she was from. She had nothing to trade, no skills that she was aware of.
They would have no reason to help her.
So the woman stood, staring at the town, wondering.
"Hey!" A voice cried out. The woman looked around, seeing no one.
"Hey!" The voice called out louder. Now the woman saw a watch tower, off to her left. She didn't know why she hadn't seen it before. A mirror swung around and suddenly she was standing in a beam of light. The woman threw an arm up over her eyes and swung the other in a pitiful attempt to cover her nakedness.
"Help!" She called out, "I woke up in the woods, I'm naked and cold, I don't know how I got here..."
"Stop explaining," the voice shouted, "help will be there soon."
The woman waited, shaking. She could see a man climbing down from the watch tower with blankets lashed to his back. He trotted over to her, unfolding the blankets and holding one out in front of him. At first the woman thought that it was the man from her vision, come to life. He seemed as tall, with the same slightly wavy brown hair, the same slightly lined dark eyes, the same athletic built and pinched mouth. Then the woman shook herself back to reality. The man in her vision was very dead, and this one was very alive. "Here, my lady," the man said, looking away as he held out the blanket.
The woman took the blanket and wrapped it around her body. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I have no memory of a day ago or a year ago, I just... I just..."
The man patted her on her back. "That's okay. My name is Brendon."
"My name is..." The woman paused, "I don't know what my name is."
"Just woke up naked in the woods?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's midweek, so let's call you Anaya."
"Excuse me?"
"A few times every month someone just shows up. We're a trot from the border, and when the Caer get pinchy they like to steal new minions. I'm sure someone in your family sold you for a favor, and now you're here."
Anaya was aghast, "I was..."
"Probably sold. Maybe you sold yourself for someone else, it happens."
"It..."
"It happens," Brendon said kindly. "The important thing is that the innkeeper here will give you clothes and put you up. Come with me."
"Anaya," the woman said.
"Beginning of the week, people are named with a variation of Tom, middle of the week An, and of the week Bren."
"You are Brendon?"
"Yes." Brendon smiled again. "I showed up a year or so back. I decided to stay here and help the other blanks for a while. Some day I'll move on."
"Blanks." Anaya said coldly, "is that what we are? Blanks?"
"It's not a kind word," Brendon said, "but that is indeed what we are. We are blank. We need to be fed and clothed and named, like babies. What would you call it?"
Anaya said nothing.
*
There was a short rapport at Zantra's door. Zantra heard her maid, Dachae, go to answer it. There was a hushed conversation and then the rustle of fabric falling back across the doorway. Dachae bustled out on to the balcony. "That was the guard, sent to escort you to the Queen Mother's suite." Dachae bowed and back out.
Zantra liked Dachae. She was small, she was sweet, she had a sense of humor. Maids were paid for their propriety, but Dachae seemed to always be holding in a laugh when Zantra was, dying of boredom when Zantra was, and watching the men of the Court when Zantra was. Were Zantra not the princess and Dachae not a maid, they might have been friends.
Dachae stood at the doorway, her hands tucked behind her back and her brown hair flying out of its bun. Zantra paused, looking at her. There was a small smudge of dirt on Dachae's cheek. Fortunately her hands were clean.
"Oh, Dachae," Zantra said in exasperation.
Dachae's brown eyes went wide with shock, "what is it, my lady?"
"Go fix your hair and wash your face. Quickly." Zantra sighed, "if you are untidy, you won't hear the end of it."
Dachae rushed into the washroom. Zantra could hear her cursing herself. Zantra smiled and examined her own hair, face and hands. Everything seemed to be in order. Blonde hair neatly plaited and pinned back, hands and face clean, face lightly powdered, lips wet, eyes dark blue and lids dusted with color. Grey dress immaculate.
All was well.
*
Brendon led Anaya around the town wall, back behind all of the buildings and out of the view of the public. "Some men," he was saying, "lead the blanks right up the center of town. I personally find that abhorrent. It's what happened to me."
Anaya lowered her eyes, blushing. "Thank you for your kindness."
"No need to thank me," Brendon said, slowing. "Here we are."
They were in a yard littered with rain barrels and old pots and pans. Laundry was hanging off of lines. Several day lamps lit the area rather brightly. A few maids were sitting on the back porch, drinking from canteens and laughing. They had knitting in their laps. One sprung to her feet. She was a little older, her hair beginning to gray. She was plump, dressed conservatively, and dimply when she smiled. She rushed up to Anaya. "Oh, you poor dear, look at that hair. What a shame. What're we calling her then, love?"
Brendon smiled, "Anaya, I think."
"A sweet name. Been a while since we had one." The woman put an arm protectively around Anaya's shoulders. "I'm Marcella, my husband owns this ridiculous place. That lump on the porch there is Candice, my daughter. Candice!" Marcella called harshly, "put down that worthless sock you're making and draw this poor soul a bath!"
Brendon chuckled, "you should be well cared for, here."
"You back to guard duty, then, love?" Marcella asked Brendon.
"I have to be. The Caer have been performing a lot of blood rituals lately. You know what happened in Myr when they got lax."
Marcella ran a finger in a circle around her heart and raised her eyes to the sky, "Elirii protect," she said. Brendon did the same. Anaya looked at both of them, confused. She wasn't sure if she should mimic their actions. She wanted to ask what it was, but she felt that perhaps she shouldn't. She didn't feel ready to learn what happened in Myr.
"Off with you," Marcella said to Brendan, pushing him on the shoulder. He laughed, and left. Marcella hugged Anaya roughly, "you, dear, look like you need a bath and a meal and a good sleep. Don't you worry. This is one of the safest places you could be."
"I'm not worried," Anaya said. She couldn't be sure if she was lying.