Chapter 08 | Departure. 

Aire woke.

Metal bit into her wrists. Ice bit into her neck. She didn't open her eyes, groaning in the back of her throat as pain pulsed behind her eyeballs. The jangle of metal shredded at her eardrums. Consciousness filtered back in broken shards of darkened memories and pain.

Her tongue was thick on her tongue.

There was slick stone under her back, the chill seeping in through her clothes. Damn Aevran. This wouldn't be the first time he had left her somewhere rotten after drinking. She would always be safe, but drunken Aevran delighted in finding ways to torture hungover Aire.

"Aev...?" Her voice croaked.

She cracked an eye open, then shut it quickly. The light was harsh and the rays felt like blades being driven into her eyeballs. She could only imagine the trouble she had caused the night before to feel like this now.

Her tongue was thick and heavy in her mouth as she swallowed. She took a breath, bracing herself for the light.

Wet stone walls greeted her. Moss clung to the bricks and water leaked in through a tiny vertical window in the upper corner. The window would not even allow a child to squeeze though and the light that shone through it was un-natural.

Torch-light?

This was not right? Had Aevran thrown her into a cell as a joke?

It hurt to sit up, her body a pulsing mess of bruises. Worst was the side of her head. As she probed the side of her head, dried blood flaked off onto her fingers.

Silver eyes. A bag of coin in familiar hands.

The memories tinkled back, like fragments of a shattered pot falling onto the ground. Aire's breath caught in her throat, the blow of the betrayal driving the air from her lungs. She still wore her clothes. Her hair was still braided and dark with Rot-Wort. Was she still in Irial?

Chains weighed down her wrists. A cuff was snapped around her neck.

She pushed back against the stone wall, struggling to stand. The world swam and she bit down a curse. The Bloodbound had hit her hard enough that the world seemed tilted and watery, and her blessed blood had not saved her from the pain.

But she was not dead.

"You are awake." A woman called to her.

Aire jerked in fright and pain lanced like fire up her body. She steadied herself, eyeing the stranger sitting in the far corner. She was lean and tall, with her knees tucked tight to her chest. She watched Aire with carnelian eyes framed with thick lashes that brushed, like butterfly wings, against her high cheekbones. A halo of dark, tightly coiled curls framed her strong face.

"Was I asleep long?" Aire croaked.

The woman arched a thick brow. "I watch your breathing for hours, hoping you do not die and you do not even greet me?"

Her accent was not Irialian. Nor was it Kaelarian. It was a rolling lilt, with a smooth curl at the end of her words. She had heard the accent before, from the people of Knechru in the south where the sun burned and the great cities of pale stone housed warriors to ride Drakons that once roamed the sandstone wastes.

"I am sorry." Aire inclined her chin. "I am Aire Thielan."

"Hmmm." The prisoner mused, examining her. "I am Nyeth Cathra."

A Knechru name. It made her think of Roster and keen pain bloomed again. Did he know of the betrayal? Were they laughing at her stupidity right now? "Why are you imprisoned here?"

"For the same reason as you, Aire Thielan. I am a Wielder."

Aire jack-knifed again, a breath whistling through her clenched teeth as her head pulsed once more. "A Wielder?"

Wielders.

Nyeth's smile was soft. "As I said."

Aire shifted forward, tears springing to her eyes. "I have not spoken to another Wielder in many years. It has felt as if magic has left us completely."

She had grown up enmeshed in the world of magic and power, having mostly fond memories of her childhood. She had played in trees whose branches had danced underneath her, had played with the Bodach who taught her tricks and how to pass unseen. The merrows in the sea had taught her how to swim, their webbed hands guiding her kicking legs and keeping her upright as the rough waves rolled by. They had sung to her in the growing dark, their beautiful faces half-beneath the water as they watched to make sure she returned home safely.

They were as common as Wielders and suffered to, when the Crimson wave washed over Cearnia. Their salmon tails were hung from the fish-mongers or their red-caps hidden to trap them on land, married to husbands who wanted them for nothing only their beauty.

"Magic is rare, but it is not dead."

"Are you the only one here?"

"There is a handful more." Nyeth's attention switched to the door, drawn by a distant noise. "I didn't know them well, but I wish for their survival when the hour grows dark. At least now, I have company."

"Have you been alone for long?" Aire asked.

"Lesser than some, but too long for my mind." Nyeth replied.

"I am not great company now, I am afraid." Aire admitted, unwittingly thinking of Aevran and the people she had considered friends.

"You are better than the rats," Nyeth shifted again, clearly uncomfortable. "I always knew a Bloodbound would catch up with me one day, but now it has happened, I am disappointed. I wanted to die with a weapon in my hand. Not held down and restrained."

The sincerity in her words made Aire smile. "With your weapons raised?"

"And the bodies piling at my feet. I wanted to kill at least one Bloodbound in my life."

"At least one?" Her skull hurt when she laughed. "You cannot kill a Bloodbound."

"Cannot. Should not." Nyeth scoffed. "Weak words, Aire. Anything can be done."

"I have never heard of a Bloodbound being killed."

"And that means it cannot be done? People said that Drakon's could not be tamed and yet, there are those who sit on their leather saddles and traverse the sand-stone wastes. People said that the old Kingdom of Cearnia could not be conquered and it was dismantle in one wave. They said that Vespith would never concede to the Empire's rule and it did. All remains is for them to traverse the great wilderness of Sibran, but it will be done. Perhaps in my lifetime, perhaps not. Anything can be done."

"Anything? Like escaping a Bloodbound and not dying a horrendous death?" Aire sat back again, heaving a sigh.

"Do not be so morose." Nyeth told her. "I doubt either of us have survived this long without learning a few skills."

"Like escaping chains?"

"No." Nyeth conceded. "But when they threw you in here, they laughed that you had been coming down to free us."

Had she been so open? Had she plotted her terrible plan, ignorant to her friends mocking her behind her back. "I had planned that, but I was betrayed. I shouldn't be surprised by it, but the wound is vicious."

Nyeth's face creased. "Why should you not be surprised? Betrayal only works when it is someone we trust driving the blade in."

"I should have learned long ago that a Wielder should trust no one. And ... they truly didn't know everything about me." Not even Aevran. He had known most things, but not everything.

"That is a sad life to live, Aire Thielan." Nyeth turned her attention to the door once more. "We must be careful, but never alone. A lone Wielder, lost and afraid is a dangerous one."

'But I am alone.' Aire thought, old shame, layered with years of denial burned. She had been alone for so long and had posed no danger to those who tore her life apart. Still, she had to die for the blood in her veins and the magic seeped into her bones.

Nyeth froze as the door's bolt slid back. She pressed back into the cold stone walls, thunder rolling over her face. A Crimson stepped inside, his dirk unsheathed. He was young, his breath shaking as he surveyed them. "Stay by the walls."

Aire recognised the young soldier. A new recruit that had been pulled into Junhyn's pocket and had shared many drinks with her over several work-nights. He was Cearnain born, but he would never admit it. The wounds of the war that dismantled that Kingdom were too raw. "You know that I am not threat to you, Aonghus."

"Don't speak to me, witch." Aonghus levelled a blade at her face, his face reddening. "I do not know you."

"She is leashed by chains that mute her magic." The Bloodbound appeared in the doorway and the air in the room dipped. Gone were the ornate clothes he had worn at parties, replaced by riding leathers with straps criss-crossing his broad chest. Tiny vials were safely encased in pouches and weapons hung from his belt. Aire shrunk back as he beheld her.

In the tiny space, he was immense. Bloodbounds could not be killed. This one looked lethal, long and lean with his body wrapped in corded muscles. His hands, long fingered and elegant were marked with the welts from a weapon, laced with healed scars that appeared only as he passed under the light.

"Our diversion to Irial is over," He addressed the room. "We are carrying too much cargo now to linger."

The Bloodbound moved to unlock Nyeth from the walls. Nyeth shrunk back, kicking out at him. He avoided the weak blow and she spat at him then, cursing him.

The Bloodbound froze. His hand snapped out and he held her chin tight. Nyeth's nostrils flared but she conceded. He leaned close. "You think that provoking me will break my resolve, Wielder. You think I will snap and give you the mercy of a quick death. You can continue to think that if it gives you peace."

Nyeth glared up at him.

Desperate to slice through the growing tension, aware that a simple squeeze of the Bloodbound's hand could shatter the other Wielder's jaw, Aire asked. "What happened to Junhyn?"

He glanced at her as he slid the guard over Nyeth's mouth. He hauled her to her feet as he answered. "He scurried back into the darkness to tell his friends that you were laced in chains."

"I will kill him." All of them. The promise she had made in blood meant nothing now. All who had witnessed it were dead and the earth that had taken her blood was dying. They had to die, but she doubted the joy she would take in it would last long.

"You will not get that chance." The Bloodbound leaned down to unclip her from the wall. The wild fall of fresh rain, the scent of evergreen wood. So stark in a city of rot. He unchained her from the wall and hauled her to her feet. His hold lingered as she swayed. She tried to yank herself from his grip.

He cocked a brow. "Are you intending to fight me?"

"Eventually." A Bloodbound could not be killed.

"Then you are stupid."

She gritted her teeth and glared at him. The betrayal had torn at her own self-preservation; she had seen torment, pain and loss but had never been stabbed in the back. "Do you expect me to sit by and let my death come easily?"

"It will come no matter how hard you fight."

"I will make it difficult at least."

"I doubt that, sweet one." He snapped her wrists together and hauled her out into the hall where she was chained beside Nyeth. They were marched down the dark, grimy hall where the low flickering lights cast shadows of people that were not there. Nyeth demanded to know where they were going.

She was given no answer.

The floor underneath them rose swiftly, the wet stone offering little purchase under their boots.

Light greeted them at the top, as if they were emerging from the gullet of a beast. Nyeth hissed at the sight of it, balking for a second before a Crimson hit her sharply between the shoulder-blades. "Keep moving."

There were more soldiers here in the great hall of Irial. They passed rooms of destroyed art, great mosaics that had been chipped away. The library was a graveyard of ash, with tables set amongst it where off-duty soldiers played cards.

They stood swiftly as the Bloodbound passed.

They were pushed through the grand doors and out into the square.

It was a dull day. A soft rain fell and a cold wind leaked through her damp clothing.

A crowd waited in the silence.

A line of Crimsons stood before the crowd, but no one fought to get close. A prisoner's wagon sat in the middle, the bars open on the side and wrapped in razor wire.

Nyeth pressed close to her side, her breath stuttering in fear. Aire's gaze swept over the crowd, her gaze unyielding. She saw none of Junhyn's people amongst the crowds.

Cowards. All of them.

If they had the spine to look her in the eye... no. She didn't think it would dampen the rage inside of her, burning hotter even as the rain chilled her skin. She had lived in this city of rot for too long, had saved their lives too many times and had collected secrets to fill their pockets with coin and they re-payed her with this. 

She had been trapped in the same orphanage as some of them, all children displaced by the war and discontent. They had escaped that life together and cleaved safety for themselves in a city that ate children and discarded them as scraps for the pigs. 

Aire wished with sudden viciousness that she had a Wield that was dangerous. One that would raze through the streets and wash out the catacombs, leaving only their bones.

There were other prisoners standing before the wagon. Two young boys with sheared dark hair with their eyes and ears covered. A young woman, shivering violently. Five Wielders – all captured twelve years after the Crimson reign had begun.

The crowd said nothing, just watched, as they were bundled into the cart. She could not lean back against the bars behind her – one of the boys tried, whimpering when the razor wire bit into him. In the crowd, a woman raised her hand.

Dog Hunt Daria. Aire wanted to weep, knowing she would never see her and any of the Wielders again. They could not follow when their bones were trapped here. Royden's pinkie had been taken from her, the familiar weight gone from her neck. 

Another sliver of movement. Roster stood there, his face solemn. He signed, "Aire."

She could not move her hands to reply. Coward.

She turned her face away.

The wagon turned the corner. More unknown faces gazed upon them. the silence was deafening. The wagon stopped as they waited for the gates to open. The Bloodbound rose alongside the wagon on a great beast with a coat of coal-black. The horse snorted and pawed at the ground.

Royden appeared. Gone was his usual dry cheer and he reached for her, his hands passing through the razor bars. As he leaned forward, his guts pooled out of his body and onto the blood stained wood. His hands pressed over hers, into hers.

She couldn't feel it.

"We will see each other again." He vowed.

Tears wet her cheeks. The city sighed as the great gates opened, revealing flat lands and the outcrop of farms for miles ahead. The cart rolled on and Royden vanished, caught by the wind and scattered. The roads were wide enough for wagons and marching soldiers. It would diverge, branching every which way across the great lands. Irial was an escape to every corner of the Empire.

Aire didn't look back as they passed under the gates.

Only when the groaning of the gates sounded behind them, shutting them out, did she begin to sob. 

| Welcome back to 'Wicked is the Curse' 

Aire's world is reeling. 

What do you think of this new Wielder? Can you guess what her magic might be? 

What awaits Aire beyond Irial? 

Do you think she and Royden will be able to see each other other? 

Until next time - Saoimarie |