Chapter Ten | Primrose.

The days continued to pass in a blur of walking and hunger. 

The hours muddied together in Aire's mind, with only the growing undercurrent of fury building deep within her heavy bones and aching muscles. The need for Eoban scraped against her resolve, thirst burning in her throat. She thought about it before she could stop herself, tasting the bitterness on her tongue before the beast constrained in her blood lunged. 

Magic, no matter how small, was a vicious, vengeful thing when spited.

She had always claimed that the Eoban had no hold over her, but she had gone years without having her blood undiluted. She had taken more and more herbs to keep the beast quiet and now without it, chains kept it restrained.

Worse, was the dye running from her hair.

The dirt of the road masked the worst of the flaking, dry dye. Dust clogged her nose, marking her face and streaking into her hair. The spell of heat passed and overhead, the sky grew grey and troublesome. Rain fell in spluttering bursts, soaking them and forcing the Crimsons to find shelter in the trees. When the spells of rain passed, they walked through wades of putrid mud that cakes to their boots. The rain turned the road to sludge and Aire, with panic choking in her throat, threw herself into the mud when they were eating.

She faked exhaustion and bore the slaps that the Crimsons gave her, hiding her smile. She would steal success wherever she could.

Aire recognized only slices of the land around her. The flat fields spread out around them, with small beaten down cottages with thatched rooves. Haggard men and women knelt in the fields that were separated by low stone walls. The smell of rot permeated the air. The Crimsons didn't allow them to speak near the farmlands, fearful that their murmurings would concoct a spell of rally the farmers to save them.

Aire cursed their stupidity.

A Wield was not brought on from words. It was something intertwined with the very essence of a Wielder's soul, cemented down into their bones. It looked to be the wave of a hand, the click of someone's fingers to the un-trained eye.

No.

Aire had grown past the age of being granted a Wield, so she had watched her sisters train everyday under her parents' strict instructions. A Wield was power, safety and a responsibility that people forgot, was also a burden. The irony was never lost on her. Aire, the one whose blood was thin with magic, had been the only one to survive.

Only when the Crimson wave had washed through the land and the bodies began piling up on the roads, hanging from the rafters of their homes and from the gates of great cities, did she begin to see those who could not pass.

Mamae had always said that the magic was a gift, but as Aire watched her world burn and the spirits rise around her, she knew that if it was a gift, it was one for the damned.

The walking continued.

"The crops are rotting in the fields," A Crimson murmured to his partner.

"Not a concern for us. We can sustain ourselves on the crops from Cearnia and imports from Knechru." His partner, Lakron smiled.

"What of the peasants?"

"What of them?"

"If they starve, there will be none to work the land."

"They breed like rats and multiply in the blink of an eye. A culling of their numbers is needed."

'Poultice,'   Aire thought caustically, glaring at the back of Lakron's head.

They passed under the shadow of a rotting apple tree. An orchard spread out to their left, the boughs of the trees sagging, the trunks collapsing in on themselves. A worker knelt in the fields, the sludge of apples melting between his fingers.

The earth was dying.

"The gods have abandoned us." Aire murmured.

They had not come when their blessed children had been butchered in their thousands. They had not come when their homeland had been sliced up and divided between the Kaelarian lords. The gods had walked Cearnia an age ago, but there were many who had hoped they would return in times of great trouble.

But no, they had continued to slumber, deaf to the pleas of their magical children.

They passed the orchard and marched past another set of fields. A cow, thin and weak, trembled in the wind. A farmer was unearthing clods of soil with his son and behind them, a small girl watched.

They raised their heads as the convoy passed. The farmer went still, the dirt falling from his hands. The Bloodbound raised a hand as if they were old friends and the farmer balked, yanking his son behind him as he fled into his tiny cottage.

A small wooden door to protect him against the man wearing a beast's skin.

The farmer left his daughter in the field. Wisps of her hair danced from her patchy head, her clothes hanging to her tiny frame. Her legs were bone-thin, the knees caving in. She watched them with massive eyes, too large for her hollowed face. Her bare feet sunk into the rotting ground.

"He left his daughter." Aire murmured.

"What did you say Aire?" Nyeth's voice was a harsh whisper.

The tiny girl was trembling. She met Aire's gaze, tentatively raising her bone-thin hand. Aire could not raise her chained hands. 

"The girl." Aire turned, the chains pulling. "He just left her there."

The girl stared at Aire, taking a tiny step forward. The mud held fast to her legs, and she struggled to escape it's hold.

"What are you speaking of?" The procession slowed as the Bloodbound spoke, his voice low and inquisitive.

Aire jerked, glancing up at him. He loomed over her, appearing soundlessly. He looked out into the fields, his expression unchanging.

Aire looked back to the field.

The girl was gone.

Oh. Her chest tightened. "It was nothing."

The Bloodbound didn't question her on it and the walking continued. They left the open road, travelling on rougher paths that were marked by looping roots of towering trees that cut into the dismal skies. They were protected from the worse of the weather by the fanning canopies of great trees. The rot had spared these giants. Through the whistling of wind around great trunks, Aire could hear the rush of water.

That night, they lay huddled together. Aire's hands shook as she held her pitiful helping of meat and thistle stew and she bit her lip, trying not to cry as she eyed the stew that had fallen onto the ground. She was hungry enough to mop it up from the ground with her hands, a leaf, anything.

Brice took the bowl from her hands and wordlessly began to feed her. Brice used leaves to try and clean Aire's hands, pausing when she beheld the silver scars crossing Aire's skin.

She said nothing and for that, Aire was grateful.

Siseal coughed through the night, drawing the ire of the soldiers who struggled to sleep amongst the closely packed trees. Aire imagined wolves in the dark and stayed awake, half-delirious with exhaustion. Brice did not sleep either, watching Siseal until the warm light of dawn touched the cloth around his eyes.

In the morning, they were roused to their feet, chained in a line and forced to walk once again. Here, the path cut up harshly; the incline was harsh on her burning thighs. Aire could only think of how her crew would laugh if they saw her now, exhausted, starving and driven half mad by the thirst for water and Eoban.

The Bloodbound vanished into the trees that morning and Aire watched the darkness for a flash of silver or gold. She soon gave up, her legs trembling and her mood hanging together by a very frayed, thin piece of thread.

"One more step." She ordered herself, her mouth dry.

As afternoon bled into the evening time, Siseal fell.

The chains holding them pulled taunt and Brice let out a cry at the violent pull, staggering backwards. The Crimsons turned and Aire's heart dropped as the Crimson Lakron was the first to step forward, his face a mask of vicious delight. "Get up, boy!"

At the front of the line, Anluan twisted to find his twin. "Get up, Siseal."

"I-" Siseal breathed a harsh breath, his face white with pain. He was clutching his ankle and the cloth had slipped around his eyes. "My ankle."

"It is not gone. You can walk on it." Lakron fisted the front of Siseal's shirt. Aire glanced down. Siseal's had lost his shoe, exposing a threadbare sock soaked with blood. His ankle was twisted and swelling quickly.

"I cannot," Siseal sobbed as Lakron forced him to stand. Only the Crimson's harsh hold kept the young boy standing.

"Let me heal his ankle," Brice righted herself, raising her shackled wrists. "It will only take a moment."

The watching Crimsons protested. Lakron scoffed at her. "Do not try and fool me witch."

Witch?

"I am a healer." Brice shook her shackled hands. "I use my Wield to heal. Please, let me heal him and we can continue. The boy is sick and now injured. He needs aid."

"He is now dead weight." Lakron looked to Siseal's pain-streaked face. "A lump of flesh that has now numbered the breath in his lungs. A horse can carry a sack of meat, but I would not debase the animal by forcing it to bear a living Wielder. I am not a stupid man, witch. I will not release your hands and subject my fellow soldiers to your un-natural magic."

Aire's frayed temper snapped. How dare he? Siseal was just a boy – how could he defend himself, exhausted and shackled as he was? "You say you are not stupid, but why do you act like it?"

Lakron paused. Slowly, he met Aire's defiant glare.  "What did you say to me?"

Moons, this was a bad idea. But her temper was frayed, her mood so dark that she would scrap and fight with every one of these bullies. Usually, Aevran would be at her shoulder to cut in with a comment as-well,  but Aire had no such aid now.

"You stand here, pretending to be a big-man, but the only enemy you can win against it a shackled child. You are as cruel as you are stupid."

The Crimson released Siseal's collar and Aire braced herself. "Do you want to die, girl?"

"The only way you can kill me is if I am shackled and defenseless." Aire rose to her full height, trying to imagine that she was someone stronger, someone braver – but she was not. Her voice shook and her shackled hands' trembling worsened. "I said that you are stupid and the longer you continue to speak, the more you prove my point."

Someone in the Crimson crowd gave a rasping laugh.

"I think death would be preferable to this farce," Nyeth glanced at Aire. "The boy is sick and injured. You have the perfect solution to help him and continue our journey without delay. And yet, you continue to ask stupid questions and threaten people who cannot fight back."

The women shared a look. Nyeth's eyes glimmered with determination, her strong jaw set. In that moment, Aire felt as if Nyeth understood the role she was playing. A role Nyeth would step into too, if it meant keeping Siseal safe. The moment passed and the rotted pit of betrayal inside her chest gave a painful throb.

Lakron lunged. Aire had a mere second to brace before he struck her across the face. The metal guard over his gloves sliced into her cheek. Aire cried out and he struck again. Nyeth pulled on her chains, bellowing a yell.

"Coward," Nyeth hissed. "Coward."

Aire's vision shook, but Lakron was not some beast like the Bloodbound was. He was just a man, and she was not so easily cowed. She shook her head, feeling the warmth of blood down her cheek. It dripped from her jaw.

A Crimson yanked Neith back and Lakron stepped back, slipping a knife from his belt. "The boy is a burden. The Emperor doesn't need breathing Wielders."

Aire's anger quickly soured. "We can carry him."

"He would be no burden." Anluan's voice shook. "Please."

"I will not risk the rest of your collapsing. The boy does not deserve the air in his lungs, nor a horse. The Emperor will be content with his carcass." Lakron savoured their panic, their dread.

Hatred curled in her gut.

As Lakron stepped towards Siseal, Aire surged forward. As if on instinct, Brice, Nyeth and Anluan moved with her. Several guards caught the chains, but Aire pushed forward. A man grunted in surprise, digging his heels into the earth. Aire's body trembled. She took another step forward, her boots sinking into the mud. Her body screamed.

The Crimsons continued to pull.

Their heels slipped and she gained an inch. 

"Fool." Lakron struck her again and she reeled, tasting blood on her tongue.

"Coward," Hatred seethed inside her chest, but she was glad. Every blow he turned towards her,  distracted him from Siseal.

Lakron's lip twisted. "The Emperor will have to be content with your carcass too."

The knife rose and Aire stilled, caught in the eye of the glinting steel. 

A gloved hand caught Lakron's wrist. The Bloodbound appeared as a wrath, his cheeks flushed and those silver eyes aflame with contempt. There was a leaf, bright and green, clinging to his coat. Wind rumpled his dark hair, his cheeks flushed. 

Where he had been? 

Yet, when he spoke, his voice was calm. "You assume Lakron, what the Emperor would be content with? You strike his captives, his most valuable possessions and expect to be rewarded?"

The Bloodbound threw down Lakron's wrist and the Crimson cowed under the weight of the Bloodbound's stare. The Bloodbound said nothing as he turned to Aire. He gripped her chin, turning her face to the light. No expression crossed his face. "Was it Lakron who struck you?"

There was a chill in the Bloodbound's voice. Lakron stared, panic bleeding his cheeks red.

"Yes."

"Shall I kill him?" He had not released her chin. His grip was biting.

Aire's gaze cut to Lakron. That hatred twisted inside her gut, but years' old lessons kept her from uttering a deserved 'yes'. "No."

The Bloodbound arched a brow. "Are you full of mercy too, sweet one? You help beggars, you buy cheap imitations when you know they are false, and you risk your life to help strangers? You would spare the life of a cruel, little man as-well?"

She hated the mocking edge of his words. "He is ours to kill."

"Ah yes, another revenge to burn in your heart and keep your limbs moving." The Bloodbound clucked his tongue, observing her. His hands were warm against her cold face. He let her go when she pulled back.

He turned to Siseal. Aire sucked in a breath, tension loosening from her shoulders. The Bloodbound took hold of Siseal's face, leaning close and inhaling.

"He is sick. He cannot walk on this ankle." The Bloodbound turned to the Crimsons. There was an edge of anger in his voice. "Every one of these Wielders are more valuable than your pitiful lives could ever be. Everything you are, everything you were and every possibility available to you will amount to less than a mere thimble of worth compared to the cargo you mind."

"They are liabilities." Lakron's tone held an edge – a defiance that saw him rising to meet the Bloodbound's gaze.

Moons, he truly was stupid.  

'Royden would have had scathing comments for you,' Aire's face felt like a giant bruise. Blood eked down from her nose and from the skin torn open by Lakron's gloves.

"A liability is a soldier who doesn't realize the worth of his prisoners. Wouldn't you consider that dangerous, Lakron?"

"I - I..."

The Bloodbound struck the Crimson hard and Lakron reeled, blood bubbling to his lips. The Bloodbound struck again, tearing the skin from Lakron's cheek with his sharpened ring.  Another strike on the other cheek. Then, with a hand holding tight to Lakron's shoulder, he stamped down into his ankle.

Lakron yowled, collapsing to the ground. The Bloodbound left him there, pulling out a piece of cloth to clean his ring. 

 None of the others dared to help him

"These Wielders are the property of the Emperor and are to be treated as such. A bruise, a cut will be returned tenfold from this moment on. Do I make myself clear?" The Bloodbound's focus was on the ring, but as a momentary silence reigned, he glanced at the Crimsons. 

The Crimsons couldn't agree quick enough. It gave Aire sick delight to see the fear on the Crimson's face. If she had been powerful, she would have been causing that fear. The Bloodbound surveyed the rest of the Crimsons. "Rub salt on his cheeks and give his mount to the boy. Can you ride, child?"

Siseal just stared at him.

The Bloodbound asked again, kneeling before him. "Have you ridden a horse before, boy?"

"He has." Anluan answered quickly.

"That is settled then," the Bloodbound rose, turning to slip open Brice's cuffs. He kept a firm grip on her wrists, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Heal the boy, then the woman."

Brice nodded wordlessly. As she rubbed her wrists, the Bloodbound watched her like a hawk. Brice guided Siseal to sit, her fingers still dancing along her raw wrists.

The wind turned, whispering.

Aire shivered, awed at the feel of magic that danced along her skin. It had been years since she had seen a true Wield in action.

She leaned forward.

The torn skin along Brice's wrist began to pale, skin stretching over where it had been broken. A silver scar, then nothing at all.

"Siseal, you will be well." Brice whispered, stroking his hair back from his forehead.

She took Siseal's hands, folding them in between her own. She said nothing and Aire, like the Crimsons was raptured by the sight. Brice's eyes grew glassy, and she traced the tips of her fingers up his arm.

The pain on Siseal's brow eased. His sobbing began to soften, his breathing mellowing. Siseal's ankle snapped back into place, but he made no sound.

Blood still dripped from Aire's nose.

She wiped her nose on her shoulder, her gaze drawn downwards by a flash of colour. Small flowers were blooming among the muck – blooming too rapidly to be natural. Feeding on the blood that leaked from her face. Petals soft and delicate, colored like the old silver moon with a centre as dark as midnight. Among them, a smattering of primrose like splatters of soft sunlight.

Aire's breathing slowed.

Impossible.

Carefully, she crushed the flowers beneath her boot. She continued to ground her heel into them, refusing to move from the spot as Brice approached to heal her face.

Brice's Wield felt like the warmth of a fire along her skin, or the tight hold of a loved one. Her skin was knitted back together, leaving only the blood to dry into her grimy skin. Brice clasped her shoulder, squeezing tight in comfort before she was shackled once more.

The procession moved once more and the flowers were gone, covered in mud and trampled by horse hooves. Aire shoved her confusion down, even though this was a secret to be unearthed. Secrets were gold, but hers were poison. She would ignore it, at least until she could figure out how to fix it.  

| Welcome back to Aire's World. 

Tell me your thoughts, theories and conspiracies about this chapter? 

What do you think of Aire and her new companions? 

What of the flowers that bloomed ? What does that mean for Aire? 

Do you think the Bloodbound's justice was enough? 

Thank you for all your support. 

Until next time - Saoimarie |