Chapter Fourteen | Dullahan

"Magic is not a solution," A gruff, warm voice cajoled. "A gift, but a burden. A miracle, but a curse. Remember that."

And she had.

Even as the words had not been directed at her, but her brothers and sisters who trained under her parents' strict instruction. Even as she stared out her window, ignoring her tutors, she listened to her father's booming voice. Magic had balance, just like the soil that fed them, just like the sea that held a bounty of magic and food but ate ships in raging waves. For some, balance brought more abilities. For others, it tapered their strength.

Magic, like all things, could be drained.

It was all Aire could think about as agony ravaged her insides. Brice, who had kept the smoke from blackening their lungs, had healed their shattered hands and had torn open Lakron's face, was now weak. Too weak to keep her pain muted – struggling to keep her alive.

Her only mercy was her inability to stay awake. 

The others begged her to open her eyes, but the world was too rough, too blindingly painful that she couldn't. 

She slipped between dreams and the waking world. In her dreams, images scattered in broken pieces. Laughter wafted through her gritted screams – before she stood in echoing halls.

 Figures stood around a cooking pit, waiting for the boar to be lifted from the boiling water. Women knelt at the edge, shoving hot stones inside. By the fire, the dwarf poet Abhcán was strumming a chord and singing lowly in a voice so clear and beautiful that the most battle-hardened warriors would cry if Abhcán wished it.

Aire stood there, a wraith amongst the music and laughter. The dream – the memory – was an exquisite pain and she stared, yearning for the shimmering figures to turn and face her. So she could see their faces – so she could remember what time and greed had taken from her.

The music shattered as Nyeth shook her, her voice a low growl of desperation. "Stay awake, Aire. There are far too few Wielders left for you to be killed by a tree."

"A tragic death." Aire gasped, struggling to gather herself. Her tongue felt heavy and awkward, her head throbbing. "It would make for a sad song sung over dying fires."

"Do not waste your breath making dismal jokes," Nyeth scolded. To Brice, she said, "We need to bring her to the water. So, we can clean the wound and give her some water."

"The fire may follow us," Brice's voice was brittle.

"We cannot continue like this much further," Nyeth said. "We are all exhausted and Aire needs to rest."

Guilt churned inside of her. Every minute that passed was one where they could have lengthened the distance between themselves and the Bloodbounds. 

But they had come back for her. For a woman who still might die. Aire gritted her teeth. Warm blood ebbed down from her torso, but the wound was knitting tight. She could feel it, muscle, fat and skin forming too quick to be natural. As she glanced back, she saw a path of flowers spreading a long soil, now rich and dark.

Each step was blinding. Siseal's breath was ragged beside her, but he continued to march on. Aire could only concentrate on taking one step at a time. One. Two. One. Two.

Brice's magic continued to rip through her. The Wielder trudged beside them, her breathing rasping and pained. It seemed an age before Aire heard the babbling of running water. The great towering trees around them vanished for a moment and Aire blinked at the red-moonlight bathing a clearing of outcropped rocks, jutting around a narrow river running swiftly through the break in the trees.

Aire was eased down onto a slab of rock. The sound of fire, of dying men was gone. Brice collapsed onto the ground beside her, her limbs shaking as she reached for Aire's wrist. Her fingers were bone-chillingly cold, but warmth ebbed into Aire's blood. In the weak light of the bloody moon, her face was grey.

"Brice..." Aire wheezed. "You are not well."

"I have used too much." Brice's fingers spasmed on Aire's wrist. "But I cannot stop..."

"We were lucky to find you," Nyeth had torn off a strip of her pants. She dipped it in the icy water and patted Aire's forehead. "If Anluan hadn't heard you falling, we might have found you too late."

"T -- t—thank you." Aire croaked, hoping they knew how much she meant it. As foolish as it was for them to turn back, a small-pitted part of her heart warmed at it. Such recklessness – all for her.

Siseal knelt by the water's edge, cupping his hands. Most of it sloshed over his hands, but he brought it to Aire's lips. She drank the water weakly, the water crisp in her ashen mouth. The air here was clear and free from smoke – but her chest burned.

"We cannot stay here long." Water dribbled down her chin.

"We stay the night." Nyeth declared. "Siseal is the only one who sees well enough in the dark, but we..."

Even as she fell silent, Aire knew what she was going to say. We cannot carry you. A burden – she was a burden. Even in her haze of pain, Aire knew that guilt would not abate until she repaid them. Some token of help that would make their recklessness on her behalf worth it.

She relaxed further against the slab of stone, eyeing their little haven. The slice of space seemed otherworldly, surrounded by towering evergreens that watched as ancient sentinels. Their presence comforted her.

Her heavy eyes slipped shut once again. They weighed heavier than the boulders that formed the foundations of great castles. The night hours moved slowly and Aire could not think beyond the passing minutes, trapped in a spinning circle of pain and memories pressed into strange dreams.

There was always someone by her side, smoothing a hand over her brow or whispering a story she couldn't understand. Brice collapsed with exhaustion when the night was at its stillest – when even the night hunters paused for the world was holding a great breath. An hour of night veiled thin and ragged.

Aire's wound was closed, her lungs clear. The others fell into a tentative sleep, exhausted and starving. Only Siseal remained by Aire's side, keeping watch. He stared into the dark, as silent as the world around him.

He jolted at the distant sound of horseshoes striking the ground. The turn of wheels.

"Aire..." Siseal grabbed her, his voice a hiss. "Crimsons?"

"No..." A strange clarity speared her mind. "The sound is too close. We would have seen a light." She took a quick breath, trying to press the next words out. "No rider would dare ride a horse that fast through a forest with roots like these."

And wheels?

Aire listened, but the forest was silent except for the approaching rider. She wrapped her fingers around Siseal's wrist. "Do not wake the others. Do not look whatever comes in the eyes. Do not tell it your name."

He glanced at her terrified. She just opened her palm to him, and he gripped her hand tight. She held it to her chest, hoping the grip would comfort him. Minutes whispered by and the night held it's breath. Not a single creature stirred and even the others sleeping, seemed to slow their breathing.

Then, out of nowhere, a horse with the coat of black night thundered into their haven. It's eyes burned a flaming red, sparking out in the open and the charger's metal shoed hooves stamped and pawed against the ground. The charger slowed as it entered the clearing, a silver of moonlight cutting across it's coat.

Dread fell over Aire like a shroud.

The Crimsons and the Empire scared her, but even before the Crimson Reign began, she had know of creatures far eviller than mortal men. Creatures reined in by the Cearnians and their magic.

The rider sat on the horse's leather saddle, holding a whip of human spine in one hand.

In the other hand, he held his rotted, clumpy head by his sparse hair.

"What do we do?" Siseal breathed.

"Do not look into his eyes." Aire's voice was a breath.

There was no way they could escape the ever-roving eyes that could pierce through the dark of night. She knew of the creature before her. How many times had she, or her sisters and brothers begged to hear the story. How often had her parents threatened them with his arrival if they misbehaved?

Dullahan.

The Dark Rider. The Forebearer of Death.

The Dullahan's mouth stretched wide over his face, splitting so wide that the corners of his cracked, bleeding mouth through either ear. She didn't look at the Dullahan's eyes. The price was a stolen soul. The stories had told her enough. The headless rider whose horse only stopped when death was present, who spoke a name to draw their soul out. 

Her gaze dropped to the wheels that traversed the forest ground effortlessly. Bile burned in her throat. The spokes were crafted from thighbones.

The wagon's covering was made from stretched human skin, cracked and worn - in need of replacing. Candles, emitting a putrid, rotted smell, flickered at the sides of the wagon.

The horse slowed.

That wide, grinning mouth stretched wider.

Siseal was trembling, his gaze fixated on the wagon made of human skin, bone and fat. The other three slept in the shadow of death.

Aire just waited – for the horse to stop and for that rotted mouth to spit her name out from rotted teeth and a purple, wagging tongue.

Then, all at once, the horse spooked. The great charger reared, kicking out hooves as sharp as scythes and with a flicker of fire in its red eyes, it galloped back into the woods. The Dullahan vanished, leaving a lingering smell of rot and melted fat.

With's departure, the night air heaved a great sigh. A wind blew into their haven with gusto. Brice gave a shiver, murmuring something before settling.

Aire and Siseal were silent for a long while. The boy continued to clutch Aire's hand, staring into the dark intent.

She waited for him. Eventually, he turned to look at her with wide eyes. "What was that Aire?"

"A symbol of death," Aire replied, staring into the dark. "He appears and claims the souls he wishes. Once your name is spoken, you die."

"How do you know that?" Siseal, as if remembering his death grip on her hand, jerked it back. Aire bit down a fond smile.

"I was told stories of them when I was just a girl." She told him, swallowing down a sudden, sharp lash of pain. The past, grief, reared with a keen sharpness whenever she saw something that reminded her of home A home far away – lost to her because of the Emperor. Almost absently, she added, "I have seen the Dullahan in the flesh before. Once."

The same day that she could never forget. Even as all the goodness, the bright sparks of joy from her life as a girl vanished, she never forgot the day it all ended. The smoke in the streets, the crowds running in a mad panic. The crack of a spine whip - gouging eyes. She would have stopped, but the hand tight on her wrist refused to let her falter.

The man screaming as his name fell from that rotted mouth, his soul detaching from his body in a wretched slurp. The hand on her wrist had tightened, pulling her back into the crowd.

But today, the Dullahan had not spoken her name.

She would not die. Not yet.

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Aire and Siseal watched the dark forest for a while before the clarity that had sunken into her mind began to abate once more. Pain returned, swift and brutal like a punch to the gut.

Aire did not dare let out a whimper, her gaze resting on Brice's face. Even in sleep, it was twisted in a grimace. As dawn snuck light through the towering trees, the pain intensified. No longer a fist, but a flaming arrow that had lodged in her gut, sizzling at her flesh and burning away at her resolve.

When the light touched her face, Aire slipped back into dreams that were memories and she sobbed at the knowledge that they were not real, and never would be again. She dreamed of strands of moonlight, spinning skirts and laughter over warm fires. The swans on the lake, the castle in all its finery, a mere whisper of stone against the great sprawling sea.

Home.

Laughter, ringing like bells.

Crackling fire, dancing and cheering. Such wretched images when she would never experience heartbreak again. Her sisters familiar scolding joke - Mind Aire. Do not let me fly into the fire again. 

 Aire, in her youth and joy had danced and spun her sister until she was dizzy, losing her grip when her vision blurred and sent her sister into the fireplace. An accident, but it had left her sister with a line of fire's touch on her arm.

The laughter hitched into screaming and those memories became crisper as she saw the blood on the stones and felt the true taste of terror in her young life.

She felt herself being moved again, amid a whisper of desperate voices. Through it, she felt a thread of uselessness. Her tongue was too heavy to utter the words 'Run'.

They continued to walk – although Aire was dragged by Nyeth and the boys. As time passed, Aire felt strength returning to her limbs. Brice was lagging, but as that strength grew, Aire managed to grit her teeth and pull away from the other's hold. She would not go far on her own, but she could at least take her burden off the others.

"We will be hunted." Nyeth stayed close to Aire's side, occasionally slowing to check on her progress.

"Yes..." Aire stepped over the knotted knell of a fallen tree. Bloodbound Roark's last words echoed in her ears. Run. Run.

Why had he let her go?

She didn't care what had happened to him, but that was a curiosity – a secret. And by the moon, she would be lying if she said it wasn't beginning to burn inside of her. Why would a Bloodbound release his prisoner, after spending all that time bothering to capture her? All that effort keeping them chained and racing them along the roads of Kaelara?

"Something is strange about all of it." Aire admitted. As she paused, gathering a breath, Anluan appeared at her side with a soft hand touching her arm. She flashed him a smile and the boy continued, casting a worried look back to his twin. Her heart twinged- too caring. Too soft.

"What do you mean?" Nyeth asked.

"I - I don't know." Aire admitted, dragging in a breath. She pressed a hand into the rough bark of a tree, trying to gather her strength. Wind rushed through the wood, shaking the canopy above her. "I just – I don't think I was paying enough attention."

The tree groaned and Aire pushed away from the trunk, energy rushing through her limbs. They continued on.

"We were exhausted." Brice said softly. "Exhausted and starving. We may have missed many things."

The answer didn't assuage Aire's frustration. Not when she had survived off knowing secrets. Without her spirits to help her, she felt blind and lost. Knowing secrets kept her ahead of the panic, ahead of the Crimsons. Now, there was a Bloodbound who had let her live, who had told her that they were never in any true danger.

"I think our escape was too...easy." Nyeth admitted. "We're the Empire's most hated enemy, hunted down to our bare bones and we just slipped out of that camp without fuss."

"I got speared by a tree." Aire commented. "And I would consider that a fuss."

Nyeth cast her a caustic look, but Siseal piped up in a small voice, "The fire helped us."

"The fire was very convenient." Anluan told him. "And I could hear people fighting."

Aire groaned, realizing her mistake. In her pain, she had said very little of what the Bloodbound had revealed to her. Not about her growing suspicions, but about their escape. "I - people attacked the camp. They set the fire and fought the soldiers. I think that's why there was so little attention our way."

"Did they attack to save us?" Brice asked.

"I think so." Aire's uncertainty was obvious. Who would save them when they had so little to give, except for trouble.

Brice's face tightened. "So, they planned to incinerate the camp and hope we didn't die in the blaze?"

"It was not the wisest decision," Nyeth agreed, holding back a branch to let the others pass through. "But are they truly saviors?"

"They helped us!" Anluan protested, his voice low and insistent.

"Wielders are valuable." Aire said quietly, her mind wandering back to an old conversation back in a warm room in Irial. "There are those who would pay a large sum for a piece of us."

"But we do not know if that could happen," Brice said hastily, casting Aire a sharp look. "There are bad people, but there are many good people too."

"We have not met many good people, other than ye," Siseal said.

Aire and Nyeth caught each other's eye as Brice reached for Siseal, ruffling his hair. There was nothing to be said – nothing they could find to say to the two young boys. Aire didn't know the extent of the other's hardship, but she didn't doubt that it was far worse than hers. She had been lucky in parts, to escape the massacre, to find refuge as one of many Cearnian orphans in a dingy and orphanage and a way to hide her true nature away for many years.

"Let us keep walking." Aire said quietly. "We have lost too much time on my account. We need to escape the woods."

"And find some food." Anluan smiled at them hopefully.

Aire could not help but return it. "Oh, a matter of most importance." 

| Welcome back to Aire's world! 

Tell me your thoughts, theories and conspiracies! I love reading all your ideas! They're very clever. 

What do we think about the Dullahan? 

Do you think Aire knows more than she's letting on - or is she so used to secrets that sharing isn't something she does easily? 

What of Bloodbound Roark? Is this the last we have heard of him? 

Until next time - Saoimarie. |