Chapter 45 | Blue Iris

Chapter 44: Blue Lillies

Smoke thickened the air. Confusion had fallen quick and heavy, just like the ash that greyed the dark skies above. Aire stumbled along muck sloughed lanes and every breath began to grow more difficult to drag in.

"Cú Sidhe!" She called. She coughed, feeling the burn of ash in the back of her throat. That ash that was now beginning to make it difficult to see. Horses whinnied through the smoke. She could hear shouts – taut commands and relayed orders. The path that she had already walked was mapped out in her brain. A skill she once thought, but in fact her Wield trickling through. Protecting her even as she subdued it.

Even in the growing, ash wrought dark, she could see the destruction the Cú Sidhe left. With a vengeful, raging ferocity that couldn't be battled by ordinary soldiers alone, he tore them apart. In the mud slick lanes between the tents, Aire came across their strewn, mangled bodies. Blood and limbs. Gasping, wet breaths through crimson lips. They looked upon Aire and she saw their hope as they beheld her red uniform – they would not die or at least, not die alone partially submerged in melted snow, mud, blood and urine with their wounds weeping to the dark skies that choked with ash.

She didn't give them the mercy of a quick death.

Another strewn limb guided her forward. This person's breathing rattled, their pallor grey.

'Cú Sidhe,' she called again, her voice trembling. She hated fire. She hated – something cracked and groaned in the fire and the fear that burned inside of her made her want to weep. From fear itself and anger that she could not loosen that grip of terror.

She could not loosen it, but she could keep moving. She was good at that. Pathways, spooling like glowing threads in her mind kept her going. Fire roared ahead, but the ground was marked by the wide spread of the Cú Sidhe's tread.

Someone took hold of her arm – iron tight and unyielding.

Aire jerked, the terror at the forefront of her brain kicking her into movement. She swung with the heel of her hand aiming up to the blurring face behind her.

Bloodbound Avon caught her wrist.

Aire's heart continued to thunder. Silver burned in those soulless eyes. Silver eyes for the Emperor's Bloodbounds – a mockery of Cearnain who was beholden to the moon and worshipped her wholly. He had bloodied the moon and trapped the colour within the eyes of his most warped soldiers. As the stories went.

The hand holding her wrist flexed. Aire was aware, so aware, of the bone-breaking strength of the woman who stood before her. She was glad of her helmet and the food she had eaten in Valherin that had filled out her hollow cheeks.

Aire's jaw worked. "The Cú Sidhe has escaped. I am trying to hunt it down."

The Bloodbound's face was unreadable. Her grip did not relent, and she kept Aire's arm uptight. Trying to dampen her fear, Aire swallowed. She tasted naught but ash. Her Bloodbound – no, Cadán – had given her a false sense that these creatures were not to be feared but he had had his reasons for taming that brutality. Aire doubted if Avon were to discover Aire was an Aryshalin, that she would be so quick to follow.

"You run into the fire to catch a hound that took twenty men and a careful trap to capture originally?"

"Yes," Aire dipped her chin. "A present for the Emperor. I couldn't let the beast escape."

"Brave. Stupid," Avon sighed seeming wholly bored as twisted Aire's wrist tightly. Enough that it hurt and that quick flash of pain on Aire's face seemed to delight the creature. "Every Crimson is the same. Catch the Emperor or it is your pelt that I will gift him instead."

Not wanting to point out the strangeness of punishing the one person wanting to 're-capture' the Cú Sidhe and wanting to preserve her life, Aire remained silent.

The bone crushing grip relented. Aire's attention flickered to her red-raw wrist, then to the Bloodbound's hand. A fresh trickle of blood sat upon Avon's skin. One that had wept down from the open wound on Aire's arm. Aire bowed her head, feeling sick. 'Please do not let her figure out what I am.' There was little Eoban to mute the taste this time. She asked her, a prayer to someone. Perhaps she had meant that prayer to the Danann, the might gods of old. Gods that she knew had abandoned her and her people long ago.

If she had meant it for the Danann, again, they did not listen.

Aire had managed only a few short steps backwards before Avon's head cocked. Those eyes burned, wholly inhumane, as she raised her hand to her nose. Aire remembered what Cadán had said about Avon.

Her knack for hunting. A hunting dog and a fox's den.

One sniff.

Delight bloomed across the Bloodbound's face, and she met Aire's eye. Twin moons, full and wicked and bright, seemed to burn on her face.

"Wielder."

Rot burst from the ground, thick vines of putrid black that whipped towards the Bloodbound. Aire took off, hurtling into the smoky blanket of the camp. The Bloodbound's laugh of delight rang behind her. The rot had not eaten the Bloodbound. Aire knew she would not have time to search for the Cú Sidhe now. She had freed him – she could only hope now that he made it out alive. She had done what she could.

The fire had grown beyond the Crimson's control, devouring the tents with thundering abandon. The trees, damp and cold as they would be a buffer.

She needed to get out.

The fire's light warred against the shadow of night. The heat was becoming unbearable. Fire light shone through the thin canvas of the tents. Smoke stung her eyes. Even with the path mapped in her mind, it was becoming difficult to navigate.

Someone screamed into the night.

Smoke scoured her throat. Each breath became a struggle. In the distance, the Kelpie bayed. Another person screamed. The Cú Sidhe howled. Bodies, features lost to thick, acrid smoke, crashed into her. She found herself on her hands and knees again. Boots thundered past her and Aire dove in through the opening in a tent to avoid being crushed as people tried to escape the flames. It wasn't cooler in here. It was just a small soldier's tent with nothing more than a cot and travel bags dumped atop it. A parchment letter, wrinkled and old, lay spread atop their blankets.

Fire or not, Aire felt that nosiness being piqued.

'Dear Allarion,

I write this letter in the hopes of keeping you sane in the months to come. To keep my words and my spirit in your mind. To write all that I could not say before you left...'

Another scream pierced the night.

Aire turned away from the letter. "Perhaps you should focus on surviving, Aire. Nosiness will get you killed." Smoke addled her throat as she sucked in a breath. Then coughed. "As will talking to yourself."

Before she left, she scoured the tent. Discarded into the corner, hidden by gathering smoke, was a small canteen. She scooped it up, a brief smile rising as she felt the weight of liquid. She tore cloth from the bed and dampened it, covering her mouth.

She faced the burning camp once more. Suffocating smoke chased them like a conscious beast, roaring and spitting embers. She plunged outside, staunch as she caught herself into the tide of people. She was glad of it. All the Crimsons and their similar armour. She was a part of their river of blood, if only for a moment. And that blood carried – as she stumbled against the rough shoulder of a much larger man, another caught her arm.

She broke away as she caught sight of the lake.

Soldiers had abandoned their buckets. The water rippled, disturbed. Eyeing it, Aire skirted around the edge. The Kelpie wouldn't have gone far. Fire would drive them to the water and that meant a good feed. Even the Kelpie wouldn't deny that good of a feed. Even if the soldiers' meat wasn't as soft as children.

Dark eyes emerged from the water.

Not in equine form this time, but a woman. Clever girl. Aire slowed just enough to see the Kelpie's human face emerged. Long, wild dark hair that could have been mistaken for rushes by a careless glance. Large, dark eyes and a brow set into a terrible scowl.

"I mean you no harm," Aire soothed, knowing that the Kelpie wished to do nothing but harm. She didn't know whether this shape change was a way for the Kelpie to lure more soldiers into the water or to now trick her into believing the Kelpie to be a fellow woman in distress. "I want these soldiers gone too."

The Kelpie cocked her head. Dark eyes, wholly black like a seal's, moved to survey the camp behind her. Whatever she saw sent the Kelpie trailing backwards in the water, sliding lower and lower until only the rushes like hair protruded from the water. A thread of awareness wove down Aire's spine – a shiver of ice.

She turned slowly.

Bloodbound Avon stood at the grass verge before the shore, silhouetted by smoke and fire. A long blade of gleaming, Lunar steel was unsheathed at her side.

"Your blood is on my tongue, Wielder. I will find you wherever you run."

Aire hitched her chin high, telling herself to remain steady. She tried to search for an exit but with quick certainty, she realized that the lake blocked her and the Bloodbound would reach her before she could duck back into the camp. Hands steady, Aire unsheathed her blade.

"Will you not beg?" The Bloodbound asked, half-amused. There was no fear from her that Aire could be any sort of threat. That made anger spark in Aire's stomach, and she grabbed onto it, desperate for anything to eat away her fear. But she was afraid, though she wished she were not. She wished she was Ríona, brave in the face of death. Defiant, even as they hacked her moon-blessed hair. She wished, she wished.

"No," Aire uttered. "I will not beg."

"Bloodbound Roark is not here to save you now," Avon stepped onto the sandy shore. The Kelpie watched from the water. "I recognise you from that last camp, as skeletal as you were."

"If only you had burned to ash there," Aire managed the words through her own smoked-charred throat. The camp burned, curling around the shore like the bloody crescent moon. "Then you would have saved yourself the journey."

Bloodbound Avon struck. Aire jerked her blade up just in time to keep her head from being split open. There was no strength withheld. No sparring ease. Like the time she had fought Cadán in the tunnels, this fight was honest. Avon would cleave her open and rejoice.

Aire tried to circle away from the water and keep the Kelpie away from her back but only managed a half-turn before Avon struck again. Those eyes burned, but there was nothing in them. Only a sneer curling her mouth and quick, effortless strikes. Weeks of training with the Aether had given her an edge. Her Danann strength had given her another edge. Enough to stay alive and eek out the seconds to think of a way to escape.

'Help me?' She asked, stumbling back as a blade slashed at her throat. Water sloshed noisily around her ankles, slowing her. Her Wield burned her blood, addled by her fear. The skin of her arms prickled, thorns curving up from her ash-marred skin. Briars slithered along the spine, jerking towards Avon's wrists. They lashed around her, and another pair wove around her ankles.

A small flash of amusement from the Bloodbound as she beheld the briars tearing through her skin. A second for Aire to breathe. To step back again before Avon tore away from the briars as if they were no more than silken strands. She was upon Aire again, striking and slashing again. One blow scored a long and deep mark along Aire's arm. Blood welled quickly and the Bloodbound's nostrils flared.

The Kelpie shrieked again from the water.

Another briar lashed outwards, knotting around the blade of Lunar steel. Aire felt the effort to yank it from Avon's hands like a knot beside her heart.

The blade fell.

Avon cast it a wayward glance. "I do not need a pretty blade to kill a Wielder. I never have."

She came for her again, side-stepping each one Aire's strikes so quickly that Aire could barely keep track of her. A blow against Avon's belly did nothing but the creature did bleed. The sight of it settled Aire for a moment but that was time lost. Avon struck her hard, sending her sprawling onto the ground. Her own blade went flying and Aire scrambled after it.

Avon kicked her into the belly with a steel-capped boot. The air from her lungs was driven out and she gasped wetly as another kick fell. Her ribs cracked and pain seared with her next breath. She managed to roll onto her back, then up onto her elbows.

"Pitiful," Avon hissed, pressing a boot down onto Aire's knee. Aire hissed as Avon pressed down. The Bloodbound scoffed. "Your kind will not relent. Will not vanish. My work will not be done until every single one of you are dead."

"You were once like me," Aire's broken chest heaved. Blood and rot dribbled from her lips. "You had a Wield. You were gifted by the Danann."

Bloodbound Avon blinked. "A stupid lie from a stupid girl."

"You had a Wield once. All Bloodbounds were once Wielders."

For a second, Aire could see the flicker of awareness on Avon's face. A flash of a woman who once was. A Wielder once. It was gone quickly. "You said you would not beg Wielder but lies are just as pitiful. You will tell me where the others are before you die."

"You may kill me, but the others who escaped are long gone. They were wise to flee to the arid wastes of Knechru. A creature like you would surely crumble to dust in that heat. I do not know where they have gone, and I would die before giving them up to you." And she would. For the safety of those Wielders, she would die with that information lodged in her throat.

"Knechru or not, I will find them." Avon said before she snapped Aire's femur beneath her boot.

The roar of the fire did nothing to drown out Aire's scream.

The Bloodbound leaned down, pinching Aire's chin between her fingers. "There are many ways to make you speak."

"Never," Aire sobbed, but she could not reach for her leg. It could not end like this. It could not. The catacombs of Irial had not been razed. There was no one left of the Aryshalins. She could not die. At the end, she was afraid. And alone. Like all the Wielders who had encountered Bloodbound Avon before her.

Alone. Afraid.

It would have been better to die with her family.

'Please,' she asked her Wield. 'This cannot be the end.'

Her Wield seared with the depth of Aire's agony.

Bloodbound Avon pressed a boot to Aire's other leg. "I do not believe you. They are here. I can sense them."

"Splitting up was wise," Aire ground out.

The Kelpie shrieked. The earth around her churned and rippled. The fire roared and above her, Bloodbound Avon's eyes seemed to merge to form a giant, gleaming silver moon.

"I do not believe you." She broke Aire's other leg.

Aire screamed, raw throated, into the growing night. Through the thick smoke, she could see the red glow of the crimson moon, not yet swollen to her fullness. And beside it, burning bright, the North Star. Calm washed over Aire. Through the pain, a distant thought. Fields bathed in golden light. Smiling faces. The distant smell of salt and brine with the merrows' sweet singing carried on the wind - the sea beckoning her once more. If that awaited her...

Again, the Bloodbound drew a kick into Aire's side, driving the air from her lungs. "You will tell me where they are."

"They are far gone. I do not know where they are." Aire gasped wetly. "I have never been to Knechru."

She would lie until her dying breath. Drawing Avon away had gone terribly wrong. Not that she had constructed any plan beyond getting the Cú Sidhe out first.

A second later, she was gone. Stumbling away, Avon held a hand against the small blade embedded into her shoulder. Blood seeped over her fingers. Bloodbound Avon surveyed the smoke. Wicked delight bloomed across her cruel face and she plucked the blade from her shoulder and threw it backwards into the water.

Quickly the blade vanished and so did Avon's delight. Aire watched as that small wound tear and stretch, yawning over the Bloodbound's shoulder and thinning to expose white bone.

Avon's mouth curled into a snarl, and she transferred her blade to her other hand.

A figure stepped through the smoke; her face set in grim determination. She had braided her hair tight to her scalp and her cheeks were painted in whorls of paint. Cearnain runes for victory. Battle. Justice. Her weapons were unsheathed, but Aire felt the sear of this woman's Wield as it tore open the Bloodbound's fresh wounds. Her face was set in savage determination as she stared down the Bloodbound without a flicker of fear. Brice.

She was not alone. A taller figure, holding a spear tipped with Lunar steel. Her Wield ebbed along the blessed metal, smoking. Nyeth.

Hope, fragile and bright, bloomed in Aire's chest.

"Save your strength for Aire," a third arrival commanded Brice.

That hope bloomed into her palms in the shape of irises, delicate blue and whisper soft against her skin.

"Ferdia," She whispered.

The old poet, the historian, the storyteller was dressed for a fight. He had woven his dark red hair tightly, to keep it safe from grasping hands. He wore a plate of boiled leather over his chest, exposing his heavily tattooed arms. Eyes, dark like the moss of Dearmain, went to Aire first. He bowed his head, a tiny movement.

Avon, with her arm torn open and the white bone exposed amid a mess of ripped muscle, smiled. "Wielders."

Welcome back to Aire's world. 

Tell me your thoughts, theories and conspiracies. 

Until next time- Saoimarie.