Dark Embers
by phoenixxheartt

Part One: Runaway

“Still on a winter’s night, they say, when the wind blows through the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
A highwayman comes riding, riding, riding,
A highwayman comes riding up to the old inn door.”
-The Highwayman, Alfred Noyes


Chapter 1

     Zayrea lay curled in her rusted bunk, the only furniture in the cramped cabin. She turned beneath the handmade covers as heavy footfalls crunched in the late winter loam that layered the ground outside. The door burst open, shocking the girl from sleep. Two guards moved purposefully toward her, taking a firm hold on her arms as she tried to scramble out of their reach. Cursing them with phrases that would have earned a fist to her face in most situations, Zayrea was dragged to the Protectors’ cart. Her wrists were tied and the rope looped around a solid oak post in the center of the wagon. Several other outer workers shared the space with her; none looked familiar. Mentally, she chastised herself even more eloquently than she had the guards.
     After more than an earth-cycle, she thought, I am unprepared when those prosbucks arrive! One miyek day in thirty that I must be vigilant, and I sleep as though I was an inner dweller, safe in my silken bed!
     Zayrea dug her nails into the palm of her hand, forcing herself to appear calm. It was the third time the city’s Protectors had tried to arrest her, and the second time they had succeeded. Several moon-cycles ago, in late summer, she had heard their approach and hidden herself just outside the window. The Protectors gave little importance to the identity of those arrested—anyone could confess to state crimes. When she could not be located, they simply went on to the next worker’s den. The first time was when she was still a child in training; they had used the arrest as an excuse to send her out to work early. Few remained in the city the entire fifteen years, especially when the arrests gave the inner citizens so much reassurance.
     Her inner panic surmounted, Zayrea huddled at the base of the cart. She watched the moonlit cabin that had been her home for two years disappear in the night shadows. For a moment, she imagined breaking free of the knots that held her and simply hiding in that beckoning darkness. But the ropes held her fast, and the Protectors kept crossbows with them. Dejectedly slumping against the wooden bars, she just listened to the clack of the horses’ hooves over the cobblestones as they brought her to the city.
     Above the prisoners, the granite shell of the city loomed forbiddingly. The guards placed their idents in a slit in the gate. Someone on the opposite side took the leather squares, which were stamped with the guards’ names, occupations, and privileges. After a short, murmured conversation, the solid wooden gates swung open, leaving a space large enough for the cart to pass through. The gatekeeper, whose torch lit a scowling, lined face, handed the idents back and turned the crank to close the gates again.
     The wagon lurched forward as the horses started up, knocking Zayrea to the side. Righting herself, she gazed around with an icy expression. The wide brick walls, which suffocated her by their very presence, were the envy of all other civilized nations. The circular setup of the city streets made it easy to navigate and defend. The public speeches proclaimed that the streets of Terul were a magnificent example of her people’s hard work and brilliance.
     She hated every neat cobblestone, every brick, every neat potted plant, every monochrome doorway. The city was a cage, with prison gates and prison guards that supposedly kept the peace by arresting those who stood in their way. The weight of the darkness in the city streets, so different from the camouflaging cloak of the outside night, pressed down on her bones. Zayrea shrank down, assessing her options.
     I have not been troublesome enough to be killed, she remarked mentally. The Protectors preferred to assign hard labor, to promote fairness and community involvement for the ‘felons’ they had captured. Perhaps I shall run. Even if the country outside the farms is as barren as the Educators say, I might live. The thought of escape, however impractical, cheered her immensely. Her expression remained calm as the cart rattled toward the headquarters.
     Once the prisoners were within the barred gates of the Protectors’ compound, the cart stopped. They remained in the cart as dawn bled into the sky, and after almost half of a sun-cycle the Protectors returned. The outer worker’s bonds were loosened and she lurched down from the cart, rubbing the raw skin along her wrists and walking gingerly on knotted muscles. With some prodding from the spears of the guards at the entrance, Zayrea stumbled into the stone corridor. A short man shuffled in front of her, and she craned her neck to get a glimpse of the courtroom. Above his unruly grey hair she saw a plain, high-ceilinged room made of the same grey stones as the corridor. A short line of outer workers led up to a podium, where a boy only a few years older than Zayrea was being shackled by two Protectors. Each trial took only a few moments; after the Educator gave the customary statement about Terul’s dedication to fairness and justice, the criminal record was read and the sentence delivered.
     Zayrea stepped up to the convict’s stand, her face devoid of emotion.
     “The city of Terul, in order to maintain peace, must deliver justice—merciful justice, nevertheless—on those who seek to undermine its ideal society. The retribution for your crimes will be decided by the severity of this and past wrongdoings.”
     A bored clerk, resting one elbow on his desk, read out her record in a monotone. “Zayrea, outer worker, 17 earth-cycles, first convicted of mild thievery at 15 earth-cycles, accused of holding back supplies”—he yawned and smoothed his rumpled cloak—“from monthly collections.”
     “I shall consider the evidence,” the judge, a middle-aged woman with the elegant shoulder-length hair of the innermost circles, said. After a moment of feigned thoughtfulness, she replied, “As your crimes have shown you will remain a thief, I see no choice but to assign you to a construction crew, where supervision will prevent your contributions to the city from being tainted by greed.”
     The two Protectors returned and placed the heavy manacles on her wrists. They were too large and nearly fell off her arms, but Zayrea made no attempts to remove them. She was led out the door to the next chamber and the guard on her left unlocked the second wooden door they passed. The other removed the oversized chains and shoved her in unceremoniously, locking the door and returning to the courtroom.
     Zayrea found herself in a depressing stone room, empty except for three other convicts. An older woman was fast asleep and snoring slightly, propped up against the wall. A man of the same age was nodding off as well, his arm around the other’s shoulder. The third occupant was the same boy she had seen on trial when she entered the court, who had a nervous look in his wide grey eyes. Zayrea slumped down against the wall just across from him. One part of her mind took appreciative note of his appearance, but she suppressed the thoughts before they began.
     “First arrest, was it?” she asked, by way of conversation.
     He nodded fervently. “But I didn’t do nothing! I counted every bag of grain there was, an’ I wrote it down jus’ like they say, nice an’ honest-like,” he protested, his voice defensive.
     Zayrea raised an eyebrow. He obviously must have been working in the storerooms and seen very few other workers. “I’d be surprised if there was a guilty person anywhere in these cells. There wasn’t as much grain this year as the Educators promised, so someone must have ‘stolen’ it. Since you were there, well, this happens. It looks like they’ve got some project planned, so they need to sentence some of us to the building crews. Last time it was street repairs; they let me off two weeks later when the new cobblestones were laid.” She left out the fact that they had also removed her from her post as a trainee farm hand and put her out in the farms beyond the city walls five years early.
     He relaxed visibly, a bit of color coming back to his cheeks. The silence was broken by a scuffling from outside the door, and a red-faced woman in her thirties tumbled into the room, a long weal across her forehead. The clink of armored footsteps disappeared as she scowled in the Protectors’ direction. She touched the welt, winced, and leaned against the wall.
     With a pained smile, she smoothed the loose strands of hair that stuck to her face, patting them back into her dark brown braid.
     “I’m Nerra. Nice to meet ya,” she said, holding out her hand. Zayrea pressed her fingertips to Nerra’s in the welcoming gesture.
     “How’d ya get that slice?” the boy asked, pointing to her forehead.
     “Eavesdroppin’ on the innies,” she replied proudly, “so d’you two have names?”
     “Oh, sorry. I’m Zayrea,”
     “Teji,” the other chimed in a moment later.
     The conversation lapsed into an awkward pause, and Zayrea massaged her sore wrists. She had twisted one while plowing earlier in the week and the rough treatment from the Protectors had not made matters any better. Trying to ignore the discomfort, she let her mind wander for a moment, returning to her latest project. Ironically enough, she had spent the last moon-cycle working on a shelter where she could hide during the arrests. It had seemed like a perfect plan, but obviously the timing was a flaw.
     Zayrea liked to think of the deep forests as the place where her soul lived, embedded in the solid core of a tall oak tree. Something about being cradled in its thick branches gave her a sense of safety that she had never felt elsewhere. When she discovered a deep hollow between the heavy branches of one of its neighbors, the idea had almost formed itself. When the opportunity presented itself, she had taken a few wood scraps—
     The thought almost made her laugh aloud. For the first time, the Protectors had actually arrested and tried someone for the crime they had committed. Of course, it had been entirely accidental. She knew her theft had gone undetected, as she had taken the wood from a pile headed to the compost heaps. No one would miss wood that was not strong enough to build with, but it kept the wind out. Suddenly, her reverie was broken by a clump of pungent herbs that appeared in her face. She sneezed violently, and the leaves retreated. She saw that Nerra held the plants in her pudgy hand, proffering them to Zayrea with a stern look.
     “Now take these an’ eat ‘em. Stops the pain a bit, useful stuff. Don’t believe that Educator nonsense about healin’ plants bein’ bad, there’s nothin’ll cure ya faster’n these,” she advised Zayrea, her words blurred in the typical outside worker accent. Zayrea took the herbs and chewed them as ordered. They were oddly tasteless, though they had the vaguely earthy flavor of things pulled straight from the ground.  She pasted a smile on her face, chewing the rubbery plants. To her immense surprise, the pain lessened instantly. Zayrea could imagine nothing that would have such an effect so quickly, and she told Nerra so.
     The other prisoner’s expression turned serious, though the laughter never dimmed from her eyes. “Now there’s a night story. I’ll tell ya what I know, but not now. These prosbucks’ll bring us where they want, an’ once it’s nice an’ private, I’ll spill,” Nerra replied with a wink. She tucked the remainder of the leaves into the pocket on the side of her dusty pants. Teji, who had stayed mostly silent, finally added a comment.
     “Where’ll we go?”
     “The construction site, of course, an’ we’ll stay there ‘til whatever they’re lookin’ to get done is finished.”
     He retreated back from the conversation, though occasionally he would favor them with a glance. Zayrea avoided looking at him after the first few times their gazes crossed. She preferred to keep her attention focused on the present, and Nerra had engaged her in a conversation on farming. Although the older woman had not worked on the farms themselves for several years, she was a servant in the house of one of the overseers. That, she confided to the other two, had been how she overheard a bit of information that changed her life. After a few such veiled references, Zayrea began to feel very curious about Nerra’s news and was almost looking forward to heading into the construction barracks.
     That changed the moment the Protectors returned and dragged them off, though Zayrea did not resist. She would not be able to escape now, there was still light from the sun, and she would be a perfect target for the wall guards. She settled down against the sun-warmed wood of the cart and relaxed.

     The cages near the construction site were almost indistinguishable from those at the jail. As the daylight faded, Nerra gathered them in a corner and began her tale. The guttering lanterns at the cell door gave the story a ghostly, unreal feeling, drawing Zayrea and Teji closer.
     “Now Zayrea, you saw how quick those plants helped? Well, it wasn’t just the plants. Now one day, the overseer got a visit from one of them upper level people. Apparently they knew each other or had been friends, something.’ Anyways, they was talking an’ the innie says ‘Umel, I bet you let ‘em use their magic or you’da never get so much out of the scrapes.’ Now, y’see, I’m in the next room, lookin’ for some flower seeds for the front garden, and they think no one’s ‘round. So he says ‘No, it’s just my good looks as inspires ‘em all,’ an’ I almost ruined the thing, ‘cause I just ‘bout broke into laughing hearin’ that bit of nonsense. Even for an over, he’s not a smooth talker. But he keeps goin’ an’ says ‘D’you think you could stop by the palace and ask one of them to come check our dampers? I’ve kept ‘em all away from my office, but it’s been ten earth-cycles an’ I’m worried they’re fadin.’ An’ the next mornin’ when I brought some supplies in the house, I looked for his office but he was there. ‘Bout a dozen sun-cycles after than he took off for somethin’ and left ‘til sundown. He thinks he’s brilliant, hidin’ his key unner the door but I got it and went in the study. I can’t even explain it t’you, it was like waking up one mornin’ and havin’ more muscle than a Protector. There was a li’l plant in the corner an’ it was just ‘bout screamin’ at me, so I just asked it t’grow a bit, an’ a buncha leaves burst up. So for a week I keep testin’ what I can do, like those leaves y’had. An’ of course I wanna find out why no one knows ‘bout it an’ the same innie comes visitin’ so I goes and listen. But this time they caught me, ‘cause they had to get somethin’ outta the closet an’ I ended up with a big slice an’ the innie had one of his guards take me here. But I still know ‘bout the magic an’ I’ll let everyone know.”
     She finished the story on that dramatic note, and Teji let out a deep breath.
     “That’s quite the nice stringer,” Teji said approvingly.
     Nerra’s eyed turned sharp. “It ain’t a tale, boy. You don’t believe it, try these.” Another small bundle of leaves appeared from her pocket and landed on the rough cloth of Teji’s kelt, the knee-length pants that most of the outer workers wore in spring. He picked up the leaves and sniffed them warily.
     “This is…softblossom?” Nerra nodded in reply. Teji chewed the leaves thoughtfully and swallowed. “Not much of a taste but I dunno wha—” he slumped down on the floor.
     Zayrea leaned over him, feeling his wrist for a pulse. When she found the reassuring heartbeat, she turned angrily to Nerra. “What did you do to him?”
     “It’s just strengthened herbs. He’ll sleep ‘til first light. Softblossom is a calmin’ thing an’ when it’s extra strong it’ll put you out like a candle in the rain,” she explained, looking pleased with herself. Zayrea was less amused, but she set Teji’s arm down and returned to her position against the wall.
     “So you think I might have magic too?” Zayrea asked, her voice hesitant. Imagine if I could control things with magic…just imagine!
     “I can’t know for certain, but I’d think so, since it seems the innies can’t use it or nothing.’
Zayrea said little more, her thoughts drifting away on a dream current. She saw herself standing on the highest tree in the forest, stretching out her arms. The Protectors—faceless shadows with fire for eyes—stepped out from the city, pointing their harsh, metal arrows at her heart. She angled her head slightly and gave their crossbows a questioning glance. The wood burst from their group, shaping themselves leafy wings. Her dream-self watched the airborne bows chase their masters to the ends of the earth, where they tumbled into darkness, screaming. The people of the city, all dressed in the finest clothing and jewelry, came to the base of the tree, bowing. Her hand tightened to a fist, erasing the city. The people ran, their footsteps disappearing behind them as the land shifted under their feet. Her tree molded itself into the shape of a huge throne and a city spread out beneath her.
     Her eyes shut and sleep overcame her as her imagination built empires and took revenge on the rulers of a city that had left her friendless and alone outside its walls. Her dreams were a kaleidoscope of fear and excitement—one moment she rambled through the trees with the mythical dryadi, the next she was running for her life as a horde of Protectors destroyed the forest all around her—screaming dryadi, they must be trapped in the flames! Left. Right. Back. Front. Up. All surrounded by the flames, wait—a path, but a tree falls, red blood pouring from its bark, feeding the fire, higher…higher! Murdering inferno overhead! The path is blocked, heavy boots tramping everywhere, smoke stinging eyes—suddenly, the ground rips apart in a scream, down the abyss with whips of fire in pursuit—getting closer! Ever closer! The sky filled with death—
     Zayrea awoke, her breathing shallow and her mind racing. She crouched on the ground for a moment, tensing all her muscles to flee. When the impulse subsided, she pressed her palms to the floor, soaking in its firm chill. It was not surprising that she had been dreaming, after a day such as hers had been. Still, it was several minutes before she could force the adrenaline to subside, leaving her feeling weak and clammy. That made half a dozen times she had woken, gasping and frightened, from fiery nightmares.
     She closed her eyes firmly, blocking out the flicker of the lantern as it tormented her imagination. The diluted darkness outside told her that dawn would come soon. Nerra and Teji remained asleep, and the other prisoners were huddled in their own small groups across the cell. Zayrea curled back up in her spot on the cold, gray flagstones, eventually returning to sleep. She dreamt again, swirls of dark, confused thoughts that she could not remember. Something sinister…hungry, angry, waiting for her. It was drawing nearer, but she saw only the stone, and heard only the sound of footsteps far in the distance.
     Then, a quiet voice from a few feet away. “Dreamin’ again?” Teji asked, his voice worried. Zayrea suppressed a smile, even in the aftermath of her nightmare.
     “Yes. I’m fine.” Zayrea heard a slight rustle and knew he had turned away. She rested her head against the wall, pulling her legs tight against her ribs. Whatever that “something” was, it was there, its tentacles of unease wrapping around her thoughts. She could hear the paranoia in the corner of her mind and the premonition would not go away. Zayrea stayed awake stubbornly, watching through drowsy eyes as the depressing stain of morning spread into the clouds and blotted out the stars. She wished the night would return. The light exposed her, leaving her obvious and helpless to run from the strange presence.
     The cacophonous screech of the rusty cell door creaking open on its unsteady hinges woke her companions a few minutes later. The Protectors at the construction camps made no attempt to look peaceful: their kelts were of chain mail, their daggers glimmering with constant attention, and their throats protected by bronze gorgets. Zayrea passed them with distaste, not wanting to turn her back on those blades. Of course, she had no choice, so the three followed the Protectors’ direction until they reached a section of the wall that had been half demolished already. A muscular woman holding a shovel greeted them by glaring and putting her hands on her hips.
     “Nothin’ else?” she asked their guards. The leader shook his head with a slight clink, shrugging his shoulders.
     “Don’ worry, Vuna, they’ve more. Give it a sun. ‘Parently they had some scrape go cloudy and try to attack the Courtlord. Took ‘em a bit to calm down the others and clean up the mess,” the Protector replied. The overseer gave another disgruntled sigh and looked over the group.
     “Fine, then. All of you follow. Grab a spade. An’ be careful,” she advised, holding up a hand missing the last finger. The prisoners remained silent, but picked up their tools and proceeded to the opening in the wall. A chalk X had been inscribed on the stones of a wide patch in the wall, and furrows had been dug in the earth on the outer side. “Dig. ‘Bout two spans deep, empty between the lines.”
     Zayrea began her work, moving steadily to avoid tiring herself out. There had been a rainstorm several sun-cycles ago, and the ground was soft enough to make the job easy. After a quarter-sun, the overseer’s harsh voice rang out and they turned to listen, Teji nursing a new blister. After a short lunch, they progressed to shifting the chalked stones into the walkway, which involved a number of ropes and pulleys. A half-sun and a worker’s broken toe later, the prisoners were tired and sore, but finished for the day. They continued on the next-sun, and the one after that.
     Nerra was surprisingly cranky after the fourth day, and the other convicts seemed to have caught the mood.
     They were finishing dinner when the Protectors came to herd them back inside. Nerra took exception to it. Loudly.
     “We’ve spent the whole miyek day workin’, and you’re sayin’ we can’t even eat? What prosbuck came up with that? Just b’cause not a one of us did more’n work all day long until you decides that’s illegal?! You skivs take our homes, our food, everything! I’ll bet you wouldn’t be so high an’ mighty if all you’re li’l prisoners knew ‘bout their magic and they could get—”
     The Protectors had been coming closer unhurriedly, used to having rebellious workers making fiery speeches. However, when the word ‘magic’ left her mouth, they broke and ran for her, one wiry soldier making it to her a moment later. His knife flashed red in the light of the sunset and Nerra collapsed, blood seeping through her shirt and pooling on the dusty ground. The prisoners all rose to their feet en masse, Zayrea a second behind. Her mind spun blankly for a moment. Nerra...how? She was there just now, she can’t be gone!
     Her friend lay still, except for the crimson trickle that spread slowly, a cancer that encroached on the frantic tussles between the criminals and the Protectors. Every drop was acid in her lungs, and she saw nothing. After five days spent almost exclusively in her company, it seemed she had known Nerra for years. Another prisoner crumpled before the blade of a tall Protector, and she saw one man clutching his arm as blood coursed down his wrist. She saw someone else fall, and caught a glimpse. A face, unruly brown hair, a knot on his temple, and grey eyes that stayed shut.
     Zayrea ran. She crashed into one armored body in her path, and a burning wire embedded itself in her cheek. A sledgehammer in the shape of a boot crashed into her side, and she hit the ground rolling, ending up a half-dozen steps away from the fighting. The rational part of her mind treaded water frantically, trying to keep its head above the rising tide of blood that flooded her thoughts. As it drowned, she took off into the unknown. She did not think of the Educators’ warnings, the stories, or her studies.
     “There is nothing beyond the city. Only Senyv to the north, across the Vyl.”
     “Y’know those little rock lizards? It’s like that; only large enough that one step would take it over the city walls. They spit poison and they have claws larger than both of us put together. They never die and don’t need to eat, but they’ll take anyone who dares to wander out into the hills past our farms.”
     “East, the sunrise direction. No one dares go far into the forest. South, the warmwind direction. Empty hills and the canyons. West, the sunset direction. Beyond the Vyl lie the flatlands and the endless west-south desert. North, the coldwind direction. The Bitter Mountains.”

     Zayrea ran. Her logic broke the surface for a breath, long enough to turn her west-north. Other people lived there, in the city of Senyv. They were said to be violent and insane, but after what she had just witnessed it did not seem to matter. If I die too, what difference will it make? But if our ‘kind and benevolent’ Protectors could...she shuddered and abandoned the thought...the northern savages must be unimaginable.
     The girl’s footsteps trailed off as she topped the rise of one of the many rolling hills that skirting Terul. Beneath her lay the cerulean glass of the Vyl, glinting in the sunset like a cascade of bloody diamonds. She shuffled down the steep drop to the pebbly beach, watching carefully for pursuers. A short way upstream, a squat wooden dock jutted out into the river. Zayrea strode purposefully toward it in the hopes of convincing herself that she had a purpose; pretending she could have a purpose after witnessing her first friends in two years being murdered. Two of the rafts used for summer fishing lay at its base, their coating of fallen leaves shivering in the chilly wind. When she approached, Zayrea noticed a small shed built against the back pilings of the pier. I cannot go far tonight. I’ll rest for a few hours and leave before anyone thinks to look for me.