The Blessed City

Warm blood trickled down her face. Her body hung limp, bouncing over the shoulder of her captor. Blurry figures sparred in the distance. Their muffled sounds of steel and screams were barely audible through the ringing in her ears.

His hands found her waist as he dropped her against a solid object. She felt it move under her weight. The rise and fall of breathing. Turning her throbbing head, she found the ugly-faced animal snarling at her.

Lean crouched down and bound her wrists and feet. "Luck may come to my people yet." His breath rotted the inside of her nose. At her recoil, he raised his fist. Her jaw cracked under its ferocity.

She couldn't tell if it was meant to wake her up or to knock her out. Regardless, her eyes widened with pain. Tears muddied her sight.

With Lean's back turned, she searched for her dagger. Resisting the urge to grunt when she realized she left it on her saddle, she forced herself back against the animal. It nipped at her as she moved and she fell sideways to avoid its tusks.

"Boris, watch her." Lean commanded before returning to the battlefield. "Bring them home, men!"

Boris did as he was told and moved like a statue. His snout hovered over her face, his hooves straddled her head and legs. He exhaled hotly as he gazed into her eyes. Maleah caught her reflection in them and recognized the tint of fear.

Settling herself, she softened her eyes, found her breath. Boris' black pools blinked back. The huff of air from his snout sounded confused and unsure. He shifted on his hooves, but never took his eyes from her. Slowly, Maleah slid her knotted hands over his belly, felt him clench at her touch. Raising them to his snout, she petted him.

"There now," she said calmly. "I won't hurt you." Boris eased his head down, tilting his tusks just enough. She found the sharp tip and began working the rope over it, never taking her eyes from Boris'.

At last, the rope broke. But she didn't move. Boris nickered, then stepped off her. Free, Maleah rose to sit. Her head spun and her eyes waned unsteadily. Looking to Boris, she lowered her brow to his.

"Run," she said. Grunting, Boris nodded once and squealed. Behind her, men hollered as their animals bucked and tossed them to the ground. Following Boris', they sped away from their masters. She watched contently, knowing then the difference between slave and follower.

Stand. Maleah ignored the screams from her body and obeyed. Her movements caught Lean's attention. His face, a mangled mix of dismay and anger shot a jolt through her. In defiance, she straightened herself and waited. With three quick leaps, Lean lunged for her.

She didn't budge. Was it insanity or courage, she wondered as she folded the air around her. It whipped in fast lashes. The energy revved through her, filtered from her fingertips. It was a strength unlike any she'd felt before. She aimed the air at her attacker, allowing the needles to fly. Lean jerked backward, his body consuming the arrows.

Above her, the blue sky muddied. Clouds clustered, thrusting them all into darkness. A storm gathered. It was the distraction she needed. The scavengers cast their gazes to the funnels as they stretched to the ground. Gusts of wind pulled them off their feet, threw them from battle.

Her breath kicked into a pant. Trembling, Maleah sent them all away, leaving Lean for last. He did not plead or whine or growl. His astonishment was enough to render him helpless against her defense. With one fatal swoop, she cast him away, too.

Maleah did not look away from Lean as he disappeared until she saw her standing in the distance. A faint, glowing figure in a billowing white dress and hair blew astray.

But she was too drained and dizzy from the fight to notice the way she watched her. Not long after she let go of the wind, did she fall to the floor and go lax.

. . .

Black. Flittering her eyes, Maleah found blackness waiting for her. Hammers pounded inside her head as if dwarves were mining inside it. She felt around for the ground and was confused when it groaned back.

"Easy," a soft voice laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. When her vision adjusted, she saw Rhys sitting next to her. "Welcome back."

Maleah surveyed her surroundings. She laid on a small raised cot. Old and worn. It smelled of age and time. Across the room sat a table with chairs. Moonlight streamed from where the branches of a tree grew through the center of the room and reached out the roof. A fireplace was tucked into the wall on the other side. She could see the steady glow of fire in its hearth.

Raising her palm to the ache on her head, she found felt the scabbing.

"I cleaned it for you. To avoid infection. Here, take this. It's a mix of ginger and lavender. I had Cam grab some from the city just in case."

She sipped the tea. "Where are we?"

"An ogre hut in the swamplands."

Swamplands? Her brow furrowed. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Two days. Cam carried you on his horse after that show you put on back at the river." Rhys hesitated, drawing a long slow breath. "What was that by the way?"

Maleah shrugged not knowing how to answer. Had she really been asleep for two days?

"Well, whatever it was, it worked. We haven't seen any sign of scavengers since."

She nodded, grabbed her head when it swayed. "Where is Cam?"

"Searching for refugees. He hopes there is a settlement somewhere near the boulder. If he can find one, he can ask for the quickest way to the other side. He should be back soon." Maleah caught the hitch in her voice.

"How long has he been gone?"

"Since last night. You should eat." Standing, Rhys handed her a plate of food. "Don't worry, I washed it first."

She did as she was told and distracted Rhys by asking her to fill in her missing time. Starting with Rhys' trick with the horses and recognizing the half-truths she spoke.

"Listen," Rhys said solemnly. "If we do not find what we are looking for . . . I don't want to become a prisoner again."

"We will find it."

"How are you so sure?"

"I have a feeling, here," she put her hand to her stomach, "and I just know."

"My father once spoke of the same feeling. But he never found it."

"True as that is, it still doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

The door jarred open. A tall shaggy-haired man entered. Shutting the door behind him, Cam lifted his head. "Ladies."

Maleah jerked when Rhys leaped up. "Well? Did you find anyone?"

"There is a small cluster of refugees about one kilometer east. They say the quickest way is to the lake and straight south from there. The trees are thinnest and will allow for swifter passage." He frowned into the waning light.

"What is it?" Maleah inquired.

"The swamp isn't as I remember. It is dry and brittle. Dead to the core. As if the rains have abandoned it for years. The lake is but a hole in the ground with scarcely any water to harvest. We cannot linger long. We will need to be on our way soon as you are able," he directed to Maleah.

All agreed in silence and settled in for supper and sleep. Curling into her bed, Maleah wondered what had happened to the world to leave a swamp grim with death before sleep overtook her.

. . .

They decided to spend one more night in the hut. Figuring it best not to leave in the dark out of precaution. Cam spent the day tending to their blades using the stones he'd taken from the ship to sharpen them. Rhys had given him her hairpiece to sharpen before she mended it back into a hairclip. As he did so, Rhys studied the maps charting the best course south. The good news, she said was that once they were clear of the swamp, as long as they headed southeast, they'd find Ilioch land.

Maleah chose to sleep most of the day, catering to her aches as she kept to herself in the corner of the bed. When she couldn't sleep, she pulled the book out from her ganuaim and read on.

Still reeling in the responsibility of possessing the book, she let her mind mull over its pages until the words clung to her mind like the lines on her palms.

It falls upon you to protect the secrets within. To use each to fix that which I have left broken.

In between gaping at the words, she spun questions. Why was Vamirah in possession of it? Was it for her stories? Did she know which god was the author? Could it be a false book of tales written by an imposter? She shook off the latter, knowing intuitively it was not. Yet still, no comfort came from the unknown.

She turned to the next passage.

I have chosen the west. Somewhere far from the sea

for it reminds me too much of home. The eternity of

it. The crystal blue of the day; the deep black of night.

I will go as far as the mountains. Perhaps choosing its

foothills as my home. Somewhere where the others

will dare not seek me.

I often spend too much time thinking. Not everyone

will understand my actions or why I must leave.

Nor will anyone comprehend anything that is to

come. Too much time I have spent dwelling on this.

Not one thought has brought peace to my mind.

I could have stayed. But what good would that have

accomplished, I wonder. To stay and plead at them

while they continue to turn their back on their divine

duties. I fear nothing I could've said would have

swayed them from the pedestals atop which they have

placed themselves. Pleaded for them to listen, perhaps

guided them back to their duties. But I fear nothing I

could have said would have swayed them from the

pedestals atop which they have placed themselves.

If there is one thing I have learned from this that I

have not in the eternity I have lived, it is this:

I cannot force them to understand that which

they are not ready to.

When they are ready, they will learn. And then

will they be able to do what is right? To do what

is necessary. . .

Maleah read until twilight. Reading several pages. Many were filled with details of the land, the people, and the seasons. Tales of jolly and guilt spread through every page. So much so, she could have sworn she felt it. But even still, not once did the author identify themselves. Closing the book, she was left with more questions than she ever imagined could be answered.

Exhausted from sitting, Maleah stood to stretch. The others had already fallen asleep. Their soft exhales swam with the fading daylight. Walking to the window, she pulled her cloak over he shoulders and stared out into the swamp.

She'd never seen a swamp before. Had dreamt of them several times. Illustrious dreams full of greens and browns and trees that wove into each other. Fogs that rose several feet high and were so thick not a single firefly could be seen through it.

That was not the swamp she looked into then. Thick rustic trees twisted toward the sky, yes. But their branches were intertwined and their roots exposed. Left naked from a death that was never reborn. She saw the stars as clearly as if they were fireflies. They winked at her as if the world was aright. Though it wasn't.

She lost herself in the natural design of it anyway and paid little attention to the light in the distance. Another star, she presumed at first and looked away. But then it grew bolder and began to bob. Too close to the ground to be a star, too big to be a firefly. Leaning out the window, she saw the quick flicker of a flame: fire, she knew.

Curiosity lured her. Climbing through the window, she dropped soundlessly to the ground. She moved as quick as her body allowed, weaving her way through the hanging branches and crawling over roots, never taking her eyes from the fire. Stalking it as if it were prey and she a predator.

The moon had shifted when the fire stopped bobbing. Crouching behind a bulky trunk, Maleah peered as it lowered over a hole in the ground. Dirt crunched under its carrier's feet and accepted the torch into its hearth. In its glow, she saw the silhouette of the owner. From her hiding spot, she observed the stranger.

Hair trimmed closely to their head. Small height. Slim stature. Young, she concluded, and male. The boy crouched to the earth, laying his hands on the dirt. Bowing his head, he tilted his ear to the ground as if listening for something. Finally, he rose, drawing his hands up slowly. He began to dance. The fluidity of his movements reminded her of the Broken from the ship.

Her skin stirred as if something breathed down her spine. Unsure, she didn't dare move. A slow pulse beat under her feet and the ground shook with quick jerks. The disturbance echoed inside her, too until it settled into a low hum.

Locking her eyes on the boy, she watched eagerly as a single stream of clear liquid rose from the hole: water. Gripping a nearby branch, she leaned closer. Unaware of herself, it broke. The moments' distraction tore her eyes away and when she looked back, the stranger had gone.

Standing, she searched for him. Straining to see in the dim mix of fire and moonlight.

Whack. A wet wind snapped her head to the side. Reactively, she reached for her face and felt it damp. Studying the water on her hand, she cocked her head.

"Who are you?" the boy demanded. She heard the crack of the whip again and barely dodged it. "I will not ask again. Who are you? Why have you followed me?"

Raising her hands innocently, she spoke gently. "I wish you no harm."

"Liar." He lashed out again.

"I will not harm you," she repeated, avoiding the attack. "I only saw your fire and became curious."

"You speak funny. Where are you from?"

She had to stifle a laugh because she thought the same of him. Instead, she answered, "North."

"Strangers are not welcome here. Leave now before I give you no other choice."

She considered his threat. Took it more seriously than she should have. He was scared, though he hid it behind his will to fight. To protect, she assumed. Considering her chances, she stepped forward.

"I mean you no harm. I had only wish to find the source of that light." She pointed towards the torch and looked back to him.

"Well you have found it, so your business is done. Leave!" He reared his whip again. But instead of dodging, she conjured her own and disemembered his before it hit her.

He dropped his hands, retreated.

"Do you see now? I am like you. I am hiding, too. Running from the same people who threaten you and your family. My name is Maleah," she offered in an effort of truce. "What do they call you?"

"Lorcán," he said after several moments of silence.

"Pleasure. May I ask, what was that dance you did?"

He frowned at her. His small face scrunching tightly in the light. "You mean my ritual? It centers me. Allows me to connect to the water better."

Maleah walked to the edge of the hole. "Is this the lake?"

"It was. A long time ago. But now it is merely a reminder of a life long gone."

She allowed the night to fill the space between words. He mourned still. Grief, she knew, was a burden that never faded. It only calmed with time.

"Will you teach me how?"

He looked up at her. "I suppose. But it took me years to truly feel the water."

"Time is all I have." Smiling, she stepped up to him and followed his lead. Placing her hands on the edge of the lake as he did.

Lorcán spoke softly, almost in a whisper. "Close your eyes and listen. There is a subtle pulse under the earth. As a naturalist, we can connect to each one. Fire, water, earth. All run through it like blood in veins. Earth is heavier, fire swift, and water steady. As naturalists, we can connect to the element we were born to stir. For me, it is water. For you, if my suspicions are correct, it will be air. Yet, you can feel it just the same as it pulses around you."

She felt it, just as he described. Having felt the energy of it every day. The energy of the air constantly shifted. The water beneath her flowed. Deep underground, but she felt it still. As she did the slow, heavy waves in the earth and the heat of the fire stuck inside. It was different, though. Learning to feel the pulses separate of herself, of each other.

She said nothing, though, of those facts. Silencing her own suspicions that had grown in her every day since she left the borstal. Rather, she focused on the hum of nature and heard the ground split open again.

Lorcán eyed her in surprise. Glancing to the lake, he listened as water gurgled from its depths. A single cloud swirled above them, swallowing the moon. A thick fog churned, steaming from the earth. The sky broke open. Rain showered the ground with fresh, cool droplets. They were drenched in moments. The lake filled, claiming all the water that greeted it.

He looked to the stranger who summoned it. Her face rose to the heavens, her lips folding in a tongue he'd never heard before. He had sworn her gift was air, but could he have been wrong? Sure that he wasn't, he stared. Jaw agape.

When the haze cleared, Maleah studied their work. They were soaked and she was cold to the bones. But she laughed. Tossing her head back, she drank the rain. Then, wiping her hair back, she found the boy staring at her.

"What?" she half-laughed.

"I have been listening to the water my whole life. But I have never been able to do that."

"What do you mean?" Her smile lessened.

"You are jesting? You're an enchantress! Eyes glowing like a thousand suns burned inside them. Tongue speaking to the heavens as if the gods still listened and answered. I have never witnessed anything so . . . magical."

She wished she knew what he meant. "What do you mean to say?"

"The rain, the mist, the lake. I do not possess the power."

Maleah knew the possibility of what he said is true. Yet, part of her wanted to dismiss it all. For that would create more danger that she did not want to create. And still, the facts were against her. The portal, the map, the wind, and now the rain. She wished none of it made sense.

They sat by the lake, basking in the rain until the moon lowered to the height of the trees. As they walked back, Lorcán opened up about his life in the swamp. She learned his name came from the old language meaning "little fierce one." He had sisters at home helping their mother tend to what little garden they could grow. He'd been trekking to the lake ever since he discovered his gift. And no one questioned how he brought water back.

Maleah felt for him. Surviving in any way possible. Hiding from a world that would never accept them. She wanted desperately to tell him about Ilioch and the hope of finding a refugee city there. But she couldn't bring herself to raise his hopes when she struggled to hold on to hers. She was still debating the idea when he stopped.

"This is where we part ways. Make me a promise before you go? Do not tell anyone of tonight. Our existence in the swamp is only protected by its secrecy."

"As long as you promise you never met me." When he nodded, she let go of her resistance. Pulling the boy into her and hugging him. If not to assure him, then to comfort herself. His head reached her stomach and he rested it there before pushing away and disappearing back into the swamp.