7.

 

Ayae was in control of her breathing and herself when she closed her eyes, but was hard-pressed to maintain her calm upon opening them.

Before her was the smoldering remains of a street two blocks back from the mill, a line of burned husks with fires lurking within, as if the hearts of the houses—the emotion, the love that was attached to the building—was revealed through destruction. That destruction had been set by the raiders. After an hour of chasing Steel through alleys with little success they had set the streets around the mill alight, destroying any advantage the mercenaries’ may have had in their hiding places and knowledge of the streets, and erecting a barrier between themselves and any support they may have received from the Mireean Guard who stood along the wall. For Ayae the fires had been so much more debilitating, bringing back memories not just of her attack in Orlan’s shop, but of Sooia, of the primal memory of childhood, of the fire that had consumed familiar buildings she would see years later in their blackened state, surrounded by the stone cairns that had been laid months after the destruction.

Staying in control of her emotions had rendered her more than taciturn, had turned her mute, to the point where her replies to Bael were no more than nods.

If the large, axe-wielding uncle of Queila Meina was bothered by that, it did not show. He accepted her nods and stepped only outside his role of leadership to point to the large raven that shadowed her, jumping from standing building to fallen, never out of sight. For her part, she did her best to ignore the bird, following the quick pace through the narrow streets and steeling herself as she passed burning buildings, being led toward the untouched, silent form of the mill that loomed before them.

A skinny youth with short red hair had asked Bael why the raiders had not already torched the building, burning those trapped inside.

“They’ve been careful with their fires around the mill,” the mercenary replied. “There’s lots of space between the set fires and where they are. My guess is they’re digging in.”

Ayae did not understand why they were doing so. If Bael had a theory, he did not voice it. “Deal with what we have, not the why. The why can wait until later.” There was no point arguing with him: for every two mercenaries from Steel that they met and drew into their group or directed back to Meina, they found another dead or near death. Already Ayae had seen Bael run his blade along the throat of two of his men, witness to the passing of a man and woman whose names she never learned.

As the moon entered the final quarter of the night, at times hidden by smoke, Ayae began to think that she herself would soon join those who had died. Her control was slipping, and when she closed her eyes she could imagine Bael’s large hand around her mouth. When she touched her face she rubbed at the invisible impression his fingers would never make, and could feel the warmth of his impressions on her skin. She had become so consumed by her own fear that, as the large mercenary began to explain to those around him what was required of them, she missed what he said. It was only when he began to pass out the long stemmed torches that she realized that they were to begin their attack.

Yet, when it came time to cross the road, to follow the others and light her torch from the dying flames of a building she had tensely passed through, Ayae did not hesitate.

When they began to climb the wall that surrounded the mill, her panic flared again. Yet, for the first time she was able to take it and place it apart from her. She was not in Sooia. The memories, the emotions she felt, were part of a different time, a time of terror, in part because of her own lack of authority over the situation. She had been a child. Her parents had been lost. She had been at the mercy of the goodwill of others in the camp, and that was not always forthcoming. Against the Innocent, they too were without authority. But the soldiers before her were not the unseen, almost mythical troops of a merciless man who had spent centuries destroying all life in the country of her birth.

They were just men and women.

And when the raiders emerged she was able to run through the smoldering buildings, charred wood crunching beneath her feet, without hesitation.