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A pair of eyes, lifeless, sightless and wide, stare at me. King Garan. His expression is one of abject horror, of suffering.
Gasping, stabbing pain lances my heart and cold bleeds from it like lifeblood. My hand instinctively clutches the left side of my chest, my knees buckling and the contents of my stomach threatening to spew. King Garan. The face that stares up at me belongs to King Garan. Severed at the neck, the skin beneath his chin is jagged and frayed as if it was slashed with a hacksaw. Blood and gore stained the pale interior of the box in which it arrived and now stains the concrete.
King Garan is dead.
My mind struggles to process what my eyes behold.
Throat parched and feeling as if it’s lined with sand, strangled cries are suppressed by the lump of dread that has welled in my throat. With trembling limbs, I stagger backward, my legs unsteady beneath me, my mind reeling as I nearly fall from the bench on which I stand.
If King Garan is dead, what about Prince Garan? What about Sully and the children.
I stumble, King Garan’s vacant, cloudy eyes seem to follow me. The courtyard begins to spin in lopsided circles. Faces meld to a single, blurred form. Sound rises and falls at erratic intervals. Cold and hot simultaneously, my skin feels as if magnetic fire is lapping at it, draining heat as it supplies it. Pressure builds behind my eardrums.
The King is dead.
Garan may be, too.
And my children and Sully...
The world around me tilts, the slick slide of fear sending me sloping toward a dark abyss of immobilizing panic. To the edge of madness.
Veins of panic quiver through my marrow. My lungs are twin blocks of ice. I cannot breathe. I cannot think.
My family. My children. My husband. Garan. Do they live?
All of us are in danger.
Through the rolling sounds that alternate between deafening noise and deafening silence, a female voice slices through the night. Recognizing it and turning toward the sound, I see June, her beautiful features gathered in revulsion. In horror. Tears pour down her cheeks, and her pain snaps me back from the dark and desolate place to which I wandered. “No! No! No! Avery, no!” Her words come out in a single, pressured stream.
Dread settles in my gut like a glacial stone. I fear the worst has happened. That more boxes will come. That the faces of my husband and children will follow.
The rest of the crowd is stunned to silence, word of what was in the box rippling through the ocean of humans and Urthmen like a wave until a preternatural stillness settles upon all in Cassowary. That is, until a new voice carves the ether with the precision of a master swordsman.
“Now!” This single word is a command shouted by a voice I recognize. Cadogan. It belongs to Cadogan. I look up in time to see his mouth wide, his face contorted in rage, as he pumps his fisted hand forward. And at his order, Cassowary erupts into chaos.
“Avery!” someone shouts my name in the distance. I look around as I step down from the bench. I do not see the female who called my name. All I see is movement. Movement, and the Urthmen have segregated themselves from the humans. The sight of it is like chill fingertips tracing the length of my spine.
That chill spreads from my spine to every corner of my body, freezing my heart mid-beat, when I see Urthmen, clad in unusually loose garb, pull bows from beneath their clothing. Quivers loaded with arrows appear as well, some stashed in shrubbery and tall grass all around the courtyard. They make quick work of nocking the arrows onto the bowstring and lighting the tips. Before I have time to blink, much less react, bows are pulled taut and fiery arrows are launched. They light the night sky, whizzing like comets across the courtyard. I follow the path of one and watch as it and others lodge into barrels I don’t remember seeing when I set up for the party, but assumed were filled with ale as the others had been.
Seconds later, explosions rip through the atmosphere on a sonic boom, spewing embers and body parts in every direction. More arrows are released. More barrels explode, their blasts shaking the very ground beneath my feet.
Yet I am somehow rooted in place.
Years of peace have left me inert, immobilized by shock, confusion and fear.
Shrill screams ring out, clawing at my eardrums with their anguished pitch. Men and women run in every direction, some with flames lapping at them like tongues of fire. Consuming their flesh from their bodies.
And still I do not move. I remain, stock-still and unblinking.
All around me, Urthmen produce swords and daggers, pulling them from crates that contained food and barrels that were believed to contain ale. Other Urthmen pull them from concealed scabbards, hidden on their person. None of the humans are armed. This is a time of peace, and a party celebrating that peace. They are defenseless, powerless and frozen by fear when the Urthmen secure a perimeter, advancing inward upon the gathering of humans. The Urthmen begin hacking away at men, women and children, scything them like scouts with machetes through tall growth and brush. Anguished cries fill the square, the wet thwack of swords landing against flesh precipitates them. Humans—my people—are being butchered. The metallic stench of blood grows cloying. I must do something. But what?
Without any other plan, I drop to one knee and pull a dagger I have sheathed at my ankle. It is small and kept there for hunting, but it’s better than nothing. With trembling hands, I manage to yank it free just as an Urthman charges toward me.
Wielding a sword of considerable size, he’s only a few steps away from me. If he gets close enough to swing, I doubt I’ll escape with my life, so I grip the handle of my dagger and hurl it at him with every ounce of strength I have. It whips through the air end over end, closing the distance and tumbling, until it sinks into The Urthman’s left eye.
He stops immediately, head rearing backward and for the briefest of moments he doesn’t react. The pain goes unregistered. In that miniscule span of time I don’t know who is more surprised: him or me. I haven’t engaged in combat in a decade. I haven’t handled a weapon for anything more than hunting in that long. With as many people as we have in Cassowary, even time spent hunting has been limited. I didn’t expect to fight tonight or any other. And the Urthman wasn’t expecting me to be armed or fight tonight either.
Within seconds, the Urthman’s sword falls from his grip and both hands fly to his eye. He howls in pain, writhing and crying out. In recent years, I’d have felt an outpouring of sympathy for an injured Urthman. I’d have tried to help. I’d have never been the one who’d inflicted the injury. But in the blink of an eye, everything changed. I cannot feel sympathy for a being who terrorizes my people. And any semblance of mercy has been bled from me. Urthmen aren’t showing mercy as they slash at my people. Instincts that have been dormant for some time awaken. My muscles twitch to life. I move on the fallen Urthman with speed and agility I forgot I had. I scoop up the sword he dropped, quickly driving it into his chest before whirling on the others advancing. I carve the air in a wide arc, opening the throat of the nearest Urthman before I spin and drive my blade through the heart of another.
Sweat beads my forehead and covers my body in a fine sheen despite the cool temperature. I risk looking around for June, panic taking hold, but don’t see her. I do not see Riley, Oliver or Lark, or anyone I recognize. All I see are human forms falling at the hands of Urthmen. Unarmed humans—my friends—dying all around me. And it’s all my fault. I let this happen. I became too comfortable with the notion of peace. So comfortable that I didn’t sense the tide turning against us. And now, looking around at the carnage, at hundreds of fallen friends, I realize their blood is on my hands. I didn't keep them sharp and at the ready. I didn’t keep them armed. I trusted the Urthmen after a lifetime of knowing better. I am at fault.
Sickened by my actions and all-consuming grief for those who I know are dead and my family that I fear is dead, I stagger, barely able to drag my legs then set off at a jog. The jog transforms to a run as I make my way toward a hidden exit at the rear of Cassowary. Most people in our walled city know of it. I’m hoping against hope that June is alive and remembered the exit. That she is there and unharmed with Riley, Lark, Oliver and others who managed to escape the attack.
Moving with speed and stealth that betrays the massive guilt I carry, I dash across grassy areas, between buildings and through alleyways. It is only when I’m nearing the last set of homes that a pair of Urthmen cross my path. Tottering and seemingly drunk, their movements are slow and lumbering as they attack. I take them down with ease, striking one in the chest with my blade before opening his gut and driving my blade through the other’s midsection. I withdraw my sword from his abdomen, heaving breaths that burn down my throat to my lungs. Though exertion demands that I slow or stop, the need to survive rushes through my blood in time with adrenaline. I race to the gateway that leads to the world beyond the walls of Cassowary. Bushes crowd the exit. I chance a look over my shoulder and see that I’ve not been chased then dive behind them, waiting several moments before I emerge from them and make my way through a short but dark tunnel to the outside.
Eyes adjusting from pitch darkness to twilight, I look over my shoulder once again, out into the vast expanse of wooded plains. The sun has vanished. Fog has begun to settle, slinking and sliding sinuously, hovering around low-lying brush like spectral beings. A cluster of bushes moves, the woods stirring, though a breeze doesn’t blow, and all around me the world pauses as if with bated breath, waiting. Watching.
It isn’t safe to be in the woods at night. It isn’t safe to be anywhere beyond the walls of the cities we’ve created. The environment is harsh. Nocturnal animals are deadly. My decision to leave the walls of the city was forced. The hope was to find my sister, Oliver, Lark, Riley and many others from Cassowary, and regroup. To regroup and attack.
Straining my eyes, I look out into the darkening horizon. It’s filled with hostile looking shapes. I can’t be certain what they are, whether they’re trees and plants merging to shape animal-like forms, or something more nefarious. But not one of them is a human form. And not one person from Cassowary is out on the edge of the forest with me. Warning screams through me. I am alone.
Turning, I start to jog. To return to the darkened tunnel from which I came and reenter Cassowary. My lungs burn and anxiety burdens my legs, makes them feel as if my every movement is against a mighty tide. My heart pumps madly and my T shirt, dampened by sweat, clings to my back. Permeated by instinctive fear, each cell in my body vibrates, my blood throbbing through my veins, against my skin with so much force it threatens to break free. But I don’t stop. I can’t leave my people behind. If any remain, I need to help them. I need to fight for them at the very least. And die with them if need be.
I am halfway there when the thunderous clatter of hundreds of footsteps advancing halts me. Pure terror raises every hair on my body, prickling my skin in a wave. Urthmen—the very Urthmen who attended a celebration of peace only to slaughter my people—are pouring out of Cassowary. They’re rounding the corner of the wall, more of them than I can count, and I am out in the open. Indecision of what to do is fleeting. Hiding is not an option. Self-preservation is useless to me if I am without my family. Without my loved ones. So I run. I run as hard and fast as I can until I reach the entrance of the tunnel. But before I set foot inside, thunderous explosions rock the ground beneath me with deep bass reverberations, and a flash of light temporarily blinds me. I squeeze my eyes shut for a split-second. When I open them, I see rocks, dirt and clumps of grass kick up along with dust. Within seconds, a towering inferno blazes. I stagger backward, my eyes cast to the top of the wall. Stretching and looking as if its flames lap the navy swath of sky above it, the blaze spawns spiraling tornadoes of smoke.
My hand flies to my mouth, covering the desperate scream that longs to escape. Ahead of me, my city burns, and possibly with everyone I know dead or dying inside. Behind me, Urthmen advance. At any second, they will see me and I will be killed immediately. I cling to the waning hope that June is still alive. That some way, somehow Sully, John and William are alive to. And I hide. I dart left, bolting like a startled rabbit, and dive headfirst into a dense cluster of shrubs. Branches and needle-like barbs scrape and pierce my skin before I collide with the earth with a thud. Every bone in my body is jarred but I do not make a sound. I draw my legs up, tucking my knees to my chest and clutch my sword in one hand, making sure that it’s concealed. Countless Urthmen march past. I barely breathe until they’re gone. And even then, I remain frozen in place.
Minutes turn to hours and I do not budge. I stare at the entrance to Cassowary, willing June and others from the city to appear. But they don’t. No one does. Save for the flames lapping at the city walls, Cassowary is as still as a tomb. As far as I can tell, I am the only one who’s survived, which mean thousands are dead.
Lowering my chin to my chest, insurmountable grief overwhelms me. And shame. Tears burn down my cheeks. I am alive. A coward tucked away in bushes. And my people are dead. I have failed them. I have failed the people of Cassowary. June. My husband. My sons. I have failed everyone I love.