The dusty orange light of the rising sun cast long concealing shadows the fateful morning Aella Palechild and her band of stragglers crossed the wall. There was no way their enemy could’ve known about the plan, Aella had been particularly careful in choosing her companions –  and anyone to whom she’d confided her secrets with had accompanied her through the night. Still, her heart would not stop drumming in the hall that was her ribs.

Meia whimpered as her arms scraped against the rough stone of Estersea’s outer wall, clinging so tightly to the rope between her fingers that it burned her skin. Aella had been hesitant to allow the young woman to come with her – the road west was no easy journey and Meia was burdened with an unborn child - but Meia had pleaded, saying she would not have another chance. So, for the sake of mother and child and a life safe from magic, for the sake of Meia herself who’d seen her betrothed, her only way out of the slums, killed in front of her, Aella had relented. Had they stayed, neither mother nor child would’ve lasted long.

Magic was crude. Magic was cruel. How blind they’d been to its surreptitious progress, spreading out from the roots the Blood Red War had failed to destroy. No longer did a speedy answer remain. Cutting the head of a poisonous plant would do little to halt the weeds sowing apace through the garden.

Arms reached over the wall to pull Meia over to the other side and Palechild allowed herself a small sigh of relief. Two left to go: Brighteyes and herself. She met the eyes of the man who’d been her friend since the days of the orphanage, noticing the grim line of his mouth. He didn’t like their chances. But the sound of freedom had always been too sweet a call to ignore. And now they had a reason important enough to leave: to warn the King – if ever they got that far.

Brighteyes passed the rope into her hands, “Go. I’ll push you up.”

“This is it.” Her fingers pressed against the palm of his hand, a sign of familiarity and comfort amongst the people of Est. He copied the movement and she inhaled deeply through her nose, steeling the nerves within her lithe frame, and began to climb as Brighteyes used his hands to support her feet until she got high enough. She was barely three quarters of the way up, the skin on her limbs scratched and bruising, when she froze at the ominous clank of armoured shoes drawing closer and closer to the wall. The breath caught in her throat as her gaze shot downwards to Brighteyes  below her who wore an expression of horror.

“Go!” He motioned to her as he too started to climb. She turned to the sight of Thinfinger’s face peering downward, his eyes wide in his stretched face. Would the rope hold both of them? Palechild could only hope.

“Hey!” Spotted. She glanced towards the alleys behind them to see the pair of men angry and bewildered at the sight before them. One stooped to pick one of the larger rocks from the ruined path that ran for miles around the wall. He brought his arm back, and she prayed to Myesha that they’d be alright, that her whole group would make it over the wall.

The stone smacked in the space between her and Brighteyes, breaking into pieces down upon her friend. No time. She strained towards Thinfinger’s hand, fingers barely catching before he got a grip on her hand and hoisted her over the wall. From the top of it she could see a stretch of red burning like fire in the early sun beyond the thin barrier of forest between it and Estersea. Their path was laid before them, open to the sea and sky and mountains beyond. Mythanor’s Spine was visible even from the wall, the peaks concealed by far away clouds of an ebbing night. That was their road; Wes and the capitol of the kingdom lay beyond. The moment ended as Thinfinger released his hold and she toppled, dropping into the arms of her companions waiting below.

“Brighteyes,” She gasped, steadying herself. “They caught up to us.” Murmuring broke out amongst the group. Had they come this far just to fail? “Hide in the trees.”

“What are they going to do?” Meia whispered at her side. “Did they get Brighteyes?”

“I don’t know…” It wasn’t something she wanted think about. What would happen to them if they did get caught? None of them were high ranking members of society. They’d started off in the slums or as refugees, or been cast down from the middle class – most of them had ended up in pleasure houses or stealing as Brighteyes and Thinfinger had. Most did not know how to take advantage of their situation as Aella had, and even that advantage had come at a cost - the memory of men raking greedy fingers down her sides was fresh in her mind.

If they were caught she could only imagine their being used as fodder for magic, sources of blood from which the demons would draw power for their sorcery.

“Wait!” One of the urchins in the group pointed upwards. “I see them.”

He was right. Brighteyes and Thinfinger hung in midair for a moment before they dropped to the ground, the former cradling his right hand. Palechild’s hands shot out to steady them. “Are you okay?”

“Those mud lickers broke my wrist with one of those rocks.” Brighteyes hissed, cringing as Meia took the injured joint between her gentle fingers. Often had injured orphans and thieves had taken refuge within the pleasure houses once the mother of the house had decided that they were no threat to her girls. The older woman had taken such care of Meia and Aella over the years, and Palechild knew she would miss that fierce protection.

“He was lucky that they had such bloody poor aim.” Thinfinger added, shaking his head. “The ideal place to aim would’ve been his head, knock ‘im out. Not sure how they missed such a big target.”

“Are they going to follow us?” Aella asked, tearing off the bottom of her shirt to hand to Meia as a street urchin ran off to collect the sticks to brace Brighteyes’s wrist. He was turning pale at the pain, but they’d never had the luxury of any painkillers aside from booze in the slums and even that had been hard to acquire. The only bottle they had with them was being saved for Meia, and Brighteyes would flat out refuse even if she offered some.

“I doubt it.” Thinfinger shrugged, “They wouldn’t go to so much trouble for a scraggly group of slum rats and dolls. We should get goin’ though, Wes ain’t a-getting any closer as we stand here.”

She nodded, “Agreed. Meia, how is he?”

“He’ll be fine eventually, I’ve done all I can.” Meia tied the ends of the makeshift bandage together. “Don’t push it, Palechild. A bone-fever is the last thing we want. He’s already got enough scratches as it is. Don’t get them infected.” She lectured Brighteyes and his golden gaze met Aella’s pale lilac grey. They’d both known the risks before they set out. They both knew they could lose one or even all on this treacherous journey. He had not liked their chances.

But she’d always thought that she and Brighteyes shared a special bond – that if one survived then the other would too, just as it had always been. He broke the connection first and snorted as though he did not care, “I’ve had worse. I’ll be fine.”

“Brighteyes in the strongest!” The street urchin agreed, full of admiration as he spun circles around his hero. “I’m the fastest.”

“That’s right, kid. We’re faster and stronger than anyone else in Estersea.” The former thief could not help but laugh, “Palechild is the smartest, and Meia is the kindest. Let’s go. Lead the way, chief!”

“Ya don’t even mention your partner in crime!” Thinfinger said in a tone of mock outrage. “After all those years I’ve spent watchin' your back!”

“You’re the sharpest!” The kid said after a moment’s pause of consideration.

“Thinfinger th’ sharp.” The man mused upon the new title, “I like it.”

Meia smiled slightly at Aella at the light-hearted conversation, the feel of a new life almost within their grasp was better than any tonic. Palechild prayed they could keep the good humour up for as long as their path in front of them. She especially hoped Meia’s flame of optimism wouldn’t flicker out and die.

If stories were ever made about this story, if their small, bedraggled band ever reached the king to warn him of the impending threat, she would make sure that these thieves, orphans, and pleasure girls would not be forgotten amongst all the glory.

“Shall we go after them, sir?” One of the two men addressed his superior as their targets disappeared over the wall, the rope falling with them. “They may know something.”

“There is no need.” The other shook his head, a small sinister curve tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Let them have their brief flight of freedom. They’ll regret it soon enough. Such a sad waste of a pretty doll.”

“But what if they get to Westorkeep, sir?”

“A bunch of underfed slum rats like that? They won’t survive; I doubt they’ll even get to Mythanor’s spine. The Red Plains will take care of them for us. They’ll know how sweet freedom tastes then.”

“Yes, sir. Shall I report this escape, sir?”

“No.” The superior man shook his head. Why would his commanders need to know such useless information? “There is nothing to say.”

Only the creatures of flight could easily cross the long mountain range of Mythanor’s Spine – a mountainous backbone that lead to the vast frosted peaks that covered the region of Nor. For generations many had doubted that humans still lived in that forbidding place, claiming that the kin of Russvolf and Ivorbear, the first settlers of Nor, died out years ago. But though forgotten and dismissed by the outside world, the isolated cavern city of Norhaven endured, and those within it wanted little to do with what lay beyond the mighty doors of the mountain. They had not wandered beyond the threshold of their city for generations, bearing children whose curiosity would be tempered by cautionary tales.

Still, not all were disdainful of the mysterious unknown. Those who weren’t quickly learned to hold their tongue – isolation was not an easy existence in an already lonely place. Up the winding stair that led to the trial house, where the measure of each citizen was tested once they reached the coming of age, and out the large reinforced doors that opened out onto the large courtyard frozen by the coming winter, Jacha Shiel stood looking at the white peaks and the vast land that lay beyond them to the south, allowing the dust to escape from her fingers.

She had stopped her pacing, trying to quell her anxiety as she waited for her younger brother to finish the trial that would define his future. The two of them had been inseparable since they were small. It’d only been expected that Costel would ask her to take him there and wait. He hadn't been able to do the same for her own testing, the ceremony demanded that only those who'd already undergone the test could accompany the candidate, and so it'd been their father that had stood in wait for Jacha.

She did not doubt her brother’s skill, he was an active member of the community and just as beloved as his twin sister, Chera. The family enjoyed a strong position within Norhaven and the three of children only drew even more attention. It did not stop her from worrying though, she suspected the leaders would've noticed Costel’s lingering curiosity of the outside world and while she loved him all the more for it, she did not think the examiners would share the same opinion.

A blizzard was brewing not too far from their mountain, the winds stirring the snow into an ever-growing frenzy. She'd have to seek shelter soon, the storms in Nor were unforgiving and not even the thick furs of her guard’s uniform could protect her from Kol’s fury. The god of winter and death was said to take life whenever he could. Just another reason for children to fear.

“What do I see here?” A rasp of a voice interrupted her troubled thoughts and Jacha stiffened almost automatically. Wary eyes moved to wander across weathered skin, the old woman’s face was a map of lines softly carved by the long years she’d endured, yet her smile was nothing but mischief. “How rare it is to find one of our kind out here.” Her measured gaze wandered over the guard’s glove where the remnants of the dust remained in scattered blue dots. “Wasting more than time, I see.”

“Nor’ Tison.” Jacha’s salute was reluctant but sincere. No matter how often Ramyra Tison’s name was followed with comments on her deteriorating sanity, the elder often gave council to the leaders and had seen more of the world than anyone – she demanded respect. Costel adored Ramyra, and so had she once upon a time. But that was before she knew of the frightening idea of being rejected by all she'd ever known. Jacha shifted uncomfortably beneath the wanderer’s scrutiny. “I am merely waiting for my brother.”

Ramyra laughed, a chortle barely heard above the wind howling louder with each passing minute. “There’s no need to worry, child. Your brother is far more capable than even you know, and I am not here to drag you into the wilds.”

At the mention of her brother, Jacha’s eyes narrowed in hostility and she drew herself up, back rigid and jaw tense. “I would be grateful if you’d not further entice Costel, Nor’ Tison. If he is to be a guard of Norhaven, he’ll have to focus all his efforts into his training and consideration of the well-being of the city. As you know, he must swear himself to its defence and to give in to the temptation of the outside world would be to break that oath.” And the punishment for such an act was not merciful. “Respectfully, I ask that you keep your distance from him.”

“You fear that he does not have your willpower, Nor’ Shiel?” The wind whipped frail strands of silver hair over Ramyra’s face, but the amusement in her eyes did not falter. “You fear that he will not be able to pretend that he doesn’t hear the call of adventure from outside the cavern’s walls? Your brother is simply more honest with himself than you are with yourself.”

“I have no need for such desires, especially as a guard. They distract from what is my duty, my oath. My services are to Norhaven.” She had the lines recited into her heart.

“That doesn’t sound like much of a way to live.” The old woman’s gaze was steady, staring into Jacha’s own steel grey eyes.

“Better than dying.”

The weary sigh that escaped from Ramyra’s lips frosted in front of her, white clouds that drifted away on the birth of the afternoon storm. Her next words were muttered and Jacha only caught a few of the words, “Been away too much… would not forgive me… should’ve known… had to make sure.”

Jacha was tiring of the conversation. She cleared her throat and gestured coolly towards the Trial House doors. “If you would make your way back inside, Nor’ Tison, a blizzard is on the way and I must ensure your safety.”

The wanderer regarded her carefully but did not argue as she began to make her way across the courtyard, Jacha falling into step behind her. Even with her staff, Ramyra’s uneven gait was noticeable, but if she felt any pain she did not show it. “This is not our last, Nor’ Shiel.”

“I do not doubt it.” Just as long as Costel was out of reach. She rapped smartly on the reinforced wood of the giant double doors and waited as the guards on watch heaved them open from the other side. The one with the familiar face raised his eyebrows at Jacha when he spotted her company, the other remained impassive but she saw how his gaze followed Ramyra uneasily.

It was he who the old woman turned to, “Nor’ Sandar, if you could assist me down these stairs? I would wait to accompany the candidate but I fear I have business to attend to.” The guard only hesitated only for a second before he took Jacha’s place beside the wanderer, and she watched until they disappeared into the gloom of the long, winding staircase.

“What were you doing out in the courtyard with Nor’ Tison?” Eitan couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer.

“As you know, Nor’ Havest, I’d asked to use the courtyard while I waited. I can only assume you let her out as well.” Jacha replied, making use of the other guard’s empty place while she waited.

Eitan looked slightly bewildered, “She didn’t come past us. The early morning guards must’ve let her out unless she climbed the mountain.” That was always a possibility they couldn’t rule out. Ramyra had done things most wouldn’t even dream of. Still, she did not respond to his suggestion, focusing her attention on the door that held her brother, completing his trial. Had hers taken this long or did the waiting just make it feel like an eternity? Silence settled comfortably in the long hall, warmed by the fires that lit it, until Eitan broke it once more, “She’s crazy, you know?”

“I know.” It’d been easy to convince herself of that one.

“You shouldn’t talk to her too much.” He said, “The leaders will start thinking of you as one of her acolytes.”

A small smile tried to tug at the corner of her lips but it disappeared as soon as it came. “They have nothing to fear, I will treat Ramyra just the same as every other guard does.” She turned to meet Eitan’s gaze, meaning every word. “I’ll ensure Costel does the same.”

His face was one of approval and relief as he nodded to her, “You know, some people were starting to think you’d always be trouble. The other guards were worried that it could jeopardise our jobs when you first started but everything’s gone so smoothly over the past year.”

“Everyone changes, Nor’ Havest.” Jacha turned back to the Trial room’s door. “Everyone has to grow up sometime.”

“What do you think they’ll suggest he’ll end up being?” Eitan waved a hand toward the room, stiff and polite posture gone now there were only the two guards in the hall, “Costel.”

“It won’t matter, he made his mind up a long time ago.” She could still remember him running around with a wooden axe, pretending to defend Norhaven like the guards had in the legends, had it really been fifteen years already? She tapped her fingers against her thigh.

“Well it shouldn’t go on as long as I heard yours did.” He said with a good-natured grin, “What did they make you do?” Jacha remained silent. Each trial was a confidence kept between the candidate and the leaders, and Eitan went on, not expecting her to answer, “Your sister, Chera, she’ll be up here tomorrow, won’t she?”

Jacha looked sharply at the young man. His tone had changed, and it was not hard to find the hint of red that graced the tips of his ears even though he was determined to keep his expression as neutral as ever. “Yes,” she answered carefully, “She will.”

“You two must worry about her.” Eitan guessed.

“Not particularly, she will do better than either Costel or I. The healers say her hands are a gift from Myesha.” She watched as he ducked his head a little, acutely aware of her scrutiny.

“I know, I know. I meant that surely there will be those competing for her affections soon enough, if there aren’t some already.” He amended.

“Are you intending to be among them, Nor’ Havest?” When he didn’t answer, her voice grew soft with a threat, “They should know that they go through both her brother and her sister first.”

Eitan tried his best not to look perturbed, “It will be Chera who chooses in the end.”

“Of course.” Jacha said, “Her judgment is the one I trust the most.”

Eitan looked at her, frowning, “You know, you’d do well yourself if you weren’t so steely.”

“I’m not interested.”

“What, not even one day?”

“Even if one day,” She gave him a hard look, “Then it’ll be my own business.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, leaning back against the stone wall. The blizzard had grown to a howl just beyond the door, ice screaming as it lashed against the mountainside. Jacha’s foot had taken to tapping against the floor, barely heard over the roar of the storm.

She hadn’t realise she’d lost herself in thought until the scrape of the Trial room door brought her to her senses and Costel stumbled out, sweat making his fair hair cling to his forehead. She quickly moved toward him, putting her hands out to steady him. Despite his exhaustion he still beamed as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders for support, “I did it!”

Eitan uncorked a bottle of water and placed it into his spare hand, laughing slightly at Costel victorious tone, “Here, drink up. It’s going to be a rough hike down all the stairs.”

The younger sibling groaned, “I’d forgotten about that.” He drained the bottle in massive gulps, looking as though he’d been deprived of the liquid for days, and wiped his mouth before handing it back to Eitan.

The guard made an expression of mock horror, “Not a drop left for you or me, Nor’ Shiel. Your brother in a monster.”

“They declared him one at birth.” Jacha shook her head sadly, “All these years trying to keep it a secret were in vain.”

“Is this how you treat the newest members of your order?” Costel exclaimed in false outrage.

“So you are a guard then?” Eitan asked, hoisting Costel’s other arm over his own shoulders as they slowly began to steer him towards the stairs back down towards the main cavern of Norhaven.

“Yeah.” Costel turned his face towards his sister, “Turns out they were pretty much of the same mindset as I was on my future, which is pretty lucky. I was going to be a guard anyway but it’s good to know they’re supporting that.”

“Cos,” She said in a whisper, “You know you don’t have to tell us what they said, don’t you?”

He gave the best shrug he could, “I want you to know.”

“That means you’ll have to swear your oath during the days of light after your training period, you and whoever else decided on being a guard.” Eitan commented, “And you’ll need to ensure you receive your dust supply from Guard Commander. Are you ready?”

“Can’t wait,” He replied happily, “But I’m looking forward to the celebration awaiting me at the bottom of these damn stairs even more. Just wait until we say Chera’s face…” He trailed off, face falling, “But she’ll be preparing for tomorrow, will she even be around?”

“Chera wouldn’t miss your arrival back,” Jacha chided him, and both Costel and Eitan brightened. She considered telling Costel of the guard’s infatuation with their sister later.

The celebrations continued on late into the night, and even though Costel had requested energy restoring herbs from the healer, Jacha could tell that her brother was dead on his feet. She watched him play traditional games from the corner of the courtyard just outside their house. They lived close to the centre of the city and Costel’s celebrations had drawn many people from all over, most of which they knew and all of which had heard of Costel. They cheered him on, clapping synchronization, chanting his name until it rang around the great cavern that held the city. The purple lanterns lit the streets in a warm glow and burned bright through the golden spirits many others had brought to commemorate Costel’s trial.

“Unusual for you to be so withdrawn,” a female voice commented from her right, a hint of humour lacing through tones as smooth and light as the frosty morning air. Chera stood at her sister’s shoulder, nudging Jacha gently, “I thought I’d find you right in the centre of it all, matching Costel drink for drink.”

“Today is his day,” Jacha responded in kind, elbowing her sister back. “I wouldn’t want to detract from it, and I know I’m not the only one being subtle about her movements.”

“Well, I didn’t want to detract from it either.” Chera repeated her sister’s words with a hint of cheek. “Plus I’m supposed to be preparing for my own trial, I didn’t want to get caught up in any drinking games when I’m supposed to preserve all my wit. I doubt my celebration will be like this though.” That was true, even Jacha’s own celebration had started off a lot quieter until she demanded someone bring her a drink and dragged her siblings out to play, much to Costel’s glee.

“I’ll have them throw an even more extravagant celebration even if I have to fight the leaders themselves. Costel wouldn’t stand for a quiet gathering as a party, you know that.” She declared.

Chera chuckled at the thought, “I would welcome it. But you’re lurking in this corner for more reason than just the fact that you don’t want to steal our dear brother’s limelight – I think Costel would enjoy his time even more if you were standing right there beside him. Something has been troubling you for a while now.”

She was right. The three siblings knew each other too well to keep anything a secret for long. Jacha swallowed, turning her stare back to her brother, “I’m just worried about him. There are some who believe he’s too wild.”

“They had much the same suspicious about you, didn’t they?” Chera reminded her, “You haven’t given them reason to doubt since you became a guard. I would even say that you are holding yourself back.”

She was beginning to sound like Ramyra had that very afternoon. Jacha closed her eyes wearily, not intending to go off at her sister, “I am not; I’ve just learnt to be cautious… that’s what a guard’s life will teach you.”

Chera wasn’t satisfied with her answer, “That’s not it, Jacha.” There was that look in her eyes that Jacha knew too well – that Chera would find out the answer sooner or later whether she liked it or not. The girl turned her heel with a slight huff, “Costel can look after himself. I have to go back to mother and finalize my preparations for tomorrow.” She gave her sister’s wrist a squeeze, “I’ll still be expecting that ‘extravagant’ celebration tomorrow, don’t forget.”

“I would never.” Jacha assured her, returning the gesture before watching her sister disappear back towards the house. Costel had pushed the cover from up over his eyes and was staring intently around in an attempt to find her. It only took a matter of time before he did, and his expression slipped into a frown for a few seconds before waving her over.

“Jashha!” He called in a slur, “C’mon o’er! Wha’ are yer doin’ there for?”

By the time Jacha had hauled her brother’s unconscious body into his bed it was almost dawn and she was essentially the only one still awake. She thanked Myesha she still had two days off duty. The sky through the cracks in the great gate that lay closed to the outside world was beginning to pale. To her spinning head it almost seemed to glow and meld with the dull expanse of the doors, burning as bright as the purple lanterns that had flickered out a few hours ago.

“Thinking of the outside again?” Kol’s breath, this woman was everywhere. Jacha’s bleary eyes barely registered the face beside her. The old woman laughed at the young guard’s expression, “Ah, the spirits. How they reveal what’s haunting our hearts.”

“Why are you following me?” Jacha managed to force out, pausing with each word.

“Birds of a feather flock together.” Ramyra cackled. Jacha had never seen a bird or even heard the expression but she got the gist of it.

She glared. “Don’t joke with me.”

“I’m not, Nor’ Shiel. I know the desire for more all to well. You can’t keep denying it,” The old woman said cheerfully, pointing towards Norhaven’s gates.

“I’m a guard, I have an oath. It’s not the same for you,” Jacha hissed rubbing her eyes as she tried to stay awake.

Ramyra’s face was no longer cheerful, “I left things behind too, child.” Jacha looked away at the admittance. “Norhaven will always be a home to you, but it does not mean you need to stay here forever. These fools have driven it into their heads that they must.” Weathered eyes tried to stare directly into Jacha’s face, “But it is more than love that binds you here, isn’t it?” A long pause fell heavy between them, “Not that it matters. You will leave Norhaven one day soon, Nor’ Shiel. You will leave because you must.”

“Says who?” She growled, disliking the conversation more and more as it continued, disliking that Ramyra was trying to peer into her thoughts unbidden.

“There are greater powers than you and I.” The old woman said simply.

“Then they'll have to drag me out.” Jacha snarled, striding into the doorway of her house. “My place is here.” She slammed the door shut into utter darkness.

Ramyra was gone by the time Jacha woke that day. But she stewed heavily upon the conversation, each time stirring anger within her, determined not to forget. Chera successfully passed through her Trial, announcing quietly that she would become a healer though her eyes gleamed of something unspoken, and as promised Jacha made sure the celebration was raucous and memorable. More turned out than expected, but Jacha could chalked that up to Chera’s beauty more than her own organizational skills. She saw Costel had already determined many of the men’s motives were and deliberately placed himself right next to his twin sister so that she could enjoy the night in peace.

The days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. Winter howled on outside their mountain, merciless. The people of Norhaven mined and processed the dust allocated for each group for the year ahead. Chera began her official healing training and spent a lot of her spare time in the records’ building. Costel excelled in his guard training, and insisted Jacha practice with him in their free time after all.

And Jacha forgot.

They woke long before light rimmed the edges of Norhaven’s gate, Costel still yawning as they went to report in to the guard barracks for the day’s schedule. The sour taste of the dust was still heavy on her tongue and Jacha wondered if her siblings were now used to mixing it with their water. Already many citizens were awake, working on the last preparations for the End of Darkness ceremony that marked the return of Myesha’s power and the start of the Thaw for the people of Nor. The celebrations would last a week and the guards themselves would have their own chance to join in the frivolity, in the dancing and singing and mingling. But the first day of the ceremony was the most important and the city’s defence had its own role to play in it. The job was largely ceremonial – part of Nor tradition. It was one that Jacha had previously experienced, and she didn’t even have to glance at her brother’s face to know that he eagerly anticipated the event.

Many of the older guards appeared exhausted from the mere anticipation of the day’s duties, tuning out as the Guard Commander, Roark Maeson, explained the task to the newest of the company. Jacha could not help but wonder if they’d tired of the history behind the ceremony as well.

“You shall stand as a shield,” Roark was saying, sounding almost as bored as his colleagues looked, “As the leaders and the disciples of Myesha bring the lantern down from the Trial House to Norhaven’s center. You will continue to stand until the end of the first night, the citizens will bring you back once that time is over. Be sure to take your day’s supply of dust because it’ll be a long vigil and the extra stamina will make it somewhat… easier. Nor’ Havest,” He called to Eitan who straightened himself under the commander’s watchful eye, “Pass the axes and talismans amongst our youngest members. You shall each be expected to keep these items in perfect condition for the ceremonies each year until you leave our ranks. Myesha has blessed them, look after them well.”

The eldest Shiel sibling was not sure if the commander believed his own words about the gods – agnoticism was not uncommon within Norhaven, though many knew better than to deny the presence of the deities out loud. She too had never seen anything to prove otherwise, and had raised the issue with her own parents at one point. She’d seen the glimmer of fear in their eyes, and they’d forbidden her from questioning it outside of the house.

She watched with affection as Costel took the objects with reverence, mouth hanging slightly open with awe. Whether thirty years or forty years passed, he’d never become as jaded as the older guards leaning against the wall, arms crossed with boredom and denial, even if the rest of them might.

The people of Norhaven bustled into the central sector of the city, carrying lanterns and food and fine clothes, children clasping jars of wax between their arms, grinning up at Jacha with toothy grins as they caught her gaze. A mother scolded her child as the little boy tried to take a scoop of an old man’s paints, though the elder just laughed and happily painted a sign of fire on the child’s hand when his mother was no longer looking. The child beamed as brightly as the summer sun; no doubt to proudly show it off to his friends once the festival begun.

Costel nudged her, having slipped away from the rest of his group, “When do you think this river of people is going to end? I’ve never had a sense of just how many people there are until now, waiting for them all to arrive.”

She eyed him in amusement, “Aren’t you supposed to be further down the line, or have you forgotten how picky Commander is about order?”

“It’s a festival, Jacha!” He said in protest, grinning, “Besides, if he catches us, you and I can get him drunk later so he’ll forget the whole thing.” Costel went back to offering smiles and waves to the younger citizens as they marched past, much to the disapproval of one Jacha knew to be of Costel’s year-mates. The man was rather short for his age and he quickly glanced away at her curious look.

“One of your friends doesn’t look too pleased,” she noted quietly to Costel who turned to see who she was referring to.

“Oh. Nor’ Eloy Archet.” Costel said, nodding, “His family lives on the outskirts a bit. I think he wants to build a name for himself.” And what better way than to out-do the son of a highly esteemed household such as their own? “He’s alright – quite efficient, actually.” Her brother shrugged before his gaze continued its search through the crowd until it caught something in the distance. He almost sent Jacha sprawling as he elbowed her, “It’s Chera!”

Her eyes followed his gesture toward their sister, and sure enough, there she was, stooping to assist an elderly lady with a cart of cloth and behind her… Roark. Jacha swallowed quickly and looked away, but not before the commander had noticed their gazes. She pushed Costel back along the line, “Go!”

“Alright, alright,” He responded, making his way back to his previous spot. The commander did not make his way over to reprimand them, but she could often feel his steely gaze on her face. What did he want with Chera? What did they want with her little sister? Her heart jumped to her throat when Eitan placed a worried touch upon her forearm.

“Jacha?” Her first name slid uneasily from his throat as he frowned in concern, “Are you alright? You’re a bit pale.”

She swallowed, her mouth sticky and sweet from the flood of sickening saliva, and wrenched her arm out of his reach. The cool, controlled demeanour sliding back into place, even if she could not disguise the pallor of her skin, “I’m fine. Focus on the job, Nor’ Havest.”

Resentment lingered on Eitan’s face, his mouth forming a thin line as he barely held back a bitter response, and he turned his attention back to the crowd dissipating before them. Within a few seconds, the streets were essentially empty and Roark gave the signal for the guard to move – bodies sharply shuffling into a line, precise movements only the guard would know. They marched down through the centre of the city, young children waving lanterns excitably within the rows of light that lined the main street, and the elders whispering blessing of Myesha in honour of tradition though the prayers to Kol went unsaid. Such things were no longer necessary – the festival was a joyous occasion and a promise of warmer months.

From Norhaven’s centre circle they split off and Jacha felt Costel leave her side as they diverted into separate streets, fanning out as each individual came to their own post at the rim of the city where the deep tunnels lay just beyond, darker than any night. The quiet was eerie; the noise of the festival would not pick up for a few more hours after the sombre readings had finished – something Jacha was so grateful she was missing out on. Without a doubt, Chera would be reading one of the texts herself in a couple of years. She saw the lanterns of the other guards dim in the distance, aloft like tiny fireflies.

It was just as she was settling into a comfortable standing position that she heard it: the slow creak of metal hinges – a door left open. It thudded against the wall, once, twice, as if blown by a gentle breeze, which was ridiculous; the outer rim was far from the main door, which would’ve been a selling point if it weren’t so close to the tunnels. She had to check it out; no one was even supposed to be in the area once the festival had started except for the guards.

The guard’s horn and the ceremonial axe weighed heavy on her belt as her fingers wrapped firmly around the handle of her own lantern, trying to pick out the door in the darkness from the dozens already closed and locked. The sound of hinges rattled again and Jacha turned and… “Oh Myesha,” She breathed.

The house was completely blown apart as if something had exploded from the inside in beautiful arches of metal and wood and red. Red: it stuck to the skeleton of the walls, dried and crystalizing into deep crimson amber, but the stench made the disbelieving guard suck in air through her teeth once she’d remembered how to. The rusting metal taste was unmistakeable. Her grip on the lantern tightened as her spare hand found the ceremonial axe, not once taking her eyes off the scene before her.

Jacha stepped into the ring and kicked the door open, axe raised and ready to greet anything on the other side but it fell into nothing. The only movement was that of blood still dripping from walls and Jacha’s reflection broken across the shattered pieces of glass. The sight made her sick to her stomach. In all her time as guard she’d only had to deal with thievery and brawls. There was nothing left of the person but bits and the red spray and his last will shredded into the wall opposite the door: they slumber no more.

The chill that crept up her spine in the prickles of a thousand unseen tiny legs dispelled all the doubt. This was nothing like any murder she’d read about. Something was wrong and she had to get out of there and report to Roark immediately. Her hand caught on a jagged nail and the lantern flung from her hand. The hiss of pain tore from her mouth as the edge sunk deep into her skin and back out when she pulled away. The wound wept, fresh and red, spilling – and, goddess, would Chera be furious. She doubted Roark would be pleased either when he learnt one of his guards couldn’t hold a damned lantern. And if the leaders found out that she’d been lingering around… she didn’t want to finish that thought.

She didn’t have to. A rumble shook the ground below her, making her stumble just a few steps away from the lantern, which rolled away with the sudden shudder until it hit the ruined door with a dull thud. The gust of wind made the remains of the house shriek in response to the growing roar coming from the deep tunnels. Barely having time to regain her footing as she turned to face the great caverns in disbelief, her eyes caught sight of the frost beginning to crawl at the edges of the gaping hole. Jacha froze as the darkness stared straight back at her.

The moment held suspended and burst. Jacha fumbled for her horn in favour of the lantern a second too late and the beast leapt at her, knocking it from her grip with claws the size of her arm in a swipe meant to disable her. She sunk the axe deep into the other hand, reaching for her hungrily and she knew this predator did not play tactics, it was so certain of its power. The monster howled at the sting of sharp metal and Jacha made a dash for the horn as the hand withdrew. Her lips brushed it but the deep note of the instrument was cut short as a blow crashed into her, sending her flying back, body bouncing along the worn out cobble stones and dragging into the dirt. From her defenceless position on her back she took a good look at her attacker for the first time – the skull-like face grinned down at her in a look she could only describe as amusement. It was enjoying its little game.

“Oh Myesha,” It mocked the only words she’d said the entire time in a cold hiss before laughing in a screech of knives on glass. Her grip tightened on the hilt of the axe surreptitiously, waiting for it to lunge but it merely observed her, gaze narrowed as it waited for its prey to make an attempt to escape.
She just had to hold out until backup came. They must’ve heard the horn blow. Costel wouldn’t let her die. Costel, oh Myesha, what if he got there first and the monster attacked him instead? She had to move. Jacha leapt to her feet as best she could between the new scrapes and cuts on her body, and the beast sprung at her with a shriek. Three, two, one… it’d almost engulfed her by the time she embedded her axe into its chest and the monster’s excitement became a roar of fury as it fell away from her, writhing in its attempt to dislodge the weapon from its body. “Myesha,” it hissed, “Myesha.” The disproportioned limbs shied away from touching the axe as if it burned with fire. The skull was too human to offer Jacha any comfort. Its entire body was made of darkness deeper than the night.

“Jacha!” Her brother’s voice carried across the cavern from between the sound of heavy, frantic footsteps.

It was quickly drowned out by Roark’s bellow, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

The monster stopped squirming in front of her and met her gaze with a knowing look – a cold, pain grin spreading once again, bearing large sharp teeth. Costel faltered a few metres away from her, staring at the thing, “What is it?”

“Give me your axe.” She commanded, still breathing heavily from the fight, holding out her hand towards her little brother. He hesitated before handing it over to her. Jacha strode over to her opposition, slashing at the claws that attempted to half her progression. It laughed, that same brittle, high pitched sound – unending.

She raised the weapon high into the air, breath coming in shaking gasps of barely controlled fear, and swung it down heavily – separating the head from its body in several messy strokes. It rolled slowly to the side and Jacha allowed the axe to slide from her trembling hands, keenly aware of the gaze of Roark and the entirety of the guard standing speechless behind him.