Chains Carried on Wings

ONE-2

Her mother raised an eyebrow, a glint of amusement crossing her features. “Darling, if I wanted to slow down, I wouldn’t wait for your permission, would I? A little extra walking won’t hurt me.” She shook her head, continuing with a levity that was too deliberate to be real. “I swear, you and your father prance through the woodlands like deer, making the rest of us look bad by comparison.”

She’d dodged the real reason Saig was concerned, even if they both knew what it was—her premature aging, caused by the life bond she shared with Wata. It was hard to know what her mother was still capable of, because of that bond. It made Saig—and even her father, though he tried to be subtle about it—a little paranoid about her health.

“Don’t worry about me,” Deanis continued, more serious. “There’s nothing unusual or wrong about what’s happening to me, and I still have plenty of time left. I didn’t mean to replace one unreasonable worry with a different one, by speaking up. Just remember what I told you before.”

Saig did. She remembered the calmness of her mother’s voice when she’d explained that everything was still normal. The children had gotten lost. The man made a misguided decision. Something unfortunate could have happened to any of them—like falling off a precipice, or starving, or becoming prey to some hungry animal. But there wasn’t any reason to assume the man wouldn’t be found. There wasn’t any reason to think anyone else would get hurt, if they didn’t wander off on their own. Things hadn’t spun out of control.

Saig tried to believe that, she really did. It would’ve been a reasonable explanation, if it wasn’t for the owl.

A drawn-out bay sounded through the woods, catching Saig’s attention. It was Wata, signaling that she’d found something. That hadn’t happened while they’d searched for any of the children. Saig’s pulse quickened as she hurried over, her mother following behind.

The air carried a whiff of something odd, something that grew steadily stronger as she approached. It smelled like blood and rot and magnolias, strangely, mixing together into a nauseatingly sweet odor. Dismayed, Saig pulled on her cloak to cover her mouth and nose. So much for believing the man would be alright.

Shifting her position so she wasn’t quite downwind, she braced herself to find a body. A smattering of red drew her eye, between the trees and leaves in her path. Then she could make out flesh, then a hand. Then the whole body, covered in gashes. The moment she caught sight of protruding ribs, she tore her gaze away, refusing to look again.

Behind her, her mother gagged. Wata whined softly. Saig held her breath for a moment, arms wrapped around herself. The silence was suddenly too much, and she found herself needing to say something, anything.

“Is it him?” she finally asked. It was a pointless question. Wata had led them to this body by scent. But she needed to hear the response, to hear someone confirm that this was real.

“It is,” her mother’s voice replied. “Let’s step away from him, for a moment. Are you alright?”

No. Neither of them were. But that was the last conversation Saig wanted to have right then, next to the body of someone she’d been hoping to find alive. She just wanted to leave, to put this scene behind her. Fortunately, leaving was the sensible thing to do anyway.

“We should head back to Running Water and report to the prince,” she said, struggling to keep her tone level. Her mother gave her a long look, before nodding. They set out in silence.

Saig couldn’t get the image of the dead man out of her mind. The body of one of her own people, a neighbor of sorts, who was now—suddenly—gone. Who’d obviously met some sort of violent end. Maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising. But it felt so wrong. What had happened to him? What had done this? That single glimpse she’d caught of him didn’t look like any animal kill she’d ever seen.

The woods seemed like a less familiar place on the journey back. Monsters or murderers could be hiding behind every rock formation, any tree. Saig clutched the hilt of her father’s sword the entire way. If there’d been any suspicion of actual danger, the prince would’ve sent better protection for her mother than a sixteen-year-old girl who’d never been in a real fight, but there hadn’t been. At least Saig had some training—her father and aunt had made sure of that. If they ran into danger, she and Wata would have to handle it.

She glanced down dubiously at the white-tan dog scampering alongside them, only reaching as far as her knee in height. Wata’s ears were down, her tail tucked low, her eyes frightened.

Alright. If they ran into danger, Saig would have to handle it.

I do have training, she reminded herself. And every warrior experiences their first battle eventually. She’d just never expected to have hers alone, without her father or aunt looking out for her. Aided only by a small dog who was even more afraid than she was.

They made better time on the way back, fear quickening their steps. Saig finally relaxed once the tree line receded, revealing fields and rectangular farmhouses. They hadn’t been attacked on the way. Now that she had a moment to think, she realized that made sense—the forest was huge, teeming with other prey to choose from. She hadn’t needed to be so afraid.

But as soon as she let herself relax, the hoot of an owl sounded. A nervous muttering rose from the surrounding farmers, fingers pointing towards the top of one of the farmhouses. It was still here.

A part of Saig had truly hoped it’d be gone when she returned. If it was warning them about the farmer, it wouldn’t have a reason to stay after his body had been found. But here it was, in broad daylight, drawing everyone’s attention to itself. Behaving like a message instead of a normal owl.

It could only mean one thing. This wasn’t over.

Saig briefly closed her eyes, a sense of resignation settling over her. She didn’t know what would happen, or what they should be afraid of. But this problem wouldn’t disappear on its own. And that made it her family’s responsibility—her responsibility—to take care of it.

She just wished she had any idea what to do.

#

AURIS RAN HER FINGERS over the spindles, counting them for the last time. The girls were arriving, and this would have to do. They’d have one corner of the house to themselves—Auris’ older relatives had moved to the other, so they could grind malt in peace—and she had sufficient wool to keep her guests busy.

It was time to start spinning.

She distributed the materials to her age-mates, trying to present herself as approachable—smiling, meeting their eyes, giving them nods of approval here or there. She wanted them relaxed and talkative. Each girl received her allotment, then moved to sit on the wool-covered benches winding around the house’s perimeter.

Everything was almost handed out when the door creaked open. Daylight poured inside, then disappeared with another creak as the door shut. Auris glanced absently in that direction to see who’d come, blinking at the sudden change in lighting. It could’ve been any of the women, moving between their work. Or one of the boys, hoping a snack had been left on the table. Or even her father or aunt, meaning to take a break from managing the city.

Instead, it was her cousin, Saig. Who, as one of Auris’ age-mates, was also supposed to join this gathering. She was late, and she was probably late on purpose, even though she should have been helping Auris play hostess.

This dampened Auris’ good mood somewhat, but it was a familiar kind of frustration. She frowned at her cousin on principle. Saig, with her head down and her eyes directed towards the ground, didn’t even notice. Her hunched figure scurried to pick up her spindle and distaff, sitting as far away from the other girls as she could while still remaining in earshot.

Auris sighed. As her closest female relative of their generation, Saig should’ve been an ally and partner for her. Instead, her cousin caused an endless stream of problems. Usually not on purpose, but what difference did that make? Either way, Auris was always stuck making up for her cousin’s deficiencies.

With a shake of her head, Auris picked up her own share of the materials and moved to join her age-mates, bunched up in the corner. She only made it a few steps before a growing sense of doubt forced her to stop. She glanced at Saig, sitting in her self-imposed isolation. Even though this was all Saig’s fault, Auris still felt reluctant to leave her there.

Kiths and goblins, Auris cursed in her mind, how silly can I be?

Because she’d been here before. She’d spent far too much time on her cousin already. Even after Saig gave up, Auris kept trying for the both of them, kept fighting to salvage something of her cousin’s life. Experience had taught her that trying to help Saig would only embarrass them both.

But she still felt some residual guilt when she moved to sit with the other girls. Some tiny part of her still screamed that she was being disloyal, that she didn’t have the right to give up on her own family. Auris stifled it as best as she could. This situation had grown out of her control long ago, and she could only make the best of it now.

She settled in, pushing away her worries, and waited for one of the other girls to start the conversation. Knowing that her topic of interest would inevitably come up.

Ginis, a simple yet productive worker, soon obliged. “Auris,” she said. “The head family has to have an idea of what’s happening with the farmers. Do you know anything?” She flicked back her blond hair, only a shade lighter than Auris’ own.

Auris suppressed a smile, trusting her hands to keep working as she turned her attention to the conversation. “What have you heard?”