Chains Carried on Wings

ONE AN ABNORMAL QUIET HUNG in the air, as Saig followed her mother through an otherwise familiar part of her city. The recurring clang of metal from the distant smithy, the scuffle of her mother’s dog trotting beside her, the rustle of their skirts as they walked—only those sounds managed to punctuate the stillness. On a normal day, these would have been drowned out by the murmur of conversation, by the bustle of people working and laughing. But there wasn’t any murmur or bustle, not today. Citizens hurried through the streets, ducking inside of buildings instead of lingering to talk with their neighbors. They refused to make eye contact. They wouldn’t greet each other. This wasn’t how this place was supposed to feel. It should’ve been cheerful, and loud, and invasively familiar. Almost involuntarily, Saig’s eyes darted up to city walls, where the cause of the disquiet perched—an unusually large owl, a distinct patch of white feathers on one of its ear-tufts. The bird had fluttered around the city for the past week, dampening the mood wherever it went. Everyone knew it was a sign from the gods, a warning of tragedy. And no one wanted to imagine that the warning was for them. It troubled Saig, how often she’d run across the bird. Whenever she went to fetch sacks of grain from the warehouse, it flew past. If she stepped outside to bring in wood for the cookpot, it perched nearby. The few times she’d snuck into a group of boys leaving for a hunt—already self-conscious about her transgression—it’d followed them until they reached the woods. Even now, its head swiveled while she and her mother passed, those eyes staying on her. And she was very much afraid she knew why. Touching her hand to her shoulder in a gesture of respect—she wouldn’t risk being rude to an omen of death—Saig picked up her pace to draw even with her mother. They passed the city walls together, with Wata, the dog, bounding ahead. A wide expanse of fields and crops opened up before them, farmhouses interspersed between them. As they reached the first farm along the road, Saig couldn’t resist tossing back one glance towards the city wall, towards the symbol of everything that disturbed her city’s peace. The owl wasn’t in sight anymore. No doubt, it was appeased that Saig and her mother would investigate the source of its warning. Saig let out the breath she’d been holding, the knowledge that the bird hadn’t followed her loosening one coil of worry inside her. But only one. Wata sniffed at the ground, occasionally veering away when something captured her interest. The farmers and their children stopped working to watch the three of them pass. The attention made Saig uneasy, especially when they eyed her father’s sword, secured around her waist. Or when someone stared a bit too intently at her face, searching for signs of her heritage in her features. For the most part, she could pass for a Clydian with mixed Gerosian blood—common enough, in the Clydian province of a Gerosian kingdom. Anyone looking at her father would know immediately that he hailed from the far southeast, a foreigner through and through, but all Saig had inherited from him was deep tan skin and straight black hair. None of those were traditional Clydian features, but they were common for anyone with the blood of their dark-skinned Gerosian neighbors—excepting the straight hair. The city of Running Water, however, was not populated by strangers meeting her for the first time. These people already knew her complexion didn’t come from Gerosian blood. They knew her mother had married a foreign man. Feeling their scrutiny, seeing the eyes dart between mother and daughter, made Saig want to disappear. “Straighten up,” her mother told her, obviously seeing something else. “They want you to look confident. They’re looking for us to reassure them.” Saig hid her doubts somewhere deep within herself, and tried to do what her mother asked. Though she doubted she inspired confidence in anyone. These people wanted answers, and the head family had failed to find any three times already. The dirt road that Saig and her mother followed wove through the farmlands, stretching into the distance between the forest and the mountains. The families living here, in the outskirts, dispersed themselves for the work day. Some were in the fields, some were in pens with livestock. Others stood by the side of the road—Saig watched those more closely, wondering which of them she and her mother were looking for. Her mother didn’t wonder. Her mother headed straight towards one farmer, a woman clutching a nearby post tightly with her fingers. There was an intense desperation in the woman’s eyes when she looked at them, but she wasn’t the only one. Everyone was afraid. So how did Saig’s mother know this was the person they were here for? Saig’s eyes flickered over this farmer’s figure, her gaze snagging on a bundle of fabric tucked under the woman’s arm. There was that, something for Wata to get a scent from. And the clothes the woman wore—an ordinary skirt with a tunic over it, but a bit less frayed than the clothing of the other farmers. With a touch of embroidery at the cuffs, even. It made sense she’d wear her best-made, newest clothes if she expected to meet with the head family of the city. Saig let out a sigh of satisfaction. Maybe she hadn’t identified the woman herself, but she’d figured out what she should’ve been looking for. Next time, or the time after that, she’d see it as naturally as her mother did. This was something she could improve on, something she could be good at. The one thing in the world she was better at than her cousin. Or, well. The one appropriate thing she was better at than her cousin. “Great lady,” the farmer said, once her mother had reached them. A touch of awe entered her voice, which happened sometimes—Saig’s mother was the lady Deanis, headwoman of the city, after all. “Sister,” Deanis replied. The farmer handed the bundle over with trembling hands. Saig felt a sense of foreboding. She doubted they’d find any good news for this woman, not with the owl still warning them about something terrible. Not with the precedent of the two boys and one girl who’d gone missing in the past week. There wasn’t any evidence that they were dead—Wata had lost their trails in the mountains, and the searches conducted by the prince’s men turned up nothing. But the chances of them surviving dwindled with each passing day. And now, someone else was missing, the fourth in a matter of days. A full-grown man, this time. Children might stray too far into the woods or mountains while playing, and get lost. It happened a few times a year, though they were usually found by either Wata or a search party. But three disappearances happening separately, each of them so close to each other? That was unheard of. An adult disappearing in the middle of a workday didn’t make any sense. All of them happening in such a short period of time, without a single reasonable explanation—that was worrying. Between this and the owl, people were becoming afraid. The head family needed to take a stronger course of action soon. But they didn’t even know what was wrong. Wata sniffed at the bundle, then took off. Saig followed close behind, eyes trained on the dog’s movements. She didn’t even notice her mother dawdling, sparing a few more words for the farmer, until Wata stopped and waited. Then Deanis caught up and Wata dashed for the woods, a heavy rustling of leaves following in her wake. Saig tracked the dog’s passage by the noise she made. She and her mother followed along on the trails, sweeping aside branches and pebbles with their skirts, every step bringing them deeper into the woods. Saig knew this forest. Normally, everything about it comforted her. She’d feel all of her troubles melt away as soon her hands touched bark, the moment the leaves crunched beneath her feet. But today, that didn’t happen. She was filled with too much apprehension, worrying about what they’d find. She felt a sudden sting of loss, realizing that the woods couldn’t make her feel better this time. That this place, which should’ve been her escape, couldn’t always make her problems disappear. Because for the first time in her life, her problems came into the woods with her. Mindful of her responsibilities, Saig tuned her ears to the sounds around her, scanned through the foliage with her eyes. There was plenty to see—bits of animal tracks sprinkled across the trail, a few blackberry bushes that hadn’t been picked clean, some large stones that served as landmarks. None of it was relevant to their search, but that wasn’t surprising. Saig took note of where they were so she could retrace Wata’s steps later if need be. So she could lead a search party to wherever Wata would lose the trail. It was only as the thought crossed her mind, that she realized she didn’t expect Wata to find the missing man. That she expected another failure, another day of fruitless searching. Another day of not understanding why this had happened, of fearing the unknown danger that had cost their community four people. Discovering that it had been a series of accidents would set their people’s minds at ease, but this? This lack of information, while a strange owl lurked about the city? It gnawed at her. “Take a deep breath,” her mother said from behind her, panting a bit between the words. Saig startled, her concentration broken, and turned. Her mother’s hair clung to a sheen of sweat on her skin. Her feet dragged along the ground. “Remember not to worry yet, cubling. The children probably got lost, and that’s terrible. But if they’re lucky, our people might still find them. Their disappearance doesn’t mean that some other terrible thing will happen.” Her mother was barely keeping up with her, clearly tired, and Saig hadn’t even noticed. Meanwhile, Deanis still managed to prioritize her daughter’s feelings. “Do you need to slow down?” Saig asked, with a sudden sense of guilt.