Followed by Fire Read online

  The forest loved them too much to bring them any pain.

  Esven listened for the soft padding of Maritimus’ paws along the way. She remained certain that he followed, though she heard no signs of him. He would not abandon Amadeia. He had been her familiar for over half of her unusually long life. His loyalty weaved deep through the Greenbriar family name.

  Each second that ticked by where he did not make an appearance, however, made Esven’s stomach coil tighter.

  Enough time had trickled by that Esven began to wonder why they remained in captivity. The adrenaline from earlier had left her. She thought that her mother harbored a plan inside her—a plan that she would reveal at any moment.

  But no plan surfaced.

  ‘When will we make our escape?’ Esven thought to Amadeia, trying to expedite her understanding of why they willingly walked into the mouth of torment. ‘I can help to render them paralyzed—’

  Though she walked with a shroud covering her face, Amadeia still managed to carry an air of authority in her stride. She stilled her daughter’s hopes for a quick exit with the same unwavering conviction that Esven had grown up with her entire life. ‘Ever mind the rule of three, what ye send out comes back to thee.’

  It was her growing frustration which made Esven bite her bottom lip. She ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, still flanked on all sides by the crusaders who had ripped them from their home.

  Her mother’s response came as no surprise. Amadeia Greenbriar held fast to the universal pact she’d made with Fate. No bad goes out. Never. Not once. It was a creed that Amadeia had lovingly embedded into Esven’s brain since her birth. It was one from which her mother never wavered. One which she had honored for all of Esven’s life.

  Esven shared her mother’s beliefs. At least, she thought she did. She always thought of the townsfolk with much the same admiration that Amadeia did—but that was easy to do, when interactions with them were scarce. Esven had only entered the town of Pinesguard five times—she could still count on one hand how often she intermingled with its people. Her mother never spoke an ill word of them. But in the heat of the moment, thrust into the forefront of mankind’s sickness, Esven found her once-anchored ethics wavering. ‘I know. I know the rule of three like the back of my own hand. But—’

  ‘It is not up for debate, my love. We walk chin high into the circumstances that Fate gives unto us, with perfect love, with perfect trust.’

  ‘We don’t need to hurt them—we could create a diversion. I could conjure a wind storm, I could raise all the dead leaves. It would be a wall of foliage so thick that they would be blind to watch us run—’

  ‘No, Esven.’ Amadeia’s words filtered through her mind, as clear as if she had spoken them out loud. ‘I would never wish for you to know the burden that is a life of endless running.’ She knew it all too well. ‘When you spend your existence fleeing, each new dawn is one long-held breath, wondering whether the knock at your door will be your predator. Fate has finally found me, my dear. It is time to walk into its jaws alone, and know that my body will satisfy its hunger.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Esven wished she could look at her. Wished she could see her mother’s eyes. Maybe then she would understand what she meant. ‘Tell me that you do not mean what I think you mean.’

  A crowd had already gathered by the time the crusaders dragged Amadeia and Esven out of the forest and through the town’s gates. The people must have known about the hunt. They congregated in rabid hordes around the waiting pyre.

  Shrieks and chants assaulted Esven’s ears. It made it difficult to concentrate. Difficult to hear Amadeia’s words in her mind. The callous cries of aggression from the mob felt like small knives in her eardrums. They were terribly unkind.

  “Burn her!”

  “Godless heathen!”

  “Die, witch!”

  Spit flew from their lips, and onto the semi-naked body of Amadeia, as the men marched her through the crowd. Each mouthful of liquid that struck her mother’s form was an affront. The mounting pressure in Esven’s body pushed on her insides. One good artifice… and she could put an end to this barbarity.

  Esven felt De’Savaria’s hard grip on her elbow. It took everything she had in her to not pull away in disgust.

  He leaned into her ear. The sick heat of his breath on her neck made her skin crawl. “For all that you have endured,” he whispered, “you may share with me the finest seat we have to offer. You will have your closure. We shall watch the witch burn together.”

  She said nothing to the crusader, instead collecting the heaps of the clothing at her hips into her fingers. It felt only somewhat better, having something to squeeze her frustrations into. ‘Why?’ she sent to her mother, over the mounting noise of the ravenous crowd. ‘What good will your death bring?’

  The men shoved Amadeia up the wooden steps. They creaked under the force of the soldiers flanking her. Amadeia grunted as they forced her back onto the large, vertical post. The tightness of the ropes around her wrists was heartless. It did not matter. The tingle in her fingertips, throbbing from the lack of blood flow to her digits, would be short-lived. ‘Oh, my dear…’ Her tone came through lovingly. Unafraid. ‘My death will bring nothing.’

  Esven spun on her heels. She watched as arms rose into the air, as if they could reach out and pluck the scene straight from their line of vision, fold it over, and carry it around in their pockets for future viewing pleasure. It made her stomach coil. ‘Then why,’ Esven choked out in her mind, feeling the looming threat of tears nipping at her eyes. ‘Why are you letting this happen?’

  The crusaders removed the bag from Amadeia’s head. She was already staring at her daughter in the crowd, as if she knew precisely where she stood at all times. Amadeia wore a tranquil smile over her bloodied face. ‘It is the rule of three, my love. Fate has placed my soul on the scale, and this is what I’ve earned. Know that I will rest peacefully in the knowledge that you will not make the same mistakes I did.’

  More mystery. If Esven were not so terrified, she would have been angry. Amadeia had shrouded everything in clandestine ambiguity since she was a child. ‘What mistakes? How am I to learn from something I’ve no knowledge about?’

  They lit the pyre. Esven stopped breathing. It was cruel how slow the flames crawled up her mother’s legs. Paralysis gripped her. Whether it was one of her mother’s spells, or her own body failing her, she did not know. Unable to stop a rouge tear from escaping her eyes, Esven felt the warmth of it slide down her cheek.

  De’Savaria witnessed her display. He nudged her with his elbow, a sick shudder coursing through him. “I know just how you feel, child.” He looked back to the burning Amadeia, the orange glow of the fire shimmering in his eyes. “It is an overwhelming thing… to witness justice be done. I, too, can scarcely contain my thrill.”

  She ignored him once more. Her eyes glued to her mother’s face. She felt her bottom lip quiver when the flames reached Amadeia’s torso. ‘I don’t want to lose you,’ she squeaked, her throat threatening to leave her without oxygen.

  ‘Sweet child,’ Amadeia smiled through the agony of her own flesh being melted from her bones, though several muffled shrieks still left her, ‘I have seen many forces that this world has to offer.’ The flames climbed higher. ‘Know that there is no strength in this earthly place… no power at all… that could take all of me from you.’

  The color of the smoke that filled the air matched Esven’s spirit. It was a sickly color, as if the world mourned the loss of Brigovia’s greatest witch with her. Flecks of ash leapt from the pyre and landed on Esven’s face.

  It all felt very wrong. Only her unwavering respect for Amadeia’s wishes kept her from exploding. ‘What will I do without you?’ she asked, knowing she had little time left to absorb her mother’s guidance.

  Amadeia screamed. Though her physical body wailed, her mental thoughts came through with tranquil clarity. ‘You will live, Esven. My sweet, baby girl, who looked u
pon me at birth with smiling eyes. I do not fear death… because you saved my soul. I do not know where I’ll go; but I know in my heart it will be somewhere good.’ A look of pride shined through Amadeia’s burning lips. She found Esven’s eyes in the crowd. ‘Merry we meet.’ The flames ate her face. ‘And merry we part.’

  It was the last thing she ever heard her mother say.

  She was no longer human. She was fire. Soon to be embers. Soon to be ash.

  That the people did not immediately turn their noses in disgust at the smell of burning flesh, should have been the first sign of mankind’s greatest illness.

  How could they call themselves human? To cheer, to boast, to raise their arms in vainglorious triumph, while they watched the eyelids turn and peel away from one of their own… did that not strip them of their humanity? Did whatever higher power that existed not gaze upon their savagery, and weep for having created such monsters?

  Though it disgusted her to breathe in the scent of her dead mother, Esven inhaled sharply. Her body had forgotten to take air in for the last minute. She could no longer watch the display. Every second that she stood in the collection of monsters surrounding her, she felt herself falling farther and farther from her ability to honor her mother’s teachings.

  She was told to love them. She was taught to wish them no ill will. She was to put nothing into the universe that would act as a poison to these people.

  And yet, as she stood before them, that is all she wished to do.

  Esven swallowed, turning to face De’Savaria. The words singed like venom as they rolled off of her tongue, but her mother’s sacrifice for her safety forced her to continue. “Thank you for saving my life,” she uttered, her voice trembling despite her efforts to keep calm.

  De’Savaria placed his hands on her shoulders. He smiled, nodding his head. “Every child of the Angel Lord deserves to live.”

  Esven stared back. Her teeth hurt, from how hard she gritted her upper jaw with her lower. Her hands shook at her sides.

  The crowd gasped as a powerful gust of wind doused the flames around Amadeia’s body. The smoke spun in a small tornado, and as soon as Esven realized what she had done, she stopped herself.

  A subconscious incantation. Her heart pounded as she froze, wondering if anybody suspected her.

  Hushed murmurs grew in the mass of people. They exchanged quiet whispers of dread, comingling awkwardly with the still-joyous psalms of their victory over evil. Da’Savaria’s eyes narrowed as his hands fell from Esven’s shoulders. He took a step forward. Closer to the corpse of Amadeia Greenbriar.

  She was nothing more than a skeleton now. Though the unexpected wind sucked the life from the fire, the fire had already sucked the life from her.

  Esven’s heart still leapt. She hadn’t meant to do it. With De’Savaria’s back to her, with the eyes of the citizens still pulled toward Amadeia’s corpse, she took several steps backward.

  She bumped into the chest of a robed man, whose face was shrouded by the hood pulled up over him. “I’m so sorry,” he said, a strange statement in that she had been the one who bumped into him. He took a step aside to allow her to pass, gesturing toward the town gates with his arm. “Careful now. Best to tread lightly.”

  “Yes,” she breathed, feeling her pulse in the side of her neck. “Truer words have not been spoken. My apologies.” Esven offered him a quick nod and slipped farther away into the crowd. She weaved through the excitement that the masses still held. Through the delight of everyone who cheered for her mother’s death.

  She needed to get away from them. Far, far away. If she did not, she would undo everything that her mother had taught her. Everything that she had embodied for her entire life. She would not spit in the face of Amadeia’s legacy.

  Esven wanted nothing more than to honor her mother’s creed. She wanted to believe that the people were good. That it was only the demons who made them act like animals. She did not want to put bad into the universe. No.

  But if she did not create an immediate distance between herself and the people… she would surely kill them all.

  Chapter Two

  The trail smelled like people. Though it cut through the woodlands, it had served as a bridge between two separate towns for years. Balvonak recognized the scent of sweat-infused linen and wool, mixed with the occasional speck of sheep shit.

  Humans never took the time to clean it from their boots. Damned savages.

  Balvonak exhaled a sharp breath through his nose, to push the odor as far from his nostrils as he could. He nestled his shoulders into the trunk of the tree he leaned against. The moss that encased the bark made for a cozy spot to stand and wait.

  Prey would come running along soon enough.

  The sun did not have to try particularly hard to push through the rust-colored leaves hanging overhead. They were sparse. Autumn, and winds that grew in strength, threatened to push the dangling leaves to their deaths at any moment.

  A sadistic grin spread over Balvonak’s face with each leaf that lost its grip. It was a delight to watch. The slow descent to the ground. The seconds that kept it alive, until it met its cemetery on the forest floor.

  Even in death, it was not alone. Countless other foliage corpses painted the ground in varying colors. Oranges and auburns, coffee-colored browns, buttery yellows. Some even still held a little tinge of olive.

  It was the deep crimson ones that Balvonak loved the most. The colors of blood and fire.

  What a greater delight it would be, he thought, if it were fallen people littering the ground at such a capacity, instead of leaves.

  If he could find that damnably elusive witch, Amadeia, then soon enough, it would be.

  With a sudden pulse in his eardrums, Balvonak lazily craned his neck. He used his thumb to bump the brim of his hat farther up his forehead. The action cleared the way for his eyes to find the source of the sound.

  There it was. The very thing he’d waited for all day. A lone traveler, crossing the distance between the towns of Pinesguard and Bronzglen. By the look of the cumbersome packs he carried on his person, there would be plenty of money to pilfer, and plenty more supplies to raid. Enough to sustain his quest for another week or two, at least. Balvonak tucked his smirk away, waiting for the man to walk closer, so as not to appear threatening.

  The nomad strode with his head bowed, as if he watched each step he took quite carefully. In his hand, a limp rabbit swung from front to back, side to side, jostling every which way, with every stride the man took.

  When the individual came within ear shot, Balvonak seized his opportunity. “You should cook and eat your catch, stranger.” He sported a charming grin, gesturing to the rabbit at the man’s side. “The fresher, the better.”

  Startling at the sudden sound of Balvonak’s voice, the man laid his free hand over his chest. He had been so focused on the ground. On keeping one foot steadily in front of the other. “My goodness, stranger, I didn’t even see you there.”

  “Yes, well,” Balvonak pushed himself off of the tree trunk, stretching his arms over his head, “I’ve a tendency to blend in with the background. Makes it easier for the nobility and gentry to pretend I am not around to offend them with my presence.”

  The traveler chuckled. It was not often that he was able to enjoy the pleasure of jokes at the higher class’ expense. His eyes squinted as he assessed Balvonak’s appearance: young, mid-to-late twenties, simple clothing, a wild beard. He took him for a man of similar status. Finding common ground made it easier to nod and engage. “Turns out, my flint and steel fell out of my pocket somewhere along the trek.” He held the rabbit up, surveying its condition. “Imagine my surprise, when I couldn’t immediately eat this hard-caught beast. Tried to make a bow drill, but good cordage is sparse out here.”

  “Indeed, it is, my friend.” Balvonak tilted his head, placing his palms on his knees as he bent down to gaze at the rabbit himself. “When was this killed? Early morning hours?” He shook his head, though tried not t
o appear too judgmental. “Another day’s walk remains between here and Pinesguard. I shudder to think of the risk you’d take, waiting until you arrive there to eat it.”

  The nomad shrugged. His expression showcased his discouraged agreement. “Yes. I know.” A sigh left him. “There’s not much I can do to remedy the circumstances. I’ve prayed to the Angel Lord that the meat will keep.”

  Balvonak grinned so hard, it felt for a moment as if his teeth might crack. A timely swipe of his hand over his brow hid the twitch that appeared near his eye. “As any good man would do,” he said, forcibly relaxing the tension in his jaw. “On the rare chance that fortune is not shined on your request, I happen to be very handy with a bow drill.”

  The man’s interest piqued. “Are you, now?”

  “I am, indeed.” Balvonak tipped his hat, offering a gentlemanly bow. When he righted his position, he stretched out a gloved hand. “Balvonak’s the name. You can call me Balvo, if you’d like.”

  “Balvo…” The man stared at the outstretched hand. Soot coated the cloth on the fingertips. He took note that his new contact offered no surname. “Pardon my plain speaking, sir, but that’s a peculiar calling.” He shook the hand regardless, smiling. “You can call me Bernard. Are you from these parts?”

  “Not in the slightest, Bernard.” Balvonak matched his smile and released his grip quickly, giving little time for the man to feel the unnatural heat that radiated off of the skin beneath the glove. “But I do love it here. I frequent it often.”

  “A little slice of paradise,” Bernard agreed, reaching into the pack that dangled at his hip. He pulled out his incomplete bow drill, and held it out to his new acquaintance. “If you can find and make some cordage, you’re more than welcome to give mine a go.”

  “Fear not, my friend.” Balvonak reached behind him, and in a theatrical presentation, he pulled out a bow drill, cordage and all, from the pack strapped behind him. Tossing it up into the sky, it completed several full spins, before landing back in his waiting palm. “I’ve got my own.”