Page 11

CHAPTER 11

Innes had trekked for so many days she couldn’t remember what stillness felt like.

Her feet ached and the muscles in her calves screamed every time there was an incline.

It didn’t matter how many times she travelled, and it didn’t matter that she’d had years of practice to perfect the art of mindfulness on long journeys, she resented being dirty and tired.

The handful of fantasies which usually kept her mind off the drudgery of walking had started losing their charm; the lure of imagining a past lover was ruined when she could feel the heels of her feet cracking.

Even the fear of being this far from the border had lost its sharp edge.

Everything hurt and everything was boring.

Her saving grace was that the weather was cool and her long sleeves and high neck didn’t seem too out of place.

It was much harder travelling in the height of summer, her inkings were too visible.

Despite this thin layer of protection, she avoided people as much as possible, keeping to herself and her repetitive daydreams.

Step after step after godsdamn step she trudged, until one morning she found herself in front of a large, windswept tree and stopped in her tracks.

Its trunk was bent sideways, knobbly shafts of branches shooting out where tiny clusters of bright red berries dusted the ends.

It was a small runt of a tree, situated in a glade on the edge of the Eyelet Forest, but there was no mistaking it was rowan.

She tapped three fingers over her heart in awe, as if the Ever itself had known she needed a sign to keep going.

Rowan trees were an emblem of the Ellarch, their symbolism growing in the years since the Great War when loyalists had planted one at the location of Tassos’ murder.

She approached the tree, running her fingers over the spotted trunk.

Goosebumps broke out along her arms as the voice of her grandmother whispered the witches’ lore to her, as if she were a child once more.

Long ago, before the Seacht and before the Ellarch, there were four races who inhabited the world.

The humans, witches, danann and gods.

Yet only three of these could access the innate magic of the world, and it was they who ascended to power.

Innes plucked a red berry from the stem, rolling the withered fruit between her fingers as memories of her heritage continued to unravel.

Each of the three magical beings accessed the Ever differently.

Where gods and witches could channel magic through objects or divine skill, the danann seemed almost to be made from Ever itself, and they could wield great swaths of power through the carving of runes.

The gods were envious of this imbalance, and discontent brewed.

To save the world from war, the danann formed the Ellarch, a ruling body that equalised the flow of Ever across the lands.

It was they who sacrificed the most to bring this treaty to life, relinquishing the full might of their power so the balance of Ever was maintained between factions, a balance that was held for centuries.

Until a god named Caius was born.

Innes squashed the berry between her fingers, its ruby insides wet as she brought it to her brow, marking herself with the juice in reverence.

Caius was ambitious and despised sharing Ever with the witches and danann.

He wished to smite their power and become the uncontested God of Gods, and so he waged a war against the Ellarch loyalists, leading his followers he called the Seacht to destroy everyone in their way.

He decimated the stone on which the treaty was written, stripping the witches of their full range of power in the process.

The danann, a peaceful race who detested conflict, were soon to follow.

The last one standing was Tassos, Heir of the Danann, and the only full-powered member of the Ellarch not protected by Telorne’s border.

Caius Ended him on the peak of Mount Ard, shattering the peace the Ellarch had fought so hard to maintain.

Without the treaty to stop the gods gorging on Ever, the balance in the world fractured.

The third well of Ever ruptured, sinking the danann’s city of Breon with it.

Its break caused the plains along the tip of Clochain to sour, creating an area called the Barrens – desolate land on which nothing grew.

A bird landed on the tip of a branch, its warble sounding like a hymn.

Innes closed her eyes and listened to its song, a woeful melody which underpinned her grandmother’s story.

In the years after the Seacht rose to rule, the gods continued to hunt anyone deemed Ever Blessed to keep the magic for themselves.

Only a small number of Ellarch loyalists survived, working in the shadows, hoping one day the danann would rise and challenge Caius’ rule once more.

But that day has not yet come.

We witches are the last frontier against the gods’ rule.

It is our duty to remember the truth of our history.

Our lives are an act of defiance, and forevermore we shall carry the weight of the danann’s sacrifice in the hope that the Ever can one day be whole once more, free from the gods’ syphoning.

Her grandmother’s words faded, the tale as familiar to her as the inking on her pinkie.

Perhaps it was her worry for Briony, or perhaps it was the fear that wrapped around her at being on her Passage, but a tear slipped down her cheek as Innes gazed at the tree, a symbol of everything they had lost.

The blight might not be an active war, but it had the potential to eradicate her people all the same.

She hoped no more of her kin’s blood would be shed to appease the hunger of the gods.

The path changed from packed dirt to cobblestones, and the rumble of wagons carrying goods slowly filtered through the air.

She joined the stream of people making their way into the city and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head.

The presence of so many people was jarring after weeks alone, and she had to keep the rise of nerves on a short leash.

Vincentia was known as a hub of creativity.

Artisans from all over the lands travelled to learn from its craftspeople, to swim in the inlet and dance on the rooftops that overlooked the ocean.

It was a melting pot of culture and creativity, and human citizens of every region were welcomed.

They had sided with the Ellarch during the war, and before the blight had fanned the flames of the Seacht’s doctrine nearly a decade prior, it had been the only place Innes had felt safe enough to visit.

She’d need to find somewhere to board tonight, and then tomorrow she would seek an audience with the queen.

Tabita had given her a sealed letter to help her request, otherwise she was on her own.

A clear Passageway indeed.

The clatter of hooves sounded behind her, and Innes instinctively moved to the edge of the road to wait for the riders to pass.

Ahead, a merchant had bogged a wheel of his wagon and was tugging hopelessly on the mule to try and move out of the way when six horses rounded the corner.

The riders atop were drenched in blood and mud, and as they drew close, she saw they were women – Vettonian Warriors.

She’d never met one of the famed warriors before, although her grandmother had told her tales of their ferocity and skill.

They were some of the only humans Tabita seemed to respect, aside from Queen Una herself.

A woman on a brindle mare clutched a small body in front of her, the limp form bouncing with each step of the horse.

Dread curdled in Innes’ stomach when she recognised the body as a child who couldn’t be older than ten, although it was hard to tell past the coating of blood on the boy’s face.

The horses slowed, and a warrior at the front of the procession dismounted to try and move the bogged cart.

Up close Innes could see the blue tinge around the boy’s lips.

She scanned his body, noting his shallow breathing and flickering eyelids.

She approached the horse and felt the boy’s pulse.

‘What are you doing?’ asked the warrior holding the boy, trying to move him out of her reach, but Innes’ mind was whirring with the information her fingers were receiving.

Laboured breathing, blue lips and an erratic pulse.

‘Was he injured or did you find him like this?’

The woman looked at her as if she was crazed, but Innes was already ripping through her pack to find the tonic she needed.

‘We found him like this. The blood isn’t his.

’

Innes looked sharply at the woman and realised it was her shoulder seeping blood onto the boy’s head.

She pulled the cork stopper from a bottle, then shook drops of the liquid onto a scrap of clean cloth.

‘Hold this against the boy’s nose.

If he stirs I can heal him, if he doesn’t then we pray to the Ellar– the gods.

’ She choked over the last word, but managed to save her slip at the last minute.

The woman hesitated, the rest of her party now staring intently at them; half of the warriors had their hands on the pommels of their swords.

She looked at the woman above her, into deep chocolate eyes that held her enraptured.

‘He doesn’t have much time,’ Innes said quietly, holding the warrior’s gaze, beseeching her to see she meant no harm.

A swift nod, and the woman leaned down to grab the cloth Innes held, and raised it to the boy’s nose for a count of three, each second ratcheting up Innes’ heartbeat until the boy stirred, his eyelids fluttering.

The woman looked at Innes in shock, then her gaze travelled to where she held the vial, then inside of her bag, where jars and herbs lay scattered out of their compartments.

‘Can you save him?’

The chances of hiding her heritage were growing slimmer, but she couldn’t let this boy die, not when the cure was so simple and resting in her pack.

‘Yes.’

‘Kella!’ The woman called to the warrior astride a black stallion, the merchant’s cart now out of the way.

‘She’s coming with us,’ the soldier said.

Kella’s eyes held an unspoken question, but seemingly this was answered by some silent communication between the two warriors, as she then nodded.

Innes’ hands trembled as she stuffed the cork back into the vial and closed her pack, buckling it tightly to prevent anything from falling out.

Then she swung herself onto Kella’s horse.

‘Hold on,’ Kella said over her shoulder, and kicked the horse into a trot, moving past the merchant and his wagon, and into the city beyond.

Innes gazed at the buildings around her, the vantage point of the horse allowing her eyes to travel farther than on foot.

Vincentia was a bowl, and white limestone houses curved up the mountain on three sides, the fourth left open to the Edgeless Ocean beyond.

Dusty orange tiles covered the roofs, and greenery dripped from the bannisters and streets, as if the city and plants cohabitated the land equally.

They rode further, the horses’ hooves echoing off the hard surface like bells.

People moved out of the way when they saw the riders approach, and many lifted their fingers to their brows in silent reverence.

They continued through the city, winding upwards until they reached a well-maintained street, and pulled up in front of a tall building dripping in vines.

Innes dismounted, her knees buckling as her feet hit the stones.

Kella jumped off behind her and strode over to the boy and injured soldier.

The warrior atop was untying the binds wrapped around the child to keep him steady, and when they were loose she gently guided the figure into Kella’s outstretched arms.

The injured warrior dismounted with some difficulty a second later.

‘Can I help?’ Innes asked the soldier, hesitating as Kella carried the boy, but the woman shook her head, her good arm rising to remove her helmet.

It would have been silver, if not for the gore coating the surface, and it had three metallic points that dripped down her temples and between her eyes, which were deep pools she wanted to sink into.

She was reminded of someone, although she couldn’t place who.

‘He’s not breathing!

’ Kella’s voice saved her from staring, and she turned and ran towards the boy.

‘Give me space,’ Innes ordered, the steady calm of practice taking over.

She put her pack on the ground and found the herbs and vials she needed, grabbed her travel-sized mortar and pestle and began grinding the leaves into a paste.

She could feel anger threatening her steady hand, and a million questions bubbled to her lips.

She knew this poison intimately; it was often used by backwards villagers to discover whether someone was Ever Blessed.

They would poison the culprit: if they died, they were deemed innocent, but if they survived then they would be handed to the Seacht as Ever Blessed.

There was no logic, and the morons who tried this didn’t understand a remedy was easy to make if one knew what to look for.

She hesitated a second before giving the cure to the boy; normally she would weave a drop of Ever into the medicine to speed the healing, but surrounded by warriors at the doorstep of the palace, Innes was reminded how precarious her presence here was.

She couldn’t risk her life, or the life of Briony and the babe so soon.

So she swallowed the hum of her Ever and scooped the paste onto her fingers, gently opening the boy’s mouth before placing the medicine on his tongue.

She hoped it would be enough.

‘I need water,’ she said, trusting someone would hear her.

A moment later a canteen was placed in her outstretched hand, and she tipped the contents down the boy’s throat, closing his mouth so he couldn’t spit out the remedy.

The boy’s eyes opened, and he bucked.

‘You better not be killing him,’ Kella hissed.

For a healer, frightened family members were expected, and she met the warrior’s gaze with patience.

The boy’s shuddering began to subside, and when he finally relaxed into unconsciousness the blue tinge around his lips had faded, and a small amount of colour bloomed on his cheeks.

She went to tap three fingers to her chest in thanks but stopped herself before she finished the movement, pretending instead to scratch her shoulder.

‘Do you have an infirmary here?’ she asked the group.

No one answered, and Innes turned to see what the hesitation was.

Six sets of eyes stared at her.

‘Do you have an infirmary? Healers? A hospital?’ she asked again, impatience colouring her words.

‘Yes, there is a staff of medics here,’ one of the warriors offered.

Innes nodded, reaching for her pack to grab some charcoal and parchment.

She quickly wrote the remedy she had given the boy.

She handed this to Kella, who took the paper silently.

‘He needs constant care over the next few days. He’s dehydrated, and depending on how much the poison has spread, he could get an infection if not properly watched.

’

The warrior nodded, and Innes took a deep breath to steady her next words, praying to the Ever they would not blow her cover so soon.

‘This was intentional – someone believed this boy to be Ever Blessed. I would urge caution regarding his treatment.’

The eyes staring at her blinked, and Kella’s face hardened, but before she could say anything the doors to the palace burst open and a tall, muscular woman strode out, the dark blue fabric of her pants a stark contrast to the earthy hues of the courtyard around them.

‘What is this?’ she asked, her gaze sweeping the scene before her: six bloodied women, a nearly dead boy and Innes, covered in three weeks’ worth of travel.

‘Your Majesty,’ Innes said, dropping her head in respect.

The queen’s jaw clenched and Innes could feel her eyes run over her, assessing.

Queen Una turned to Kella and gestured for a report.

‘We left the township of Anfa a week ago, after dealing with a band of unmarked soldiers. Nothing on them to prove they were Clochain, but they were Clochain,’ Kella said, standing at attention.

‘We found the boy on the outskirts of the city and brought him with us to see a medic. We ran into her’ – she jutted her chin in Innes’ direction – ‘on the way here.’

A scuffle sounded behind her, and Innes turned to see three healers carrying a board enter the courtyard.

The warriors permitted them to pass, and they kneeled next to the child, a male medic feeling for a pulse.

Kella handed him the parchment Innes had given her with a wary look, but the man nodded and asked enough smart follow-up questions that Innes felt comfortable letting the boy go with them.

When they’d carried him off, Innes turned to the queen.

She was watching her intently.

‘Who are you?’

Innes’ stomach dropped.

She had thought she’d have more time before standing in front of Vettona’s monarch and hadn’t prepared what she wanted to say.

Her throat was dry, palms tacky with sweat.

They had an audience, and self-preservation was humming in her chest.

So she said the only thing that might – might – be intriguing enough to warrant an audience without giving her identity away entirely.

‘I’ve come with a message from the healers of the north.

’

She met Queen Una’s gaze for what felt like hours, then the queen turned to Kella.

‘Watch the boy and bring the healer to my office.’

The air left Innes’ body in a loud exhale, and a second later Kella began giving orders, the courtyard a flurry of movement.

‘Remi, go with the medics and get yourself fixed,’ Kella said to the injured warrior.

Remi nodded, and then winced at the movement.

A flare of something sparked in Innes’ chest, and she reached for her pack, finding willow bark in its depths and handed the herb to the warrior.

‘Chew this. It will help numb the pain until they can give you something stronger.’

Remi managed a small smile, although her brow was starting to bead with sweat.

She reached for the willow bark—

Their fingers touched and Innes felt as if she had been struck by lightning.

Her vision swam and she struggled to form a single thought against the rush of euphoria coursing through her body.

She was, she was – a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, pulling her out of whatever thrall had snared her.

Innes blinked, trying to piece her fractured mind back together.

‘You’re coming with me,’ Kella said, pushing Innes towards the royal dwelling.

She stumbled over her bag, trying and failing to think about anything other than the injured warrior standing behind her.

Kella gripped her shoulder in a tight squeeze and forced her forwards.

Only years of working as a healer gave her the sense of mind to grab her pack, but the shift in balance had her nearly face-planting into the stones.

She tried to shake off the daze, and turned to look at Remi in the hope she would have an answer, but the warrior was being shepherded away by a medic.

‘If you so much as look at my queen with ill intent, I will slaughter you and offer your blood to Aurelia as a blessing, understand?’ Kella warned.

Innes swallowed.

In all her thirty-three years, she couldn’t remember a time when she felt this scattered, this out of sorts.

But she’d dealt with situations just as frantic before, so she reached into the still part inside of her, the part she channelled during the most gruesome healings, when she needed to sacrifice in order to survive, and met Kella’s gaze.

‘Look at me funny, and I’ll do the same to you.

’

Kella’s lips curled in a cruel smile, and then she pushed Innes into the royal dwelling of Vettona.