Chapter XX: Heading Home
Stefi managed only a few hours of sleep before being roused as the sun peeked over the uneven Alzandian horizon. They were set to leave at once, making for the coast on horseback before boarding ships for Valraines.
“You’re not coming with us?” Stefi asked Djidou and Adnamis. The Arigans had assembled before the same plains where the war had been waged without them. Their horses pawed and snorted impatiently.
“Can’t, really,” Djidou said bitterly. “Look at all the damage caused by our human ‘inventiveness’. I thought this stuff could be used for good. I mean, who wouldn’t want to soar through the air?” He held his arms horizontally, tilting back and forth like a banking harrier. Adnamis giggled.
“I helped make this mess,” he continued, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest. “Gotta help make it right again.” He sighed. “Could take a while, and it’s not like we’ll be welcome back in Sol-Acrima, anyway.”
“It’s nice out here,” Adnamis chimed in. “Peaceful. A good place to start over.”
“Good luck,” Stefi said, pulling them both into a hug.
“You too. Maybe after what you do there’ll be no more need for fighting. Though it’s a pointless dream, I know.”
“The only pointless dream,” Sansonis said, “is one we don’t bother following.” He stole a glance at the head of the Arigans where Richo himself sat upon a massive horse the same color as his hair. A nervous Ifaut sat behind, both her good and fractured arm clamped about his waist. It wasn’t affection, even he realized. It was so she wouldn’t fall.
The next moment her darting eyes found his and he saw a weak smile. He couldn’t yet bring himself to return it.
She looked away, not bothering to blink away her tears. Instead she laid her head on Richo’s shoulder, letting her tears soak furtively into his shirt.
The strong Arigan horses, bred for their endurance, seemed to glide across the landscape, barely slowing for the rolling hills that lay before them. By the time they arrived where several dozen broad ships had been dragged to the sandy beach, every muscle in Stefi’s body ached from a whole day’s riding with only short breaks. Suddenly she didn’t want a horse as badly as she once had. And she could’ve sworn Gemmie’s fur had taken on a green tinge.
Between her tired mind and throbbing muscles, she barely registered what happened next. The flat bows of the ships were lowered and the horses lead into the roomy bowels and stabled, while the Furosans and humans took the upper decks.
“All right, Stefi?”
She turned to see Pheia beside her, her bow slung over her shoulder and Shizai’s swirling stone clutched tightly in her hand. “Just tired,” she said and emphasized it with a yawn.
“As long as you’re fine. Listen, I must go onto my brother’s ship, being part of the royal family and all. And Shizai thinks she’s up for moving the fleet. I can’t believe she recovered so easily after… you know…”
“Yeah,” Stefi said, barely suppressing another yawn. “See you when we arrive.”
“You know,” Pheia said, her voice just above a whisper, “I wish my jerk of a brother would let the rest of you ride with us. You’re the Fieretsi, after all.”
“It’s okay.” Stefi waved her hand dismissively.
“No, it isn’t. He just can’t see past his hatred for humans, thanks to his arrogance. And he places more importance on power and influence than love and kindness. Not to mention his obsession with marrying Mia- I mean, Ifaut.”
“He loves her?” Stefi suddenly found herself more alert.
“Of course not! He just wants Mafouras and a pretty bride from another country. I’ve spoken to her. She just wants the Kalkic Sansonis. I’m with her. There are more important things than power. Force,” she said, her mind momentarily wandering back to the hauntingly beautiful forest beyond worlds, “will not help us here. Only beauty and friendship will.”
Then almost absently, she whispered to herself, “Laure Musrem Daga Te’a.”
Stefi joined in. “Te’n Laema Feamat Mus.”
“Soma Serne Ue Sae Sem’la, Peper Ter-Ram Tela,” they finished together.
An awkward smile flickered between them, broken only by Stefi’s yawn, and they went their separate ways: Pheia to her brother’s ship, Stefi to join her fellow Fieretka aboard one of the transports.
At least, Pheia thought, she was still on the right path.
The journey to Valraines aboard the Arigan ship Iqwos lasted three whole days, which happened to be the longest three days of Stefi’s life. Confined to a cramped transport ship, there was little to do to pass the time. She tried to pry more information from Rhaka; the Otsukuné refused, repeatedly insisting that the time was not right. Stefi began to wonder if it ever would be.
Sansonis kept to himself, his thoughts tossing on his mind as easily as the ships on the waves. Sometimes he sat with Stefi, both wreathed in silence, their company speaking words enough. At first he thought Gemmie had stopped speaking to him too, but as it turned out she’d been trying constantly; he just couldn’t hear her. Stefi put it down to the shock of losing Maya, while he guessed it may have had something to do with the vessel of Dawn dying, unbalancing the elements in Feregana. However, the perpetual twilight Maya predicted never arrived, and Cédes could shed no light on the subject. Perhaps Stefi was once more the only one who could hear their voices. And Maya had been wrong.
Cédes managed to catch up on much-needed sleep, renewing some of the energy she’d lost at Alzandia and relaxing considerably, even if the loss of her brother kept playing on her mind. She only wished Shizai would come to visit to break the boredom. And that Ifaut had given thought to what she’d said in passing before Radus and Maya’s funeral. Remember what I am. She’d as good as told Ifaut during the ceremony: a High Priestess of Lidae, Seventh Sajana. If only Ifaut could work out what it meant, that only Cédes could prevent her unwanted marriage. Telling her directly would be tantamount to treason, even seen as an attempt to destabilize the rule of both Mafouras and Ariga. No, Ifaut must come to the conclusion herself.
It was just before dawn when they at last reached land. Iqwos was one of the last ships to moor, not at Valraines, but further along the coast, somewhere between there and Zelbana to the east. The sea slipped into a sheltered bay, giving way to the land so gently that it looked like the green waters and even greener grass were one, with only a strip of golden sand in between.
“All right, my fellow Arigans,” Richo bellowed, striding confidently before his assembled cavalry and foot soldiers as Ifaut trailed behind, her eyes on the ground. “Today marks a momentous occasion in both Ariga and Mafouras’s history. Come tomorrow evening I expect Mafouras will be once more under our control, with myself and the lovely Ifaut to rule over it.”
The sixty or so horses shifted about, more interested in the fresh grass about their hooves than Richo’s speech. Their impatience was reflected in their riders, all keen for a chance to stretch their legs. And bowstrings. The leaders’ twenty-four sarissae, terribly long spears, swayed like spindly poplars in the still air, eager to thrust into battle after missing an earlier chance.
“We do not know what to expect in there. The Sumarana forest is hostile to all who enter it.”
“Liar!” Ifaut hissed, suppressing her rage. “It’s safer than anywhere else I’ve been!”
Richo continued, deaf to her words. “The old road is not friendly to our horses. Therefore, we must tread carefully, perhaps even advancing in single file. My future queen and I shall go first, since it is indeed our kingdom we are liberating.”
Ifaut’s anger welled inside her at his mention of “our kingdom.” It was hers. Or, more accurately, her home. Not his. Hers. And home to everyone else who lived there.
“The scouts report that the humans have carved a nice little path that branches off the main road and runs straight to Mafouras. With such an easy journey ahead I expect Mafouras will be back in our hands before we know it. I grow weary of singl
e life.” He winked at Ifaut, provoking a tide of revulsion inside her.
“The marriage will take place as soon as possible,” he said. “And, may I add, you are all invited!” His face beamed as if he’d just made the most generous gesture ever, and he was met with a cheer from the soldiers. “And although I hold no stock in legends and kits’ stories, my dear Ifaut’s varied… companions… are welcome too.”
Now Ifaut wasn’t the only one to feel annoyance. The Fieretka, all who had been through more with her than anyone else had, were now being regarded as mere hangers-on.
“The sooner I can end this farce,” Cédes muttered to Sansonis, “the better we all shall be.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, leaning closer.
“As long as I live, Miss Ifaut shan’t marry him. You may not be of royal blood, but you are worth a hundred of that pompous…” She struggled to find a word before settling on the one she found most apt. “…jerk. He is used to getting everything he has ever wanted by means of his looks and lineage alone. He has everything and he still wants more. You, though, have nothing but your character. And that makes you a better person.”
Sansonis noticed Cédes quaking with barely contained anger. He half expected to see her clenched fist erupt in flames before he remembered that Stefi had removed Raphanos from her body.
“Did I just hear you call someone a jerk?” he asked, shocked at her language. Sure, it was tame by other peoples’ standards, but positively vulgar by hers.
“You did. Miss Ifaut deserves someone who loves her for her, not her status and property.”
“I love her because she’s Ifaut.”
“That is good enough for me.” Then she added, “Unless… you also have an arranged marriage. Perhaps Rhaka has chosen someone?”
Rhaka growled, yet his tail wagged playfully. “I see you are at last developing a sense of humor,” he said.
“Yes, I suppose I am.” He fists relaxed and an open hand found Rhaka’s head. She patted him, an act he seemed to enjoy very much. “I have learnt much from my friends. It was an honor to have met you all.” She pulled Stefi and Sansonis towards her into a hug, trapping Rhaka between them all as Gemmie lay in Stefi’s arms.
“Know I consider you all friends,” she continued, “and that I would do anything for you.”
“When you lot have finished together time, we would like to leave!” Richo’s voice pulled them from their embrace, and was soon joined by a chorus of laughter from his troops. “There is grown-up business to attend to, so follow us at a safe distance and try not to get in the way.”
“I want to throttle him,” Cédes hissed as Richo strutted away, bearing a smug grin and Ifaut’s arm. “Acting as if he alone defeated the humans at Alzandia. He makes me sick.”
“Ignore it. It’s just an old tree house, nothing to concern ourselves with.”
They heard Richo’s voice calling from the head of the cavalry, haughty as usual. But it was the words that stilled the Fieretka in their tracks. From the rear they watched the Arigans and their horses file past with barely a sideways glance at the collection of boards and branches, the remains of what had once been a house hidden high above the ground. The new road, thrashed through the trees with such force, ran right beside it.
“What happened here?” Stefi felt her legs nearly give way beneath her, their strength taken by the sight before her. The very same tree house she’d once stayed in, in which she’d drunk chocolate with a bunch of kids, lay smashed amidst the tree that had been cut from beneath it. Its boards were cracked and splintered, and torn hammocks dangled from the branches like old cobwebs. The hoard of coins was gone, and Stefi saw, with a twinge of sadness, a collection of smashed mugs sitting amidst brown powder.
“It wasn’t enough to take Mafouras,” Sansonis murmured, catching sight of his most cherished memory crushed beneath the fallen timber. “They had to destroy the poor kids’ house.”
“What… what do you think happened to them?” Stefi asked, absently picking up a broken mug stained with hot chocolate.
“If they had any sense, they would have run away.”
The next moment Rhaka leapt atop the smashed wood and picked his way across branches, sniffing all the while. At last he clambered back down. “I can smell nothing beneath the wreckage. It seems to indicate that they did indeed have the sense to flee. Although I do find that surprising given their boldness in the past.”
The Fieretka soon realized that the Arigans had advanced out of sight, taking the jangling of their gear and the snorting horses with them. The site of the tree house fell into an uneasy, haunting silence.
“We should get going,” Stefi said at length. “At least we know we’re getting near Mafouras now.”
Cédes clutched her arm tightly, at last speaking. “Do you think they have treated Mafouras with such violence?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
“I really don’t know,” Stefi said honestly.
“Then let us hope not.”
As they made to leave, Pheia jogged over, relief dawning on her face at the sight of them. “There you are! Ifaut was worried that you’d all disappeared. My brother, on the other hand…” She looked at the ground as if blood ties meant she was just as guilty of his thoughts too. “… said it might be for the best if you had gotten lost.”
“Ha!” Stefi laughed. “He wouldn’t be so lucky. We’re coming. It’s just we knew the kids who used to live here.”
Pheia cocked her head, surveying the wreckage with a wary eye. “Who would live in a tree house?”
“A couple of kids from Mafouras,” Stefi said as they jogged to catch up with the Arigans. “Well, two anyway, Reilos and Leuma. There was a girl from Ariga too. Sohei.”
Upon hearing the last name Pheia stiffened and her tail puffed. The color drained from her brown face, leaving it almost as pallid as Cédes’s. “A-an Arigan c-called Sohei?” she stammered.
“Yes.” In that moment Stefi realized how similar to Pheia Sohei had looked, and it wasn’t just the color of their skin. Both had the same nose and somewhat uneasy looking smile that looked like they were always on the verge of saying something but had thought better of it.
“My little sister!” the Furosan burst out. “She came here during the early days of the war on Ariga for her safety, when Richo and Ifaut’s marriage was arranged. Come, we must hurry to Mafouras. Perhaps she and her friends fled there!”
She vanished, sprinting towards the head of the cavalry just as it crested a long low hill.
Their second entrance to Mafouras the following morning wasn’t nearly as exciting as the first. There was no barrier to be opened with a few words, no sudden dramatic appearance of a hidden town. No, one minute they were passing through trees and following the well-trampled path of the horses, and the next they had wandered into sunlight near what remained of the Great Hall.
“Bastards,” Sansonis said, surveying the ruin before him.
“What is it?” Cédes asked, although she already knew. She could smell the cold smoke on the breeze, taste death in the air.
“Pointless destruction,” Sansonis said.
Not all the buildings had been destroyed; many still stood, though their windows had been smashed and doors battered off hinges. Cédes’s own home was gone, replaced by a massive bonfire where felled trees had been piled upon its remains. Lidae’s statue had been destroyed, and his head now lay some distance from the shattered body, while two legs jutted from the river.
There was an angry shout, and it was soon joined by a chorus of others. Stefi and Sansonis noticed that a few dozen men had been, until their arrival, lolling about in the sun, playing cards and drinking alcohol looted from Mafouras’s stores. A bored lot, they looked, and not so different from the same men who had once occupied Joven’s inn at the news of a Furosan in the vicinity.
It was no army, Sansonis thought, just desperate, brutish thugs more interested in earning blood money and indulging in violence than anything
else. His suspicions were confirmed when the men leapt into action, arming themselves with whatever happened to be lying nearby: sticks, knives, or, in a few cases, their own arrogant swaggers that they had wielded their whole lives to get whatever they wanted.
Richo answered them with a barked order of “Faiken!” and the horses wheeled into a well-practiced formation twelve wide and five deep, with the sarissa-wielding Furosans forming a bristling, imposing wall before them. Each several-meter long spear was poised and ready in their hands. The archers hung back behind the foot soldiers, longbows at the ready.
Richo’s own horse, bearing both him and a very distraught looking Ifaut, trotted haughtily in front of the horses so that it stood between them and the humans’ decidedly sorry looking bunch of former bounty hunters and general lowlifes.
“Not what I would have expected from Sol-Acrima’s reserves of outstanding soldiers,” he called, casually flicking the hair from his eyes with a toss of his head. A second later his horse did the same with its mane, a gesture that made Ifaut grimace.
“Why,” he continued haughtily, “I doubt any of you are real soldiers at all!”
The gathered humans let fly some curses but nothing more. Some gripped their weapons tighter, others merely scowled and cracked their knuckles.
“Pathetic, the whole lot of you! Sure, you took Mafouras by brute force. Not exactly impressive when they have no army. But now what? Big bonfires and smashing stuff?” He laughed.
“What’s he doing?” Stefi whispered, as she and the others hung well back behind a chunk of stone that looked unnervingly like one of Lidae’s legs.
“I think,” Sansonis said, “he’s trying to goad them into attacking. Seriously, that rag-tag lot don’t stand a chance, and they know it. Richo too.”
“They’re men,” Stefi said with a frustrated sigh. “They can keep up posturing like this all day if they have to, strutting around.”
“A bunch of men sitting around together,” Richo continued, a broad smile erupting on his face to reveal his pointy canines. “It all seems a little bit… ahem… gay.”
That seemed to be enough to spur the humans’ pride forward. Typical, Stefi thought, for them to get violent when their sexuality was thrown into doubt.
“Calling us faggots?” a particularly hirsute man snarled. He stepped forward, twirling a long, heavy chain. Sansonis at once recognized him from the night he first met Ifaut. He was the one who had threatened to harm her.
“Goodness, no!” Richo laughed. “Bundles of firewood have much more intelligence than you lot! No, you’re more like cowards than anything.”
The next moment the seething mass of humans surged forward, brandishing their crude weapons and obscene words with little skill. At once the lead horses lunged, their riders bringing their sarissae to bear. The wave of humanity crashed against a wall of horses and Furosans, breaking itself apart as those who led the charge suddenly found themselves run through. A few slipped through, swinging and hacking at the horses as they went. But the Arigans, far better trained than their aggressors, knew what they were doing. The ranks of sarissa-wielding Furosans broke apart, wheeling around to flank the next onslaught, as the short spear and swordsmen in the rear advanced, cutting down the humans who had broken through.
Two horses collapsed as their legs buckled beneath them, the muscles sliced through by unlucky blows. One rider was crushed and didn’t move. The second clambered, winded, to his feet to continue the fight himself.
The fight descended into a chaotic melee as the humans charged recklessly, fuelled by anger and the slight against their sexual orientation. From their safety Stefi saw more horses fall screaming, humans stabbed and pummeled by hooves, Richo’s horse trotting about with its head –and its rider’s–held high. Ifaut, though, looked ready to cry, her face as gray and sickly as the ash that remained of much of her home.
At last the few remaining humans thought it better to run than stay and fight. They turned to flee, only to be struck down by whistling arrows from the archers, who were accompanied by Pheia.
“Well,” Richo gloated as his horse trotted over to the Fieretka, “that was exciting, wasn’t it?” He let out an insincere sigh as he surveyed Mafouras. Even now Furosans were beginning to peek from the houses still standing where they’d been held prisoner, every one of them wearing the same expression of grief and relief. Then he said to Ifaut, “Look, our people.”
Indeed, at the sight of Ifaut a great cry rang out, echoed a hundred times over as the Mafourans who hadn’t escaped into the forest ran from their homes-turned-prisons.
Suddenly Ifaut tumbled from Richo’s horse and hit the ground, drawing a collective gasp from the crowd. Ignoring the pain, she clambered to her feet and cowered under their gazes. Suddenly she hated them, wanted them all to look away. All of them, that is, besides the gray eyes she felt being forced deeper into the gathering crowd.
“Eager, isn’t she?” Richo laughed, then addressing the growing crowd with his lofty voice, “I give you back your home!” He waited for the cheering to subside before he continued, shouting over the gentle murmur that remained. “And I give you your new king and queen!”
The resulting cheer was so loud Ifaut clamped her hands over her sensitive ears, contorting her face as if it would help block out the noise. It didn’t. Neither did her own screams. But no one noticed their princess and future queen screaming.
The roaring rose in her ears, threatening to drown her under a tide of noise. “I hate you!” She didn’t know if her voice came from her mouth or mind. Her parents were dead, the rightful rulers of Mafouras, and all anyone cared about was their new handsome king-to-be. She hadn’t even had the chance to see their bodies, although she knew she couldn’t bring herself to do so. How might they look? Reflections of her home, battered and broken? No, better to remember them as they were in life.
Somehow she didn’t care anymore. And somehow she found the strength to run.