And you are a Serpentine. There is nothing to be done about it all. Grit your teeth and bear it. But don’t close your eyes, child. Never, never close your eyes. The dark can be a dangerous thing.
Fiona’s gaze locked on a small tree. She could see the deep grooves in the trunk made by a weather worm. Her body twitched, twisted, but she kept looking at the tree, at the life long travels of one tiny little creature. Muscles contracted, then released with agonizing pain. For an instant she thought of lying down then dismissed the idea. It was easier when she was on her feet.
Miniscule circles wound around the trunk, creating the steps of a strange little dance. As Fiona’s thighs began to quiver, threatening to betray her, she imagined the weather worm waltzing its way around, etching the deep grooves of his song in the rain. Her eyes welled but she blinked back the tears and grunted, pushing when she felt the familiar pull in her body. It was easier not to fight it.
Her body jerked and Fiona cried out. She clutched her body but still kept her eyes locked on the trail of the weather worm. It felt as if she was being ripped apart. Her body moved on its own now and she had no control. In a desperate attempt to remain conscious she stared at the tiny holes wondering if the weather worm ever stopped its journey for such suffering.
Points of light danced around her vision but Fiona refused to close her eyes. She felt herself swaying and forced strength into her limbs even though it seemed a useless effort. She was at the mercy of agonizing pain.
As the last bit of tension broke and fell away, Fiona realized she was whimpering. But it was over. It was done. She stepped from the bloody mess at her feet and walked away. One glance over her shoulder and she stopped and lifted a hand to her cheek. The skin there felt smooth and soft. Nothing like the pile of dried skin she left behind her.
And there was no longer a scar on her arm, she noticed. The only mark Diato had made on her before she left him unconscious. Thestian had applauded as if impressed but she’d felt guilt the next day. She’d fought Diato with anger. She could have killed him.
She’d tried to speak with him the following morning, before she left but he’d avoided her, ignoring her attempts to make things better. Only once, right before she left had he looked her in the eye. He’d said nothing though, only offering a nod as a farewell.
Shedding skin is like starting over. You have all the time you need to make your wrongs right. Fiona nodded at the echo of her grandmother’s teachings. How she wished her grandmother were here with her. Serpentines could live forever but they were not invincible. They could be killed.
Fiona squared her shoulders and started again for the road. Yes, it was time to start anew and complete this mission. There was a blacksmith waiting for her protection and guidance to Merisgale.
She wondered if he was a stupid man. Most blacksmiths she had known were learned enough about smithing but pretty ignorant when it came to other things. Fiona doubted this one would be any different. She sighed.
Well, at least he’d had the sense to take the sword to Merisgale. Only one other time had someone besides a guard carried a King’s Sword to Merisgale. The memory tore at Fiona’s heart. It had been a dangerous journey because many wished to get their hands on the sword. There were smaller groups and individuals who would kill for the power that came with the sword.
It seemed there had been a constant battle to hold on to it. Around every bend was a new danger, someone else scrambling to steal the sword and rob Merisgale of her King. Fiona felt tears sting her eyes. And there were those who would die willingly to protect that power. Her grandmother had been one of them. Fiona remembered the quest well, despite how young she had been.
Only eight days into the journey, Fiona had held on to her grandmother’s hand, fear quaking in her small body. Dark had gathered out of nowhere and she’d hidden in her grandmother’s skirts. But Theora hadn’t been afraid. It was just a woman who appeared with black hair and eyes, and the power to move the wind.
“Give up the sword, Theora.” The woman had commanded. Her voice had sounded impressive and Fiona had quaked. Fiona’s eyes had widened. Her grandmother knew the woman. But Theora just shook her head.
“I have different plans than you for this sword. I have obligations.”
“I cannot allow it. This must be stopped.” The woman stepped closer and Fiona remembered cowering. The woman’s eyes had flicked down to the child. And in Fiona’s memory, it seemed they had softened slightly.
“You put a child in harm’s way.” The woman’s gaze had then lifted back to Theora. They narrowed, hardened. Fiona had felt chilled by the force she found in the woman’s eyes.
“There is no harm if you forget about the sword. It has nothing to do with you. Go back to your cave. Live the rest of your life in peace,” Theora insisted. “Do not do this to my granddaughter.”
“It is not my choice, Theora. It is yours.” The woman took a step forward but Theora lifted her chin, raising a hand to the sky.
“I will not give up the sword.” The darkness around them thickened, the wind had howled a warning but Theora had not listened. “Be gone! I command you to leave me and my granddaughter in peace to complete our mission!”
“Move away from her, child,” The woman had commanded but Fiona had only clung tighter. Fiona had screamed when lightening jagged from the sky. A heartbeat before it struck, the woman had grasped Fiona’s arm and jerked her away from her grandmother’s side. Her grip had been made of metal as strong as that of the sword. The bolt drove right into Theora’s uplifted hand. And then it had been calm. The woman was gone.
“Who was that, Nana?” Fiona had whispered through tears as she knelt next to her grandmother. Smoke drifted out from the pores of Theora’s skin, the ends of her hair were singed. Fiona even noticed that all of her eyelashes had been burned away. She was dying. Even at twelve, Fiona had known that.
“She has destroyed all that holds us together,” Theora had whispered, her voice filled with sadness. “I did not think she would do it.” Her chest contracted, lungs vibrating as they fought for another breath of air.
“The sword is still here. It is not destroyed,” Fiona had said, attempting to offer the woman solace during her last moments. Her grandmother’s bright eyes had dropped to the sword. Laughter chortled weakly from Theora’s throat.
“Ula, you are a clever witch.” And then Theora’s eyes had closed. They never opened again. Her grandmother had been brave and powerful but greed and darkness had cast her down. The day Theora had died was the day twelve-year-old Fiona had stop being a child. She’d taken up the sword that had been left at her side and carried it the rest of the way to Merisgale alone.
Bryan stood at the edge of the trees watching the small group stop to relieve themselves. His eyes remained locked on the blacksmith. The man was stronger than he’d guessed. It had been the other man that Bryan had suspected the danger but the strength Ronan Culley had shown made the horseman pale in comparison.
The woman was the only real danger posed against the blacksmith. Bryan knew now she wouldn’t allow him to take the sword. But maybe he could save the blacksmith. There was something about him, in his eyes that told Bryan he was not like the others he traveled with.
In those deep brown eyes, Bryan had seen compassion, understanding, and pain. Pain very similar to the kind Bryan himself carried. And that pain fueled his loyalty, that fact was obvious enough.
The boy had tried to save the blacksmith. He’d nearly gotten himself killed in the process. It was that massive horse the boy rode that had done it. Bryan had been the first around the bend and saw for himself when the large beast had suddenly reared up, throwing the boy to the ground. Bryan had been sure the force of the impact when he hit the ground would have killed him.