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@emma-walker

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Chapter 5

 

Kaleiva was up with the sun — the rays were bright enough that she simply couldn’t sleep any longer.

Enara had lost consciousness again when she awakened, and realizing that the little girl’s condition was worsening, Kaleiva continued on at once, not bothering to search for breakfast.

She’d been to her grandmother’s house a few times before, so that was some help, but she still didn’t know where, precisely, she was. She soon found the location generally enough, however, that she was able to reason that she was still a few hours’ walk from the town.

Her feet ached from the journeying of the night before, but Kaleiva didn’t care.

Enara was all that she had left. If she died, she didn’t know what she would do.

The remaining time passed quicker than Kaleiva had expected, and before long, she could see the cluster of buildings that was Ardov, large in comparison to her village, drawing nearer.

As she left the trees, the town ahead grew larger still, no longer obscured by the great oaks, elms, and pines.

Kaleiva stumbled into Ardov, and felt Enara shift in her arms. She felt as though it was only a matter of time until she collapsed, and knew that it likely was.

Townspeople emerged from their houses, and stopped to stare at the filthy girl carrying the small child.

Kaleiva knew that she was a mess; her hair was tangled, and stuck with leaves and twigs. Enara had burns splotching her smooth skin, some of them growing infected.

One cut on the bottom of her right foot was swelling angrily.

“Please. . .” Kaleiva said hoarsely, her fatigue threatening to overwhelm her. “Please. . . where does. . . Ara Nurys live?” She wavered, realizing that she could remain on her feet no longer, and fell, barely managing to twist in midair so that Enara was on top of her rather than beneath her. Her vision blurred, clouded, then blackened as she slipped from consciousness.

***

When Kaleiva awakened, she was lying in a soft bed, a cool rag lying upon her forehead. Her filthy clothing from earlier was gone, replaced by a clean linen girls’ tunic.

She was clean, and her blistered feet were wrapped in more linen, likely with some kind of ointment having been applied, which made them feel cool, though they still ached unavoidably.

Kaleiva let out a soft groan, then put a hand to her forehead. What. . . what happened? Where am I?

Her head throbbed with what was probably the worst headache she’d ever had.

A cool hand, wrinkled but soft, rested upon her right arm. “It’s all right, Kaleiva. You’re fine. One of the neighbors brought you here after you passed out.”

Kaleiva looked to the voice, and saw an elderly woman whom she recognized as Grandmother Nurys, her mother’s mother. Those blue eyes, kind, and unusual for anyone living anywhere but Chivall or Silvun, couldn’t possibly belong to anyone else.

“We got news of the village too late to be of any help,” Grandmother Nurys went on, sadness filling her eyes. “When you and Enara came, you can’t imagine how relieved we were that at least some of you had escaped.”

Kaleiva lay back down, rubbing her temples. What. . .

Then it all came back.

The raiders. Culvin. Enara. The Gryphonrider and his spear.

Kaleiva sat back up. “Enara!”

Grandmother Nurys gently made her lie back down. “It’s all right, child,” she said. “Enara’s alive. The healer is seeing her as we speak. She’s going to be fine.”

Kaleiva let out a sigh of relief. “Oh. . . oh. . . thank goodness.” She closed her eyes, and for several minutes, neither she nor her grandmother spoke.

Then, at last, Grandmother Nurys said, “I know. So many gone. . .”

Kaleiva rolled over onto her other side, and began to weep quietly. What started as only a few tears quickly grew into a torrent, and she vaguely wondered through her grief how she’d managed to keep it back this long.

I suppose, she thought, sniffling, it was desperation that gave me the strength.

Hardly had fifteen minutes passed, however, when, as the grief slowly but surely began to subside, Kaleiva felt it replaced by a new, smoldering emotion.

Anger.

If the Duallies thought that they could simply come, kill, or capture her family, including dear Culvin, and sail back home with no consequences whatsoever, then they had another thing coming.

She would show them.

But not like this. That just wasn’t possible.

Kaleiva sat bolt upright, ignoring the protest of her aching muscles. If she intended to do anything about this, do anything to make sure that it never happened to anyone else, then she would need training. Without it, she was nothing more than an exhausted, angry orphan who wanted to do something, but couldn’t.

She turned to face her grandmother. “Grandmother Nurys, I. . .” She paused. Her next words, she knew, would determine the course of the rest of her life. She needed to choose them carefully, make sure that this was truly what she wanted, and not just an emotional whim. At last, Kaleiva met Grandmother Nurys’ eyes. The elderly woman was listening. “I want to go to M’irthen, Grandmother.”