Page 31 of The Awakening of Essensia

Vaelira collapsed to her knees. A solid arm wrapped around her and she leaned into Lysander. This time, she didn’t try to stop the tears, didn’t try to stop the fracturing part of her from coming undone as the last of her family was set ablaze. He held her through it all, keeping her upright as the smoke curled skyward.

Golden light pierced the morning mist as the sun rose over Anhaven’s eastern wall, casting long rays across the stone and burning away the last of the shadows.

A deep groan of metal on metal echoed through the stillness, followed by the heavy creak of wood. Three riders appeared at the western gate, their forms silhouetted in the glaring sun. Light spilled around them as their horses tossed their heads, snorting thick plumes of breath that curled in the brisk morning air.

They galloped down the grassy hill, vanishing into the valley’s shadow. The great gates rumbled shut, sealing Anhaven, and everything Vaelira had known, behind her.

7

Sage and Blackberries

They met no one on the road, only the warm wind and the steady rhythm of hooves as they followed the river north, sunlight glinting off the water as it rushed south. The day was unseasonably warm, and they stopped to water the horses at a calm bend in the river before moving on quickly.

In the distance to the west, mountains loomed faintly on the horizon. Vaelira had expected to feel awe at the sight of these great protectors, at the very thing that had stopped the greater demon Veyrakh and his fire from devouring Eastvale. The demon had succeeded in destroying the rest of the continent, turning it to ash and bones before the mages had sacrificed their powers to defeat him.

Awe wasn’t what filled her. No, all she felt was a hollow sort of indifference. She had once dreamed of leaving Anhaven, of seeing what lay beyond their cliffside town, but not like this. She’d always pictured Freya at her side. Jon. Instead, she rode with two strangers, and they had both probably ridden this road a hundred times before.

Ahead of her, Eli shifted in his saddle, the muscles of his back tensing visibly through the thin fabric of his shirt. He’d said barely two words to her all morning. She could tell he knew more than he was letting on, and it took everything in her not to demand answers right there. She doubted he would reveal everything so easily.

The river began to widen, and a lake appeared ahead. The water rippled softly, throwing dancing lights across the surface. Trees lined the bank to the west, spreading up and around to the north. The road narrowed and sloped down towards the eastern bank, where a tall wooden wall stood. It looked irresponsibly fragile compared to Anhaven’s stone.

“Surely that can’t keep out demons?” Vaelira asked.

“The town wouldn’t exist if it didn’t,” Eli said over his shoulder.

Lord Jurah rode up beside her. “Meer is a newer settlement,” he said. “Hardly six years old. Anhaven’s had decades to build its defences, but this one does the job well enough. It’s still standing.” He frowned. “Although, it might not continue standing if that is the best it can do for a guard.”

He nodded towards a man leaning against the gate. A sword swung loosely at his hip as he kicked the grass with the toe of his boot, his head tipped back against the timber as he stared at the sky. He hadn’t even noticed their approach.

Lord Jurah nudged his steed into a trot and rode straight for the guard. He swung down, more graceful than she’d have expected from a man his age.

The guard straightened, flushing as Lord Jurah’s voice rang out over the sound of the river. The Lord Commander of the Royal Guard in all his glory.

Vaelira urged Millie forward. “What if we’d been raiders?” she muttered to Eli.

“He’d already be a hostage. Or dead.” He said it with a shrug, as if it didn’t matter either way. “They’d probably keep him alive to bargain their way in.”

“And would they open the gates?”

“Unlikely. Protocol says not to, but anything can happen when guards are caught unaware. It depends on who’s in charge back there. But the Wastelanders are smart. They target small groups on the move, not towns.” He winked. “Don’t worry. Our big swords tend to keep them away.”

She didn’t respond. Not when she remembered what that sword had done only a few nights ago.

The guard gestured to the outpost above, and the gates began to creak open.

Meer was even smaller than she had expected. Buildings dotted the patchy grass, the cottages reminding Vaelira of home, with their slate roofs and mismatched stone walls. Through a curtain lined window, she caught a glimpse of a mother rocking a bundled infant in her arms. She looked away.

A man sat atop a pile of stacked timber, a pipe clenched in his teeth as he argued with a younger man, gesturing to the half-built home behind him. Beside them, a larger building rose two stories, a hand-painted sign hanging from the wall.

The Drowned Oar.

They dismounted and tied up the horses, unloading their weapons and packs before making their way inside.

The fresh river air vanished as they entered the tavern, the stale scent of ale, stew, and woodsmoke rising to meet them. Vaelira’s stomach clenched. She’d eaten nothing but a few bites of hard cheese on the ride, but any appetite she’d had before was gone now, replaced but an unfamiliar wariness. This was the furthest she’d ever been from home.

A polished counter stretched along the left side of the room, round tables filling the space in front of it. At one, a man and woman shared an evening meal. At another by the hearth, a group of men were drinking, their laughter loud and grating. A barmaid was clearing their table when one of the men landed a harsh slap on her backside.

Vaelira’s hand drifted to the dagger strapped at her hip.