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    Chapter 22


    Rested is Rusted


    When Femira had envisioned the aftermath of her first battle, she had imagined returning to Epilas in a victorious triumph. She’d pcitured parades and cheering crowds like when Landryn had returned from Altarea. She hadn’t really thought about the immediate aftermath and the grim duty of burying their dead. Being stonebreakers the task would have been easily done with runewielding but proper burials were marks of respect for their fallen comrades. So they dug the graves by hand and their dead were placed ceremoniously in them.


    Endrin called up a twisted spiral of stone as a marker for their graves and Misandrei spoke words of their commitment to Reldon and the bloodshedders. Femira felt out of place standing amongst the other bloodshedders as they spoke about their fallen friends, she didn’t really know any of the seven soldiers that had died. She knew their names and what runestones they had been soulforged with… She knew that Kerana enjoyed stout over ale.


    And that Jaspar is afraid of being at sea. Was afraid. She corrected herself. Past tense. He hadn’t been afraid of the ship sinking but of giant crab monsters that his grandfather used to tell him stories about. She didn’t know why she was thinking about these things, or why they made her sad. She didn’t know these people, they weren’t her friends. She’d travelled for a few days with them on the mission… So why then did this feel so much like real grief?


    For the stormguards they’d killed, they used runeweilding to dig out a pit where they dumped their bodies and filled it. She didn’t know any of them either but had avoided looking at any of their faces for fear of seeing one with a dagger poking out of it. She still felt nauseous at the thought of it.


    She was also surprised at the smell of the blood. The winds were trying to carry it away but it still filled the air, it was a thick smell of copper and iron. The last battle aftermath she’d seen had been at Altarea, and the scent of blood had been masked by the sulfuric smell of burning bodies. Either way, the smell after a battle wasn’t a pleasant one.


    “How are you doing?” Jaz asked her as the remainder of the contingent made its way back from the headland to the fishing village.


    “I’m alright… I think,” she responded with uncertainty.


    “That was your first kill, wasn’t it?” She nodded in response. She thought it would be easier but everytime few minutes her mind would drift back to the dagger and her stomach would clench. She’d mugged people before at knifepoint, she’d even cut a few people—just a little—but never enough to actually kill someone. Just enough to make them afraid that she would. Strangely, the two people she’d killed on the ship barely affected her. They had been so far away, she’d hadn’t really been able to make out what happened to them. But when she did think about them, it was just the face of the first stormguard except with either a bronze or glass spear in the face, those images made her feel ill.


    “Do you get used to it?” She asked.


    “Killing people shouldn’t feel good,” Jaz told her, “at least that’s what my father taught me.”


    “They don’t seem to mind,” she nodded forward to the other bloodshedders leading the way. For some reason she couldn’t help but think of Landryn when he’d been fighting Karas. Karas had died with a stone blade in his eye. Why was it always in the eyes? Did Landryn feel this way after he killed people? Did Garld or Misandrei?


    “They’ve been doing this a lot longer than us,” Jaz admitted, “…I’m not sure what that does to a person.” Jaz was younger than her by a few years. She didn’t know exactly how old he was but she didn’t think he was older than eighteen or nineteen. Should people that young know what this feels like? Should anyone?


    The villagers cheered and clapped as they returned and settled into the only inn in the village. Femira was looking forward to a bath and some rest. She wanted to sleep for days. Even though the battle had only lasted a short time, the strain on her edir had left her exhausted. She could see that the others were in similar states. Misandrei would want a debrief however. The mission was a success but one of the ships had managed to escape.


    Three ships taken down.


    Probably close to six hundred people manned those ships. Six hundred against two dozen soldiers. Two dozen bloodshedders. Their moniker now made sense to Femira. It was right there in the name, wasn’t it?


    We’re bloodshedders. We create bloodshed.


    They’d only lost seven of their number, not even a third of them. She knew that they had had a lot of advantages in the battle, but the crucial one was being soulforged. Loreli’s count had been nine stormguards. Jaz had killed five.


    The stormguards were experienced runewielders. In Altarea, they had been hailed as one of the strongest and most elite forces in the country. She’d not really thought of how the Reldoni had so easily swept over them in Altarea. The Reldoni had larger numbers, they also had superior weapons and the Altareans weren’t used to fighting against firearms. But it hadn’t been either of those that had destroyed the stormguards. It was us. It was soulforging.


    She hadn’t been listening to Misandrei’s debrief and was shaken from her reverie when Misandrei addressed her directly.


    “Did you hear me, Vreth?” She asked.


    “Sorry, captain,” she apologised.


    “You’re scouting to the north in the morning,” Misandrei informed her, “reports from the locals claim that the Altareans had attacked some of the villages further up along the coast. Yourself and Endrin are to investigate any damage and report back. We do not anticipate that the escaped ship circled back to the north, but if you do encounter them. Do not engage.”


    “Yes, sir,” Femira affirmed.


    She looked over at Endrin who nodded to her in acknowledgement.


    He’d shielded me.


    Why? She thought Endrin hated her. Loreli had also taken down the stormguard that had attacked her. Femira had learned that it had been Loreli that had blasted her initially when she’d been on the cliff, pushing her away from the edge. The girl didn’t apologise for the forceful move or the bruised shoulder, she also didn’t ask for any gratitude for coming to Femira’s aid. Her shoulder along with the shallow cut on her arm were Femira’s only injuries.


    She paid mild attention to the tasks assigned to the others and her mind drifted towards the bath she would have. She was sweaty and bloody, these weren’t new sensations to her… but she felt dirty. She let go a breath of relief when Misandrei finally dismissed them and made for her room without talking to anyone.


    ***


    Bathed, fed, rested and fed again, Femira found herself back in the saddle as she and Endrin followed the cliff road north. It was awkward considering they’d never held any conversation where either of them weren’t being antagonistic. Endrin’s opinion of her hadn’t seemed to have changed that much and he still treated her as if she didn’t belong… But he had protected her during the battle.


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    “Why did you shield me?” she asked after a long spell of silence.


    “What’s that?” he grunted.


    “Your stoneshell, yesterday,” she clarified.


    “That stormguard was too fast for you, he was going to cut you down. Loreli was already on her way but she wasn’t going to reach you in time.”


    “Why didn’t you release me? I was in there for the rest of the battle,” she said, accusingly.


    “Safer for you in there.”


    “But why?” she asked, “I thought you hated me.” He pulled up, looking her up and down, “I do.” He said simply.


    “So why save me?”


    “‘Cause you’re a bloodshedder. You were on my team and you were my responsibility. The fact that you don’t understand that is one of the reasons I don’t like you,” he continued, “that and you’re friends with Jazerah…” his face moved into a scowl, an expression she was more familiar with on his face, “Not to mention that you didn’t get here on merit like the rest of us. You’re highborn. You and Jazerah expect everything to be handed to you.”


    “You’re highborn too,” she retorted and he barked a laugh in response, kicking his horse past her, “No… I’m not.”


    They continued with Endrin keeping a bit of distance between them, leading the way. The road meandered along the coastline keeping to the clifftops. Occasionally the road would split, leading down to coves or gulleys. They didn’t bother going down any of them until they reached the point on the map that indicated a village nestled in the shelter of a valley, in one of the coves. Femira wasn’t sure how comfortable she would be living in a village so low to the shoreline. Surely the uniontide came high enough to sweep the village away? As they rode into the town, the remnants of an attack were evident. Stone buildings had been smashed to rubble. Broken timber planks littered the area. The village had only been a cluster of a few houses but now they were all in ruins. Recently too. These weren’t old ruins. Clothes and other supplies were still scattered about so no scavengers had passed through yet.


    “Doesn’t look like there’s anyone left,” Endrin noted coming from behind one of the ruins, “you find any bodies?”


    “Nothing,” she said.


    “Weird,” he mused, “maybe they took them? Is that something you Altareans do?”


    “I’m not Altarean,” she spat at him, “and no—at least I don’t think so.”


    “I’ve heard of Altarean pirates raiding villages and taking people captive.”


    “But everyone? Maybe they spotted the ships and fled before they arrived?”


    “I don’t think so,” Endrin said, kicking at harpoons in the sand, “Looks like someone tried putting up a fight. And look there’s old blood on that wall…and over there too.”


    “Blood but no bodies…” she mused, “do you think they buried them?” Endrin gave her a look that told her he didn’t at all think that was a possibility.


    Well maybe they’re not as callous as you think they are.


    The tide had washed away any indication of a ship being there along with any footprints but on the higher end of the village there were footprints and deep churned pieces of earth. After another sweep for any survivors—or even any non-survivors—they made their way back up the valley to the cliff road. Femira took another glance back down at the village.


    “Do you find it weird that they left most of the supplies?”


    “Not much in the village… besides all the food was gone. Probably all they wanted.”


    “But all the fishing gear? Surely that’s worth something?”


    “Probably not worth their trouble… besides, they might not have even raided the village. Those houses look blown apart. They might have just used cannonfire from the ships,” he responded. She shook her head in frustration. It was all so strange.


    Why would they just blast them? It didn’t make any sense. They were just fishermen. Unless… She rounded on her saddle looking back down at the village.


    “Endrin,” she said, “there’s no burn marks or any indication of a fire. I don’t think they used the cannons.” He twisted on his own saddle and squinted his eyes, “huh… weird”.


    They continued on north, there were two more villages that they were to scout to before returning back to Inish Head. There weren’t many travellers on the road and when they did pass any, they would have small conversations. Endrin and Femira would ask about the destroyed village and the travellers would either know nothing of the village or express the grief of the loss for the people that lived there. Even when they reached the next village, no one seemed able to tell them for certain what happened. Most suspected it to be the corsairs, everyone knew that there had been an increase in corsairs since Prince Landryn flushed them all out of Altarea.


    “Cleared them out of Altarea and now they’re here!”


    “Maybe Prince Landryn should focus more on his people than out there at sea.”


    “Why hasn’t the King sent anyone to deal with this!”


    News would spread quickly that a team of bloodshedders destroyed three Altarean ships on Inish Head but Femira and Endrin didn’t mention it. Their mission was to simply investigate and report back. No one could tell them anything of any real use about the destroyed village in either of the two towns they passed through next. Similar to the people they passed on the road, most guessed that it was Altarean corsairs.


    There were rumours of other villages further north that had also suffered the same fate in recent weeks. Femira could tell people were scared, some were packing up to leave, heading back to the mainland to find work on the dragonfarms or in the cities. They’d ask if the King was going to do anything about it. Some claimed it was a sea monster pulled in by the tides and was stuck in the shallows, attacking the cove villages.


    One fisherman even claimed that he’d seen a crab the size of a ship before but that same fisherman had also gone on to tell Femira about the times in his youth when he’d seen—and bedded—a mermaid. She’d heard plenty of stories like that living on the island city of Altarea and when she’d asked him how the logistics worked of having sex with a mermaid he’d just grinned at her and tapped his nose. She hadn’t really known what he’d meant by the gesture and she was getting creeped out by the man so had given up trying to get anything useful out of him.


    “Anything?” Endrin asked her.


    “Nothing,” she sighed, “just the same stories we’ve been hearing all day.”


    “We should head back. If we leave now we might make it back to Inish Head before nightfall.”


    They didn’t bother to question and travellers on the road back and dusk was already falling when they passed the cove where the destroyed village was. Both of them were tired and simply wanted to return to the inn.


    “I’m just not arsed,” Endrin said, “nothing to be gained from checking the village again and the sun’s already set.” Femira agreed, also not wanting to do a second sweep of the village. Although in truth, the place made her uneasy. Where had the people gone? There’d not been any graves or even any evidence to suggest the bodies had been taken away… just nothing.


    Maybe it was mermaids and all the villagers had been cursed to be mermaids too. She’d heard stories that the nomadic seafaring Yarji people offered sacrifices to the mermaids so that they wouldn’t turn their daughters into mermaids.


    “Do you reckon it could be Yarji people?” Femira mused, “I’ve heard stories of them being cannibals.” Endrin barked a sour laugh, “Yarji,” he snorted, “next you’ll be suggesting mermaids or rakmen.”


    “I’ve seen Yarji,” she snapped at him, “they’re not myths. They’d trade with the Altareans. I’m pretty sure I saw a Yarji ship docked at Heraldport too.” Their junk ships were fairly easy to distinguish. The rigged sails often made her think of dragonwings. Not that Femira had ever seen a real dragon but she’d seen drawings.


    “Bullshit,” he scoffed.


    “How about this,” she offered, “I’ll prove to you the Yarji are real and you teach me that stoneshell skill.” It wouldn’t be hard, that Yarji ship was hopefully still docked at Heraldport.


    “Fine,” he replied and Femira thought she saw a hint of a grin on his face. Was Endrin actually a decent person?


    Misandrei was collecting reports from other teams that she’d sent out to neighbouring villages when they arrived back, tired and hungry. After adding their own reports she informed them that they would be back on the road south in the morning, and that she intended to be back in Epilas before the week’s end. That meant another few days in the saddle.


    Femira groaned inwardly and spent the rest of the evening massaging out the cramps in her thighs from having spent so much time riding. For a person who’d never been on a horse in her life until a week before, she reckoned she was pretty good at riding. It beat walking for sure, but that didn’t mean that she was filled with any measure of enthusiasm at the prospect of getting back onto that hard saddle.


    It had been Jaz however that had finally voiced the complaint to Captain Misandrei, “could we not take a day’s rest here?” he hedged, optimistically.


    “Rested is rusted,” was her only response which Femira felt was conflicting considering the woman had often told her the opposite, that rest between training sessions was crucial to peak performance but she didn’t add to the complaint. Her body was telling her she needed rest, but she wanted to be clear of Inish Head, she didn’t want to stick around here.


    She felt like she could still smell the coppery blood. Pouring out from an eye-socket…


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