Broken Skies Read online

  Julianne shuddered. Remnant were mindless, instinctual creatures that had, to her knowledge, never felt fear. Even when death stared them in the face, most would keep running towards it. What could scare a remnant who sought death?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Polly watched as Danil’s eyes cleared. Once the white had faded, she could see the sparkling green color that was normally obscured.

  His stance dropped. Knees bent, arms outstretched as if to feel the air, he slowly turned towards her.

  Keeping her breath quiet, Polly stepped back, feet silent on the soft grass.

  They had chosen this spot because Danil was getting too good. Senses heightened due to his blindness, it had gotten too easy for him to judge her position in the noisy undergrowth of the nearby forest.

  Here, under the gentle sun and with a wide-open space to train in, it was harder for Danil to hear telltale movements as Polly moved in for the strike.

  Come on, Danil, she thought. You got this.

  She slid to the left, then darted forwards. Her blunt, wooden training sword whipped through empty air.

  Danil laughed beside her. He’d twirled out of the way just in time.

  “What gave me away?” she asked, grinning.

  Danil’s eyes shifted back to their usual white glow, much to Polly’s disappointment. A tender caress on her mind brought her smile back, though, and she closed her own eyes to see what Danil wanted to tell her.

  She concentrated on the sensations he sent through the bond. Warm sun, a gentle breeze. The easy flex of his muscles as he moved. The laser sharp concentration as he held onto every aspect of the world around him.

  A touch of coolness fell over one arm. The breeze shifted. Danil spun.

  “I don’t understand,” she said with a frown. “I was upwind of you, and you felt that—but you knew before then.”

  “Did you feel the shift in temperature?” he asked.

  She nodded, but still couldn’t put the pieces together.

  Danil reached out and lifted her hand, stretching her arm out and pointing her palm to the sun. She could feel her skin warm even as the breeze whispered by.

  He moved, standing so his shadow fell over her arm. It immediately cooled, the breeze taking on a crispness now that the sunshine wasn’t there to offset it.

  “My shadow!” she exclaimed. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

  Danil pouted. “Every single time I find a new way to win, you use it against me. Why?”

  Polly sobered. “One day, we’ll be outside. You won’t have your magic—maybe I won’t be there. And maybe it’ll be dark, or overcast, and there won’t be dry leaves and snapping branches to rely on.”

  Danil sighed. “Ok. Fine. You’ve got a point, and I’ll be damned if it’s not a good one. Again?”

  His eyes cleared, and Polly stepped back, careful to stay downwind and angling her shadow away from him.

  The rapid beat of footsteps sounded nearby. Danil’s eyes flashed, and Polly swung, her rough weapon pointed towards the trail that led to the field.

  Danil relaxed a moment before Polly. Then, his body tightened again. “Clarke!” he called. “Did they—I missed it?” Disappointment etched his features.

  Clarke grinned. “Garrett said you’d be pissed. Did you see, Danil?” Her face was flushed, and a grin stretched across her young face.

  Polly pursed her lips. “See what?” Clarke was too excited for this to be a usual encounter—though it was turning into a bit of a joke, now that Danil had missed every single one of them.

  “It was a new kind of creature!”

  Glad to be able to break the news to Polly, who couldn’t spoil the fun by reading her mind, Clarke launched into a garbled description of the strange monster that had entered through the rift.

  “But I didn’t see its face because a remnant bashed its head in!” she finished. “And that’s when Garrett told me I was the runner, so I bolted. I’ve already told Lord Francis and Master Julianne.”

  “Wait.” Danil’s face quickly passed from surprise to joy. “Julianne’s here?”

  Polly watched as indecision warred inside Danil. She knew how much he’d missed Julianne… But if Clarke’s description was accurate, this creature was like nothing they’d ever seen before.

  Would friendship win, or curiosity?

  Danil’s eyes met hers, and a grin spread over his face. “Come on,” he said, and started sprinting down the trail, leaving her to grab their things and catch up with him.

  She gathered their belongings together, shoving the cloaks at Clarke who took them with a hurried jerk of her head. Danil’s lead was increasing.

  Together, the two girls took off after him, jumping over a low farm gate as they gripped their bundles. As they reached the road, Danil hesitated for barely a second.

  It was enough for Polly to catch up, but only for a moment. With a muttered, “Sorry, Jules,” Danil took off again.

  He headed not into town and towards the Mystic Master, but in the other direction. Polly stumbled, one foot already pointed towards Tahn. Clarke whooped in glee as she darted the other way, overtaking Polly.

  Cursing, Polly snatched at a water skin that had started to slip and ran after them. Danil had pulled ahead again, but Polly had been trained by Tansy.

  Keeping her elbows tucked and back straight, Polly focused on her legs, pumping them harder while keeping her steps light. Blood flooded her limbs, lending them power as she gained on Clarke.

  The young performer glanced back just in time to see Polly on her heels. Squealing, Clarke plunged ahead.

  Polly kept pace, not letting herself get distracted by the younger girl’s excitement. She landed each foot precisely and forced her lungs to suck air in and out at a steady pace.

  She saw her chance. The witchpost was ahead and beyond that, the freshly cut, paved road to Bastian’s new school.

  Polly darted down the old path while Danil ran ahead. Through the trees, she saw him wobble and side-step. The bastard was using my eyes, then, she thought with a smirk.

  Polly focused her eyes ahead, feeling the earth thud against the soles of her feet as she ran. Hopping between fat roots and lifting her feet higher so she didn’t trip over low branches, she pushed forward.

  Another glance showed Danil through the trees, right by her.

  I can beat him, she told herself. Clarke had already overtaken the mystic. And I can beat her, too.

  The second would be a hard task. The young girl was fast—really fast. Polly let her lungs gasp in three short, fast breaths… then, she roared.

  As the two paths merged, Polly surged forward. Her feet hit the solid stones just ahead of Danil. His cry of disappointment echoed behind her, but she ignored it.

  She had a bigger target in mind.

  Clarke flung a backwards glance and yelped when she caught sight of Polly. Too starved of breath to make any sound, Polly bared her teeth in a ferocious grin.

  They burst into the large clearing, darting past shocked builders and leaping over sawn logs and piles of cut stone. Clarke raced around the left side of the growing structure. Polly took the right.

  When two feet slapped the smaller path leading towards the rift, each one belonged to a different girl.

  Clarke’s grin had faded, replaced with a frown of determination.

  Polly blinked, the effort of the sustained run making her eyes water.

  A tower peeked over the trees—their destination. One last corner, Polly told her legs. Then you can give out. Ok?

  Banishing all thought and letting her body take over, Polly ran. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and as she put one foot down, she felt her leg wobble.

  “Gah!” Her hands, numb from exhaustion, trembled.

  The strap of the waterskin slipped, wrapping around her foot. She stumbled as everything she carried was jerked from her hands and scattered onto the dirt.

  Polly lurched forwards, the tangled foot unable to find purchase as she twisted and fell.
Her knees slid in the soft mud, and dirt smeared her face as she landed and skidded along the ground.

  Polly jerked her head up in time to see Clarke race past her. A few moments later, Danil jogged up and offered her his outstretched hand.

  “A few steps earlier, and you’d have lost,” he said, grinning. “Not that losing to Clarke would be something to be ashamed of. That girl runs like the Bitch herself!”

  Polly looked around, then rolled over to examine the damage. Dirt streaked her knees, hands, and elbows. A quick touch to her face and hair revealed she had well and truly ‘eaten dirt’.

  Then, Danil words sank in. Polly glanced at Clarke, who stood, hands on knees, grinning widely as she tried to catch her breath.

  They’d finished paving the path to the rift days ago. They paved the path, Polly thought. She glanced at where the road ended, stones coming to a stop by the tall tower loaded with flares in case of a dire emergency.

  “I won?” she asked, still not quite believing it. She could see the smear in the dirt just past the road’s end, where she’d fallen.

  “Bitch’s oath, you did,” Clarke chuckled. “Jakob will never let me live this down! Beaten by a townie. The shame!” she wailed, lifting a dramatic hand to her forehead.

  “I won!” Polly screeched. “Bitch’s tits, that was amazing!”

  Danil snorted. “You might have won the race, but you’re not getting a trophy for those manners!”

  “I’d rather be fast than polite,” Polly shot back. “Manners won’t save you from a remnant.”

  “Fair point,” Danil said, still grinning.

  Polly took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet, inspecting one of her hands. She hadn’t even noticed the sting in her palm where she’d scraped off the skin.

  He gently brushed away the dirt with a corner of his shirt. “You’ll probably lose the hand,” he said.

  She slapped him and jerked it back. “I know you mountain-folk are soft,” she said, “but I think I can live with a few scratches. Now, we didn’t race all that way to stand about lollygagging.”

  Danil brightened as he remembered why they were there. “Garrett?” he hollered, making the two guards nearby jump.

  One of them chuckled. “Sorry, Mystic. He’s gone. Took the beast to town to show Francis.”

  “What!” Danil screeched. “Don’t tell me I busted my ass for nothing!”

  The guards exchanged a glance and burst out laughing.

  Danil narrowed his eyes. “Alright. Where is the the little pig-fucker?”

  “Ye can’t trick a mystic, boys, I told ye that!” Garrett stomped out from behind the tower. “Took yer sweet-ass time ta get here, didn’t ye?”

  Danil snorted. “If you’d sent the runner to me first, maybe I’d have been quicker.”

  “Aye, but where’s the fun in that?” Garrett motioned Danil over. “Come on, I have ta get this ugly little prick to town. Hope ye weren’t expectin’ a rest when ye got here!”

  Bette shouldered through the doorway behind him. “Stop yappin’, ye mouthy shit. I need ye ta give me a hand with this wee pest, so we can get him back in one piece. Well... Three pieces. Ye know what I mean.”

  Garrett and Bette disappeared into the bottom level of the tower and emerged again a moment later, a board hoisted between them.

  Danil peered over Garrett’s shoulder. The spindly beast he’d seen in Clarke’s mind was carefully stretched out, tied at each end to secure it in place. One leg was missing and a chunk of its head was splayed open.

  “That’s… disgusting.” Danil couldn’t think of a better word to describe the carnage. “Where’s the rest of it?”

  “In a bag on the table. Can ye get it fer me?” Bette asked sweetly. “I don’t have enough hands.”

  Wincing, Danil peeked inside the room. A copper bowl sat on a table, with a cloth sack inside. He stepped further in, and his sight vanished.

  “Bette, come back. I can’t see!” He groped for the table.

  “Erm. It’s probably best that way.” Bette sounded uncomfortable.

  Danil ran his hands along the table and found the bowl. He lifted the bag—it wasn’t heavy, so he tucked it under his arm. When he wrapped his hand around the bottom, though, something thick and sticky coated his fingers.

  Danil froze, and quickly realized whatever the substance was, it was soaking his clothes, too.

  “Bette?” he called, voice flat.

  “Yes, Danil?” Bette asked, sweetly.

  “What’s in the bag?”

  She coughed. “The missing bits, of course.”

  As Danil stepped back outside, every set of eyes he was borrowing looked his way. He saw himself, hair mussed up from the frantic run, face pale, and mouth drawn tight as he considered what else he could see.

  A cloth bag nestled under his arm. The top was tightly knotted, the corners of the white linen dropping down, ends slowly turning red as they soaked up the liquid that dripped from the bottom of the bag.

  Deep red ichor soaked the bottom half of the bag. It oozed through his fingers and spread across his shirt.

  “Bits of what, Bette?” he asked, just as sweetly.

  “Him.” Bette jerked her head over her shoulder, towards the alien body.

  Danil gritted his teeth and took in a slow breath. “I’ll get you back for this,” he said. “Just you wait.”

  Laughter exploding behind him, Danil adjusted his grip on the bag—no point dropping it now, the damage was done—and strode off towards Tahn.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lord George disembarked from his carriage, greeting Francis with a slap on the shoulder. “Glad to see you again, Francis. Looks like Lordship suits you!”

  “Thank you, sir,” Francis said, a pink flush creeping up his neck.

  “Patrick, get one of the men to see to the horses.” George waved at Julianne distractedly. “Keep them out of trouble, this time, will you?”

  Patrick nodded seriously and jogged off to organize the entourage.

  “Interesting choice of troop leader,” Marcus commented under his breath.

  “Lord George!” Julianne said.

  George beamed and grasped her arms, leaning in to kiss her on each cheek. “My dear girl! So good to see you back. I trust your journey through the Madlands was uneventful?”

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” she said, gesturing towards Marcus.

  Marcus stepped forwards and bowed, then clasped Lord George’s hand.

  “Good job, soldier. Glad to see you’re both safe and well. Bastian told me about that mischief in your homeland—bit of a tussle with that Donna, eh?” George raised his eyebrows knowingly at Julianne.

  She smiled softly. “I believe the New Dawn is officially defeated.”

  “Just in time to face this new dilemma, too.” George slumped a little and sighed. “Just when I think I can ease into retirement softly, another disaster rears its head.”

  “Retirement?” Julianne took his arm and led him towards Francis’s house. “You’re too young to be thinking of that, surely!”

  George shook his head. “You flatter me, girl. But Adeline is practically managing the city now, with Jakob by her side. Do you know, she’s already rebuilt the trade industry and started exporting medicines from our local herbalists?”

  Julianne wasn’t surprised. Adeline had a good head for business and the steadiness to make an excellent leader.

  Raised voices caught her attention. Julianne stopped, glancing over at the cluster of soldiers. Patrick was toe-to-toe with one of his men, a ragged looking soldier with long, ratty hair down to his shoulders and four days’ worth of growth on his face.

  “New guards?” she asked quietly. Her eyes shone white as she dove into Patrick’s head.

  George snorted. “Mercenaries. Patrick might have a checkered background, but damned if he can’t fight. His experience with remnant has saved more than one traveler these past months.”

  “So, you gave him a squad of his own?�
� Marcus said skeptically.

  “I did,” George said. “Only recently, I might point out. My own general has had some troubles keeping the hired fighters in line. Patrick offered to have a go at it, and he seems to be doing well enough.”

  “It was a good decision,” Julianne said, to Marcus’s surprise.

  “It was?” The Lord of Muir sounded almost as surprised as Marcus felt.

  Julianne nodded. “You’ve given Patrick purpose—and you took his men in. They will fight to the death for you. That other man, though…” Julianne frowned. “Lord George, be careful. That sort of greed and lust for violence almost always ends badly.”

  Worry settled in Marcus’s gut. His eyes ran over the contingent of guards, picking out the few he remembered from the bandit attack on Lord George’s convoy. The men looked different, face paint and ragged outfits swapped for the Muir livery.

  Those men looked proud to be there. The others? Marcus recognized the look of resentment darted towards Patrick.

  “Jules, you want me to keep an eye on them?” Marcus asked quietly.

  She shook her head. “I need you at this meeting,” she said. “Patrick can handle any trouble that crops up.”

  George watched the exchange curiously but didn’t say anything. He let Julianne guide him inside and soon, the meeting was underway.

  ***

  George slapped his palms on the table. “It doesn’t matter what comes through that damn rip in the sky. The men just aren’t there! You saw the guards I brought into town—half of them would fight for a demon if it offered them enough money!”

  “Without the guarantee of safe passage between towns, the traders simply won’t come to Tahn,” Francis said patiently. “We’ve managed to keep rumors of the rift to a minimum, but we can’t hide the increase in remnant attacks.”

  George sat back and sighed. “Five. I can spare five men and no more.”

  “Eight.” Francis rested his own hands on the table, palms down.

  “If you must have eight, half will be from the mercenary group.” George flared his hands, chin wobbling as he capitulated.