Rising

Ahma woke, the screams of her nightmare finally given voice and filling the clearing. She trashed and kicked, her eyes unseeing. All her senses were consumed by that terrible night of her childhood. She heard her mother's screams instead of her own, and her nose was filled with the acrid smell of smoke. In her eyes, the sky was painted crimson with the blood of her parents.

"Ahma, Ahma! Calm yourself, you're okay!" Methaniel said, reaching out to grasp her shoulders. She shoved against him, trying to push him away. Unable to do so, she began scratching and pulling at his hands. He let her panic play out for a moment, holding her and refusing to budge.

"Ahma! Stop!"

Ahma's eyes finally came into focus, fluttering around the clearing before settling on his face. Tears streamed from her wide chocolate eyes as she took one ragged breath after another. Her dream had been so real...so painful...

"I am sorry," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I...had a nightmare."

"Don't apologize," he said softly. "It's okay. No one is going to hurt you. Are you all right?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "I feel so lost...everything is wrong."

He released her, and Ahma curled in on herself, pulling her knees up to her breasts and wrapping her arms around them. Her wings folded around her body, as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible.

"I know. I know," Methaniel sighed, leaning back against the tree and shutting his eyes. "It...it's not easy. I'll be honest with you, Ahma, I'm not sure what's happening either. I'm as lost as you. But I know for the moment, at least...we're safe."

Ahma nodded and turned her face away. "Please...give me a moment. I think I need to collect myself."

"Take your time," Methaniel said, patting her shoulder gently before standing up and stretching his long limbs. "Lanion's wandered off somewhere around here. I'm going to go find him."

Ahma looked up a him, a sudden glimmer of fear in her eyes.

"Don't worry, I won't go far. I'll be within hearing distance, okay?" he assured her.

"Okay," Ahma swallowed.

Methaniel walked slowly through the snow and between the trees.

Ahma let out a heavy sigh and leaned her head back against the tree. The sky was gray and somber, promising nasty weather and a cold day.

But at least it wasn't tinted with blood.

She shuddered and willed the horrible nightmare from her mind. She had to pull herself together. She didn't understand why these nightmares of her past were haunting her now. That day had been years ago...she'd had ample time to come to terms with her parents deaths.

Now, however, she had lost her brothers...her dear, dear brothers. They had always been in danger, it was true...most the men who joined the war effort as long ago as they had were long dead. She had always known their safety was a fragile thing at best. Their demise was always a real possibility.

But it didn't

seem

real. She could hardly imagine a world without her brothers in it. Though she'd seen little of them in the past several years, their presence seemed to always be with her, a comforting, soothing knowledge that they were out there, somewhere, and she would see them again.

Now, they were gone.

And so were her friends. And her home. Hannah, Marta, Rema, Cook. How many of them were dead? She imagined some of the servants and workers of the Manor had escaped the flames and assassins, but the attack had been so sudden and violent...she was sure that more perished than not. All of it was gone in one horrible night. It was just like before; one single moment, and her whole world shattered. Why did these things happen to her?

Ahma began to sob softly, burying her face into her hands as the hot tears ran down her face. She cried for what seemed like an eternity, an outpouring of such intense and painful emotions that she felt as if her chest were splitting. She cried for her parents, for her brothers, and for her friends. She cried for both the homes she had lost, and the lives that had been shattered and snuffed out so needlessly, for the horrible deaths of good, decent folk. She cried for herself, now twice left to collect the pieces of a broken life.

For a time, the world was reduced to the narrow window of her grief and the seemingly endless mourning she felt for so many.

Soon, no more tears would fall, and she felt better in the wake of the outpouring of her sorrow. She took a deep breath, allowing the crisp, cold morning air to cleans her lungs and wash some of her grief away. She shut her eyes and said a silent prayer for all those who had passed. She prayed that they would be safe and find their way to whatever afterlife awaited them.

When she opened her eyes, she gazed upon the land around her, the trees with their powdery white coverings and the scraggly undergrowth of brush spaced out between them. She saw one bold red cardinal hopping along on a branch overhead, ignoring the cold for a chance to embrace the morning. The weather was poor, the sky overcast, and the day would be a cold one.

But it was still a good day, Ahma realized. She was alive, and unharmed, and those were tremendous blessings in themselves. She clung to those thoughts, letting them bolster her spirit.

"The heavens know what they do," she whispered softly. "All I can do is to trust in that."

Ahma lifted her face to the sky, and began to sing her morning tribute to the Sky and all its wonders. It was a wordless, lilting melody, and as her voice grew in volume her heart swelled with a peace she hadn't felt in some time. She was surprised at the calm that filled her. She felt a connection to everything as she sat there under the tree, her voice praising the heavens for the gift of life they bestowed upon the world.

By the time her morning songs were finished, Ahma felt much lighter. The enormous tragedy of last night was still weighed upon her, a powerful sadness and despair on the edge of her consciousness. She was certain soon enough it would revisit her and send her into deep sorrow again. But for the moment, she knew that she must gather herself and be strong. She was in a dire situation, and now was not the time for grieving.

She stood up, stretching out the aches and kinks in her limbs. Her wings fluttered several times before settling nearly on her back again. She glanced around, looking for any sign of Master Methaniel. He'd said he wouldn't be far.

Ahma picked a direction and began walking, and after only a few moments she spotted him standing at Lanion's side behind a tree. She approached, then stopped short as he glanced up at her. He was standing with his shirt tossed across Lanion's back. He was dabbing at his side with the bloodied rag he had shoved into it, toweling away the thin seepage of blood from a small cut.

Last night returned to her with a jolt, the fuzzy edges of the awful events coming into clarity.

"Master, are you okay?" she said as she walked forward and stared at him in concern.

"I'm fine," Methaniel nodded. He dabbed at the cut with the rag for another moment or two, then tossed it to the ground. "It's already sealing itself off pretty well. It's a shallow cut, anyway."

"Have you been able to wash it?" Ahma asked, fearing the wound would become tainted and unclean, and he would develop a fever.

"As well as I can right now," Methaniel nodded. "I used some of the snow." He reached up and brushed his copper hair from his eyes, then patted Lanion's shoulder. The horse turned a glowering look on him.

Methaniel smirked. "Yes, I know, I know, you're hungry. Be patient."

The horse snorted and pointedly ignore both of them.

"You have a lovely voice," Methaniel commented as he pulled his shirt back on.

Ahma turned scarlet. She hadn't even realized he could hear her. "Thank you, Master Methaniel."

A silence stretched between them for a time. Ahma shivered as a breeze blew through the trees, easily cutting through her thin evening dress.

"We should get going," Methaniel said at last.

"To the city, for supplies...right?" Ahma asked.

"Yes," Methaniel nodded. He walked toward her and set a hand on her shoulder, gazing down into her face with his stunning gray eyes.

"Are you going to be able to do this?" he asked gently.

Ahma searched his face and found no judgment or pressure there, only the honest question he had asked. She nodded, her hair falling before her eyes with the motion. "Yes, Master, I will."

Methaniel nodded, then pulled his riding gloves from his hands and gave them to her. She looked at him in puzzlement.

"To hide your mark," he explained.

Ahma glanced down at her right hand, her eyes settling on the small inkwork of a Dragon that identified her as a servant of the Ohren estate. She had almost forgotten about it. She did not think about it often.

"Thank you, Master," she murmured, and slipped his gloves on. They were horribly oversized and threatened to slip off if she wasn't careful, but it was better than her mark being on display for anyone to see.

Methaniel nodded again and reached up to pat Lanion's side, then vaulted up onto the horse. Lanion snorted and tossed his head irritably, but otherwise sat still. Methaniel extended a hand toward her. Ahma swallowed and gripped his hand, and climbed up onto the horse in front of him.

"Master?" she said softly as Methaniel nudged Lanion into motion.

"Yes, Ahma?"

"I'm scared," she confessed.

"Me too, Ahma," he sighed. "Me, too."

***

Ahma wiped the sweat from her brow and suppressed the instinctive urge to run as fast as her feet could carry her from the market. It was a crowded and bustling place, full of life and excitement and a variety of goods both exotic and mundane. She had often come to the market with the old Master in the past, and it was one of the places she had missed visiting most after his death.

But after last night, it filled her with foreboding and dread.

Stalls stretched around the open square in the middle of Durinum with their wares on display. Merchants hawked their wares, heckled over prices, and assured customers that their merchandise was the highest quality in all the kingdom. The sights and smells were nearly overwhelming in their intensity and variety; roast meat and fresh bread, newly harvested vegetables and plump fruits prepared with such a variety of spices and techniques that Ahma's stomach growled. Richly dyed fabrics of blue and green and red and glittering jewelry lay out on one long table, all of such a quality that only the Noble women could afford to flaunt them. One man was selling a small flock of goats. Ringing the stalls were shops, small squat buildings that housed the merchants and artisans who were either wealthy enough to afford their own store, or had been selling their wares for long enough to establish themselves and make one.

There wasn't a trace of the men who had died in this very market just last night, and she saw no sign that the city guard were alert beyond their usual bored state.

Ahma took a deep breath and advanced into the crowd, hugging her still tender wings to her back to keep them from catching on any of the peoples careless gesturing and shifting. She tried to be as inconspicuous as possible but she felt as if every eye followed her, watching, judging.

Finally she cleared the crowd and stepped into the Friendly Fare, the shop Master Methaniel had advised her to visit.

It was a small shop, but it was packed with goods placed on shelves, walls, tables, counters, racks, bins, barrels, and even the floor. Everything a traveler could want was in this room, including rations, clothing, blankets, weapons, and more. It was an overwhelming sight, and for a moment it all seemed like one big mess to Ahma, one she had no idea how to shift through to find the things Methaniel had asked for.

A grizzled man stood behind the cluttered counter at the back of the store, his skin tanned and cracked like the leather he was busily polishing. He had a great barrel chest, but an otherwise small stature, and a bristly white beard. As he walked to place the leather on a rack behind the counter, Ahma noticed he moved with a slight limp.

Without any kind of paper available, Ahma had memorized the things Master Methaniel asked for on the ride to the city. After watching the man for several moments, Ahma began to walk around the store and gather up various supplies: A pair of boots for Master Methaniel and herself, two cloaks, A pair of heavy winter pants and a thick tunic, a warmer dress for her, a dagger to replace the one Methaniel had lost, a hunting knife to skin kills with, two blankets, an extra pack, a short bow and a full quiver of arrows, a flit and tinder box, three bags of oats for Lanion, and some travel rations. She carried all these to the counter, which earned her a raised brow from the man behind it.

"Plannin' on a trip, missie?" he asked in a voice as rough as his face.

"Yes sir," Ahma said meekly. She slid the gold coins Methaniel had given her across the counter and helped the man place all her purchased items into the pack Methaniel had sent with her, and the one she had just bought.

After they finished Ahma glanced at a saddle and harness behind the counter and then back at him. "How much for the saddle and tack?"

The merchant turned to regard the saddle for a moment, then looked back at the Wingling girl. "Seven gold coins for the saddle, and two for all the tack."

Ahma winced and glanced at the money in her hand. All she had left was one gold and two silver shillings. "Is there any chance you could barter lower for either of them?"

" 'Fraid not, Missie. Leather prices be goin' up this year, what with the war lingerin'."

Ahma nodded and shouldered the two packs as best she could. She hadn't thought the man would budge, but it had been worth a try. Master Methaniel hadn't been very optimistic about getting riding gear anyway.

The overburdened Wingling walked out the store, clenching her jaw as she struggled with the weight of all the equipment slung over each shoulder. She worked her way free of the crowd and started toward the Western gate, beyond which Master Methaniel awaited. Her back and shoulder muscles, abnormally strong from the flight muscles unique to her race, worked to support the heavy load as she slipped down side-streets and byways, avoiding the main roads and its crush of people and carts. Every time she emerged out in the open she paused, looking carefully around, and whenever a patrol of guards came clacking down the street her breath caught in her throat.

She said a quick prayer to Father Sky to watch over her as she shuffled out onto the open street directly in front of the Western gate.

The western gate was the busiest of the four gates as it most easily accessed the Market. Thus, all manner of Merchants, artisans, and farm folk made their way through at nearly all hours of the day. More guards were stationed at this gate than the others but the security was, if anything, more relaxed compared to the other gates to allow for the heavier traffic flow.

The great gates of the city rose up overhead, stretching to their full thirty foot height. The gates were swung wide, ever open save when a siege threatened them. The capitol city was built for defense, and it was the nations stronghold should any invader ever get so far into Durinum territory. The walls of the city had never fallen, nor had the gates ever been breached by any enemy in memory.

Only perhaps they had, Ahma thought. An enemy subtle and cunning, able to hide and sneak around the watchful eye of the guard, but an enemy nonetheless. Who else would attack Master Methaniel but an enemy of the Kingdom?

Her heart was in her throat as she approached the gates, doing her best to blend in with the crowd and be as inconspicuous as possible. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the crowd worked its way forward, closer and closer to the gates yawning mouth. Though all seemed well, Ahma was intensely nervous. If she were caught, she would likely be punished as a runaway servant, which would at the least involve a flogging. And worse, what if, somehow, the Master's enemies found her and recognized her? She felt certain that what they had in store for her would be far worse. The whole trip into the city had been a frightening thing.

She swallowed hard as the man directly in front of her moved through the gate. She fixed her eyes on the ground as she walked forward. The muscles of her back burned painfully from the burdensome packs.

"Stop," the guard on her left said as she reached them.

Courage, Ahma

, she told herself as she grew very still. She glanced up slightly at the armored guards scrutinizing her.

The men studied her for a moment, glancing at the packs shouldered on her back. Ahma's breath caught in her chest as they scrutinized her. She had done something to give herself away, she knew it. She would be arrested. She would be punished. She would be sold as a slave. And what of Master Methaniel?

The guard on her left pulled a scroll from his belt and unfurled it. Though it was hastily drawn and somewhat lacked talent, there was no mistaking the depiction of Master Methaniel presented to her.

"Do you recognize this man?" the guard asked.

Ahma struggled hard to hide her surprise, schooling her features to neutral curiosity. She leaned forward, feigning a closer look. "I'm afraid not, sirs," she said, and nearly winced at the hoarseness of her voice. "Sorry."

The guards glanced at each other once more before they nodded and stepped aside.

"Move 'long," they ordered, and Ahma hastily complied.

The tension drained from her as she walked out of the capitol city and onto the westbound road. Though she kept herself alert and aware of the few people around her making their own trek along the road, she felt lighter and more at ease than she had since she and Methaniel had begun making their way toward the city.

Nearly an hour passed and the sun was at its midpoint before Ahma finally arrived at the small gathering of trees where Master Methaniel waited. She suppressed the urge to call out to him until she was fully into the cover of trees and she caught site of him.

"I had began to think something had happened to you," Methaniel said as he helped her set the packs on the ground. "Are you okay, Ahma? Did anyone take notice of you?"

"No one paid me any attention. But Master, we need to get away from here, quickly. I don't think we're safe."

Methaniel looked down at her, his jaw tightening. "What happened, Ahma?"

Ahma rubbed at her sore shoulder and flexed her wings to see if they'd been bruised by the packs weight. "I will tell you as we ride, Master. We have to be gone from here."

He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded curtly and shouldered both the packs as if they weighed nothing. He whistled sharply, and a brief pause later Lanion came trotting up from behind a few trees. Methaniel reached out a hand to him, murmuring gently into his ear before vaulting up onto his back.

"Come," Methaniel bid, extending a hand down to her. He helped Ahma up onto the horses and settled her in front of him, then nudged Lanion into motion. They eased out of their hiding place, surveying the road for any sign of life, then quickly skimmed across the worn path and into the hills.

Ahma told him of all that had happened since they parted, recounting the events of the day as clearly and concisely as she could in her shaken and exhausted state.

Methaniel paled as she told him of the poster

"Damn," he muttered, his grip tightening on Lanion's fine mane. The horse gave a soft snort of protest and Methaniel's grip relaxed. "This is worse than I imagined. I did not think they would be this efficient. This only convinces me all the more that I must escape Durinum soil entirely."