Of Ash & Linen

Ava stumbled, but she kept running. She could feel her legs growing weak and her heart thundering all the way to her fingertips. She couldn’t stop. She ran blindly through the forest, trying to keep going in the same direction that Martis had been leading her. The pounding of her heart grew louder with every beat. It echoed in her ears and all around her. The beating gradually split into two. There was the pumping of her heart, and the thundering hooves of the horse that was closing in on her.

Her breath was so short from running that she let out no scream when she was snatched up into the air. An arm encircled her waist like a belt made of stone and lifted her from the ground. She was pulled into a sitting position, her back pressed against the statue of a man who had lifted her from the ground. Her feet dangled off the side of the galloping horse and her bones jolted with the sudden speed. Her breath came in increasingly shorter gasps as she watched the trees blur past them.

They burst free of the forest but did not slow. Ava finally managed to force her lungs to fill with air. She immediately released the hard-won breath in a scream.

“Let me go!” she shrieked. She grabbed the man’s forearm, which was still clamped around her waist, and tried to force him to release her. She dug her fingers into his flesh, trying to loosen his grip. He growled and squeezed her tighter in response.

“Release me!” she lost any shred of composure she had retained and thrashed against his arm, his chest, anything she could reach.

He let go of the reigns and released her waist, grabbing her wrists instead. The horse clamored and kicked its front legs into the air to come to a jolting stop. Ava was thrust down into the saddle, her side slamming into the chest of the man. The beast landed on all fours and stamped for a moment before finally coming to a rest, its irritation matching that of its rider.

The man jerked Ava’s wrists down, forcing her arms straight at her sides. He held her like that, in his relentless grip and looked at her. She met his eyes and relief flooded her when she saw the bright green that filled his irises. A heartbeat later she shied from the brutality she also found there, though this brutality lacked the vacant, soulless edge that she had seen in the eyes of the Deimos.

“Be still,” he growled.

“Let me go,” she wanted to yell at him, but it came out as a meager whisper.

He whipped her around roughly so that she was facing forward and wrapped his arm around her again, this time pining her arms to her sides in his embrace.

“No,” he whispered back menacingly, his mouth close to her ear. Ava shivered involuntarily from fear and the effect of his breath grazing her skin.

He took up the reigns again and kicked his horse into action.

They didn’t ride far, only a few jarring minutes passed before the rider slowed his horse. Ava had been effectively scared into stillness. She clung to the horn of the saddle and did not fight the grip of her captor again. After slowing, he nudged his horse around until they were facing the direction from which they had come.

Ava gasped when she saw the glow of the fire in the distance. The flames must have overtaken the entire camp by now. She wondered what had happened to Martis.

The thought sent a wave of defiance through her and she squirmed, testing her captor’s grip. She couldn’t give up, not if Martis was still out there. His muscles contracted, pulling her harshly against him and squeezing the air from her lungs. The sensation reminded her of a corset laced too tightly. She felt as trapped in this man’s arms as she had in every fine gown she’d ever been forced to wear.

He did not speak again. He merely stared into the darkness that stretched between them and the forest that glowed with fire in the distance. Ava wanted to fight, but the memory of the ruthless gleam in his eyes quelled her determination.

Like an approaching storm, the beat of hooves grew louder as riders descended upon them. They were silhouetted into nothing more than shadows by the burning forest at their backs. Only when the men came into sight did her captor stir.

He greeted the riders with silent nods, assessing.

Ava noted the similarities between the men immediately. Long hair and tan clothing seemed to be the standard for them, along with sun darkened skin and sharp gazes. They sat atop their lean mounts with grace and ease. Their statures were built of something substantial and solid. The air of the recent battle clung to them, infecting Ava with their restlessness. She avoided their stares, though they scrutinized her relentlessly.

“Where is Haris?” her captor’s chest rumbled as he spoke. His closeness unnerved her.

“Here,” a voice rose from the back of the crowd. The men pulled the reigns of their mounts, drawing them aside to make a path.

A white-haired man approached, his long braid swaying with the motion of his horse. The lingering youth in his face contrasted with the snowy pallor of his hair.

“Kallan,” Haris flashed a relieved smile at the man that sat behind her and they nodded at each other.

“Everyone is accounted for?” her captor asked.

“Yes, all twelve are here,” Haris scanned the group of men around him as he spoke. “A few scrapes and bruises, nothing we can’t handle.”

The respect in Haris’s tone and the compliance in his demeanor told Ava that the man who held her was his leader.

Haris returned his gaze to his master, Kallan, and then to Ava, where it rested. She squirmed, twisting a fraction in the restraining arm that was still clamped around her. Sensing her discomfort, the horse beneath her stamped in frustration. Kallan pulled the reigns to still his mount.

“What of the Deimos?” He asked.

“What of the girl?” Haris still had not looked away from her.

“I caught her running away from the skirmish. She seems to have been a prisoner of the Deimos,” he looked at her now. His eyebrows drew together as he contemplated her.

“What will you do with her?” Haris asked.

“I think she might be of some worth to us. Are you of any worth to us, girl?” There was a humorous lilt to Kallan’s voice when he addressed her.

She had no idea how to respond to the question. Fear made her mind slow, and she didn’t know what information would be safe to divulge. What was the greater danger: revealing her identity, or letting them believe she was simply a traveler of no consequence?

“I…” Ava’s voice broke, and the word hung in the air betraying her lack of confidence.

The silence that followed lasted only a moment, quickly filled by the quiet laughter of the men surrounding them.

Her face heated.

Kallan’s mouth twitched slightly. He shook his head, tossing a loose strand of dark hair over his shoulder.

“We will take her back to camp and question her there. What of the Deimos, Haris?” he pointedly repeated. “Did you leave any alive this time?”

“None. I’m all too aware of what sort of damage even a single one of them could do if they traced us back to camp. We wouldn’t have the advantage of catching them off guard as we did tonight,” Haris paused, seeming to consider his next words. “Let’s hope that’s the last of them for a while. I am not sure how many more of these raids we can handle.”

“We will handle as many as we must.” Kallan’s voice carried a steel edge to it, matched by the hardness of his glare as he met the eyes of each of his men.

Haris sighed and looked away. “You are right, Kallan, but I hope this to be the last.”

Kallan nodded and edged his horse around to face the opposite direction.

“To camp then. We can assess the situation and any goods gathered there.”

“Wait!” Ava found her voice. “My friend,” she pleaded and twisted in the saddle, searching for the man, Haris.

More chuckles from the men followed her outburst.

“What friend?” Kallan asked.

“A man, he was a prisoner like me. Please, I can’t leave him.” She was not ashamed of the pleading that strained her voice. She would beg if it would do her any amount of good right now.

“I know who you speak of.” Haris rode into view, “A large man with a black beard.”

“Yes! Yes, that’s him.” Ava hastily leaned forward, pushing against the arm that still held her. Her words came out in a rush. “Please, I am no use to you. Leave me here, let me find him— “

“He’s dead.” Haris said and kicked his horse into a run. He was yards away before Ava had processed what he’d said.

No.

“No, no, no.” Ava hadn’t meant to say the words aloud, but she didn’t have enough composure left to care. He was dead. The last person who cared what happened to her was dead. Her hope died with him.

Greif flowed as freely as the sobs from her mouth and the tears from her eyes. She did not hold back. Let them see, these men with their hungry blades and their appetites for death. Let them see what they had done, the pain they had caused.

Kallan said nothing, but simply coaxed his horse into a gallop at the end of the line of men. His men. His murderers. He was the worst of all, Ava decided. She had seen so much death. A piece of innocence had been stolen from her along with each life that had been taken. She had men to blame for those murders, but responsibility in war was like a pyramid. Those at the top bore the weight of all the deaths of the men below, and, just like her father, Kallan was at the top.

***

When the horse finally slowed, more than an hour later, Ava’s body was as numb as her heart. Scenes of tall grass swaying in the night air and of distant mountains reflecting moonlight had passed before her, but she saw none of it. Meadows gave way to scattered trees, and the empty horizon blinked with small spots of light in the distance. The lights grew into campfires as the riders brought Ava closer.

The light of the fires beckoned to her, drawing her out of her pit of despair. She was still broken, but curiosity flared some life back into her.

When the company rode into the camp, several men and women poured out of the nearest tents. The horses stamped the ground as the men pulled them to a stop. A group of older men surrounded a nearby campfire. When they caught sight of Ava they stood to join the others, surrounding the riders.

Ava’s wide eyes were met with dozens of pairs just as wide. The people looked from her to each other shrugging shoulders and whispering among themselves. Ava didn’t know what the peopled had expected the company to return with, but it wasn’t her.

As the men began to dismount, they were immediately ambushed by family members. The relief that the men had returned alive was evident on their faces. One rider was ushered to a nearby tent, his arm dripping a trail of blood as he went.

Kallan remained on his horse until a small woman made her way to him through the crowd. The faint light reflected off of her silver hair and illuminated the wrinkles around her features.

“What have you brought me this time?” The woman’s voice was as clear and commanding as her eyes. Ava thought she might not be as old as she appeared.

“A prisoner,” Kallan replied as he dismounted. The night air felt cool against her back in his sudden absence.

The woman looked up at Ava’s face, and then turned to glare at Kallan.

“Since when do we take prisoners?”

“She is no prisoner of mine,” He glanced up at her, but Ava refused to meet his eyes. “She belonged to the Deimos.”

“And you took her. I supposed that does makes her your prisoner now.”

“I suppose it does.” His indifference was almost insulting.

“You should have left her where you found her.” The old woman shook her head disapprovingly, but Kallan didn’t seem to notice. He had untied a canteen from his saddle and was drinking from it heartily. Ava’s throat burned with thirst. He finished drinking and caught her staring at the water. He held it out to her, but she turned away. She would accept nothing of his.

His lip twitched again, and he returned the canteen to his saddle.

“Nyra, take her to the storeroom,” he told the old woman. “She can sleep there until I decide what to do with her.”

Without warning he reached up and plucked her from the saddle as if she weighed no more than a feather. When he set her on her feet, her legs buckled beneath her, and she fell to the ground in a heap.

“Kallan, you beast,” Nyra swatted at him and knelt before Ava. “What have you done to her?”

Kallan sighed and knelt as well. A small crowd had lingered, watching curiously. Whispers floated between them. She could hear snatches of hushed conversation.

“Who is she?”

“Kallan—never returned with a woman before— “

“—a prisoner?”

“—not Vorosi— “

Ava avoided their stares, choosing to focus on the ground beneath her. She tried again to stand, but her arms shook as violently as her legs when she pushed herself up.

“She has merely exhausted herself. I found her running more than a mile from the Deimos camp.” It was true. Ava knew she had pushed herself too hard when she had fled. Her body was not accustomed to running, nor was she accustomed to being tied to a post for hours.

Nyra clicked her tongue.

“Look how pale she is. You’ve frightened her.” The old woman reached out a hand, but Ava flinched away. She didn’t like how they were talking about her as if she were someone’s pet.

Kallan sighed. Then he reached forward and slipped his arms beneath her legs and back, lifting her from the ground. Ava gasped and tried to push away from him, uncomfortable with his closeness. He was too familiar with her. She had never been handled like this by a man; carried against his chest like a doll.

Her cheeks heated when she saw the onlookers watching, their expressions ranging from confusion to sullen interest.

Though she fought the whole way, he carried her to a tent at the center of the camp and ducked inside. He set her on the ground with a huff.

“You don’t like to make things easy, do you?” he asked as he kneeled before her. She scooted away from him and bumped into something solid. She turned and saw that she was surrounded by burlap sacks and small wooden barrels. A tall support beam stood in the center of the tent, and a glowing lamp hung from it.

The tent flapped open, and Ava whipped around at the sound. Nyra entered, followed by Haris. Her eyes immediately went to Haris’s hand, which held out a length of rope.

“Thought you might be needing this,” he told Kallan.

Kallan took the rope and then grabbed her forearms. She flinched. Kallan paused, examining her wrists. He turned each one slowly. They were red and torn, rubbed raw by her many attempts to pull her hands free after the Deimos had bound her.

She couldn’t repress the whimper that escaped her lips when he brought the rope toward her. She looked away, focusing instead on the beam next to her. She silently begged that he wouldn’t tie her to it like the Deimos had.

“This may serve better,” she heard Nyra say.

Kallan released her wrists, but took them up again a moment later, more gently this time. Curious, Ava dared to look and saw that he now held a length of white linen. He wrapped it around her wrist like a bandage, and then looped it around the other. He repeated this several times, ignoring Haris’s grumbling.

Ava was so caught off guard that she forgot to struggle. Curiosity nagged at her again, and she looked up at him for the first time in the light. His strong jaw was clenched and darkened by stubble. Dark hair framed his face, slipping from the tie at the back of his neck. Ava searched his green eyes for the ruthlessness she had seen there earlier but found only concentration.

He tied the loose ends of fabric together with a quick tug, pausing for a moment when his eyes grazed over the scar on her palm. He said nothing and released her hands. Ava looked back at her wrists before he could catch her staring at him. He had effectively bound her hands together and bandaged her wrists at the same time.

She would not take it as a kindness. He had still bound her; still taken her has his prisoner.

“Nyra,” he spared Ava one last glance before standing and turning to the old woman, “bring her food and water.”

She nodded and left the tent. Once she was gone, Kallan turned to Haris.

“We will question her in the morning,” he said, angling his head toward Ava. Haris nodded in response, then the men left the tent.

It was the first time she had been left alone in the relative privacy of a tent in over a day. Had it only been yesterday that the Deimos had taken her? It felt like a lifetime. She felt some of the anxiety leak from her as she leaned back against the burlap sacks. She may not be free, but at least she hadn’t been tied to the post. Tonight, she would begin counting her blessings, no matter how small. Tomorrow, she would worry about their questions.