MAKAILA SLIPPED IN HER OWN blood. She stumbled forward, quickly recovering her balance in order not to drop what she was carrying. Cries filled the air as she stopped momentarily to wipe her cut heel.
“Makaila!”
She turned around sharply, tightening her grip on the bundle in her arms and digging her claws into the wet grass. Someone rushed into her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her close. “Thank Kaolin you’re alive! Both of you!”
“Perlong, what’s happening? When you told me to run—”
“Therians. They attacked the manor without notice. Merrows and Zerda mostly, but I thought I saw an Avian before heading out the service tunnels.”
Makaila’s eyes grew wider than normal. She stiffened for a moment, just before letting out a gasp of realization. Again her arms tightened around the bundle. “How did they find us? How did they know?”
Perlong grimaced. “I suppose they’ve always known. It was just a matter of time before they remembered.”
“It doesn’t make sense, Perlong. Why would they need it?”
A deafening explosion filled the night air. Both Makaila and Perlong turned as their faces lit up from the fire. A massive hole had been ripped from the lakeside manor, and flecks of wood showered around them. In the fading light they were able to make out the outline of one of their gardeners.
“Master Perlong, sir!”
The young gardener staggered in the wet grass, making an effort to reach them as quickly as possible. Another blast went off, causing him to topple over just in front of Perlong. As Perlong helped him to his feet the gardener began talking rapidly. Perlong did his best to soothe him as he pulled the gardener’s brown jacket back over his shoulders. Perlong was no Orc, nor a female one at that, but the gardener eventually regained his composure long enough to breathe between words.
“They’re everywhere! Most of the servants are dead; even the guards. Only a few remain.”
Makaila let out a yelp. “What about the Captain?”
The gardener actually laughed. “The Captain? He’s like nothing I’ve ever seen! If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead! He’s the only reason any of us were able to get away! The Therians actually fear him! There were bodies all around him!”
Makaila turned to Perlong, her eyes pleading. “We need to go back for him! We can’t let him die!”
For a moment the night seemed quiet as Perlong’s brow furrowed. He stared at the ground and slowly lifted his head until his eyes were level with Makaila’s. Sorrow clouded him.
“No,” Makaila said, tears filling her eyes.
“The Captain is strong. He will live. What’s more important to me is the well-being of my wife and child.”
Both Perlong and Makaila peered at the bundle of cloth in Makaila’s arms. Tears streamed from Makaila’s large eyes as she nodded to Perlong.
“You, gardener,” Perlong said, pointing to him for his attention. “We are leaving. I won’t have another of my staff left to die. You come with us.”
The gardener bowed his head. “Yes, my Lord.”
They were already far enough from the manor that the loud yells and screeches were drowned by the night. The three of them slid down the side of a grassy hill, slick with the watery trail of Merrows. Makaila clasped onto Perlong as they made their way down the hill, careful to make sure that she still kept a firm hold on her small child with her remaining hand. Reaching the bottom of the hill, Makaila stopped to catch her breath. Perlong was quick to get her back on her feet.
“No time to stop: they’ll be after us soon, if not already. Not to mention we’re too close to the water for my liking—Merrows could be lurking beneath.”
The gardener, who had been drinking from the river at the base of the hill, began to scoot away from the water with a wary eye. He quickly made his way next to Perlong. Makaila coughed as she forced herself back up. She shook her head in refusal when Perlong offered to carry the child. Clutching the bundle, she looked to Perlong, her bright red eyes glowing slightly in the dark.
“Whatever happens, we need to get her safe.”
“Of course.”
Perlong nodded, his own eyes beginning to glow a dim green in the night. He turned his head, looking east towards where the river ran into deep shadow. Perlong wrapped his hand around Makaila’s and began to pull her forward. Makaila hesitated.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re not going to make it, Makaila,” Perlong whispered as he cleared his throat. “But I’ll be a Slave to Shadow if our daughter doesn’t.”
Makaila let out a quiet sob and dipped her head. She tightened her hand around Perlong’s. “Okay,” she whispered.
They started forward, the nervous gardener in tow. It grew darker the further they got from the manor. They were still under the cover of the hills that rose from the base of the river, and soon they were surrounded by a thick batch of trees. The river grew thinner and more shallow as they walked—much to the relief of Perlong—and they almost felt safe until a third, loud, blast echoed through the night. It was louder than the last two and had an air of finality to it. It reminded them that they were far from safety.
Pressing on was difficult. Makaila’s cut heel continued to bleed, and keeping a good speed became impossible. Just as their cover in the tunnel of trees began to fade, and just as the river’s flow began to halt altogether, Perlong stopped. Makaila gave him a worried look.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. We’re here.”
“Where?” The gardener’s worry began to turn to excitement. “Are we somewhere safe?”
Perlong shook his head. “Not us,” he said, gesturing to the bundle in Makaila’s arms.
The gardener shook, an understanding flowing over him. For a moment Makaila thought he was going to run. But when he looked to her, a grim loyalty gleamed in his eyes. He stepped forward, hands behind his back in the fashion for devoted servants. Head held high, he leaked a sad grin.
“What do we need to do, my Lord?”
Perlong gave a gratified smile and motioned to the base of a dark hill, where a small fork in the river flowed. It wasn’t until they were nearly in the water that they were able to make out a cluster of boxes and barrels. Makaila began to ask Perlong a question, but he simply pointed. She was able to make out a small hole in the hill where the river ran. It was barely large enough for the barrels and boxes to fit through.
“It’s where I have the maids send out our old food,” Perlong explained. “It leads back into the Capitol.”
Makaila stared at one of the barrels. “What are you suggesting?”
“We need to get our daughter out of here, Makaila. We need to get her to safety. This is the only way she can stand a chance.”
“You want me to send my daughter to the Capitol in a wooden box?” Her words were slow and deliberate.
Perlong grabbed his wife’s shoulders and looked directly in her eyes. His expression was stern and regretful, but it somehow calmed Makaila. “I know you don’t want to do this; I don’t either. But at least this way she has a chance of surviving.”
Makaila began to weep. It was muffled; Perlong knew she was trying to hold it back. While she held her daughter tightly in her arms, Perlong and the gardener snapped the top off a particularly flat, raft shaped crate. The gardener was able to distinguish some of the cleaner foods from the barrels and laid them out in the crate. There was a moment where Perlong stood up sharply, searching for something distant, but the moment passed. It wasn’t long before they were ready.
Cradling her daughter in her arms, Makaila slowly made her way to the makeshift raft. A distant crack in the trees called Perlong and the gardener to attention. Makaila took the moment to bid farewell to her daughter. She laid her in the crate and wrapped her tightly in her cloth. She was so little. Barely over a year old, she was no bigger than one of the large fruits that lay next to her. Makaila leaned forward, nuzzling her nose against her daughter’s cheek.
“My little Flower,” she whispered, “you are so precious. No matter where you go, or what happens, I will always be there.”
“Hurry Makaila!”
Makaila closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. “One last lullaby,” she said, looking to Perlong. Perlong nodded.
Gripping the edge of the crate she began to sing softly, her voice quivering, but still somehow retaining its beauty.
Far from the rocks of blackened stone
And past the nape where Whitehart roams
In lake of glass you’ll find your home
The ring of flowers in the glen;
A mother’s love she’ll have to send
A heart of gold to make amends
Makaila kissed her daughter one last time on her forehead. “Goodbye my little Flower.” She sobbed as the crate drifted down the dark passage and turned away just before it vanished altogether.
Perlong pressed his hand on Makaila’s shoulder as she stood up. “She’ll be okay,” he said more to himself than her, “she’s a strong little girl.”
“My Lord!”
Perlong spun around. No more than two hundred lengths away were two Therians. The glowing bulbous eyes of a Merrow were discernable even at their distance. Small spheres of light decorated its slimy aquatic body. Among the smallest of the Therian races, it still had an easy two feet on Perlong even in its hunched over position. Another Therian stood at the bank of the black river. It was massive. Easily eight feet tall, it brandished a long curved sword in one of its black, hairy arms, a ball of blue fire flickering in its spare hand. Four thick tails flowed behind it—a sign of its rank within its Leash. A Zerda.
Perlong pushed Makaila behind him, widening his stance and pulling a knife from his pocket. He knew it wouldn’t do any good, but there was no point in running and he wanted to fall with some dignity. Halfway between them and the Therians, in the black of the river—which Perlong was sure was far too shallow to hide anything other than rocks—another Merrow, webbed hands and all, emerged. It cocked its squared head at a sickening angle and issued a guttural cry. In an instant it melded back into the water, disappearing from sight. The gardener let out a shout.
“The other one’s gone too! What’s happening?”
Perlong scanned ahead. The gardener was right: the other Merrow had also vanished, leaving the Zerda on its own, its white teeth and eyes shining in the firelight. In a flash it was engulfed in fire, a loud crack similar to the one they had heard earlier in the night filling the air. And then it was gone.
The gardener shifted uncomfortably, a gardening spade clutched in his hand. “Where are they? What do we do?”
Perlong dug his claws into the ground, readying himself for the inevitable.
It happened fast. There was a snap and a bright fiery light, followed by the garbled sound of water being sucked down a hole. They were all there on top of them: the two Merrows and the Zerda—a flurry of fur and oily skin. Perlong pushed Makaila aside as one of the Merrows dove for him, its webbed dorsal spine raised in aggression. Perlong slid to the left, thrusting his knife in the Merrow’s right arm and making another quick jab to one of its large yellow eyes. It let out an eerie disjointed howl as it swiped blindly for Perlong. Jumping just out of reach he bolted forward, climbing up the Merrow’s side and quickly slashing at its throat. It fell in a wet heap, and Perlong did a quick look behind him and tried not to cry out at what he saw.
The Zerda had its giant clawed hand encased around the gardener’s head. A wicked grin, large and bright in the darkness, spread across its face. Its long snout quivering in anticipation, the Zerda uttered a loud snapping yell. The gardener glowed hot white and slowly started to fade into ash. It turned to Perlong and raised its silver sword. Perlong readied his knife. He knew it wouldn’t do, but he had no other options. The Zerda leapt forward, sword held high. And then it fell.
Perlong stared ahead in a daze. The Zerda was dead. And there, just behind it, was the body of the second Merrow. Something shifted behind him and he jumped to face it, his knife tight in his hand. It was Makaila.
She stood fiercely grounded in front of the river tunnel, a poison dart blower pressed against her lips. She was frozen in shock, and it wasn’t until Perlong rushed to her, holding her tight, that she showed any sign of life.
She shook violently, gasping for air as she curled into Perlong. As she calmed it became apparent that someone else nearby had been crying out in fright as well. It was coming from the tunnel.
Makaila pushed away from Perlong. In a frantic burst of energy she peered into the tunnel and managed to fit inside up to her ribcage. The crate was barely visible, even against the glow of Makaila’s bright eyes. It was jammed against a rock.
“The raft is stuck, Perlong!”
She reached out, her hand almost brushing the wooden crate. Behind her she was able to hear Perlong scream something as a wave of wind splashed against her back. A piercing shriek came from over her shoulder and, despite the fear the pulsed through her, she continued to reach for her daughter. Another cry rose out and something splashed against her legs. She tried not to throw up; she knew what had happened.
Perlong was dead.
In one last feat of desperation, Makaila squeezed forward, her arm outstretched. The crate broke loose. She smiled, her face salty from crying, as she watched her daughter drift away. She knew that it had all been worth it. Her daughter would live.
Then, with a forceful tug, she was pulled out of the tunnel and was swallowed in a torrent of feathers and blood.
