I.iii

The breeze blew gently through the open-topped bed of the cart. I had moved aside fabrics and sacks of hard goods to make a space for my body, leaning my head on a bundle of rough cotton clothes. My eyes were skyward, watching the stars. The small holes in the night sky followed us lazily along our path, wandering the heavens above the cart.

The merchant’s breathing was deep, but even. He sat not even three inches from my ear. Only a thin wooden board separated his back from the crown of my head.

The air drawing in and gliding out of his body was strong, all from the abdomen. Besides that, the only sound in the quiet of the midnight plains were the easy scuffling of hoofs on packed dirt and the unevenly spaced creaks of the sturdy cart.

My eyes buzzed, felt too focused and too manic. The soft fingers of sleep prodded me gently, tugging on my edges, like an excited child wanting to show his mother something new he had built. I ignored it. I had no trust for the man sitting across me. No reason to believe he’d kill me, but no reason to think he wouldn’t.

“You don’t seem to be one for introductions,” the merchant spoke, breaking the chaste silence. Phrased as a friendly question, but the intent behind it was curious, prodding.

A vague noise thrummed through my throat before I gave much of a thought to my response. It was an instinctual retort, a habit built over years of a want for silence. It didn’t hold much meaning. Just a way to let him know I’d heard what he said. And maybe it could be construed as a sound of agreement.

There was some sudden tension in the air. I felt it slowly building from behind me, lapping towards me like an incoming wave. He was waiting for me to continue.

Niko of Lycos

The words drifted through my head like an angry thundercloud, humming with energy, sending electricity through my brain. I closed my eyes at the words booming across my mental plain. The action was almost a flinch, an opposite of the anger it had summoned when the name had left the lips of the now-dead soldier. Now that my body had drained of the energy that had filled it before, the need to flee had returned.

My stomach turned. it jumped at the familiarity after all these years, at the images it conjured of a lean, sinewy boy with hard features. Of a mouth that sat in a thick, hard line to mirror mine, advice I had given when he failed to understand what Lycos did to the children who smiled before they learned what anger meant. At his age, smiling had come regularly. On Lycos, the strikes and the reprimands followed just as frequently.

And it curdled at the emotions we had shared in secret, at grins that hadn’t quite reached our eyes after a handful of years on the island.

On top of those images, like a dampening black sheet placed on those memories, was the man I knew he’d become because of the simple fact he had lived long enough to bear the full sigil of the Lycon army.

My thumb caressed my forearm, hard skin and peeling edges catching in the bandages, feeling the simple black line on my skin as easily as if it was raised and puckered like a scar.

Some nights I lay trapped in my dreams, seeing the fires set and bodies felled by Lycon hands. On bad nights, I held the torches and swung the blades. On bad nights I had never ran. I had stayed, finished my sigil, shipped out into the mainland just in time to raze Tirion towns.

On worse nights, I saw Niko’s hands wrapped in bloody streaks and flames reflected in-

“Where shall I be dropping you once we reach Mykon?”

I blinked. Not startled, but lifted slightly from the misting depths of my thoughts. My eyes were still itching for a more lengthy closing than I was giving them.

“Somewhere with a bed.”

“Very simple, then. We’ll be going to the same place.” He paused. I could hear the wet noises of a tongue moving to run across lips and sliding against cheeks. I heard the pop of small joints.

“Will you be requiring an escort to the next village over, my lady?” He spoke all his words with a wry smile embedded in the tone, giving his statements an easy, casual breath. Like speaking was as easy as breathing to him, like nothing he said was meant to be taken too seriously.

“No.”

“Then when I am relinquished from your service, I will be gracing the fine town of Mykon with my excellent wares. If you need something on your journey, I can provide it.” Another pause, this one punctuated by a small laugh.

“I may even have a horse in one of those bags, if you look hard enough.”

I gave another noncommittal noise. The cart continued on it’s path, the night settling into a crisp silence as the merchant’s words were left behind.



---



Niko of Lycos.

She ran away and they never found her.

I saw flashes of that night. Lightning thrown to the earth as if the Lord of the Sky had been taken in a furious rage, tearing momentary flashing wounds into the black, turbulent pit of the clouds. The water whipped and lashed as if to strike back in petty revenge.

The boat I had taken was small in the dim light of the Lycon evening. In the churning cauldron of anger that the night sea had become, it felt like riding a leaf in a maelstrom.

My stomach had mirrored the water around me. Roiling and rolling and frothing. The ocean with whatever primordial anger the gods felt in the heavens, my insides with raw and growing guilt at the image of Niko falling into fearful slumber at missing our meeting and waking to realize my absence.  

A spark popped.

I blinked.

The fire was tiny but bright, blotting out stars in its small vicinity. The borrowed roll beneath me was thin. Any way I shifted it, the earth clumped and poked into my sides. An annoyance that left me heated but mostly unbothered. Before I had been able to gather the materials for a basic cot, we had slept on the dirt floor of our barracks.

The hundred gold had gotten me far enough from the village that when my eyes went heavy and I contemplated sleep, it wasn’t swept away in the storm of paranoia. But eventually we had settled into a small roadside clearing, with swathes of ashes and patches of long-ago flattened grass painting a picture of occupants past.

“You aren’t one for introductions.” The merchant repeated softly, ending the statement with a gentle breath over the bowl of steaming stew cupped in his hands.

The man lounged easily beside the fire, as if he had nowhere as important to be as right where he was. He was of mostly ordinary height, only a half hand shorter than me. His nose was curved and hawkish, his lips and eyes not quite settled from mischievous to stoic. His pallor was dark, either from work in the sun or ancestry.

I let my eyes wander from the fire for a moment, meeting his over the rim of his bowl. His face moved slightly, an easy cock of the brow and turn of the lips. I returned my gaze to the fire.

“My name is Arash of Isepolis.” He paused, making a show of contently sipping the stew while keeping his humoured eyes on me.

Isepolis. Cyprus. From the land to the east. Not skin darkened by months and months in the sun, but simply the way his people looked.

“And I would very much like to make the acquaintance of the woman whose mouth has consumed my food and who currently lounges on my roll.” He lowered the bowl, letting his elbows rest on his thighs and the stew settle in between his crossed legs. His face was on the positive side of neutral, not meaning any offense by his statement, just implying simple curiosity.

I stared at him.

“Helena.”

“Of?”

“Nothing.” I said. He grinned.

“Quite the collection of titles. Helena of Nothing, the woman who fights like a man.”

His eyes sparkled in the firelight, reflecting curiosity back at me. But he didn’t speak on it any more than that.

“When did the Lycons arrive?” He asked. I stared into the flames, watching the heat eat at the twigs and kindling left under the logs.

“Six months ago.” Another sip of stew to break up the conversation.

“A bold move. I’ve heard tales of fights on the borders, even witnessed one or two myself. But this is the first Lycon camp I’ve seen on Tirion lands.”

And from there, a tale was spun. The words came easily to him, the stew finished and the bowl set down so hands could be used to punctuate key words. A merchant travels, he sees many things, hears all. Rumours of Lycon scouts caught by Tirion squads, of electricity in the air on border towns, not much violence, but an undercurrent of clashing loyalties and tight sword hands.

His voice wasn’t deeply timbred, but it still soothed, like cool water on sun licked skin. It flowed smoothly over your senses. My lids finally fell, the heavy weights of sleep pulling them down. Underneath the blanket, my fingers wrapped comfortably on the hilt of a dagger. Above it, my ears remained awake, prickling at movement and sudden sounds. My waking mind would ignore them until it sensed the specific tune of danger. I slid down into blackness and felt that far-away night wrap around me once more, thunder pounding with the steps of enraged gods and phantom raindrops stinging my skin.



---



The land was alive again. The Lord of the Sun slowly raced his fiery vessel across the pale sky, the plants and the grass and the trees perked up, reaching for the life-giving fire settled in the blue plain above. Animals chirped and whimpered and hungered and stretched and made sounds of life. And Arash the merchant whistled.

The tune was slow and gentle and pointed, cutting a comforting swathe through the world’s endless noise. He simply whistled, with puckered lips and a curved tongue, a wordless tune. Yet it picked at the fringes of me, bringing a memory of coolness and gentle touches to my mind. I heard the lyrics in the sexless voice of a distant memory, pouring easily through my mind, coming in ebbs and flows of jilted remembrance.

Beautiful flower

Raised by the soil and sun

The gods hands will guide you

Along paths unknown

Back to the comfort of home

For a moment, I felt ocean breeze curiously lick my cheek, like a tentative lover. A ghost of soft water tickled my feet, my hands.

home

Niko of Lycos

She ran away

Arash had ceased whistling.

“That village tells many tales of you, Helena of Nothing.” He spoke.

I gave an affirmative noise. An instinctual, unthreatening growl buzzing from my throat once again.

 The rumours had spread like a subtle sickness. The woman who fights like a man, standing taller and broader than any in the village. The silence and the old scars had given away to challenges and new wounds. In the mainland, women fought in their own way. They used cunning words and strong emotions to find paths in the world. In Lycos, all stood equal. Not equal of power, but equal of skill. A man of small stature and sinewy build did not fight like his brother carved from stone and taller than mountains.

“I’ve heard of many men, dead and injured by your hand. How much of that is true?” Even without seeing his face, I could hear the rueful smile, the amused sparkle lighting up the eyes. Curious, interested, but not disturbed.

“If I fought less than four, it’s true.”

He gave a polite chuckle. Didn’t push the issue any further. Mykon was in sight now. Buildings taller than any man or woman or child in that village waved lightly at us in the heat, standing three or four or five of me high. The rest of the way was spent in silence. Not tense, not questioning. Simple, neutral silence.

And at last, the city of Mykon descended upon us.