My hand shook as I unlatched the locks and opened the door, but the little courage I’d managed to muster fizzled out as soon as I stepped outside.
Something felt off.
Despite the howling winds, there was an unnatural stillness about. The trees swayed in the wind, but apart from that, nothing moved. Everything around me seemed to be holding its collective breath. Even the sheep had gone quiet, and Chicha's whimpers had ceased.
The small hairs on the back of my neck tingled as dread spread through my veins. Something was definitely wrong, and I had to decide whether to backtrack into my house and lock the door or keep going.
Glancing at the nearest watchtower, I hoped to see the night guard's silhouette against the aurora-lit sky, but deep down, I already knew that the tower would be empty even before my gaze confirmed it.
I should have panicked. I should have run back into the house and barricaded the door. Instead, a sense of numbness enveloped me. I was in denial, trying to convince myself that this couldn't be happening tonight of all nights, but at the same time I was certain that it was indeed happening and that I probably wouldn't make it out alive.
"Maybe the guard went down to relieve himself," I muttered, in another effort to convince myself that everything was alright, but the words felt hollow even as I spoke them.
The guards never left their posts until their replacement arrived. If they had to, they did their business in a bucket.
The guard was most likely dead, and it was up to me to sound the alarm, provided that I made it to the tower before they got me.
Without making a conscious decision to move, I was already running, crouched and silent, with the rifle slung across my body. It took me mere moments to traverse the short distance between my home and the closest watchtower, but it felt like so much longer.
As I hurried up the ladder, my sweaty hands slid over the smooth wooden rungs that were worn by years of use. Climbing, I still tried to convince myself that I was overreacting and that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for the guard's absence, but it was just self-talk to boost my floundering courage and keep me going.
One more rung and I would be at eye level with the platform, but my foot hovered in the air, refusing to move.
I drew in a breath, hoping to steady my nerves—but the sharp, coppery scent that filled my lungs only served to confirm my fears.
Even then, knowing what I would find, I wasn't prepared for the scene that greeted me when I finally forced myself to climb up that step. The guard lay face down in a spreading pool of blood, his throat cut, his rifle lying just beyond his outstretched hand.
Somtan. I recognized him by the plaid shirt I had seen him wearing so many times before.
I stood paralyzed, my mind refusing to accept what my eyes were seeing.
Remembering him carrying me on his shoulders during the harvest festival when I was little, I couldn't accept that I would never see his cheerful smile again or that his four young children would have to grow up without a father. His seven nieces and nephews would never get to ride on their uncle's broad shoulders again, and his elderly parents would now face their final years without their son.
The world tilted sideways, and bitter acid rose in my throat as my body finally reacted to the horror before me. I doubled over, ready to empty the contents of my stomach.
Except, I didn't.
Somehow, training kicked in, and I forced the bile down and tore my eyes away from the still-growing pool of blood.
There was no time for shock or grief. The village was under attack, and if I didn't move fast, things would quickly get much worse.
The Shedun must have sent a forward stealth team to silently eliminate the guards, and their main force would soon follow to violate, torture, and slaughter the rest of us.
We had minutes, at most.
My hands shook violently as I grabbed the bullhorn, and it took me two tries to position my finger over the button and sound the alarm. It blared across the sleeping village, its harsh sound shattering the silence and the false sense of calm, urgently rousing everyone.
Lights began to flicker in the windows, and in mere moments, doors flew open as my neighbors emerged with rifles clutched in their hands.
At the sound of heavy footsteps on the ladder, I turned with my rifle trained on the intruder, but it was just old Ednis climbing onto the platform. The grizzled veteran took in the scene with one glance, then knelt beside Somtan's body.
"He's gone," I said, my voice sounding strangely calm to my own ears, like it wasn't I who was speaking but some alternative version of me.
Ednis checked anyway, his weathered fingers seeking a pulse that we both knew wouldn't be there. When he straightened, his face was grim.
"Get yourself home, Kailin," he said gruffly. "Hide in the cellar and bar the door from the inside. Don't open it. Not even if someone you know is telling you that it's okay to come out."
The Shedun were known to hold a knife to a child's throat, forcing its desperate parents to betray their neighbors. But they were also known to set fire to homes, so hiding in a cellar was not such a good strategy either.
