As she climbed over the ridge into the valley, she visibly relaxed when she saw the wall still stood, the gate latched tight. But quiet chaos reigned in the village below.
It all felt like a dream.
She still couldn’t believe she’d done it. Lured an entire pack away from her family. Saved the post. If they knew, she would be chastised for such a reckless move. They would have to make a point of how stupid she’d been, lest other guardians think to attempt it in the future. But though she wouldn’t admit it, the First would be impressed. Proud. Once, that had been all she had wanted. But now that would mean unrelenting pressure and suffocating expectations. It would backfire on her. She’d learned that lesson.
Instead, Iryana made sure to wipe the dirt off her clothes, neaten her braids, and quickly wash the mud off her boots and hem in the stream as she passed. She pulled her sleeves down and her cloak together at the front, making sure her cuts and bruises, and damp clothes were sufficiently hidden. The only thing she couldn’t check was the state of her face, but she didn’t feel any significant wounds there.
Satisfied, Iryana hurried as quickly as she could along the main road of the village, hiding her face as one of her aunts passed by her. She turned toward the main house and found the chaos centered there. There was a constant flurry of movement visible through the open gate that led to the house’s large courtyard. The sight almost had her turning back, but she had to know.
Would bouquets of blue squill flowers and bluegrass be dripping black tonight?
You can do this, Iryana assured herself as she hesitated at the edge of the courtyard.
The main house was large, but simple and wooden. It wasn’t forged construction, so the structure wasn’t nearly as durable as the small village houses that had been in the valley long before them. And once, it had been her home.
She saw Teshya first, a woman in her mid-twenties with dark-brown curls in an unraveling braid. Iryana froze, her bravery gone. Teshya wasn’t even a Kleesold, not really. She was a rare fire-forged who had volunteered to come to the DovakiPost years ago and was now married to Iryana’s oldest cousin, Tonhald, and they had a new baby that Iryana had only seen glances of.
Iryana begged herself to get a grip. If she couldn’t handle seeing Teshya, how would she go any further?
Teshya stood by the well, filling the last of three buckets with a careless splash that joined the puddle already pooling on the ground. Her head snapped up; her dark, wide-set eyes locked on Iryana.
“Grab this last bucket, Iryana,” she ordered as she hauled the other two up.
Only Teshya would bother trying to order her around, but Iryana found herself listening. Grateful for the excuse to enter the house.
She followed Teshya close behind through the main door and into the large hall, the water in the bucket she carried sloshing.
Iryana looked around nervously, fighting back painful memories. She had lived in the main house twice: when her family had first established the post and then after her father died. It had been a very long time since the main house had felt like home. Now, it just felt like it was full of ghosts.
The room was overwhelming; the press of people, the heat from all the bodies.
The hall had been set up like a makeshift infirmary; a few beds pulled to one side of the room. Iryana’s older sister, Hadima, huddled over the table next to the beds, using her forged mortar and pestle to grind some combination of medicinals.
Byorsh, Iryana’s oldest uncle, was on one of the beds. His normally kind face was twisted in pain, his chest wrapped with bandages. Uncle Byorsh was the only Kleesold that had chosen to be air-forged back when there was still a choice, before the dakii had come. He was lethal with his forged bow, and had taught Iryana archery when she was young.
It was a deep blow to the family to have him out of commission.
“Are you coming, Iryana?” Teshya asked and Iryana realized she had frozen inside the door.
She took another step inside, eyes sweeping over the room, hands nervously clutching the handle of the water bucket. Her younger sister was nowhere to be found.
It was mostly her family in the room, as well as some villagers having their injuries tended. The only surprise was in the back corner where Pyetar sat, looking only slightly worse for wear. He was slowly eating a bowl of stew, eyes unfocused. Her family must have felt obligated to feed him after he helped them.
Everyone seemed to leave a wide berth around him, but with the way he seemed to take up the entire corner of the room, she didn’t blame them.
Hopefully, he had done as she’d asked and kept his mouth shut about her involvement.
She started a tally in her head of everyone she’d seen, and evaluated their expressions for how dire the situation was. Thankfully, it didn’t seem as bad as she’d worried.
“And where were you?” her cousin Edvar snapped as he headed her way.
Her shoulders tensed. At least that made it clear no one knew what she’d done.
“Well? Did you hear the call for aid?” Edvar demanded.
His blond hair was slicked back from his face with blood, as if he’d tried to push it out of his face and not realized, or not cared, that he was bleeding. Without breaking eye contact, Edvar took a long swig from the bottle he was carrying.
“I didn’t have my armor and I—” but before she could finish scrambling for an excuse, he had already shouldered past her.
