Illara Chronicles: Swordplay

Bonus Chapter: Long Forgotten

Seths mother ran her hands through his hair to put him to sleep, every night. She was gentle that way, she had never so much as frowned at him; so he was shocked when she ripped him out of bed. She pulled him by the arm so hard he thought it'd come off. He was barely more than a babe.

He made a sound, an unintelligible question of a cry. She clutched him to her chest, and he was safe. Her hair was black like the darkest most peaceful part of the night; the hours that all the world spent dreaming. Her long dark locks hung near his little face. She was shushing and cooing as she hurried out the room, out the house. The air was cold, and the night was dark - like their hair. She held him closer.

"Natilda!" A low rough voice, spurred his mother into a panic. Quickend steps. Heavy breathing.

"Mama..." There were questions in the whiney word. Who is that man, where are we going, why are you crying?

"Hold on baby." She ran. "It's okay baby." She turned onto a street of frightening shapes and long shadows cast in torchlight. Large people in dark hoods leered ominously amongst run down and vandalized wooden buildings. Seth pinched his nose. It stunk.

He buried his face in the scent of his mother. Woodsmoke and wool. He saw nothing else until he was unceremoniously set onto the road, she tied a scarf around his neck and pulled a hat onto his head. She put a dagger in his small hand, the pommel was an eagles talon. "Stay right here little love. I have to go quickly now, but wait for me, and I will come back for you." She draped his blanket over his shoulders, it covered the knife, and she lay her hand on it - on his. "Keep that hidden."

Where will you be? For how long? Why? The questions welled up within, but all that Seth did was rub his sleepy eyes, and she was gone. He kept the blade under his arm and picked up the edge of his blanket to keep it out of the dirt.

Wait right here she'd said. Seth found himself scanning for landmarks or standout features on a street that was wholly unremarkable...except, there were lanterns on posts that carved small circles of light into the shadow. She'd placed him right beside one that flickered, its flame sputtered and hissed.

He sat beside the light post, it had been painted blue at the base. He hugged the post, his small arms didn't wrap fully around it. There were shapes like men moving about, in between and all around the spots of light. Keeping to the shadows.

He felt like crying, but why? She would be right back.

Come morning, the dew had frozen on his long eyelashes. They fluttered open. Seth rubbed his upper lip against his nose to restore the feeling.

"...come on Son." The musical voice belonged to a weathered hand, beckoning from the golden fringed sleeve of a white robe. The garment had blackened at the bottom from being drug on the floor.

"Find your feet lad, let's get you someplace warm." His face had a practiced kindness. His face wrinkled too much, when he smiled. Everything about the man should have pulled the boy in, but in his heart Seth felt the urge to run, and never stop. But he couldn't leave, so Seth shook his head, no, and tightened his grip on the light post.

The next day the beckoning man introduced himself as Flaine. He brought bread, and just the smell of it broke Seths resolve. Flaine lead him by the hand through the city of rotting wooden structures, to a large gated manor of brick and stone; explaining all the way how his mother was delayed. There was a weathered wooden sign posted in the yard, Orlins Light Orphanage and Re-Education Center. Seth entered, and Flaine locked the door behind them.

In the grand entryway, before a regal central staircase Seth was handed off to a woman, dressed in all white, older than mother, or uglier at least. Her face pulled into a smile that made his skin crawl. She took him by his wrist, not his hand, and walked him up the stairs through the halls lined with closed doors. The floorboards creaked, and dirty cream coloured paint bubbled and peeled. The doors were different colours but all had names sloppily painted on them next to hand prints in red or brown. So many names. They passed so many before arriving at "his" room.