Empire of Ashes

Chapter XCIII - At the Crossroads

So if anyone needs me, I'll be hiding in my cave again. A song to make you extra miserable is attached :)

That evening, I was worse, if anything. The fever was back with a vengeance. Fendur was taking a turn to carry me, and his hands felt like ice against my skin. There was a cold easterly wind blowing, but even that wasn't enough to keep the sweat from my forehead.

"It's not working," I found myself saying. I was talking to myself, really, but Fendur heard.

"All the medicines in the world won't save you unless you start fighting, Lyra," he told me.

I am, I wanted to say, but it wasn't entirely the truth. I had stopped actively trying to die. I was not, however, making any great effort to live. And why should I? If the gods thought it was my time, who was I to argue with them?

Melia's palomino started to slow around lunchtime. She had broken out in a cold sweat, and she was dragging her feet with every step. Honestly, it was astonishing that she had managed to keep up as long as she had, because she had been bred to look pretty and behave herself, not run cross-country.

When she stopped and lurched like she was about to go down, Melia slid from the saddle. If we pushed her any further, she would drop dead, and what would that achieve? We waited on the road while Melia turned her loose in the nearest field in the hopes that the farmer who owned it might take pity on her.

That horse had carried her all the way from Duskos, but her eyes were dry when she came back. There was a new steel in that girl. She had come to us as soft, polished iron, and in the moons since she had been through the furnace, and she had made it her home. Melia Lionsheart indeed. She had more fear than all of us put together, but that also made her the bravest of us.

There were four horses between five of us, now, so we would've had to share even if I had not been half-dead. Melia and I were on the white stallion, who was better rested than Nightmare, and the smooth rocking motion of his walk soon lulled me to sleep.

I was somewhere dark and cold and damp, and I was lying on solid stone. I could feel the pinch of metal around my ankles and a weight between my legs. Somewhere nearby, there was the scuffing of cloth against stone, and I knew I was not alone. I rolled onto my knees and sat up. Fumbling around told me nothing except that my ankles were chained together.

Someone thrust a lantern into my face, nearly blinding me, and I could see a dark-haired, bearded man leaning over me. He spat on the ground at my feet.

"About time you woke up, girl," he snapped. "There's work to be done."

I blinked at him. "Where... Where am I, exactly?"

He burst out laughing. "Canton, you halfwit. Don't tell me you forgot again."

"Canton," I repeated softly. Of course. It was the place of nightmares, after all. As close to the abyss as you could get in this world. I looked down at my forearm. The brand was there, plain as day, but the tattoo which had sliced the numbers in half was missing. I had never been freed. I had never been to Belmery. A horrible suspicion settled in my gut.

"Yes, Canton. Now get off your ass. We're not missing the quota again if I can help it," the man said, and he kicked me for good measure.

"This isn't right," I said. "I was free. We all were."

He stared at me a moment longer, then shook his head sadly. "You're a crazy bitch, you are."

And then he was gone, and I climbed onto my knees to watch the lantern light fade away. There was a dram rail against my thigh, cold and sharp. It reminded me that the brand was not the only scar I had acquired these last few moons.