Chapter Four - In the Shadow of Darkness

         “What’s wrong with her?” Reina asked. She felt a twinge of guilt that Ayara was worrying over all the things that seemed to be coming from nightmares to torture her while she was sitting with her father, enjoying the taste of a good weed. “It’s not like I’m trying to be insulting today. I barely said anything to her at all.”
         “I guess the storm and this mugginess is getting to her,” Da said, grinning at her. “You know how proper ladies are when bad weather comes around. I just hope she comes by the shop so I can figure out how much we earned this haul.”
         “I dunno,” Reina grimaced. The weight of the gold piece in her pocket was back, and the guilt over keeping her silence was weighing her down again. “She didn’t seem to notice too much yesterday. She didn’t even bother with that umbrella she’s always carrying with her when the rain came. I think her dreams are getting to her, too.”
         “Maybe,” Da said.
         Reina looked at him from the corner of her eye, wondering idly if he really was taking her smoking as well as he appeared on the surface. “Da,” she said finally, “you’re really not mad at me for smoking your crop?”
         “No, Reina. You’re at an age now where I can only give advice. You’re a grown woman. I’m sure you’re smart enough to make the right choices for yourself.”
         The implications of his words didn’t really register on her. In her own mind, she was still fairly young. Sure she knew how to plow a field or shoe a horse, but the idea of being a grown, independent woman was a little unsettling. Maybe her Da was just being nice.
         Suddenly the weight of the gold piece she still kept tucked in her pocket felt twice as strong. Guilt hit her like a kick from Noname on a bad day. But somehow the words to explain what she had or who had given it to her stuck in her mouth. She wanted to gag from the sour taste. Here he was, treating her like a grown woman and she was holding things back from him like a rotten child! As he picked up a barrel and walked into the front of the store, she stood, wondering why she was being so stubborn with herself about it.
         “If you ask me,” one of Ayara’s two kitchen hangers-on said curtly, “I think the girl still has a ways to go and a lot to learn before she should be allowed to go off on her own.”
         Da simply looked over his shoulder at the two of them, and Reina glared darkly at them, staring through a haze of pipe smoke. That was all they did, but the two women shifted as if they were being screamed at.
         “I think. . .” the other one said in her honeyed voice, “I think it best we should find ourselves on our way. The aroma in the air is becoming a bit pungent, isn’t it Vanya?”
         Da stopped the cart long enough for the two women to daintily glide off the back of the wagon bed and skim off into the crowd. “Flock of flat-noted hens is what they are,” she growled, puffing irritably at her home-made pipe.
         “Watch your tongue, girl,” Da said absently, like a man so used to saying something, it didn’t even register in his own mind that he was saying it anymore. “How long did it take you to craft that wooden stub of yours?”
         Reina grinned. “It wasn’t the crafting that was so bad. It was the splinters I kept getting when I first started using it.”
         Da laughed heartily, and Reina felt her heart flutter. She hadn’t realized how important his laughter was to her. He was always a jovial man who had a quick grin and a sharp wit about him. To see him so absentminded and short-tempered was like seeing an entirely new man. What had caused this sudden change? It had come about the same time as the Nightwalker and the sudden surge of paranoia everywhere.
         It was a relief to see the squat smoker’s shop near the eastern edge of town. Three medium-sized warehouses circled behind the building, where men were hauling hand-barrows full of leafy Smokeweed and rolling larger barrels full of dried and cured leaves into the main building. Reina had been inside a few times before, and she had watched with awe the process of making casks full of Smokeweed or rolling the remoistened leaves into larger rolls that made up a cigar. Crackling leaves were crushed down to small flakes and rolled in little white papers that made a much smaller version of a cigar, packed into boxes and sold in bulk. Reina didn’t care much about those. She liked the idea of having a pipe, and the personal nature of it made it that much better.
         “Well, Dearheart,” Da said with a grin, “here we are. Let’s see what that scoundrel is going to try and weasel out of me this week.”
         “Myka hasn’t swindled you yet, Da,” Reina said, swinging out of the saddle and tying Noname to the shaft across the storefront. “He’s been good to us since we first started.”
         “And he keeps running my face into it every time I try and cut a little bit of finished product out of him. I need my pipe sweetened, and I know you could use a real one now.”
         “Maybe I can appeal to his kind, good-hearted nature and swindle a few things out of him,” Reina grinned. “And if all else fails, we can steal back those gemstones of Ayara’s and see how much we can get from them.”
         Her Da’s face darkened a moment before he puffed out a thick streamer of smoke. Apparently, he felt the bite from that peddler a bit more than she had expected. “We should have kept going.”
         “Ayara never would have let you, Da. And the farmhands needed a trip from the peddler. They’ve been working extra hard lately.”
         He smiled down at her before hopping down from the wagon’s seat and taking up two casks of Smokeweed. “You’re getting better and better at running a farm, Dearheart. If I died right now, I know you’d have the place going seamlessly for another twenty years after me.”
         Reina fisted him in the ribs, and he grunted, coughing. “I don’t ever want to hear that talk from you again.”
         “You know what I mean, Reina,” Da said. “You’re much smarter and much more mature than you give yourself credit for. I don’t know of anything you’ve been wrong or stupid about, and you’re honest enough with me and yourself to know when to come clean with something. Those are good qualities to have in a farm owner.”
         Shame washed over her all over again, but he was already inside the main building before she could get two words out. Only when her Da came back out could she begin to move, going to the back of the cart and lifting a heavy set of casks in her arms. The weight of them felt good, and walking with assured confidence in taking something she had helped grow with her own hands made her steps more certain. Strange shadow men and gold would have to wait. There was work to be done.
         “Women shouldn’t do a man’s job, sweetie!” A raucous call came from behind her. She rolled her eyes irritably. It was already starting. Ignoring the mockery of ignorant boys and sneering women, she went about her work.
         It was going to be a long day.


         Vanya and Sylvia had caught up with Ayara only minutes after she herself stalked off in a huff from her delinquent family. Her exasperation was still such that she wanted to be left alone. But she couldn’t simply send the two off with screams and shouts and finger-shaking. Ladies didn’t do those types of things where just anyone could see - no matter how much she wanted to. So it was necessary, with sweet words and honeyed tone, to send them off on meaningless errands that could wile away a few hours. Vanya was smart enough to catch on, but Sylvia still needed a bit a gentle guidance. Besides, wasn’t she besotted with one of the farmhands? Maybe Ayara should simply tell the girl off to find him and go dally about the village with him for a few hours. She could do well for herself. A Lady didn’t always need attendants.
         “Oh, that is a good idea, Syl,” Vanya said enthusiastically, giving Ayara a furtive nod. “I bet Henley would be glad to see you about now. Especially doing all that lifting and hauling. Men do enjoy showing themselves off for a lady.”
         Sylvia giggled behind a hand, blushing prettily. “If Miss Ayara says I should-”
         “Oh, absolutely,” Ayara said quickly, almost shoving the two of them down the road. “Please do! In fact, you can spend the day with him altogether. And you can tell me all about it when we go back home.” She would have taken that last part back as soon as she had said it, but it was too late now. The girl wouldn’t stop unless Ayara used physical violence. She just might be driven to it. “Have fun, girls.”
         An hour later, Ayara was moving through the shops that she knew would be of more interest to her than a Smokeweed supplier. Oddly enough, even though she didn’t have anyone to carry and fetch for her, she felt a sense of relief. True she had to maintain the poise and appearance she always did, but she was surprised at how much the girls’ inane chattering grated on her nerves. Maybe she just needed a little bit of time to herself; a time to contemplate things and settle problems in her own mind. What was she going to do about Syl? She really was a sweet girl, if a little dim. And she looked like she really did like that fellow.
         What about Reina? Her sister was just not going to conform herself to womanly appearances. She had spent too much time in the fields with their father. She was too young to have really looked up to their mother in awe. She knew that Reina loved their mother, and that there was always a faded picture of her in Reina’s pocket. But she had never had the chance to wish to be like her.
         “Oh, Momma,” Ayara sighed bitterly, her steps slowing. “I wish you were still here. You’d know how to deal with Reina. You’d know what to do about everything.”
         That was one thing Ayara still envied about her mother. Lyranda Yokaran was a competent woman with a cool demeanor who always had a plan and could always make it happen. Nothing disturbed her, and nothing slowed her down when she acted on a course of action. She never raised her voice, never lost her temper. Even when Reina was at her worst, their mother would just smile, pull her daughter from whatever disaster she was about to cause, and go about the work that needed to be done. What would she do about Reina’s smoking habits? At least her ideals of smoking weren’t spreading to the women of class.
         Ayara browsed idly through the shops, always looking with interest but never buying. Perhaps she had spent too much with the peddler. Her pouch at her side held a few silvers and a handful of copper pennies. If she needed a bite to eat, she could simply buy something, but it wasn’t enough for most of the things she looked at.
         She wasn’t ready to go back to the wagons yet. Her father could do without her for a while longer. By now, the barrels were unloaded and she trusted her Da to collect the payment without her arithmetic skills to cover his weakness. His head for numbers wasn’t great, but it wasn’t that bad.
         After visiting dress-makers and jewelers, candy shops and candle-makers, Ayara felt as if she had spent enough time browsing for the fun of it. Now it was time for her books. She was sure there would be something worth seeing today. She had a particular destination this morning. Her eyes rose to the sky and she was surprised to see the sun so high up. Was it noon already? She looked over her shoulder, stunned at how much time had passed. She must have been more upset than she realized.
         Just as she began to turn back towards the main street, a flash of black caught her eye. It wasn’t a normal dark colored shirt or curtains fluttering in a breeze. This was the blackness of a moonless midnight where dangers lurked and demons crept. She scanned the crowd, but nothing struck her like that first flash. But as she looked closer, she saw a Goodman’s eyes wide with terror. Was he staring down an alleyway at something? A washer woman with soapy clothed and damp arms was standing stock-still, laundry still in her hand, as she shook in terror. Others’ faces were just as frightened. She hadn’t imagined it. Had it been the figure she had seen? Was he here where anyone could see him?
         Her heart raced in her chest and beads of sweat dotted her forehead. He was back! He had come back for her! A quiet voice filled her mind, a calm voice whispering implications of what the man would do to her. Horrid visions of blood and violence that made her stomach churn. He’s coming for you, child. He’s coming to take you and hurt you. Will you let him? Will you allow his clammy touch?
         “No,” she whispered, hugging herself. Shadows seemed to fill the street, even though the sky was clear of overcast. “I won’t let him touch me.”
         Images filled her mind again; different images of an eyeless woman with fangs for teeth and blood-soaked hands reaching for her. And fire. Fire filled her brain and set her skin to burning. Why couldn’t anyone else feel this heat? It was going to burn her to ashes! It was going to split her bones!
         A woman screamed, and the street erupted in terror. Fire spread across rickety overhanging posts where merchant’s goods were best viewed. The woman who had screamed was beating at the flames with a thick towel, calling out for help. Everyone was running, and Ayara could almost smell the stench of panic. Men grabbed up buckets and called for water to be brought. Women screamed and ran into the street to escape the sudden inferno, clinging to each other and pointing at new patches of flame that slipped through the overpass.
         And then it was gone. Confused wisps of smoke vanished quickly and tatters of burnt clothes dangled in the wind, but the flames were gone. The men were turning back and forth as if suddenly confused as to what to do, and the women were calling to see if anyone was hurt, but the fire was just not there. It hadn’t died down, and the wind hadn’t blown it out. It - was - just - gone.
         Ayara’s eyes were locked on the fire, so she couldn’t convince herself later that it had only been imagination. As sudden and violent as the fire was, it suddenly went out! She felt as if she had run ten miles, and her skin was coated with sweat. She had to get away!
         She stepped through the door of a nearby bookkeeper, greeted by the soft smell of old parchment and leather-bound volumes. The clerk was standing at the window, staring numbly at the mayhem in the street.
         “What happened, dear?” the kindly old man asked. Ayara was still shaking badly, and she leaned back against the wall, holding a hand to her forehead. What a time for a Lady’s headache!
         “I - I don’t know. It was just there!”
         The man shook his head, scratching at the tufts of hair that was fleeing from the front of his head. “Well, dear, it’s no problem of ours, now is it? The men have it well handled, and I’m sure Lord Furdin will make sure the damages are repaired. Pay it no more mind. It’s not as if you made it happen.”
         Didn’t I? She suddenly thought. There had been those images - the fire in her mind. The heat had seemed so real.
         “Come, dear,” the old man said gently. “Come on. I have new books for you to see.”
         That was the last thing she wanted right now. New books wouldn’t do her any good. What she needed was a place to sit and think.
         Thankfully, the bookkeeper had several chairs and a comfortable couch where people could read their new books and relax. She had spent a great deal of her trips to town in those chairs. She stumbled into one of them, leaned her head back, and put a hand to her forehead again.
         “There we are, dear,” the man said. “Nice and comfy. No need to worry over the fire. It’s passed. When you feel better, I’m sure my new books may interest you.”
         “Thank you,” Ayara whispered, rubbing at her forehead and wondering if her skull was going to crack from the pressure. What was going on?


         The sun sat high in a cloudless sky as Reina sat at the end of her Da’s cart, eyeing the gold piece cautiously. It was brightly burnished and seemed to have been polished with oil. The reflection of light danced across her face as she stared. The front was decorated with a woman’s face, pristine and calm and proud. On the back of the coin were two raised swords held by phantom hands, crossed at the blades. Around the outside of the back edge, raised from the gold, was a fancy script that read “Blood of Abrianna, Keepers of Peace”. It was a beautifully designed coin. She almost wished someone would steal it from her. It felt so hot against her skin, as if an embodiment of her guilt. Why had she not told her Da yet? He needed to know.
         She sat with her elbows on her knees, legs kicking idly, her new pipe in her hand. It was just as fine a pipe as Da’s, with deeply red wood and a touch of silver across the sides of the bowl and a stem of Blackwood. The two pieces fit tightly together, a trick she hadn’t known when she made her own pipe. It felt good to be smoking something that didn’t look like a miniature tree stump. Da had said she had earned it for all the help she had been giving him around the farm lately, but she knew he only said that because he didn’t want a famous Smokeweed farmer’s daughter smoking a knobby pipe. Now that she was of an age to smoke and could get away with it, she might as well advertise his goods. She didn’t mind that part.
         She looked up from her contemplation, surprised to see smoke rising from further into town. That was odd. There weren’t any chimneys running this deeply into spring, and the smithies were nowhere near that sudden cloud of smoke. What was going on over there? She rose to her feet, but just as she was about to call for her Da, the smoke was gone. That was odd. Smoke didn’t just vanish. It puffed out slowly and disappeared into the air over time, but not this fast.
         A flurry of a black cloak caught her eye and suddenly her heart raced in her chest. Why was he here? What had brought him into this place? She almost smacked her forehead in chagrin. “I sent him here, that’s why,” she growled. “It’s not like he’s the problem. Everyone just thinks he’s dangerous, but I know better.”
         Her eyes scanned for her Da, but he hadn’t come back from the store yet. To cover the shaking of her hands, she put away her coin, stuffed her pipe full from the pouch in her coat pocket, and went looking for something to light it with. Leaning her head into the store, she saw her Da going over the numbers with the owner again.
         She snuck in, trying not to be too loud. Her Da had no head for numbers, and he got distracted easily when trying to get the figures to come up even. Beside him, miniature rods of iron wrapped in padded wool rested in a silver plate filled with sand. Each was the size of a spoon. The tips of the iron were twisted into broad coils and heated until they burned as red as Hubern’s metalwork. She took one up carefully and lit her pipe, drawing in the sweet flavor.
         “Enjoying the new pipe, Reina?” Myka asked with a knowing grin and twisting his narrow moustache. The man was a foreigner of some kind. He claimed he was from Grybal, but from the stories she’d heard, he was too polite to be a pirate. Like her Da, he had known that she had been smoking almost as soon as she started. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had suggested making it a game to her Da. His sense of humor was twisted enough for that kind of thing.
         Politeness never hurt anyone, though, so she bit down the scathing remark that almost came bubbling up. “It’s a fine work from a Master Pipesmith. I’m sure this will last me years.”
         He winked at her, his knowing grin turning back to Da. “those numbers match up yet, old man?”
         “Um . . .” Da muttered, wiping nervous sweat from his forehead. “They’re getting close . . . I think. Where is the Seven Hells is Ayara?”
         “Da, I’m going to go look around a bit.”
         “What? Oh, that’s fine Reina.” He smiled assuringly at her in his absent way when he was doing mathematics, then bowed his head over the owners numbers, carefully hiding the hand he was using to count with.
         Barely hearing him respond, she bolted off, heading in the direction the black cloak had gone. It was easy to see which way he went. In his wake, he left worried looks of shaken villagers all around him. Some made the sign against evil and hurried off on another errand elsewhere. Others simply ignored him, as if imagining he wasn’t there would make him go away. What concerned her more were the looks of recognition he received. She could have sworn she had never seen the man before he arrived at the well, but at least one face in five took more than one look to see inside the hood of the heavy cloak.
         As they noticed Reina following the figure, their fear turned to anger. They ran her off with angry threats and gesturing with balled fists. She had known cruel jokes from these people, but never anything approaching open violence. One of the men in front of his shop reached over and grabbed a walking stick, brandishing it like a club and taking a step or two after her. It wasn’t like them to be this way with her. They were afraid. As angry as they looked chasing her, they looked further up the street, as if afraid to go too far - afraid of encountering that strange shadowy man.
         This is stupid, Reina thought to herself, dodging out of the way of an angry old woman who thought she could use a good kick. I shouldn’t be chasing after him. I could get hurt. Who’s to say this man isn’t dangerous after all?
         As she turned a corner, she spotted her quarry. He was talking with a pale merchant, whose eyes were bulging from their sockets. It seemed the strange man was accustomed to the treatment. He didn’t seem to notice the other man’s terror, or the way his hands kept rising as if to protect his neck. Maybe he enjoyed it. Did he purposefully leave the hilt of his sword exposed? Or was it just so much a part of him that he took it for granted?
         Reina pressed herself further against the corner of the building, trying to keep out of view as much as possible. There was bound to be something ominous about the man aside from how he dressed. She just couldn’t place a finger on it. There were so many little things. The assurance of his movements and gestures, the set of his shoulders, and even the absent way he brushed a hand across the sword hilt spoke of calm acceptance of what he was.
         After a few more comments, the figure handed the merchant a few coins and took several apples from him. He was shopping! What a ludicrous thing this was. It was almost frightening how such a dark creature could act in such a normal way. Did he actually eat those things, or were they just a diversion from his true nature?
         Knocking out the grit from her pipe, she put it away in her shirt and ran after the man. If she could just keep up with him-
         “I was wondering who was chasing me so closely,” the man said, arms crossed over a broad chest under a heavy cloak. One foot rested against the wall, his head down. “I should have known it was you. It’s hard to ignore someone when they’re digging their eyes into your back.”
         “What are you doing?” Reina asked, her boldness returning, even though a voice screamed at her from the depths of her dreams. She brushed it away and glared at the man. How could she think this fellow was so dangerous? He was hardly worth the fear everyone gave him. And yet, something familiar about him pulled at her mind. “Who are you?”
         “I told you before. I’m no one of consequence,” the man said with a shrug. Twin points flickered red from the hood of the cloak, but as she looked closer, she saw only the outline of a slim face in the shadows of the hood. Had she imagined it? Were her dreams coming stronger, so strong that she couldn’t tell the real world from fantasy anymore?
         Run, someone screamed, and she knew it was from within her mind. Flee this monster before he consumes you! But instead, she stood her ground, crossing her arms in defiance of both the voiceless scream and the man in front of her.
         “That’s one of two,” Reina pressed. She rubbed her forehead absently, where a dull ache was beginning. Maybe she had smoked too much Smokeweed all at once.
         The man smiled. “I was merely getting a few apples for Rethkin.”
         “The horse with the attitude. I remember him. Why was that man so scared of you, then? He looked like you were holding a dagger to his throat.”
         “You get used to that after a while,” he replied. “You don’t approve of your village’s reaction to me, I suppose? And I suppose you also blame that murder on me, too?”
         “Should I?”
         “That’s one thing I think I like most about you, Reina; your blunt outspokenness. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you got that from your father.”
         “And how exactly do you know him? And how do you know me so well?” Her temper was flaring now. She couldn’t tell if it was the smugness of the man’s voice or the steady throbbing in her temples, but something was making her suddenly very angry.
         “You don’t look so good, kid,” he said, suddenly towering directly over her. A pale hand touched her forehead, her cheek. Had she really thought this man didn’t look dangerous? Her mind was a blur.
         “Never mind about me!” Reina shoved him back, stumbling. Lady Bless, she felt worse than she had the night she stole into her father’s liquor cabinet. “I asked - asked you a question.”
         The man’s eyes flashed again, but they weren’t directed at her. They seemed to be looking past her. Something over her shoulder, as if just ready to touch her, but narrowly out of her sight. His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear the words. From inside her mind, the voice was suddenly screaming in impotent rage. Her head seemed to be caught in Hubern’s metal tongs, and they were squeezing hard. Her eyes were unable to stay open, and she couldn’t tell which way was up and which was down. The voice tore through her ears, drowning out the sounds around her.
         She felt herself fall to hands and knees, the shadowy man standing over her. He did nothing, but she could feel the waves of oppressiveness emanating from him. Directed at her? She could barely feel her lungs moving now. A pain flashed fire across the old scar at her breast. Gasping hard, she fell forward, slumped and let the darkness consume her.


         Despite the fright with the fire, Ayara found herself lost to the titles of faraway dreams and mythical heroes. It was almost like the flames were just another part of her nightmares and she could afford to ignore them. These books held her in their thrall now. No one understood her desire to leave this sleepy little village and go somewhere where a lady of quality could take a husband who could provide a good life and comfortable surroundings for her.
         That was a dream for another day. Barely into the New Books shelf, her eyes spotted the sheen of new leather and almost squealed with girlish delight. A new book had come. She could barely wait to finish her chores at home, light a candle and lose herself for a few hours to the draw of lost worlds and fantastical creatures. The book was larger than most of the books she had, but it was more exquisitely made and felt heavy in her hands. Flipping through a few of the pages, she noticed that there were illustrations and diagrams at every few other pages. Was she getting excited over an instructional book? She shook her head, about to put it back, but the title caught her eye; Songs of Abrianna.
         Had she grabbed a Holy Book? The Book of Abrianna was something everyone was required to study, save the heathens of the North. The lessons of the Goddess were led almost every week, and Ayara thought herself to be fairly devout. But why would there be diagrams with Lady Abrianna’s words?
         Perhaps if she were to read more . . .
         “Excuse me Miss Ayara. Would you like to purchase that book? You’ve been staring at it for an hour now. I don’t mind you browsing, but you of all people here should know that just reading without buying does me no good.”
         Ayara looked up, seeing the sunlight playing across the near-bald head of the clerk who stood near her. He was a differential man whose kindly smile reminded her of the dear clergymen in the Temple. She smiled at him reassuringly. Why was he frowning at the title of the book?
         “I - I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how long I had been here.”
         “It’s quite all right, my dear. I know your desire for good books. Go ahead and set it on your tab. I’m sure your father will be happy to indulge you in one more. Besides,” he smiled wider, touching her shoulder, “my Smokeweed cask is almost dry. If nothing else, a small discount would certainly help us both.”
         “Well!” Ayara said huffily, the reminder of her sister getting off so easily with her father ruffling her calm again, “I suppose I can just see myself out, if everything is in order here?”
         “You certainly may.” The confusion on the man’s face just made it worse. She almost apologized for being rude with him - almost. She still felt angry embarrassment nagging at her.
         Clutching at the book in her hand, she felt her teeth grinding in frustration. She needed to cool off. This was not how a Lady behaved. Her feet drew her on while she took in slow, calming breaths. She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she needed to walk. Walking would burn off the anger.
         “-fire was caused by some foolish new girl in the candle-maker’s shop. Some lamp oil leaked out and hit an open flame. The rest just bad luck and bad winds.”
         Ayara stopped, trying to catch the source of the conversation, but the people around her were moving quickly in the steady bustling that came with a marketplace. Other conversations followed along with the flow, relatively similar to the first, and Ayara began to feel a little better about the fire. She hadn’t caused it. She had just been paranoid because of the shadowy man, and the murders, and the ghost stories. Her mind was simply running away with her. She smiled to herself, feeling a weight somehow come off her chest.
         Of course you didn’t start the fire, girl, she scolded herself. You can’t just make fire with your mind. She shook her head, made almost giddy with relief. Her head was tingling, and somehow, her stomach felt almost like it would flutter away. It was past time to be back with the wagons and helping her father with the numbers. He’d probably lose them a quarter of their pay left to his own devices.
         A slim hand grabbed her wrist, its wrinkled and splotched skin making her cringe. Ayara looked at the face of her assailant, and immediately her eyes widened at the horrible sight. She could almost swear the woman came directly from her dreams. A withered husk of woman stared blankly through milky eyes at her. A toothless maw grinned widely at her, and Ayara had to bite her cheek to keep from screaming. But here, the woman’s eyes were only milked over from blindness and not completely torn out. The teeth were simply broken or missing, and not fangs dripping blood.
         “My eyes may not see, but my ears hear the heart’s call to Power,” the woman gummed, barely able to get the words right. “You have locked away a skill you never wanted, but it will come to you in time. I already feel its vestiges upon your soul.”
         “Excuse me?” Ayara asked, trying to pry her arm free of the ancient woman’s grasp. As small and frail as the lady looked, she held firmly to Ayara’s wrist, almost as if that knobby hand were coated in glue.
         “Your sister’s plight will be but a distraction this day, child. But your soul will have much to look towards this night. Seek not to hide your skills, and do not fear them. If you can see past this superficial mask, you will find truth in Abrianna.”
         Ayara stopped, her eyes widening. The people passing them in the street gave them odd looks. Ayara felt her cheeks burning as she saw several of the village’s higher class ladies stare at her in utter shock. “I don’t know what a . . . woman like you would know of my devoutness. I happen to-”
         “I speak not of your Love for the Lady, but of your Acceptance of her Gifts. Quickly now! Your sister needs you!” The toothless gap between her knobby nose and chin grinned almost harshly. “Study hard.”
         Moving with a speed that belied her twisted limbs, the woman disappeared into the crowd and vanished around a corner. What did the vile thing know of her? Ayara was a devout girl who loved the Goddess dearly. And what gifts did the she mean? She was grateful for everything she had, and she considered everything she had a gift!
         Something hit her like a fist in the belly. It was sudden awareness, as if someone had grabbed her at the base of her spine with a frozen hand. She couldn’t move! She almost couldn’t breathe! What was happening to her? A voice spoke to her in the recesses of her mind, but the words would not form. They spoke of horrors beyond horror that would come from her hands. She would be a conduit of power, and the voice would be her guide. All she had to do was accept. Study hard.
         The voice suddenly vanished, and the feeling of being held down went with it. Just as she came back to herself, she felt the ebb and flow of the crowd shift. People were rushing, and their direction had gone to one place. She felt drawn into it. Constant babbling drowned out the general understanding of conversation, but she caught the occasional word. Reina’s name was frequently uttered, along with words that set Ayara’s heart to racing. Ayara suddenly knew, though she didn’t know how she knew, that Reina was in trouble. Her eyes brimmed with tears and her head throbbed with pain. What was happening to make her share her sister’s pains so completely? It was something they had discovered in themselves a long time ago. They had become so close that what one felt, the other felt as well.
         Holding Songs of Abrianna closer to her chest, scanning her surroundings for a hint of where to go, Ayara pressed through the crowd. Without even knowing why, she turned quickly down a street filled with wandering villagers, their faces looking as if they had witnessed horrors beyond belief. Perhaps they had. These past few days had made the possibility seem almost an expectation.
         Ayara abandoned dignity. She ran, her feet leading her down streets and alleys. Villagers looked at her in shock, startled at how the reserved daughter of their famous Smokeweed farmer had let down her guise to bolt like a scared rabbit in the streets. She bowled past people, shoving some out of her way, dodging out of the way of others, losing her lacy white hat to the throng as she sped on. She didn’t care. It was clothing, an accessory. This was Reina she was looking for. She had to find her sister! The horror in her chest was overpowering.
         The culmination of fear nearly erupted in her face as she turned a corner into a sight from the Seven Hells. Unable to hold it back any longer, she pressed her hands to her face and screamed.