Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1) (14 page)

They stood at the graves for a long while in silence to consider their time with the older couple. Jace had never known peace even existed before coming here. He thought he’d die believing the whole world to be a place of darkness and cruelty. But he’d been safe with Kalli and Aldor—loved, accepted. He sank to his knees as the loss overwhelmed him.

“They’re with King Elôm now,” Rayad said, his voice breaking. “Any burdens or pains forgotten. And we must not completely despair. We’ll see them again one day.”

Guilt tore at Jace. “It’s my fault.”

Rayad turned to him.

“Last night, Tyra and I both sensed danger, but I didn’t investigate it.” His hands fisted and his nails dug into his palms. Why hadn’t he searched out the source? Why hadn’t he trusted his instincts?

“You have no fault in this. None. It could’ve been anything last night.” Rayad drew in a halting breath. “If anyone’s to blame for this, it should be me. I knew Dagren might still search for me, and yet I stayed here.” He shook his head as if pushing away his own guilt. “Listen, Jace, blaming ourselves won’t help or undo anything. We can’t change the past, though we often wish we could.”

T
he sun rose clear and brilliant above the forest, but Rayad had never seen such a dreary sunrise. He shifted against his saddle propped up behind him and winced at the stiffness in his joints and muscles. His eyes fell on Jace, and he prayed in earnest that he, at least, could sleep. The coughing fits had afflicted him throughout the night and had not subsided until a little more than an hour ago. Of all things Jace had inherited from his ryrik blood, Rayad couldn’t help asking Elôm why this was one of them—this painful reaction to air pollution that was said to be the ryrik’s curse for being the first to follow the path of evil.

He rubbed his hands over his face, and his tired eyes traveled across the quiet farm. The cabin that once held so many memories now lay as no more than a smoking, black heap of charred wood and ash. Then his eyes came to the fresh graves and misted. He blinked and swallowed down the knot in his throat. He’d experienced a lot of hardship, but nothing as difficult to understand as this. Kalli and Aldor were so innocent—so undeserving of such an end. And Jace. He grimaced. After what he’d suffered, all Rayad wanted for him was peace. Where would they find that now?

Rayad prayed for him with all the words he could find until Jace’s sudden hacking cough interrupted him. Jace groaned before waking fully. Moving slowly, he pushed himself up and glanced at Rayad with feverishly glazed eyes. His drawn and pale face concerned Rayad. He’d never been exposed to so much smoke before, though he was no longer coughing up as much blood. At least not enough to worry that his lungs would fill to the point of suffocation, as was the danger with prolonged exposure.

Rising to his feet, Rayad stretched his aching joints. “You just rest. I’ll see what I can do about breakfast.”

Jace didn’t seem to hear him. He focused on Tyra, who lay beside him. Praise Elôm she still lived. To lose Tyra on top of it all would destroy Jace. That wolf was about as dear to him as any person, and a far better friend than most.

From the soldiers’ saddlebags, Rayad put together a simple breakfast. He handed a plate to Jace and sat down with a quiet groan. For a long moment, they both just stared at their food. Nothing appeared appetizing this morning. Rayad gathered his thoughts and closed his eyes.

“King Elôm, You know our hearts, that we’re grieving. Help our focus to be on You, and strengthen us to endure this. Thank You that we’re able to come to You in times of need, and thank You for providing a life after this one, and the comfort of that.”

He had to clear his throat before taking a bite of his breakfast. It settled tastelessly in his mouth, and he swallowed it down hard. He forced another bite and looked at Jace. The young man wasn’t much interested in food either, but Rayad didn’t have the heart to try to get him to eat. Most of it went to Tyra.

Once the plates lay empty, Jace stared at Rayad. Any spark of hope was hidden by a thick curtain of sadness and fatigue.

“Now what?”

Rayad rubbed his forehead, unsure of what future lay ahead after this. He could only focus on the moment. “We’ll gather rocks for the graves so no animals get into them. We can bury the soldiers at the edge of the forest.” Beyond that, he didn’t know. Now that the emperor’s men had located him, he and Jace couldn’t stay to work the farm. They would have to move on, but where would they go? Wherever they had to. But first things first.

“I’ll go hitch the wagon.”

Rayad started to rise, but Jace stopped him.

“Who’s Dagren?” He peered at Rayad with a need for answers—a reason for the death of innocent lives. “Why is he so determined to find you?”

Rayad settled into place with a heavy sigh, and his mind journeyed back to where this had all begun. “Captain Dagren commands a barracks north of Falspar, where I’m from. For years, Emperor Daican has hinted at his desire to enforce the worship of Aertus and Vilai. My friend Warin and I were quite outspoken in our opposition to it. After a while, his men grew tired of us and targeted me as the instigator. Once they stole my livestock and destroyed most of my farm as warning, I knew they would come for me next, either to kill me or take me to be killed. Call it foolish stubbornness, but I wasn’t just going to stand by and give up everything left in my possession, including my life.”

He paused to relive the memories. Had he made the right choice? How would things be different now if he’d backed down or chosen to flee sooner? Only Elôm knew. “Warin joined me and we stood our ground. There was a fight. Men
were killed…including Dagren’s son. Of course, Dagren would stop at nothing after that to have our heads, so it was either flee or face the whole garrison. Warin went off west somewhere, and I came out here.”

He shook his head. He should have known it wouldn’t end there. “Obviously, Dagren has not given up on his hunt for revenge. And once he hears of this failure, it’ll just motivate him to try harder.”

His gaze rested on Jace, who looked so lost. “I’m sorry. I know this is the only home you’ve ever known, but we can’t stay here.”

Jace’s expression hardened. “Why? Why can’t we stay?”

“More men will come.”

A flame jumped into Jace’s eyes and was the only bit of light Rayad had seen all morning. “Then we’ll stand and fight them like we did now.”

“Jace.” Rayad’s voice extended sympathy and understanding. Of course Jace would want to fight for this place, same as he had fought for his own home. “We can’t face them all. Eventually, they’d overwhelm us, and it would only result in many dead. There’s a time to stand and fight, but it isn’t now.”

The fire drained from Jace’s eyes, and his shoulders slumped.

Rayad rose again to head to the barn, which was the only thing left standing of the life they’d both come to love. He looked back down at Jace, his words rough. “We’ll get through this.”

When Rayad returned with the wagon, Jace climbed up beside him, his muscles aching as if he
’d been pummeled, and they drove off to the rock piles around the fields. It took them most of the morning to collect enough stones for the graves. Jace worked without speaking until sweat rolled down his face and back. Nauseating waves of heat followed by icy chills alternated through his body. At times, faintness almost sent him to his knees, and the coughing spells persisted in their frequency. By the time they finished and sat in the back of the wagon to rest, he verged on collapsing.

“We’ll see what supplies we can put together,” Rayad said as he leaned against the side of the wagon. “We’ll take the extra horses to Kinnim and sell them to the blacksmith. Then we can buy whatever supplies we lack from Laytan.”

Jace’s eyes darted to him. “We’re going to Kinnim?” What if they ran into Morden? An inkling of the rage from yesterday coursed through his blood.

Rayad gave a slow nod. “We need the money.” He paused. “You don’t have to go into town.”

But Jace hung his head. Any bit of heat died, requiring too much energy to sustain it. He wouldn’t have the strength to face Morden even if he wanted to. “I’ll be fine.”

Rayad slid off the wagon. “We should get moving. We don’t want to leave a fresh trail for Dagren’s men.”

“Where will we go?” Jace had seen many places, but how could anywhere come close to this? Another cold shiver passed through him. The world was a dark place outside this valley. Could he face it again? Nausea threatened to turn his stomach inside out.

“I’m not sure. East, maybe. The farther east we go, the farther we’ll be from Daican’s influence.”

He climbed to the wagon seat. Jace remained still, not sure if he could move. Back at the barn, Rayad drove the wagon inside to unhitch. Forcing his limbs to work, Jace slid down, but every movement felt as though he were partially detached from his own body. Right now, he just didn’t want to feel
anything
.

“Why don’t you gather the horses,” Rayad told him. “I’ll release the rest of the animals.”

His voice stuck in his throat, Jace walked outside. The seven soldiers’ horses grazed behind the barn with Aldor’s second plow horse. He patted the large, blue-roan workhorse on the side and focused on anything but having to sell the familiar animals. Working numbly, he tied them all together and led the whole string around front.

When he reached the open yard between the barn and the remains of the cabin, he froze. A strange man had just dismounted a tall, roan horse. Jace’s senses sharpened in an instant as his mind shot warning signals through his nerves. People didn’t drop by for visits way out here, and after what just happened, he wasn’t about to trust anyone. Dagren could have sent this man too, even if he didn’t wear the black and gold of the soldiers. Jace didn’t know him, and that made him an enemy until proven otherwise.

He dropped the horses’ rope and moved his hand to the hilt of his sword, his fingers finding their familiar place on the cool leather grip. At the same time, the man turned and spotted him.

“Hello there.” His voice was deep and friendly but did nothing to ease Jace’s suspicions. A pleasant face could hide all sorts of evil.

The man stood and waited for a reply. He was tall and broad with the stance of a warrior—a formidable opponent if he chose to fight. His short hair and thick beard were dark chestnut, but peppered with gray. The silence lengthened between them, and the man shifted. His gray eyes swept Jace up and down. Definitely a fighter.

“I’m looking for a man named Rayad. Is he around?”

This all but a confirmed Jace’s suspicions. Why would any stranger be out here looking for Rayad if not to cause him harm? He narrowed his eyes, tightening his fingers around his sword, and withdrew the blade a couple of inches. If this man wanted Rayad dead, he’d have to kill Jace first. “What do you want with him?”

The hint of a smile the man had maintained faded at the ice in Jace’s tone. He straightened and planted his feet, resting a hand on his own long sword as he considered Jace. They stared at each other for a long moment and waited for one or the other to make a move.

“It’s all right, Jace.” Rayad’s voice broke into the stare-down.

Jace swung his eyes around to the barn door. Rayad gave him a nod. “He’s a friend.”