Chapter 9: Falling

Trigger warning in place for this chapter: character death, violence, mass violence.

Chapter 9: Falling

Orwa, Day 36 of Rhexia

Winking Moons

Eclipse of Petra

Year 602

Baptisia, healing herb. A reliable stimulant, Baptisia is often used

to promote healing of the mind and emotions.

The Healing Deity Dota is often pictured holding a stem of Baptisia

with its long roots trailing on the ground.

The leaves and bark of the roots carry the most effective medicinal power.

—Arcane Herbs and Their Uses, Vol. 2

Evin awoke on the thirty-sixth day of Orwa feeling simply dreadful.

The long days of work at the Wheel and Well and the terrible, wet, grey weather had finally culminated for her in a truly spectacular cold.

She wrinkled her nose, which was hopelessly plugged yet somehow dripping, swallowed convulsively and looked dully around at her little room.

It was a mess again, of course.

“Divines,” she moaned, and gave a sharp cough. Her eyes ached, and she shivered, wracked with a sudden chill.

She cursed her station once again.

Wealthy women could wake up, decide they weren’t feeling quite the thing, and then cancel the rest of the day’s activities to try and heal. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? she thought.

But today was the day she had promised Wynn a batch of pre-made potions. Wynn and Cotter were to come to the shop with the handcart and get them. And then Evin would be paid, so that was something. She’d probably need to spend it all on good food and medicine this time, though.

Evin thought soberly about the past few days at the Wheel and Well.

The staff and management had been truly bothered by the vandalism. She, Stacia, Alon, and Guiote, who was just arriving, had filed out to go and look at the nasty message on the back wall of the building. Guiote had cried. But Stacia had squared her shoulders and made some inquiries after reputable cleaners and booked an appointment for someone to come and fix the window.

“Back to it,” she had told them. “This is no different from any other day.”

Evin had raised her eyebrows incredulously.

“I mean it,” Stacia had said insistently. “This happened today. That doesn’t change the fact that we have customers relying on us to provide them with the very best brews in the city. We shake this from our minds. Right now.”

But Evin couldn’t shake it. Even now, she wondered who, in their sweet, bustling little Liminey, could harbor thoughts like that.

And it had all continued the very next day.

When she’d arrived with Stacia to open the store, they’d noticed that someone had stuffed a note into the crook between the front door handle and the wall.

Stacia wouldn’t let her read it, but explained the contents. She said it had accused them of insubordination and insinuated that their ilk was responsible for the near murder of the emperor.

“Emperor Beynon?” Evin had asked.

And Stacia had nodded grimly. “I heard something about that the other day,” she said. “It also threatens us with a local boycott, which is terrifying.”

Evin was very uncomfortable. “That has to be a bluff,” she’d pointed out. “People need us. Everyone needs what we sell. Everyone.”

Stacia had turned to look at her young employee. “What frightens me most about this letter isn’t the accusations, or even the threats,” she’d said.

“What is it?”

“It’s the fact that it’s well-written. Extremely. Think about the implications.”

Evin didn’t know exactly what Stacia meant, but had trusted her. “What do we do?” she’d asked.

The older woman had sighed. “We keep going,” she’d said. “We just keep going.”

Back in her room now, Evin hauled herself out of bed. There seemed to be a taint to the populace now, a strange, icy feeling in the streets. She didn’t understand it. Where had this all come from, and so quickly?

She dreaded facing the day. It was exhausting enough to serve customers at the shop, and now she’d begun to wonder at every turn if a particular patron had been the one to threaten the Wheel and Well. It was as if everyone wore cheery masks, and she was attuned to the negative emotions swirling around them all, trying her best to discern who was benign and who was dangerous. Now she was sick on top of it all and would need to drag herself along through the workday when she simply hadn’t the heart for it.

In her dressing mirror on the wall, Evin noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She was hungry, and her throat was raw. Her hair was limp.

In that moment, she knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to see Wynn. True, her older sister and Cotter would be at the shop later that day, but she could pop in at the Upset Owl in the meantime and beg for a cup of tea and some toast. Maybe tea with brandy. Wynn loved to baby Evin. And Evin needed babying today—if ever.

Resolved, she pulled on a pair of hide leggings, a warm, snuggly tunic, and a woven sweater.

The sky loomed heavy with dark clouds above Liminey, and Evin made her way gingerly around the standing puddles toward the inn, pulling her sweater more tightly about herself.

The Upset Owl was completely silent.

Evin pushed the heavy door in and stepped inside.

Wynn heard her enter immediately and walked over to embrace her sister.

“Evin,” she said, surprised. Her skirts were a bit rumpled and little stray hairs framed her pretty face. There was a smudge of chalky flour on her forehead. Biscuit making, probably. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later,” she said breathlessly. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m sick,” Evin croaked pitifully.

Wynn chafed her younger sister’s shoulders sympathetically. “Oh!” she said gratuitously. “You don’t look well. Poor thing. Let’s get you warm.”

They went over to the cookfire in the back and pulled up a pair of stools. The coals cast a pleasant glow over Evin’s features, and she reveled in the waves of warmth that played across her skin. Wynn gave her a steaming mug of tea, and Evin wrapped her cold hands gratefully around it.

“When did this happen?” Wynn asked.

“I woke up like this today,” Evin replied. “But I’ve been sneezing for what feels like weeks. I remember now that I got my feet wet last week sometime, and this blasted weather hasn’t been helping anything.”

Wynn nodded. “Are you needed at the Wheel and Well today?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. Perhaps Stacia will have pity on me, though.”

Wynn smiled gently at her. “I would,” she said kindly.

Evin smiled back. “I know you would.”

Cotter appeared with comically mussed hair and a face creased from sleep. “Hullo,” he said sleepily to Evin.

“Hullo,” she replied.

He began to take down heavy iron pots and pans from their places in the service kitchen, then left and returned with some cuts of bacon and a thick, crusty loaf of bread dusted with flour.

“Breakfast?” Wynn asked her. “We’ve barely got any guests right now.”

“Yes please,” said Evin.

A few moments later, the three of them tore into the chunky, salty bacon, the tiny fat bubbles still on the surface of the meat melting salaciously in their mouths. The bread was good—thick, dense, and with a generous, creamy smear of butter.

“You got a shipment for us, E?” Cotter asked, and Evin smiled at the familiar use of the affectionate nickname. Only he ever called her by that, and it had taken some time. “Our customers have been asking for Headache Relief with the way the weather’s been,” he said. “For General Pain as well.”

“Yes,” Evin replied. “Today, in fact. I have several brews to hand off. Headache Relief, For General Pain, Minor Ward, and Passion. Most of the product is waiting in the back of the Wheel and Well, but I have some in my room at the boarding house as well. Wynn said the two of you could come with the handcart and collect the crates.”

“Is that alright, dear?” Wynn asked him.

“Of course.”

“Congratulations, by the way,” Evin told him knowingly.

Cotter grinned.

When they’d finished, Evin wiped her mouth and stood up. “Where shall I put these?” she asked, referring to her dish and utensils.

“I’ll take them,” Wynn assured her. “I know you need to make it to the shop.”

Evin hugged her sister. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, looking into the older woman’s eyes. “I feel better already.”

Wynn kissed her cheek.

It was true. Evin’s headache lingered slightly, and she could still feel her sinuses throbbing, but most of the rawness in her throat was gone, and she felt infused with new energy. She’d take a few potions when she got to the Wheel and Well, and perhaps the day would turn out to be livable.

“I just need to stop by my room and pick up a few things,” she told Wynn and Cotter, “And then I’ll meet you at the shop.”

“See you soon, dear one,” Wynn called out as she left.

Back in her room, Evin stuffed several mismatched vials into a crate and picked it up slowly, groaning as her lower back protested.

She decided she was far too young to feel this way, and then left at once for the Wheel and Well.

* * *

Bricot had just returned to his little room in the south tower after lunch. He’d had fresh honeyed crickets—which were delightfully crunchy and crispy—and a side of pork with grassy sundrench blossoms.

Before his time at Craestor, Bricot had never imagined he would eat flowers. They were nice to look at, yes, but he had been surprised to find that Urdans seemed to consume them whenever possible—in salads, especially. He remembered once encountering Farax by chance on the green and being shocked when she’d casually picked a red ring and popped a couple of petals into her mouth as if it were nothing.

As a matter of fact, that was the first time he’d spoken to her.

She was taking exercise on the grounds, he remembered, and was practically glowing. They’d nearly collided with one another.

He’d introduced himself, not knowing what else he could possibly say. She’d teased him about his Boradîan clothing and told him he’d likely be very warm here. Then she’d eaten some red ring and tossed her long, dark braid over one shoulder, taking off for the university at an impressive jog.

And now he ate flowers all the time. It reminded him of her.

His bedroom was sparse and neat as always, the bedclothes pulled taut over the surface of his dromo mattress.

Bricot sighed. He had a free afternoon at his disposal.

If he were maintain his normal routine, he would most likely read for pleasure, go out into Craestor proper, or get ahead on his already secured lesson plans. But his conversation with Chancellor Slager was concerning, and he knew what he must do with his time.

Bricot glanced over at his desk, where the Facerum and its accompanying materials sat in a neat stack, waiting to be puzzled over and sorted out.

He made his way to the desk and was just going to sit down when he heard a knock at the door.

Initially he was surprised, as visitors were rare in the tower, but then he remembered he’d promised to check in with Ger.

What a strange phenomenon, Bricot thought to himself regarding their series of experiments. He’d decided that Ger’s odd success had to be attributed to spiritual confidence. The young student obviously felt he was more powerful if the Divine Pantheon, and especially Calumn, was involved.

Bricot answered the door, and Ger looked up at him with a tentative smile.

“Good afternoon, Master Bricot.”

“Hello,” Bricot replied pleasantly. “Have you got some research to share with me?”

And Ger shifted from foot to foot. “I do,” he said, “but now I’m a bit more confused than I was before. I’ve got some strange results and I’m not sure what to make of them.”

Bricot felt an unexplained thrill at this that he could only attribute to his love of learning and discovery. What now? he wondered. And what could possibly be stranger than what we learned last time?

“Come in,” he said aloud, and left the door all the way open so anyone in the hall might see what they were up to—university policy. He sat on his own bed and turned the desk chair outward so the two could face each other, much as before.

Ger sat. He carried the same eborel notebook he’d used before, and Bricot could see he’d marked it with scraps of paper at certain points.

“I’ve been journaling about this,” the student began. “It seemed like the thing to do.”

“Good,” Bricot said approvingly. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, out with it.”

Ger looked up at the master alchemist with a sickened smile. “Well, as you know, the two of us brewed the same eight potions as we did before, with the same imbuements and labels,” he began. “Obviously, I must allow some room for slippage, as brewing is far from a perfect art. Then, I ran the same distance with a friend timing me… I got someone different this time.”

“Shouldn’t matter,” Bricot affirmed. “Go on.”

“I ran from the carel tree to the archway again, which you and I decided was roughly three furlongs. Again, since I’m a human and fallible, my times cannot be considered absolutely conclusive, but I knew this would be enough to give us some more rough data. And, as you so curiously suggested, I added another variable.”

“Yes.”

“I prayed. I prayed to Calumn before each and every trial.”

Bricot was on the edge of his bed. “And?” he prompted.

Ger shook his head helplessly. “And… Well—look,” he said. And he opened his notebook to a specific page that he’d dog-eared and scribbled all over.

It was astounding.

Whereas before, the times had varied widely—from thirty odd heartbeats to eighty-some, this go around was shockingly uniform.

Ger’s adolescent hand had written in diverse pen strokes from day to day: “Prayer to Calumn—thirty-four heartbeats. Simple Words—thirty-one heartbeats. Command—thirty-six heartbeats. Threat—thirty-one heartbeats. Request—thirty-three heartbeats. Congenial Request—thirty-five heartbeats, Beg—thirty-eight heartbeats, and Recite a Poem—thirty-three heartbeats.”

Bricot blinked, squinted, and blinked again. Every single trial run was within a few seconds of the other. He sat and stared at the data for a few moments, and then he looked up at Ger.

The young man looked uneasy and slightly sick.

“Honestly,” Bricot said, “I don’t know what to make of this. I really don’t. All I can suggest is that you don’t ever forget what happened.”

Ger nodded.

“I’ll do what I can to help and support you,” Bricot added. “Maybe I can find something in the Facerum that will help to shed some understanding. Also, did I mention before that I wanted to talk theology with you? Because I really want to now.”

* * *

Evin staggered under the weight of her burden.

After leaving her room, she’d gone down the creaky steps of the boarding house and out into Liminey. The crate of potions wasn’t as heavy as all that, but it was very awkward to carry, and she’d been all the way down the street by this point.

The bulk of her order for Wynn was at the Wheel and Well, but these would supplement the selection nicely.

The brew shop came into view, and Evin could see customers milling in and out.

For Orwa, the Wheel and Well looked to be quite busy.

About a furlong away and headed toward the building from the left side, she could see Wynn and Cotter making their way down the lane. He pushed the handcart and she walked a few feet in front of him, hand on her lower belly. Evin’s older sister still wasn’t showing. Thankfully, the morning sickness hadn’t been too debilitating yet, but Wynn had confided to her that some days were achy and challenging.

Cotter left the cart flush with the cob exterior of the Wheel and Well and moved to open the door for Wynn.

Evin waved and called a frenetic greeting to the two of them, but they were still too far away to hear her.

Then many things happened, and all at once.

But so slowly—oh, ever so slowly, like the fall of water from atop a high cliff, or the graceful motion of a dancing woman.

A flash of movement from the right caught her eye.

A man in dark clothing sprinted toward the shop with a small, knobbly item clutched in each hand.

Evin frowned in confusion.

He seemed to be shouting something.

Cotter was just turning to go into the building, but paused to hold the door open for the newcomer as well. Then he suddenly changed his mind and mobilized, pushing Wynn violently inside as if to shield her.

The man in dark clothing stopped just outside the building and lunged, appearing to fling something at the still closing door.

A thick silence hung in the air for just a moment.

Then, the force of the explosion was blinding.

Evin was thrown bodily backward, unable to keep her grip on the box she held, which flew back over her head and landed somewhere with a terrific crash.
From the ground, she felt a searing, slicing heat wash over her prone body. A sound like a windstorm raged above her.

She sat up and watched, horrified, as the stones in the building’s foundation leaked light and warmth and fire. The cob cracked and chunks of it whistled through the air. The heat became nearly unbearable, engulfing all.

One of her cheeks and part of her forehead suddenly flared with a slicing pain.

She landed hard on her back and bounced once, feeling something in her ribcage crack and taking the shock of impact from her tailbone all the way up into her teeth and back of her skull.

There was a moment of darkness and silence, and then Evin caught the stench of ruined structure, acrid with heat, and heard panicked screams.

She took a gasp of the smoky air, and then everything sped up.

Fire.

The Wheel and Well was on fire.

She staggered to her feet and ran dizzily forward. Her mind refused to form any coherent thought; she moved as though controlled by an unseen entity. A puppet. A doll.

She slipped and fell. Got up.

The flames blossomed up through the building and shot through the roof.

By now, some of the supports were visible, charred, black. One of the corners collapsed, and Evin threw up her arms as more debris spat viciously outward, stinging her skin through her clothing.
Screams and horrified wails rent the air.

People from the town were beginning to arrive now, running toward the building from all directions.

The heat seemed to melt everything it touched, and Evin noticed a peculiar smell in the air. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before, but it reminded her of the time Wynn and Cotter invited her to dinner at the inn and she’d walked in to find a plump turkey roasting on a spit.

She kept moving toward the building, only now beginning to notice the total, absolute destruction.

There was trash everywhere; broken bottles, splintered pieces of wood. Blackened, wispy pieces of parchment floated all around the scene. The smoke was so thick that her eyes stung and refused to clear.
In the street, she glimpsed a few crumpled, fallen bodies—terribly still. She tried not to look. Not people, she told herself, for that made her feel a bit better somehow. Just things. Like dolls. You can leave dolls lying around all the time and they never shock anyone.

This was where the door should be, she noted. But the lintel was gone, blown away, and only half of one side support stood feebly by, smoking.

With watering eyes, she searched the wreckage.