The Source (Creasan #1)
Chapter 7

Thea’s trip home was arduous, to say the least. Though Lief had taught her how to navigate using the sun and the stars, she was anything but a skilled navigator. Carac was slightly better than her at it, but they were still mostly lost in the forest.

Thea had decided a long time ago that The Source’s headquarters had to be moved out of Vuterra. It had taken a lot of convincing since Vuterra was where it had all began but eventually the rest of the group had seen the logic in not staying somewhere they could be so easily caught. It was Thea’s mother who had led the expedition into the woods and set up their new lodging. But although The Source had been operating in the forest for the last two years, Thea was still rubbish at finding her to it.

After two full days, Carac led them to the mouth of a cave that Thea thankfully recognized. They were home.

The maze of the cave was much easier to figure out than the one of the forest, and Thea led the men in. After several twists and turns, torches began to light the way into the darkness of the cramped tunnels and they descended lower. Then the tunnels opened up onto a bustling center of activity.

It was an open chasm that The Source had turned into a town center. When they’d first moved in, there were only tents set up. But now, houses had been built, stores in place, chapels rectified with the carving of a dragon on top. It looked like a town because it was a town. A happy, functioning town, not beholden to the horrors of King Favian’s reign.

“Merek, go see the healer. Carac, call a meeting,” Thea said, striding toward stairs which had been chiseled into the side of the chasm. “I have an idea I’d like—“

“No.” Merek gently took Thea by the arm and pointed in the opposite direction from where she’d been heading. “You need to see the healer too, before any meetings.”

“Merek, we’ve already lost so much time while in the king’s clutches—“

“Carac will see to it that everyone is waiting for you in the meeting room, but you’ll do no one any good if you can never fight again.” He looked pointedly at her oddly angled hand.

She couldn’t deny that the pain had gotten so much worse in the past couple days. “Fine. But as soon as—“

“They’ll be ready,” he assured her, meeting Carac’s eyes firmly. Carac nodded and was about to rush off to see it done but he was stopped by a shout.

“Carac!” A young boy, about sixteen or so, was waving his arms wildly in the midst of the activity. Peronell’s face was drawn open wide in a smile, but it fell when he saw the state of Carac’s still wounded face. His eye wasn’t as swollen anymore, though it was definitely still black and blue. Peronell started shoving people aside in his quest to get to Carac.

Peronell had been part of The Source before Carac. But Thea had frequently thought his allegiance was split between The Source and Carac as they’d been in love since they were children. She’d told him as much and warned him that there’d come a time when he’d have to make a choice. He’d heard her loud and clear and recruited Carac into The Source just a few months prior. While it had been a risky move, Thea had been proud to welcome another member into their midst.

Carac was beaming. “Thea, before I call the others…?”

“Of course. Go say your hellos. But once Merek and I have finished with the healer, I expect to see everyone in the meeting room.”

He nodded quickly and then bolted across the chasm to wrap his arms around Peronell. Peronell drew back from him quickly, inspecting his face. Carac would need to see the healer soon too but he’d be all right for the time being.

Thea smiled warmly at the sight, and then Merek and her went to do as they’d promised. The healer, Isolde, clucked her tongue as soon as she saw them. She gestured for Merek to sit on the bench in front of her and Thea the chair next to it as she went in search of the correct medical supplies. Isolde was just a few years older than Thea, about twenty years old or so, slightly younger than Merek, but she always seemed to act like a mother goose whenever anyone got injured.

“I’ve told you time and again to be careful,” Isolde was saying, “yet every time you leave this cave, you seem to return with a new wound.”

“Medals of valor,” Merek said with a grin, hiding his wince as he struggled to sit.

“And why be careful when we’ve got the very best healer in the country.” Thea poked Isolde in the side.

Isolde rolled her eyes. “Or maybe it’s because you’re both too reckless to bother protecting yourselves.”

“We missed you, too, Izzy,” Merek said.

She glanced at him over her shoulder with a half-smile. Finally having enough to work with, Isolde set her supplies on the bench beside Merek and let out a small sigh of defeat. “I missed you too. Thank you for not dying.”

Merek said, “We came very close this time.”

Thea chuckled. “But we didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“This has to stop,” said a different voice from the threshold, and Thea internally cringed as her friends fell silent. Maerwynn came further into the room, shaking her head. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a tight braid that hung down her back. Her hands rested on her hips, the short sleeves of her shirt showcasing the muscles of her arms, and her steel brown eyes were trained on Thea unflinchingly.

“Did I say ‘close’?” Merek gave her a crooked smile. “I meant far. Very, very far.”

“Thea,” Maerwynn said in a tone that brooked no more arguing, “you cannot keep doing this. It’s only a matter of time before—“

“Mama,” she interrupted gently, holding her hand out so Isolde could work, “it’s a bit late for that, wouldn’t you say?”

Maerwynn blew a sharp breath through her nose and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “You are the leader of these people. If you die, who will be left to guide them?”

“Then I suppose I better not die.”

Merek snorted and Isolde slapped him lightly on the arm as she bit her lip to restrain her amusement. Maerwynn shot them both a glare. Isolde quickly looked away, chastised, and ducked her head to keep working. Merek fixed his eyes straight ahead, as if that would make him disappear. Thea winced as Isolde moved her hand and sent a particularly harsh bolt of pain through her.

“This isn’t a game, Thea,” Maerwynn bit out. “These are people with real lives on the line. With your life on the line.”

“Mama, I don’t need you to tell me this isn’t a game. I’m well aware.”

“Ever since Lief—“

“That’s enough!” Thea breathed hard as she glared at her mother. She rarely ever used her commander tone with Maerwynn, but Lief was a subject never to be allowed on the table.

Except Thea’s commander tone only infuriated Maerwynn. Thea didn’t know if it was a mother thing or if it was a Maerwynn thing, but when she got mad, her eyes took on this wide fury that was perhaps the scariest sight Thea had ever seen. And not days ago, she’d seen ogres. “Oh, that’s enough for you, is it?” Maerwynn began.

Thea cringed outwardly this time. “Mama—“

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten—“

“Right, done!” Isolde said much too brightly, packing up her supplies as quickly as she possibly could. “Merek, why don’t I fix you up in the courtyard?”

Thea grabbed her. “No, no, you’re staying here.”

“Like Malum I am.” She closed up her bag and Merek quickly lurched from the bench, suppressing a hiss as he did. They rushed out of the room, Isolde offering a single thumbs up to Thea before she vanished around the corner.

“Mama, I didn’t mean…I’m sorry.” She hung her head. If Maerwynn subjected her to a lecture right now, she thought she might explode. Whether it would be in tears or fire was anyone’s guess.

Maerwynn studied her daughter and let out a sigh, sitting beside her on the bench. Her voice was soft when she said, “I lost Lief too, Thea. I feel the pain of his loss just as you do.”

“I know, I just…I don’t want to talk about him.”

“You never do.” Maerwynn reached over and pushed a stray strand of hair behind Thea’s ear. “But it might do you some good. Release some of that anger you’ve got bottled up in there.”

“I need the anger.” She rested her head against her mother’s shoulder.

“Must be exhausting.” Maerwynn ran her fingers through Thea’s hair soothingly.

No argument there. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“I just want you to be safe out there is all. If I lost you, too…”

“I know.” Her hand still ached and she suspected it would for some time. But she didn’t have the luxury of time to sit there and complain to her mother. So Thea forced herself to sit up straight, pulling out from under Maerwynn’s tender strokes. “I’ve called a meeting.”

Perhaps a different mother would have been hurt by Thea’s sudden separation, or at the very least frown in slight disapproval. But not Thea’s mother. Thea’s mother knew who her daughter was and what had to be done. So she nodded and stood.

Thea led the way to the meeting room with her mother on her heels. They climbed the carved stairs to the top floor of the cavern where there were already other people milling about, waiting for her. Carac leaned his back against Peronell who had his arms wrapped around his waist. Merek was speaking to three other members of The Council, probably explaining where they’d been for the past few days. He held his shirt up as Isolde bent beside him, still patching up his wounds, carefully dabbing at a thick cut in his side.

Once they realized Thea had arrived, small talk stopped and they stood at attention. She entered the meeting room first, the rest following behind. It was not a ceremony she had started, but when she’d asked them to stop, Merek thought it would be a good idea to let them have their ceremonies. Ceremonies, he’d said, became traditions, and every people, no matter their predicament, needed traditions.

The meeting room was really just a large hole that had already existed when they’d found the place. The carpenters had fashioned a large table with chairs to go inside. Thea moved to her seat at the head of the long table, and everyone else filled in their spots. Maerwynn to her right, Merek to her left, Isolde beside Merek, Peronell beside Isolde, and so on. Carac, as the newest recruit, was further down the table, though he didn’t seem to mind. When Thea had first told Maerwynn she wanted Carac on The Council, it had been a fight, but Thea had no doubt Carac had a bright head on his shoulders.

No one sat until Thea did, another ceremony Merek had insisted upon. He thought it might be a good idea to have some grand opening, a line of greeting that she said at every meeting, but Thea had refused. She wasn’t the bloody king. So she cleared her throat and nodded. “Right then. I have an idea.”

Fendrel pulled his cloak tighter around himself, drawing his hood up over his head as he peaked around the corner. The palace seemed very far away from where he stood in Vuterra Square. It looked almost like a mirage, so faint behind the clouds that one could not be truly sure it was there at all.

People milled about the village as they went about their daily tasks. As one person shuffled closely by him, Fendrel drew the edges of his hood together to hide his face. While it was a bustling center, it was almost silent. Besides the sounds of people going about their business—feet crunching the dirt, hammers clanging against metal in the blacksmiths, cloth shifting with movement—he didn’t think he’d heard anyone say a word.

Across the way, he saw a young boy struggling to carry a bucketful of water. It sloshed over the sides and his face twisted with concentration and exertion. Fendrel quickly approached him and smiled kindly. “Could I help you with that?”

The boy eyed him suspiciously.

Fendrel nodded encouragingly and reached out to take the handle.

The boy jerked it away. “If you want water, go get it your bloody self!” Then he shuffled away faster, more of the bucket’s contents spilling over the sides.

The prince watched him go in shock. Blinking, he took in his people. The seemingly permanent filth on their faces, the harsh stares in their eyes, the coldness of their expressions. He’d never seen his people like this. They’d always seemed joyous and brimming with energy. But now…they appeared heavy and dismal. Sad.

A scream of terror exploded in the air and Fendrel jerked around as he searched for the source of it. Nobody around him reacted, and he frowned in confusion as the scream sounded again. He could tell it was coming from around one of the houses and he rushed that way, his cloak billowing out behind him. He burst onto the street to see a woman being dragged by her hair by a Guard. She was screaming and crying a flood of tears as she clawed at the man’s hands, begging, “Please, please, let me go!”

The Guard threw her roughly to the ground. “You are accused of speaking against the king.”

“I haven’t, I haven’t, I haven’t…” She repeated the words over and over as she shook her head, sitting on her knees with her head hanging low. Like a broken, discarded doll.

“There are witnesses to the crime,” the Guard boomed, his voice bouncing off the walls of the surrounding buildings.

“They’re lying! Please…” She reached out a trembling hand to touch the Guard’s metal boot. “Please, sir, let me go. I’ve done nothing wrong, and I have children—“

“To speak ill of the king is treason. The punishment for treason is death.”

“Please!” Her voice had become a screech. She gripped the man’s boot tighter.

A tiny voice spoke just beside Fendrel. “Mama?” He turned to see a little girl, no older than six years of age, staring with uncomprehending eyes.

The woman looked up and her eyes flew wide. “Go inside, Alys. Mama will be right there.”

Fendrel watched in dumb horror as the Guard unsheathed his sword. Alys was still standing beside Fendrel, her head cocked to the side.

“Please, Alys—!”

“Do you have any last words before you receive your punishment?” the Guard asked, poising the sword high above the woman’s neck.

People barely glanced at the scene unfolding in the street. They kept their heads down and scurried along, as if they feared being next if they did anything at all. Some chanced a glance her way, but there was none of the disgust or revulsion Fendrel felt reflected in their eyes. Just a sad understanding.

“I am innocent,” the woman sobbed. “Please, I’m innocent. I never said anything bad about the king. I wouldn’t! I am a loyal subject of His Majesty and a mother. I would never risk the safety of my family.”

The Guard nodded. “Finished?”

The woman’s face contorted into one of utter hopelessness and more tears fell as she bowed her head.

But Fendrel could watch this no longer. He stepped forward, dropping his hood and announcing, “You will release her this instant.”

The Guard glanced up at him with his blank masked eyes but didn’t remove the sword from the woman.

Several onlookers turned to see Fendrel before they moved on, showing mild surprise that someone would dare speak out against a Guard.

“I am Prince Fendrel Lance of Creasan, and I demand you release this woman. Now.”

But the Guard shook his head. “I cannot, Your Highness. This woman has spoken words of treason and must be punished—“

“And I am telling you that she has been punished enough.”

“The law says—“

“I am the law!” Fendrel approached the Guard, comforted by the feel of his own sword at his side should things become physical. “Let her go.”

“Your Highness,” the Guard lowered his voice so only Fendrel could hear, “these orders come straight from the king.”

Fendrel stared at the man hard. “What were your exact orders?”

“Eliminate any and all those who show animosity or resistance to the King of Creasan.”

“Those who show animosity?” Fendrel repeated incredulously. Animosity was not treason. Animosity was a feeling, not a deed. “People cannot be killed for animosity.”

“It is what the king has decreed.”

After a stunned beat, Fendrel straightened his shoulders. “Well, I am your prince, brother to the king, and your new order is let this woman go.”

The woman gazed up at the two men as if she didn’t know whether to weep for joy or sorrow. The filth on her face was already streaked through with tears and she was breathing so hard Fendrel feared she’d faint at any moment.

The Guard sighed, lowering his head. “My name is Brom Izgis, Your Highness. Report my name to the king if you must.” Before Fendrel could blink, he brought the blade down on the woman’s neck and she crumpled to the ground, her head rolling across the street.

Fendrel gaped as blood poured out of her neck. It was like his eyes had become fastened to the sight and he followed the trail as it leaked down the street. His gaze lifted to meet that of Alys’ as she peered around the door of her home. There were tears in her eyes, an immediate change in them. Gone was the gleaming innocence, replaced by a dull realization of the world she lived in.

“Sorry, Your Highness.” The Guard bowed deeply. “But the orders came from the king.”

And Fendrel was not the king.

He was powerless.

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