Emmy

  The world had turned on its head. Everything Emmy did took and age, for her mind was on nothing but Rel’s revelations. That strange word: Uloni. And Rel’s friend Bomsoi. The strange ideas. The idea that once, she had a family.

  Emmy hefted the yoke across her shoulder and began the journey from the healer’s building to the well. The two buckets swung and clanked as she walked. Fetching water was usually Medicine-Yarim’s chore, for while it was heavy work it gave a reason to leave the building full of sickness and injury for a time. Emmy could count on one claw the amount of times she had been allowed to fulfil the chore. She had barely left the building since being brought there by Rel. Not permitted to leave or move freely in the encampment, Emmy keenly felt the tight grip of capture around her throat.

  But this time, glad to be rid of the clumsy oaf Emmy had become, Medicine-Yarim had cast her out by her neck scales.

  ‘Feel free to take your time, freak,’ she had said.

  Emmy had collected the yoke and buckets in a daze, the razor-sharpness of Medicine-Yarim’s tone unable to slice her. It was impossible to worry about such triviality when an entire new world had opened in her mind.

  Weaving her way through the compound, Emmy stayed clear of the columns of marching soldier-slaves. The sun beat down upon them all, baking the ground. Clouds of dust puffed from the sets of regimented feet, rhythmic as the march itself. Sweat poured down Emmy’s face from both heat and exertion, but she kept going. And kept thinking.

  It was not a surprise that Krodge was not her mother. Emmy had never labored under that illusion. The old crone never wanted to claim the deformed blue and purple monster as anything other than an unwelcome parcel.

  Emmy blinked against the sun as she made the final turn towards the well. She had always known she had different parents—real parents. In her mind, it was impossible for them to be worse than the heartless stand-in guardian Krodge became. They were poor Metakalans with a huge brood, unable to care for one more mouth. Or perhaps a single Althemerian escaping persecution to protect his strange hatchling, only to succumb to tyranny while keeping his offspring from death. Or maybe one or more of the Khinish, too far from home to travel back with a hatchling and keep it alive…

  A thousandfold scenarios had played out in Emmy’s head through the cycles. But never once had she imagined her parents were like her.

  She reached the well, still sweating as she joined the end of the queue. Midsun was brutal in Decos, especially on a day like today when no cooling wind blew in from the sea. Emmy kept the yoke across her shoulders as the line crept forward. The wooden frame dug into her shoulders, for the weight of the buckets alone was enough to pain her. She didn’t dare put it down. The exertion of hefting it back on bruised shoulders wasn’t worth the brief respite from pain.

  Despite this, Rel’s words took the edge from the yoke’s teeth. She was an Uloni. Once she must have lived among them, with her parents. Not only did she have folk of her own but those folk were powerful. She was powerful. It explained the coldness, and…

  A thump between Emmy’s shoulder blades propelled her forward.

  ‘Get a move on,’ the male behind grunted. ‘We’re all tired of waiting.’

  At last it was Emmy’s turn at the well. Muttering an apology, she bent to allow the buckets to settle on the ground, then removed the yoke from her shoulders.

  Powerful. The word kept echoing back as Emmy lifted the first bucket. That was a word never associated with her before. Freakish, yes. Weak, absolutely. Moon Rogue, used most of all. But never powerful. Even when accused of possessing Dark magic—the ability to suck out souls, kill crops, and the endless ream of horrible circumstances she had been blamed for—she had never been accused of being powerful.

  The bucket hit the water and slowly sank. Rel had told her of her powerfulness, but for a good purpose. It was not to condemn her as a demon but to laud her. And it was told to her by someone like her. Emmy grunted as she turned the well-worn wooden handle to bring the full bucket back up. Seeing Rel change her colors had set fireworks off in Emmy’s head, not just because of the impossibility but because it confirmed Emmy wasn’t alone. And it showed that what Rel said was true.

  At least, Emmy thought as she swapped the full bucket for its empty partner, it seemed to be true.

  Emmy wanted it to be true.

  She went through the process of dropping, lifting, and filling the second bucket, then attached them both to her yoke. With that she lumbered past the queue of sweltering faces, back to the healer’s building. Her back trembled from the weight of the water and the yoke dragged on her shoulders. The sun pressed in harder, sending shimmers up from the baked ground.

  Rel said she would get her out, away from Althemerian enslavement. Charo and Zecha too. That was reason enough to go along with her. Charo was safe for now but who knew how long it would remain that way? With the Althemerians fighting the Masvams, she could be called out of training and into service at any time. And Zecha…who knew what they would do with him when he awoke? To stay with the Althemerians would be no life for any of them.

  At the very least, they could use Rel to escape. At the most, Rel could change her life. As the healer’s building swung into view, Emmy grunted. The decision needed no contemplation.

  And if it was a trap? Some elaborate ruse to prove her disloyalty or her tainted nature? The Althemerians would probably kill her, and even that was better than living life as a slave. Listening to Charo’s stories of hardship had taught her that.

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  Emmy set the buckets down outside the main entrance to the wooden building and brought the buckets in by hand, leaving the wide yoke outside. Medicine-Yarim cast her a sidelong glower, as if she had returned too quickly. Emmy ignored it and emptied the buckets into the water butt in the center of the room. She glanced around, but Rel was nowhere to be found.

  Sighing, Emmy glowered at the chaos of stretchers that spread around her like jagged edges. The constant movement of the sick, the injured, and the dead meant it was impossible to maintain order. Old habits were hard to break, and Emmy’s fingers twitched as she beat back the urge to straighten the rows. She wasn’t in the apothecary now. She didn’t need to have everything sit just so.

  And yet she did.

  But before she could start straightening, a weak voice called out.

  ‘I can tell you want to tidy.’

  Emmy’s frown exploded into a smile and she spun around, placing the sound. That voice.

  ‘Zecha!’

  She rushed through the mess of cots and fell at her friend’s side.

  ‘You’re awake at last!’ she breathed, giving him a careful hug.

  Though they were watery and drooping, Zecha’s red eyes were finally open. His mouth stretched into a tired smile.

  ‘My, my,’ he said, weak arms returning the embrace, ‘it’s nice to be so loved.’

  Emmy clucked her tongue, her face flushing with delight. She pulled away but kept one hand on Zecha’s arm.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re awake,’ she said. ‘I was worried you wouldn’t...’ Her breath caught, and she swallowed against a lump. ‘But you’re awake now. That’s all that matters.’

  Zecha chuckled at her concern.

  ‘It’ll take more than a Masvam to kill me,’ he said. He peered at his stomach, though the movement pained him. ‘Is it bad?’

  Emmy gave a solemn nod, the slow movement giving her time to think. It should have been much worse. He should have been dead. But he wasn’t—because of Rel.

  Because she was Uloni, just like Emmy.

  It wasn’t time to broach any of those thoughts with Zecha. Instead, Emmy squeezed his arm.

  ‘It was a deep wound,’ she said, ‘but the Althemerian healer did a good job of cleaning the it. Her stitching, however…’ Emmy tilted her head to one side and smiled. ‘Well, it doesn’t hold up to mine.’

  Zecha barked a laugh, though his face drained of color as he suffered for it.

  ‘Whose would?’ he rasped. As his color returned, he glanced at his stomach. ‘Can I see it?’

  Emmy hesitated but eventually drew back the covers. It was his body and his choice. Zecha propped himself up on his elbows and stared as she hitched up his shift. When the wound was revealed, he gave a low whistle.

  ‘That will leave a nasty scar,’ he said.

  Emmy nodded.

  ‘Just be glad you’ll have many cycles to be irritated by it.’

  ‘It doesn’t worry me,’ Zecha replied as Emmy tugged his shift down again. ‘I’ll say it’s a war wound when I show it to my younglings.’

  War. At that word, Emmy’s heart sank. She tucked Zecha in, pressing his shoulders so he would lie back again.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, drawing his eyeridges together.

  During Emmy’s silence he looked around the tent, as if only realizing where he was. His face pinched as he saw the unusual red heart-in-eye symbol on Emmy’s black tunic. He tried to rise but Emmy kept him down.

  ‘Where are we?’ he asked in a low voice.

  ‘We’re in an Althemerian encampment,’ Emmy said. ‘They were the ones who saved us from the Masvams.’

  She snorted at her own words. Saved. Ha.

  ‘Althemerians?’ Zecha asked, his eyes narrowing. ‘Does that mean...’

  Emmy sighed. She rubbed her hand in circles on Zecha’s shoulder, trying to find the right words.

  ‘Yes. The Althemerians say we owe them a life-debt,’ she said. ‘It’s a decate of unpaid service or join their army. If you survive, you’re free. If you die, well… I suppose you don’t need to worry about it.’

  ‘That’s barbaric,’ Zecha whispered. Despair painted his face. ‘Not even the Masvams hold life-debts anymore.’

  Emmy patted Zecha’s shoulder one final time and shook her head.

  ‘No, but what’s more barbaric is that the Masvams were going to take us as forever-slaves. With the Althemerians, at least we’re in the shallower of two valleys. There’s a chance we’ll get out. With the Masvams, I don’t think we ever would.’

  She watched as Zecha mulled the options over. Then a new expression washed over him. His eyes widened, and he tried to sit up once more.

  ‘Where’s Charo?’ he asked.

  Emmy gently urged him back again.

  ‘She’s been taken as a soldier-slave,’ she said. ‘I told her to tell them she was my apprentice and she might have avoided that. But she didn’t, so now she’s training for battle.’

  ‘Is she alright?’ Zecha asked.

  ‘She seems to be,’ Emmy replied. ‘I haven’t seen her much. But when I do, she always asks for you.’

  Despite the circumstance, Zecha still colored with pleasure.

  ‘That’s nice of her,’ he said.

  A shadow fell over them. Emmy stood, clasping her hands behind her back as the figure stopped beside them.

  It was Rel.

  ‘He wakes at last,’ the Belfoni said with a chuckle. ‘I thought you would prove me a bad healer, Zecha.’

  Zecha’s brows crumpled with confusion. Emmy offered an explanation.

  ‘This is Rel, the senior healer,’ she said. ‘I told her you were my friend from Metakala.’

  Zecha let out an ‘ah’ of understanding and looked at Rel.

  ‘Thank you for helping me,’ he said. The skin around his eyes tightened, though he still smiled. ‘I owe you my life.’

  Rel chuckled again and shook her head.

  ‘You owe me nothing,’ she said. ‘The Althemerians on the other hand, well, they take a different view on things.’

  ‘Thank you, Rel,’ Zecha said. ‘I’d stand to take your arm, but I don’t think I can.’

  His skin washed out in the dim light of the braziers, waxy with fatigue.

  ‘Of course you can’t,’ Rel said. ‘You need to rest.’

  As she knelt to examine his wound, his eyes fell closed. His face tightened with something more than pain.

  ‘What will happen to me now?’ he asked. His voice sounded decates older than it should have.

  ‘You will remain here until you are fit to leave,’ Rel said. She shot a sideways glance at Emmy, one corner of her mouth quirking. ‘After that we have a little journey to make.’

  ‘A journey?’ Zecha asked. He rolled his head to the side so he could catch Emmy’s line of sight. ‘What does she mean?’

  Emmy opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

  ‘There’s a lot I need to tell you,’ she said, ‘and Charo too.’

  Rel finished her inspection of her charge’s wound, then clapped a hand on Emmy’s shoulder as she stood. Familiar cold bloomed.

  ‘Now is not the time,’ she said. ‘Medicine-Emmy has work to attend to. But all will be explained, Zecha. And you will not remain here long.’

  Unsatisfied, Zecha tried to rise once more, though his own fatigue pushed him backwards this time.

  ‘Emmy, what’s going on?’ he asked.

  Biting her bottom lip, Emmy dropped her chin for a moment.

  ‘I’ll explain everything,’ she said, ‘I promise. But not right now.’

  Rel gently tugged her backwards and propelled her away from Zecha. As Emmy walked, she could feel Zecha’s eyes boring into the back of her head. Her heart longed to pour everything out to him, but with their escape from the encampment riding on Rel, she knew it was best to dance to the healer’s tune.

  Emmy kept her eyes forward as she moved onto her next patient, hoping Zecha would understand.