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Back with Chapter 7! How are we feeling about the balance between povs's and flashbacks? Trying to balance the emotional integrity of the scenes and worldbuilding can be difficult.

The aftermath of the surprise siege is upon them, May and her men needing to prepare for what comes next.

tw: mentions of death, bodily horror and harm, murder, war, blood

Ch. 7

It took what remained of May’s men another hour to clear the courtyard of all attackers, and another few hours after that to properly barricade the main square of the small town surrounding the manor. There was a line of destruction straight through the middle of the once beautiful yard, showing where the other troops had marched through to get to the Manor—to Oryn.

Scouts were sent out into town to assess the damage and bring as many townsmen into the barricade as they could. Although most men of the duchy were already wielding weapons under May’s command, any that couldn’t still find themselves wanting to serve her in any way that they could. The entire population was loyal to May’s blood, not a single one of them turning down the chance to defend their homes when asked.

As May paced back and forth in front of the main gate to the courtyard and watched her men scurrying back and forth to make sure everything was set before they were attacked again—which they most definitely would be considering the slaughter wrought today. The only thought raging through her pained head about Oryn and their safety and whether or not this attack could potentially have anything to do with them.

It’s obvious, she thought. They wouldn’t have gotten into the attic… they were tracking him, listening to me. This had everything to do with Oryn.

Demetrius came limping towards her, still a hulking form despite his burns and other miscellaneous injuries.

“The barricade is sufficiently guarded and secure, my Lady. Scouts are being directed to their designated areas as we speak,” he said through a hoarse throat, hacking up a glob of ash-stained phlegm, the bit of blood staining the dirt beneath them.

May shook her head, worry plaguing her. “I can’t afford to lose my Chief General, Demetrius. You need medical attention. Go,” she commanded, looking him up and down with scrutiny.

He held her gaze longer than usual; he never liked letting her know how much pressure he held. And yet, just this once, he let his eyes meet hers.

May shuffled where she stood, crossing her arms. “That wasn’t you, was it?”

“No,” he only let the shock play on his face for a moment. “But that wasn’t you, either, I surmise.”

Word travels fast. It’d been a half a day since May had skewered one of her own men, the blood that served her own staining her blade. How many know? Does he? It was a question that had never crossed her mind before: how much would it take for her men to betray her?

Demetrius towered over her, and yet his presence was that of a scared child. “Do you think it was him?” he murmured.

May took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. “I do. But I don’t think he knows.”

Demetrius shook his head. “How can he not know?”

A small group of scouts was seen scurrying through the growing crowds, the townsfolk clearing the way with loud shouts and demands of clearing the way.

~

Maureen paced the length of the cabin, her long hair flowing softly behind her in a graceful waft. Elisa sat upon the cushioned stool with her back as straight as a board, following Maureen back and forth. Starla was merely prepping the afternoon tea, humming a soft song to herself.

Oryn sat beside Starla on the soft wooden counter. It always smelled so lovely when Starla was the one to make the tea. Oryn could never figure out what made hers different from the other two; it just tasted better.

They could all but see the haze of tension cascading over the room. It was terrifying in a way that made their hair stand on end. Oryn couldn’t think of a time when any of them ever expressed so much fear before. Well, once. But that was another matter entirely, nothing like this.

“When he arrives,” Maureen mumbled, “we need to have a plan. We need to be ready to strike before he decides to do anything drastic and—”

“He won’t,” Elisa interrupted. She slowly stood up, stretching her neck and back. “It won’t come to that. However, I do think a plan needs to be set, just in case.” Her hard eyes met Maureen’s, something unspoken being shared between them.

Oryn all but jumped in their seat as Starla stopped her humming and spoke up. “You’re both so cynical,” she chided, sighed as she grabbed a few mugs from the cupboard. “He’s the one that left him with us. If anything, he’s the only other living thing on the face of this good land that shares our goals.” She started to set the small table with their finest placemats.

“But what if—”

“You shouldn’t expect—”

Starla shot them both a glance, the fire roaring in the mantle behind Maureen dulling under her gaze. “We are more than capable of handling ourselves. How much do you think the poor old man truly knows of us? Of our capabilities? Whatever you assume of him, stop. He’ll be here sooner rather than later and the last thing I want is for him to feel as if he’s unwelcome. We need to discuss what comes next. And Oryn,” she said, turning to them. “Don’t ask too many questions. In fact, ask none at all.”

It was rare of Starla—of the three of them—to set her boundaries with such brute force, letting her powerful senses overtake her and express themselves. They decided to listen.

She continued to set the table and arrange the baked goods and tea, letting Oryn have a small taste of the honey and sugar. As Maureen and Elisa sat down at the table to wait, their gazes towards one another never broke. The air was electric with their fear.

There was a knock at the door.

The forest was silent with anticipation.

Maureen and Elisa stood from their seats. Starla opened the door.

The man who stood there was old and frail, the white wisps of hair on his head matching the scraggly beard flowing down his chests. The gray robes were modest and seemingly understated for someone of his status.

“Hello, High Councilor,” Starla said, smiling with pride and bowing just slightly to show her respect.

“Please,” Jonas said, “No need for such formalities.” As he returned her smile, Oryn saw a heaviness in his eyes. He reached an arm around Starla’s shoulder, Starla leaning in and hugging him.

“It’s good to see you. You look well,” he said, pulling away to take a look at her.

Her smile softened as she looked him over, a different weight heavy in her own gaze. “As do you. Please, come sit,” she said, beckoning to the set table full of pastries and tea. Maureen and Elisa both curtly nodded their heads as they waved towards the man, sitting after doing so and starting to fill their own plates. Oryn took that as the queue to fill their own.

They sat for a few moments in silence as they ate and drank, Oryn delighting in the fact that they were being allowed so many treats. They didn’t notice the odd glances and long stares from the four adults at the table with them.

“You look well, child,” Jonas said, setting his napkin down on his emptied plate, letting his cup sit idly on its saucer.

Oryn looked from Maureen to Elisa to Starla, each of them glaring into his soul with their own piercing gaze as if they were each willing what words to come out of their mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Oryn said, making eye contact with the man as they swallowed the last of their pastry. “But I don’t think I know you.”

Jonas nodded, leaning deeper into his chair. He took a long, deep breath. “How much have these lovely ladies told you about how you came to be here?”

Oryn’s brows furrowed in confusion as they once again looked from one witch to the next. Now, though, the three of them each avoided their gaze, squirming in their seats.

They knew an opportunity when they saw one.

“Not enough,” they mumbled, their own gaze darkening as something deep within them said it wouldn’t be smart to ask.

Jonas nodded yet again, maintaining his gaze with them. The witches sat silently in their seats.

“Your mother,” Jonas started, tapping a finger on the table, “she died.”

Oryn nodded. “Yes. And that’s why the three of them take care of me,” they said, gesturing towards where they sat.

“That’s right,” he sat up straighter in his chair, leaning forward as his gaze grew deeper. “I’m the man that got you here. To make sure someone could take care of you.”

Oryn nodded, not understanding the behavior of the witches; what could possibly be so nerve-wracking about an old man with a soft spot for a motherless baby?

“My mother,” Oryn’s curiosity had gotten the better of her. “You knew her then?” their voice was innocent, yearning.

Jonas smiled widely, finally breaking her gaze. “I did,” he said, a small frown creeping to his face. “I knew her well.”

“What was she like?”

The three witches’ necks all but snapped as their heads swiveled and their gazes met Oryn’s. It must have been one of the questions she wasn’t allowed to ask.

They were all silent again for a moment, a solitary tear brimming in his eyes and running down Jonas’s cheek. “She was wonderful,” he muttered more to himself, “and dedicated and beautiful. It was a shame she had to pass so young.”

The relief was palpable, everyone’s shoulders relaxing and sighs being let out.

“Oryn,” Starla said, a forced smile splayed on her lips and an edge behind her voice. “Go outside and play. We have important work we have to do with Jonas today.” Her eyes flicked to the door.

Oryn sighed, looking one last time at each member of the table before hopping off of their stool, grabbing a final pastry, and heading out the door.

Jonas shivered, his gaze becoming cold and hard as his fist slammed down on the table. “What is that?”

“He grows fast,” Maureen mumbled, “much faster than a human.”

“His appetite…” Elisa whispered.

Starla shook her head at them all, meeting Jonas’s gaze. “That’s a young boy,” she said, her voice firm and back straight. “A young boy who has been loved and provided for, even when the things we must provide are challenging and… unethical.”

Jonas closed his eyes, resting his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “It hasn’t even been a full five years,” he muttered to himself, “and he’s seemingly twice that age.” He lifted his head, his eyes meeting Starla’s. “Don’t you forget what he did to her. Do you understand me?” He stood from his seat, walking towards the window that overlooked the yard where Oryn had gone out to play. “That boy… that thing… the things he’s capable of…” he trailed off.

“You think we don’t know that?” Maureen snapped, twiddling her fingers in her lap. “You think we haven’t taken the utmost care in nurturing something your people think is the devil?” She scoffed, getting out of her own seat and standing next to Jonas, following his gaze out the window towards Oryn.

Starla stood as well, starting to clean the mess of the table. The daggers in her voice were sharp. “My good High Councilor, don’t you forget who have been the ones raising him all this time; the ones fighting to understand his nature, his abilities, his…” she trailed off, stacking cups in the wash-bin. “The things we’ve had to witness. And the worst of it is the fact that he has no idea what he’s capable of.”

Chapter 6!!! Is here!!! A direct continuation from the previous chapter, May is tasked with saving her new housemate only to realise she's being faced with than more than she'd first thought, MUCH more than she could've prepared for.

Definitley trying to add more bits and pieces of wolrdbuilding throughout, as well, so let me know if it flows well!

tw: blood, gore, fire, burning, mentions of war, death, bodily horror

Ch. 6

The laceration on May’s arm throbbed as blood gushed from the wound, only fueling her desire to cut down the man responsible for it.

There were no shouts of warning as the first volley of arrows was released into the main courtyard of the manor. The whistles of easily a hundred arrows arching with grace over the main wall, many hitting the cracked cobble at their feet and too many more sinking deep into flesh. A score of men downed in but a moment; she was caught with her backed turned. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

Her sword bit home in the neck of her opponent, sending a hot spread of blood back at her. Her men had started surrounding the outermost section of the courtyard, working their way towards the center and slaughtering everything in their paths as tight units of fifteen to thirty men. They were efficient; May trained her men to be deadly.

Her sword killed one man after another, the rage she felt becoming the passion of the Winds. Her heaving breaths of unbridled anger became the steady breaths of a woman singing in the Gods praises. Her feet were weightless underneath her as she spun and ran through entrails, the death rattles of the fallen a prayer to her victory.

Time both slowed and flowed faster, men seemingly growing old and dying as May severed an arm here and slashed across a chest there, a whirlwind of honed chaos. She continued pushing forward, a large group of her men now rallying behind her as they met the center of the courtyard. Their main advance would be towards the contingent of archers that managed to huddle towards the manor’s gate.

As May lifted a dead man’s shield from his corpse, instinctively blocking arrows as they headed towards her, she caught a glint of something from the corner of her blood-red eyes. Off in the corner, towards the right of the manor, smoke started to bellow from the peaked roof.

The attic.

She was smart to have listened to her instincts those few weeks back, vacating the few valuables from the room and cleansing it in whatever means necessary. Putting the remainder of the old texts and records either in the vault or the archives, the room was merely a little secret hiding space that made for a good saferoom in this particular instance, where Oryn’s safety was in danger.

Oryn? Why would this be about Oryn?

It didn’t matter. She needed to protect them—hide them—and Demetrius was the only other living person who knew of it’s existence.

Something much larger was at play here. Someone deeply connected to May and Ilucia had infiltrated the system she fought so hard to build, making her seem a fool. As she watched the first soft licks of orange cascade across the eaves decorating the attic, her resolve quickly returned.

“Squads four and nine, come with me! Everyone else,” she turned, her throat already horse from breathing in smoke and screaming as she killed, “Kill the rest of these bastards!”

Although she’d already seen more than a squad or two lying dead on the cobble, the morale in her remaining men didn’t waiver. They stood tall, weapons ready, in the exact formations they’d practiced. They stomped their feet in time, yelling their war-cry as praises for their Duchess.

She started towards the side door of the manor, the two squads called for quickly falling into a defensive formation around her. As they ran, May couldn’t keep her eyes off the roof being enveloped by the flames.

The manor itself was hardly damaged but for a broken window here or a scuff along the mortar there. It’s as if the goal here wasn’t to destroy, only to kill—and to do so quickly. The fact that the fire was now reaching towards the sky in only one part—specifically from one room—There must have been another motive, a plan…

Sprinting through the side door and running straight for the closest set of stairs, May noticed just how quiet the manor was now that all who are usually patrolling it took up arms to fight out in the courtyard. This is my fault, she thought to herself, but not because of the weight all of her fallen men; because Oryn was sat in a burning cage and it was May who had put them there.

Out of breath but nowhere near exhausted, they arrived at the top floor, May ripping the door off the closet. The heat was nearly unbearable, the immediate wash of newly born flames reaching from what was once the sealed entrance. May’s blood rushed through her, her heartbeat loud and persistent in her ears as the hum slowly started seeping into her skull.

The men behind her stood back, staring at the soft blaze set before them.

The clang of a desperate fight could be heard over the roar of the flames, someone battling for their life.

“Get me up there!” May screamed, turning to her men with her jaw set and eyes ablaze.

“But—”

Without thinking—without even a second to blink or take a breath—May’s sword cut deep into the abdomen of the Squad Four Commander, the hilt meeting the soft leather of his armor as the blood seeped onto May’s hand. Her eyes were dark, determined.

She turned to the other’s, their eyes wide and mouths slack.

“Get me up there,” she repeated, her breath low and hot.

Without a second thought, she was all but thrown by her men off the floor and up into the searing flames of the attic entrance.

The pounding hum resonating beneath her skull got stronger as she hoisted herself up on burning beams into the center of the alcove. The smoke burned her eyes and left her in a wake of dense fog, unable to see much of the world around her besides the roaring flames slowly dissolving the wooden room. She gasped and hacked as the ash entered her lungs, burning her insides with a fierceness she hadn’t ever felt before.

“Oryn!” She called, her voice horse and meaningless amongst the raging fire. The fighting continued, the clanging of steel just barely making itself heard. She stepped forward, her own bloodied sword held in front of her.

She was getting closer, the battle sounds growing louder, her vision fading with each step she took, her skull vibrating as the pressure of the pounding built. She cried out, falling to her knees, the flames seeming to edge their way closer and closer to her with each passing moment.

There was a shriek of pain, something almost animalistic in nature. The ripping of skin, grinding of bone, tearing of sinew and blood coursing through changing veins.

Fuck, May thought, heaving up smoke as tears rolled down her cheeks Not here. Not now!

The pounding in her head slowly turned from raging, meaningless rumbles into the staccato beats of something being beckoned forth. She didn’t feel any pain, but the soft mush inside of her skull slowly separated, something new emerging from the inside. Her eyes snapped open as the rush of something powerful washed over her. She lifted herself from her knees, her vision steady and clear as she saw what unfolded before her.

Demetrius was fighting neck and neck with two soldiers May had never seen before, wearing the livery of a duke or duchess she didn’t recognize. Their faces were covered in what must have once been white linen, now burnt at the edges and covered in soot. Their skin had been scorched in places and was completely barren in others. How they continued to wield a swords was beyond her comprehension.

With a new weightlessness pushing her forward as the thrumming became a hymn in the back of her head, May threw herself alongside Demetrius, her own sword flying in beautiful arches over her head as she tried to even the odds.

Demetrius was worse off than those they were fighting, a large slash across his face leaking a garish trickle of blood. His leather plate was slick and oily, his hair plastered to his head as he swung his sword ruthlessly. There was nothing but the power and flow of the Wind behind his eyes, the battle rage holding his spirit.

As May ducked under a slash from the enemy, she quickly brought her sword behind the legs of him. As his tendons were cut deep and a spray of blood hit May’s hands, she stood and turned towards the hulking creature behind her. She made a final puncture to the soldier’s throat, killing him.

May could barely make out the full shape of the beast, her vision clearer than it should’ve been in the smoke but unable to focus on whatever Oryn’s form was. She could just hardly see Alec peeking out from behind what must have been the right shoulder of the beast, clearly hanging on to the protruding thorns and masses of skin running down its back. As it steadied itself on its two legs, finally meeting eyes with the fight between Demetrius and the other soldier—flames roaring just barely behind him— Oryn let out a deep, guttural cry.

Oryn leapt into the fight, Alec hanging on tight, trying to hide his face in whatever he could find to block out the smoke. The pads of Oryn’s feet hit the smoldering floor like a clap of thunder, sending shudders through the attic and bringing both May and Demetrius to their knees. It was instinctual: cover your ears. As Alec did the same, the pounding in May’s head ceased. She watched the remaining soldier bring his sword up above Demetrius’s bowed head as he knelt, readying himself for the killing blow.

His arms, strong and lean and glistening in the light of the fire—were steady, the linen finally falling from his face and being devoured by the flames. Then, something changed.

The silence finally enveloped May’s skull once again as she lifted her head to meet the eyes of the man ready to kill her most valuable soldier; one of her closest friends. Holding his glowing sword high above his head, his arms began to shake. The veins in his arms started to bulge, his skin draining to become a ghostly white. His veins started to move, the blood inside of them seemingly thick and collecting in places. As a slow drip of blood started to leak from his nose, his head exploded.

May couldn’t tear her eyes away. Blood and chunks of brain matter and shards of sharp skull bits flew with force from the viscera, a loud hisssss being heard as the fire licked the liquid into more smoke for them all to choke on.

She was yanked to her feet by something that wasn’t a human’s hand and lobbed over the beast’s shoulder, feeling a scared hand reaching out and holding on to hers as Oryn then picked up Demetrius, who was just as stunned by the scene that unfolded before them. Alec squeezed May’s hand, Demetrius gripped the monster’s ever-moving flesh, and Oryn barreled through the outermost wall, letting the group of them fall into the courtyard below.

“Do what you must, And your friends will adjust.” - Robert Brault