Fall of Ashes (Spirelight Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Addy sighed. “I’m sorry, Gevin. You know me, always speaking without thinking.” She gave his shoulder a light squeeze, then crossed the room to the table where she set to work on the vegetables for supper. Mama had had such an easy smile, a loving embrace, and beautiful voice. Her songs were the kind that dried tears and put minds at ease. And whenever Addy was sick or hurt, that voice would make everything better somehow.

  There was movement from the table. The flower! Her heart skipped. Had she been singing? Sitting in its place in the center of the table sat the little yellow daisy, it’s petals no longer wilted and browning, its stalk straight and new.

  “Adele!” Papa’s voice came in a sudden, urgent whisper.

  Everything happened at once. Addy gave a start, something sparked inside her, and the flowerpot quivered for an instant before it exploded, sending dirt and shattered pottery everywhere. She clapped her hands over her mouth.

  Papa stood in the rear doorway, eyeing her. Now she’d done it!

  “Whoa!” Gevin pulled a petal from his hair and looked at it in wonder.

  “I’m sorry, Papa!” Addy clutched her hands together at her mouth. “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention!”

  Papa came into the room and closed the back door behind him. Then he looked at the mess scattered across the table and floor and heaved a sigh. “Addy, you know how dangerous this is. If people knew . . .”

  “I know, Papa!” She would be exiled to the Waste if people discovered what was happening to her. “I was thinking about . . . I was thinking about Mama.”

  Papa looked at her for a moment. He appeared a little older right then somehow, his eyes tired. His hair was dark brown and peppered with gray, his coppery skin a shade darker than hers from all those hours working outdoors. He was thin as well, but not sickly, thank goodness. And his arms were well-muscled, his shoulders broad.

  He gave her a small smile, and then he crossed the room to pull her into his arms, his shirt smelling of sawdust. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I think about her too.” His broad chest rose against her cheek as he sighed. “But you can’t take risks! You can’t let your guard down, even for an instant. You know how the others are about this sort of thing. They’d have you . . . put in chains or sent outside the wall!”

  Addy nodded. She’d heard this many times before.

  Gevin picked up his knife and started whittling again. “I like it when Addy sings, Papa. It makes me feel good.”

  The three said little else on the subject after that, and the day wore on pretty much as usual. Addy did her chores, sweeping and dusting, working the washboard to clean the shirts and underclothes, and then she spent a little time helping Gevin with his reading. Too few of the common folk knew how to read, and Addy was going to pass on the skill to her brother. Some, though, believed reading lead to the practice of magic, but that was absurd. Then again, plants didn’t explode around other people, did they?

  The three of them sat down to a meal of buttered catfish and squash, and, to Addy’s relief, no one mentioned the missing flower; though, more than once, a gaze fell upon the empty spot where it had stood that morning.

  Papa shoveled a spoonful of vegetables into his mouth, his whiskered jaw working as he chewed. “How’s your reading coming, Gevin?”

  Gevin swallowed his food and gave a little cough. “Good! I read Ol’ Thom’s Rabbit again with Addy, and she said I did great!”

  “Good.” Papa smiled. “That’s real good, Gevin.”

  Addy gave Gevin a smile as well. “Before long you’ll be reading Arthur’s Journey.”

  “Arthur, with his sword of light, killer of skeg!” Gevin’s little brows furrowed. “Papa, do skeg come over the walls at night?”

  “No, Gevin.” Papa gave Addy a pointed glance before turning back to Gevin. “The Guard is always on the walls, keeping an eye out from the watchtowers.”

  That wasn’t exactly true, about skeg not being able to get into town, and that was why Papa had given her that look, to keep her from saying otherwise. Gevin didn’t need those kinds of fears keeping him up nights. It kept her up at night sometimes!

  Gevin’s eyes widened as he continued. “What about canth? I heard they can leap straight over the walls and steal babies while they sleep! Is it really true they can get as big as Maggie?”

  The large feral cats—their tails barbed and their backs lined with jagged, spiny growths—could grow even bigger, actually, as Maggie was a bit small for a cow. What would happen if a pack of them attacked the town? Could anything stop them?

  Papa set down his spoon and regarded Gevin with a concerned eye. “Where’s all this coming from? Someone telling you stories?”

  Addy swallowed what was in her mouth and cleared her throat. “Some of the boys have been trying to scare him. I think they’re just jealous that he’s smarter than they are.” Aside from scaring him with half-true tales, they also teased him about his sickness, called him names, and sometimes threw small rocks to make sure he kept a safe distance. It was yet another example of foolish superstition. She should twist those boys’ ears, the lot of them!

  “But I heard noises last night.” Gevin’s sunken eyes turned toward their bedroom. “It was just outside the window. I don’t want the canth to eat me, or the skeg to take me and cook me in a pot!”

  Papa chuckled. “The skeg are far out in the Waste, Gevin. They like it there and have no reason to come into town.” His face darkened a little with those last words.

  Gevin finally nodded, and their conversation turned to more light-hearted topics, but Addy’s thoughts dwelled. Talk had been going on for years about people going missing in the night without a trace.

  It was dark outside when Addy put the last of the supper dishes away. She picked up the lit candle nearby and padded softly to her bedroom, the small flame casting eerie shadows as she went.

  Snores emanated from behind the door to Papa’s bedroom. He had retired only moments ago, it seemed, and already he was fast asleep. After finishing the repairs on Mrs. Pritcher’s spindling wheel today, he had worked longer on Mrs. Aldis’s wardrobe. Would she appreciate his efforts? Probably not.

  Addy pushed through her bedroom door, the sound of Gevin’s heavy breathing greeting her. Good. He needed his sleep.

  She blew out the candle’s flame and then carefully set the candle down on the small table between their beds. There was no moon tonight to cast its light through their small window. Anything at all could be out there in the blackness, waiting to pounce. How often did canth and skeg come inside the walls? Ice prickled her spine.

  After slipping into her nightclothes, Addy crawled into bed, her jaw creaking as she yawned. She pulled the covers up to her chin and closed her eyes. It would be quite simple, it seemed, for skeg to slip over the wall during the night, especially if they came in through Old Town,. There were far fewer guardsmen in Old Town. Skeg didn’t really eat people, did they?

  Her eyes drifted closed.

  Upon a rocky platform sat a massive throne made from the pale bones of countless men, their grinning skulls forming an arch above its high back and at the ends of the arm rests. Sitting on the throne was a giant of a figure, his muscled form ghostly pale, his head cleanly shaven. He wore only a fur-fringed loincloth. His eyes—cold and pale orbs beneath a prominent brow—stared intently at something before him, something in the shadows, just out of sight. The scars across his hairless, muscled chest, and one across the bridge of his hawkish nose, spoke of many battles.

  Addy watched from above, seeming to float. Her stomach churned. Where was she? Where was her body? The man did not appear to notice her presence, but she felt eyes upon her, perhaps from the surrounding darkness.

  The man spoke suddenly, his voice deep like rolling boulders. “Come to me, girl.” Chills raced up Addy’s spine. “Come closer that I might judge your worth.” Was he talking to her? He wasn’t looking at her.

  A woman fell forward out of the shadows. Or perhaps she was shoved
. She scrabbled to kneel at the man’s feet, her long, dark hair a stark contrast to his bald, pale dome. Her face was downcast, hidden from view. Who was she? She seemed familiar somehow.

  One corner of the man’s large-lipped mouth curled up into a cruel grin, and his deep-set eyes narrowed. From the shadows behind him, emerged a youthful and slender woman with only a topknot of braided, white hair that cascaded down to the small of her back. She, like the man beside her, was garbed only in skins that barely concealed her curves. She sauntered forward and placed a pale, affectionate hand upon his muscled shoulder.

  The scene shifted, and Addy blinked. It was she who was kneeling before the throne now, the skulls grinning at her from only a pace away. Where was the woman who had knelt there just moments ago? Was Addy that woman now? Her gaze rose to the pale man and woman, and her stomach clenched.

  The woman blinked as if startled, before her face calmed and a small smile grew on her full lips. “What have we here?” She stepped forward and took Addy’s face into her hand, turning it this way and that. “How did you come to be here, girl?”

  “I—I . . .” Addy stammered. It all seemed so real. Too real! This can’t be happening. This is just a dream!

  The woman drew close to Addy’s face, and stared deeply into her eyes. There was a caress in that pale gaze, a longing. “I sense a great power in you, my beauty.” Her hand glided across Addy’s jawline, her thumb brushing her lips. “I must have it for my own.”

  The woman leaned in, her lips parting. No!

  Addy awoke with a start, heart pounding.

  Chapter 2

  Maggie ambled forward, drawing their cart along behind her. Her long tail swatted lazily at the flies that landed frequently on her spotted backside. Addy swayed absently with the motion of the wheels rolling over the uneven stones of the road.

  Last night’s dream seemed to cast a shadow over her. It had felt so real that she could almost recall the scents that had been in the air.

  “Don’t lean too far, Gevin.” Papa eyed her brother as he reached for a low-hanging branch from his seat on the wagon’s bench. “You’ll fall off and get crushed under the wheel.”

  Sitting between them, Addy clutched onto Gevin’s shirttail. She had spent a lot of time tending to Gevin since Mama had died, and one thing she had learned was that boys often did things without thinking first. No, boys always did things without thinking first, and Gevin wasn’t exactly the best at balance.

  Gevin didn’t seem to hear what Papa had said, or perhaps he chose not to listen. “When I get better, I’m going to climb every tree in the field!”

  Papa chuckled softly. “I’m sure you will.” There was a hint of doubt in his voice, though. People afflicted with the Faege didn’t get well. Ever.

  The reins snapped, and soon enough they arrived at the small smithy. Mr. Blasak stood beneath an overhang that shaded the great hearth, his massive arms pumping to work the bellows. The air was thick with the scent of smoke.

  When the smith saw them, he gave a nod, doused a glowing hot rod of metal in a bucket of liquid, and then walked out to greet them. “Morning, Landen!” He gave Papa a friendly slap on the shoulder that nearly cost Papa his balance. He was bare from the waist up—save for a filthy apron that half covered his hairy chest—his dark, loose-fitting trousers ending at the knee. His sweaty, bald head glistened brightly in the morning sunlight, his face smudged with soot.

  Father gave a soft chuckle. “Good morning, Jon. How are things?”

  The smith hooked his meaty thumbs on the straps of his apron. “Well, broke a wheel on the old wagon on the way out to the quarry last week.” He gave a nod toward a wagon sitting nearby. Papa had repaired the bed on that thing too many times to count, and it still looked about to collapse into pieces at any second. Papa had a hard time keeping up with the man.

  Mr. Blasak chuckled. “Poor ol’ Jeffery. Every time something like that has us held up for more than few minutes out in that blasted place, he gets all worked up until he’s ill! I supposed it didn’t help that I was laughing so hard while he gagged, but the boy is scared of his own shadow since the canth came at us that one time. It’s a wonder they keep him on as a guardsman.”

  Papa looked at him thoughtfully, the lines at the corners of his eyes prominent as he squinted in the sunlight. “I haven’t been out that way for a couple of years; the wood is no good, the trees . . . too soft. I hear the . . .” He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Gevin, and then continued with voice lowered. “I hear the Twisted Lands are drawing close.”

  “Aye, Landon, they are.” Mr. Blasak sounded bleak. He wiped his large hand over his bald head, sending a stream of sweat gliding down the back of his neck. Gross. The smith continued. “They are getting close. If I go out too early in the morning, I can’t see the ground through the mist. And the smell!” He paused, shaking his head woefully. Then his smile returned. “But no cause for worry, my friend! Old Jon Blasak isn’t scared so easily. I’ll be making that trip until the fog eats me or the canth drag me away kicking and hollering!”

  The fog ate people? Addy frowned. That had to be a joke, but the smile that grew on Papa’s face was halfhearted at best. He gave a slow nod. “Well, we all appreciate your work, Jon. That’s why I spent a little extra time on your chair. Come. Take a look.”

  Papa led Mr. Blasak to the back of the wagon, where he pulled the chair from the bed and set it down before him. It looked a little too small, at first, for the smith’s great size, but the man plopped himself into it with a wide grin, looking quite pleased. It was only a little small.

  “I hope it will work for you.” Papa clapped the man on his corded shoulder. “With new wood being as scarce as it is right now, I had to use a good bit of what I’d scavenged from Old Town.”

  “You don’t say.” The blacksmith was rocking now, a pleased grin on his face. “I wouldn’t have guessed. You do good work, Landen!”

  Papa nodded. “I’m afraid there won’t be any good trees left before long. They keep planting new seedlings, but they have trouble taking root.”

  The smith grunted and gave a slow shake of his head. “The Faege takes more of everything each year. It’s a darn shame, I tell ya. How in the Light do the skeg survive, trekking through it so often as they do? Cursed barbarians.”

  Addy groaned softly. Why did everyone insist on bringing up the skeg this morning? She made an attempt at idle talk with Gevin until Mr. Blasak finally left to fetch nails for payment, returning moments later to hand over two full bags. Papa climbed back into his seat and clicked his tongue at Maggie until she started them back toward home.

  Addy emptied the bucket of dirty water into the sink, and then stood upright, knuckling her back. Then she cast a quick glance around the room before giving a satisfied nod. If wood could get any cleaner, the whole place would shine. A clean house was a healthy house, as Mama used to say.

  Gevin, from his seat in the cushioned chair, sent a shaving of wood flying to the floor with a swipe of his blade. It landed amid several others that had appeared since Addy had cleaned there moments ago. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, but she bit off the scornful words. He was quiet and content at the moment, which meant he wasn’t feeling overly ill for a change.

  “Are you about finished with those clothes pins?” Her words sounded only a little impatient. “I need to finish hanging the laundry.”

  Another wood shaving tumbled to the floor. “Do you want splinters?” His tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth. “If you do, you can take them now. But, if you don’t like waiting for me, then maybe you should stop breaking them.”

  Addy breathed a sigh. If they weren’t made from old wood, they wouldn’t break so easily.

  Well, that was that. There wasn’t much else she could do except wait, so she untied her apron and hung it on the peg in the corner. Then she walked to the window and peered outside. It was midafternoon now, by the length of the shadows, but the street was empty. Mr. Gleaseman, who
lived across the street, was usually sitting on his porch at this time of day, but he hadn’t been feeling well of late.

  There were too many people not feeling well.

  A playful squeal sounded from down the street. Odd. No one who lived down that way had any children that young, and no one with children wanted to live that close to the gates of Old Town. Had the child wandered off?

  Addy walked from the house, her steps taking her to the wooden gate out front. The sun was warm on her back, and the air smelled of wood smoke and baking bread. She turned her gaze first one way and then the next, but the street was empty. Wait.

  There was a quick blur of motion, and a boy of maybe five or six darted away. What was he doing? He was running right for Old Town!

  “Stop!” She threw the gate open and stepped out onto the street. There was no one else to be seen, no parents or older siblings who should have been watching after this child. “Don’t go that way! It’s dangerous!”

  Hiking up the hem of her dress, Addy hurried after the boy. The tall, iron gate of Old Town stood ten or so houses down, a padlocked chain keeping it closed. The boy ran up to it and stopped, pausing to glance over his shoulder with a wide grin before he slipped between the bars and into the street beyond.

  An irritated groan escaped Addy’s lips, and she doubled her pace. She had to get to him before he wandered into one of the old, rotted buildings. The things were regularly falling in on themselves. She ran on, casting quick glances at the houses and yards that she passed, but no one was out. No one was looking for a lost child.

  Reaching the gate, she paused. The space between the bars looked barely large enough for her head to fit through, let alone her entire body. Still, she had to try; there was no time to go back to have Papa come and open the lock.

  She set her teeth and squeezed herself between two bars, the weathered iron pressing painfully against her skin and snagging her dress. Someone was going to earn an earful for each stitch she had to repair!