Page 37 of Children of Anguish and Anarchy

I don’t know how to explain to Inan what I’m just beginning tounderstand myself. I’m not ready for him or anyone else to see the grotesque metal in my chest. How would he even help?

Instead, I ignore Inan’s question. I hook my arms under his.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Getting you out of the sun.”

I grit my teeth and pull. My head spins in the heat. Inan continues to choke as I drag his body across the white sands. Salt water spills down his bare chest.

I lay his body against a palm tree, and he leans against the ridged bark, reveling in the shade. His hands are still mangled from everything he had to do to escape. A new bruise colors the right side of his face.

“Do you see that?” Inan points to the skies. Far to the north, a chain of black smoke rises over the dense forest.

“Tzain!” I whisper to myself. A smile spreads across my lips. It has to be him and the others. They’re safe. They made it back to land.

“We can get to them.” I walk forward, calculating how long the trek will take. But as I walk, my steps falter. Something crackles beneath my skin. Baldyr’s memories swell within me, rising as the medallion burns my chest.…

A soft rain pours as Baldyr tends to his tribe’s stable of white bears. More than two dozen ryders lie in an open pen. They gather around as Baldyr fills their troughs.

Crates of freshly butchered meat fall one by one. The kill is so fresh it still oozes with blood. As the bears feast, Baldyr uses a stiff brush to tend to each ryder’s fur. He keeps his face stern in concentration, removing the dirt and debris.

No runes mark Baldyr’s skin. Though still muscular, he carries a leaner frame. A brown tunic covers his typically bare chest. He can’t be more than nineteen.

Lanterns illuminate the longhouse behind him where his fellow tribesmen gather for a measly supper. Their gentle chatter fills the night. Baldyr glances over as the wooden door opens.

His tribe leader walks into the dark.

Done already?

Baldyr watches Egil stroll through the barren fields. The fur-clad warrior stops before a round clearing to stare up at the yellow moon.

Baldyr drops his brush and walks over, joining Egil to take in the sight. Egil always carries a stern gaze, but for once his freckled face is lost in thought.

“My mother used to tell me stories.” Egil breaks the silence, a far-off look in his dark eyes. “She told me one day I would rule over the lands. That I would command the strength of over ten men.”

“I heard your mother was a witch.”

“Thegaldrasmiðarare not witches.” The scars along Egil’s cheeks strain as his jaw pulls taut. “They are connected to the hidden forces of this land. They have the power to turn the very moon red.”

“That is but a myth,” Baldyr scoffs. “No one believes that.”

But Egil reaches into his pocket and removes the ancient medallion that now lies in my chest.

“One day, you will see.” Egil looks up at the yellow moon once more. “When I find what I need, I won’t just be king of this nation. I’ll be more than the mortal I am now. I’ll have the strength to be the god of this new world.”

“You believe you can become a god?” Baldyr’s eyes flash and he homes in on the medallion in his leader’s hand.

“I don’t just believe it.” Egil winks. “I have a plan.”

I close my eyes, and the sound of pounding rain fills my ears. The heat sticking to my back chills like ice. The gentle breeze rises to a gale-force wind. Baldyr’s calling out to me.

I feel the pull from within.

“What’s wrong?” Inan calls.

I don’t know how to explain the new power that moves through my blood.

“Another storm,” I whisper instead. “A big one.”

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