Page 15 of Red Demon
“I see,” I said, my heart pounding. That’s what the Asri called the war between the Chaeten and the Asri a century ago. I’d heard plenty of things about ghosts, all exaggerated and glorified and not something I could act on—things that belonged either in the past or in stories for children. But I knew the Chaeten destroyed an Asri tower early in the war, something that harnessed reincarnation, allowing Asri to be reborn as immortal Attiq-ka. A horde of Asri ghosts, their minds crazed and shattered, killed swathes of people the world over—mostly Asri, since there were more of them to begin with.
“I’m Asher. What’s your name?” A smile played on his lips.
“Jesse.” The name tasted foreign on my tongue after weeks of disuse. He’d been the first to ask.
Asher nodded, tucking the berries inside his cloak. “Your Asri is pretty good, you know.”
“Don’t you Asri believe it’s wrong to lie?” I asked with a wry smile. I found it impossible not to warm up to him.
He gave a noncommittal gesture, borrowing Iden’s smile again.
“The only Asri in my old town was my school teacher. I honestly never thought I’d use it with anyone else.”
Asher huffed, a bright sound that warmed the air between us. “I enjoyed learning Chaeten,” he admitted, using my language. “True, there are no words for so many things I want to say, but sometimes they have words in Chaeten for things we don’t have. Both our worlds get bigger, you know?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Asher shrugged, his grin turning mischievous. “Yeah. We’re stronger now, right?” His eyes widened before he looked away. “Until the recent violence, anyway.”
I smiled at his blush. Before I could reply, a booming voice interrupted our conversation. “Ash! Let’s go!”
A burly Asri man stood at the edge of the market, black-bearded, with flecks of white in his tied-back hair. He looked at me and crossed muscular arms over his maze-designed robe, frowning.
“That’s my dad. I have to go,” Asher mumbled. “But don’t tell anyone you came from the Bend. The soldiers will quarantine you to a refugee camp if they find out.”
I frowned, trying to understand. Asher’s father called his name again. “How did you know I came from the Bend?”
“It’s my dahn,” he said, but I didn’t know that word. “Maybe we can talk again sometime? If you come back?”
“Maybe.” A flicker of hope sparked in my chest. But that hope faltered when I glanced at Asher’s father, and his deepening scowl.
Asher scampered off toward his father, then turned and saluted, as if he knew I watched him the whole way. I needed the curious warmth he left me with, the feeling that I wasn’t entirely alone.
Chapter 7
The Forge
Rain slapped my face, rousing me from a restless sleep. My shelter of layered wax leaves had sprung leaks, and my new socks—ones I’d spent my foraging money on yesterday—were already damp and soggy. I groaned, cursing the fickle sky and my lack of engineering skills. Only the parts of my body beneath my cloak were still dry.
The embers of last night’s fire still smoldered under the wax-leaf overhang, their faint glow swallowed by the morning mist and rain. I could coax the trickling smoke back to life with some wood under my tarp. I’d start there, wash and dry my clothes, have some breakfast, and patch the shelter before beginning foraging. No one had kicked me out of the market yet, so I planned to stay a day or two to build up my savings.
I stumbled out into the rain, now pelting down. The forest floor sloshed under my feet, damp leaves squelching in complaint.
That’s when I heard it: the clang of steel striking steel, carried on the wind through dripping leaves—distant, but unmistakable. A shout. My pulse quickened, curiosity overcoming my sense of self-preservation. Grabbing my rope and knife, I crept closer to the sounds of the fray.
I needed to get a good look at what was happening without being seen. Using my rope, I draped it loosely around a cedar wider than both my arms. There was no knot or branch until further up, so I swung the rope around the other side, muscles straining as I shimmied up the rough bark. I’d climbed trees this size back when the worst I worried about was a wayward garter snake or a startled raccoon, but I didn’t dare look down as I climbed higher and higher, stabbing into the bark with my knife when my grip slipped on mossy wood. I paused to relax my muscles, then kept going until I had a perch with a good view of the forest.
The rain thinned as I climbed, the sun filtering pink through dense clouds. Wind chilled through my damp clothes as the forest spread beneath me. Beyond it, I could spy the slate roofs atop their engraved white walls, the town washed clean by the rain. And in between, in a little clearing at the edge of the forest, I saw the source of the clangs and shouts.
I counted eight, no, nine figures moving around that clearing. The rain blurred their movements, but my Chaeten eyes, modded for the mines, could make out the swords in their hands. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the boy from yesterday: Asher, his wavy hair plastered to his forehead, his wooden sword spinning in his hands. And beside him, taller and broader, stood Asher’s father, black and pepper hair and arms folded across his thick chest.
Asher’s dad barked commands to three pairs of sparring partners, moving between the groups, his own sword a blur of silver as he demonstrated a swift attack and parry. Everyone wore armor. Asher and his sparring partner used wooden blades while the others used steel. I watched, mesmerized, as Asher stumbled back from a devastating blow, then rallied, launching himself forward with a yell. Asher held himself well, light on his feet between strikes. I couldn’t help but smile, rooting for him.
They all fought as if their lives depended on it. I watched transfixed as a woman rolled from a brutal attack, getting back up and swinging at record speed.
But then, another thought struck me. Why were they training at all? There was a unit of soldiers just down the road, and none of them were present. Oh fuck, were these guys the rebels those soldiers talked about? Is that why they were training at dawn? That would mean Asher was involved in this too.
Asher radiated so much kindness. That couldn’t be right.
