Page 3 of Swords of Soul and Shadow
The boy threw his pickax aside and fell beside his brother, grabbing his narrow shoulders. “What happened?”
Something rusty and strange speckled his brother’s pale face. Splotches of the stuff coated his blond hair. “Soldiers—they—and Ma—” Michael sobbed, tears coursing down his face. The rusty freckles all over his face began to run like rivulets, brightening rust to a more recognizable red.
Blood.
Had Michael been inside the mines when the explosion happened? He should’ve been at the schoolhouse, or maybe even home helping Ma.
“Michael.” The boy’s own bloody hands gripped his brother’s shoulders tighter. The red fingerprints left behind were barely noticeable against his brother’s ragged homespun cotton shirt. “Slow down. What’s going on?”
“Soldiers.”
His brother’s crying sharpened into shallow, panicky breaths, like he couldn’t quite expand his lungs big enough. The boy pulled him into a tight hug. “What soldiers?”
The word was nearly lost in the sobs as Michael’s body shuddered. “Cerls.”
Relief and terror warred in his veins. Relief that the mines wouldn’t collapse and terror it wasn’t exploding crystals; terror, to hear that word outside of his father’s old stories.
Living on the border always came with its dangers, but Cerls had not attacked Ravenhelm in his lifetime. The last skirmish had orphaned his father and forced him into the mines, but that had been sixteen years ago.
The boy pulled back. “How many?”
But all Michael could do was cry. He made an odd choking sound as blood dribbled from his mouth.
The boy froze. “Are you hurt?”
Michael finally removed his hands from his stomach, revealing a growing stain on his dirty wool shirt.
Not rusty. Not dried or speckled or small.
Red. So much red.
The boy’s heart leapt into his throat. “Where’s Ma?”
“Told me to run.” Michael coughed, more blood sliding from his lips to his chin as he shook his head. The boy wiped it with his shirtsleeve. The scarlet streak stood out against the Zuprium dust coating it.
No.
He couldn’t worry about her. He couldn’t worry about the piece of his soul that just ripped away and died with the knowledge that…no, he couldn’t even admit it. He could grieve later. Michael needed him.
The boy blinked back the stinging tears in his own eyes as the sobs overtook Michael again; he stood and grabbed his pickax, gritting his teeth. “I’ll be back.”
“No, Brother!” Michael’s voice broke on the last word. “They’re still out there!”
He was only ten, for stars’ sake.
The boy shook his head. “You need a medic.”
He’d heard there was one in Stoneset, a woman who could heal almost anything. He’d also heard she was going mad, but she was Michael’s only chance. His mother had treated a few gut wounds over the years without success. All she could do was ease the passing.
A kindness she probably hadn’t been given herself.
He looked around. This would be the safest place for his brother to hide, away from the town, but if he didn’t get him to the woman in Stoneset…
No. No. No. HeneededMichael. Without him, the boy didn’t know what would become of himself. He’d be a shell.
He’d havenothing.
The Cerls were looking for anything that could make them a quick hunder. Ridiculous they thought they could find that here. Of course, there were those who believed the Zuprium they mined could do more than make decent blades and flashpistols, but they were the real crazy ones.
