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[Ember Cawood]

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Ember bent over the washbasin, her hands and arms a violent, bloody red up to her elbows. She churned and twisted the fabric in the dye as she tried to make sense of her racing thoughts. A scruffy brown tabby cat sat on a table just above the basin, watching with interest as Ember worked. His tail flipped and fluttered dangerously close to the dye tub.

“Thomas ye’d best git yer tail outta th’way er ye’ll look like a bloody dipstick,” Ember quipped. “Ah’ve work teh do, an’ ye eren’t ‘elpin’ a bit.” The cat lifted his head and looked up to Ember’s face as she spoke his name, but he only turned his head sideways and yawned spectacularly in response.

“Tha’ yawn was bigger ‘n ye are, Thomas.” Ember chuckled as she pulled her half-apron out of the tub and shook it out. The crumpled, wet fabric hung limp, now a deep crimson as she held it up to examine. The hue was exactly right. She took out her bloomers and bandana as well, wrung them out, and went outside to lay them all in the sun to dry. Then she sat in the grass beside them. Spring seemed to be coming early, and the warmth of the sun was too inviting to ignore. Henry stood several feet away, head hung low, apparently having dozed off while enjoying some early spring wildflowers among the grass still dead from winter. Ember stretched out on her back and soaked up the warmth. She heard a rustling from inside the tent, and the light footfall of Thomas jumping down off the table to come and join her.

She must have drifted off to sleep. A low rumble emanating from the north roused her from her nap. Ember sat up, squinting in the sunlight and looking toward the smoky haze over the mountains. Her breath caught in her throat as her chest tightened at the sound. She felt something soft brush against her bare knee and looked down to see Thomas rubbing his face against her leg. Then he sat down and watched the northern horizon, too.

Henry had awoken at the sound as well, and was staring back at Ember with wide, dark eyes. Ember scratched Thomas behind the ears, and he began to purr.

Ember took up the warm, dry crimson garments from the grass and held the apron up to herself, admiring the colour.

“Red’s a fierce colour, Aye Thomas?” Ember asked. “This’ll do right fine, Ah thinks…THOMAS!” Ember chuckled as she leaned down to stroke the brown tabby’s deep crimson tail. “Ah warned ye, Ah did.”

She took a deep breath. “T’night it b’gins. T’night Ah’m goin’ teh fin’ someone willin’ teh ‘elp me become fierce, too.”

[Ember Cawood]

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Ember stepped out of a shimmering blue moongate onto the lawn of what was supposed to be the tavern. There were other patrons milling about with confused looks on their faces. Everywhere she turned, people were muttering, “Bloody Germans” and scrambling around. Inside the tavern, the source of discontent was more obvious. People had come for a night at the tavern, and there was no tavern. Patrons were rushing around setting up tables and benches, and doling out bottles of ale and wine.

“Wot’s all this, then?” Ember asked a man sitting in one corner as he watched folk scuttling around the room.

“Well,” he replied, “when we arrived at the tavern, it seemed everything was in place except for the barkeeps, the liquour, the tables and chairs, and the bar. But I did find a bowl of peanuts.” He tossed one into the air and caught it in his mouth, then crossed his legs as he propped his feet up on a table that was being slid into place in front of him.

“Seh basic’lly we gots a bowl o’ peanuts masqueradin’ as a tavern, aye?” Ember grinned. The man chuckled and tossed another peanut into the air.

The patrons were beginning to settle into their places: pale ones with pale ones, and all others mixing and mingling. Ember steeled herself in preparation for what she was about to do. Why am ah seh nervous? Ne’er bothered me teh walk up teh strangers a’fore…

Ember cleared her throat and stood up straight, attempting eye contact with everyone who looked her way as she spoke. “Sorreh teh bother ye folk, ah don’ mean teh interrupt, but ah were wonderin’ if’n anyone ‘ere migh’ know someone ‘oo trains folk teh fight.” A few incredulous looks lingered over her skinny legs and lanky form, but Ember didn’t flinch. “Ah kin get gold teh pay, don’ worreh. Ah’m good wif a blade, ah jes’ ne’er fought another person a’fore…” Finally, her voice trailed off.

From seemingly nowhere, a woman appeared in front of Ember. The woman was pale, with hair a silvery white against her dark raiment. She smelled of death, smelled of the dark riders who gathered to face down the Protectorate, smelled of those who left the virtuous to die in the streets without so much as a backward glance. Ember shuddered. She had seen this woman before…and the last meeting did not go well. The woman had a hateful tongue, and her aura seemed one of disdain and contempt. On that day, Ember had told the woman that she smelled like cheese. And not just any cheese, cheese that had been sitting in the midday sun for hours. Fetid cheese. Rank and foul. Ember swayed under the toll of what those words might now cost her.

“What do you wish to learn?” the woman asked. “What skills do you have?”

Ember struggled to regain her composure but the smell of danger on this woman was overpowering. “Blades, M’Lady. Ah’m fair with a blade.” Her voice gained confidence as she spoke. “An’ a bit o’ the finest green elixirs made by ‘uman ‘ands.”

The woman arched a brow, deep in thought for a moment. Ember studied her face and found that the woman was quite beautiful, despite all previous impressions. She was still not to be trusted.

“Would you care to step outside with me to talk?” the woman asked.

Ember thought for just a moment. No one else had responded with more than a discerning and judgmental gaze. This may be her only hope. She agreed and followed the woman outside onto the lawn.

The woman introduced herself as Ceinwyn ab’Arawn. She presided over the Realm of Umbra. Ember immediately began to regret the cheese remark again, but the woman continued, explaining her proposition. The provisions were simple. Ember would be allowed to train with the Umbrans for two weeks. In exchange, she would poison blades and food for the Umbrans. For a moment, she hoped the food was for someone other than themselves, but then she began to fear that it was for someone else. She didn’t ask questions. Ember had no gold on hand, and she would have a hard time coming up with any if she’d needed it. She thought of the screams in the mountains to the north, and she knew she had no other option. Time was running out. She agreed to the terms.

“Very well,” Ceinwyn stated. “I will come to get you by the moongate at 9:30 sharp.” The lady smirked and continued, “…as long as you can stand the smell of cheese.”

Ember’s stomach squirmed. “Ah likes me a good brie, ah do.” She managed a faint smile.

Ember looked to the roof as the woman made her way back inside. Peering down from above were two more of the pale ones. She knew they were not of Lady Ceinwyn’s fold, as she had seen them bickering with her on more than one occasion. Their eyes were cold, as if they had no real regard for anyone, perhaps not even themselves. Ember followed Ceinwyn back inside the makeshift tavern, ignoring the drunken laughter and merriment. Her heart was somewhat heavy, with fear or with dread. She found Henry standing in the corner of the room, warming his rump in front of a brazier.

“C’mon ‘Enry, we gots a lot teh do. Sorreh, we gotta leave the butt-burner ‘ere.” The horse reluctantly left the brazier and followed Ember out into the crisp night air.

“Firs’ things firs’,” Ember said to Henry as they crossed the lawn toward home, “we’re gonna need an arseload o’ nightshade.”