Red lands and black flam.., p.1
Red Lands and Black Flames, page 1
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by J. E. Harter
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review, as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Cover Artwork: Miblart
Editing: Erin Young
Map Design: Alec McK
Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9886106-4-9
Hardcover ISBN: 979-8-9886106-5-6
Ebook ISBN: 979-8-9886106-3-2
Author's Note
The book contains subject matter that might be difficult for some readers, including extreme fantasy violence, blood, gore, war, decapitation, language, explicit sexual content, depressive & suicidal thoughts, references to rape (consent withdrawn) and sexual abuse.
Chapter 1
Marai
The cave was a prison. It had no iron bars, no locks, no chains. It was a cramped, dark space; a cage made of rocks and dirt the color of rust, encompassing Marai as she stepped foot inside its mouth. The musty scent reminded her of dungeons’ past, and her footsteps ricocheted off the stone walls. Otherwise, it was silent. If it wasn’t for the part-fae male in front of her, Marai would have thought her people had abandoned this place.
Raife walked stiffly through the tunnel, grip tight on the bow in his hand, perhaps wary of the person skulking behind him. Marai couldn’t place blame—she hadn’t seen Raife in eight years. She’d shown up out of the blue, and collapsed in front of him. Sunburnt. Disheveled. She was practically a stranger.
What does he think of me now?
To revive her, Raife had splashed cool water on her face moments earlier. When her eyelids fluttered open, she’d forgotten where she was. Marai’s heartbeat had raced as she found herself enclosed in a man’s arms. Arms she didn’t recognize. Pirates? Bounty hunters? She’d quickly shoved Raife away and got unsteadily to her feet, ready to unsheathe Dimtoir. But then she’d studied his concerned face, his pointed fae ears. Her mind had calmed, and she’d remembered.
“What brings you back here, Marai?” Raife asked her in an apprehensive tone now that they were in the tunnel. He was taller and broader than the last time she’d seen him. Thin, clearly in need of several good meals. More freckles spattered across his cheeks, nose, and forehead.
“I’d rather not discuss it.” Marai couldn’t meet his vibrant emerald eyes, and the questions swirling around in them.
Raife frowned. “Suit yourself.” He must have remembered Marai’s moods: her sullen silences and angry outbursts. He knew not to push. He’d always been respectful that way. It was nice to know that, in some ways, he hadn’t changed.
Marai glanced down at the black skin on her fingers. The tips had been stained by a magic she wasn’t supposed to use; a dark magic that she’d called to in her panic, a power she didn’t understand. A permanent reminder of her failure and weakness. The bloodstone jasper ring sat uselessly on her left hand. It hadn’t helped her when she’d needed it. If Raife or the others saw her fingers, they’d never let her stay if they guessed she’d called upon dark magic.
Marai removed the ring from her finger and shoved it into her pocket before Raife could see. Then, she yanked on her black gloves, covering the evidence of her guilt.
Decades ago, this tunnel had been the beginnings of a main hallway for a rock dwelling. It was common in the Western Kingdom of Ehle for whole towns to be carved into the canyon walls, complete with window holes, stairs, and towers. Communities made of stone, tucked underneath overhanging cliffs. However, the tradesmen had abandoned this dwelling, most likely due to the horrible drought in the Badlands desert. When Marai was a child, Keshel had discovered the partially constructed cave, and the other young fae outcasts had moved in, happy at the time to have any roof over their heads.
Marai’s pulse quickened again as the small tunnel opened into a cavern lit by a roaring central fire that was forever ablaze. An effervescent, ether scent tickled her nose—the first sign of magic.
A few smaller tunnels branched off, forming more private rooms for the inhabitants. While the decor and furnishings were sparse, there was an air of comfort. Woven baskets and clay pots littered the floors. Painted flowers dotted the cavern walls from crushed plant dyes. They’d been there since Marai was a child.
A young woman sat on a smooth rock squashing fragrant herbs with a mortar and pestle. Her long sable hair was braided atop her head; pointed faerie ears peeked out, accentuating the elegant planes of her face. She wore a simple dove gray dress and apron, which contrasted with the rich bronze tones of her skin. She turned at the sound of Marai and Raife’s approaching footsteps. Her eyes widened and jaw dropped open.
“Marai,” she gasped, setting down her tools. The female crashed into Marai, arms wrapping around in a wave of maternal warmth.
Marai stiffened. Any kind of touch felt wrong, too overwhelming, and it grated against her skin.
Sensing her discomfort, Thora pulled back, tears in her striking ginger eyes. “We never thought we’d see you again.”
Marai shimmied loose from her grasp, wincing at the touch to her sensitive sunburnt skin. Her limbs ached with each slight move. Her throat was raw from yelling, and parched from dehydration. Her head pounded–the concussion she’d received a few days prior hadn’t healed yet. Everything hurt. Especially the unraveling heart within her breast.
“Come, sit. I’ll treat your injuries while you talk,” Thora said, wiping away the tears. She gestured Marai over to the rock.
The bundle of churning nerves in Marai’s stomach eased.
I expected more of a fight than that . . .
Thora plucked a jar of ointment from a roughly carved shelf as Marai took a seat. Raife thrust a cup of water into her hands, then leaned against the cave wall, still holding his bow, as he watched Thora massage the cooling salve across Marai’s pale, thin arms.
“I thought about you every day, you know,” said Thora.
Marai had been twelve when she’d stormed out of the cave, without a word or note, leaving her life behind. Young Marai hadn’t thought about how her disappearance might affect the others. She’d been selfish and ignorant. When she’d grown wise enough to know better, the fear of their rejection made it nearly impossible for Marai to return.
But she had returned, out of absolute desperation and defeat. Now she would have to face the consequences of her actions all those years ago.
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” she said.
Barely. Just a shell.
The green-hued ointment worked wonders on her burning skin. As it seeped in, the salve cooled like jellied ice, and eased away the pain, although it left behind a greenish tint.
Thora’s gift was in healing. Whenever Marai had scraped a knee or cut up her palms climbing the cliffs, Thora had passed a gentle hand over the wound and it would vanish. The herbal remedies she collected and prepared were infused with her magic to speed the healing process. It was a rare gift, even amongst pure-blooded fae. With all of them exterminated, Thora was the only fae healer left in the entire world.
Except, perhaps, in the land of Andara . . .
Marai shoved aside the thought of that mysterious country across the sea where she’d once been headed. She downed the cup of water in one gulp. Raife took the cup from her hands and replaced it with his full waterskin.
“We wouldn’t have known if you were alive had it not been for Keshel,” Thora said. That familiar, stern tone hadn’t disappeared, Marai noted.
“Was he keeping tabs on me?” she asked as Thora began spreading the salve across Marai’s face and neck, healing cuts and gashes as she passed over them. The small injuries disappeared from Marai’s body as if they were never there. Some of the physical pain ebbed away, and Marai loosened her grip on the rock to keep from falling over.
Thora’s frown deepened as a look passed between her and Raife. “He didn’t have much of a choice. Flashes of you would come every few months. But do you honestly think we wouldn’t care? That we wouldn’t wait anxiously for Keshel to share a new vision he’d had of you?”
Marai should’ve guessed the leader of the fae-pack would have received visions of her. Keshel, seven years her senior, had been given the heavy burden of raising a crop of part-fae children after the massacres left their parents dead. Keshel had the gift of foresight, the ability to see the future, present, and sometimes the past.
Thora lifted Marai’s arm and attempted to remove her glove.
Marai snatched her hand away and tucked them both behind her back. “I’m fine now.”
Questions and concerns flashed across Thora’s face. Marai knew if Thora saw her fingers, she’d fall into a panic, worried about their safety. The bloodstone ring seemed to burn a hole of culpability in Marai’s pocket. Another secret Marai was determined to hide from her people: Meallán’s ring. A faerie queen’s curse.
Thora opened her mouth to speak, but Raife leapt in first.
“I should let the others know of your arrival.” He gave Marai a weak smile. “So they don’t fall over dead from shock.”
Raife drifted off down the main tunnel; the crunch of his boot s in dust grew distant.
Thora finished dressing Marai’s burns and wiped her hands on her apron. “Keshel told us you were on a ship for a while. And then explored the continent—”
“I wouldn’t call it exploring—”
“What was it, then?” Thora asked, voice rising. “Because you disappeared into the night and couldn’t be bothered to visit or send a message—”
“How could I send you a letter? This cave is in the middle of nowhere,” Marai said, throwing up her arms in a way that reminded her of someone else she knew. Someone she had left hours ago in the tropical southern port town of Cleaving Tides. She squeezed her eyes shut to erase the memory of him.
“You could’ve come back.” Hurt settled upon Thora’s face. “You wouldn’t have had to stay, but . . . you could’ve visited.”
Before Marai could reply, a squeal of delight ruptured the tense atmosphere. Dark arms wrapped around her neck, smelling strongly of cactus blossoms and eucalyptus.
“You’re here,” said a merry voice in her ear. “Raife wasn’t joking.”
Kadiatu, removing her arms, beamed down with her round face. Her black wiry hair was twisted into long locks and decorated with handmade beads.
“Careful, Kadi, don’t want to break fragile Marai, do you?” came a different sniggering male voice. “Arms like twigs, and no taller than the day she left.”
At the mouth of the tunnel, Raife stood with his twin, Leif, identical to nearly the last freckle. Both brothers had defined cheekbones and arrow-straight noses, although Leif’s sandy hair was shorter, unbound, curlier, than Raife’s. That, and Leif’s attitude, were the best ways to tell them apart.
A silent shadow lingered behind the brothers. Aresti.
When Marai had left, Aresti had been beautiful at fourteen. Now that she was an adult, Aresti was stunning: straight black hair, as shiny as a raven’s wing, cut severely to her chin. Sensuous curves were accentuated by her tight pants and shirt. She had several more piercings in her ears and nose.
“Why are you here?” she asked, putting hands on her hips as she stared at Marai with haughty scorn. On her belt hung two short swords, her signature weapons. “I thought we were rid of you.”
“That’s unkind, Aresti,” said Kadiatu, but it wasn’t a scolding. No, never from Kadiatu, who radiated kindness and purity unlike anyone Marai had ever met. “We’re so glad you’re back.” She hugged Marai again, and some of the horrible, crushing weight Marai carried lifted. She couldn’t bear to lift her arms to embrace Kadiatu back, but she breathed in the comfort, along with the smell of cactus blossom. Kadiatu brushed Marai’s wild, white-blonde hair from her face. “You look . . . different.”
“You mean dreadful,” chided Aresti.
Kadiatu rubbed her oily fingers together. “And slimy.”
“I covered her in burn salve,” Thora explained. “You should have known better than to walk here in broad daylight without coverage.”
“I didn’t,” Marai said.
The others waited for her to go on.
Marai continued. “I didn’t walk all the way here.”
“Oh, so did you fly?” Leif flapped his arms, shooting Marai that taunting jeer he’d perfected as a child.
None of the part-fae had wings. There wasn’t enough faerie in their blood to create those beautiful stained-glass wings that Marai remembered on her own father’s back.
All those vivid fae eyes bored into Marai, waiting for answers. Marai’s head spun. Too much had happened. She wasn’t an innocent child anymore. How could she explain each horrible thing that she’d done?
Footsteps sounded in a tunnel to her left.
He appeared, sweeping into the room with a commanding grace only he possessed. Keshel.
His dark, angular eyes met hers, revealing no slight flicker of surprise. He’d already seen Marai’s return. The others watched with bated breath as he approached Marai on the rock. She adjusted her gloves. She’d always hated the intensity of his gaze on her, how distant and solemn he was. Now, he looked at her in disapproval, as if he already knew each detestable crime she’d committed. He probably did.
“It’s good to see you, Marai,” he said, but his tone lacked conviction. “We so rarely have visitors who don’t wish to cause us harm.”
By the wariness in his voice, Marai guessed Keshel wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t there to cause trouble. Marai squirmed. Had he seen her do something?
“Loquacious as always,” said Leif under his breath and Aresti sniggered.
Marai shot them both a glare, which spurred on their chuckling.
“Why don’t we all give Marai time, and let her explain things when she’s ready?” Thora suggested, and Marai melted with appreciation. Thora put a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. Her fingers then hovered over Marai’s skull, and Thora sucked in a short breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a concussion?”
Raife stepped forward, his face darkening. “How did you get a concussion?”
Marai averted her eyes. She clamped her mouth shut. Resigned to not getting an answer, Raife sighed through his nose.
Thora went to work, and slowly, the pain ebbed away. Marai’s vision sharpened. The ringing in her ears stopped. The fist-like pounding against her skull subsided.
Leif kicked a rock across the cavern floor. “Marai waltzes in here, after years away, and you expect us to wait for her to tell us anything? She owes us an explanation.”
The silence was deafening as they stared at her. There was no skirting around this, but how could Marai find the words to explain?
“You escaped,” Keshel said.
Marai’s breath caught, stomach flip-flopping, as her anxiety returned. How much does he know?
“Escaped what?” Thora asked, fingers tensing against Marai’s skull.
“The Tacorn dungeon and then the pirate ship,” continued Keshel.
Marai met his cold gaze. Everything. He knew everything. He knew she’d been nearly tortured to death in the Tacornian castle fortress of Dul Tanen by a demented king. And that she’d once again come face-to-face with her worst nightmare in Captain Slate Hemming. The ring she’d stolen from him grew heavier in her pocket. Her fingertips turned numb.
“Why were you in the Tacorn dungeon?” Kadiatu gasped, amber eyes wide. Even Aresti and Leif seemed interested; their heads cocked to the side.
“I killed some soldiers. Tacorn didn’t appreciate that.”
That was an understatement. In the past few weeks, Marai had killed at least forty soldiers. She hated the shudder she saw from Thora and Kadiatu. She hated to see them come to their own conclusions about her story and why she’d taken those lives. But Marai struggled to find the words to explain. How could she admit all her failings? How could she reveal those demons inside her? If they’d flinched at the deaths of brutish Tacorn soldiers, what would they do if they knew the full length of Marai’s tally?
“You . . . you killed people?” Thora asked, stepping back from Marai.
Fear gripped her. If they kicked Marai out, she had no one left. She’d be alone for good.
“She was protecting the Nevandian prince,” said Keshel. “He paid for Marai’s services.”
“Why would he hire you?” Aresti asked, peering down at Marai as if she was an insignificant insect.
Marai glared at her. “I didn’t come here to tell you his story.”
No, she wouldn’t talk about Ruenen. Not yet. The wounds were still too raw. Her actions in that alley filled her with overwhelming shame. It hadn’t been half a day since she’d last seen him through the portal, surrounded by King Rayghast’s bounty hunters. And she’d run away, leaving him to their mercy.
Had Keshel seen that in his visions? Seen her call upon dark magic?
“I’m here because I . . .” Marai stopped. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t bear to see the horror on Thora’s face.
I need you. I need to feel safe.
And then, a deeper chasm cracked wide within her.
I want to be somewhere Ruenen has never been. Here, I won’t see the memory of him in every tree, snowflake, or grain of sand.
Instead, she hung her head and stared at her gloved hands. When she looked back up, Keshel’s eyes were on her fingers.
