Sunern, Fir of Julyla: 33 Xiven

At first, when Kayin pulled her close and buried his face in her neck, Dania didn’t smell quite like he remembered. The forest of Yatora, the hay of the huts, all memories long gone and burnt to a crisp. But as he clutched her closer and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, intense and vivid memories returned. The dirt under her nails from her never-idle hands, sweat that gathered at her hairline whenever she panicked. The same girl he held as a child that was so bony he could feel her spine, was now taller and fuller and holding him like he was the one that would disappear any moment.

Her sob in his ear almost released the torrent of emotion that rushed behind his eyes. Warm, real, right here. The only symbol of a part of his life he could ever claim he felt anywhere close to peace, to happiness. His childhood best friend—and first bully, even. But she was here, crumpled onto the floor with him, struggling to breathe just as much as he did.

Kayin didn’t hear any of the commotion around them at first. Maybe it was only ten seconds, but in those ten seconds, Kayin stood in bare feet on dry grass in Yatora, promising Dania that he would pretend to listen to her in front of other people to earn the right to completely ignore her to her face. Smiling as they struck their deal, hours before their worlds were rippled to shreds.

Vaguely, Karsarath’s voice interrupted the flood of past visions: “…is coming.” And while Kayin’s mind still lingered on the taste of slightly-burnt edia for suppers and listened to ongoing, scripted arguments he and Dania only echoed from the adults around them, Kayin’s body moved anyway.

He helped Dania to her feet, lightheaded, and felt his lips move as he said, “Bring back the fog and don’t let go.” Just as the memories faded, the room returned to the cold mist she’d brought in; his free hand reached for Fero’s, and somehow, he sensed that she reached for Karsarath. Sightless but certain, Kayin ran.

Their shoulders scraped by the doorway, unable to fit as a group but ignoring the splinters. From the top of the stairs, Ivar shouted for the thief to return and face the consequences.

The sound of the wooden floor traded for the harsh patter of boots against stone, and now the intense shine of Irinel reflected off the droplets of the fog, nearly blinding them.

All those mornings Dhekk woke him up to memorize the grid of Tornah, to build endurance he never appreciated, supported Kayin as they flew down the empty streets. Eventually, he only held Dania’s hand, and the fog couldn’t keep up with them. It didn’t matter. They were far enough, maybe half a mile away from Ivar’s shop before they skidded to a sudden stop in front of Fero’s house. Kayin spun around on his heel.

“Karsarath, key,” he demanded. Everyone was moving too slowly. Karsarath might as well have been wading through water with how long it took him to pull out the key from his pocket; and it wasn’t until Kayin snatched it out of his hand did he realize that the man stared at Dania with just as much awe as Kayin did moments ago. An uncle and niece that never met.

Eager to make up for the milliseconds of lost time, Kayin jumped up the stairs two at a time, and pulled Dania inside in all the time it took Karsarath to register that he’d even moved in the first place. Fero uprooted herself first, and pulled Karsarath into the home, all while summoning small flames to the candles in the dining room’s chandelier.

After the door clicked closed, Kayin watched Karsarath stare, frozen. One by one, Fero’s fingers slipped away from his, and while this movement took an oddly lengthy amount of time, Karsarath hardly noticed. For every moment Fero focused on how his hand drifted out of hers, Kayin could see the gears click behind Karsarath’s eyes.

“You,” was all he managed to say. Dania squeezed Kayin’s hand tighter as she stared at her uncle. He nearly forgot he still held onto her, like his hand froze to prevent her from fading. For a brief moment of panic, he scolded himself for not lacing their fingers like Fero and Karsarath; she could still so easily slip away, return to being dead.

Karsarath stammered, “You’re—you’re her. You’re Dania.” It wasn’t until his voice cracked at saying her name that Kayin realized he wasn’t the only one staring at a ghost.

Four years ago, Dania might as well have been a husk of who she was now. Now, her cheeks were full and her skin glowed. Now that Kayin had a real moment to breathe and think, he could see that Dania was the spitting image of her mother, save for the skin and hair texture she got from her father. And more, possibly around the age Danuli was when she’d last seen Karsarath and left for Yatora.

Instead of answering, Dania continued to stare. Just like how Kayin had watched Fero do earlier, he pulled his fingers away from Dania’s; and just like Karsarath, she didn’t seem to notice.

Her uncle started to speak again: “I’m—D—I’m Danuli’s br—” Though the fog was no longer visible, it stuck in Karsarath’s throat.

At the mention of her mother’s name, Dania seemed to understand. “You’re…Uncle Karsarath.” Karsarath blinked, but froze otherwise. “Mom talked about you.” For a moment, she fell distant, remembering ghosts of her own. “She said—she said you were super annoying, and that I should be lucky not to have a younger brother.” Not the nicest thing to say, but it lit Karsarath’s face with such a palpable joy, Kayin almost grinned with him.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, rivaling Fero’s candlelight. Dania laughed.

“I’m—I’m sorry, she just said that when I met you I was supposed to say that right away. I—I thought I’d just—”

“Yes,” he repeated when she stammered, “it was a joke she made when I last saw her. She promised me you’d find me utterly dull and obnoxious. We bet on it.”

Delighted, Dania held out her hands as she asked, “C-can we hug?” Karsarath didn’t need to be asked again. Kayin understood when they embraced, how unreal the moment was. How was she alive? How was she here?

When Karsarath pulled away, he asked just that: “I thought you were dead. Did anyone…?” He didn’t finish, but it was clear he meant to check if anyone else shared her fate of skirting out of death’s reach. Dania shook her head.

“No,” she said as an answer to every question asked and unasked.

“Kayin said you were dead,” Karsarath now clarified. The intimate moment included Kayin again; Dania took a step to the side to shoot him a look of confusion.

“Why would you say I was dead?” There were so many nights when he thought of Yatora that he wished to hear someone ask him that question with that distinct confusion, like he made it all up in a sad delusion. He’d longed to be wrong, for the war to be nothing but a nightmare. But in his daydreams, Dania was younger, skinnier, sicklier like the last time he spoke to her four years ago. Now, she stood with actual meat on her bones, clarity in her eyes that only came from a full stomach.

“I—I thought I saw you die,” Kayin admitted. Maybe this was a dream. “Or, well—I saw you…get attacked. The mace….” As if remembering the moment with him, she looked down to her arms and swept one of her sleeves away.

“You mean when you screamed at the King of Wakino and ran into a halberd?” she recalled with furrowed brows. She traced over the layer of destroyed, puckered scars; she kept herself in the present, somehow, but he could tell that the way that she squinted, she fought to keep the visions at bay. “And everyone was convinced you’d just sacrificed yourself to buy us time to retreat while you were pulled away to go bleed out and die to Wakino poison?” That sounded a lot more heroic than what actually happened.

“I guess we have a lot to catch up on,” he decided to say instead of correcting her. Like how or why she was here in the first place, and why she was stealing from merchants in the second place.

Dania managed a small, half-smile and said, “I guess it’s like in Aunt Aayin’s stories: if you don’t actually see someone die in front of you, don’t assume they died.” If only that were true. For stories, though, a nice thought.

At the sudden sound of wood scraping against wood behind him, Kayin jumped. Fero lowered herself into a dining chair, holding her words back like they were bile rushing up her throat.

“Alright,” she said during the silence, “I get this is, I guess, a really important moment and all that, but in the interest of time, can we hold the rest of this conversation for later?” Deceiving her otherwise calm exterior, the candles above burned a little hotter, flickering and anxious. “I’m just going to make an assumption, here, that we’re scrapping the original plan of getting her to flip on the Silent Shadows and dragging her to the Council of Tornah to make her, uh, answer for all the stealing and extortion?” She sat on her hands and now looked to Karsarath with a raised brow. Beside him, Dania’s energy returned to restlessness.

“Answer for…?” she echoed in bated breath.

Fero ignored her and continued, “And I’m also assuming that when Ivar comes knocking on our door in a matter of minutes, we need to pretend she’s not here and that she got away or something?”

The moment Kayin and Karsarath caught on to Fero’s words, the anticipated pounding of the door came. Whereas everything moved too slowly before, now Kayin couldn’t keep up.

Karsarath steeled himself and shook his head. “I’ll handle this.” They didn’t have any time to react, to move or hide; Karsarath just twisted around and opened the door as if nothing was the matter, despite no one moving to hide at all.

“Yes, Ivar?” asked Karsarath coolly. Thankfully, Karsarath was taller than everyone here; him facing the doorway gave Kayin a chance to recover from realization and plaster on a blank expression.

“The—the—did you get the—the thief!” The tailor wheezed for air. “The fog! I saw—fog, like you said I would! And I heard you shouting!” Ivar stood on his tip-toe; over Karsarath’s shoulder, the balding man stared right at Kayin and Dania. “Who’s that? Is that the thief?”

One of the candles that lit the dining table went out. Was that on purpose, or was Fero losing her nerves?

“Ivar,” Karsarath began again with a calm and controlled tone. He waited to continue until Ivar looked him in the eyes. “This is my niece. You’ve met. You didn’t forget, right? You remember her, don’t you?” Another candle flickered and dimmed, hissing as the flame met the wax. No one breathed in the half-dimmed house. Sure, Ivar was an insecure old man—but this was a stretch.

“Oh—your—niece?” Ivar stammered. He squinted, eyes fluttering to Dania for only a second. Kayin waited. There was absolutely no way just gas-lighting an old man like that was going to work. But as awful as it was, if he needed to, Kayin would absolutely pretend to have introduced them at the market. Ivar shook his head, though, already convinced as he said, “Uh, y-yes, um—my apologies, of course I remember—but the thief!”

Karsarath let out a wistful sigh. “Got away, I’m afraid. We scared him off.” As if to further shunt Ivar out of the doorway, he leaned forward with the door, closing the gap.

“Oh—?” Ivar had no choice but to take a step back.

“Doubt you’ll be bothered again. We’ll try again with the next shop. Thank you for your help, Ivar. Have a good night.”

At the sound of the door closing, the god of air permitted breathing to return to the room as everyone took a collective breath. The candles returned to their bright blaze, spots disappeared from Kayin’s vision, and Karsarath leaned against the door, pale as the night.

“Wow,” Dania whispered first. “I’ve—I’ve never seen it in person before. That’s incredible.” In response to this, Fero only let out a hum. Kayin and Karsarath exchanged looks of confusion.

Shrugging, Kayin asked, “Seen what?”

“The, um—” Dania physically reached forward, gesturing to Karsarath as if the words she searched for were floating right there. “The—what is it called? The Cigam where you tell people to do things—?”

“Ah.” Karsarath dismissed her excitement with a hand. “That was just regular manipulation. I’m not an Omni-Vinctesprit.” Kayin had dealt with one of those in the past, before meeting Karsarath. Ivar didn’t quite behave as catatonic as Kayin did, didn’t immediately alter himself to try and do whatever he was told. Karsarath’s natural manipulation did look like Cigam, though, from what Kayin could tell.

“Oh. What…um….” Dania continued gesturing for words, but her voice died out.

“I don’t have any Cigam,” said Karsarath carefully. “My mother—your grandmother—gave it up when she was pregnant with me, so I was born without.” Grandmother. Parents, an uncle, a grandmother: a full family, and all but one gone.

Fero cleared her throat and tapped her fingers on the dining table, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Yeah, um—so this whole plan we had for the Tornah Council…,” she started again awkwardly. “Unless—Dania, was it?—Unless Dania’s willing to flip and dip, I’m not sure—”

“Wait,” interrupted Dania, “let’s go back. Who are you? And—and how are you all—and why?” As the questions flooded in and her eyes widened, her otherwise perfect posture softened to a slight slouch. Truly, whether or not the thief turned out to be Dania, the trio had succeeded in moving forward with their original plan—just with a lot less fighting and hiding the criminal in their basement.

Recovered from his conversation with Ivar, Karsarath started his way to the dining table. He waved a hand to indicate for Kayin and Dania to join him and Fero at the table. Dania kept shrunken in on herself, her movements small and quick. Kayin slipped into the chair opposite Karsarath. Though his thoughts felt incoherent, he could feel them whiz by all the same.

“This is Fero,” Kayin said, almost in passing. “This is her house. She’s Tidesa’s friend. She’s helping with the whole….” As he searched for the words, Fero leaned forward onto the table.

“Dania, what’s your story? How do you know both of them?” Though she didn’t have a fully skeptical tone, her curiosity definitely had an immediate edge to it. “Other than the whole related but never met bit.” Dania just blinked at her.

“Dania and I grew up in Yatora together,” said Kayin after a moment. “And—and right after the war—the one where Wakino attacked Yatora and Dhekk and Tidesa got me out—right after that, Karsarath was leaving Urbana to go to Yatora, and Dhekk and I ran into him.” He shrugged toward his companion opposite him. “And Dhekk—he’s another one of Tidesa’s friends.” If he was still alive, anyway.

Dania hesitated, digesting the lackluster details. She shrugged, mostly to herself, as she stared at the table. Her voice was quiet: “Why didn’t you go to Kunnu with the rest of us? The rest of the refugees?”

“You went to Kunnu! Why—why are you here?” Maybe she wouldn’t notice him skirting her question. He just got her back, a piece of his life he didn’t desperately hate or dread. If he could delay merging that part with this ugly, violent, current narrative, he would. If she didn’t already know what was going on, didn’t understand what it meant to be a friend of Tidesa, she could enjoy that blissful ignorance.

Dania didn’t press it, at least for the moment. Instead, without looking up, she said, “Kunnu wasn’t as welcoming to refugees as we were led to believe. I didn’t stay very long. I heard that some people were coming here, so when I….” She bit her lips together to stop the words from forming, then continued as if nothing happened. “I came here, but never found anyone else. I guess they left here, too.”

Fero didn’t let this slide. “And you just happened to join the Silent Shadows?”

Dania didn’t look up, but shook her head. “I—started…that…in Kunnu. I hoped to…avoid it here. Another, uh, reason I left Kunnu was to try and get out.” Karsarath and Kayin exchanged glances when she sighed. “But I guess they knew I was coming and were waiting for me.” Without moving her head, she looked up at Kayin. “Are you working for the guards?” Her words nearly made him forget the list of questions forming from that quick explanation. Kayin shook his head; and, as if he gave her permission, she let out a long sigh of relief. “Okay.”

The energy, already tense and sour, tightened when Dania relaxed.

Fero sat up straighter. After letting the moment pass, twisting the air even further, she asked, “So you work with the treasurer?” Dania didn’t say yes, but didn’t move to indicate otherwise. Instead, the two women measured one another with equal looks of questioning and wariness. Dania broke first, and cast a glance out the window over her shoulder.

“So—um….” She shrugged, glancing between her uncle and Kayin. “I’m, um, I’m glad to see you—and—and meet you—but—but I have to get back before dawn. But tonight, I can come back—” Wait, what?

The tiniest movement from Fero, the way she lifted her arm to rest her head on her fist, interrupted Dania as sudden as a shout.

Fero took her time, even blinked a few times before she asked in a whisper, “Any idea what they’ll do to you if you return empty-handed?” She might as well have punched each of them in the gut.

Karsarath’s fingernails scraped on the table as he formed a fist. Through his teeth, he growled, “Are you trying to threaten—”

Fero didn’t look away from Dania, didn’t fully react to him, just nodded. Kayin’s chair scraped back against the floor; he didn’t even realize he pulled away, or that he shouted something at her, until the candles overhead dimmed.

“Little louder for Ivar to hear, yeah?” came Fero’s voice in the darkness. At the next moment of silence, gentle flames ignited again. Kayin stared at her, lightheaded, shaking with every beat of his heart; he couldn’t tell if she lit a fire in his stomach on purpose or if it was just a way to counter the ice in his chest. Fero waited, as if challenging Kayin to yell some more, before she said, “She doesn’t even want to work for them. We can continue, as planned, and get back on track—and she gets out of a life she doesn’t want.”

“She’s not going to jail,” Kayin spat. He’d done enough time for a crime he didn’t commit to at least buy Dania a few years of freedom.

“Back on track?” she echoed quietly from across Fero.

Fero rolled her eyes. “Jail’s nothing compared to—”

“Back on track?” A little louder, now, drawing everyone’s attention. Dania shifted away from her own fears, instead focusing on the piece of the puzzle she missed; she stared at the table as if she could see the bits connecting together, with even one finger pointing from one part of the table to the other as she put her thoughts in order. Kayin could almost hear the gears turning behind her eyes as she looked amongst them, waiting for their reaction.

And, finally, she seemed to come to an answer by the time she’d made it to Kayin. “This is because of Tidesa. Does this have to do with what she’s planning, too?” And, glancing between them all, Dania recovered a bit of her height and confidence. “Is everyone still here? Did I miss them?”