Wilde's Fire (Darkness Falls #1) (13 page)

The older soldiers stare at me while they eat. None of them asks questions or tries to talk to me. They just watch. I can’t help feeling like I’m on display, carrying food from the kitchen to the buffet table, walking between the tables, and collecting empty plates when people finish their meals.

After everyone finishes eating, I help Flanna clean the kitchen, and allow my curiosity to get the best of me.

“So what’s behind the two doors in the corridor?” I ask.

“The door on the left leads to the soldiers’ sleeping quarters. There are forty-two soldiers and children currently sharing that room.”

“Forty-two! That means there are more children here than adults! What happened to their parents?” I’m not sure I want to hear the answer. I swallow hard, remembering the coldhearted slaughtering I witnessed in my vision when we entered Encardia.

“We are at war, Kate; people die.” Flanna shrugs as if it’s no big deal people die, but there are only thousands of people left alive.

I’d say that’s a big deal, but I don’t respond. I understand it’s a war, and a war the children here will soon have to fight in, a war in which I lost my own father. It scares me to think that, all too soon, any one of the boys and girls who ate lunch in here today could be killed.

Flanna washes dishes. I wipe down the tables and push the chairs back into their places. After we finish, she sits down with me and gives me some stew, since we didn’t eat when everyone else did.

She watches me with her captivating eyes, as if I’m some sort of freak show at the fair—as if she’s expecting horns to suddenly pop out the top of my head. “This world is not an easy one to live in, Kate. I know it is difficult for you to understand, but none of these children fears what lies before them. They are eager for their opportunity to fight and help our people regain control of our home.”

Starving, I spoon a big bite of the stew into my mouth, chew, and swallow, before I speak. The warmth of the potatoes and sweetness of the carrots remind me of my farm and set my nerves at ease.

“Where I’m from, it would be unheard of for anyone under the age of eighteen to fight. Even fighting at that age was sad, but the world I live in is difficult, too. Earth is riddled with problems, but nothing as powerful as what’s happening here. Children there are expected to go to school to learn, and then to college to learn more, before going off into the world on their own. Although some do join the military early. But most have an easy life there.”

She hasn’t touched the food sitting in front of her. “Hopefully, it stays that way there, but here, most children are considered adults by the age of fifteen. Many of us choose to get married and have children before we reach our twentieth year. Otherwise, our race would die out all too soon.”

“Are you, Arland, or Lann married? Do any of you have children?” I ask before I can stop myself. The thought of Arland being married to someone makes me uncomfortable. Considering what we’ve shared in my dreams, I think my presence would make his wife uneasy … if she knew.

“No, but we are different.” Flanna’s eyes light up, and she pats my hand.

“Why?”

“Timing.” That’s all she says about their love lives, but Flanna doesn’t appear sad—not at all. In fact, she’s all smiles. “Would you like me to tell you more?”

Propping my elbows on the table, I rest my chin in my hands. “Please do.”

“Good. Well, Lann, Arland, and I
were
the only three with private quarters. In case you have not figured it out, we are the highest ranked soldiers. Arland has been in charge since his father left, ten years ago.”

“So, since he was fifteen, he’s been in charge?”

“Yes, and he is the youngest we have assigned to lead a base, and the best at containing the daemons.”

When he took over, Arland was a year younger than the eager soldier, Tristan. I picture Arland as a fifteen-year-old boy, giving orders to men and women, many of whom were much older than he was—which is still the case. It must have been hard for Arland and the soldiers under him. The fact he has run this base for so long, with so many reporting to him, means they have a great deal of respect for him. I’ve seen, firsthand, how they treat him when he enters and exits a room. They give formal bows, step out of his way while he walks, and rush around following his instructions. He’s not a stern leader. When giving orders, he doesn’t talk down to them like they are beneath him—he shows kindness and smiles. At least, that’s what I’ve noticed, so far.

“Wasn’t he ever afraid?”

“You have seen him. Does he appear fearful of anything?”

I laugh. “No, I guess not. How did he learn to fight the daemons?”

“He had no choice. We were just children when the early battles took place, but Arland seemed to have a natural instinct for killing them.”

“Is that why he was put in charge here? Because he was so good at killing and containing them?”

“Part of the reason is due to his strength and talent, but it is in his blood to lead—and he was anxious to take on the role from his prophecy … waiting for you. His father trained him for it before you were born, before they even knew what they were training for,” she says with a pointed look. “You know, I have never seen him sleep anywhere other than the room you are in, but since your arrival, he now sleeps in the soldier’s quarters with the others.”

I set the spoon down and push away my bowl. “I didn’t realize.”

“Of course not, how were you to know? At least Arland is not sharing my room, along with Lann. He snores!” Flanna teases.

“Did Lann have to move because of Brad?”

She nods.

“I can sleep somewhere else, so you don’t have to share with him.” So many people have had their lives turned upside down because of me—it doesn’t seem fair.

“No, no, no. Please do not go runnin’ off to sleep with the soldiers. Arland would never let me hear the end of it—and I do not mind.”

“It really doesn’t make a difference to me where I sleep.” I feel horrible. Why should anyone have to move because of me? I don’t care who I am or might be or whatever it is they think … a regular bed is more than okay. Their lives are tragic, compared to mine. “I can sleep on the floor.”

Flanna narrows her eyes, and I decide to let it go.

“Back to your original question. The door on the right conceals a hallway. There is a communications room on the left, where Arland went earlier, and a storage room on the right, next to a flight of stairs leading up to the stables.” Flanna has given me a glimmer of hope.

Animals, they have animals
!

“So you’re telling me that in the middle of a forest there are stables, containing a bunch of noisy animals where there are no other buildings? How odd does that look … and sound?”

“The layer of magic which protects us also protects the stables. We have used some of our strongest magical spells on it. I promise you, the stables are not visible to an untrained eye.”

“I would love to see the animals.” I imagine the smells of the farm back home.

“I do not believe Arland would appreciate me taking you aboveground,” she says, looking as though she already regrets telling me about the stables in the first place.

“I thought you said it’s heavily protected by magic?”

“The magic is strong, but not perfect.”

I cringe; maybe I don’t want to go up. “So, it’s possible for something to get in?”

She sighs. “Nothing ever has.”

“Well, then what are you worried about? Please?”

“I cannot
take
you—I do not enjoy getting in trouble—but if you were to accidentally stumble upon the stairs to the stables, I would be more than happy to pretend I had no idea where you were.” Flanna winks.

“Thanks!” I hand her my dish and bolt from the table.

“Please do not try to leave the stables, or Arland will have my head on a platter,” she yells as I run off.

Pushing through the door on the right, I enter an unlit hallway. Running my hand along the wall for a guide, I find the stairs leading up to the stables and begin climbing up them—two at a time. After a good fifty steps, I reach the top. I slide my hands over the door in search of the locks. Three bolts have to be pushed aside. Lifting the bar, I push the door open on its squeaky hinges, willing the old metal to be quiet so no one catches me coming up here.

The well-lit stables, while not large compared to our barn back home, are big enough to maintain a few different animals. There are chickens housed in a coop on the left across from the door leading downstairs, clucking away. Next to the chickens are four cows, and another stall with a bunch of goats. They stand on their hind legs, leaning against the wooden railing, chewing straw and watching me as I pass. I inhale the earthy scent of the stables and feel like I’m back at home, working in the barn with Gary.

At the end of the first section, there’s a bay where feed, straw, and tools are stored. I turn to my right and discover horses. Standing in the first stall before me is the most magnificent brown and white Paint I’ve ever seen. He stands tall, neck straight, eyes watching me. He’s knows he’s beautiful. So as not to startle him, I approach slowly, with my hand up, and offer some oats from a burlap bag next to his gate. He watches me, his ears pricked back, then somewhere he seems to find resolve and eats from my palm. When he finishes, I rub his forehead.

“I’ll be right back, Big Guy!”

He snorts.

“I’m only checking out your friends.”

There are six other stalls occupied by a mare and her foal, two fillies, and two stallions. Most of them ignore me, so I walk back to the Big Guy.

He sighs, long and heavy, when I return.

“You sure are friendly.” I want to get closer. Between his stall and the mare and foal’s, I find a brush hanging on the wall. I grab the brush and some oats, open his gate, and walk right up to him.

His coat is well groomed, but I run the brush from his head to his haunches anyway.

“I just got a new horse at home,” I say to him. The day before our trip, Gary and I had finished cleaning the horses’ stalls, then he took me into the arena behind the barn and showed her to me. A beautiful brown and white Paint—just like this Big Guy—trotted over our rolling, green pastures toward us. Her eyes were wide, and her tail was curled up over her back. She was such a happy girl. “She was supposed to be my summer project. I never even gave her a name, Big Guy. Can you believe that? My poor girl doesn’t have a name.”

I talk to him about my life on the farm for about an hour or so. He sighs every now and then. He’s so sweet. He nudges me with his head, and he sighs again. Leaning into Big Guy, I wrap my arm over his back, listening to him as he breathes.

During the summers on the farm, my stepdad took me out to work full days with him. As with most kids, I’d become bored, and after a few hours of following alongside him in the fields—or wherever it was I was supposed to be working—I would sneak away into the barn and find the horses. I don’t think Gary cared when I wandered off. At the end of the day, my stepdad would come to get me, worn and weary, but always repeating his favorite line, “All you need is five minutes, and you can make any horse love you
.”

On the farm is where Gary and I are the closest. I wonder if I’ll ever return. If I see my mom again, I’ll have so many things to talk to her about. First, why she never trusted me with my truth, and second—well, there are a lot of second questions. I’m upset with her. My mom and I have been able to talk to one another about most things, but now I think all she did was keep a lot of information from me.

“I miss my family. Do you think I’ll ever see them again?” I ask, feeding the horse more oats. He neighs, pricks his ears forward, and shakes his head at me. “Well, I hope I do soon, Big Guy. I need someone I know to talk to.”

Someone clears their throat.

I’m no longer alone.

Butterflies float in my stomach as I turn around. Arland and Flanna stare at me, disbelief on their faces.

“I see you have met Bowen,” Arland says, not looking as angry as I thought he might.

“Is that your name, Big Guy? Bowen?” I ask, rubbing his soft nose.

Flanna snickers and puts her hands on her hips. “Arland, why is Bowen allowing Kate to touch him? He will not allow any of us to get near his stall.”

“Flanna, why is Kate up here without anyone protecting her?” he asks, without looking away from me.

“Please don’t be upset with Flanna. She told me about the stables being off-limits, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to come up here.” I hope she doesn’t get in trouble for telling me about this place.

Arland’s expression lightens, but I can tell he’s still unhappy with her. “Flanna, you may return downstairs, now that Kate has been found.”

“Yes, sir.” Flanna hangs her head and kicks up dirt as she walks away.

Arland joins me on the other side of Bowen, receiving the same affection from the horse as I did. Arland rewards Bowen by feeding him some oats from his hand.

The hinges of the door creak.

“Kate, I will do everything in my power to make sure you see your family again,” he says, making my face heat up.

I didn’t realize he and Flanna stood behind me long enough to hear my conversation with Bowen. “I want to get Brad home to his family, too. Brad’s family deserves to see him, healthy or sick, again.”

“Does that mean you are willing to help us?” Arland asks, coming around Bowen to stand in front of me.

“I don’t know what it is you think I can do.” I shake my head. “But I’ll stay as long as I know it will help Brad. We have to get him home; he won’t live if he doesn’t get better care.”

Arland nods, then takes my hand in his and kneels on the ground before me. “Kate, as your Coimeádaí, I promise to protect and serve you until I draw my last breath, or you release me. Do you willingly accept?”

His actions are totally unexpected. He’d mentioned he was my Coimeádaí before, but I didn’t realize it came with a formal proposal and acceptance. I’ve never been good at reacting when someone puts me on the spot; I’m standing here with my mouth gaping, not sure how to respond.