Bloodrush (Scarlet Star Trilogy #1)

Chapter 10 - The Shohari

'I must be mad. I must have lost too much blood to be thinking this ... [some illegible scribbling here] The boy. That impetuous little sod.'

12th May, 1867

Another three bodies graced Lilain Rennevie's mortuary table before the week met its end. And what a scorching week it was. Every day seemed hotter than the last. The ground cracked and the home-grown trees in yards and gardens splintered. No wind. Just the dust, and the dry prickling heat to contend with.

But then Sunday arrived, and with it came rolling black clouds of wind and lightning and deafening thunder. The merciless storm battered Fell Falls into a muddy pulp for a whole afternoon. Merion spent it gawping at the forks of lightning and the strange flashes of green and blue that ran through the black clouds whenever the thunder rolled. The town was soaked to the bone by the time the thunderclouds grew bored, and slipped to the west. Merion was sad to see them go. He had been able to close his eyes and hear the Empire in the pattering of the raindrops.

All in all, it had been a deeply dissatisfying week. The young Hark's days had been spent roaming the town, sleeping through his boredom, or kicking cans across the graveyard while he stewed in his anger and thirst for home.

Evenings had been a completely different kettle of fish. Lilain was an owl. Her work filled the twilight hours. She barely slept more than a few hours a night. Merion would have dropped from exhaustion, but it never seemed to slow her down. Not one bit. Bodies were easier when they were kept cool, or so she said. Night was perfect for that. Merion tried not to form an opinion on the matter.

The railwraiths had struck twice during that blistering week. One was a prospector, found dead and ripped to bloody shreds at the end of the line. There were many different things to carry to the cart that day. Nobody knew his name. Lilain just kept calling him Mr Doe.

The second was another worker, an older gentleman with a face full of creases. Some of the other workers had called him Ole Pa, and he had been like a father to more than a few of them. Lilain had known him as Old Jaspar. The wraiths had kindly ripped his head from his shoulders and left it a hundred yards down the track, almost like a warning.

It was the third body that caused the greatest uproar. A scout by the name of Jeeber had been sent from Kaspar City to prepare the town for Lord Serped's arrival. Unfortunately, he never made it. He was found on the north trail, barely ten miles from the fringes of Fell Falls, a long arrow driven straight through his heart. An arrow fletched with blue and purple feathers. Shohari colours.

All Scout Jeeber's death did was ignite even more anger and fear in the citizens of Fell Falls. With the town swollen with workers and guards, there was gossip aplenty. Emotions were running high. On Merion's long walks and trips to the post office, he had seen more than a few black eyes and missing teeth, and kicked the shattered necks of many a broken bottle with his dusty shoes.

Lilain refrained from sharing her thoughts on the matter, never echoing the gossip. Perhaps it was due to the silver coins that jangled in her pockets, or maybe she simply wanted him to make up his own mind, Merion was not sure. In any case, he felt the fear of the town, and shared it.

By the Almighty, did they talk! Once Merion had firmly asserted to Lilain that the subject of his dead father was not, under any circumstances, to be a part of their conversations, and once Lilain had kindly suggested to Merion that if he was going to make a habit out of laying down rules, he might want to look into the architecture and methods of building a suggestion box, they formed a pact. Merion would get the answers he had begun to thirst for (and what meagre pay his aunt could offer whilst Eugin was slowly yet firmly ousted from her gainful employ), and Lilain got an ear to bend, and a helper to boot.