A House Filled With Night

It had been decided: they would return to the graveyard on the night of the next new moon, when it was dark enough to risk it. Niko wouldn’t be completely healed by then, but there was no other choice. They had to strike before it was too late.

Every moment was filled with preparations, repairs, long deliberations, and speculations. Torin and Runa couldn’t afford any time alone. They settled for whisps of conversation and ghosts of touches, sometimes only an exchange of glances. But it was enough. After the longest days, when Runa looked up at Torin, and he looked back with the same spark in his eye—it gave her the strength she needed to make it through another long night.

Those last few nights before the new moon were some of the longest she had ever known. They were full of doubt, worry, and complete loss, knowing they were diving straight down into a dark, angry ocean of unknown.

—

The moon was hidden in the sky; the night had finally come. A strange mist rolled in through the city gates after sunset, as the Sons of Midnight slipped passed all the guards waiting at their posts and swept through the streets.

Runa had come along, despite copious protestations from all the brothers. She swore she would sneak out on her own at night if they tried to make her stay, so at last, they all begrudgingly agreed she could come along. Torin, of course, had been the hardest to convince; he remained a constant at her side. The smallest stir in the city made him grip her hand like she was about to fall away. He pulled her closer and leaned down to whisper.

“If anything happens tonight, anything at all, I want you to leave us and run for Meriel’s house.”

She offered no reply. He didn’t press her for an answer; perhaps because he didn’t want to hear her refuse.

They couldn’t go through the cathedral to get to the graveyard this time. Instead, they scaled the large, iron gate, passing supplies over the top one at a time. Safely on the other side, Sylvain lifted a lantern and lit it. As they walked, its light illuminated the names on tombstones one at a time. They looked from one to the another, waiting for that familiar name to appear.

Celemine Itana.

“Do you have the shovels?” asked Casimir.

Niko and Fiske were already hauling them out.

Sylvain crouched by the tombstone and peered at the ground. He placed a hand on the dirt and ran his fingers through it.

“The ground…”

“What about the ground?” asked Torin, crouching down by his brother.

“Shouldn’t it be firm—packed down? It’s so soft.”

Casimir grabbed a shovel and stuck it in the ground easily, tossing aside some of the loose dirt.

“He’s right.”

“There’s a lot of foot-prints by the tree,” Runa pointed.

“Someone’s been here,” said Sylvain.

“This isn’t good,” said Torin. “We should go.”

They had barely stood up from the ground before fire lit up the graveyard from every corner. There came a metallic clamor, and the stamping of many feet. Polished armor and muskets glinted in the light. They were surrounded by soldiers from every side, closing in slowly. At their head was Lord Cargan.

“What the hell is he doing here,” growled Casimir.

Cargan stopped just a hair’s breadth Sylvain, eye to eye. The two held each other’s glares for an unbearable minute: the lord’s eyes crinkling with mirth, a smirk twitching at his lips; Sylvain’s gaze steady, impassive, but cold. The flickering firelight made the hard features of their faces melt into shadow and put an otherworldly glint in the eye.

“We were told you might come here,” Lord Cargan spoke at last.

Torin stared at Runa. His eyes pleaded for her to run away.

“You’ve caused us enough trouble,” Cargan continued. “It’s time to put this to an end.”

Runa looked back at Torin. She couldn’t leave.

“We’ll offer you a proper trial if you come with us now. If not—”

The soldiers pulled up their muskets and aimed. Their torches flickered, then stood still. Lord Cargan’s mouth hung open. Everything came to a standstill. Niko’s face contorted in concentration, pain etched into his brow. He had stopped the graveyard in time. Casimir and Torin bent down at the same time to grab muskets and toss them around to the others.

“We’re leaving immediately,” said Sylvain.

Torin pushed something into Runa’s hands. “I hope you don’t have to use this.”

She looked down at the musket in her hands, then back up at Torin. A sad but determined expression drifted across his face as he locked eyes with her and closed her fingers around the weapon.

“If we get separated, we meet outside by the well where—”

The torches around them flickered again for just a moment. Sylvain stopped speaking. The soldiers were still, but there came the faint sound of armor rattling. Wind blew through the graveyard, and the iron gate swung open with a slow, grating screech. A hooded figure stood just outside, nothing visible above the bright red of her lips. They curved into a smile. Then everything began to move again.

“They’re armed!” a soldier cried.

“Niko, what happened?”

“Men, at attention!”

“What do we do?”

A musket shot rang out from somewhere in the graveyard. More followed, and Runa found herself thrown to the ground behind a tree. She could only assume someone had shoved her there, because she certainly hadn’t jumped.

The air had slowly begun to flood with smoke. Amidst the fog, she noticed some of the Sons of Midnight creeping toward the gate. She took a chance and ran to follow them. Somewhere along the way, Torin caught her hand and pulled her with him. They clambered over the iron bars in the mist; it was so thick, they couldn’t even see who was climbing beside them. Gunfire still rang in the air. As she reached the top and pushed herself over, Runa felt something sharp pressing into her ribcage and almost cried out. Instead, she bit her tongue and gave one more shove, landing in a crumple on the other side. She looked up saw Fiske and Torin still climbing. Just as they reached the top of the gate, she heard another shot ring through the air. Fiske cried out, clutching at his side and almost falling in the process. Torin caught him in time, reaching up to push him over the edge.

Fiske hissed but stood immediately.

Runa rushed over to him. “Are you okay?”

“I think it just grazed me.”

“Thank God.”

He pulled his hand away from his side. Even in the moonless night, she could just make out the wet, dark spots on his hands.

“You’re bleeding—!”

Torin landed beside them.

“You okay?”

“He—”

Fiske grabbed her by the wrist and squeezed hard. “Just a scratch.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Runa looked up at Fiske. His expression was strained, but firm. She couldn’t help but remember how he had been crying like a baby while she fixed a bandage just the other day. There was no time to dwell on it—they were on the run again.

The three tumbled through the streets together, everything a chaotic blur: torchlight flashed past them, breath huffed in and out, sounds of soldiers swarmed all around. Runa felt her heart pounding so hard it hurt. She held onto Torin’s hands, feeling the bones of each finger crushing into her own. They dove into an alleyway and hid behind a pile of trash, allowing the soldiers to pass by as they caught their breath. Runa glanced at Torin, who was gasping even more than she was. She realized, suddenly, that he might be in danger of losing control any moment now. It was a miracle he had held together this long.

She prayed he could hold on for just a while longer.

Fiske staggered in belatedly, stopping to lean against a wall.

“Sorry, I…”

Runa spotted a shadow following in the distance, advancing quickly and quietly.

“Torin—”

She turned, but he was already aiming his musket, eye trained on the approaching figure. The shot flew and Fiske jumped as it blazed past him.

“That doesn’t look like a scratch to me,” Torin scowled, approaching his brother and looking down at the gash at his side.

“Well, at least I’m not shot through, am I?” snapped Fiske. “And I can assure you, this feels ten times better than that.”

“We should cover it, at least,” said Runa, tearing off a piece of her shirt. “Hopefully this will help stop the bleeding.”

“Just do it quickly,” Fiske urged, as she wound the cloth around his abdomen. She felt her eyes sting with tears.

Then they were off again, weaving in and out of alleyways, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t end up against a city wall. Torin seemed to grow more heated with each step they took. He was getting out of hand; he couldn’t hold back anymore. When they stumbled across a pair of soldiers aiming their guns, the blow he delt them across the head made them fall instantly dead. Runa tried not to look too horrified—there was no time for anything like that.

The city gates finally rose above the horizon, looking to them like a sunrise after a long, long night.

But then they saw the sea of soldiers guarding it.

“Fiske,” hissed Torin, looking back at him. “If I can get us to the wall, can you get us over?”

“Don’t push yourself, Torin you’re already—”

“Speak for yourself! Can you?”

Fiske sighed. “I…yes. I can.”

“Fiske,” Runa pleaded with her eyes. “You shouldn’t…”

“I’ll take Runa first,” he said firmly.

Torin heaved himself up. “Runa, you hold onto Fiske. Stay behind me. Do you still have that musket?”

He looked back at her for a second then, and she nodded, hands tightening around the neck of the gun.

“Good. We’re getting out of here.”

Torin dashed forward and to the left, where there were fewest soldiers. He took two shots as he ran and flipped his gun over to use it as a makeshift battering ram, roaring through the crowd. Fiske pulled Runa the other way. Torin’s distraction had cleared the way to the right, allowing them to make it to the wall. Fiske used his last ounce of strength to heave her up into his arms and fly them over the wall. But just as they rose into the air, someone grabbed onto Runa’s ankle.

A cry flew from her throat as her eyes whipped down to meet two desperate, wide-eyed ones looking right back at her. The soldier’s hand absolutely trembled, but he held on with a grip like death. She wanted to scream—it felt like her leg was about to pop out of its socket.

“What’s going on?” cried Fiske, trying to look down and fly up at once.

Runa fumbled to get a grip on her musket without falling out of Fiske’s arms. She aimed down at the man. His wild eyes flashed back up at her. She squeezed her eyes closed and fired. Then she found herself flying over the wall.

Fiske deposited her gently on a grassy patch outside.

“Wait for us,” he whispered.

An unbearable minute passed before the two brothers joined her on the other side. Torin had become practically hysterical. By the time they met up with the other brothers, Niko was compelled to incapacitate him. Casimir was the last to meet them. He seemed to have been stabbed by someone. Sylvain limped as he approached to greet them.

That night, no one left the city unscathed.

__________________

~ A/N ~

__________________

~ COMMENT OF THE WEEK ~