The Sword of Sighs (The Age of the Flame: Book One) by Greg James Page A
Authors: Greg James
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head.
Jedda wrinkled her nose at the false gesture of penitence and spat upon the ground. Looking around, she saw that all heads were bowed. Reassured, she allowed herself some tears as she uttered a last private prayer. Then, the torches touched the kindling, and fire, fierce and sweltering, burst upwards. Tongues of scarlet and yellow, sparking with flecks of gold, ate at wood and cotton, and then flesh and bone. Screams carried into the Norn valley and out across the Grasslands on the wind, and the stains left by the ashes that fell from the three stakes were something the rains could never quite wash away.
~ ~ ~
Later, a company of three made its way across the first stretches of the Grassland Plains and away from Highmount. The companions were Sarah Bean, Ossen Wayfarer, and a slight figure swathed in black cloth from head to foot, so that only the eyes were visible. Three was the number of Highmount, as it was of Norn and the valleys. The number of fortune and fair journeys, and so their party came to no more than that.
Ossen had told Sarah that their nameless companion was a warrior from an order called the Sworn. Their names were abandoned as a part of their initiation, as well as their sex and gender. They were ghosts and assassins. Sarah was to address the warrior only as “O Sworn” and nothing else. To use any other name or title of familiarity was to show disrespect. The eyes of the Sworn looked straight ahead across the Grassland Plains. Sarah followed the gaze and felt a queasiness pass through her stomach lining. The land was so flat and dry and barren compared to the valleys of Norn, even now with the blight upon them. The air she breathed in was dusty, and her eyes stung from the grit that blew into them.
“Which way, O Sworn?” asked the Wayfarer.
The Sworn nodded ahead, dug its heels into its mount’s flanks, and led the way into the Grassland Plains.
Chapter Fourteen
On the first night in the wild, Sarah saw eyes peering out from between thickets not so far away. No moon illuminated the land around them, and the stars were covered over by clouds. The darkness was near total, except for the light shining from those eyes, which were embedded in a shadow that did not seem to move, only to watch and to wait. Grass, dry as old bones, rustled and crackled too loud in the still hours, which passed slowly as Sarah watched the eyes. The eyes watched her in return.
Was it a ghost? Did they have such things here?
But the shadow seemed so dark and solid that she was sure it could not be.
Was it Him?
Sarah’s breathing became hard and laboured, and her heart hammered. She should do something. Shout. Scream. Throw a rock at it. Wake up Ossen and the Sworn. But there was an air about that bright-eyed shadow she dared not disturb—that of a predator ready to pounce upon its prey. Even with Ossen and the Sworn so close, she felt more alone than she had since she came into this World. A tremble passed through her. She tried in vain to steady her breathing.
What are you?
Those eyes, lit by limpid fire, continued to watch her in silence, seeming to dare her to move, to cry out or to disturb the others. Trembling overtook her, more violent this time. She felt that those eyes were hungry for her. For the Fire within her.
Sarah closed her own eyes, breathed deeply, and then opened them.
The eyes in the night were gone.
~ ~ ~
Sarah did not tell the others about the shadow. She should have done, perhaps, but something held her tongue. Some vague sense, some trace of that feeling of being prey watched by a predator. If she spoke of it, treated it as more than a nightmare, it would come true, and that shadow would rise up out of the dark on the following night and consume them all.
“There are secrets in the Grassland Plains.”
She jumped in her saddle. The words were Ossen’s.
“Are you okay, Sarah?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m ... fine, Ossen.”
“Good. As I was saying, there
Jedda wrinkled her nose at the false gesture of penitence and spat upon the ground. Looking around, she saw that all heads were bowed. Reassured, she allowed herself some tears as she uttered a last private prayer. Then, the torches touched the kindling, and fire, fierce and sweltering, burst upwards. Tongues of scarlet and yellow, sparking with flecks of gold, ate at wood and cotton, and then flesh and bone. Screams carried into the Norn valley and out across the Grasslands on the wind, and the stains left by the ashes that fell from the three stakes were something the rains could never quite wash away.
~ ~ ~
Later, a company of three made its way across the first stretches of the Grassland Plains and away from Highmount. The companions were Sarah Bean, Ossen Wayfarer, and a slight figure swathed in black cloth from head to foot, so that only the eyes were visible. Three was the number of Highmount, as it was of Norn and the valleys. The number of fortune and fair journeys, and so their party came to no more than that.
Ossen had told Sarah that their nameless companion was a warrior from an order called the Sworn. Their names were abandoned as a part of their initiation, as well as their sex and gender. They were ghosts and assassins. Sarah was to address the warrior only as “O Sworn” and nothing else. To use any other name or title of familiarity was to show disrespect. The eyes of the Sworn looked straight ahead across the Grassland Plains. Sarah followed the gaze and felt a queasiness pass through her stomach lining. The land was so flat and dry and barren compared to the valleys of Norn, even now with the blight upon them. The air she breathed in was dusty, and her eyes stung from the grit that blew into them.
“Which way, O Sworn?” asked the Wayfarer.
The Sworn nodded ahead, dug its heels into its mount’s flanks, and led the way into the Grassland Plains.
Chapter Fourteen
On the first night in the wild, Sarah saw eyes peering out from between thickets not so far away. No moon illuminated the land around them, and the stars were covered over by clouds. The darkness was near total, except for the light shining from those eyes, which were embedded in a shadow that did not seem to move, only to watch and to wait. Grass, dry as old bones, rustled and crackled too loud in the still hours, which passed slowly as Sarah watched the eyes. The eyes watched her in return.
Was it a ghost? Did they have such things here?
But the shadow seemed so dark and solid that she was sure it could not be.
Was it Him?
Sarah’s breathing became hard and laboured, and her heart hammered. She should do something. Shout. Scream. Throw a rock at it. Wake up Ossen and the Sworn. But there was an air about that bright-eyed shadow she dared not disturb—that of a predator ready to pounce upon its prey. Even with Ossen and the Sworn so close, she felt more alone than she had since she came into this World. A tremble passed through her. She tried in vain to steady her breathing.
What are you?
Those eyes, lit by limpid fire, continued to watch her in silence, seeming to dare her to move, to cry out or to disturb the others. Trembling overtook her, more violent this time. She felt that those eyes were hungry for her. For the Fire within her.
Sarah closed her own eyes, breathed deeply, and then opened them.
The eyes in the night were gone.
~ ~ ~
Sarah did not tell the others about the shadow. She should have done, perhaps, but something held her tongue. Some vague sense, some trace of that feeling of being prey watched by a predator. If she spoke of it, treated it as more than a nightmare, it would come true, and that shadow would rise up out of the dark on the following night and consume them all.
“There are secrets in the Grassland Plains.”
She jumped in her saddle. The words were Ossen’s.
“Are you okay, Sarah?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m ... fine, Ossen.”
“Good. As I was saying, there
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