Page 84 of Forged in Fading

Sten grunted something, and the other men released Boden, who rushed to Alvara. “Are you all right?”

“That hardly matters⁠—”

“It does to me.” His gaze slid to her leg. He dropped to his knees, his hands hovering above her burns. “Who did this?”

The earth beneath them quaked, and the guards behind them started to murmur. He needed to calm down if they wanted to end the day alive.

“For Vitharen’s sake, Boden. It’s just a burn.”

His only response was a grunt as he pulled the material away from her blisters.

“It was a demi-elf. He was just scared. What’s more important is that we can now enter the town. As long as we help train them…and take a blood oath.”

“You agreed to a blood oath?” Boden dropped his head into his hands, while she coated her injuries in another layer of ice to alleviate the pain. “Are you going to tell me next that you’re marrying the chief?”

She had no idea what marry meant, so she ignored him. “I didn’t have another choice.” To be fair, Alvara hadn’t asked for another choice, but she hadn’t exactly forged many alliances before today.

Boden sighed and wrapped his arm around her waist, relieving the pressure on her leg as they headed back into Gosibik. “As soon as we’re finished, I’ll bring you to the healer I know, the best they have. She’s helped me more times than I can count.” His voice softened. “Thank you.”

Violence still simmered and sparked everywhere she looked, though guards had dispersed through the crowds in an attempt to instill order. Boden’s grip tightened as they passed throngs of less than welcoming spectators, but he didn’t cower from their gaze. Maybe they treated him just as terribly as the elves did.

They approached an impressive rectangular structure with a tall, layered roof and intricately carved woven knots and wriggling serpents on the exterior. The chief and his guards led them inside in silence, where the stench of old blood weighed heavy in the air. Alvara leaned into Boden’s touch as the culprit came into view—a stone altar stained a gruesome red, along with splatters of blood on every wall.

Three large wooden statues oversaw the altar: Kutamir, god of the moon, Luono, god of the forest, and Merikal, god of the sea. Delmis and her cloak of goose feathers were nowhere to be found. Hardly a surprise, since she had fractured into the five season goddesses when the humans were created. They probably knew nothing of her existence.

Boden removed his arm bearing her weight and advanced toward the altar, but Chief Frigar shook his blond head and pointed to Alvara.

“Me?” Oh gods. She was the last person who should take a blood oath with these people. She couldn’t even speak a word of their language.

She couldn’t understand the next words out of Boden’s mouth, but from his aggressive tone, she could safely assume he was arguing with the chief on his decision. Boden tipped his head back toward the ceiling, his shoulders sagging with defeat.

“You made agreement. You take oath,” Sten said. He looked pointedly to the spot next to his ruler, and Alvara had no other option than to comply.

She hobbled forward and whispered to Boden under her breath, “I’ll be fine.” Confident words for someone who was approaching a piece of stone covered in blood from gods knew who.

Chief Frigar produced a plain and rather poorly forged dagger in one hand and placed the other on a large metal ring in the middle of the altar. He spoke and Boden translated, though each word sounded as though it caused him pain. “This oath symbolizes the alliance between our people. I, before Kutamir, swear that my people shall not draw first blood unprovoked from the elves and demi-elves that seek sanctuary in our lands. I forfeit our partnership and call upon the goddess Helvati to claim her retribution if this oath is broken.”

Alvara repeated the words in Elvish for her own people while touching the ring, though she wasn’t fond of the added notion of Helvati enacting revenge. She couldn’t help but hiss as the chief dragged his blade across her hand before doing the same to his. He pressed their seeping wounds together, and Alvara gagged and pulled her hand away as soon as she was able to.

“Healer,” she choked out as she wiped the mess on her pants, already riddled with holes from the flames the chief’s son had wielded. The very sight of her injury beckoned a new flood of pain, the scalding intensity only rising with each shallow breath.

Boden muttered to the chief, who placed his dagger in Boden’s hand. He hacked at the bottom of his tunic with the blade and tied the material around Alvara’s fresh cut before tugging his arm around her once more and leading her back into the town.

“How are you feeling?” His fingers tightened where they rested on her side.

“Not faded yet.” The words were weak, her voice a wobble as the throbbing in her leg deepened. The combination of the burns and stinging cut to her hand was enough to leave her dragging herself to the healer, who hopefully wasn’t far.

“Boden!” a young boy called out and ran up to them. He spoke excitedly, the human words swimming in Alvara’s head as Boden conversed with him, though his own tone held none of his friend’s joy.

“Who?” She could barely form words through the pain as they parted ways with the boy and headed down a narrow alley. Every step felt like someone had dumped a new pot of boiling water down her skin.

Boden pulled her snug into his side, his voice unusually strained. “One of the demi-elves we saved. He wanted to do what he could to help, so I sent him to speak with the guards about preparing the chief’s halls for sleeping.”

It only served as a sobering reminder of how much they needed to do. It felt insurmountable, a towering peak higher than any in Dalvi.

They emerged from the alley into the edge of the residential section of Gosibik, though the homes themselves resembled long, upside-down boats rather than the thinner and taller houses of the elven kingdoms. When they finally approached the door of a cottage, tiny unlike the other houses, Alvara teetered on the edge of collapse, her surroundings starting to sway and blur. A woman with a wiry bird’s nest of hair rushed out, speaking at such a rapid pace that Alvara was surprised Boden could even understand her.

Her hands clasped his face, and he chuckled and dipped his head toward Alvara, who must’ve looked as bad as she felt, because the woman gasped and hurried into the cottage, motioning for them to follow.