Ch 6–

 

I startled awake in my dark room. My ear rang with the echo of some disturbance, but there was nothing. It was still dark out my small window. 

 

Nerves. I was leaving for Bayloft tomorrow. It made sense. 

 

Sleep beckoned and I rolled over, welcoming its embrace. 

 

Another loud metallic clang ripped through the night. 

 

I shot out of bed. 

 

The tallest structure of Emberhome was a modest bell tower. It hadn’t rung since the fires last year. For it to be ringing now, something must be very, very wrong. 

 

As I yanked on a pair of thick boots, the first screams sounded in the streets. 

 

I rushed to the window, yanking up the blinds. A few of my neighbors were pelting down the street. Away from what?

 

I looked where they were coming and saw three men in mismatched armor, carrying weapons. 

 

With a casual movement, one of them flung a handful of some magic through a ground floor window. A moment later, a dull explosion followed by cries of pain and alarm. 

 

I ducked and pressed myself to the wall. Raucous laughter echoed through the street. 

 

Raiders. 

 

Common enough in isolated areas like this. There were few Wayfinders to be found, out here, except those hired to guard the monthly ore and lumber shipments, and the occasional wanderer, seeking unexplored dungeon entrances. 

 

In their absence, bands of assholes who thought their Classes and Levels gave them the right to the fruits of other people's labor would crop up like stump rot. 

 

I scrambled to put on a hardy jacket, lace up my boots, and snatch up my big belt knife. It was more a camping tool, than a weapon. But it was still a big sharp knife, with a serrated saw edge on the back side. 

 

I opened the door to my second story apartment carefully, peering out to make sure it was clear. 

 

At the last moment, on instinct, I grabbed the drawing of a box that I’d stuffed most of my worldly possessions into. It was magic. Meant to transport my stuff to Bayloft. Then it had to be connected to some kind of magical system. So if something went wrong, someone might notice. Bayloft was full of Wayfinders. And that's who we needed. 

 

I tore the thick, luxurious paper apart. It took quite some doing, but I managed it. More like ripping a shirt than tearing a piece of paper, but I had strong hands. 

 

In a moment I was running, bent over double, through alleyways and shadowy nooks. Praying to whatever gods or primordials might be listening that someone at Bayloft was awake. 

 

Luckily, unlike the raiders, I knew this place like you can only know the place you grow up. And so did most of the residents. 

 

“Pssst.” 

 

I whipped around. 

 

Roice, a lanky boy a couple years younger than me peered wide eyed from a storm shelter. 

 

He gestured frantically.

 

I dashed over, looking over my shoulders. 

 

“Raiders!” He hissed as I crouched next to the trap door. 

 

“I know.” I said. “Seen Wally?” 

 

He shook his head. 

 

“Get IN.” He urged. “There’s a lock.” 

 

I shook my head. 

 

“How many can you fit?” 

 

He hesitated. 

 

I slapped him. Only hard enough to startle. 

 

“Four more. Maybe fix or six if they aren’t too big.” He stammered. 

 

I nodded. 

 

“I’m sending anyone I find out in the open your way. Do not open up to anyone you don’t know.”  

 

That would be basically anyone in town.

 

He nodded. 

 

“I can help—“ he started. 

 

I closed the trap door on top of him. 

 

“Stay put, dude. People need a safe place to weather this out.” 

 

I dashed away. 

 

In short order, I found a young family of three, and two sisters huddling in various dark corners, unsure what was happening. I told them of the raiders and directed them to Roice’s storm cellar. 

 

“We should put together a posse and fight back?!” argued Mary Bryce. 

 

I shook my head. “We have no idea of their numbers or levels. Go hide. Take anyone small you find. Go.” 

 

They nodded and scurried away into the night. 

 

I raced through the dark town towards the church. 

 

The night was getting brighter. One or more of these bastards must’ve started a fire. Thick smoke was curling up into the night, and dull flickering illumination was visible against the clouds. 

 

More light meant fewer safe shadows for people. 

 

I picked up the pace. 

 

I peeked out of an alley to find the worst case scenario. 

 

A dozen raiders arranged in a messy semi-circle in front of the church. 

 

Wally, standing defiantly in front of the doors. He was shouting at the raiders. Something about there being no money or treasure inside. Only scared people. 

 

The raiders laughed. 

 

A big man who I took to be a leader of some kind cracked a whip, and Wally fell back, clutching his face. Blood streamed from between his fingers. 

 

“People are money, old man!” He laughed. 

 

It took me a second. Then my stomach churned with a pungent mix of disgust, anger… fear. 

 

Not raiders, then. Only one kind of person thought of people as money. 

 

Slavers. 

 

The most vile kind of scum. 

 

And also the most dangerous. 

 

Raiders might’ve stolen our goods, some valuables. Destroyed some property. Maybe killed a few that tried to fight. 

 

These men were here for the people of Emberdome. 

 

They saw the church full of what was probably scared women and children as a warehouse. 

 

I felt helpless. 

 

Bitter, angry fear raked at my chest. I hated myself for it. 

 

I wanted nothing so much as to run away. I hadn’t been seen. I could slip into the woods, as I had this afternoon. I was sure many of my neighbors were doing that at this very moment. They’d be safe. There was no chance the slavers could catch them in the woods. Our woods. Our mountains. 

 

Then it struck me. 

 

I had a class now. 

 

I was a Wayfinder. 

 

Or at least I was going to be. 

 

Which meant I had powers too. 

 

I ducked around a corner, through a broken down door into a dark home. Already ransacked. Unlikely to be revisited. 

 

[Familiar bond]: Lucy

 

I winced at the light of her glowing circle of greenery. 

 

She formed in a matter of seconds and I was on her. 

 

“Mmmmph!” She exclaimed as I clamped my hand over her mouth. 

 

I frantically checked the doorway but no lights were coming toward us. 

 

Looking back to Lucy in the dark house, I motioned to her urgently that she must be silent. 

 

She nodded, her face abruptly serious and grim, in a way I hadn’t seen. 

 

Thankfully, she’d manifested in some of the clothes I’d given her. 

 

I crouched and she joined me. 

 

I started a rushed explanation but she held up a hand. 

 

“I know.” She said. “I am linked with your soul. For now, just assume I know what you do. The man at the church. You know him?” 

 

I nodded. 

 

“He’s in trouble.” She stated. 

 

All I could do was nod again. 

 

“I will help.” She said, cracking her knuckles. 

 

She looked unexpectedly warlike. 

 

I waved my hands. 

 

“There’s too many, and we have no idea how strong they are. We don’t want to fight straight up. But if we can make the right opportunity, people could get into the woods. From there, they’ll have a real shot at getting out of this.” 

 

Lucy nodded, accepting my evaluation without question and shifting gears to match me. 

 

“Diversion tactics.” She grinned. “My speciality.” 

 

Was it? I desperately needed to know more about my Familiar’s capabilities. I kicked myself for not learning more about this aspect of her before. But first. 

 

“If you die. What happens?” I asked, urgently. I had a vague sense from my class, but I wanted to be SURE.

 

She tilted her head. “I’ll become unavailable for a while, as my consciousness reawakens in the astral and remakes my vessel. For practical purposes, I’ll be out of the fight. But you won’t lose me unless we break the contract, or YOU die. So don’t do that.” 

 

I snorted. “Working on it.” 

 

She rushed forward and clung to me. I let her. And her strong embrace staunched me against fear. I needed to be sharp. Strong. And she made me feel just a little more both. 

 

In a few seconds of whispered scheming, we had as much of a plan as she said would survive any violence. And our goals and priorities were clear. 

 

Get as many people to safety as possible. 

 

Including me. 

 

No heroics. Be smart. Do what we can.

 

She extracted a promise that I would prioritize myself if there wasn’t a reasonable chance of helping others. 

 

I gave it, when she threatened to take me to safety immediately. 

 

One by one, we snuck out of the abandoned home and split up. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

I rushed through alleyways, circumnavigating the church to come up the side. I snuck Wally’s spare key out of its secret place, and then entered the back door as quietly as possible, each click of the latch sounding like cannon fire in my ears. 

 

I found a small crowd of mostly children and elderly in the sanctuary. The very one I had my fateful encounter in earlier today. Or yesterday. I couldn’t tell what time it was, and it felt like another life. 

 

I snuck in, then cautiously approached the group, huddled between pews, with my hands out. 

 

Some startled exclamations, and one sharp scream that was rapidly cut off as the person recognized me. 

 

Perks of small towns. Everyone knows everyone. 

 

I gathered them up. 

 

“We need to sneak out the back. We can go through the cemetery, hug the wall, and get out the fire door. Avoid the main roads and the east gate. Go straight up into the Eirie’s and get good and lost, up in the mountains.” 

 

Protests broke out immediately. 

 

“We can’t leave our homes!”

 

“We’re not abandoning Wally!” 

 

“We’ll be seen!”

 

“Caught!” 

 

I held up my hands, urging quiet. 

 

“I have a distraction coming, but we have to be ready to take advantage when it does. Let’s go. It’s our only shot. Wally isn’t holding them off, they’re toying with him, because they believe you’ll huddle here, helpless and scared. Don’t. Take control back. Live another day. Give the kids a chance.” 

 

“I’ve never been lost, I know the mountains.” Chirped a little girl stubbornly. 

 

“Good.” I smiled. “They’ll never catch you if you get a head start. Which is happening now. Let’s GO.” I said as loud as I dared. 

 

Most people moved. 

 

A woman approached me angrily. “We’ve got some people here that can’t hike the mountains. Who could barely get here. What about—“ 

 

“You will go. Everyone who can go will go.” Came an old wizened voice. 

 

Cynthia Maywinde was perhaps the oldest person in town. Her beauty was that of a weathered ship that had endured every kind of storm and come out stronger each time. Long ago, she’d been a Wayfinder of no renown, retiring modestly to the middle of nowhere. 

 

She was respected by all who knew her. 

 

Her words put an end to all debate, and everyone got moving. 

 

Their feet were a million times too loud, and the children’s questions and squawking could only be contained so much. It was like a stampede, in my mind. 

 

I heard the first banging on the barricaded doors of the church. 

 

They were thick and sturdy, well braced. But there were people with Wayfinder Classes outside. They wouldn’t hold long. 

 

Then there was a crash, a man screaming. Frantic cries, indistinct but full of outrage. 

 

There’s my distraction. 

 

“Go go, quick and silent. Do not look back. Don’t stop for anything. GO!” I snarled. 

 

They bolted. 

 

A dark herd of half the people I’d ever known rushed into the night. I should’ve gone with them. 

 

I should go with them. 

 

A crack of a whip like thunder tore the night. And a woman’s scream of pain. Sheer desperation sharpened my hearing.

 

Lucy!