Prelude to the Wandering Child

  The Evils of My HandsOn the morn of their fourteenth day traveling from the battlefield, Nanny, in her aches and tightened muscles, finally dropped her wicker basket and let her daughter scamper out into the crystal waters of the shallow ravine flowing by. A hearty ruckus escaped her as she spshed into the brazen and flitted about, swaying her arms and legs and hair as far and wide as she could have. Nanny, her mother, stood watch on the banks, a soft yet sweet chuckle gracing her beaten, bloody lips. She licked them away hoping the child had not noticed and ordered her to stay put so she could watch and pray. Sahira answered her mother and pyed once more, ignoring the freight of the world behind.

  Nanny retreated to the corner of the small outcrop. She sighed, heavy of heart, shallow of thought in mind, and dropped with a loud huff that bellowed in her head. She felt hands grasping and squeezing the very air out of her lungs. She felt them twisting her neck as they gripped bare flesh, sinking into them thumbs armed with metal sharpened nails. Within her mind, the clouds of a numbing storm brewed upon the horizons of her consciousness and remained a bothersome sensation. Yet nothing else hurt than the weakness, the exhaustion, the desire to sit and do nothing else for hours – days, weeks, months or even years – prodding her entire being, begging to be released and accepted. It nagged her very consciousness and irked every new thought she attempted to muster before notice came.

  Tiredly, Nanny dropped onto the soil, back ft against the rough bank, letting sleep wash over her as a calm, serene sheet warm with brooding sunlight.

  However, the Universe had other pns for her it seemed. A bsted headache it gave her instead of warm sleep. After two weeks of travel, you’d think she would have a moment’s rest, but the pain digging like a sharp forked tongue through her skull woke her fully and shot her eyes awake. Grumbling, she pushed herself up. Massaging only did so little – she knew that – but what else could she do if she wanted to get some rest? She would do for something to eat as well. Perhaps salty, tough, not too rge yet not too small. Something to make her teeth grind or feel uncomfortable.

  Tsk. She was awake anyways, so what was the point? That was something small she needed to work on anyways. Another small thing. Wanting something to eat like that reminded her of nothing but the battlefield. Wanting something to eat like that meant she had not left it behind. Wanting the battlefield meant that her sacrifices meant nothing for what she found those sacrifices worth.

  It was then that the weight came over her once again, that heaviness which felt like no such burden yet bore upon the spirit like a parasite feeding off its host. Haunting it came and it burst and throbbed in her mind – wave after wave after wave after wave. Incoming bodies tossing themselves from all directions at her, like hungry undead seeking her flesh – bearing with them weapons and shields and armor to weaken and maim her. Their eyes glinting, glowing with white venom and fmes, froth dripping from their maws as growls escaped their gnarling teeth. She’d sink her own weapon into their flesh – PULL! – and turn to face another one. Number by number they all rushed at her, and by the end she had bathed in their blood, now mixed into bittersweet wine.

  Over and over those memories returned as she sat. She wished them away, wished them to leave her alone, to repay her some peace for their births. She almost screamed. Almost let the bellow punching her throat at the seams for release. Almost. But she kept it right at the top – for now she would not need it, someday for sure.

  All it took were deep breaths and opened eyes looking at the world around her. This pce, this new part of Ikkenia she had never seen before, this was not the battlefields and the blood-soaked nation she had become used to waking up in. Nanny gazed around her and took in the sights. The river stream trickled over prodding stones nestling tiny critters and pale fish waddling about the stream. Across reached roots like long fingers from the top of a rise into the waters; they seemed like fingers, yes, but also oddly like strange spider webs. It made Nanny wonder how strange nature thought at times in her life. To her right, a wide wooden bridge reinforced with metal pnks and thick support beams crossed the stream and led toward a small town of which she had been advised to go. And just nearby, pying in the river, was her flesh and blood, Sahira, soaked from head to toe but joyful and bawling with ughter all the same.

  The pain had not left. It never did. Despite the stabbing ache in her head dissipating and the stress of her legs and back and heels subsiding since she’d in down, the pain never truly begot her. All she ever knew was that dull ache in the back of her mind often trailing along as a quiet voice whispering words she never wanted to hear but listened to for ck of better choice. Sahira’s presence never banished the pain although she made it more tolerable to work through for Nanny. Nanny had learned that through her motherhood. It was worth the risk and sacrifice of her own well-being for the sake of her child. At times, it came as duty. Most others, pure instinct. All the time, worth it.

  Thus, she fastened herself and recalled her reason for taking this quiet little space for herself. She shifted off her bum and back and onto her knees. Csping her hands and shutting the world out of focus – except for the sounds of Sahira – Nanny began to whisper quiet words to her Angels, offering her prayers and thanks and worship and faith for guidance and solemn relief.

  It always helped her to pray. Before each battle, before each moment when she knew exhaustion to drought her, she found somewhere quiet and serene, dropped onto her knees and let her spirit be taken into the Realm of the Angels so she might become vulnerable and free. All bsted people should pray, Nanny’s mother and her mother before her used to say. If more people prayed, wisdom over greed would carry the nd into a state of paradise. Would carry them into the sun as Luhan and Lu-Dama had done all those years ago. Nanny was always reminded of those old Ikkenian tales. Tellers across the country in every town and hidden vilge told of them. On celebratory nights, you might find a passing Teller who just so happened to know exactly when to arrive at a hidden town and where to find it seated on a polished teak chair just big enough to hold them and their dog casually telling a group of children about the Fallen Cockroach and his Chasm. On religious days, perhaps you might hear about Luhan, Lu-Dama and the various journeys they took moving toward the edge of the world where the sun rose each morning; that one was always a favorite of Nanny’s and grew more meaningful on the day she finally gave birth to Sahira. The one Nanny had heard the most on her travels was the long-lost tale of the Dragon Tree, a symbol among the southern people of the Gunagang Taran district who took after a te group of three Assassins. Even to that day, some still flew the Assassin’s fg, believing their spirits tched in the stones and soil of the nd, fueling them in the waters they drank and the fruits they ate. Nanny had never found the home of the cult, though she doubted them in the central or north districts.

  By then however, she’d been deep into the trenches of battle. That had been over five years prior when the Ships still roamed setting siege against Jumon Kanaan’s forces before his promotion to General. The man had disappeared with word surfacing only some time ter after he became notorious for his…work.

  Nanny’s brow furrowed as the thought haunted her mind. Absent-mindedly, she ended up clutching her hands together as opposed to their previous prayer-like stance. A drop of cold sweat wet her temple and tickled the sides of her face before dripping off the base of her cheek at the top of the neck. Even if Jumon still reigned supreme in his throne atop the most talked about sve town in the Imperial Nation, it was still the safest pce she could bring herself and her child. She had to ensure that Jumon understood the move she was setting on the table. She had to ensure she was well hidden. She had to ensure that she could always – always – protect Sahira no matter what the cost may be. It was never too great for her sake.

  Sahira’s ughter rang in her head, as the bells in the evening did, signaling the end of the workday. As joyous as they sounded, as much happiness it brough Nanny, they sounded as the cries of spirits begging for release, begging for freedom, trembling with fear for the rise of the sun while hidden in calming darkness. Would the child understand? Would she ever forgive her mother the evils of her hands?

  Nanny rose to her feet and gathered up the basket she carried her child in. “Come Sahira! One more ride,” she said. Those st words came out more monotonous than Nanny expected, though she did not stop them once she spoke.

  Drying herself with a towel from their pack, Sahira changed into more comfortable clothing and leapt into the basket. She seemed wearier than before, perhaps from her scrounging in the water and the heaviness of her clothes, though Nanny suspected the warmth of the sun as well caused her much needed sleepiness. Together, they crossed the wooden bridge, listening to the thump-thump-thumping of Nanny’s feet on the boards, the trickling waters waving below them and the rustles of the forest in the roaming winds.

  “Mother,” said Sahira, “will we be okay?”

  Suddenly, a sudden pulse like a rush sped throughout her mind and body, and a phantom yet realistic weight pushed down upon Nanny’s shoulders, distinct from all else of the past yet something she recognized, nonetheless. A shiver crossed her body, opening her pores and raising the hair across her arms and legs. Distant memory returned bearing familiar conversations: Varyn’s warnings, Tommy’s loving worries, Nanny’s own contemptions of the significance of her decisions. Finally, they had all caught up to her.

  She hesitated for a quickly passing moment then reached up and gently held the fingers of her daughter as they rested on her shoulder. Deep within, she prayed Sahira would forgive her. “Yes, Sahira,” Nanny, or whoever she had become, said, “we will be okay. I promise I will do everything I can to take care of you.” A promise? Or a lie?

  Sahira chuckled quietly, ruffled her mother’s hair and sunk into her little basket. For the rest of their trip, she remained silent and said not a word thereafter.

  As they came closer to Yahu Feihn, little details stood out to Nanny, changes in the environment she could not help but notice, pick out, things she could not ignore as they passed by. On the other side of the river, from whence they came, the forest contained more trees than there seemed now. Spaces among the twisting, curling wooden bodies left sunny spots and beams striking the forest floor in their widest breadth. She spotted a mound of dirt here, an empty hole there, some strange glinting objects in the distance she could not discern yet seemed round, rge and familiar to her. Laying on a nearby, low-hanging branch she spotted what seemed to be a tuft of blue feathers or hair, thin as they were and unnatural. How so, she could not put her fingers on it and such did it remain a curiosity in her mind.

  After passing a few bends in the roads and noticing that the state of the environment had grown worse, Nanny caught the sound of deep voices and ughter, arguing and what seemed to be spping. The sounds revealed themselves as soldiers. Enemy soldiers. Militia of the Imperial Nation and custodians of Yahu Feihn. Despite small differences in their suits, they all wore the same uniforms cross-country. Deep green, thickly cd vests lined with wrapped, golden pted wire around the colr and waistband. The insignia of the Imperial Nation etched bold and loudly upon their backs, the front section neatly padded and buttoned up, tucked into their pants. Some soldiers wore metal crowns on their heads to signify higher positions in the town’s structure while others carried specific weapons or fresh flower petals on their suits. Almost all soldiers wore bck pants and ced-up, leather boots fit for trudging through mud and swampnds.

  Only the General carried a velvet cape over their shoulders. That was how you identified the Monarch of the Colony.

  Nanny had always thought their uniforms too bold for their manipution. It always seemed to her a protest, a statement against the natives of the country. In some ways, the soldiers all seemed geared for war and battle in case it ever happened. What that screamed at her was a deep insecurity that at the heart of their Imperial Empire y active paranoia. She had learned to take full advantage of that years ago in a battle she all too well remembered. Not a single drop of blood had been shed then. Words were their weapons. Yes. Words. Thus, she steeled herself as she approached the soldiers, not too eager to do battle again but determined to push ahead if need be.

  Orin dropped his card and threw the dice. A seven, two points higher than Randal’s py. An evil grin emerged from the man as he eyed Randal, took up the bills and funted them in his opponent’s face. How many times was Randal going to lose to Orin? As many as Orin wished.

  So had they been gambling for some time. What else were they to do? Out here in the wild, soldiers without bodies to mind or targets to practice on only found soce in the controversial, the moral, the tight and fitful pys involving their hard-earned cash to bring back to their boys and round them up for evening refreshments. Mattias opted out of his friends’ games most of the time. He wore his uniform with pride, with honor. He had worked hard for this position. To serve under the legendary Jumon Kanaan in Yahu Feihn. He had earned this. Earned his money, earned his weapons, earned his rights and privileges.

  He had earned this cool, comfortable seat decking out points and cash with his friends.

  “You have bad luck, my friend,” said Orin, piling his earnings nearby his feet.

  Mattias caught the look in Randal’s eyes. A familiar look hiding his thoughts behind the mask that was Randal’s face. “He’s always had bad luck,” Mattias said. “Since he was a kid. Always falling on his face, always losing every single toy he had. Always picking on the wrong people.”

  Randal spat, shook his head and dealt their next round of cards.

  “Quiet bimbo,” ughed Orin.

  “Py your stinkin’ cards,” Randal grumbled.

  Orin leaned back on his low seat. As he spread his cards over his hand, he grinned then dropped his first py of the new round. A low two. He rolled his dice. Mid five.

  Mattias next. With Orin’s two and five, it came down a cautious py. He eyed Orin, catching a whimsical glint in his eyes. Orin himself stared daggers into Randal seemingly ready to drop his next card; he had read the man’s mind, learned his tactics and ways of thinking, moving silently as if an assassin. Mattias had his choices, so he dropped his own low two of a different set and rolled to earn a high eight. Damn. Not the number he wanted.

  On Randal’s turn, he hesitated for a moment, casting suspicious gnces at his opponents, then pyed a five and rolled to earn another five. This pced him closer in standings to Mattias.

  It was then that Orin dropped the cards Mattias expected, the double ace. He rolled, but at that point it had no matter, his grin at the beginning of the round had solidified his standings. As he did, both men burst out ughing and csped hands, singing in Orin’s jolly victory.

  Though Randal…he made not a sound nor move. Sat still. Unfazed. One blink. Two, then straightened himself, rolled his lips, puckered them.

  Mattias cpped him on the shoulder. “Ah, lighten up. You won’t lose your life over a few dolrs. You make more than that already.”

  “Yeah,” Randal whispered.

  “How about this?” said Orin. “Drink on me. I’ll sponsor you five, three more than the money I won from you.” Randal raised a brow at him. “Fair deal, right?”

  Randal scoffed. “You have me there.” They shook hands in agreement.

  “We’ll have a quieter evening this time,” Orin grumbled, leaning back on his palms. “Sebastian and his squad won’t be around.”

  “How come?” asked Randal.

  “Some expedition to Reise. Jumon wanted his son to go with them,” Orin expined. “Seems like a normal thing to me but Angels cover us if we have to hear their mouths again.” Orin spat. “I could do with a quiet evening not hearing about the war. War this, war that.”

  “It is shaping up though,” Mattias said. “Even Allie’s worried it might flow over on this part of the country.”

  “Yeah well, she thinks too much,” Orin said.

  “She’s just too afraid,” Randal said with a dark tone of distaste. “Her parents sheltered her growing up. Never had an argument. Always got covered. Rich girl, you know? When she went to join the military, she was following some guy and then he left her. She used to say that it took her by surprise, and she was hurt, but we know she’s just not that good. She’s as false as you get.”

  “Bit harsh, don’t you think?” Allie? His Allie? Their Allie? It couldn’t be, she never gave off the impression of ever being sheltered. Then again, people hid their true selves behind masks, behind another face you would never recognize. Mattias didn’t know which to trust.

  “Hey, she’s not stupid, she knew what was going on.”

  “Allie is not like that. I’m telling you, I spend more time with her. If a battle happened now, I’m teaming with her and we’re fighting together.”

  Randal threw up his hands. “Your funeral.”

  “Allie won’t do anything,” Orin said sternly. “None of the others will. That group Jumon sent the Younger with? They’re not going to do anything either. They’re only here for the fortune – whatever we get – and the notoriety. If they can get their names out they can move to the Capital and live comfortably.”

  “Don’t we all,” said Mattias.

  “It’ll be easier now,” Randal said. “The Ships disbanded so the saying is the war’s coming to an end earlier than expected.”

  “Huh!?” excimed both Mattias and Orin.

  “Wait, what?!”

  “What!? When?!”

  “A few weeks ago, I’m not exactly sure,” Randal said. “I’m hearing a bunch of different things.”

  Mattias suddenly felt overwhelmed by shock. The Ships. Disbanded. Gone! Impossible! For so many years they had been cited as the next coming of the Assassins, resurrected in vengeful rebellion. And now, gone?

  “They aren’t dead, are they?” he asked.

  Randal shrugged. “Again, hearing a bunch of different things. Angels be certain. I’m pretty sure they’re not otherwise someone would be invited to the Capital for a celebration and parade. Jumon would need to leave too.”

  “In Metheon’s name,” Mattias muttered.

  But Metheon would not help these soldiers. Neither would Nanny. “Truth is subjective in the passing of rumors, gentlemen.” All three shot to their feet, reached for the guns supposedly bound at their waists and filed realizing that they had none. Their cards scattered to the wind while their feet kicked up plumes of gravel and sand.

  “Stay where you are!” yelled the blonde one, whose name was Orin.

  “I’m staying, I’m staying,” Nanny said, calmly. She even raised her hands. Being this close to the soldiers, despite seeing their faces, she found herself sinking into another part of herself again. The part that enjoyed moments like these.

  The taller of the two brown haired boys, the one named Mattias, approached Nanny stomping. “What in all the Angels’ names are you doing outside of the town?” he screamed. “How did you escape? Are you looking for us to kill you here and now?!”

  Nanny smiled. “I’m not from any town, boy.” They had met eyes, and upon speaking Mattias’ own grew uncomfortable, confused, shocked. His brows scrunched together and he absentmindedly took a step backward.

  He scoffed. “You’re lying. You’re from somewhere nearby. Or you’re just an escapee trying to lie your way through us.”

  “Then kill me.” A shuffle in the basket woke her, and Nanny realized where she was going. “Unless you want that notoriety for capturing someone…important,” she added quickly. A drop of sweat tickled her temple.

  It was Orin’s turn to scoff this time. “You? What? I don’t think we’re so many fools to look at you and tell you’re not anyone. Important or not. If you’re carrying food in those baskets and think that makes you important, I’m King of the world.”

  “Perhaps you are,” Nanny said, “everyone dreams, don’t they?”

  “But only one person can become a King.”

  “And only one of us has sailed.” The tone, the darkness cing her voice as she spoke seemed to strike a nerve within the boys. They all perked up as if sensing the presence of a phantom, and it seemed to her as if they’d suddenly realized who…and what they were staring at.

  “Nanny.”

  She smiled and shook her raised hands. “No weapons.”

  Hesitation stank the very breathable air. Mattias swallowed then turned back to his mates. “Go get someone. Now! I’ll stay here and keep watch.” While his mates had jumped atop their horses, sped off and bent the corner of the road, he’d turned back to her and whispered, “No weapons” although Nanny suspected he would make an attempt if the moment called for it.

  He pointed at her. Nanny noted quickly how his finger shook. Even if he may not have noticed it, she’d have caught on to his nervousness anyways. Green boy. “Why are you here?” he asked. His eyes begot that same, shaking nervousness which pgued all his – suddenly – frightened spirit.

  “I seek refuge. For myself and my daughter.” Many fingers had pointed at her for various reasons: accusations, betrayals, misgivings, suspicion, crimes committed. The ones that stayed with her carried the fear of something rger than life, rger than humanity itself. A beast bearing a sword to cut the spirit.

  That she recognized in Mattias’ eyes. Maybe even the sembnce of it. Or something else. Something new. Whatever that emotion, Nanny felt no desire to take pride in it.

  Mattias let his hand drop to his side. As he did, and following a moment’s passing, his face fell as if he had recognized the emotions whirling about Nanny on her face. Then he said, “You’re speaking the truth. You really do want refuge here. You’re…turning yourself in?”

  “Yes,” said Nanny.

  He looked around. “That’s it? No tricks? No weapons? No allies or the Ships coming to raid the town? You’re just giving up.” He stared at her incredulously while she remained silent. “I can’t believe you. I can’t.”

  “You are disappointed.”

  Mattias nodded. “I thought I knew people. I’m just that good at reading them to know who they are. My cousin, I can read him better than I can read a book. I see what he thinks, I see what people want to do before they do it. Sometimes it doesn’t work, sometimes people surprise me—”

  “Like I’m doing right now,” Nanny said, monotonously.

  He threw his hands up. “I can’t believe it. You are Nanny! Nanny of the Ships! You’re the one we all fear at night! And now you’re just standing here—with some baskets—with your daughter—giving up! All I have to do is take you in.” Mattias shrugged. “Just like that. This…Angels above.”

  “Hm,” Nanny hummed. The torrent grew worse in her mind. Nanny fought it back as much as she could have managed. Tightly she shut her eyes to hide the ensuing battle though Sahira’s sudden rising and the oncoming hoofbeats from around the corner—more than two sets of beats this time—woke her from another trance ced with incessant thought once again. Quickly, Nanny pushed down the rising lid. No need to let them see Sahira. More for Nanny’s worry than Sahira herself.

  Hoofbeats thundered around the road corner revealing a new horse and rider leading the two soldiers from before. This man wore a gray tunic with leather strappings crossed over his chest in an X, held together by an octagonal shaped, metal crest painted in vibrant ruby. His charcoal bck hair was long and split and had a noticeable gleam to it as if he had lightly coated it in oil. What caught Nanny, though, was the youth of his appearance: his lined jaw and sharp chin, his wide, bck eyes taking in the world before him and his curious lips just barely parted to reveal gleaming teeth. Nanny thought him beautiful, sculpted, almost devious as if he were a walking lie. He pulled the horse to a stop and leapt off immediately meeting Nanny’s eyes.

  All sound vanished. All the world disappeared. Alone were their eyes only, and Nanny spotted the man’s widening as he realized who was standing before him and his party. This man was smart, Nanny conjured, this man was knowledgeable, and he would pose her a credible threat if he pyed his cards right.

  Spoke he who approached. “Nanny…of the Ships…who have now been disbanded.” His voice carried with it a clear smile. When Nanny remained quiet, he shrugged and tossed up his hands saying, “No? Am I supposed to be wrong? Are you not mine enemy?”

  “Says who?” asked Nanny.

  The man rolled his lips. “Aeyong. Karrion. Prospect of the town. I know of your accomplishments both on the battlefield and in the world of politics. Your reputation rises sky-high.”

  Nanny hummed. “I’m well aware.”

  Aeyong nodded. “I didn’t expect that today would be so…confusing, Nanny. Would you mind expining to me what your purpose here is?”

  Nanny gred. “Refuge,” was all she said.

  “For her and her daughter,” added Mattias.

  “Ah,” said Aeyong, approaching Nanny with his hands csped, “the Norn of the country seeking assistance from the enemy. Seeking refuge. From whom? From what? The war you and your other Ships started. Does someone hunt you? If there is a bounty on your head, the recruits here would love to make a name for themselves.” He was taller than her and bent down to level with her eyes. “I’m sure you realize what this means for your own kind, don’t you Nanny?”

  Their tension poisoned the environs like the darkness of night and its mysteries creeping in to join the ying shadows between stalks of still grass. Their gazes shattered gss unseen to the naked eye yet never broke itself for fear of burning the world with that hatred. This man despised her unlike any other. He towered above those other three men, slithered himself into the crevices of her mind and wrapped himself around her head, urging her, tempting like a whispering voice dark in the deepest depths.

  What this meant. Yes, of course she knew. She had always known. She had only been questioning whether she had the strength to admit it to herself, and to her daughter.

  Now…there seemed no other choice. Aeyong had backed her into a corner she could not escape.

  “Sahira,” said Nanny, “remain in your basket. But…listen to me.” Aeyong backed away. “I have avoided your questions on our trip here. I have not given you the truth. But I owe that to you, both as a Ship and…and as your mother.

  “You are my pride and joy, Sahira, and mom loves you with all her heart. She wants to put milk and bread on a table for you every night so you can grow and become stronger than she ever can be. But, Sahira, as you grow you will hear many things about me, and you will not like them. You may even despise me.

  “Sahira, I am a coward. I have run away from the war because I chose to be selfish. I have abandoned my fellowmen, and I have left them for dead. My…my…my decisions were my own. I grow tired of hatred and of violence and of the blood I carry on my hands. I am no different than any sword that has killed. Now I disguise myself as a shield to bear my cowardice. And that is my truth, Sahira. I am nothing more than a pitiless coward.”

  Grimy, dirty, rolled about in rotting, bck blood. It smothered her body, her spirit, Nanny’s very essence. She had shut her eyes at some point during her speech. Heaviness of some invisible force closed them, seeming less like sleepiness or exhaustion and more like burdens of memories long made. Nanny doubted it anything else. Nothing could it be but reminders of the past haunting her spirit.

  Randal, Orin and Mattias spoke no word hearing Nanny’s speech to her child, only shared gnces speaking a thousand familiar words. Aeyong remained silent for a time until he spoke up once again.

  “Our General shall decide your punishment,” he said, “personally. I will not punish your child, however. I know you Ships are the lot of your like, so I know the boundaries I must not cross. He will not harm her neither. Orin, you issued her arrest. Well done.” Nanny stole a quick gnce and spotted Mattias’ surprised look at his friend, while Orin nodded in thanks at their superior. Randal stole a gnce as well.

  Orin himself relieved her of the baskets she carried save the one upon her back. He’d opened the lid and found Sahira gring up at him but repced it and assured Nanny none of them would bring harm to the child. Afterwards, he shackled her hands and pced her upon his horse.

  Time passed quicker than Nanny expected. One moment she was standing in the middle of the road beseeching her daughter the confessions of her heart. The next, she was arrested and carried into the custody of her enemies to present as a prisoner of war before their General.

  Despite all that, Nanny felt the wind in her face strong as the galloping horses pounding the earth below them. As they rode a sudden grip pulled a clump of hair beside her neck. Nanny turned and looked over her shoulder finding the tiniest hand of her child gently gripping her hair while her little eyes watched from within her basket, innocent and sweet, wide and smart, letting her mother know that she was still with her, and they would somehow be okay. Nanny smiled. They would be okay; she hoped Sahira recognized in her eyes. No matter what happened, she would make sure her child was safe and happy.

  Soon, the Gates of Yahu Feihn loomed above them. Their prison. Their life. Their home.