Echoes of Embers

By J. Fries

"I never feared fire before then. We all respect it. We know its dangers. This changed my view. I spent days imagining I was trapped in an inferno."
The kingdom of Locharn is full of mysteries and dangers, especially for the High Caernou who wander the land, reporting strange happenings. Like fires burning unnaturally hot and fast. Fires difficult to extinguish. Fires that kill.
Fires familiar to Nat. Years ago, he and his mentor hunted a murderer who used flame as his weapon, a chase ending in tragedy. When Nat and Mel receive a summons from the Chief Caern, Nat is stunned by the similarities, hurled back into the nightmare of the original crimes, their terrible cost—and his part in stopping them.
Accompanied by their friends among the talking beasts, Nat and Mel struggle to sort past from present, uncertain who they can trust, determined to find the fire-starter before more lives are lost—including their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Fries
• Release date: Dec 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781732347847

J. Fries

J. Fries is a part-time copy cataloguer and part-time writer. She enjoys reading, leatherworking, drawing, learning languages (or creating them), and dreaming up new ways to challenge her characters. She has always loved mysteries, and her interest in the fantasy genre and language creation started with J.R.R. Tolkien, whom she holds in the highest regard.She loves animals, especially horses, and is loyal servant to her German shepherd and crested gecko. In return, they don’t mind her dry sense of humor or the times she speaks to them in terrible accents.

Book preview

Echoes of Embers

The High Caernou – Book Two

by J. Fries

Lightningflies

2022

Echoes of Embers

Copyright 2022 J. Fries. All rights reserved.

First edition.

Distributed by Smashwords.

Cover by Sara Ferrari of Sparrow Springs Art.

This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to events, places, languages, or persons or animals living or dead is coincidence and unintentional or used fictitiously.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN-13: 978-1-7323478-4-7

Books by J. Fries

The High Caernou

Blood of the Eohim

Echoes of Embers

Table of Contents

Map

Chapter One - Of Heights and Men

Chapter Two - A New Assignment

Chapter Three - Echoes of Embers

Chapter Four - Osré

Chapter Five - Taidél

Chapter Six - Survivors

Chapter Seven - Paths Chosen

Chapter Eight - Ilsám Ignited

Chapter Nine - Shadow Rising

Chapter Ten - Twilight Arrival

Chapter Eleven - New Friends, Old Fears

Chapter Twelve - The Bavoc Brothers

Chapter Thirteen - Descent into Darkness

Chapter Fourteen - Tales and Plans

Chapter Fifteen - The Ghost of Baolla Square

Chapter Sixteen - The Hawk and Hare

Chapter Seventeen - Finding Lener

Chapter Eighteen - Hope's Shadow

Chapter Nineteen - A New Crisis

Chapter Twenty - Fishing for Answers

Chapter Twenty-One - Broken Promises

Chapter Twenty-Two - Of Dafeíl and Dragons

Chapter Twenty-Three - A Difficult Choice

Chapter Twenty-Four - A Pledge for a Life

Chapter Twenty- Five - Caernou Reunited

Chapter Twenty-Six - Wyllo Unmasked

Chapter Twenty-Seven - A Debt Repaid

Chapter Twenty-Eight - What Life Brings

Glossary and Pronunciation Guide

Excerpt from Blood of the Eohim

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter One

Of Heights and Men

Year 353 of the Fourth Age

Such a strange emotion, fear. It kept people alive, made them ill, affected their lives in ways they never expected. And most people feared something. Vicious dogs, wild creatures, brigands, other physical dangers they avoided with little trouble.

But not Nat. Oh, no, not Nat. He just had to challenge his fear.

His fingers dug further into the crevices between rough stones. He pressed against the watchtower's outer wall, praying the cool wind snatching at his clothes and throwing black hair into his eyes wouldn't dislodge him. Nat gulped and peeked at the ground far below. A mistake. It appeared to shrink further away, taking the last of his wits with it. Amid his panicked, muddled thoughts, a coherent one emerged: Why had he agreed to this?

A gentle tug on the harness around his chest and waist did not reassure him. Are you coming? From the tower's peak, Mel peered down. It's almost suppertime and my arms are tired.

Not at all funny, Nat panted. The rope system they and their friends created for this exercise was safe enough, but what if it failed? A knot might loosen. Rough stone often frayed rope. How long until it snapped under his weight?

Come on, Nat, you can do this, Mel coaxed. You fought off a pack of dogs in the wilderness. You defended a child from brigands. You helped me hunt down a murderer and saved my life twice. No...three times, sorry. This little tower is nothing compared to all that. A few more feet and I will be able to reach you.

While she talked, Nat concentrated on her words until they drowned out his spiraling thoughts and the wind and the blood roaring in his ears. Somehow his foot broke from the paralysis freezing his muscles. It found another gap between the stones. One hand followed, then the other foot, creeping upward. Soon Mel's fingers wrapped around his forearm. I have you. Keep going.

Trusting she would keep her hold, Nat stretched his free hand to the lip of the tower and hauled himself up. He rolled over the thick stone sill and tumbled to the floor, lying there with limbs splayed, shaking and exhausted. Never again, he croaked. Never. I would rather wrestle a full-grown mountain bear than climb this tower.

Wrestle a young one first, Mel said as she untied the long rope from his harness and began winding it into loops. Less chance of being crushed. Well, until its mother caught you, and I would rather not lose you. So no mountain bears.

Still prefer one of those to heights. Nat took a steadying breath and sat up, his hands still trembling. He wiped his face on one sleeve. You may need to untie this harness. And next time you want a break from working on our map of Eoharn, we go swimming.

Mel smiled and dropped the coiled rope into a sheltered corner, then crouched beside him. You only froze twice. Well done.

Thanks. While she made quick work of the knots, Nat added, I wish some of the shorter ruins were more stable.

That is the problem with mapping an abandoned country. No one repairs buildings. As she picked at last knot, Mel tilted her head toward the tower's westward opening. The rain my leg predicted is coming in.

The stab wound on Mel's thigh had healed nicely despite her impatience. Not one to laze about, Mel had reluctantly accepted Nat's gentle reminders of her limits after an ill-advised exploration of some ruins left the wound throbbing for days. Now, weeks later, it no longer affected her movement, but it ached whenever stormy weather approached. Mel could never decide if the pain came from the large scar or the bone. Either way, it was usually accurate.

Nat folded the harness and tossed it onto the pile. Unable to resist, he asked, But you feel all right otherwise?

As anticipated, she made a face. I'm fine, worrier. We should go.

Dark clouds, formed over the sea miles away, came hurrying overland, blocking the sun. Nat and Mel started down the tower's winding staircase, shuffling along quietly past the broken stair and the hole in the outer wall, which Nat always avoided looking through. While it provided a lovely view of the city Istae's ruins, Nat still found it too high, though he was able to walk past it without freezing now. At least some good came from these odd exercises.

When they exited the tower, Nat smelled rain on the air. Whether it would be a gentle shower or a torrential downpour was another matter. He and Mel were used to such unpredictable autumn weather, having grown up with similar conditions. Still, the threat of a drenching set them walking through the ruins as quickly as they dared, weaving among broken pillars, piles of rubble, and holes in the stone road. Normally some of their friends among the doeddyn, the talking creatures living in these lands, would have greeted them, but all were away, visiting relatives or attending annual gatherings. Today, Istae lay silent around them save the occasional birdsong or insect trill, the hush of nature awaiting a storm.

Mel stopped short, tapping Nat's arm twice. Their signal she saw something. Without moving his head, Nat scanned their surroundings. Where? he whispered. She traced her fingers left across his wrist.

There. A flash of movement, barely a shadow, flitting behind a wall.

Our spies again, Mel murmured, annoyance plain in her tone. They suspected they knew who sent the elusive doeddyn tailing them, but they had no proof. Yet. For a brief moment, Nat thought Mel might chase after it, but when faint thunder rumbled, she scowled in its direction and started walking again.

The first raindrops pattered against dirt and stone as Nat and Mel came within sight of the ancient house they stayed in while here. Half of the structure was missing its roof and one outside wall had been destroyed, exposing what had been the inhabitants' kitchen long ago, but two smaller rooms remained protected from the elements. Rain rushed up behind them and Mel glanced back as if deciding whether to run. She shrugged, resigned. At least it will wash us off, she said as the deluge reached them.

In seconds, the rain soaked them through. Nat shook his head in a futile attempt to clear the water out of his ears. Mel, her too-large shirt sticking to her arms, grabbed his hand and pulled him along toward shelter, their boots splashing in puddles. She disappeared through the doorway while Nat lingered a moment longer, hoping for lightning. None came, only a burst of cold wind, so he retreated into the house.

He shoved a makeshift door built of old storage crates across the opening. Careful not to touch or kick their food bags and other supplies surrounding the doorway connecting the two rooms, Nat passed through, certain he left a trail of rainwater. Mel crouched on the hearth, stirring up the fire. He joined her there, warming his hands over the blaze as it grew, grateful he had prepared it that morning before leaving. Piling together wood and kindling with wet hands and clothes made everything more difficult.

Here. Mel passed him a towel—really an old, hole-filled blanket—and dried her face with another. She ducked behind the curtain strung across one corner, and Nat watched her feet with some amusement as she kicked off her boots and hopped around, struggling with her drenched clothes.

Need help? he asked.

No. But after a bit more grumbling, her sheepish face poked out. I forgot the good blankets.

Nat arched a brow. Oh, did you?

Nat...

He laughed and faced the fire. "Go ahead, aomil." Married or no, they both liked their privacy when changing.

Mel reappeared a moment later wrapped in two good wool blankets. Your turn, she said. Dry off and I will hang up our clothes while you make your concoction.

For whatever reason, Mel never quite mastered the warming draught Nat's sister Rima taught him, even with help. Supposedly it warded off colds. Brewed correctly, the liquid tasted sweet. The last time Mel tried, they both spat it out and tossed the rest through the outside door without a word.

Nat chuckled again, but did as asked, retrieving his own blankets and leaving his clothes in the pile with hers. He carefully dried the ruby eagle pendant resting against his chest. A companion to the emerald eagle Mel constantly wore, they once belonged to her parents. Mel gave him the ruby when they were children, and when they married, Nat incorporated the pendants into their inarí, the symbol of marriage their people wore. The woven leather cord was much sturdier than the thin chains they used before.

Mel had a small pot of water hanging over the fire when he emerged. She held out the cloth bag containing the draught mixture, briefly squeezing his hand when he took it, then busied herself with her chore. Soon bubbles began forming on the water's surface, and Nat dropped in the proper amount of the mixture. Immediately its wholesome scent filled the room. He breathed it in, counting silently, and removed the pot when he reached thirty.

Done, he said as he ladled the liquid into their clay mugs.

Mel rejoined him, sitting cross-legged before the fire, curling her hands around the mug he held out. Thank you. After a few sips, she continued, We ought to finish labeling the map section and pack.

In a hurry to leave tomorrow? Nat teased.

Oh yes, I'm always so excited to visit civilization. Or whatever that place is. Humor intensified the gold tint in her dark brown eyes. And no, you can't tell Rima what I said.

Nat snickered. Neither of them enjoyed the large city where his sister's family lived, but a monthly trip was a condition of their assignment to explore and map their ancestral homeland long abandoned by humans. Have we already put it off too long?

Mel flashed a mischievous grin. Considering we should probably be there now? No, not at all.

She swallowed another mouthful of the draught and leaned against Nat, head on his shoulder. Mere months ago, the affectionate gesture would have been a rarity. When Nat first reunited with her after an eleven-year separation, Mel was tense, secretive, under constant strain from the criminal Modon stalking and tormenting her. Since his death, she relaxed more often, at least with Nat and their doeddyn friends. She still had bad days when a careless touch or loud noise startled her, but they happened less frequently out in the wilds.

Times like this, Nat appreciated all the more. He kissed her forehead. Good day? he asked softly, curling an arm around her waist, careful not to disturb their blankets.

So far. Mel sighed. But I expect tonight will be interesting as ever.

~~†~~

The attack crept into Nat's stomach, making it churn and grumble as though both ill and hungry at once. He kept his eyes closed, praying the feeling would go away and let him sleep. Unhealthy warmth licked his skin, the heat of fire closing in. Unseen fingers closed around his throat. They lifted him off the ground, choking the life out of him while the flames roared closer...

Nat gasped, heart pounding, head whirling from drawing in too much air. He blinked as his vision adjusted to the pale blue glow lighting the room. Another night of strange half-dreams. Unsettled and restless yet comforted by the solid pallet under his back, he reached for Mel. His hand fell on empty blankets. He sat up, eyes darting around the room. Gone. Where—

A breeze stirred the blanket covering the doorway. Nat ran a hand down his face, quieting the unnecessary panic, then rose and padded into the outer room. Mel stood leaning against the door frame, facing the night.

Scuffing his feet so he wouldn't scare her, Nat joined her at the opening, studying the gleaming ruins. Long ago, the city Istae was the most revered and beautiful place in these lands, famous for its glowing stones that earned it another name: the City of Starlight. A last stronghold during the wars that destroyed the city, the country, and many lives, Istae's every structure bore wounds, from missing walls and roofs to dark patches of stone, their light smothered by fire. Nat shivered as cold air swept over his bare feet. Fire.

What woke you? Mel asked, her voice soft but strained. And don't say 'nothing.' Your eyes are swirling.

At times, Nat wished the colors in his blue-green eyes wouldn't shift when he was stressed. Just a dream.

They don't usually bother you.

No, but... These aren't...normal. These are more real somehow. They seem like a warning. Just in the last few nights, it's as though someone is in my head, whispering dark things, and it leaves me thinking something is wrong.

Mel fingered her eagle pendant. It weighs in your chest. Makes you feel you can't breathe right.

Glad yet sorry she understood, Nat shrugged. Maybe I'm just going mad.

You weren't already?

That made him smile. Debatable.

If it is any consolation, you are the good sort of mad. I hoped all the exercise would make us too tired for dreams.

So did I. Though they probably shouldn't have chosen an activity testing his fear of heights. What happened in yours?

Wordlessly, Mel shook her head. Nat half-turned to face her, unsure if he should touch her. Mel, you haven't left the room after a nightmare in weeks. Please tell me.

She swiped at her eyes, a sure sign she had been crying before he found her. You died, she whispered. Killed by Modon.

Nat winced in sympathy. Even his worst nightmares paled in comparison with hers. They only left him uneasy, not forcing him to watch loved ones murdered or convincing him a longtime tormentor was still alive. Some nights, Nat found Mel curled in a ball, sobbing in her sleep. Others, she woke him screaming.

Now she burrowed into him, face pressed against his neck, arms clamped so tight he couldn't draw a deep breath. His death must have been particularly gruesome tonight. Easy, Nat murmured, his heart aching as he rubbed her back. I'm here, alive and well.

Mel shuddered. As well as we ever are, anyway.

"Funny. I want to help you more, aomil. Whatever you need."

She sniffed, her hold loosening just enough to let him breathe easier. You do more than enough for me already, Nat. I know Modon is dead. I know I am free of him. The nightmares may frighten me, but they aren't real, and I pray they will pass eventually. I must keep reminding myself to trust Eoh and not worry.

Out of habit, Nat ran his fingers across the scars on Mel's arm even though they were long past danger of infection. Inflicted by Modon at the same time as Mel's stab wound, the shallower cuts had healed much faster. The scars the madman left on her mind might never do so. Nat could only listen, pray, help her when asked. And distract her.

Chapter Two

A New Assignment

Nothing stirred in the lake's murky depths. Mel swam farther down, towing a dead fish tied to a stone, searching for any sign of the creature said to live here. Called a tyroah, or dragon in the common tongue, rumor claimed it created the ever-present ice coating the lake's surface and guarded the western half of Eoharn, where most of the doeddyn lived.

Mel wanted to meet it, but it evaded her every time she dove into the cool water. Cool, not freezing, a marvel explained only as the creature's silrae, its gift granted to its race by Eoh. This morning marked her last chance to see the tyroah for at least a fortnight.

The stone's weight pulled her a bit deeper until the rope tied around her waist stopped her descent. Nat insisted on it in case Mel tried staying underwater too long or was caught in the lake's unpredictable current—also courtesy of the tyroah. Mel's lungs already burned, but she stubbornly floated where she was, waiting.

When her body demanded air, Mel tugged twice on the rope. Immediately, it tightened as Nat began pulling her out. Mel released the stone. It sank into the murk, taking the fish with it, toward the bottom where the tyroah would find it. While the creature refused her an audience, it showed its appreciation for such gifts in other ways: twisting ice sculptures left on the lakeshore, shells from the lake's depths, giant fish from the sea with leathery hides that Nat used to make waterproof armor. Not that they wanted to swim in armor, but they no longer worried about keeping it dry, either.

Mel's head broke the lake's surface into cool autumn air. She treaded water until she oriented herself, then swam for shore. Nat met her there with a towel.

Well? he asked as she dried her face and neck.

No sighting. Mel squeezed water out of her braided hair and sat close to the small fire crackling nearby. Some days I wonder if it is afraid. She eyed the lake, half-hoping the creature had heard and would come at last to defend its courage.

Nat shrugged. "Maybe. The last humans who came here were killing doeddyn, though they feared the tyroah too much to bother it."

He remained standing, coiling and re-coiling the wet rope, obviously still preoccupied with his dreams. Nat's instincts were alerting him to some danger, and Mel understood all too well how important heeding those warnings could be. Still, she didn't like seeing him so upset. Nat had distracted her with the tyroah. She wanted to do the same.

Mel stretched her bare feet toward the fire and threw her towel at Nat. He caught it against his chest and tossed it back, a hint of a smile visible. What?

You are brooding again. Mel spread the cloth over the ground to dry in the midmorning sun. "Heta berá calen, Eoh hanná da ano do." She half-sang the words, an old saying they repeated so often it was becoming their slogan. What life brings, Eoh sends for your good.

Nat dropped the rope next to their packs and took her inarí out of his pocket. I'm fine, he said quietly, polishing the eagle pendant with his shirt hem. Just tired.

Mel didn't believe him, not entirely, but decided not to pester him yet. Worn you out, have I? she teased, grinning at his mock glare. She went to her pile of gear and pulled dry clothes over her damp underclothes. As she tied her boots, she asked, Any sign of them?

Nat shook his head. They had risen early and left Istae, traveling as far as the lake, where two of their doeddyn companions would meet them. Others waited near the border. Eager to see them, Mel scanned the horizon when she stood.

Slipping the inarí over Mel's head, Nat kissed her cheek, then picked up her jerkin, examining the stitching before handing it over. Staying in Eoharn had its advantages. It gave him plenty of time to craft custom armor. Mel's two bracers and the jerkin each had a sheath hidden inside large enough for a small throwing knife, a last resort that no one would find unless they removed the armor, which would only happen if Mel were incapacitated.

When Mel donned the jerkin, Nat said, Should help protect you from boot knives. He patted her side where a scar from a previous knife wound lay. Mel just smiled, strapping her sword to her belt. She had an odd fondness for that particular scar. Obviously not an enjoyable experience, but it led to Mel confiding in Nat about Modon. She hadn't regretted it. Well, much.

They checked their packs once more before Nat stretched out beside the fire, one arm under his head. Mel sat on the other side. They waited in companionable silence, enjoying the sun's warmth, until a distant call had them scrambling to their feet. Far off, two Haellyn raced toward them. Mel grinned and waved her arms overhead.

The ground shivered under the hooves of Eoddín and Roan. They tossed their black manes in greeting as they slid to a halt. Mel hugged Eoddín's neck, burying her face in his earthy-smelling black fur. "Maenam, ballo aomil," she said. Of all her doeddyn friends and family, Eoddín was special. She had raised him from a newborn after his parents were killed, and they shared a strong bond. In the last several weeks, he had become more independent, wandering further afield with the other Haellyn, and Mel had missed him.

Eoddín nosed her shoulder, then backed out of her embrace. Taina says hello, he said, naming his recently discovered elder sister.