Page 4 of Because the Gods Left

Iryana pushed against the armrests, slowly rising out of the chair. Just a bit of fresh air—that was all she needed.

The sound of boots thudded through the wooden walls of their home, echoing down the hallway just outside the office. Iryana quickly dropped back into the chair. It was time.

Iryana fixed the skirt of her storm-gray dress, making sure it looked presentable. Like she hadn’t been nearly crawling out of the chair a moment ago. It was the dress of a guardian commander, not a warrior, though their leaders were always both. Instead of rows of hardened leather lamellar, near-black ribbons decorated the bodice. Instead of durable cord tying those rows of leather together, colorful embroidery seemed to bind it all. The stitches were every color of well magic, forming symbols and runes of each type. Despite fitting her lean body perfectly, she wasn’t getting used to the dress. It was beautiful, but she couldn’t wait to take it off and replace it with a simple shirt and her actual armor.

The First had insisted she wear it for practice—to get used to it.

Gods, why had she let her grandmother convince her she could handle this meeting on her own? Iryana had only been Third for a short while, had only been able to attend a few meetings while shadowing the First. How was she to live up to her role as the clan’s heir? Live up to the memory of their deceased Second?

Get yourself together, she chastised herself. She only had to hear their reports and present her new idea to them. Her gaze flicked to the folded bit of parchment waiting on the edge of the oak desk in front of her.

Her spine stiffened as the door swung open. Four members of her clan filtered in quickly. The room was truly too small for them all, but her Aunt Emadya and Darsha, a more distant relation, took the worn chairs that faced the desk, Uncle Dinhal and her sister Hadima standing behind them. Already the room was warming uncomfortably.

Her uncle looked especially cramped. He was a great beast of a man. Beside him, her sister looked tiny. Delicate. But Hadima worked just as hard for their clan—only in a different way. She was a water-forged healer, tasked with tending injuries and making medicines. She too represented the virtues of a guardian clan. Her family was more than warriors—they took care of those under their protection, no one more so than Hadima.

Hadima’s attentive gaze trailed over Iryana, and when her wide, hazel eyes met Iryana’s, they brimmed with encouragement. Iryana offered her a small smile. Hadima had been her rock since returning to the family, a constant source of support and encouragement.

“Happy Falling Moon,” Iryana said to break the silence, then swallowed. “Reports?”

She looked to Darsha, who was in charge of tracking their supplies and food stores, usually giving her report first, assuming there was nothing urgent.

Darsha’s chest expanded slowly, as if she needed a deep breath to find the words. She looked—well, awful. Her eyes were distant, her dress draping loosely over her thin shoulders, and her braid seemed streaked with more gray than last spring. Darsha was only forty, but she looked considerably older.

Unfortunately, a guardian could never take a break from their duties, even to mourn. And the years had been less kind to Darsha’s side of the family. Well, the dakii had been less kind.

“Preparations are ongoing for winter, Third,” Darsha finally said, her voice weak and rough. “We’ve finished cataloging and storing the supplies from Lake Vrasho, but they aren’t enough to replace what was lost when the 18th burned down our stores.”

“When Karvek had them burned,” Iryana corrected before she could stop herself.

General Karvek and his followers had been the true villains. The rest of the 18th were their allies now, although it was harder to convince the rest of the clan of that.

“Sure,” Darsha allowed, though her blank expression remained unchanged. “The root harvest is going slower than expected with so many out hunting, but we’ve started slaughtering what we can of our animals. And the winter rye is sown.”

“Pull more hands from the village, if need be,” Iryana ordered gently, throat dry as she struggled for the command that came so easily to her grandmother. “We can’t afford to wait until the ground thaws again in spring.”

“We’re ahead on gathering firewood and repairing the roof thatch, so there should be spare hands.” Darsha shrugged.

“Can we get the rest of the supplies we need through trade?”

“We’ve been able to get some when we have things to sell. But we’re limited in that regard. We traded some fire-imbued clothes than Teshya made and some extra salves and potions from Hadima, but there is little to spare.”

“We have a few weeks at least before the trails ice over and turn to mud. Prepare me a list of what we can’t get, and we will send it to Lake Vrasho. See what they can manage.”

“Yes, Third. I will have that to you by the end of the day.” Darsha sunk down in her chair now that she was done.

Hadima leaned forward, squeezing Darsha’s shoulder. “I’ll have a few supplies to add to the list—I will come by.”

Darsha smiled faintly.

Iryana wished she knew the words to comfort Darsha, to offer some peace. She reluctantly looked over at her aunt.

“Gyena?” Iryana prompted her to begin. It wasn’t necessary for her to use the guardian honorific for her aunt now that she was Third, but given her aunt had been her teacher since she was a little girl, it felt too strange not to.

Aunt Emadya threw her pale blonde braid over her shoulder and offered a warm smile that crinkled the skin on either side of her eyes.

“The young ones are doing well with their lessons. They’ve been motivated to complete their studies quickly for a bit of extra playtime. I’ve perhaps been a bit too relaxed with them, but soon it will be too cold to play outside. And I think the laughter around the village does everyone some good.”

Iryana nodded in agreement. Hearing her distant cousins giggling and playing helped relieve some of the suffocating feeling in the house.