AshesAndBlood Read online

  Uncle Cy and Ty, my uncle and Dad, best friends until Uncle Cy left my aunt in the middle of the night. Dad said he would never forgive him for leaving his family. Years later, Dad abandoned his own. Different circumstances, different reasons, but it still boils down to two men who built families only to tear them apart, shattering the happiness that once made their family whole. It’s been too long since our family was a loving, happy family, and it never will again.

  Looking down, averting his eyes from all us women, Xander stands and hands the bottle of whiskey to Sarah. “Thought you were lying. Didn’t mean to push so hard. I’m sorry for your losses. We will get you into town safely—you don’t need to worry. But what are your plans? Doesn’t look like you have much. If you know no one in Capo, where do you plan to stay?”

  Wiping a single tear from her face, Sarah pushes back her black hair, and then takes the bottle from him before gulping down a nice swig. “Honestly, we don’t know yet. We’re busy focusing on how to survive. We have a couple things to sell, but it won’t be much. As long as we make it there, inside the town safely, we will figure out the rest.”

  Shit, what the hell are we supposed to do for money? There’s the obvious solution, but none of us want to spend our nights on our knees and backs. Maybe we can find jobs in town working at an inn or restaurant. We have cooking and serving experience. We all graduated from high school, and it shouldn’t be too hard to find jobs. The only way we will make it is by sticking together and working as a team. Surviving in this foreign land will be a struggle, but we shouldn’t need to resort to being prostitutes.

  “I’m sure we can find work at a tavern. There has to be work somewhere,” Dana says.

  Tristan’s smile dissipates. “Jobs are scarce and given to men first. Few women work. Most women died of the plague. Men look for wives, but Capo doesn’t have much to offer a group of women besides husbands. Some taverns hire women but it’s not… good work.” Cheeks red, he stops talking to look at the night sky.

  “Yeah, that’s the work we hope to avoid. We’ll figure it out. It’s not winter, so we have time to find jobs and a place to rent,” Sarah says.

  Xander scrunches his eyebrows at Sarah. “It’s beginning of autumn, so it’ll be winter soon. The town will close for three or four months depending on how much snow.”

  “What do you mean close? How soon?” That’s not good news. We might need to travel to a warmer climate or find a different town.

  “It’s autumn. In another month or so it will snow. So far this year, it’s been warm. Every winter, it snows for three months straight. It’s not unheard of to get snow that can reach past the doorframe. Most people don’t leave their houses for the whole time, so most businesses close for the winter. The hospital is one of the few places that stays open year-round. You might think about moving to a different town, maybe where it’s warmer,” Xander says.

  “We will think about it. Explore the town first, maybe we’ll get lucky.” Who am I kidding? I’ve never been lucky.

  Chapter Three - Megan

  The birds sound the same, the bugs too, even if it’s hard to listen to them over the relentless chatter from Tristan. He never, ever stops talking. He and Ciara haven’t stopped the whole morning. He has given loads of information about the town of Capo and what attacked us last night, but it has been relentless, constant chatter.

  Xander hasn’t said much during our trek. He keeps to himself but is helpful. He offered to carry our empty backpacks besides his own, but Sarah and Dana declined, though it was a nice gesture.

  The nunda travel in packs. They wanted to eat us for dinner last night—or breakfast, since they are nocturnal creatures. They have sensitive, tiny eyes, so any amount of light hurts them. From what Tristan described, nunda are a mix between a saber-tooth tiger and a mole. Their thick hides make it tough to pierce with arrows, and they quickly overwhelm with their vast numbers. The only way to fight them is with light or fire, otherwise you’re screwed. Thank God the girls turned the flashlights on their cell phones on. I’m thrilled Tristan and Xander didn’t see the phones. I don’t want to explain what a cell phone is when they clearly don’t understand electricity.

  I’m glad no one asked about my nightmare last night. I woke up the whole damn camp an hour before my shift. Xander and Dana were on watch. They assumed we were under attack and rushed over. The girls tried to wake me but nothing worked until I launched out of the makeshift bed fully awake and ready to fight… something. I don’t remember the dream or what I fought, except it was hot. Scorching. I woke up sweaty, panting, and screaming at the top of my lungs. Besides that, I can’t recall a damn thing. It probably has to do with me being trapped here. I hate being cornered without options. It freaked me out, waking with the sensation that my skin was on fire. I was certain blisters covered my entire body. It felt so real. I have never dreamed something that intense without any memory of the dream.

  The hike to town helped me take my mind off the nightmare and concentrate on reality.

  I’m no longer on Earth.

  The scenery takes your breath away, even mesmerizes. Never had I thought the colors on Earth were wrong or dull, but here different colors make everything look enchanted, perfect. So many vibrant colors fill the forest with an array of hues that decorate the landscape. I didn’t think flowers could be any more colorful than on Earth, but I was wrong. Maroons, oranges, blues, and yellows in every shade explode across the land. Budding flowers attached to vines and long shoots sprout everywhere. Tiny yellow shamrock leaves surrounded by bright orange miniature sunflowers grow next to scarlet ferns. Together they create a sunset color scheme across the forest floor. Some of the trees we passed had long crimson red pine needles and the same jade bark we saw yesterday, but smaller, mostly.

  That was until we went through a tunnel formed from roots, the only remains of a humongous old tree. I’ve seen pictures of people walking through redwood trees but to walk through a root tunnel from one tree is pretty impressive. After that, the trail led away from the big giant forest with crazy roots to an area with more dark blue and purple palm trees.

  Closer to the town, the terrain began to flatten into a sea of waist-high grass. The grass looks like ours, green blades that could grow on either planet. Bell-shaped fuchsia and baby blue wildflowers growing on long whimsical green stems fight the grass for sunlight in the gorgeous meadow, under the shadow of the treacherous woods. Bugs and various insects buzz from flower to flower, collecting nectar and spreading pollen.

  Dancing on the wind are golden butterflies. Not yellow and black like a swallowtail butterfly, but completely metallic gold. Each flap of their golden wings sends flakes of gold metallic powder into the air, wafting away on the tranquil breeze. The air fills with gold dust. It reflects the sunlight, creating a masterpiece that can only equal a golden aurora borealis during the day, ten feet above a grassy, flowering meadow. The sheer beauty of it has the four of us standing in awe of the natural spectacle. The cousins give us questioning stares. I’m sure they’re wondering if we’ve ever seen a butterfly.

  Within minutes, we continue our trek while Tristan talks about Capo. He knows Capo’s history, the hardships, instability, and triumphs the town has faced throughout decades. Fifteen years ago, a tavern fire spread across town faster than anyone expected. They didn’t have an organized fire brigade then, so chaos and panic tore apart the town as rapidly as the fire. Half the town burned.

  The town was fortunate the fire happened in early spring. It gave them time to rebuild before winter, since half the town became homeless. Before construction, they planned out the town for the better. They changed part of the layout, besides adding three more fire stations in each corner, four in total. To prevent the spread of future fires, they built most of the new structures out of stone and limited flammable materials. They intended to have cobblestone streets throughout, but they only finished the first half of the project before people became sick from the plague.

  Thre
e years later, most of the brand new residences were vacant and Capo became a real ghost town. Whole families perished, children became orphans, new homes were never inhabited. People moved away, proclaiming the town cursed, deserting Capo even further. Half the citizens died. It mostly affected children, women, and the elderly. The medication available was expensive and worked a third of the time.

  Tristan didn’t say more. If half the town died, the cousins must have known many who perished.

  That was twelve years ago. It has since turned around, with housing back in demand. There are plans to expand the large town, to complete the streets, add more businesses and houses, but Xander isn’t certain anything will develop soon. That is the only thing he says.

  Capo is larger than expected. A wall surrounds the town in a diamond shape and keeps everyone inside safe from the nunda and anything else eager to attack its residents. We approached from the north gate, the least used. Tristan said most people enter through the south gate. It’s built for traffic, wide enough to drive four carts through. There are four gates in total, but even the west and east gates aren’t popular.

  Three bored soldiers stand on top of the stone rampart, talking while gazing out into the wilderness. They wave, welcoming us in as we stroll through the gate. They don’t trouble to ask us questions. If this is Xander and Tristan’s regular route in and out, the guards must recognize them or see no threat.

  Clashing swords greet us as we pass the barracks stationed beside the north gate. A few men practice their stances, just enough to create a commotion. About ten men grunt while smashing steel against each other, training under the vigilant eye of a drill sergeant. All fairly young, most likely under eighteen. Something to occupy the teenage boys who don’t have an apprenticeship, I’m sure.

  Pointing down toward the street congested with people wearing dull-colored wool attire, Tristan mentions that if we continue in that direction, we will end up in the market and shopping district. Instead, we turn right and continue for five blocks.

  Jade wood and cream stone comprise most of the buildings. Brown cement is layered in between the cream stone and green lumber. The houses are crowded together, producing more of a city atmosphere than a rural town. Some of the buildings resemble apartments, modest enough to be studios. There are two-story residences and three-story buildings with multiple doors on each level. Mothers keep an attentive eye on their children, from what I assume is their kitchen window, as they continue to do household chores. Some storm out of their houses to periodically yell at their kids for either misbehaving or straying too far from their sight.

  Tristan speaks over the busy street noise. “We should stop by our friend’s house. Kev lives in town and if you need anything, he’ll help if we aren’t around. We live in the woods while the weather is good, hunting and trapping. We sell meats and skins at the market. Kev rents half his home to us during the winter. He’s a decent guy, might let you stay there till you find jobs or make plans. He’s a blacksmith and keeps to himself. Drinks when he doesn’t work and he isn’t sober often, but he is a good man.”

  Wandering through the streets of Capo, Tristan goes on about their drunk friend and a potentially free place to stay. It sounds more like my childhood home: living with an alcoholic again. I can’t stay longer than a week. The drama and baggage is too much to handle, especially from a complete stranger. Living with a boozer becomes daily hell and not something I want to put up with, even if it comes with free rent.

  Kev’s property backs against the wall. It’s one of the largest private properties we’ve passed since entering Capo. The property is on the main street. The house attaches to the forge by an ancient brick archway, giving the home a more medieval feel. Directly behind the house is a barn that sits parallel to the forge, creating a nice courtyard with room for a decent-sized garden in the middle. Swinging in the breeze above the forge door is a sign with a black anvil and hammer but no words. I have to assume most folk are illiterate. Windows line the upper half of the building, allowing the hot air to circulate out. I’m not looking forward to going inside since the air gets hotter with each step toward the door.

  Tristan goes for the front door under the sign. “Hope you don’t mind the heat.” He opens the door to a long and narrow building, and a wave of heat blasts us.

  Behind the front counter that separates the room stands a large man with his back toward us. He’s hammering away, deaf to our entrance. His tree-trunk arms glisten with sweat from strenuous labor in the intense heat. The smoke from the forge fills the space, making the room hazy.

  Different tools line the walls. Beneath them are workbenches, and at the end of the building, a large forge billows heat into the room. Directly behind the counter is a stool, a cot, and a notebook. A bench and table distinguish the customer side.

  They must create all the wooden furniture from the jade trees in the forest, as it all has the same tie-dye green color. Odd metal art decorates the room, abstract metal sculptures that you might see in an art museum in New York, not in a back-in-history-town smithy. It’s unexpected, but so has the last twenty-four hours. Nothing makes sense.

  Going to call today: Day one.

  Pointing out one specific metal artwork on the table, Dana whispers, “In the corner, on the table. A metal TV.”

  “Do you think he’s from Ear—Seaside?” I ask.

  I’m so glad I didn’t say Earth. I hope the guys didn’t hear me correct myself with the loud hammering. Is it feasible this happens all the time—something sends people back and forth between worlds? The TV is an antique box replica, built with knobs to turn the channels and volume. It even has a rabbit ear antenna. An ironic addition to a customer waiting area. Now that I’m taking a closer look, all of the metal artwork isn’t sculptures, but items from our world. There’s a game controller, a model car, toys, and gadgets. Items only someone who grew up on Earth would know.

  “You like his art? You might be the only people that do,” Tristan laughs. “Kev, these ladies like your artwork.”

  Suddenly hearing us for the first time, the giant turns. A grin crawls over his face when he sees Xander and Tristan. Setting down his tools on a workbench, he wipes his hands on a rag sticking out of his dark blue cotton pants, oddly reminding me of jeans. They are made of a thin, breathable cotton material, the same as his baggy gray t-shirt.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” He grasps both Xander and Tristan’s hands, then shifts his attention to us girls. His smile widens as he acknowledges us. “Where did you find these ladies? You like the TV? I can make you one…” His smile fades into a frown as he gets a better glance at our group. He sees our clothing and his eyes bug out of his head as he recognizes our jeans and sneakers, not something we have seen so far in Capo. “Where are you from?”

  I’ve been standing back by the TV, admiring his skill. He really did a nice job. No doubt he has seen one before and I wonder how. Maybe he knows the secret to traveling from one world to another. “We are from Seaside—”

  He squints his eyes. “Seaside? Which Seaside? Do I know you?”

  Beads of sweat flow down his scrunched brow. He looks familiar. I don’t know where we have met, I would recognize someone this big. He’s the size of a doorframe and might have to duck his head to walk under them, possibly going through sideways, but there’s not an ounce of fat on him. He is pure muscle.

  “I don’t think so. I’ve never been to Capo.”

  “What Seaside are you from?” He holds his hands taut against his legs, fists clenched like clubs, ready to swing. His body tenses, preparing to strike, and his eyes target me, no one else.

  Damn, he looks like someone I’ve met, but I can’t place his face. Wait. Shit. It can’t be. Could it? His clean-shaved head sparks a distant memory.

  “Kevin! Oh God.” Covering my mouth with my hands, realization hits me heavy as my stomach heaves.

  “Impossible. I’m drunk. You’re a… you’re a hallucination, a memory haunting me.”

&nb
sp; “Kevin, it’s me, Megan. Is that really you? What happened? Why are we here?”

  “Megan? How the…” Slowly, his green eyes focus. I watch his concern grow as he checks me for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

  “Kevin!”

  I dash past everyone standing in confusion to give him a hug, but it’s a feeble attempt to wrap my arms around his double-barrel chest. He’s my cousin Kevin for sure. No doubts, only more questions and worries. Out of everything that has happened, I would have never expected to find Kevin. Everyone assumed he died years ago when he went missing while camping during his senior year of high school.

  Eight long years had passed since he disappeared. He was seventeen, graduating high school in a month. Aunt Karen never got over his disappearance, plus Mom didn’t support her sister. Mom still grieved Dad’s death, drinking her main and only priority. My aunt tried so hard to be there for my family after my dad died, it was wrong of my mom to ignore her and reject her sister when her own nephew was missing. Even as a young teen, I realized how harshly Mom treated Aunt Karen.

  I tried my best to support my aunt and cousin Emily since Mom was a lost cause. There was no turning her back from the bottle. She wouldn’t stop drinking for anything less than my dad being resurrected. I didn’t want my aunt turning out the same since her husband had already left her, then her son.

  I spent every day after school with her and Emily, helping them get through their loss of Kevin. Home with my mom and sister wasn’t pleasant, not somewhere I wanted to be. I grew close to them before they moved to Florida. They needed to move far away from the memories tormenting and taunting them.