James kept his head under the blanket. He could not see any better in the darkness when he dared to peer out of it. But, the blanket was warm. It was a barrier. It suffocated him in its safety. Papa had headed out with the other men to check the fields. James had never known that a cow could scream, but they could, and they had tonight. Not long after he had heard the pitiful yelp, someone had knocked on the door. There were many sharp, hurried whispers between the adults. He knew their attempts to be quiet was because the adults believed he was sleeping, so he stayed still and pretended. His father had gone to grab his shotty and his coat, then left.

James knew his mother was there, sitting with a view out of the window. Waiting. He wanted to crawl up into her lap and sleep against her chest, but he could feel her tension filling the room. She would hold him gently, rock him softly, whisper kind words to him and put him back into bed to return to her worry-filled vigil. So he stayed in bed. Best not to make her worry about him not sleeping on top of worrying for papa.

He lay as still as his little restless body would let him. He was grateful that his father was not the one left at home. His Illara father likely knew James was still awake before he had left. The sense the Illara shared with each other and their Inari children was a strong bond. James shared the same bond with his mother, but it was one way. He could feel her, sense her thoughts at times, but she was oblivious to it. Without facial expressions and gestures in the dark room, she was unaware of what her son was experiencing in his bed in the far corner.

He closed his eyes, reached out mentally and felt for his mother. He found her in his mind, just as he had sensed. He held her there in a youthful hug and found that she relaxed slightly. The air in the room around him, even under the blanket, felt lighter. He smiled softly to himself and leaned into the mental image further. He slowly began to drift off to sleep.

* * *

The scream woke him up. It was close. Closer than the fields. He sat up in bed. He was covered in sweat, even though the night was not very warm. He could feel the fear rising around him. It seemed to be pouring into the air from everywhere in the town at once. A series of soft steps made their way toward his bed. The air thickened and pressed against him, as if trying to choke him.

“James, we have to go.” His mother’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

A light sparked up outside the window and he saw his mother’s face in a quick flash. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes wide and she was half-crouching beside the bed, ready to burst forward into a sprint.

He slid out of bed next to her, grabbing his pants and shoes, putting them on. No words were needed. Once he was ready, he slipped his hand into hers, and she led him to the bedroom that she shared with Papa.

She opened the back door. There was about 20 feet of open space beyond the door before a copse of trees that would hide them from whatever was happening on just the other side of the buildings. James felt her body tense up, preparing to move. He also felt the shadow in the copse. He squeezed her hand sharply and pulled back, hoping she would trust his senses. Something was there.

As he hoped, she shrank back and shut the door slowly. “Xenai?” she whispered.

“In the trees.”

She said nothing. He could feel her terror grow. The heavy air grew cold and felt as though it was sticking to him. He could feel the air like it was a cool lake; a cool lake with monsters in the depths, waiting to consume them the moment they relaxed and began to float.

She walked him over to the closet. There was no door on it, so she scooped up the packs and books that lay on the floor as quietly as she could. She pushed him into the back corner, then replaced the items in front of him.

“Stay here. Quietly.”

She walked to the other corner of the room. There were various jackets and implements leaning against the wall that would hide her from being seen, as well.

They sat in their hiding spots, listening.

Screams were accumulating. At first it had seemed like they all came from the south end of town. Now they were surrounded by them on all sides. There were flashes of light — warm light that crackled.

Fire.

Occasionally, he caught a flash of bright blue light. Several people in town had lightning-source amulets. Either the township was fighting back, or they were being attacked out of the darkness by Source casting Xenai.

He heard Terran cries. The lady that lived next door with her daughter began to yell, “Please! No! Stop!”

The crackling grew louder. He heard a loud pop and debris hit the front side of his home.

“Jump! Jump! I got you!”

Thud.

Another scream, fueled by pain, broke through the other sounds of chaos.

“My leg!”

“We have to go!”

It felt like everything was converging outside of their home. It didn’t occur to him that being the house in nearly the center of the town, that was exactly what was happening. He sat quietly, drowning in the thick air.

There was a roar. Not Terran, not Illara, not Xenai. It was loud and crashed down on his ears so hard it made him feel dizzy. The shotty. Papa was back and he was fighting. James felt the elation and fear bear down on his chest. He glanced over to his mother’s hiding spot. He could not see her, but could feel her position shift. She knew that it was Papa out there, too. In the middle of it. Saving them, or dying trying.

She moved out from her spot, moving to grab the sword that Papa had left behind. She was going to join Papa and leave him alone in the darkness.

He felt the presence from the copse again, just outside the back door. Before he could warn his mother, he felt it shift. The shadow weighed down on him, pushing into his mind, and the back door burst inward, shattering to pieces. The shadow seemed to fill the room, the flashes of light from outside dimming. He felt his mother’s explosive burst of movement as she lunged the final foot for the sword. She had it in her hand, sheathed, as the darkness swallowed her up. Her screams were so oddly far away. The cool air transformed into warm droplets, which landed on his face. He was drowning in the warmth of them. He stayed quiet in his corner. He could no longer feel his mother’s presence.

* * *

The sun rose and reality flooded in with it, an endless wave of thick, warm fluid, pouring over the boy.

His father came inside just before dawn, calling for him. He found him in the closet, scooped him up, and marched him out to his bed. They sat together in silence for a long time. The flickering light of fires dying down came in through the front window. There were no more screams; no more cries. No one begging another to jump out of the window to escape the flames.

The sun rose and, as the light began to fill up the front room of their home, James became aware of the flakes of blood that covered him. The skin on his face was stiff and hard to move. He sat silently, his head against his father’s chest. Somehow he was crying while not crying at all. The tears streamed down his face, even though he made no noise. An occasional breath would tremble and ache inside of him as he let it out. But he was not crying.

Someone knocked on the door. His father, Kingston Cross, the unofficial ruler of Century, walked to the door. Head up. Tall. Proud. Broken inside.

Pardee, one of the field hands, appeared as Kingston opened the door. James watched the man shuffle in, seemingly oblivious to the state of the two of them until he had sat down at the table at the front of the room. Pardee’s eyes met James’. Then they drifted over the boy’s face, down to his small, shaking hands. He put the pieces together.

“Oh, Kingston,” he said quietly. It was all there was to say.

“Tell me about the livestock,” Papa asked him.

Pardee shook his head. “It’s nothing we can’t handle.” He looked from Kingston over to James. “Is there anything you guys need?”

Kingston leaned in close to Pardee and said something James could not hear. The man nodded, then stood to leave.

A few minutes later his father rejoined him, sitting in silence on the bed. James heard people come in the back door, moving around the bedroom.

His mother was being removed. A nice grave would appear in the back, he knew. They had buried his grandpa there. It would be clean and neat and give away no details about the horrible way his mother had died. All that was left of her was the red stain in the floor of his papa’s bedroom.