Sciona had posited that all emotions—fear, anger, sadness—were just energy, equal in their potential power, but Thomil found himself disagreeing as more and more Kwen fell into step around him. There was more power in him now than there had been during the crossing ten years ago when he ran in fear. For the first time, he grasped the force that had kept his sister moving, pulling him onward with her through all their loss. For the first time, he ran the way Maeva had: not from oblivion but toward a hope bigger than himself.
Thomil had always understood that it wasn’t Carra alone that he had borne across the lake. But he now understood that it hadn’t been the Caldonnae alone either. We are one people with one purpose, Beyern had said. But the ‘we’ was more than the Caldonnae, more than any coalition of tribes. It was Arras pushing Maeva a little further than he had gone, Maeva pushing Thomil a little further than she had gone, Thomil pushing Carra a little further still—even Sciona Freynan pushing them both a little further still. Like so many he had loved, maybe Thomil wouldn’t live to see the dawn. Maybe Carra wouldn’t. Maybe it would be a hundred generations before the sun rose on a life of dignity for their descendants, but the worthwhile run was not the sprint.
Tiranish police and barrier guards shouted orders to one another, pursuing the fleeing Kwen into the boneyard, and Thomil put his good hand on Carra’s shoulder.
“Run ahead of me!” He pushed her out before him just in case the Tiranishmen got their guns working again; a bullet would have to go through him first. Carra had a good pair of legs like her father and scarcely slowed him down, even with a pack on her back and a baby in her arms.
The expanding barrier raced ahead of the Kwen, the life force of a hundred mages, politicians, and city guards lighting the way to the mountains. Thomil felt his legs tiring, an old ache setting into his lungs, exacerbated by years of breathing the factory-poisoned air of the Kwen Quarter—when the barrier slowed as though in mercy. It had reached its planned perimeter on the lower slopes.
As the flood of copper-haired runners poured through the light, there was a tingle, a brutal drop in temperature, but no Blight.
Carra yelped as the icy air bit through her insufficient shirt and trousers. Thomil just breathed in the cold he had thought he would never taste again.
Home.
Unobstructed stars lit the sky above the mountains, putting all Tiran’s electric marvels to shame.
“Put the baby inside your shirt,” an Endrasta told Carra as he draped a blanket over her and the small child, even as she tried to assure him, through chattering teeth, that she was fine.
“Make for the caves!” an older Endrasta called, taking control of the confused mass of shivering Kwen. “Cover your extremities and keep moving! This way!”
Time was precious, but Thomil took a moment of it to look back at the barrier. Wrapped in the icy arms of his homeland, he imagined that his sister, his parents, and all the Caldonnae watched from that light that had taken their lives. The twinkle of magic became the spring gleam in Sciona’s eyes.
To hope. Sciona lifted her glass, and Thomil raised a fist in return.
To hope, Highmage Freynan.
Author’s Note
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed Blood Over Bright Haven, please consider leaving an honest review on Amazon, joining my Patreon for early access to my ongoing projects, and/or subscribing to my newsletter to get updates on future releases.
Acknowledgments
In addition to thanking TD Storm for a great developmental edit and Virginia McClain for providing this beautiful interior formatting on very short notice, I want to thank Levi, Adam Halcombe, and Aliénor Lator for giving feedback on early drafts of the story. I also want to thank my mom, who remains a great proofreader even after having retired from grading student papers, my dad, who was excited to help with some of the more niche nods to computer programming, and everyone who encouraged me to finish what ended up being another difficult story for me. Here’s hoping their work paid off and I’ve been able to deliver a book worthy of their effort.
About the Author
M. L. Wang is an author, martial artist, and weird recluse currently living in Wisconsin with her maroon-bellied parakeet, Sulu. Her other books include The Sword of Kaigen and The Volta Academy Chronicles （published under Maya Lin Wang）。
www.mlwangbooks.com