MEMORY FRAGMENT

Tamin Empire’s eastern borders, 16 years ago

The sound of galloping horses and creaky wooden wheels almost blotted out the crying that filled the wagon. There were three dozen children in total, gathered in far less space than could hold them. The younger were sitting in the laps of the older. Even then, there was barely enough space to move around. Yet even these conditions were far better than what most of them had experienced.

“Smoke in the distance.” One of the riders by the wagon pointed.

Even from this distance, Palad could sense the smell of ash in the air—thick, sticky, choking him. Even after being subjected to it for months, he couldn’t get accustomed to it.

“Leave it,” the driver yelled back. “We’re packed. Tell the Order to send someone else to check it out later.”

To check it out later, Palag thought. In his current state, he couldn’t tell whether that was a good or a bad thing. Ever since the end of the war, he had been moved from place to place by various groups. Some had tried to protect him, capture him, sell him, rescue him, or just leave him to die. Now he was being rescued again, but those who claimed they served the Seven Moons. There was a time when that would have been reassuring. Now, Palag felt too numb to believe or care. He just prepared for the worst, biding his time for the right time to escape.

The main issue was that, unlike most of the other children, he was a fury. A few years ago, his parents had told him that he’d witness a great and glorious new age in which the skies and the earth itself would belong to the furies. The great king had amassed an infinite army, uniting all the fractured cloud forts, leading them to the path of victory. It was inevitable that he succeeded. And then the clouds fell. The memory still haunted Palag—destruction he couldn’t possibly imagine, turning the clouds red with blood.

“You okay back there?” the person next to the rider asked. She appeared to be a kind woman wearing the symbol of the Order of the Seven Moons. Sadly, of all the people that initially appeared kind, few were. “You better get some sleep,” she continued. “There’s close to an hour to the monastery.”

Several children looked away. They had seen as many horrors as Palag to trust her.

Don’t say a word, the fury told himself. Just pretend you don’t exist.

The younger child sitting in him had passed out from exhaustion, granting Palag a bit of quiet.

“We should hurry, initiate.” Another of the riders approached the wagon. “There are marauders in the area, possibly worse.”

“The wagon will fall apart if we go faster!” the driver grumbled.

“Can’t you handle them?” The woman turned to the rider.

“If they’re just marauders, probably. If it’s something else, no. There’s too few of us, and the cargo’s rather valuable.”

That was something else Palag had heard a lot. War orphans had become another word for free labor. When it came to furies, it was even worse than that. A fury, even a young one, could be sold for a purse of coins. Some even bought furies only to resell them, though more often they’d just take them by force without giving a thing in exchange.

“If we don’t speed up, there’s no guarantee you’ll make it to the monastery,” the rider continued. “You hired me for my skills, so listen to what you paid for.”

The woman sighed, then placed her hand on the wooden seat of the wagon. The blink of the eye later, the creaking stopped. The wagon suddenly seemed a lot cleaner and sturdier.

“Is this enough to get us faster to the monastery?” the woman asked the driver.

“The horse will be exhausted,” the man said. “But it’s possible, initiate.”

“Then do it. And if something… else attacks us, I’ll deal with it myself.”

The conversation ended there. The driver yelled to the horses, forcing them to go faster, while the rider moved away from the wagon. Palag couldn’t tell why, but it was clear that everyone was scared of the woman for some reason. Not once had she raised her voice, and yet people were respectful, almost apologetic, when talking to her.

“Where are you taking us?” one of the older children dared to ask.

The woman looked straight at him with the warmest smile a human was capable of.

“To a monastery of the Order,” she replied. “There you’ll get food, clothes, water, and a place to rest until you get better.”

The answer seemed to calm many.

“What about our parents?” the boy pressed on.

“If they are alive, the Order will find them and bring them to take you home. If they aren’t, we’ll see where we could find another home for you. There’s no need to be afraid. I know you’ve been through a lot, but you’re safe now. The Order will not let anything happen to you. The Moons won’t allow it.”

If the Moons wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen to us, how did we end up here? Palag thought, though he was smart enough not to voice his concerns. He had witnessed what happened to people who caused trouble.

The trip took them close to half an hour. By the time they arrived at a crudely built wooden hamlet, the horses were entirely spent. Large logs formed a wall surrounding a series of three-story buildings. It was far worse than Palag’s home in the clouds, but a lot better than he had seen in the last few years. The gates opened, letting the wagon enter an inner courtyard. There already were two other wagons there, all of them empty. A line of children had formed, making their way to one of the larger buildings.

“You can get off now,” the woman said. Her tone was polite, but there was no mistake that the request was in effect an order.

Without wasting time, the children got off, the older helping the younger. Once all of them were out, they were separated into groups by age. Palag expected them to be further divided based on whether they were human or not, but to his surprise, that didn’t happen.

A boy, no more than five years older than Palag, passed by carrying a basket of bread. He’d stop at each child in the line and hand them a small loaf. It was no larger than a child’s fist, but for many, it was nothing short of a feast.

“Another of the neighboring villages was attacked.” Palag heard the woman from the carriage say to another member of the Order. “If we don’t put an end to it, someone might get ideas and try to attack us.”

“I’ll inform the bishop,” the other replied.

“What about the village?”

“That’s the archduke’s purview. Besides, Star-spawn are roaming the area. Corpses must have caught their attention. A hunter will be needed to deal with the problem.”

“Hunters.” The woman’s mouth twisted upon speaking the word. “Those vultures wouldn’t lift a finger for something so small.”

Before Palag could hear more of the conversation, his group was urged towards one of the nearby buildings. One by one they were made to enter, remaining a few minutes, then coming out again. Initially, Dallion was next to last.

“Come along,” an old man with the symbol of the order on his tunic said.

After some hesitation, Palag obeyed.

The room was rather small and bare. A rack of folded clothes was placed in one corner, near several baskets of bread.

“Another fury,” a man approached Palag, while two more sat behind a desk. A few moments later, a woman appeared from a side room, closing the door behind her. “How did you manage to survive on the border undiscovered till now?”

“We were moved from place to place.”

“One of those.” The larger man behind the desk sighed. “Do you still have your powers?”

Palag was about to answer, when the person near him put his hand on the fury’s neck. The sensation was strange, as if insects crawled out of the man’s hand, burying themselves beneath Palag’s skin. When he removed his hand, moments later, the sensation was gone.

“Yes,” the fury replied.

“I thought the border skirmishes would be over by now,” the woman said as she approached. “Remove your shirt,” she told Palag.

Slowly, he did so.

“A few bruises, no serious scars,” she said, inspecting him closely. “Nothing alarming.”

“He’ll still have to be purified.”

“Do you trust in the Moons?” The woman looked Palag in the eyes. When he didn’t answer at once, she stepped away. “He doesn’t seem to be a favored,” she told the people at the desk. “I’ll still check, though.”

“Have you lived on a cloud?” the large man at the desk leaned forward.

Palag nodded.

“Have you fought since you came to earth?”

That was a tricky question to answer. Palag wanted to say he didn’t start anything, but that would be a lie. There were many times when he had stolen food and fought to protect it. Sometimes he had taken food from people weaker than himself: wounded, old people, other children…

“Yes,” he said at last.

“Have you killed anyone?”

The fury shook his head.

“Good. That makes things easier.”

The man next to him went to the rack of clothes, took some, then shoved them into Palag’s hands. They didn’t feel particularly comfortable, but were a lot better than the fury was used to; and at least they were clean.

“You’ll be under our care,” the large man continued. “While here, there are certain rules that we’d like you to follow. No stealing, no fighting, and always remain within the monastery. It’ll take you a few days to get accustomed to civilized life. Can you read?”

Palag shook his head. He had learned the language the hard way. Even with his ability to hear the faintest nuances, it had taken him over a year. He’d not once had access to scrolls or books, though, and in all honesty, he didn’t want to.

“No matter. Someone will teach you how to pray to the Moons. We are all their creations and they deserve our thanks. Food will be brought to your room today, but from tomorrow, you’re expected to eat with the other boys here.”

“Okay…”

“How old are you?”

“Nine,” Palag lied. In truth, he was seven, but he had found that claiming to be older gave him certain advantages. Merchants valued older children more, and younger children relied on them.

“A bit small for a nine-year-old.” The other man at the desk arched a brow.

“Since you’re old enough, you’ll help out with small tasks while you’re here. Nothing much. You’ll carry things from place to place, help wash clothes, small things…” he waved his head. “Is everything clear?”

Palag felt too numb to say no. The truth was that he didn’t particularly care. The way he saw things, he’d only remain at the monastery for a few days. After that, either he’d be moved somewhere else, or he’d escape himself. Preferably, he was going to escape. Despite the number of people, the people of the Order were rather lax. There hadn’t been any guard patrols or even warriors. The riders who’d found Palag and his group were hired mercenaries, who weren’t allowed to set foot within the walls.

“Boy?” the man repeated. “Is everything clear?”

“Yes.” The fury nodded.

“Alright. One last thing before you go. What’s your name?”

For the first time in months, Palag felt uncertain what to do. No one had asked his name, not even the children he had grouped up with in the wilderness. On the other hand, he hadn’t asked for anyone’s name, either. Doing so was better—it kept him from getting attached to anyone he’d later lose. If he was only going to remain for a few days here, why was the man asking his name?

“Palag,” he said faintly.

“Palag.” The man repeated, rubbing his chin. “Well, Palag, let me welcome you to the one hundred and twenty-first monastery of the Order of the Seven Moons. May the seven be with you.”