Chapter 1: Aoife (part 2 of 3)

  Without Samson to help part the seas, it wasn't long before Aoife found herself growing impatient at the labourious pace of her progress. In the time she'd been inside Aunt Cara's shop, the crowd had grown thicker and rowdier as it trickled toward Main Street. Opportunistic street vendors covered in candies and snacks joined the fray, yelling at the top of their lungs, and pockets of buyers formed around them, thus further slowing everything downstream. Finally, she'd had enough. There was no reason for her to be moving like molasses when she knew of a way to bypass the traffic.

  Aoife peeled off from the main flow of traffic and weaved her way through smaller side streets and alleyways. Eventually, she came upon one that was dark and narrow, where the noise of the crowd faded to a murmur. If she spread her arms, she could almost touch the buildings on both sides. This would be the ideal launching point. She looked around to check that no one was around to see her. She wasn't about to do anything illegal—at least she didn't think it was—but she still felt self-conscious about what she was about to do; she hadn't even let anyone in her family witness it. Satisfied that she was out of sight, she drew in a quick breath and let her mind wander to the place it needed to go to.

  Lying awake in a pitch-black room. Wood creaking. Coughs and sniffles, most of them distant, some uncomfortably close. The smell of mold and dried vomit, inescapable. Then she hears it. Heavy footsteps, getting louder until it stops near her head. She opens her eyes but for now, all she sees is darkness. Rustle of fabric. Smell of wine. Her mother stirring beside her, then a sharp intake of breath, followed by the slap of hand clasping over mouth. Her mother lies back down. More rustling. And an ever-lurking fear bubbles to the surface. Coerced by an all-too-familiar instinct, Aoife Griffin reaches for the knife hidden under her bedroll...

  She felt herself break into a sweat as her heart pumped out a sudden rush of heat. This heat quickly spread from her chest and shot out to her extremities. She sharpened her awareness of the heat and managed to catch it, reeled it in and redirected it; the bulk of it settled into her lower limbs, the remainder she sent back to her arms. She crouched low then jumped, leaving a small depression in the dirt where she pushed off.

  The first jump took her halfway up the height of the apartments, to about where the second floor would start. She put out her right arm on the side of the building for balance then kicked off directly from the wall, propelling herself higher and onto the other side. This time her head was nearly level with the roof. One more kick, and she cleared the buildings entirely.

  Aoife now turned her attention to the landing. She had overshot the last push-off and was higher in the air than she had intended. She twisted in midair to line herself up with the slant of the roof and leaned forward, arms out and knees bent slightly toward her chest. There was just enough time to sense the heat in her legs again and refocus it onto her knees before she hit the roof—toes first then rolling through. The momentum of the fall pushed her through the roll with greater force than anticipated, but just as she'd practised, she managed to tuck her head in and let her shoulder take the brunt of the impact. As she rolled, she felt herself sliding down the roof, so she brought her feet underneath herself and pushed off once more, managing to stand up and stop herself, though she teetered on her feet for a good second.

  She looked behind her where she had landed. There were a few loose and cracked tiles, though at least some of these features looked to be preexisting. She bent down and replaced the tiles as best as she could, hoping her landing hadn't been so loud as to alarm the occupants of the house.

  From her newly elevated position extended rows upon rows of two-story buildings that all looked like copies of the one she stood on now. In the distance, she spied the Clock Tower of Westminster, jutting out among the sea of buildings. This allowed Aoife to reorient herself, giving her a rough idea of the rooftop route she would take to Main Street.

  Keeping the heat in her blood at a low simmer, she broke into a run, hopping from building to building and using the Clock Tower as a guide. There were some gaps along the way that were large enough that she needed more bursts of heat to clear them. After a short while, she had the sudden realization that she was having fun. This turned out to be a rather enjoyable use of what she called her 'blood tricks'; at the very least, it was far more pleasant than how she usually applied them at her second job.

  As she got closer to her destination, the blocks of uniform apartments made way for buildings of varying sizes and functions, and she had to readjust her course several times to negotiate the changing terrain, which was another amusing challenge in itself. If someone gazing out a window or looking up from the streets had spotted her along the way, she didn't know about it and was frankly having too much fun to care.

  Soon, she began to hear cheering and music from street level. As she had guessed, the adventure party would parade down Main Street before starting the Testimony proper at Trafalgar Square. Judging from the activities around her, the party hadn't yet made their way through this section of the city. She slowed down, shut off her heat, and looked over the ledge of the final building she ended up on.

  The celebration was in full swing. Bodies of all shapes and sizes packed themselves densely on both sides of Main Street for as far as the eyes could see. Nothing resembling a Wyvern was anywhere in sight but there was already a ceaseless uproar of chatter, yelling, blaring trumpets, and screeching fiddles.

  There were carts and carriages that had failed to get off the road before the mob moved in, and these were now moving at a snail's pace as the city guards frantically tried to clear out an exit for them. The guards were also trying but failing to contain the people to the sidewalks. So many of them—mostly boys and younger men still in their school or work clothes—spilt onto the road, harassing horses and playing tag with the city guards. There were also the occasional bottles being smashed to boisterous laughter, which likely meant that the scene would become even louder as the day wore on. Surely, by the end of the evening, there would be more than a few broken noses and picked pockets to punctuate the festivities.

  For a few moments, Aoife stood and took it all in. This was the most jubilant she'd ever seen this city, and she tried to make herself share in the good cheer. It called to mind the festivals of her childhood in the farming village by Galway. She remembered families getting together and dumping their harvests into what had surely been the biggest pot of stew in the world. When everyone had eaten and drunk their fill and then some, Granda Ronan and the other men of the village would pull up chairs and take out the tambourines. Her Da would be one of the select few in the middle of the circle, playing the fiddle and stomping his feet to the beat. The children sang and skipped around the musicians while the women danced and clapped. Even the adventurers who guarded the village joined in for a bite and a listen. Back then, Aoife held hands and laughed with other children as naturally as waking up in the morning.

  But even as her mind flitted through the music and warmth of her childhood, it raced inevitably toward Dubhlind and the tragedies that awaited, and her heart ran cold. No, these festivities weren't for her. In this city, she had a duty—a vow she had sworn on her father's grave—and until she saw it fulfilled, she had no cause to celebrate.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Aoife tore her eyes away from the jovial and increasingly inebriated crowd and started scanning for her sister. Overlooking Main Street now, she was no longer out of place to be standing on the rooftops. A fair number of enterprising souls up and down the street had hoisted themselves onto their own rooftops, knowing that there would be no better seats for the spectacle. Aoife knew that her chances of running into Clodagh within the horde on the street was slim to none, but she had hoped that her sister would be among the rooftop gang, and she even had an inkling about exactly whose roof to look out for.

  Sure enough, several blocks of buildings down the street, she spied a boulder of a man—enormous even from a distance—and a much smaller figure sitting beside him, that of a girl with a puff of dark-auburn hair. The girl was dressed in a simple, light-coloured smock that could have belonged to any number of schools or factories but there was no mistaking this odd pairing. Clodagh Griffin and John Rockford sat against a wide stone chimney protruding from the latter's smithy.

  A hop and a skip later and Aoife landed on the smithy's rooftop. She made sure to come in from the side as not to be seen roof-hopping by Clodagh and Mr Rockford—not even her sister knew about her blood tricks yet. As she crested the tip of the roofing, they seemed to sense movement behind them and each poked out a head around either corner of the chimney. Clodagh's face immediately lit up into an expansive smile whereas Mr Rockford widened his eyes in alarm.

  "Aoife! You're just in time," Clodagh bent farther around the chimney and trilled. She sounded delighted, with an air of having fully expected her older sister to materialize on the rooftop. Then she waved frantically, indicating for Aoife to join them.

  "Child," Clodagh's companion addressed her in a much more subdued manner as Aoife took a seat by her sister's side. He still had an eyebrow raised questioningly, mystified rather than displeased by Aoife's sudden appearance. Mr Rockford was a burly, bespectacled man with a thick, grey beard that hid his entire neck. Like many other spectators, he was still in his work clothes, a heavy leather apron covering a sweat-stained shirt. Presently, he glanced at something lying flat at his and Clodagh's feet. Aoife followed his gaze and felt herself redden slightly as she saw that it was a ladder, which she definitely hadn't used to get herself up here. He was a man of few words, however, and he chose to remain reticent on this occasion as well, though his curious eyes lingered on her for a while longer.

  Clodagh, on the other hand, loved to jabber, but she too seemed uninterested in the nature of Aoife's arrival. Instead, she chirped about the only thing that filled her head at the moment. "Did you hear, Aoife? They're bringing in two Wyverns! How amazing is that?"

  One Wyvern was impressive enough but two in one hunt? Even as one much less familiar with adventuring lore than her sister, Aoife knew that to be all but unheard of. It seemed Valor Company truly had transformed themselves almost overnight. In her wonderment, she nearly forgot that she was meant to be cross with her sister.

  "You!" she jabbed an indignant finger into her sister's arm, though her anger had all but dissipated by then. But if she didn't keep Clodagh in line, who would? "You have some explaining to do, young lady. You were meant to come into Aunt Cara's shop today."

  Clodagh gasped and bolted upright. Aoife and Mr Rockford each put out a hand simultaneously to catch Clodagh, worried she might lose her balance, but she was nimble and steady on her feet.

  "Oh no, Aoife, it completely slipped my mind!" she lamented, genuine distress clouding her face. "I got so excited when I heard about the Testimony, I came straight here after school. I'll go now, Aoife; it's not too late, is it?"

  The dismay at letting her aunt down and the thought of having to miss the Testimony merged into a look of true anguish on Clodagh's freckled face. In an instant, any trace of anger she still harboured totally drained out of Aoife. She tugged at her sister's smock, urging her back down.

  "Of course it's too late. Don't be an idiot. Sit. Watch. Apologize to Aunt Cara next time you see her, and don't you forget about that."

  For the better part of an hour, the trio sat and talked while they waited for the parade to show. Or rather, the Griffin sisters talked while Mr Rockford sat mostly in silence, occasionally nodding or offering a few brusque words. As the afternoon wore down to early evening, every inch of the sky remained obstinately packed with clouds, though it began to take on a bluish hue as it dimmed. Even the crowds on the streets seemed to be losing their collective momentum, and there was now an impatient and tired timbre to the music and shouting.

  Aoife remembered something and pulled out a paper bag from a satchel hung over her shoulder. It was a selection of sweets she bought off one of the street vendors before she moved to the rooftop phase of her journey. There were sugar plums, toffee, all of her siblings' favourites, including Clodagh's odd choice.

  She presented the bag to her sister and watched her face light up again before her hand dove straight for the black liquorice. Aoife shook her head, marvelling that anyone in this world found this stuff edible let alone actually enjoy them. Before partaking, Clodagh turned to her companion on the other side. "Want some, Mr Rockford?"

  The blacksmith uncrossed his arms, about to reach for the offered item. But upon seeing what it was, he pulled his hand back and cleared his throat.

  "No thank you, child."

  Aoife snickered inwardly at this exchange, then watched with a mixture of fondness and disgust as her sister pushed together several strands of the liquorice and bit into the whole bundle, munching contentedly.

  There was a time when the eldest Griffin sisters could have passed for twins. Despite Aoife being a year older, Clodagh always managed to stay the same height as her, which she remembered being a source of more than mild irritation as a child. Now—at seventeen and sixteen—the sisters had each grown into their own person, and Aoife's irritation gave way to pride and admiration. Clodagh was at least half a head taller than her now, a trait she had taken after Da, and though they both shared the unruly auburn hair common to the Griffin children, Clodagh's framed a face with softer, rounder features highlighted by brilliant blue eyes—another keepsake of Da's—that made for a striking contrast with the copper skin. Clodagh's beauty—a mouthful of black liquorice notwithstanding—was a kind that Aoife had never seen elsewhere on the streets or read its like described in books. From the amorphous auburn blob that all the Griffin children started out as, Clodagh had settled into a look that was uniquely her own—not quite like either of their parents, different still from any other sibling.

  On the other hand, Aoife had decidedly inherited her look from their mother. The family had always assumed Ma came from somewhere in Huaxia, though she herself had no memories of her life before Eire. Ma had imparted in Aoife some distinctly Huaxian features—sharp cheekbones and small, dark-brown eyes—that became more defined as she grew. Aoife always thought of her mother to be beautiful as well, but she also thought these looks suited Ma much better than herself.

  In their personality as well, the sisters differed more as they matured. Clodagh was one of the very few people Aoife knew of who seemed nearly untouched by the city's gloom. She bubbled with smiles, greetings, and compliments everywhere she went. She laughed easily with people outside the family—something Aoife couldn't imagine herself doing—and to her, most strangers were friends in waiting.

  Mr Rockford had been one such stranger until even he, a taciturn giant of a man and a seasoned adventuring veteran, was taken in by a girl who simply showed up on day with a lot of questions and even more smiles. The door that Clodagh had kicked down that day had now led the three of them to the rooftop above his smithy—though Aoife's path had been rather more circuitous—and they were now privy to a prime view of the first Testimony to grace Thameside in years. Presently, he tapped Clodagh on the shoulder and pointed up the street. "Look, girls, here they come."