"Mom!" Alaric burst through the back door, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Mom....!"
Marla jerked her head up from where she'd been.. Her face went from pale to bloodless in a blink.
"What happened?" she demanded. "What did they say?"
"Lord Valen.....he said 'no witnesses,' and then.... and then Berthold....." The words tangled in his mouth. "They're going to burn the village."
For a heartbeat, everything was horribly still.
Then Marla moved.
She grabbed his shoulders. "Where's your father?"
"Still out there....."
"Of course he is," she muttered. "Stupid, brave man."
Shouts were already rising. Closer now. A woman's scream. The heavy thud of something, or someone, hitting the ground.
"Listen to me," Marla said, shaking Alaric just enough to make his eyes lock on hers. "We don't have time. Do you remember what I told you about hiding?"
Alaric's mind raced. "Under the bed? The cellar....."
"Too obvious," she cut in. Her gaze darted around the room, then landed on the sturdy grain barrel in the corner. Half-full, lid leaning against it.
She grabbed his bag and flung it open, shoving it at him. "Hold this. Don't drop it. Get in."
"In...?" His voice went high. "In there?"
"Yes, in there. Move!"
She hauled the barrel away from the wall with more strength than he'd ever seen from her, then grabbed him under the arms. He almost insisted he could climb himself, but another scream from outside killed the words.
"Mom…"
"You are my son," she said, voice shaking but firm. "You will live. That's the only thing that matters now."
She lifted him and dropped him into the barrel.
He landed awkwardly on the grain, half-buried to his knees, bag clutched to his chest. The smell of dust and wheat filled his nose.
"Crouch," Marla ordered. "Make yourself small. Breathe slow. Don't make a sound. No matter what you hear. No matter what you smell. You stay in here until it's quiet for a long time. Until you can't hear anyone walking around. Understand?"
He swallowed hard. "Y-yeah."
Her face loomed above him, eyes bright with tears she didn't have time to shed.
"I love you," she whispered. "Remember that. Remember us."
Then she grabbed the lid.
"Wait....!"
The world went dark.
For a second, only his own ragged breathing filled the barrel. He pressed a hand over his mouth.
Through a thin crack between lid and wood, a sliver of light slipped in.
He heard Marla moving, dragging something, maybe pushing the barrel back into the corner. Her footsteps retreated.
Then the village noise crashed in.
Shouting. Boots. The heavy thud of doors kicked in.
"Search every house! Take what you can carry, burn the rest!"
A crash near his window. A shriek, a voice he thought might be Lena's mother. Or someone else. It all blurred.
"Please, we have children.....!"
A choking sob.
"Orders are orders," a man's voice said, clipped, unhappy. "Make it quick."
Fire roared to life somewhere outside. The scent of smoke slid through the cracks, faint at first.
Alaric crouched lower, clutching his bag, knees buried in grain. Every muscle screamed at him to jump out, to run, to find his parents.
If I go out, I'll die.
If I stay…
Bootsteps thudded against his own floorboards.
The house.
"Anything left?" a soldier grunted.
"Not much." Another one snorted. "These Horsin rats are already half-starved."
"Check the back."
Light dimmed as someone stepped between the window and the sun. Shadows crossed the faint beam that reached him.
The door to the back room creaked open. Boots came closer. Closer.
Alaric held his breath until his lungs burned.
A hand slapped the top of the barrel. Wood thudded under the impact. The whole world jolted.
"What about this?" the soldier asked.
"Grain barrel," another answered. "Take it if you can roll it. Otherwise burn it with the rest."
"Oh, come on. I'm not hauling this thing back down the road by myself."
"Then leave it. We've already got more than the carts can handle. Fire'll get it."
The hand left. Steps retreated.
Alaric let out a tiny, shuddering breath.
Fire'll get it.
His stomach twisted.
Somewhere outside, someone screamed his father's name.