Ella crept around the side of the house until she could see.
A little blonde girl sat on her knees at the edge of the puddle, a scooped bowl in her hand. She submerged the bowl in the water and then lifted it out. She grinned.
“Come along, tadpoles,” the little girl said. “Your pool’s drying up, and you need to get to the river.” Ella watched the muddy girl climb to her feet, holding the bowl carefully in her hands as she began to walk. “Don’t jump, it’s a long way down.”
Ella spotted movement in the nearby trees. A woman stood watching, hidden by the forest. She had ivory skin and wore an embroidered dress, with jewelry at her throat. The woman smiled as she watched the little girl, though tears spilled down her cheeks.
Ella looked back over her shoulder as she heard crashing sounds and the shouts of men and cries of women. She couldn’t stay here long: the thudding explosions were again louder, and once more she could hear marching boots.
When she returned her gaze to look forward, both the woman and the child were gone.
Leaving the side of the house, Ella walked over to once more stand at the foot of the steps. She hesitated, knowing she should leave, but she felt she was searching for something, and she began to climb.
Reaching the top, Ella crossed the porch and pushed open the thin door to look into the house’s interior.
Three chairs stood around a table, though only two were occupied. An old man sat with the same little girl, and each had a plate and knife and fork in front of them.
“Now, Ella. Pick up the fork in your left hand,” the old man said to the little girl. “Hold it like this. Do you see how I’m holding it?”
Ella watched the small girl struggle to copy the old man.
“Good,” he said. “Now pick up the knife. You always hold the fork with your left hand and the knife with your right.”
Ella smiled as she saw the old man reach over to adjust the child’s grip.
Then she heard another explosion, and the sounds of pursuit urged her on. She closed the door to the house and walked back down the steps.
A young boy with a shock of black hair strode toward where Ella stood. He was scowling as he stared right at her. He had a savage red mark to the left of his mouth.
“What happened?” Ella heard a voice behind her, and she saw that the little girl was behind her on the steps. The boy wasn’t looking at her; he was looking at the girl.
“I got into a fight,” the boy said.
“Why?”
“Because people say stupid things.”
“Did you have to fight?” the girl asked.
“Sometimes there’s no other way. I don’t care what they think of me, but it’s important what I think of myself.”
Ella stepped away from the steps and watched as the boy and girl spoke.
“I don’t want you to fight,” the girl said.
The boy sighed. “Neither do I.”
Ella heard the clash of steel against steel, and looking back toward the road, she could now make out individual soldiers, terrifying men with black armor and sharp swords revealed in the occasional gaps in the smoke. Another boom came from the enemy, and Ella heard the sound of splintering wood combine with the roar of flames.
When she looked for the two children, the boy and girl were gone.
Ella decided to go back to the road. As she walked away from the house, she suddenly saw the little girl in front of her holding a stack of books precariously piled in her arms. The roar of fighting men grew louder, and the girl glanced apprehensively over her shoulder and tripped.
Books fell everywhere as the girl fell down to her knees.
“Here, let me help,” Ella said.
She knelt and began to gather the books, placing them side by side on the ground. Reading the spines, Ella saw every topic imaginable covered, from language to the study of weather, to mathematics, to lore.
The girl went completely still, and Ella saw her face turn completely white.
“He’s here,” the girl said.
Ella felt cold fear shiver down her spine, and following the direction of the girl’s gaze, she saw a man step out from behind the house.
He shifted as he walked, changing appearance and stride, even bearing, as if two men existed in the one body. He was an old man in a gold-trimmed white robe with a black sun on the breast, an emaciated frame, and stick-thin arms. The old man’s skin was dead, wrinkled like parchment, and his eyes were dark and intense, the stare of a fanatic. He held a dagger in his hand.
Then he flickered and changed. Now he was a slim middle-aged man in elegant clothing of dark velvet, diamonds set in chrome at his cuffs and a silver chain around his neck. His hair was blood red, and his eyes were the shade of blue frost. As he walked, something wet and liquid dripped from the tips of his fingers, pattering to the ground with each step. Ella saw it was blood.
“Please,” the little girl said, looking imploringly at Ella. “Don’t let him get me.”