Firemoon by Elí Freysson Page A

bridge and caught up with the tail-end of the fleeing mass.
    “Into the forest!” someone shouted. “Up and into the forest!”
    The voice and authoritative and strong and the idea was wise. The disorganized group turned  north-west and headed uphill. The fog thinned greatly as they left the river behind and Katja began to see pretty well. She searched for familiar faces and was relieved to see at least half of the Shades at a glance.
    The forest received them in its bosom and cover and some sighed with relief.
    Katja looked back down at Blossoms. She saw the fires that had been lit in the village in such a short time and was horrified at how pretty they looked in the darkness, when one couldn’t tell that they were eating homes and the corpses of innocent fruit farmers.
    Serdra nudged her and they vanished into the forest along with the rest.
    The mob slowed down, exhausted with fatigue and fear, and grief now found room in many hearts. Some shouted in anger at the attack but were told to quiet down out of fear of pursuit. More people sobbed, lay on the ground, prayed or called the names of the loved ones in desperate hope of finding them in the mob.
    This was a difficult choir to listen to, even though Katja hadn’t known anyone to any degree.
    One of the older men urged people to continue and find shelter in the next village, and most of those who had dropped down stood up and staggered after their friends and families rather than be left behind.
    Serdra pulled Katja to herself, they fell behind and followed the group from a slight distance.
    “That was Vajan!” Katja hissed.
    “Yes, I heard.”
    “I thought I had killed that stain!”
    “I suppose it will have to wait,” the older woman replied. “What did you see after we separated?”
    Katja went over it briefly.
    “I killed a group of three,” Serdra said. “But once I realized the magnitude of the attack I returned to the house, just before a large group assaulted both doors at the same time. We managed to drive them off but there were some casualties.”
    “Damn,” Katja said quietly.
    “This was a well-planned attack,” her mentor said. “The largest groups came from the east and south-east and worked their way towards one another. Smaller groups caused chaos among those who fled, and the riders closed the eastern part while riding people down and causing even further chaos. The fires were lit fairly regularly, and though they won’t necessarily spread to every house in this calm, this will be a heavy blow to the village.”
    “I hate them,” Katja said venomously. “I mean, since Vajan was there this must have been...” She checked their distance to the nearest person. “The Brotherhood. Right? This fog was quite convenient for them.”
    “Indeed it was.”
    “I hate them,” she repeated. “How is it so easy for them to massacre people who have done nothing to them?”
    “Sorcery has a certain effect on people,” Serdra said. “And the Brotherhood folk are brought up thinking of themselves as superior.”
    “I killed five or six of these superior people,” Katja said contemptuously.
    “Remember the first rule,” Serdra said severely. “Always and forever.”
    “Yes,” Katja said and sighed. She didn’t think she’d forgotten, but perhaps contempt was the start of it. The first rule was that any enemy could slay a careless warrior.
    “Some of them had these.”
    Serdra took something from her belt and handed it over to Katja. It was one of those curved knives. The blade was about thirty centimetres and the upper portion that continued after the curve was significantly broader than the lower one. Katja now saw that the edge was on the inside of the curve, not on the outside as on a sabre. In addition, the blade was broad and rather heavy.
    “What is this?”
    “A moonblade,” Serdra said. “They originate among mountain folk to the north, but have become rather popular among professional soldiers. Valdimar’s men bear