The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) Andrew Walbrown (early readers TXT) 📖

Amantius, reminded him that time was precious. Ulam passed the child through the window first, a little girl no older than five. She was small, frail, and easy to hold. Her clothes had been burned off, her skin covered in soot; Amantius could not tell if she was breathing or not.

He ran away from the burning home, cradling the little girl in his arms. When he reached the crowd a priestess showed herself, accepting the child into her care. Without hesitation Amantius ran back to the house, his chest burning from the black smoke swirling inside his lungs. Under normal circumstances, he may have taken a break and allowed himself to recover, but knowing Ulam’s life hung in the balance was the ultimate motivation to fight through the pain.

When he reached the inferno he saw the city guard had arrived with buckets of water from the river, dousing the flames nearest the crowd. He realized they had condemned the burning homes to a smoking ruin, concluding they were a lost cause, and set about preventing the fire from spreading. Amantius cursed, but there was no time to argue, he needed to get Ulam and the other person out of the house.

“Ready?” Ulam said as he arrived, a thick trail of smoke flowing out of the broken window. He lifted the woman to the opening and gently passed her to Amantius, who grabbed her under the arms and pulled her out of the house.

She was not a heavy-set woman by any means, but Amantius’ energy was fading. His muscles ached from a mixture of overuse and dehydration, while the shortage of clean air left him panting like a dog. He felt like he was on the verge of suffocation.

“Let me carry her,” a guard said as Amantius dragged the woman to safety. The man threw a blanket over her body to protect her decency, because much like her daughter, the mother’s clothing had been eaten by hungry flames as well.

“No, I have her,” Amantius replied, “save my brother.”

“Your brother? Is he in there?” The guard said, his voice turning to shock.

“By the window,” Amantius said and nodded towards the side of the house. He left the guard, continuing to take the woman to the priestess. When he was within sight a few men ran from the crowd and took her from Amantius’ arms, leaving him to collapse from utter exhaustion. He stared upwards into the cloudless, blue sky, his eyes following a lone gull. While lying there he heard footsteps near him and watched as a cloud of street dust floated above his face. He coughed violently, not because of the dirt, but from the smoke he had inhaled. He then turned on his side and vomited, the convulsions far more painful than anything else.

“Are you alright?” A woman said suddenly. “Hey! I think he needs help!”

Amantius tried focusing on the person above him, but his vision had become blurred. His whole world began spinning, causing him to vomit until there was nothing left inside him other than black smoke. When he finished he felt someone place a cup of cold water against his lips, the much needed liquid disappearing within seconds. Amantius drank three more cups of water before he stood up again, using a fifth to wash the smoke, grime, and sweat from his face. Though his head pounded louder than a brass bell, and his eyes burned hotter than the sun, the water had given him enough energy to continue.

When Amantius returned he saw a few guards hopelessly fighting the flames near the window, Ulam nowhere to be seen. Amantius’ heart sank as he searched for his foster-brother, his desperation driving him to grab a nearby hatchet and start hacking at the side of the house. In his panic, he hoped to create a big enough hole for Ulam to crawl through, though in the back of his mind he knew he was also weakening the house’s structural integrity. But Amantius did not have time to debate the logic of his plan, he only had enough time to hack away. Each consecutive strike was more desperate than the previous until at last the blade had become so dull it was virtually useless to him.

Amantius tossed the hatchet aside, his frustration and fear so severe he started punching and kicking the hatchet-scarred boards in front of him. As he bloodied his knuckles on the blackened wood he heard a series of crackling noises emanate from within the house, and watched as the whole house started to sway back and forth. Amantius stepped back, certain the building was about to collapse under its own weight. His thoughts immediately turned to Ulam, and if he had not been so exhausted, tears may have flooded his ash-covered cheeks. But all he could do was slump to the ground and stare in horror.

The guards who fought the flames alongside Amantius had retreated as well, collectively agreeing they had done all they could. Many were slumped over, each desperately trying to quench their thirsts by sucking dry any container with liquid inside. Some had minor cuts and wounds that were dressed, while others orchestrated the removal of any bystanders. A few people were shouting nearby, though Amantius could not hear their words. His mind was solely focused on the house and his failure to rescue Ulam, all other sights and sounds would have to wait.

Then suddenly he heard a howl, one unlike he had ever heard before, followed by an ear-shattering boom. A barrage of warped wood shot through the air, eliciting a cacophony of shrieks from the nearby crowd. Amantius turned his head to protect himself from the thousands of embers riding the debris, wincing as a few pieces landed on his forearms. When he turned back around to observe the destruction he was greeted with a very different sight, one he thought he would never see again. Instead of a burning pile of rubble, Amantius saw Ulam, blackened from head to toe,