Skyla Bringer of Balance - Chapters 1-5

Skyla wakes from a deep sleep to a mundane life. But which is real? Now or what she dreamt

Skyla Bringer of Balance

Chapter 1

Skyla bent over, filling her canteen from the stream. Standing, she glanced skyward; the sun was low on the horizon. She let the stallion drink his fill before mounting. Skyla stroked her horse's glossy black mane affectionately. “We must hurry if we are going to make it to the settlement before dark, Dusker.” The horse and rider set off at a fast gallop, following a well-worn trail as it meandered through the countryside. It was near dark when Skyla reached the settlement. Feeling tired, she looked forward to sleeping in a bed with a roof over her head instead of in the open on the hard ground, at least for one night. As Skyla dismounted and headed toward what looked like the inn. Two rough-looking men holding swords stepped out in front of her.

Skyla frowned as she gave the men an appraising glance. “Hi, I’m looking for a bed for the night.”

“Town is off-limits right now. Look elsewhere.” The burly of the two spoke gruffly.

“What’s the problem? I only want to sleep one night. I’ve been on the trail for days.” Skyla could see the light from the inn and hear the bawdy laughter mingling with the shouts of protest.

“I said it is off limits. Move on. There is another village further along. You can stay there.” The man spoke in a menacing tone.

“But it’s nearly dark, and I’m tired.”

“You heard him move on.” The second man said firmly.

Skyla sighed. “And if I don’t want to?”

The man glared at her. “Then you’ll not leave here alive. Come to think of it,” taking a closer look, his eyes roamed over her lecherously. “You are not a bad looker. Maybe we will let you stay. Keep you alive for a while.”

Both men smirked as they advanced on Skyla. She drew her sword, and both men died before taking another step. Skyla stepped over the bodies. She tied Dusker to the rail. Skyla pushed open the inn door. Heat, stench, and chaos hit her at once—drunken shouts, a woman’s cries drowned in laughter. Her grip tightened on the sword, blood still dripping from its edge.

A tall man in the corner, eyes cold and lifeless, spoke. “Who let you in? Joss and Kiligan were supposed to keep anyone out.”

“They tried,” Skyla said flatly.

One drunk staggered forward, a leer in his voice. “Come to join the party?”

The tall man slammed his fist on the table, fury flashing. “Fools. She killed them. Kill her now!”

Steel scraped, chairs overturned. The first attacker lunged—Skyla sidestepped, blade flashing. He fell and was kicked back into the crowd. Another throat opened under her strike, gurgling silence. Two more burst through the doorway, swords drawn. Skyla raised her weapon, arm outstretched. Light flared—the blade left her hand in a halo, cutting through flesh and bone as if the men were shadows. The sword returned to her grip, humming with power. The inn froze. The half-naked woman collapsed to her knees, trembling.

The tall man finally stood, hefting a heavy mace. His voice was low, menacing. “What are you? A spell-sword?”

Skyla’s gaze softened briefly toward the woman, then fixed on him. “No. Much more than that.” He roared, advancing towards Skyla, swinging the mace. Skyla moved like lightning—her blade burned through flesh and bone, leaving him lifeless on the floor. Silence fell. The woman clutched Skyla’s hands, tears streaming. Townsfolk emerged from the shadows, voices breaking with gratitude. Skyla, drained, accepted their offer of a bed—the first roof over her head in longer than she could remember.

Birdsong.

She stirred, the sound sharp and strange, as though it belonged to another world. Her body felt heavy, her limbs weak, every breath a struggle to rise from the depths. Skyla blinked, vision swimming, and found her sister leaning over her, tears in her eyes---it was only a dream.

“Skyla, you’re awake. Mother, Skyla is awake!”

Confusion clouded her thoughts. Her voice was hoarse, groggy. “What’s all the fuss? I only drifted off…”

Jena turned to face Skyla again, concern showing on her face. “Skyla, you have been in a deep sleep for almost a year now.”

What? No, it was just last night when I went to bed. Stop teasing me, Jena.” Skyla’s frown deepened, but her sister’s solemn eyes told her the truth: she had lost nearly a year. Her mother rushed in, weeping as she crushed Skyla in an embrace. It took days for her to stand again, and longer still for life to return to routine. The farm outside Maeridon City demanded endless chores—milking cows, feeding chickens, sweeping the yard. At twenty-eight, Skyla had always been the responsible one, but now the work felt hollow. The zest she once carried was gone, replaced by a gnawing emptiness.

Something was missing.

Her mother and Jena hoped time would heal her. Skyla knew better. The dream clung to her, vivid and insistent, whispering that the warrior she had been was closer to her true self than the weary farmhand she had become.

She brushed loose strands of fair hair from her face as she finished cleaning the chicken coop. “Have you done all your chores already?” she asked, noticing Jena watching her.

Jena nodded, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Yes. Mother says as soon as you’re finished, wash up—dinner is ready.”
Skyla arched a brow, suspicion flickering. “What are you up to? You’re acting strange.”

Jena’s smile deepened. “Nothing much. You’ll find out at dinner.”

Chapter 2

.“My own horse? Truly—I can have a horse?” Skyla’s voice carried disbelief.

Her mother smiled. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the city. You may choose one. Nothing too grand, though—we’ve only saved so much.” Skyla embraced her mother and sister, gratitude welling in her chest. A horse of her own had been her childhood dream. She knew her mother had sacrificed to make it possible, and Jena’s part in it surprised her most of all. The next morning, they rode into Maeridon with the pony and trap. At the stables, Skyla frowned at the weary nags on offer, finally pointing to a brown mare.

“How much for her?”

The stablemaster shook his head. “Forty shills. Too dear for you. Best look at the others.”

Skyla sighed, resigned, when a commotion erupted at the back. A black stallion reared, eyes wild.

“Damned beast,” the stablemaster muttered. “Won’t let anyone near him.”

Skyla approached, hand outstretched. To the man’s astonishment, the stallion calmed beneath her touch.

“Well, I’ll be. You’ve a way with horses.”

Skyla smiled faintly. “If he’s such trouble, let me take him.”

Her mother hesitated. “Thirty shills is all we have. He’s too wild, Skyla.”

The stablemaster stroked his beard, then shrugged. “Thirty, and I’ll throw in saddle and tack. Glad to be rid of him. Bring him back if he gives you grief.”

“He won’t,” Skyla said simply.

The stallion followed her out, head lowered in quiet acceptance.

“What will you call him?” Jena asked.

Skyla’s dream returned to her, vivid and insistent. “Dusker. His name is Dusker.”

Summer passed swiftly. Skyla rode whenever she could, her bond with Dusker deepening. He tolerated no one else, save Jena when Skyla permitted. One warm evening, Skyla wandered into the woods, drawn by wildflowers. She bent to smell meadow orchids, then straightened—and froze. A stranger stood watching her. Silver-haired, clad in a grey habit. His face was stern, unreadable.

“Hello,” Skyla said, unease in her voice.

The man’s sigh was heavy. “Your days here are numbered, Skyla Larion.” He turned, vanishing into the trees.

Skyla’s heart lurched. “Wait! How do you know my name? What do you mean?” She chased him, glimpsing flashes of grey, but never closing the distance. She stumbled, falling into a pit. Groaning, she rose. The walls were steep, the air damp. At one end, beneath leaves and dirt, something glowed faintly. She clawed at the debris until a sword emerged. Half-buried as though forgotten by time, yet untouched by rust or decay, the blade gleamed with a quiet defiance. The word etched along its length pulsed faintly, a language older than memory, beyond her grasp yet heavy with meaning. The blade felt weightless in her hands. With its edge, she climbed free. The stranger stood waiting, eyes fixed on the sword. He nodded once. “Now you are complete. Leave before the second rising of the moon—or all you love will burn.”

Skyla’s vision swam. Her farm lay in ruins, her mother and sister butchered. Maeridon aflame, screams tearing the night. She gasped, clutching the sword as the horror dissolved.

“What is this? A trick? A vision?”

The man’s gaze was cold. “It will come to pass if you stay. Only you can prevent it.”

Skyla shook her head. “Me? How? I am only one woman.” She looked down at the blade. “With this? How can I stop such ruin?”

“The sword is balance itself,” the man said. “It chose you. Only you can wield it.” The weapon thrummed in her grip, as if affirming his words. “

What do you mean, my training is complete?” She asked.

His reply was like ice. “You know. The dream-time. Leave soon.” And then he was gone.

Skyla stood alone, shaken—Dusker, the sword, the vision—all echoes of her dream. Coincidence seemed impossible. Was he a seer? A sorcerer? She could not trust him, yet the vision gnawed at her. By the time she reached the trail, dusk had fallen. Jena hurried toward her, relief plain.

“Skyla, where have you been? Mother and I were worried sick.”

“Oh, I wandered too far. Got lost.” Skyla hid the truth.

Jena frowned at the blade in her hand. “Why are you carrying driftwood?”

Skyla glanced down. To others, the sword was disguised. A tingling jolt ran up her arm. “I… fell into a hole. Used this to climb out.”That night, Skyla lay awake. The stranger’s words echoed. The vision burned. At last, she rose, packed her belongings, and left a note of apology. Saddling Dusker, she rode into the night, bound for the city.

Chapter Three

Skyla avoided the familiar streets her mother and sister frequented, slipping instead into a narrow side alley where an inn still had its doors open. She paid for a single night and collapsed onto the cot, exhausted. Sleep came fitfully, leaving her weary. The next day, she wandered through Maeridon, overwhelmed by its sprawl. She found odd jobs to earn coin, sleeping in inns when she could afford it. Yet as she explored, she sensed a change in the city—a tension in the air, fear etched into hurried faces. At dusk, the streets emptied, doors bolted, lamps extinguished. One rain-soaked evening, after a day’s labour at a grain storehouse, Skyla walked toward a nearby inn. The streets glistened, shadows stretching long. A cry for help cut through the night. She turned into a side street and found a couple beset by four armed men.

Skyla stepped forward, sword in hand. “Give back what you stole. Leave them be.”

The leader smirked, eyeing her blade. “Four against one. Walk away, girl. Pretend you saw nothing.”

Skyla’s gaze was steady. “I can’t do that.”

He sighed, drawing steel. “Your funeral.”

Memory surged—her dream training guiding her hand. She moved faster than thought, disarming him before he could strike. The others fell back, cut and bruised, their weapons torn away.

“Return what you took,” she ordered. Shaken, the leader handed over the coin and jewellery. Skyla waved her sword, sending them stumbling into the dark with curses on their lips.

Skyla frowned. “Have you far to go? I can see you safely home in case those thugs decide to return. The couple nodded eagerly. Skyla refused the couple's offer to come to their home for drinks, so they gave her a few coins as a reward before she left.

For several days, Skyla worked by day and patrolled the streets by night. Robbery assaults and murder were increasing in the city, and nobody seemed to be doing anything to stop it. Skyla didn’t know what else she could do. She helped and saved a few people here and there, but it had little effect. Since arriving, the change and tensions within the city were growing stronger by the day. Skyla thought it seemed like something, or someone was behind it all, but what? Or Whom? “I have no idea where to start looking. She shrugged her shoulders, sighing as she headed to the inn. Her stomach grumbled loudly. “I’m starved. I could eat a horse right now.” Skyla said out loud, drawing the odd glance from passersby.

She sat at a table, eagerly eating the stew before her. She scraped the dish clean and dropped her spoon on the empty plate with a clatter. “A jar of mead, innkeeper, if you please.” She called, waving a hand in the air. The innkeeper poured the mead, brought it over, and stared at Skyla curiously.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” She asked, staring back at the innkeeper.

“Not exactly.” The innkeeper began hesitantly. “There is a rumour about a vigilante helping folk get home safely at night. You’re out most nights. Maybe you’ve come across the vigilante.”

Skyla shook her head, taking a long sip of the mead. “Can’t say I have.” She said, putting the glass down. Keeping her expression neutral

“They say it’s a woman. The vigilante.” The innkeeper gave Skyla a pointed look

“A woman vigilante. Suppose it’s true, good luck to her. She must be mad.”

********

The next morning, Sergeant Robare Valsto of the city watch was summoned to the mayor’s office. He found the mayor locked in a heated debate with the army commander.

“Ah, sergeant,” the mayor said, folding his hands behind his back. “You’ve heard the rumours of this vigilante?”

“Yes, Your Honour.”

The commander’s voice was sharp. “The army should be sent in. Crush the unrest. Catch her.”

The mayor shook his head. “Too extreme. It would cause panic. What say you, Valsto?”

The sergeant’s reply was measured. “I agree, Your Honour. Soldiers in the streets would incite rebellion.”

The mayor nodded, glaring at the commander. “Then it falls to you. Restore order. Catch this vigilante. I’ll grant you men and supplies.”

Valsto frowned. “How quickly?”

The commander cut in, eyes hard. “A week. Two at most. Fail, and the army marches.” He stormed out.

The mayor sighed. “You heard him. Do what you can, sergeant. Good luck.”

Chapter Four

Snow drifted from a steel-grey sky, the first fall of winter. Some called it good fortune; Skyla thought it only a promise of harsher storms to come. She pulled her cloak tight, hood low, and pushed into the inn. Warmth rushed over her face, firelight flickering across the crowded room. The innkeeper caught her eye, then flicked a glance toward the far wall. A lone figure sat by the hearth, hands stretched to the flames. Skyla lowered her hood, breath catching as recognition struck. Jena.

Relief and apprehension crossed her sister’s face as their eyes met. Skyla sighed, crossing the room with deliberate calm. She slid into the seat opposite, her voice low. “What are you doing here, Jena? How did you find me?”

Jena looked worn, with shadows under her eyes. “It wasn’t easy. I’ve been coming to the city for days, searching.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a creased poster. The sketch was rough, the word Wanted scrawled beneath. “This finally led me. It’s you. Not a good likeness—but family knows.” Her gaze was steady. “You are the vigilante, aren’t you?”

Skyla’s eyes flicked around the room, measuring every glance, every shadow. She leaned closer, voice sharp with warning. “Keep your voice down. Do you want the whole inn to hear?”

Jena’s eyes widened, then dropped to the table. “What are you doing here?” Her voice trembled with disbelief. “I don’t understand. A vigilante? How? Why? I’ve never even seen you hold a sword.”

Skyla exhaled heavily. “It’s hard to explain. I—”

“Forget it.” Jena cut her off, voice rising. “Just come home. Mother cries every day. Every night she waits on the porch, staring into the dark for you.”

A lump rose in Skyla’s throat. She swallowed hard, fighting back tears, and clasped Jena’s hands. “I can’t. There’s something I must do first.”

Jena pulled away, scorn flashing in her eyes. “Something you must do? Get yourself killed? Arrested?”

Skyla shook her head, desperate. “Please, Jena. You’ve seen it too—the change in the city—crime, murders, thefts. Someone is behind it. Before I return, I have to stop them.”

Jena stared, wide-eyed. “Stop crime? You? That’s the watch’s job, not yours.”

Skyla sagged back, heart heavy. She reached into her belt bag and pressed coins into Jena’s hand.

“Take this. Tell Mother I’m safe, that I’ll come home when I can. Don’t mention more—it will only worry her. And don’t come looking for me again. It’s not safe.”

Jena slumped, sighing. “Fine. Be careful. The guard is everywhere, hunting you. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. You’ve changed so much, I barely know you.”

Skyla watched her sister leave, tears spilling freely. She wiped them away with her sleeve. A tankard of mead slid onto the table. She looked up at the innkeeper, nodded gratefully, and drank deep.

Someone you know?” he asked gently.

“You could say that.”

He studied her for a moment. “Must have been someone you care for. A falling out?”

Skyla sniffed, wiping her eyes. “Not really. Just… goodbyes.”

The innkeeper nodded, turning away, then paused. “Rumour says the army may be sent soon. Watch yourself. The night watch isn’t careful who they drag in.”

Skyla’s lips curved in a faint, tear-stained smile. She sipped her mead, knowing he understood more than he said. Neither admitted it, but both knew the truth.

The next morning, Skyla kept to the shadows, scouting alleys. Watch patrols moved in threes, questioning locals. Jena and the innkeeper had been right—the city was crawling with guards. She had to uncover the source of the evil before the army marched. By midday, hunger gnawed at her. She returned to the inn. Thoughts fixed on the innkeeper’s spicy stew. The place was crowded, voices rising in laughter and talk. She slipped into a corner table, eyes scanning the room. The innkeeper appeared with a steaming bowl.

“Busier than usual,” Skyla said, nodding thanks as she dug in.

“Word’s out about my stew,” he grinned. “No one can stay away.”

Skyla smiled faintly. “Best stew in the city.”

“Your usual drink?” he asked.

Skyla nodded, wolfing down another spoonful.

The innkeeper set down the tankard just as the door opened. Two men stepped inside, snow clinging to their cloaks. He froze, leaning close to Skyla. “That’s the captain of the watch,” he whispered, nodding toward the shorter man. Skyla lowered her head, pulling her hood forward as the captain’s eyes swept the room.

Chapter Five

Skyla followed the innkeeper’s gaze. Both men wore the watch’s crest; the shorter carried a captain’s pip. He was of medium height, fair-haired, blue-eyed, his nose crooked from an old break. His uniform was immaculate, as was his companion’s. The innkeeper tapped Skyla’s shoulder and hurried back to the bar. She kept her head low, watching as the two spoke briefly with him, bought drinks, and surveyed the room. Still holding his glass, the captain moved through the crowd, eyes flicking from face to face until they settled on her. He stopped at her table. “Mind if I sit?” Valsto asked, narrowing his eyes as he studied her.

Skyla tugged her hair forward, half-hiding her face. “Suit yourself.”

“Thanks. My name is Sergeant Robare Valsto. I’m—”

“The captain of the watch. I know.”

His brows lifted. “Well informed. And you are?”

“An ordinary citizen, minding her own business. The crest and pip gave it away.” Her tone carried a bite of sarcasm.

Valsto paused, sipping his ale, noting the edge in her voice. “By your tone, you don’t seem fond of the watch.”

Skyla met his gaze, forcing a smile. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

He cocked his head, smiling back. “Perhaps I’m wrong. Still, you must know why I’m here if you’ve heard anything about the vigilante.”

Skyla’s grin was sudden, cheeky. “And if I had, why would I tell you? You should be grateful she’s doing your job for you.” Her frustration slipped through. She rose abruptly. “Excuse me. I have things to do.”

Valsto watched her leave, thoughtful. Feisty, too direct. I like her spirit… but my instincts say she’s hiding something.

Skyla slipped quietly from her room, dropping into the alley below. She fetched Dusker from the stables and led him away. “Looks like we’ll need another place to stay, boy,” she murmured, patting his forelock. Dusker bobbed his head as if in reply. She found a barn for the night, then left him safely hidden come morning. By evening, she wandered deeper into the city’s lawless quarter, breath steaming in the frigid air, snow crunching beneath her boots. She was about to turn back when a familiar figure stepped from the shadows.

“I see you haven’t mended your ways,” Skyla said, recognising the thief she had first stopped in the city.

He raised his hands quickly. “Easy now. I know I’m no match for you.”

“Then why are you here? Make it quick—the night is bitter.”

“Maybe we can help. The watch is after you, and you’re running out of options.”

“We?” Skyla’s pulse quickened. Perhaps at last she was close to the source of the city’s unrest.

The thief smiled nervously. “My boss wants to meet you.”

Skyla frowned. A trap? Still, desperation gnawed at her. “All right. I’ll meet your boss. Lead on.”

Relief washed over the thief. “Good. I’m glad we didn’t have to fight this time. Follow me.”

He led her through narrow, darkened streets until they reached a warehouse, its timbers weathered and silent. He knocked three times, paused, then twice more. After a moment, the door creaked open. A bald man with a scarred face looked them over.

“You’re back. And you’ve brought the girl. Good. The boss will be pleased.” The thief showed Skyla a place to sleep for the night. “It’s not much," he muttered, "but you can sleep here. The boss will see you in the morning."

The warehouse smelled of dust and old timber, shafts of morning light cutting through broken windows. Skyla rose from the corner where the thief had left her, only to find the place transformed. A dozen men stood in a loose circle, their eyes sharp, waiting. At their centre sat the boss—a woman in her mid-forties, plain-faced, her presence commanding despite her unremarkable looks.

She regarded Skyla with a cool smile. “You’ve got spirit. Join us, and you’ll thrive. Refuse, and you’ll regret it.”

Skyla’s jaw tightened. “I don’t serve thieves.”

The boss’s smile thinned. “Then you will not leave here alive.”

The circle closed in. Steel hissed from scabbards, and boots scraped against the floorboards. Skyla’s pulse hammered in her ears. Until now, she had fought to defend and disarm—but never to kill. The weight of the sword at her side reminded her of the truth. This time, there was no choice. Kill, or be killed. She drew the blade. Its edge gleamed in the dim light, the ancient word along its length catching fire in her mind. She steadied her breath, her resolve hardening. The men surged forward, blades flashing in the dim light. Skyla’s grip tightened, her pulse racing.

The first attacker lunged. She moved to parry, and for an instant the sword seemed to anticipate, sliding into place with uncanny precision. Steel rang, and her counterstroke cut deep, dropping him at her feet. The shock of blood jolted her, but the blade hummed faintly in her hand, steadying her resolve. Another came from the side. Skyla ducked low, sweeping the sword across his legs. The motion was hers, but the blade’s weightless balance made it effortless, almost graceful. He fell hard, gasping, as she pressed forward—two more pressed in together. Skyla spun, her arms straining against their blows. Sparks flew as steel clashed, her muscles burning—but the sword seemed to guide her rhythm, turning her defence into a flowing dance. She broke one man’s guard, the blade sliding past his defence, and he collapsed. The other staggered back, fear dawning in his eyes. The warehouse echoed with shouts and steel. Skyla’s breath came ragged, but her resolve hardened. Each strike was hers, each kill her choice—but the blade was there, whispering through motion, lending her just enough strength to survive.

From the shadows, the thief watched. He had seen her fight—seen the way the blade moved with her, the way men twice her size fell beneath its edge. A chill ran through him. Whatever bargain he thought he’d struck by bringing her here, he now understood. Skyla was no ordinary girl with a weapon. She was something else entirely. Quietly, he slipped back into the darkness, keeping well clear of the fight. Better to vanish than to test the edge of that sword himself. When the clash of steel finally stilled, several bodies lay broken across the warehouse floor, and others groaned in pain where they had fallen. Skyla stood at the centre, her breath ragged, the sword gleaming faintly as if it had drunk deep of the chaos. The thief emerged, his eyes darting over the carnage. He had stayed clear of the fight, slipping into the dark while Skyla carved her way through the circle. Now he gave a crooked grin, voice low and edged with caution.

"The boss is gone," he said. "Ran the moment she saw how bad it was going. Left her men to bleed."

Skyla’s gaze hardened. She lowered the blade, its glow dimming, but kept it close. The thief raised his hands slightly, not in surrender but in sly acknowledgement.

"You fight better than anyone I’ve seen," he murmured. "Guess she knew she couldn’t win. Me? I’m no fool.” The words hung in the dusty air, half warning, half admiration. Skyla realised then that the thief was loyal to no one but himself.

“Where has she gone? Skyla demanded. The thief stepped closer, his grin crooked, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "She's headed east, toward the crossroads. There’s somebody there she answers to—someone you don’t want to meet," he pointed at a stack of crates with a finger. "There’s loot stashed here—coin, trinkets, things worth taking. Give me a share, and I’ll vanish. You’ll never see me again."

Skyla’s eyes narrowed. Distrust burned in her chest, but exhaustion weighed heavily. At last, she gave a curt nod. "Take a share, then go." The thief scooped his share, eyes gleaming with avarice. Skyla watched him with disdain. The sword resting at her side, her mind already set—whatever remained would go to the poor, not to line the pockets of thieves. He glanced back at her, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Come on. There’s a secret way out.” He led her through a narrow passage between stacked crates, then pressed against a hidden panel in the wall. A section of timber shifted, revealing a side exit that led into a dark alleyway. “Follow this, and you’ll be clear. The watch won’t find you.” Skyla stepped through, the sword humming faintly at her side. Behind her, she heard a whistle blow. Shouts and hurried feet approaching---the watch. When she turned, the thief was already gone—vanished into thin air as if he had never been there at all.

Chapter Six