by Ann Aguirre
So she said nothing.
As the shadows lengthened, she scanned for a good campsite. Perhaps a mile on down the road, she found a spot someone had used before; it even had a fire pit left from the last tenants, charred ground surrounded by a good ring of stones. The area had been cleared of small rocks and branches, so it would be fine for sleeping.
“This looks perfect,” Tegan said, dropping her pack with a sigh.
Her thigh burned with a low ache that never quite went away. Constant pain was a small price to pay for her life, after all.
With Millie’s help, Tegan built a fire. Squirrels and birds complained overhead, chattering about the girls’ intrusion. Ignoring this, Tegan made a simple stew from fresh vegetables and dried meat. They took turns eating from the pot while she hoped the smell didn’t draw anything dangerous from the woods nearby. The darker it got, the more alone she felt … and yet not. Around her, the woodland creatures fell silent. Her skin prickled from the weight of unseen eyes. Scooting closer, Millie seemed to sense it, too. Tegan tilted her head and froze at the unmistakable crack of feet breaking a branch nearby. Close. How close? But woodcraft wasn’t her specialty, so she couldn’t be sure.
On a bracing breath, she jumped up and readied her staff.
Into the Unknown
“Who’s there?” Tegan called.
A cloaked figure emerged from the tangle of branches, brushing dry leaves away, surely not the act of a violent intruder. She couldn’t determine who it was, however, so she kept her weapon high. Millie clutched her own walking stick. Later, Tegan might critique the girl’s stance.
“Did I startle you?” The low rumble belonged to Szarok. He was the vanguard of the Uroch, which meant “the People” in their native tongue.
He pushed back his cowl, and she let out a relieved sigh. Millie showed no such relief, however. She probably hadn’t seen any of these creatures since she was a little girl tending what she thought was a wounded animal in the woods. His skin gleamed silver-pale in the firelight, and the shadows elongated his claws and fangs. There was a beautiful ferocity about him, Tegan thought, measuring the slant of his cheekbones and the golden gleam of his eyes. He was all precious metals, smelted and forged in the dread furnace of fate.
“A little,” she admitted.
“Where are you bound?”
“Rosemere.”
“You know him?” Millie ventured to ask.
Quietly, Tegan performed the introductions, and the other girl recovered from her nerves enough to offer her hand to shake. But Szarok bowed instead. Deuce had told Tegan that the Uroch could share memories with a touch and that they inherited recollections from their ancestors. She had a thousand questions, but it seemed impolite to fire them at him like a cannon of inquiry.
“Are you hungry?” Millie offered Szarok the pot.
“No. Thank you. I paused to warn you to be careful. When we broke the horde, the threat was quelled, but the territories are not entirely at peace yet.”
Tegan appreciated the warning. “I’ll be alert. Our allies are still wearing armbands, yes?”
“Since your people cannot tell us apart. Not by appearance or smell or—”
“I can,” Tegan said with a touch of asperity. “Your skin is healthy and free of lesions. Your eyes are a different hue. And the Uroch generally do not run about naked or clad in filthy rags. The rest of my folk will catch up in time.”
“I wonder if I’ll live to see that day.”
Millie glanced between them. “Are you sick, sir?”
She could’ve answered that his people died young, a curse from stepping onto an expedited evolutionary track. But it would’ve been rude to pretend to be an expert before someone who knew better than she.
Szarok only shook his head. “Now that I’ve spoken my piece, I’ll go.”
“Stay.” The offer surprised Tegan, but she didn’t retract it. Instead she gestured at the fire. “The night is cool—and three shadows on the ground are better than two.”
“You hope my presence will deter marauders.” His amusement came across low, laughter like a snarl in his throat.
“Is that wrong?”
“No. I’ll stay. As it happens, I have business in Rosemere. I carry a message for Morrow’s father.”
Tegan wondered what it could be, but if he meant for her to know, she’d find out soon enough. “Then we may as well continue together in the morning.”
As Tegan spread her bedroll, Millie nudged her. “This is incredible. Is this how all your adventures begin?”
She repressed a laugh. “No, there’s usually a talking horse.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Get some sleep. There’s a lot of walking ahead.”
With minimal chatter, Millie tucked into her bedroll and Tegan eased onto her pallet, favoring her bad leg. It hurt more than usual, so she rubbed it and hoped sleep would bring some relief. To her surprise, Szarok knelt beside her and watched her fingers with apparent fascination.
“Can I help you?” Her whisper carried a faint bite.
“I might ask the same of you. This old injury, it healed poorly?”
“I’m lucky I kept my leg.” She should probably hate and fear him, as one of his kind had inflicted the damage.
Yet she couldn’t see him as one of them; they were clearly different species, much as the feral humans who had risen in Winterville weren’t the same as those who raised vegetables and hauled water from the well. So she didn’t withdraw when he leaned closer to inspect the site she was massaging. He didn’t offer treatment, either, which she appreciated.
“It doesn’t seem to inhibit your ambitions.”
“Should it?” she snapped.
He gestured with two spread hands, talons unfurled, which somehow read like a shrug. “Some of the People are intolerant of physical imperfection. But … I think this prejudice did not originate with us.”
“That’s ours.” Her sour tone indicated what she thought of that mind-set.
“Go to sleep,” Millie begged.
That was good advice, so she nodded to Szarok and rolled into her blankets. He settled on her side of the fire pit. With the embers smoldering nearby, it wasn’t cold, and the sky through the dark lattice of branches shone crisp and clear, the full autumn bloom of stars like a crystalline bouquet overhead, each spark of light raying like stray petals.
The Uroch was silent so long, she thought he must be sleeping. Then she caught a rustle of movement. “I’ll stand guard,” he whispered. “Dream well.”
To Tegan’s surprise, she did.
In the morning, she and Millie split the remaining stew and cleaned the pot with a hunk of bark. Though they offered Szarok breakfast, he declined. Millie bombarded him with questions and he was patient, keeping pace as he answered. In the sunlight, he kept his hood up, rendering him a mysterious figure. Around noon, they met Trader Kelley, who had fresh bread and ripe apples. Tegan would’ve bartered—she had arnica salve that was good for burns and minor injuries—but he gave them three rosy reds as a gift, along with a crusty golden loaf.
“What news?” she asked.
“Lorraine is having some kind of festival in the spring to commemorate the treaty. They’re planning on sending an emissary to Appleton.” Then Kelley took a second look at her hooded companion and added, “I guess I told the right person.”
“We’ve already established trade agreements. I’m sure delegates will be sent when the time is right,” Szarok replied.
They chatted over the meal, and then Tegan signaled the break was over by getting to her feet. She wished she could ride in a wagon all the way to the Evergreen Isle, but this caravan was headed in the wrong direction. So she saluted Trader Kelley with two fingers, as she’d learned in Salvation, and then continued the journey. It was a hot day, and the Uroch leader must have been sweltering in that cloak, but Tegan didn’t suggest he shuck it. There had to be reasons beyond vanity or camouflage for wearing it; intuition suggested it
would be impolite to pry.
“At this pace, it will take two weeks to reach Rosemere,” Szarok said that night as they made camp.
“I’m aware.” Tegan didn’t glance up from her flint and tinder, focused until the tiny golden sparks became a little fire. “But any faster and I’ll suffer. So will Millie, as she’s not trained for a long trek.”
Already, her own muscles protested, sore from her uneven gait. Though she had good boots made by Deuce’s father, Edmund, they’d rubbed two new blisters by the end of the day. One of them felt puffy and tender while the other had burst, leaving her stocking sticky. She needed to peel out of her clothes and cleanse her wounds, but the Uroch’s presence left her shy. Still, Tegan was a doctor—or so they claimed—and it was nonsense to allow timidity to prevent her from treating herself. If another girl had come to her with such foolery, she’d have whacked her patient on the back of the head. After dinner she set aside some clean water and stripped out of her boots and stockings. Millie was entertaining their guest anyway, so she started when Szarok came to peer over her shoulder as she examined her own feet.
“You’re bleeding,” he said.
His evident surprise aggravated her. “I got soft studying in Winterville.”
She washed, then made short work of dotting the broken blister with salve. The other one, she decided not to pop. Though the skin felt puffy, it was better to let it split on its own. Still, she wrapped it, too, so that her stockings wouldn’t take any further damage. It would be a while before she could wash and dry them properly. She hung them up nearby to air out and headed back to the fire, where Millie was feeding thin, dry branches to the flames.
“How are your feet?” Tegan asked.
The girl glanced over with a dismayed expression. “Can you tell…?”
“No, but it’s common sense. Let me see.”
Millie had three blisters, two on toes and one on a heel, so Tegan repeated the treatment. Out of habit, she glanced over at Szarok, but his feet were bare and clawed, probably tough enough that he didn’t need shoes unless the weather got considerably colder. Curiosity pecked away at her like a hungry bird, but still, courtesy kept her quiet. Treating him as Dr. Wilson had Timothy—the Freak he used to create the pheromone spray that once protected Winterville—would be unforgivable.
As she packed up her supplies, in the distance she heard a clacking, grunting snarl. Not Freaks, she told herself. And even if it were, the old ones might veer away since they were traveling with a Uroch. The noise got louder, almost like a challenge, and within moments Szarok was on his feet, poised for action.
Eventually a black bear rambled into view. It stood up on its hind legs and called out; Szarok responded with a growl. The two eyed each other for a long, tense moment. The bear sniffed the air, probably drawn by the smell of food. Tegan lifted her staff, but it was ridiculous to think of scaring the bear off that way. Yet she had no skill with a rifle, so there had been no point in hauling one. Better for her to bear the weight of supplies she could use.
Szarok can’t fight that thing with his bare claws. Can he?
The Uroch didn’t seem to know that. Without looking away, he said, “Get to safety. I’ll drive it off.”
Tegan wrapped a length of cloth around her palm, grabbed the pot, and ran, beckoning Millie as she went. The distraction lured the creature, but now she had a wild animal chasing them through the dark woods. Behind them, Szarok swore—or at least she guessed he had, from the guttural sounds—and a struggle crackled the undergrowth. Stones and branches bit at the soles of Tegan’s feet as she dashed headlong. She might not be a great fighter, but she was clever. Running wouldn’t save them, but a tree might.
“Here,” she panted out.
Bears could climb, but she hoped Szarok would drive the beast off before it found them. For good measure, she left the pot at the base of the trunk. Better to feed it leftover stew than human flesh. She and Millie scampered up, breathing hard. Blast. Now I have to rewrap our feet. That seemed a fairly mild concern, however.
Hope there’s nothing worse.
In the dark, Millie clutched Tegan’s hand, leaning into her. “Will he be all right? Should we have stayed to help?”
“Have you fought a bear before?”
The girl shook her head.
“Then no. Sometimes the best we can do is follow instructions.”
Countless moments later Szarok came for them, a dark shadow at the base of the tree. “It’s safe. Come.”
Millie climbed down first and Tegan after. Szarok reached for Tegan too suddenly for her to recoil. One moment she was perched on the lowest branch, preparing to jump, and the next, he had her in his absurdly strong arms. Nobody had ever lifted her unless she was wounded, and even then, she’d wanted to fight. Generally she didn’t enjoy being touched. Szarok didn’t seem to register her resistance, and as he set her down, it faded.
But he smelled of copper, a sign he must be wounded. Tegan waited until they got back to camp before demanding, “Where are you hurt?”
“It’s not serious.”
She leveled a cool look on him, some of its impact doubtless lost in the dark. “I’m the doctor.”
“Tend to your own ills first.”
Sighing, Tegan did that, annoyed over the supplies wasted in wrapping their blisters a second time. She wrestled with putting her boots on and decided it was better to air the skin overnight. Finally she sat down beside Szarok to check the damage to his forearm. It looked as if he’d blocked a claw swipe, so it was incredible he’d only received a four-striped gouge.
“You don’t need stitches. I’ll clean and wrap it for you.”
His physiology fascinated her. His blood was darker than a human’s, and she analyzed possible reasons, based on what she’d learned. Venous blood is darker because it’s deoxygenated. So does that mean the Uroch have evolved to survive on less oxygen? That would mean they could thrive in high altitudes, and they would be able to hold their breath longer. Yet they’re not good in water, which probably has to do with bone and muscle density—
“You’re staring,” he said.
“Sorry. Am I hurting you?”
“No.” His eyes remained fixed, tracing her movements as she washed away the blood. It smelled a little different, not just like copper, but something else, like wet earth after a rain. She had no specific word for it, but it wasn’t unpleasant. His flesh was cool and completely smooth, but it felt thicker than her own. She suspected the lack of hair made him vulnerable to the sun.
That explains the cloak.
With careful hands, she coated the wound with healing salve and then wrapped his forearm in a bandage and tied it off. “How’s the pain?”
“Bearable.” He put his hand over hers for a few seconds, and she stared at the long fingers, silver-pale and topped with claws.
I’m not afraid. I should be, maybe. But I’m not.
“Thank you,” Millie put in from across the small campsite.
Szarok shifted, seeming uncomfortable. Since Tegan couldn’t see his face, she wasn’t sure why she thought that, but his flinch confirmed that impression. Briskly, she stood, put away her doctor’s bag, and hung the troublemaking pot from a high branch. Provided there was no more excitement, they could eat the leftovers in the morning.
Millie went to sleep first, and if Tegan had any sense, she’d do the same. But instead Tegan lay awake in her bedroll, listening to the other two breathe. It wasn’t adrenaline keeping her awake; she’d survived much bigger battles. While she didn’t love fighting like Deuce did, she didn’t fear it, either.
With a curse, she rolled over to find Szarok awake and watching her. Her heart skittered. “You didn’t sleep last night, either. Is something wrong?”
There had to be some reason he’d been sent to Rosemere. Maybe the rest of the Uroch didn’t like the treaty terms? If they want more, the free territories will go to war again. And this time— No, there couldn’t be worse lying in wait. It had to be
behind—with hope and brightness shining on the horizon.
But his whisper surprised her, stole her breath, in fact. “Could you rest at ease among your enemies? You’ve killed so many of my kind.”
“You’re afraid of us?” The idea seemed laughable. And yet … “Then why did you approach Deuce and fight alongside us?”
“Fear does not change what is right or my grief over what I’ve done. Maybe this decision was for the best. Or maybe I’ve betrayed my own people for nothing. Only time will tell.”
With her heart sinking like a stone, Tegan remembered the sea of carnage after the War of the River. “Sometimes you don’t know what’s right until it’s far too late to change it. You just do the best you can, moment to moment.”
“You are wise,” he said at length.
She shook her head wryly. “Hardly. But I’ll tell you something else.” It seemed right to whisper confidences in the dark.
“What’s that?”
This was something she’d never shared before. “I’m afraid of my people, too.”
Against the Grain
Why am I still here?
On the fifth day, Szarok asked himself this. Moving at his regular pace, he would’ve reached the river in a day or two. To guard these frail, slow creatures, he’d gotten wounded and delayed his mission by over a week. Rzika will not be pleased. The others rarely left Appleton, occupied with crafting policies that would govern their people going forward. Such work was rarely easy, as there was a wide range of intellect and outlook among them.
One female rarely stopped talking. Her questions were endless, and she granted respite only when he slept—or pretended he did. As for the other, she studied more than she spoke, her amber gaze keen as a blade. They smelled different as well. Millie must have sewn dried flowers into her clothing, because her movements carried a faint sweetness, whereas Tegan radiated a medicinal tang, likely from the salves and tinctures in her doctor’s bag. Both lacked the richness of layering pheromones that would make them attractive, though the longer they traveled without scrubbing away natural musk, the more tolerable they became.
