Wyshea Shadows

by Geoffrey Saign

  Whirling, he swung a green-wood dagger at Famere. Jumping back, she glimpsed swirling designs etched on the blade. She turned and ran, terrified the knife would be thrown at her back.

  Ahead of her, a second stave stepped out from behind a tree.

  She darted sideways, but a third stave blocked her, and then a fourth. A dozen staves came out of hiding in a wide circle and she stopped, breathing hard. Her injury had made her careless.

  Turning slowly, fatigued, she studied the narrow, brown faces and large silvered irises of the staves. Their skin resembled tree bark, with overlapping layers on their torsos and limbs. Hatred showed on their faces.

  “Oh, Ison,” she murmured, knowing she would never see him again.

  A whistling behind her sent her rolling to the ground. The dagger flew over her, thudding into a tree trunk.

  Rising, she loosened her thrip and drew her sahr-stone knife. Trickles of blood ran down her chest from the raacor wound and her arms shook. Blinking over the pain, she forced herself to focus as Darkas had taught her.

  Quietly, the staves closed in.

  Snapping her thrip over her shoulder, she hit a stave approaching from behind, sending him to the ground. Spinning, she swung the whip level with the staves’ heads, keeping them at bay. Her strength had nearly vanished and her limbs felt heavy. She gave two soft clicks.

  One of the staves lifted an arm, aiming his fist at her and speaking with a rasping voice, “Quickly. She’s called for help.”

  She was surprised they heard her clicks. Three more staves aimed their arms at her with their fists bent down. She crouched. Darkas had warned her about this.

  From tiny pores on the back of their wrists flew three-inch slivers of green wood. She ducked one, twisting out of the way of two more. But one numbing quill hit her right shoulder. Her arm lost all strength and the dagger slid from her limp hand.

  Groggy, she fell to her knees. A rush of footsteps drove her to swing her thrip around her head once more. When the whip bit flesh, a stave groaned.

  Sitting back on her feet, Famere’s arm dropped to her side, her head sagging. She waited for a dagger to cut her throat. “Oh, Dar,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Famere!”

  She barely lifted her head. Ison ran into view, snapping his thrip at the nearest stave, toppling him over. Ison must have been hiding close by to appear so suddenly.

  Hopeful he had come with others, Famere looked beyond him. No. He was alone.

  Always confident, Ison’s lithe, strong body moved fluidly, his green eyes hard as he flashed his whip. But he would never be able to defeat a dozen staves. Tears welled up in Famere’s eyes. He was sacrificing his life for her. She wanted to tell him to run, but her lips wouldn’t respond to her commands.

  “Fam.” His gaze met hers, and he rolled to the ground to escape quills flying at him.

  Tears rolled down Famere’s face. She would never be able to pledge to him.

  Her eyelids drooped, but she saw movement in the trees, and murmured, “Mother.”

  Mereeth ran like a blur through the woods, her large wolf-bond, Mir, racing to keep up with her. Famere tried to lift an arm to warn her mother away, but her hand remained on the ground, ignoring her wishes.

  A stave ran at Famere.

  From fifty feet away, Mereeth stopped and threw her dagger. The black blade sang in a low whistle as it flew through the air, thudding into the back of the stave attacking Famere. Two staves ran at Mereeth, their blades raised. Swinging her thrip on the run, Mereeth felled one. She kicked the other in the stomach, slamming him to the ground.

  Famere had never seen such fury in her mother’s face, never remembered her hurting anything.

  Mereeth jumped over Famere, landing in front of another rushing stave. She twisted, but the stave scored her side with his dagger.

  Snarling, Mir leapt at the enemy.

  Ison shouted, “No.”

  Collapsing to her side, her cheek against the soil, Famere sleepily noticed blood on her mother’s torso. She wanted to scream. Before she lost consciousness, she knew they would all die. And all because of her.

  Darkas would be heartbroken.

  4

  Secrets

  Terrified, she ran through the forest, the enemy close on her heels. Leaves kept striking her face...

  But when Famere opened her eyes, breathing hard, only Grandmother Song’s creased face hovered over her.

  “It’s okay, Fam. You’re safe.” Dressed like all female wyshea, Song wore a woven bodice over her thin torso and woven breeches over her upper legs. Silvered hair hung down her back, but her hundred-fifty-year-old body showed youthful energy. She wiped a moist grass weave across Famere’s brow, and then held a woven bowl to her lips. “You need to drink.”

  Parched, Famere gripped the bowl and drank all of it, the water cooling her throat. Beyond Song, she could see out the large cave entrance. The sky’s light showed it was already late afternoon. She had slept half the day and her head ached.

  Song rubbed Famere’s temples. “The staven drug will wear off soon, Fam, but your wound is going to leave a scar.”

  Slowly sitting up, Famere groaned, her chest aching. At least the wound didn’t burn anymore. Fresh healing leaves had been placed on it. “Mother? Ison?”

  “They’re all right, but your carelessness almost killed them.” Darkas stepped out of the shadows at the back of the cave, his long green hair flowing over his shoulders. He wore the garb of a wyshea warrior: grass-woven knee breeches and an intricately woven waist belt which held a life-pouch, a coiled thrip, and his two-foot dagger—grayblade.

  His sculpted muscles always awed Famere, but his stern expression made her lower her eyes. Still, she breathed easier after hearing that her mother and Ison were alive. “What happened, Father?”

  “Border scouts found you in time, but you owe your mother and Ison a life-debt. They fought bravely to save you.” His voice softened. “If I hadn’t sent Ison to track you, and if your mother hadn’t followed, we would have lost our daughter.”

  Famere followed his gaze to the other side of the cave to her mother. High cheekbones and a small nose gave Mereeth a delicate appearance, but Famere recalled her killing staves. Healing leaves covered her injured side, and her dagger and thrip hung from her waist belt with her healing and life pouches.

  Pushing to her feet, Famere held back a groan. “I’m sorry, Mother.” She walked unsteadily toward her.

  Mereeth stepped forward and hugged her gently with loose arms. The scent of flower oil in her shining hair filled the air. “I love you more than life, Fam.”

  “You’re okay?” asked Famere.

  “It’s a small cut. Your wound is worse.” Mereeth pulled back and lightly held her hands, her face serious. “Why did you go so far this morning, Fam?”

  She hesitated, unable to say the real reason. “I…I needed to walk. A raacor attacked me, but two beasts stopped it from killing me.”

  Her mother remained calm, but Song and Darkas regarded her with wide eyes.

  “I saw the sun’s light,” Famere added.

  Mereeth looked at her knowingly, as if seeing her mind and heart. “What else?”

  “I had a vision of slayers attacking us during the bonding ceremony tonight.” Darkas and Song gaped at her. Her father would be forced to call off the ceremony now, but to be sure, she said, “You were both there and I smelled blood.”

  “What?” Darkas tensed.

  Mereeth nodded to him. “She’s telling the truth, Dar.”

  Famere waited. Not even her father could ignore her mother, the wyshea seer.

  The tension in Darkas’ forehead eased. “I believe you, Fam. And the sunlight is a blessing from Beloved.” Stepping forward, he hugged her. “It would have broken my heart if you had died, Fam.”

  “I’m sorry, Dar.” Her eyes misted. They had always been close and she was sorry she had troubled him. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

  “Of cour
se.” He held her at arm’s length, smiling. “No one has ever survived a raacor attack.”

  She gave a weak smile. “I had a good trainer.” All suns learned how to fight, but her father had started her lessons at an early age.

  “You have the skill and courage of a warrior, Fam.” He paused. “Suns need bravery, but they also need caution.”

  She bit her lip. “Where’s Ison?”

  “I sent him south with Grandfather Toash to track a slayer force that’s moving north.”

  “That’s dangerous, Father.” She imagined slayers finding Ison. What if he didn’t return? That idea panicked her, tensing her back.

  Darkas caressed her shoulder. “Ison’s safe, Fam. Grandfather Toash won’t take any chances with him along.”

  Famere gestured to the cave entrance. “You’ll cancel tonight’s ceremony, right?”

  He gave a slight shake of his head. “We’ll post more sentries. We see and hear our enemies long before they do us, and we’re faster. No one can enter our forest in secret. As wyshea guide, I would never put our people at risk. You know that, Fam.”

  “But my vision…”

  “Famere.” Darkas sighed. “Only the wyshea seer can stop the bonding ceremony.”

  Famere turned to her mother and waited, optimistic, but Mereeth shook her head too. Why were they ignoring her vision? Frustrated, she tried to think of some way to persuade them.

  Song gripped her wrist, rising beside her. “The sunlight and the guides that protected you from the raacor are good omens, Fam. The goddess is watching over you. Everything will be all right.”

  Even though she agreed that Beloved was protecting her, Famere doubted her grandmother.

  Mereeth stroked her arm. “Your vision shows your skills are growing, Fam. Now go to the east mril cluster and wait for me. I’ll be there shortly. We need to talk.”

  “All right, Mother.” Famere breathed easier. Her mother would give her a chance to talk alone. She would tell Mereeth she didn’t want to bond. It might embarrass her father, but the flash of sunlight, the mysterious protectors, and her vision about the bonding meadow attack made a good argument. Her mother always supported her and would convince her father to let her skip the ceremony, but she also wanted her mother to cancel it. The nagging sense of an approaching battle made her skin crawl.

  “Fam.” Mereeth touched her arm. “Don’t tell anyone about your vision. It would upset them needlessly. You’ll understand after we talk.”

  Her mother’s words confused her. Why didn’t she want their people to know? “All right, Mother.”

  Darkas smiled. “Ison is worried about you, Fam. He’s eager to pledge to you tonight.”

  Relieved Ison wasn’t upset with her for putting him at risk, she said, “Blessings, Dar.”

  Darkas had no son, and thus had chosen Ison, the best of the young males in fighting and tracking, as the next wyshea guide-in-training. And the next seer always pledged to the guide-in-training. Famere again wondered if Ison would pledge to her if someone else became the next seer. It made her headache worse.

  From a corner, her suu ran to her and crawled up her leg and arm, eventually settling around her neck.

  “Goflin has been asking about you.” Song gently pressed her palm over Famere’s heart. “May the melody of sahr bring you peace, Fam.”

  Famere kissed her cheek. “And you, Grandmother.” She glanced at her parents. They had moved to the front of the cave and were holding each other and whispering. It bothered her for some reason she couldn’t explain.

  A steep tunnel in the back of the cave had steps cut into it. She hurried down them to the lower level, hoping Goflin was nearby. The lower cave mirrored the one above it, sixty feet wide and high, and she crossed it quickly. Stepping out its large opening, she entered a grass field where hundreds of warriors rested. The female suns were tending the wounded. Bonded wolves lay beside the warriors and suns, the scent of their fur thick in the air.

  Picking her way through the injured, Famere avoided eye contact, not wanting to talk to any of them. One warrior she passed had lost an arm. She winced, thinking how horrible it must be to live without one of your limbs.

  Glancing back, she spotted Song standing in the upper cave entrance, waving to her. She paused to wave back. Two parallel rows of dark cave mouths stretched east to west, one row at the cliff base, the second a hundred feet higher. The white stone cliffs rose several thousand feet.

  A legend claimed great draghons once lived in the caves and roamed across the Wild Lands by flying high in the air, fearing nothing. Imagining draghons soaring in the sky made Famere wistful. How free it must feel to be able to fly away from everything and explore the world.

  Her gaze moved farther up the cliff, where a massive head was carved into the rock. The monster had four large fangs and a large wrinkled snout. A shadow.

  In the past, a shadow had always chosen the next wyshea guide at the bonding ceremony, and protected him for life. But the shadows had disappeared a century ago, after the war began.

  Famere couldn’t imagine such a grotesque beast as friendly, yet her people hoped for their return. Darkas and his father were the only guides in wyshea history without a shadow at their side. Mereeth said the mysterious loss of sahr in the world had caused the shadows to leave, and had caused the sky to cloud over. Famere didn’t understand any of it.

  “Famere.”

  Huro beckoned to her, and she stopped out of respect. The tall, slender fighter lay on his back with healing leaves on one of his legs. In his forties, and a close friend of her father’s, Huro had always treated her kindly. His large she-wolf, Hirr, lay at his side.

  Famere knelt beside the warrior, stroking the wolf’s neck. “Do you need anything, Huro?”

  “I’m fine. Wyshea heal fast.” He lifted his injured leg, and then lowered it. “How are you?”

  “Just a headache and a scratch.”

  He chuckled. “You’re tougher than some of our warriors, Famere.”

  She gave a tilted smile, which faded when she thought of her vision. “Are we sending peace messengers to the other races?”

  “A waste of time.” He frowned. “Staves just tried to kill you.” He paused. “But at least staves and melders live in harmony with the land. Slayers have dead gods and destroy the forest for greed and power. We speak the same language, but have nothing else in common.”

  She lowered her eyes. The war would never end. None of the races wanted peace. Some days she dreamed of a far-off land she could escape to that had no war, no wounded, and no death.

  “I’m sorry, Famere.” Huro wiped his brow. “You should be celebrating today, not listening to tired warriors complain about the war. I’m happy for you.”

  “Blessings, Huro,” she said softly. “May the melody of sahr bring you peace.”

  “And you, Famere.”

  She left and hastily walked to the forest, wanting to get away from the warriors. When she entered the tree line, a breath of air blew against the back of her neck. She whirled. Nothing. She headed east, toward an area deep within her people’s protected borders.

  The sahr sang to her, its melody lifting her spirits, and the lilting song of a lyrre bird drifted through the forest, relaxing her. When her legs steadied, she ran slowly, increasing her speed as she gained strength, her headache gradually disappearing. She passed a fox, leapt over a small wood snake, and listened to birds pecking tree trunks for grubs.

  After a hundred yards, a breath of air blew across her neck again. Without pausing, she looked over her shoulder. Still nothing. The morning had left her jumpy.

  A distant flash of movement sent her hand to her dagger, but she released it when she recognized Goflin. His path would cross hers in moments. Eager to talk to him, she slowed her pace.

  She had known Goflin most of her life, and he was baethe—a wyshea brother and close friend. His parents had died in the war three years ago and he lived with an adoptive family, as did Ison and many wyshea you
ths.

  Goflin soon ran beside her, and they sprinted together, first one ahead, then the other, an old game between them.

  When they finally slowed to a walk, he smiled warmly and she flashed a smile at him. Average in build and her height, he had a pleasant face and warm eyes. His emerald hair was as long as hers.

  “You almost got yourself killed, Fam.” He playfully pushed her shoulder, throwing her off her stride.

  “Ow.” She hunched over.

  “Sorry!” He gaped. “Are you all right? Is the wound serious?”

  “Kidding.” She straightened, smiling. “I’m just tired.”

  He tapped her shoulder. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? And on the day of bonding. If you had died, it would have killed me too.” His voice softened. “You idiot.”

  “When the raacor attacked me, I thought of your silly songs.”

  His eyes lit up. “Everyone’s saying how brave you were to face a raacor alone. No one’s ever done it and lived, Fam.”

  “Next time I’ll fight a rabbit.”

  “Hopefully not an eight-foot rabbit.”

  She chuckled and they walked in silence for a while.

  He touched her arm. “I’m excited about tonight. Are you?”

  It took a few moments for her to answer. “I’ll be thinking about you after you bond tonight, Gof.” Her stomach tightened when she realized her friends and Ison would also be at risk if her vision came true.

  “As new warriors we’ll just find a small skirmish with the enemy to get our blood pumping.” Goflin grinned. “I run faster than staves and slayers. Besides, Bosho will keep me safe.” His smile faded. “Are you excited to pledge to Ison?”

  “Of course.” She looked at her feet.

  “What’s wrong, Fam?”

  “Everything.” He seemed to know her as well as her mother; it was impossible to hide things from him. “I don’t want to be the next seer,” she blurted.

  He cocked his head at her. “Truly, you want to travel. See the world and have adventure. And it’s so safe out there.”

  She pushed his arm. “Not now. But if the war ends.”