Followed by Thunder (Songs of the Amaranthine Book 2)

by Forthright

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “I was born here,” Willum said distractedly. “Fira … who is that?”

  She followed his gaze. “Lufu, my sister.”

  “Why have I never met your sister?”

  Fira’s protective instincts riled at his tone. “Perhaps because you rarely leave your workshop.”

  “The resemblance is uncanny.” He looked at her, then back at Lufu. “Is she a crystal adept like you?”

  “Is that what I am?”

  “Well,” he hedged. “That is what I call people like us. There may be other names in other places.”

  The us was nice. As was the implication that her curse was more of a talent.

  “Fira.” Willum had stepped closer, his eyes searching. “Is she?”

  Drums began to beat. “Is she what?”

  With more patience than she deserved, Willum repeated, “Do the remnants respond to your sister?”

  “She has her own way with stones.” Fira grudgingly admitted, “Ours likes her better.”

  Willum’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if listening for something despite the low pulse of drumbeats and the merry piping of the rabbit minstrels. “Fira,” he said slowly. “There is a crystal.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  He actually looked hurt. “Why are you hiding it from me?”

  “We hide it from everyone. Our parents left it for us. It has helped us survive.”

  Nodding slowly, he asked, “Do you know what is rarest of all the colors?”

  “Pink?” she ventured. Willum was very particular about his pink stones, most of which were quite small.

  “Pink is the second rarest form.”

  Fira’s pulse rushed, but she forced herself to ask, “What is the rarest?”

  “Clear. Colorless. Like cloudless ice, yet not empty. They always harbor a fleck, a grain, a narrow seam of color, as if all the power has narrowed and focused.” Willum calmly said, “I have two, and they are small. Hardly bigger than a pea. Yet they are the most potent crystals in my care.”

  She knew what he was asking, and she nodded. “Yellow,” she whispered. “The tiniest droplet of yellow.”

  “And … how large?”

  Fira’s hands shakily framed the familiar shape. “It is ours, Willum. It is all we have.”

  Willum’s own hands were shaking when he tugged at hers and pleaded, “May I meet your stone?”

  “Lufu has it.”

  She watched him go. From across the Circle, she saw him introduce himself, gesticulating in his enthusiasm. Fira saw Lufu—sweet, trusting Lufu—simply unfasten the pouch at her waist and bring out the crystal.

  Even from here, Fira could hear its voice.

  The moment her sister dropped the stone into Willum’s hand, a bow screeched across strings, and the drumming faltered. Every head turned to the place where Willum and Lufu stood. Fira thought at first that he must be doing something to the stone, but he peered around. A murmur had begun—eager, excited.

  From across the Circle, Willum’s gaze locked with Fira’s, and his mouth formed an ‘o.’ Then he hollered, “Sorry! Sorry! A moment, please!”

  Quickly, he returned the stone to Lufu’s hand and drew one of his glowing figures in the air, then gently pushed it toward Lufu until his finger rested against her chest. A ward. Why did Lufu have to be warded?

  The ripple of whispers finally washed past Fira where she stood. One word repeating over and again—beacon.

  Fira couldn’t have explained why she was hiding behind Ricker’s ore cart. Maybe for the same reason she understood how he sometimes felt. It wasn’t easy having a sibling who was all the things that other people admired.

  Lufu was beautiful, Lufu was desirable, Lufu was powerful. Willum was enthralled, though it wasn’t clear to Fira if he was more interested in her sister or her stone. Dwennon was ecstatic, shouting something about an anchor before getting the drummers back to the task at hand. Even Trisk was all worked up, only this time he wanted Lufu to do something tender for Glinna.

  So once she was sure Lufu was safely tucked between Rhoswen and Rhoslyn, Fira slipped outside alone, away from the festival lights and music, here to this hushed place to sort out her frazzled feelings.

  All of a sudden, something pounded against the ore cart with a resounding boom. She yelped in fear, ears ringing, pulse racing. Peering cautiously around its edge, she met the startled gaze of Ricker, who was cradling a battered fist.

  “Ricker?”

  He cringed and sank to his knees. “Ow.”

  Fira had never seen violence from Ricker, but she wasn’t frightened of him. More like frightened for him. His eyes were over-bright, and she knew, knew, knew what must have happened.

  Crawling to his side, she asked, “Synnis chose another?”

  He curled in on himself.

  Fira tentatively said, “She had many choices. The herd is strong.”

  “I know!” he spat. Reining himself in, he quietly repeated, “I know. But did she have to choose Bavol?”

  Hopes dashed.

  Pride trampled.

  Hurt plain.

  She flung her arms around his neck and pulled his head to her shoulder. There was nothing that could be said, nothing that would help.

  Hot tears dripped onto her neck as Ricker’s shoulders shook.

  It hardly seemed fair. Ricker might be young and impatient, and he played the fool to please the youngsters. But why should he be left to tend the young sired by other stallions when he would obviously be the very best of fathers?

  A sob broke free.

  She stole the flowers from his hair, tossing them aside. She teased out knots and unwound ribbon. Her fingers found each braid and loosened them until she was able to stroke through the length of his hair unhindered.

  The weeping slowed, and he switched shoulders, probably to find a dry patch. He also grabbed hold of her, and Fira could tell he was trying to pull himself together. So she kept right on stroking his hair.

  Finally, he snuffled wetly and nuzzled her neck, brushing his lips over damp skin. “Sorry, Fira. I am a mess, and you have been kind. Kinder than any mare I know.”

  And his hand cupped her cheek, and his smile was achingly sad. And then he touched his lips to hers in the gentlest of kisses.

  She understood his intent—returning courtesy for kindness. This was simply the way of the herd, a show of acceptance and gratitude. But this wasn’t the way it had been with Myla or Dwennon. Even after he pulled back, gently lifting her aside so he could stand and stagger off, Ricker’s kiss lingered with her, like an echo that sang with her soul.

  And it was both wonderful and utterly wretched, for all at once, she knew exactly how he felt. To love someone who could not, would not, did not love you back.

  His tragedy had become hers as well.

  Tend Her

  Fira was growing accustomed to Myla’s caresses and cuddling, but it was an honest relief when Glinna turned out to be more restrained. While less outwardly affectionate, she was more talkative. Fira was grateful for her stories of different places and other clans, for they often included details that helped her interpret Amaranthine behavior.

  She found herself wishing she could be Glinna’s apprentice instead of Willum’s. The ward’s approach to learning was imprecise.

  Try it and see.

  Give this a go.

  I wonder what will happen.

  Glinna held to a different style—listen and learn. She shared from a wealth of knowledge gained over a startling span of years. Why had no one thought to mention that Amaranthine could live for centuries? Their history was rich and diverse, and their lore held Fira captive, especially when Glinna’s tales echoed the songs of stones.

  Today, Willum had become the pupil, for Trisk and Glinna had come to visit his workshop. The bondmates sat with arms touching, and Fira spent several minutes trying to put a name to the way their presence was so … there. Was it because she was surrounded by crys
tals? Could they echo and amplify a person?

  Trisk met her gaze and offered a small nod.

  Fira tried the greeting in his language that Glinna had taught her.

  He flashed a pleased smile, made dangerous by fangs.

  “There are others like you,” Glinna was saying. “Those with beautiful souls.”

  Willum leaned forward. “Chrystal adepts?”

  Glinna inclined her head. “Ward,” she said, nodding to him, then Fira. “Battler.”

  Trisk pointed to the door. “Beacon.”

  “Come in, Lufu!” Willum urged. “I have been meaning to introduce you to some of my crystals!”

  Fira gestured for Lufu to join her on the bench against the wall, and Willum rolled a few crystals to her even as he said, “Please, continue, Lady Brunwinger.”

  “Lady?” whispered Lufu.

  Trisk leaned forward and tapped his chest. “My lady.”

  Glinna laughed lightly. “No need to stand upon formalities. Every house in every clan among the bats may claim a lord and lady. Rarer by far are those like you. In quiet places where clans have banded together, we foster your precious lives.”

  “How?” Willum asked. “What do you mean by foster?”

  “You were rescued by this herd.”

  He nodded. “Essentially. Dwennon rescued my mother, and I was born here. I am considered kin.”

  Glinna lifted a finger. “In Trisk’s homeland, tree-kin dwell in the valleys surrounding a remote monastery. The good men look to the vineyards, and their wine cellars rest safely in the caves where bats thrive.”

  Willum looked between Trisk and Glinna. “Do you have to hide?”

  “Wards and illusions,” she replied. “The Brunwingers are allied to a clan of foxes, who passed along the secret of the sharing of souls. They call it tending.”

  Fira stole a look at Trisk. Had that been what he was asking when she thought he was saying tender? “Is it for healing?”

  Glinna made a circular motion with one hand. “Healing, strengthening, understanding, trust. It is as much for peace as for power. We gain what is given, and in return, we guard you from those who would steal both soul and life.”

  Willum planted both hands on the table and leaned forward. “I would like a demonstration!”

  Trisk and Glinna exchanged a glance.

  A brow arched. A shoulder lifted.

  “Lufu is brightest,” Glinna said slowly. “But it is good that you warded her. She will need to learn restraint.”

  “Here, Fira.” Willum placed a small pink crystal on her hand. “This one has a sweet song, and its protective properties may be beneficial.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you resonate well with …”

  Fira didn’t let him finish. “You should do it, Willum.”

  His jaw dropped. Clearly, he was so keen on observing the phenomenon, it never occurred to him to participate.

  She pointed out, “You have the most experience, the most control. You would probably understand what is happening better than either of us.”

  Lufu nodded. “If you learn how, you can teach us.”

  “I am curious.” Willum offered his hands to the Brunwingers. “Will I do?”

  Trisk murmured something to his bondmate, and Glinna moved to the other side of the table, joining Fira and Lufu. Then he turned sideways on the bench and drew Willum down to face him.

  Glinna said, “Trisk is strong, bold. Find him quickly, trust him completely. All will be well.”

  Fira would have liked more detailed instructions, but Willum offered his hands to Trisk. “Touching?”

  Trisk looked entirely pleased and said something more, his deep voice slipping into a lilting rhythm.

  “His pain will lessen, and his injuries will heal more quickly,” Glinna translated. “Thank you for your trust.”

  With a bit of tugging, Trisk encouraged Willum to come closer, guiding the young ward’s hands to his shoulders. The Amaranthine was taller than the redhead, so he had to bend in order to rest their foreheads together. A clawed hand lifted to touch a freckled cheek, and Trisk murmured again.

  “Close your eyes and find him,” Glinna said into the breathless hush. “He awaits.”

  At first, nothing happened. Willum’s face wore the same expression as when he was listening for a crystal’s song. But then his breath caught, and his grip on Trisk’s shoulders tightened. But just as quickly, he relaxed into a delighted chuckle. “Oh,” he murmured. “I could get used to this.”

  “What’s it like?” asked Lufu.

  Willum’s face was completely serene. “If stones hold the echo, Trisk is the song.”

  Glinna repeated the words so her bondmate could understand. With a little grumble, Trisk kissed Willum’s forehead and pulled him into an embrace.

  From where she sat, Fira could see that both were smiling … and that Willum’s lashes were wet.

  Spare Feelings

  Fira was surprised at herself. Of all the things she’d needed to adjust to at Glintrubble, the most difficult was losing track of Lufu. All their lives, her little sister had hardly been out of reach, let alone out of sight. But this was a safe place. Lufu accepted her newfound freedom without a backward glance.

  Running off.

  Meeting people.

  Making friends.

  Growing apart.

  Certainly, Lufu needed her independence, but Fira was still accustomed to watching over her. If not for her lucky stone and its familiar pull, she wouldn’t have had any inkling what Lufu did to occupy her time. Or which paths she chose. Or whose workshop she frequented.

  They still shared a bed in the mares’ quarters, often with Myla’s arms around them both, as if they were the lead mare’s own daughters. But tonight, Fira and Lufu had the long, hushed room to themselves.

  Whether it was because Lufu’s lucky stone was picking up on her mood or simply because Fira knew her sister so well, she asked, “Is something on your mind?”

  “Not at all,” Lufu murmured.

  Fira turned toward her sister and plucked at her nightdress. “So secretive.”

  Lufu pouted and wriggled closer. “Do not mind me.”

  “If I do not mind you, who will?” She wished she could sound as wise as Glinna, because this might be a touchy subject. “You have been dreamy-eyed and distracted, lately. Like a woman in love.”

  “Wh-what a thing to say,” she mumbled, hiding her face.

  Truly, she wore her heart on her sleeve.

  Fira hid her smile and asked, “Did you know that Ricker had hoped to be chosen by Synnis?”

  “Everyone knew.” Lufu seemed grateful for the change of subject.

  “Even Bavol?” Fira asked.

  “He and Ricker seem very close,” Lufu said slowly. “I cannot imagine he did not know.”

  Fira hummed her agreement. “Do you think Bavol should have denied Synnis in order to spare his brother’s feelings?”

  “I would have.”

  And there it was. Lufu was too generous for her own good.

  Fira gently asked, “Why do you suppose Bavol accepted Synnis, even though he knew it would hurt Ricker?”

  Eventually, Lufu answered, “He must have loved Synnis, too.”

  “I am glad Bavol was brave enough to be honest with himself and gave Synnis his pledge. Mutual love may be rarer than the pink crystals Willum loves so well. And many times more precious.”

  At the mention of Willum’s name, Lufu sniffled.

  “My sweet sister,” she sighed. “Did you think I would not notice your efforts to spare my feelings?”

  Lufu clung and mumbled apologies.

  “Nonsense.” Fira held on tight and said, “I do not love him, Lufu.”

  “May I, then?”

  “As if any could stop you.” She kissed her sister’s hair and whispered, “You will surely be his treasure.”

  Crystal Adept

  Fira’s mind wandered away from the crystal she was sup
posed to illuminate, drifting in a wistful, wishful direction.

  “That!” Willum’s stool overturned as he scrambled to reach her side. “That! That! That!”

  She snapped upright, nearly dropping the stone.

  He clapped his hands around hers, eyes wide. “Gently with this one, Fira. We have never seen its like and may never again.”

  “Sorry.” Fira grumbled, “You startled me.”

  The pale blue crystal was quite large and normally served as one of Glintrubble’s ward stones. He’d borrowed it from the boundary in order to help her grasp the basics of barrier formation.

  “You had it for a moment,” said Willum. “What were you thinking about just then?”

  “Nothing.” She could feel her cheeks warming. Pushing the stone toward the center of the table, she asked, “Why do I have to do this, anyhow? I thought Lufu is the one you want for an anchor. The stones like her, and she makes them happy. Train her.”

  Willum knelt by her chair. “Lufu is brilliant, and we need her strength. The whole cooperative’s safety may one day depend on her. But I need you, too.”

  Fira wasn’t in the mood to make this easy on him. She silently held his gaze, daring him to convince her.

  He pulled at his ever-wild hair with both hands, then waved them around. “Lufu is power, which is lovely and good. But you can unlock that power. Shape it. Use it.”

  “Like when the dragon attacked.”

  Willum nodded. “Lufu attracts trouble, but she also lends strength to her defenders—Thunderhoofs and Duntuffets. And Trisk. Have you seen him with his swords?”

  “No.”

  “Dwennon wants him to join the cooperative. Adding a predatory clan would give us an edge, especially now.”

  “Because Lufu and I are endangering you.”

  Willum poked her shoulder. “You and Lufu are also the best incentive the Brunwingers have to stay.”

  “A good outcome?” she asked softly.

  His expression shifted, then slowly closed. “Will you tell me what you were thinking about just now … or rather, whom?”