Lupine [Moon Child Series Book 2]

by Candy Nicks

  "With us? Naima, I have to do this alone. I probably won't be human most of the time."

  "Hush,” she said, “You'll never be alone again. Not while I live, anyway. Now get some rest. I'm going to see Father."

  He kissed her with the desperation of someone who knows it might be the last time. Long and deep, clinging to her arms as he gave her his final message.

  She touched his hair, the smooth beads and heard their familiar clack, one against the other, when he moved. Rethreading them was a devil of a job when the hair needed washing, but they gave him an identity beyond the mark of a tribe. They were a statement of his humanity.

  He in turn ran his fingertips over her face with the light touch of a sculptor committing a form to memory.

  His forced smile didn't fool her. Neither did his casual, see you later.

  "The door's unlocked,” she said giving him permission to go. If she couldn't stop him, she'd do the next best thing. Tell her father everything and do what they must to ensure Finn's safety. With his father in the mix, that became more important than ever.

  Stopping to catch her breath at the bottom of the slope, she came face to face with Lia. Her friend held a tray bearing two mugs and a plate full of bread wedges spread with thick yellow butter. She looked ready for a good long gossip.

  "What's the rush?” Lia said with a laugh. “Naima, I know you have a new boyfriend, but I hardly ever see you these days. We must get together for a long talk. Are you free tonight?"

  "Lia.” Naima's brain scrabbled for a polite brush-off. “I promised I'd sit with Carine tonight. Relieve Father a little. Tomorrow, maybe. Oh heavens, the trading fair. I said I'd open the stall today and man it until midday. See you later."

  "Being in love suits you,” Lia said with another laugh. “I haven't given up on Kandar. He's on guard duty this morning and, when I passed, he actually smiled at me and asked me to fetch him food.” She raised the tray. “Berry juice, and our best butter. If this doesn't win him over, nothing will."

  "You haven't..."

  "No, don't worry. Nothing added but pure persistence. I'll wear him down, eventually."

  Naima flashed Lia the good luck sign and waved her friend goodbye, her mind already on the difficult task ahead. What mattered was the greater good. A door had opened and if they didn't go through it would close without them even glimpsing the other side. The Vortex was a time when the fantastic became the possible. When dreams, and sometimes nightmares, came true.

  "Father.” She spotted him at the garden gate, flexing his hands into a pair of leather gloves. “I need...” Bending double, she fought for breath. “I need to talk to you. Now."

  Ancel glanced around in alarm, his hand going automatically to the knife sheathed at his waist. The warrior immediately coming to the fore. “What's happened?"

  She held up her palms. “Everyone's safe, don't worry. I need to tell you something you should have known years ago. Carine will probably hate me for this, but I think you need to know how she secured your release."

  "What?” Ancel frowned, as if backtracking in his mind. Grabbing her arm, he steered her to a garden bench and pressed her down. When she looked up at him, his expression of sheer terror made her heart ache. He looked as vulnerable as Sol.

  "Sit with me,” she said. “And please try not to shout, or be too angry with Carine. The sacrifice she made only reflects her love for you."

  "Sacrifice?” Ancel croaked, and sat heavily on the bench, his bunched fists straining against the constraints of the gloves. “I've always known there was something. She would never tell me the details. What did she do?"

  "It's part of a far larger story. Carine couldn't have acted in any other way. Father, I need your help. Please listen with an open mind."

  The warrior, whose focus in battle was legendary, trembled in the face of her revelation. “Start talking,” he said quietly, his whole body tight as a pulled-back bow. “I'm listening."

  * * * *

  Naima wouldn't be surprised to find him gone. Disappointed, perhaps. He'd repeated the incantation, fixing the words in his mind and now his wolf stood on a high ridge, keen eyes trained on the distant horizon, the scent of a thousand possibilities in its nostrils. Sacred places were like magnets and the Lupine, the iron, pulled by an irresistible force. Part of the Great Fire burned as a single flame within him; his to command. Choose the right spot and it would burn hotter than the sun and, if things went according to plan, open a portal to the resting place of the Stones.

  It must be done now. Time's chariot was bearing down, snatching away the moments between him and his goal. No doubt, the Goddess had a wager riding on the chances of his success. The wolf grinned. It could almost hear her turning the sand-clock, the grains falling through the gap one at a time.

  He should have killed the man Finn called Father.

  "No more killing.” Finn pushed back the wolf and reached for the bundle of clothes it had been carrying. His father—the thorn forever embedded in his flesh. A reminder from the Goddess to never fall into complacency. Far below him, the Settlement looked small and insignificant. The infirmary holding his hated father reduced to something he could cover with his thumb-nail. A glimpse of the bigger picture put everyday worries into perspective.

  They were a mere speck upon this world, and this particular speck was already tiring and heaving painful breaths into his barely-healed lungs. Travelling as a wolf covered greater ground but took more energy than he had to supply. He felt the Goddess helping—to a point. There was no sport in making this too easy for him.

  Since he'd brought no food, he would need to hunt and eat as a wolf. The beast would also better tolerate the chill of the night air. Already it had scented its wild cousins, heard the soft pad of their footfall as they followed.

  Naked, Finn stretched his arms wide and let the wind lift his hair and cool his hot body. How easy it would be to become the wolf and let go of the man. To live a simple life of hunting, mating and sleeping, here in the sanctuary of the mountains. Shivering as he cooled, he reached for his clothes. Once, he might have been tempted. Now, he had Naima.

  The sound of waves crashing on a rocky outcrop caught his attention. The wolf had appeared to know the destination. Now, the choice was becoming less clear. Did more than one sacred place exist?

  Instinct told him to seek a place where opposing forces met. The Great Ocean battering at the steep cliffs of the impenetrable mountains. The mountains in turn reaching up to touch the endless sky. He'd seen how delicate flakes of snow could muffle a whole landscape into silence. Throughout the ages, the battle for dominance raged and the balance of power shifted.

  From the Collective Memory, Finn learned that the mountains had once been entombed by ice. Centuries of silence had ended when the growing radiance of the expanding sun had released them from the frigid eon-long winter. Now they stood proud and confident, pulsing with positive energy.

  Finn raised his face to the place where rock met sky and concentrated his senses. Sometimes he understood why he lacked physical sight. What man saw with his eyes was mostly an illusion masking the real world lurking beneath the façade. With his finely tuned senses, Finn experienced the world as a living, breathing thing—one of which he was a part rather than one which served him. Locked in his cage, he'd only glimpsed its power. Now it filled him and called him.

  Somewhere up there was a place scorched by recent lightning. For his wolf one, perhaps two day's climb. Rest first and, when recharged, let the wolf climb. For now, it had dominance. Finn prayed that when he'd completed this task, it would relinquish that dominance without too much of a fight.

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  Chapter 17

  The old man hitched the blast-gun over his shoulder and stared wide-eyed at the injured patient. Finn's face, bearded and a good thirty summers older, stared impassively back.

  "Egray,” the patient said, his tone mocking. “If it is you, I must be dead."

  The old man s
tiffened his spine, a spark of defiance in his eyes. “I survived the attack,” he replied. “And these many years I have done penance for my eternal soul."

  "You no longer call me master?” The patient raised his eyebrows. “After all I did for you?"

  "I'm a free man now. This Settlement is my home, these people, my people.” He backed away, motioning to his terrified wife, who stood behind him bearing a tray of food. “By the Gods, the man in the hut is your son? I knew I'd seen him before."

  The patient gave a cold smile and rattled the shackle holding him to the bed. “He favours me rather than his mother in more ways than one. Egray, I need you to unchain me. We must take Finn back for his own good. You do understand why."

  The old man raised a stubborn chin and let the blast-gun slide down his arm. Catching it deftly, he threw the charge catch. A low whine filled the room. “I have a good thing going here and I won't let anyone spoil it for me. I'm not going to the Pit for you."

  "What will you do? Murder me in cold blood? Wipe out all the penance with one foolish action? Think. All I need is someone to unchain me. Nothing more. You owe me this."

  "And if I don't?"

  "Then you must either kill me or I tell the leader here about your past. I can't imagine he, of all people, would tolerate an ex-slaver in his midst."

  "I was just a servant obeying orders."

  "And you didn't enjoy the maiming and the killing? The rape?"

  The old woman turned a frightened gaze to her husband. His finger twitched on the trigger button. “Pick the lesser of the evils,” she urged. “Do as he says. What does it matter to us if the boy is taken?"

  "The last time I saw the lad, he was ten summers old. How do we know it's the same person?"

  She gestured impatiently to the bed. “Look at his face, and tell me the two are not related. Please, I like it here. Unchain him."

  Obligingly, the patient lifted his manacled hand. “Your wife has a wise head on her shoulders. Make sure she keeps it. I will soon be in possession of something more valuable than the Lupine itself. Come back with me and share the profit."

  The old man's face registered surprise followed by disgust. “So he did grow into his gift? I can only imagine what his existence has been like, you bastard. I don't trade human life any more. You can burn in Hell's fire. I'm not going with you."

  "As your wife said.” The patient paused for dramatic effect, his unnaturally white teeth framed by his curled-back lips. “You have a choice of two evils. Which will it be?"

  "Bastard!” The whine of the gun increased in pitch and the old man squeezed closed his eyes. No one breathed. Abruptly, the room fell silent as his thumb flicked the charge catch to idle.

  "Key's on the hook outside the door.” He shouldered his wife roughly from the room causing a metal plate to fall from the tray to the wooden floor. He watched it spin until the momentum died down, rivers of sauce flowing into the cracks in the floorboards. “If you breathe a word of this,” he said grabbing the key from his wife's hand. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it to his former master.

  "Check my coat,” the injured man said. “I had warrants for Finn's capture."

  Cursing, the old man rifled through the pockets of the coat strewn on a nearby chair, ignoring the grate of the key turning the manacle lock. “Nothing,” he said.

  "Damnation, I knew it.” The injured man sat up, clutching at his shoulder. He composed himself with a deep breath and swung his bare legs over the edge of the bed. “Plan B it is, then.” With a blur of movement, he lunged and grabbed at the barrel of the blast-gun, twisting it deftly from the old man's hands. “I'll have need of this, if you don't mind.” He flicked a casual glance to the gauge, nodding with satisfaction at the bright charge-light. “Now hold still while I make this look authentic."

  "Don't kill him!"

  "Be quiet, you stupid woman. I'm just going to lay him out. Divert suspicion, as it were. Shall I do you too, or do you want to be the one to find him?” His fist flashed forwards and back. The old man crumpled silently to the floor.

  "Don't hurt me,” the old woman whimpered before joining her husband on the pine-wood planks of the hospital floor.

  * * * *

  "Father looked so upset."

  Brynn blocked Naima's attempts to follow Ancel into the house, instead nudging her towards the gate and out onto the lane. “The children are in school?"

  "Yes, and Tragiria has Ayla.” Naima glanced back at the house. “It's just Father and Carine. Why doesn't he come out? I told him the whole story. What do you think they're doing?"

  "By now?” Brynn raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?"

  She returned him a wan smile. “I just need to hear them say I did the right thing. I thought he'd jump up and go straight after Finn. He's out there, all alone. He needs us."

  "Finn's gone? When?"

  "Probably as soon as I left him. It's all right. This is how it's supposed to be. The story is a lot more complicated than we know. It doesn't mean we can't help him."

  "Why choose now to tell Ancel Carine's secret? I would have gone with Finn. Protected him. Ancel need never have known."

  "Thank you, Brynn. I owed it to Father. Carine keeps secrets from him. I don't want to do the same. Finn's story and Carine's are too tightly interwoven to be separate.” She turned away, miserable to the core. “I suppose I've lost her friendship forever."

  "If you think that, you don't know Carine. She'll be more concerned for Ancel than herself. I would have helped Finn find the Stones because I love her. Ancel would have carried him there on his own shoulders if he thought it would right the wrong he did Carine."

  "Then here is a chance for Father to redeem his honour. With every moment, Finn will be further away and harder to track. The Stones are valuable. If the wrong people know he has them, it could be the death of him."

  Things were never as straightforward as they first appeared. A wolf's tracks would disappear into the many criss-crossing the mountains behind the Settlement. The plains were vast, the forests inhabited by brigands and wild animals. She berated herself for not finding out more about Finn's destination. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

  "Maybe you just need to trust that Finn will complete the task and come back safely. I can't see Ancel agreeing to you going on any wild chases, whatever happens. Let me and your father go after Finn. You stay here Naima, and look after Carine."

  Brynn laughed so hard at the look she shot him, he nearly choked. “Oh Hell,” he continued, wiping at his eyes. “I thought Carine was stubborn. Odds on she's in there already packing a bag for the journey."

  At least someone had some laughter left in him. Even if it was of the hysterical kind. It didn't bother her. Brynn lived by a code of honour that allowed him to accept people as they were. He'd wanted to make a grand gesture for love and would never deny her the chance to do the same.

  "Father knows I'll just go by myself if he leaves without me. He'd be wise to have me in his protection."

  "He'll have you locked up and take the key with him,” Brynn said flatly. “Be practical. We have Finn's father in the infirmary. Let me go see if I can make him talk. He must know something about this. You wait here?"

  She gave a reluctant nod. Brynn could be very persuasive. Finn's father had Lupine blood. He must be feeling the pull, or perhaps know the location of the Great Fire.

  Naima thought about his comment that they be practical. The children needed shielding from this, especially Sol, who would follow his father to the Pit itself if asked to. She took off in a different direction, to the small house Brynn occupied with his wife and daughter.

  Nowhere nearly as grand as the Faylar house, it was nevertheless a cosy and welcoming home. A place where Brynn and Song had managed to build themselves a life out of the ashes of their pasts.

  Song wiped floury hands on her apron and ushered her inside. “I was just trying out a new recipe for the snack-wagon. Tell me what you think.” She pressed a flaky past
ry confection into Naima's hands. Steaming hot from the oven, it smelled divine and tasted even better.

  "Wonderful,” Naima mumbled around the mouthful and wiped her lips with the back of a hand. “Song, can I ask you something?"

  "Let me guess. You want to borrow Brynn?"

  A pang of guilt hit Naima as she looked around the cluttered kitchen and saw Brynn's leather jacket hanging on a hook at the back of the door, his muddy work boots on the hearth. The bag containing his medi-kit lay on the table. How unfair was it to ask Song to give up her husband to a cause that wasn't hers?

  Song took the iron kettle to the sink and filled it using the hand-pump. “What does Ancel want him for? Extra guard duty for the trading fair?"

  "Finn's disappeared and we need to go find him."

  "Again?” Song raised her eyebrows and took the kettle to the range, making a show of indifference while she lit the fire in the basket below. “He certainly goes a wandering, for a blind man."

  "I wouldn't ask if it weren't serious. Song, would you collect the children from classes today and keep them here for a while? Things are happening, and it's best if they're out of the way for a while."

  "Gladly. Not with Carine, I hope."

  "No, she's improving. I can't say any more."

  Song remained in place, her back to Naima. “Pass me the tea-box,” she said a hint of amusement in her voice. “Although you won't be staying, will you?"

  "I must get back. I'm sorry about Brynn."

  "Naima. Don't be. He's his own man. I've always accepted that. It's the only way this works.” She gave a resigned shrug. “I've always understood his feelings for Carine. It makes me something of a saint, but there you go. He offered me marriage to release me from a life of slavery. And he gave our child a name. He's with me now by choice. It's enough."

  "You should know it is about her."

  "Well, colour me surprised.” Song's eyes shone with threatening tears. Blinking them away, she reached, herself, for the tea-box, flipped open the lid and stared inside. “I knew the deal when we married. He's always been honest about his feelings. He's a good man."