Citrine stilled. Grift was often right, and when she took his advice she felt better. Throwing her arms around his neck, she nestled her head in his fur. He was warm, and his purr of contentment vibrated around her. The dark sense of foreboding melted. She crossed her legs on the rocky top of the cave and opened her palms to the sky. A gentle wind stirred the snow into simple patterns, brushing snow clumps off the heavy-laden pine trees. Citrine’s fur fell off one shoulder, and the wind danced through her loose hair like fingers giving her a loving caress. Her face grew ruddy with cold, but a slow buildup of contentment bubbled in her heart.
Closing her eyes, she took one deep breath after the other, using the smell of pine to calm herself. No grandiose clarity struck her, but as she meditated, a calmness dissolved her anxiety.
“Citrine.” A deep male voice startled her out of her reverie.
She looked down at Lord Nodin. He stood just beyond the mouth of the cave in a brown fur that brushed the snow-covered ground. His dark brown hair fell to his shoulders, and the wind tousled it like a playful child. His amber eyes examined her bare shoulder and catalogued the way her feet were tucked under her.
Feeling exposed, Citrine rose and yanked her furs around herself. The sensation of calm evaporated like melted snow, and a distinct unfriendliness edged her tone. “You are up early.”
Lord Nodin’s expression did not change. “It is first light. I was able to connect with my friends—the Xctas—they are waiting for us in the clearing ahead.”
Citrine shrugged.
Lord Nodin continued to examine her. “They said there was a disturbance in the air. A great golden beast flew by, but not one of their kind.”
Citrine’s gaze fell to where Grift had been minutes before. Lost in her thoughts, she had not noticed when he’d left. “I see.”
“Be alert,” Lord Nodin warned. “The Therian have many enemies.”
Citrine shuddered, and the foreboding sensation returned, like a black cloud resting heavily on her shoulders.
She walked down the slope, intending to return from the cave, but Lord Nodin’s hand snaked out and caught her wrist. She jerked to a stop, and a tingling sensation went down her back. A warning? Desire? He stepped closer, and she did not—could not—move or react to his proximity. Instead, she inhaled. He smelled like the wild woods, and a sudden pang of longing for a garden struck her so deep she almost leaned into his arms.
“Citrine. A word.” Their eyes met. Amber and lemon-yellow. “I know you collect wild beasts, but tell them not to tread here. It is too dangerous.”
Her voice came out low and throaty. “Only I tell my beasts where they can or cannot tread.”
“Consider yourself warned.”
But he did not let go, only stared at her as though issuing a silent challenge. Who was Lord Nodin? A shifter and yet a Therian ruler? What did he really want with her? For she sensed something deeper there.
His eyes changed for the briefest moment, and she saw something raw and wild in his gaze. Something that frightened her. He cocked his head, and his hand caressed her cheek; his fingertips were rough. “You’re like one of them, aren’t you? A wild beast who won’t be tamed. What would it take to break you?”
She flinched away, unnerved at the way his eyes bored into hers. Quick as a flash, she raised her palm and slapped him across the cheek. The sound rang out like a crack of thunder. Vicious words came to her lips and died as Lord Nodin chuckled, a hand going to his face to ease the sting.
Citrine spun on her heel. Her heart beat strangely in her chest as she crept back into the cave.
A tundra met them as they trudged uphill to a clearing where feathered creatures awaited them. Citrine studied them, and a thrill went through her. There were five winged birds—Lord Nodin’s friends, as he called them—with white and gold feathers and curved beaks. Their eyes were sharp and beady and peered at her as though they could read her mind, but when she opened her thoughts to hear what they said, there was nothing. A second thought crossed her mind. If she could not hear their thoughts, they were not beasts but mortals. A sudden discomfort niggled at her. How could she ride a mortal with her body pressed against its feathers? Did Lord Nodin know this and persist? Her eyes drifted to him, but he was speaking to the beasts, who acknowledged him without words.
Citrine glanced at their curved talons, sharp enough to rip the flesh of her body from core to core. They were shrewd, powerful, and she would not want to be on the wrong side of those beasts. Their wings spanned well over twelve feet, and their forms towered above her. Citrine shrugged off her pack, eager to be off, but her book of spells was heavy and she wasn’t sure she trusted it to do well in flight. She considered calling her beasts. Grift could fly her, or even Ava. She trusted them much more than the Xctas called by the Therian.
“Mount up,” Lord Nodin called, strolling to Zilpha’s side. “We will reach Stronghold before sundown.” He spread his long fingers around Zilpha’s waist and helped her up on the back of one of the Xctas. He stayed with her a moment, showing her where to put her hands.
Citrine watched them, and a bitter laugh rose on her lips. Her eyes shifted to Tor Lir and Hava, who had already mounted up and were grinning at each other over golden feathers as though they shared a grand secret. Tor Lir’s words of last night rang through Citrine’s mind. She scowled, stepped over to the Xctas, and gracefully swung up on its back.
You’re the Enchantress?
The words filtered through her mind so quickly she started and almost fell off. She wasn’t used to new creatures talking to her, much less a creature she was riding. Err. . . Yes. I thought you were Therian. Your minds are so quiet.
A low rumbling came to her as though the Xctas were laughing. We were forewarned to keep our minds still around you. You have the ability to read our thoughts and communicate with us in a way the Therian never can. It is a rarity, and I am honored to carry you.
Citrine breathed a sigh of relief. But before she could say another word, the bird spread its great wings. They blasted into the air with powerful strokes that made her hair stand on end. The frosty air gusted past her so quickly her breath was lost and her stomach flipped. A grin came to her lips as the wings beat the air again and again. They soared up into the blue skies. Dark thoughts drifted away as snowflakes peppered her face. Her hands went numb. She burrowed them deeper into the warm feathers, but it did not matter, for her love of flying overcame all.
7
Arrows
Wind whipped tears out of Citrine’s eyes. Ignoring the wind, she struggled to see, eager to catch the first glance of Stronghold. Curious thoughts filled her mind. She pushed them to the Xctas. Do you have a name? Do you enjoy living here? Do you fly back and forth often? What are the Therian like?
A low rumble came from the Xctas. You have many questions. It would spoil Lord Nodin’s surprise if I answered them all.
Citrine stiffened. What surprise?
I jest. The rumble came again, and the Xctas curved to the side to fly above the others. I am called Redtail, but names are more important for mortals than for my kind. I prefer to make my home in the heights. Once my debt is fulfilled, I will go there. Nodin is a kind master and only calls when he is in desperate need. My kind have always been loyal to the royal line of the Therian. After their restoration by the Rulers of the West, I see no reason not to continue. The food is always plentiful, and they offer shelter through the storms and fight our enemies with us.
Enemies. Citrine blinked quickly. What enemies do you have up here? Aside from the wolves? What other troubles do you have?
The Therian and the Ezincks—known as the Tribe of Minas—made peace, but they are not the only kind who dwell in the mountains. Have you heard the tale of the Rulers of the West and how they restored Stronghold to the Therian?
Ah. During the war?
Aye. Wild clans rise from time to time—the outcast, the banished, the leaderless. Occasionally, they unite under one flag and ride against the Th
erian and the Tribe of Minas, but as long as the Therian hold Stronghold, they have an advantage. Until they began to transform into feral beasts. That’s why you’re here. Isn’t it?
Citrine sucked on her cheek. Lord Nodin believes myself and my companion, Tor Lir, can discover why the Therian are transforming into wild beasts and losing their mortality. If she were to be honest with herself, she had not thought through the plan she and Tor Lir should have come up with. Now they were approaching Stronghold, she needed to think about a solution to the Therian’s problem and discuss with Tor Lir. A craving wormed its way up her belly. Tor Lir had promised she could look at the Clyear when they arrived, something that had long been denied her. Surely the Clyear of Revelation had the answers for how she was to save not only the Therian but also the Udi.
The Therian have a temporary solution, although I doubt it will hold. Redtail’s thoughts grew distant and then silent.
Citrine recognized he was shutting her off from his thoughts, but she did not mind. He’d given her enough information to mull over. A gust of wind made her bright hair fly straight back, and she untucked one hand from the warm feathers to pull her fur closer.
Below, she saw fir trees, wrapped in green and white. They dotted the mountain slope, some scattered and others tightly knitted together as though they kept their trunks hidden from the cold. Citrine imagined animals lived in those clumped clusters. Hints of pine hung in the air, rich and sharp. Citrine wished she could dismount for a moment, pull out her book of spells, and paint the air with words. She gasped. Book of spells. Of course. If she had the right ingredients, she could concoct a spell to cleanse the Therian. Whatever they did, it must have been evil for them to turn from mortals into monsters. Once she arrived at Stronghold, she would cleanse it and use the Clyear of Revelation to figure out what to do next. Excitement made her fingers tremble, and a satisfied smile came to her lips. She recited the herbs she needed—cedar, rosemary, lavender, resins—hoping she’d packed enough, for there was nowhere to gather herbs in the white tundra.
A range of icy cliffs rose, and the Xctas banked sharply, heading straight toward them. Citrine thought she saw something silver wink in the air. Brushing hair back from her face, she strained her eyes. Was it Stronghold? The fortress made of ice built into the mountainside? It was past midday; they had to be close.
The silver light flashed again, and a shout echoed across the peaks. Citrine squinted as sunlight made everything glitter, and then a hiss invaded her thoughts. Citrine. They will kill you.
Ava! she breathed, almost laughing. You frightened me. What are you talking about?
The arrows, Ava’s disgruntled hiss came again.
Citrine sat ramrod straight and stared down, past the cliffs where the land met again. Dread crept up her shoulders. Ava. If there are arrows, get out of here. Warn the others.
Before Citrine could think or say anything else, a volley of arrows hurled from the sky. Involuntarily she ducked and flung up her hands to protect her face. “Redtail. Watch out,” she shouted.
Redtail spun out of the way and began to climb, leaving the others behind. Citrine uncovered her face. Arrows zipped by, making a sharp whistling sound. They were beyond the cliffs now, and a patch of snow and evergreen trees appeared.
“Tor Lir!”
She heard Hava’s desperate shout and turned in time to see an arrow sink through the Xctas Tor Lir flew on. The bird wheeled, and a fountain of red covered its chest. One second it was in the air, the next it dropped like a stone into a waterfall.
Citrine’s chest climbed into her throat. A sickening feeling consumed her. She wrapped her arms around her middle and shivered as the Xctas struck the cliffs and fell over them. A fur-covered figure landed just shy of the cliffs. Tor Lir. Was he still alive?
A muffled cry came from the air. She clasped her hands over her lips. Thoughts flew to her beasts, but she knew they were safe and—she hoped—far away from the Therian. More arrows filled the air. Nodin shouted directions, and then a jumble of voices filled Citrine’s thoughts. Fears collided as the Xctas lost control of their thoughts and soared higher, desperate to get away from the arrows. The air grew thin, a single drop of blood fell from Citrine’s nose. Swallowing hard, she willed herself to focus and stay in the present. If she fell apart, she couldn’t help, but she also couldn’t see their assailants. Squaring her shoulders, she peered down, certain they were beyond the reach of arrows. Wind roared through her ears, and she saw tiny spots below her. Another Xctas had been hit and sank into the ground, sending a fountain of ice and snow into the air.
Citrine’s breath caught, and a frenzy of thoughts echoed through her mind. She pushed them away just as an arrow sliced through one of Redtail’s wings and they fell.
8
Defiance
Tor Lir gasped in the snowdrift, and a rasping breath burst out of his chest. He coughed but otherwise lay still, grateful the snow had cushioned his fall. He closed his eyes and used his power to examine his body, connecting to the soft tissue and hard bones and ensuring everything was working as it should. He moved the blood around in his body, forcing the bruises to fade away until he was one and whole.
It was a while before he opened his eyes and sat up, satisfied he had healed himself sufficiently. Flexing his fingers one by one, he stood gingerly to his feet and glanced away. Whiteness shimmered under the pale reach of the faded sun and the glare of the Green Light, making him blink. He turned in a slow circle, noting the trees on one side of him and a steep embankment on the other, pointing downhill. He shuddered to think how hard it would have been to heal himself if he’d tumbled all the way down the cliff. His bow and arrows were gone, and his pack had fallen off his back at some point, likely over the edge of the cliff.
A slight wind stirred, and Tor Lir sighed at his bleak surroundings. He was lost in the Cascade Mountains, so one direction was as good as any. A high point would be best, for he still held the Clyear of Revelation, and it was likely that Lord Nodin—if he survived—would send a search party to lead him back to Stronghold. If evening fell without a retrieval, he would need to find shelter, and the scattering of trees in the distance looked comforting. Glancing toward them again, he saw something move.
Tor Lir narrowed his eyes, forcing his penetrating gaze across the glittering snow to make out the shape. It moved again, a small shape low to the ground, flickering back and forth. A smile came to his lips, and for a moment he thought it was one of Citrine’s beasts, coming to rescue him. It would be like her. As he strode through the snow, his boots sinking deep, a lightness swelled through his chest. His fingertips tingled, and when he looked down, his feet rose to walk above the snow. A sigh of pleasure came from his lips, and he squared his shoulders. Yet another revelation of his uncanny power. When he looked at his fingertips, there was a slight shimmer of green, and a vision of his shadow, dark and evil, made him shudder.
He looked up. The creature on the edge of the clearing was a lone fox. He squinted, for the brilliance of the snow made it hard to see with the light, but he could have sworn the fox was staring at him. As he neared, he saw the creature clearly. It was slightly smaller than a fox, with a white pelt, delicate paws with neat, curved claws Triangle-shaped ears pointed straight up and the insides were pink. The heart-shaped face of the fox dipped, and the black nose quivered at him.
Tor Lir tilted his head to the side as the fox pawed the ground and swished its bushy tail as though dusting away its footprints in the snow. It was the eyes—perfectly round and swimming with an intelligent darkness—that captivated him. The white fox pawed the ground once more, then trotted off. It wanted him to follow it.
Tor Lir hesitated just a moment, but there was nothing for him in the snowbank, and he had a sinking feeling it did not matter where he went. Maybe the fox was one of the Therian and would lead him to Stronghold. He turned his back on where he’d fallen and followed the creature.
Slender trees rose out of the ground, offering slight shade
from the falling snow. They wound their way through them and farther ahead were massive gnarled pine trees as old as the foundation of the world, their green branches heavy with snow. A soft sound came to his ears, and after a moment he realized it was snow sliding off the tree branches and pooling on the ground, adding drift to drift. The fox trotted up a hill, ears pricked, and paused, turning back to look at him.
When the ice-blue eyes met his, he knew she was a female. Briefly his thoughts flickered back to his first encounter with the Boundary Line Forest and the thin waif he had followed. She worked for the Master of the Forest but ended up helping him. He wondered if the fox was the same. Who would she be when she transformed? Would she speak to him?
The air was chill, and steam drifted from his mouth, so thick he thought it would turn into a snowflake and fall to the ground. Gray clouds rolled in front of the sun and at some point, it began to snow. Lazy, fat snowflakes drifted back and forth in the slight wind, in no hurry to reach the ground, their final resting place. A shiver shook Tor Lir’s body. He wrapped his arms together despite the warm fur that covered his body. He needed shelter soon.
The fox came to a space between two pine trees and paused. Her tail swished, and she peeked over her shoulder, eyeing him. Tor Lir had the distinct feeling he was being invited into a sacred place where she did not lightly bring visitors. But curiosity overrode his trepidation. He stepped through the invisible door, and the chill melted away.
Thick pine needles rose above him like a canopy of green with brown walls, the trunks of trees, but somehow not trees. He blinked. A delightful feeling came over him. Was he in an enchanted wood? He held out his blue fingers as though the warmth were a fire and took in his surroundings. In the center of the clearing was a bed of moss at waist-height. A fur cloak rested on it, and below it were bundles, perhaps food for the night.
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