The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  They hadn’t been prepared for the people. On the outskirts of the temporary village, there weren’t many tents, but those who had made camp at the edges were all out in the fading heat of the evening, and their eyes followed Emma as she passed. Most of them looked Egyptian or of similar middle eastern descent, but Emma thought she caught a few sentences in Greek.

  What weirded her out was looking at all the human faces and knowing they were shapechangers. Knowing not just because she knew, but because she could feel it. The air seemed to thrum with an echo of the tension, the electricity that she had grown used to from spending so much time at close quarters with the jaguars and with Fern and Telly — living with them, tuning out the vibration she could feel in her blood whenever they were around. No wonder she was on edge all the time.

  “Do all humans feel this way when they’re around a bunch of shapechangers?” she asked Fern, lowering her voice as they passed a trio of dark haired, pale skinned women who watched Emma with huge, dark eyes and shot Andres wary looks when he glowered at them.

  “What way?” Fern could have just read her mind, but he tended to make the effort to converse with her out loud when they had the luxury of doing so.

  “Like they’ve popped a whole bottle of No-Doze.” Fern laughed. She stared up at him. “You do know what No-Doze is, don’t you?”

  He shook his head, smiling, and lifted the knowledge out of her mind. “I don’t think all humans feel it the way you do,” he said, ducking out of the way as she aimed a punch at his arm for probing her mind.

  I wasn’t probing, the info was right there. His mental voice held laughter the way a big, plush blanket held fluffy warmth, rubbing against the insides of her head. If she’d had a comeback, though, it flew from her mind when they crested a small rise and her eyes lit on the last thing she’d expected to see.

  Children. They couldn’t have been older than seven or eight. They were playing in the shade of a stand of palms with what looked like a linen swing that had been rigged from the trunks of the trees.

  “Emma, what’s wrong?” Fern stood protectively in front of her; she realized she’d stopped. Fern’s black eyes flicked from her to Andres; Andres’s gaze swept the edges of the camp.

  “It’s nothing, it’s okay.” Emma gave Andres a reassuring pat on the arm. “I’ve just never…are they shapechangers?”

  Fern blinked, comprehension dawning. “You’ve never seen children before. Our children.” He shook his head. “Of course.”

  “What do you mean, of course?” Emma frowned at him and started walking again. She’d been startled, but she wasn’t afraid — not of kids.

  “Children are rare for our kind, for all shapechangers. We don’t tend to keep them around our royal strongholds. The sanctuaries, despite the name, are places of violence. Not the best environment for kids. Too precious to be risked.”

  Emma stared. They laughed, leapt, squealed like regular kids, oblivious to the approach of Emma and her entourage.

  “Then what are they doing here?”

  Fern shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Andres leaned in. “Probably their parents had nowhere else to leave them. Safer to keep an eye on them than leave them with people you don’t trust. Some of the races here must come from very small populations.” He looked down at her, amber eyes hooded. “When my mother died, her entire extended family was slaughtered with her. With them gone, my father had no one he could trust to look after me, so I had to hang on his tail whenever he went to work.”

  Holy crap — this was almost more interesting than the shapechanger kiddies. “What did your father do?”

  Andres straightened, gaze far away, but still scanning the edges of the camp. Always a bodyguard. “He was one of Laneshtec’s advisers.”

  “And who was La — damn it.” She tried again. “Laneshtec?”

  “Seshua’s father.”

  Emma’s mind boggled. She couldn’t imagine Seshua having a father, being young enough to have a father. He was such a force unto himself. “So what was your father an adviser, uh, for?”

  Andres looked at her. “Politics. He sat at Laneshtec’s table of advisers when the Spanish took Tenochtitlan. Mexico City,” he clarified for her.

  Emma blinked. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Andres didn’t answer. “But that makes you, like, five hundred years old.” Not to mention it made Seshua at least that old, if not more. Which was just flat impossible to think about. Absurd, Bizarre. Somehow worse than knowing that Telly probably dated back to the dawn of humanity — at least that was too big a number to even contemplate, but having historical landmarks to compare to the age of someone who looked like they were a fit and healthy thirty, that was just too much.

  “Hey,” she said. “Did you grow up with Seshua?”

  He met her intense gaze, and the corner of his wide mouth quirked like he was trying not to smile. “No.”

  She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. Emma would have pushed him, but her attention wandered back to the squealing children — and one of them disappeared in a small, faint pulse of white light.

  “Holy —” Emma bit the rest off. It was a little cheetah! The fluffy, gangly cub leapt at one of its human-bodied friends, and it seemed to trigger a chain reaction: the rest of the kids went up in their own miniature flashes. Emma counted three cheetahs, something that might have been a hyena, and a small tawny cat with big round ears that Emma didn’t recognize. Maybe if it wasn’t so small and fuzzy, she’d be able to identify it.

  Before Emma had a chance to close her mouth, a woman stepped out of a nearby tent, smiling with that tired, indulgent look of a mother, deep laugh lines creasing her blue-black skin. Then she saw Emma and freaked out. She picked up her linen skirts and streaked across the grass to the furry kids, hissing reprimands in a fast, consonant-heavy language, cascading brown curls flying out behind her. The small cat — kitten — got hoisted by the scruff of its neck and swung from the woman’s hand making angry mewling sounds as the rest of the children — cubs, whatever — all flashed back and started chattering as they were herded into the tent.

  The woman shot a wide eyed look over her shoulder at Emma before she lifted the pit bull sized kitten in her arms, said something stern to it, and then tossed it in after its friends. Then she turned to stand with her hands on her hips as Emma let the maidens lead her down the small grassy slope that the children had been playing on. Their swing flapped in the late afternoon breeze, abandoned.

  A hush fell over them. Fern made a soft sound. Emma swore he’d almost snorted with laughter.

  “It’s not funny,” she said quietly. “She seems really unnerved by us.”

  “Merely protective,” said Andres.

  The woman moved away from the shade of her tent, approaching them.

  The maidens stiffened, fanning out in a line. Fern hung back; Andres put his body half in front of Emma.

  “Guys, relax,” she hissed. “It’s just —” well, it wasn’t just a woman. “Fine.”

  The woman drew near, eyes wide. She tossed her stiff mane of curls over one shoulder.

  “I mean no harm and make no demands.” Her voice was deep, accent thick. Her eyes met Andres’s. “But I would greet the caller of the blood, if I may.” Those eyes flicked to Emma.

  “You may,” Andres rumbled.

  The woman took a step forward. “My lady.” She blinked slowly, gracefully. “My name is Rashida. It is good to see you walk among us.”

  Emma didn’t know what to say. She felt stupid, having people treat her like she was some holy object and they were unworthy. She stepped around Andres and came to stand next to Felani, whose eyes never wavered from the woman.

  “You can just call me Emma. Are all the kids yours, or are you just babysitting?”

  Rashida frowned, and then noticed what Emma had noticed: five small faces peering out of the open tent flap. Her eyes flashed.

  “Ai!” She took a menacing step in their direction and then seem
ed to remember that Emma was there. Her gaze flickered from Emma to the children to the ocelot maidens.

  Emma held out a hand. “It’s okay, you don’t have to hide them.” Rashida looked uncertain. Emma turned to Andres. “Is it rude for me to ask if I can meet them?”

  Andres smirked. “Sweetheart, you could ask for her firstborn and it wouldn’t be rude.”

  Emma narrowed her eyes at him as out of the corner of her eye she saw Rashida stiffen. “That is the first and last time you call me sweetheart. Jerk.” She turned her back on him. “I don’t want your firstborn,” Emma told Rashida with a sigh. “Or your second or third or whatever. I’ve just never met any shapechanger kids before.”

  Rashida arched a thin black brow, but called out to the children. A round little girl with skin the same color as Rashida’s burst out of the tent first, giggling and squealing. She managed to meet Emma’s eyes for a moment before the excitement seemed to get too much for her and she disappeared in a little zip of white light — and then the tawny kitten with the huge round ears was weaving in between its mother’s legs.

  “Zara!” Rashida hissed, but she smiled as she did it.

  “She’s beautiful,” said Emma. Rashida nodded absently, as if to say of course she is. Emma hesitated a little before asking what she wanted to ask. “Rashida… What kind of cat are you?”

  She frowned, but the warmth stayed in her eyes. “Serval. Can you not tell?”

  Emma looked at the fuzzy, oversized kitten playing at Rashida’s ankles. “I can’t even remember what an adult serval looks like, let alone recognize a kitten. I know the others are cheetahs. And hyena?”

  Rashida nodded, but she was looking at Emma with a bemused expression. “That’s right. But not what I meant. You cannot sense what we are?”

  Emma’s cheeks flamed. She hadn’t known she was supposed to be able to do that.

  “I’m kind of new at this,” she muttered. Thank God the rest of the kiddies ran out of the tent, changing as they did so, evidently reassured that the big bad caller of the blood wasn’t going to eat them.

  Rashida crouched down, hands held out for them all. They nuzzled and swiped at her, showing off. She looked up at Emma. “Can I offer you a drink?”

  Emma didn’t need Andres’s hand at her back, or Fern’s little mental push, to know that they didn’t have time if they were going to see the horses and get back to camp before the others started worrying.

  “Sorry. That’s very generous of you, but we have to keep going.”

  Rashida nodded and stood. “You have honored us already.” She moved aside so that Andres could usher Emma forward. Emma smiled over her shoulder and waved at the little balls of fur rolling around in the dusty grass.

  “Red lady,” Rashida called. Emma stopped. “Many expect that you will grace them with an audience.” She spoke slowly, wary, as if she expected Andres to stride over and knock her down for speaking out of turn.

  “Is that what you’ve been led to believe?” Emma didn’t call out; she knew the woman could hear her.

  Rashida nodded, eyes hooded with knowing. “It is what some of us have been led to believe. Some grow restless. I would caution you to go with care. You have blessed my child and my friend’s children with your presence, and I know no other way of thanking you for such a gift.”

  Emma tried not to let her face show how it bothered her that her presence was considered a blessing. So mistaken; they were all so mistaken. “Meeting your children was thanks enough, Rashida.” She turned away before she made a fool of herself.

  Get me to the horses, Fern. I need to spend some time with animals that can’t turn into people.

  Sefu thundered toward her, whickering in greeting, and she could have sworn Andres nearly went into cardiac arrest when the great gray stallion drew up mere inches from Emma, dancing onto his hind legs, pawing the air with his front hooves. None of the other horses were interested in them, but Sefu made enough fuss for them all.

  He put his long muzzle above Emma’s head and brayed, snorting and shaking gooey green grass flecks all over her.

  “Yuck.” Fern looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or gag. Emma picked bits of half-chewed grass out of her freshly washed hair and gave the stallion a grudging scratch on the neck.

  “Yeah, well, you shapechangers aren’t exactly all roses, either. Do you know how much cat hair I find on my clothes these days?”

  “I resent that,” said Andres, but not like he meant it.

  “Don’t feel too bad,” Emma said. “Most of it’s ocelot.” That earned her a rude face from Felani, who was better than the other maidens were at looking human. Rish just glared; Mata and Tarissa wore identical expressions of blank interest. None of the maidens seemed enamored of the horses, but then, if Emma were only four feet high, maybe she wouldn’t be either.

  At least something about this trip didn’t suck, she thought, running her hands through Sefu’s thick, iron gray mane. The stallion blinked black fringed eyes at her, arching his neck so she could scratch between his ears.

  You’ll miss them, won’t you? Fern turned away from the mare he was trying to coax with a fistful of grass to watch Emma get pushed around by Sefu.

  Her eyes hardened when she looked at him, and she knew it wasn’t pretty, but her thoughts were only echoing his. She put a hand on Sefu’s velvety nose, inhaled the grassy, sweaty scent of horse. So long as I’m alive to be capable of missing them, I’ll be happy.

  Fern nodded. So will I.

  30

  The sun was sinking below the desert horizon like a great bloodied orb by the time the jackal guards managed to get Emma and her entourage past the gates to the courtyard that led to the palace.

  The crowd beyond the high walls roared its fury to the darkening sky; Emma heard sharper screams as the jackals fought their way out and struggled, sweating and stony faced, to shut the huge gates. At least half the guards had thrown off their clothes and changed when the mob gathered outside had surged. They changed back mid stride, throwing their weight into the stone slabs to shove them closed.

  Emma just stood for a moment, catching her breath, leaning against Fern in the cool, empty shadows of the courtyard. It was vast, at least one hundred and fifty feet wide, the walls lined with decorated pillars — five each to the left and right of the entrance gate, and eleven each side leading up to the second gate. They seemed to tower at least thirty or forty feet, and they supported the porchlike projection of the lip of the palace wall. Directly opposite the first entrance gate, the second loomed across the expanse of courtyard, three flaring pillars each side — higher even than the others — supporting the stone facade. Sentinel statues — the hawk and the ram — sat in the darkness beneath the pillared canopy.

  The courtyard was utterly deserted.

  “I’d expected a little more fanfare,” said Red Sun, coming to stand by Emma. He grunted, scratched his face with his blunt fingers. Sweat gleamed on his brow; he was wearing a heavy leather jacket with one tailored left shoulder, padded but without the useless sleeve. It was hot, but he hadn’t taken it off.

  She was getting used to the effect his proximity had on her, so she could almost ignore it. His dark eyes were narrow as he looked around.

  “This place is dead.” His gravelly voice was hushed. Emma got the feeling he meant that comment in more ways than one. She felt it, too — the staleness of disuse. It didn’t smell right.

  Telly stalked past, clapped Red on the back, face grave. “Ungrateful bastards. Gathered here because of her, yet you’d think they were trying to tear her apart.” He looked at Emma. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

  Emma wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for the crowd, or for talking about her as though she wasn’t there. “No problem. We’re past them now.”

  With worse to come, sent Fern, squeezing her elbow.

  Thanks a bunch. She tried for sarcasm, but her mental voice just felt scared.

  We just stick to the plan and let everyone els
e take care of this, okay?

  Emma turned and looked up into his face. Right. Stay out of the way, do as we’re told, let the big boys do the dirty work.

  Anguish softened his button-black eyes. There’s nothing else we can do. You know the chances of finding the serpent priest now are slim, we just don’t have enough time, but if we don’t do this then we ruin any chance we might still have. Even if you could come up with a better plan, there’s no time.

  She looked away from him. There has to be a better way to do this . God, what a stupid moment to start second guessing the battle plan.

  Maybe there is, but we don’t know it. All we can do is give it a shot, and get you the hell out if it goes ass-up.

  Emma frowned. The way he worded that didn’t thrill her much. Do you know something I don’t?

  He withdrew from her mind. She leveled an incredulous stare at him, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. She couldn’t believe he would lie to her — he worked so hard to earn her trust — so either he was working up the guts to tell her, or waiting for her to demand he do so. She preferred the former.

  The jackals proceeded to herd Emma and the others toward the end of the courtyard, the intimidating pitch black rectangular opening between the pillars gaping like a sinister mouth. Or maybe that was just Emma’s nerves talking. The entrance to the hall beyond was open to the air— the doors would come later — but feeble twilight couldn’t show them the way. The jackals lit torches, the light on the walls illuminating hieroglyphics, complicated friezes. It revealed two more rows on each side of pillars, all of them brightly painted, all with lifesize bas-relief carvings of the big, blocky sarcophagi that Emma recognized from museums and movies, like sentinels along the path through the palace. The scent of dust and mold cloyed at her sinuses. There was something sweeter beneath it, sickly, like decaying fruit. The jackal king obviously wasn’t big on housekeeping.