The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  They all ate on the move, and everyone but Fern and Red Sun operated on a rotating roster of deviating from Emma’s path only long enough to fetch more water. They hiked for thirteen hours and covered more than forty miles. Emma was still climbing when the sun was long gone from the horizon, and they were still following her, beginning to wonder aloud if she would walk all night and if the spell would somehow prevent her from turning an ankle on a rock or walking into a sinkhole, and if they could somehow get her to stop and sleep.

  Then she stopped. Fern, still merged with her, felt her mind go blank. They were all breathing hard, her included, and the harsh sound was the only sound for miles — the mountain forest had fallen silent as a tomb.

  Fern’s hackles rose and he slipped an arm around Emma’s waist. She smelled like a day’s worth of sweat, which was fine, but there was an undertone of magic that Fern didn’t like.

  Fern? Her mental voice, hers, sweet and metallic, like iron and honey, sugar and steel. FERN!

  He caught her as she whipped around, eyes wild and breath drawing in for a scream. “It’s okay, you’re okay!” He put his hands on her shoulders, made her look up at him. “You’re here?”

  She shook her head, then nodded. She looked around. “What happened to me? Are we making camp?” Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the others, all of them exhausted and sweaty and bristling to attention anyway. Suddenly Emma doubled over.

  Fern held her, shielding his growing anxiety like a sonofabitch. Don’t panic, it’s just hunger cramps. You haven’t eaten in almost twenty four hours. “It’s just hunger pains,” he said out loud for the benefit of the rest of them.

  She straightened, really looking at him, and he couldn’t look away. In an instant she noted what he’d known must have happened — he’d lost weight over the course of the day, in spite of eating most of the rest of their rations. Emma gleaned the implications of his thoughts in an instant.

  “Where the fuck are we,” Emma said.

  Red had moved closer to them. His question was for Em, but his gaze roamed the surrounding trees. “Do you know why you stopped?”

  Before she could answer, Ivan’s growl ripped through the night. Everyone dropped their packs and assumed tactical positions faster than it took Fern to blink; Fatima was beside them, and Fern pushed Emma into the middle of the circle that he and Red and the jackal warrior made with their bodies. Leah and Horne and Shadi and Ivan formed a second circle, and Emma’s annoyance at at being the most well protected flared through the merge, hot and almost comforting — it seemed she was still herself.

  Ivan’s growl was a continuous sound, like endlessly ripping paper, and it set Fern’s teeth on edge. He tightened his arms around Emma as the urge to break free of the circle grew in her. Fern doubted she was aware of it yet, but he could feel the shifting tide of her mood, knew she’d throw herself in front of them if it meant protecting them. He wished he could say she was like that because of the power of the Caller of the Blood, making her think she was invincible, but she was just like that. Ricky, the only one who’d known her before, had confirmed as much. And she didn’t think she was invincible. She just didn’t care.

  Stay ready, he spoke in Red’s mind. She’s antsy.

  Red grunted, a sound more animal than human. Oh I am. Is she really all right?

  Fern gave a mental shrug. She just lost thirteen hours. We’ll see.

  Emma’s racing heartbeat pounded through Fern, and he let his pulse speed up to match it, knowing if he didn’t her heart would slow to match his, and they needed the adrenalin. There was a change in air pressure. Fatima whined, not a sound of fear but of warning, and it was all the warning they got before an immense hooded figure stepped out from behind a jagged outcrop of rock and spread its hands in the universal gesture for I’m unarmed, don’t shoot the hell out of me.

  Fern could tell almost everyone really wanted to shoot the hell out of whoever — or whatever — it was, armed or no. Anyone that big didn’t need to be armed to be a threat.

  Emma’s anxiety peaked into fear as she sensed the change. Fern? Who’s there?

  Even if she could see past their bodies — which she couldn’t — her night vision still wasn’t great. Don’t know, he sent back with a pulse of reassurance, which she ignored.

  He heard her forceful inhale and her hands tightened on his forearms. “Who the fuck goes there?” she shouted. Fern grinned against her hair and shielded the wave of amusement and love for her that welled up in him. He sensed the admiration of the others as well, a change in the set of their shoulders.

  The stranger’s voice was male, deep and thickly accented. “I am Keti, and I mean you no harm,” he said slowly. His accent was almost Russian, but not quite.

  Fern felt Emma twitch in his arms, wanting to break free. “Well Keti, I’m not very inclined to like you much, given the day I’ve had. I assume it was your spell that dragged me halfway across the mountains.”

  Fern and Red Sun exchanged a quick glance. Emma was definitely back. The stranger’s hood twitched, as though he’d done a subtle double take.

  “The beacon is not my doing,” the stranger called out. “It is a part of these mountains as sure as the rocks and the trees. If you felt it, whoever you are…”

  As the stranger let his words hang, Emma put a hand on Red’s arm, a silent entreaty to let her pass. Red moved over an inch. Fern loosened his hold on her; she had decided to move, and when she did that, there was little point arguing. She angled her body between Red and Fatima, and ended up facing the stranger with Leah and Horne’s free hands outstretched in front of her, forming a barrier more symbolic than anything else. Fern felt Emma do her own double take when she saw the stranger’s size, but she gave no outward sign of shock.

  Instead she kicked her chin up. “If I felt the beacon, then what?”

  Features still hidden beneath the hood, the stranger went to one knee and answered. “Then you are the Caller of the Blood.”

  Through the merge, Fern felt Emma suppress the knee-jerk impulse to tell the hooded stranger to get up. The man was a potential enemy; there were more important things to worry about. Besides, even kneeling, the stranger was almost as tall as Emma was.

  “My name is Emmalina Chase,” she said with a sigh. “And yeah, I’m the Caller of the Blood. Who are you?”

  The stranger lifted his head. Slowly reached up and pushed the hood back. Fern, like most shapechangers, wasn’t hardwired to pay special attention to physical features, but he felt Emma’s shock through the bond and saw the stranger through her eyes. This was someone very powerful. And that gave Fern a very, very bad feeling.

  “I am Keti,” the stranger repeated, voice shaking. “And I am High Priest of the Brotherhood of the Caller of the Blood.”

  Emma was so tired she was surprised she had the energy to breathe; her stomach felt like a hollow fist, and there was a sharp pain beneath her navel that suggested her bladder had been full for several hours and wasn’t happy about it. The smell of her own sweat was spectacular, and the inside of her mouth felt like the bottom of a kitty-litter tray. If they’d been on the move for as long as she suspected they had, then it was a miracle her liver was still functional and her legs were still holding her up.

  She was not in the mood for company.

  Especially not the kind of company that was seven feet tall, had black eyes and silver hair, and looked, to borrow a phrase from Red, crazier than a shithouse rat.

  Okay, yes, sure — Keti was also a striking example of multiracial masculine beauty. His eyes were tilted and the inner corners had a slight epicanthic fold; his skin was burnished olive; his nose was thick and hawk-like, and his cheekbones had a high, wide flare of Mongolian ancestry to them. His looks reminded her of that guy from Game of Thrones whose name Em could never remember properly — the barbarian warlord who got killed off. Drago? Whatever — the hot one. Keti’s square jaw was covered in a short beard, black in contrast to the pure silver of his hair.<
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  The hair was long — it fell at least past his shoulders — and would never be mistaken for the white of advanced age. It was a cold, shining fall that reminded Emma more of ice than it did snow. Beautiful and, Emma suspected, the mark of a pureblooded shapechanger of ancient lineage.

  His appearance wasn’t the problem. The way he looked at her was. It was the exact opposite of being undressed by someone’s eyes: as his gaze roved from her hair to her face to her toes, Emma got the distinct impression he was mentally binding her, tying her up and pinning her down.

  She felt like a rabbit in a snare.

  It reminded her of the first time she met Seshua.

  Well, she’d come a long way since then, and Seshua never had much luck binding her besides. Keti didn’t scare her.

  Much.

  “You were at our camp last night,” she said.

  Still on one knee, he inclined his head, hands still by his sides. “I crossed your trail yesterday morning. Yes, I was looking for you,” he said as Emma drew breath to ask. “The beacon marked your presence two days ago.”

  Two days ago, they’d only just arrived in Altai. “If you’ve known about us for two days, why was it just this morning that I woke up with your compulsion in my head?”

  Keti frowned. “It was not compulsion —”

  “It sure as hell was,” Emma cut him off, voice harsh with thirst and disuse. “Now answer my question.”

  Keti’s nostrils flared in irritation. Horne shot Leah a nervous glance and Emma felt the others stir behind her too. No, it was probably not a good idea to piss off Keti the Grand and Mysterious, but Emma figured it was better to get his true motives out in the open while they outnumbered him eight to one. Pissing him off was as good a way of achieving that as any.

  Nice justification there, Fern sent wryly.

  I thought so, she sent back with a pulse of affection for him.

  “I told you plainly,” Keti said, voice heating up. “The beacon is as much a part of these mountains as the rocks and the trees. All the rocks.” He fisted his hands. “All the trees. Not just these mountains,” he indicated with a toss of his head. “All the mountains of Altai.” When they just stared back at him, he gave an incredulous snort. “Your presence sings through the very earth here, for Altai is the birthplace of the Caller of the Blood.”

  Emma pressed a hand to her cramping abdomen; just had to stay upright a little longer. “I was born in Colorado.”

  Keti’s look of perplexity was almost enough to make Emma smile in spite of her failing kidneys. “The first,” he said. “It is the birthplace of the first. ”

  “The first Caller of the Blood?”

  “No,” Red murmured behind her, and she had to clench her fists to stop herself from turning to him, but she didn’t want Keti out of her sight. “Not just the first Caller of the Blood. He means the first children born of the union between gods and mortals. He speaks of myth.”

  “What myth?”

  “You call it myth,” Keti said to Red Sun, “Yet here you are. Do you deny the existence of the Caller of the Blood? I do not know how that is possible. Do you not recognize the one who walks among you, as the earth recognizes her?”

  “Oh, I recognize her,” Red said with a low laugh. “And I never said I didn’t believe the myth. Just not sure I do believe it, either, that’s all.”

  “Well I don’t care who believes what,” Emma said, “Because if I don’t pee, get a drink of water, and have something to eat in that order I think I’m going to fall over and not get back up again. Fatima, Leah.” Without waiting to see if the two female guards were coming, Emma turned, squished between Fern and Red Sun, and headed back into the trees.

  30

  They had come to Altai to find the Brotherhood of the Caller of the Blood and expected to find nothing at all. They’d known what they were doing — heading into the wilderness on a fool’s errand, more because they needed to disappear than because they thought anything would come of it. Kahotep’s father’s information was over a century old; he’d followed his leads to dead ends, and not just because the one person who could save his queen’s life would not be born for another hundred and seventy four years.

  Less than three days in the wilderness, and the Brotherhood had found them.

  In spite of their misgivings, they could do no other than follow Keti deeper into the mountains. They had no more rations — Leah gave Emma the last of them — and the mountain forest was not as good for hunting as the lowlands were, according to Ivan and Fatima, both of whom had done the most roving in beast shape than any of their party. Emma could have survived a day or two more without food, and the rest of them a lot longer — even Shadi — but there seemed little use to it. The Brotherhood was what they’d come for.

  Emma reluctantly submitted to be carried, because it was full dark and she was the only one who couldn’t navigate without light. Again, even Shadi had preternatural abilities in that regard, despite having only human eyes with which to see. So that was how she found herself riding through the mountain wilderness clinging to Ivan’s back, hands on his shoulders and legs wrapped around his narrow waist. She’d refused to be carried in someone’s arms like a child, and Ivan was the only one lean and narrow enough for her to actually get her legs around — he was also one of the most well rested of their group, having spent so much time in wolf shape the past couple of days.

  So Ivan carried her. He’d hooked his arms under her knees to give her a saddle to sit in. His hair held the burnt toast smell of hot fur, and he’d looked super uncomfortable as he’d crouched beside her so she could climb on, but once she was up there he relaxed. Emma got a vague sense through the pledge bond that he liked knowing her body was shielded by his own, and that the feeling surprised him.

  It didn’t surprise Emma, and she certainly didn’t like it. But they had to be able to move through the dark, and her shiny new fangs and superpowers hadn’t come with night vision. They hadn’t come with an inexhaustible supply of energy, either, and she found herself unable to hold her head up off Ivan’s shoulder as they trekked through ever more rugged forest and mountain trails that switched back and forth so many times Emma lost all sense of direction.

  Keti led them; Leah and Horne stayed at his back, while Fern and Red stayed close to Emma and Ivan, and Fatima and Shadi guarded the rear. There was no talk. Not the kind that required breath, anyway.

  What myth were you talking about? Emma asked Red once they settled into a decent pace along the trail Keti broke for them.

  You know our creation story, he said in her head, and nodded when she opened her eyes and searched for his face in the darkness. A wild god that takes the shape of a beast falls in love with a human, they cast a spell with blood magic so they can be together, the human gets a little immortality from the god and the god gets a little mortality from the human, meaning the god can now be killed, given a powerful enough enemy. More or less that’s the story, right? But who was the first species to form such a union? Generally differs according to the species of your storyteller. He winked at her, and she smiled and let her eyes drift closed.

  And their children are the mothers and fathers of the race, he continued. That’s how the creation myth goes. Their children went out and mated with humans themselves, otherwise we’d all be inbred, but then again maybe that’s what’s wrong with Seshua. Sorry, sorry, he added when Emma cracked a lid and shot him a censuring look. Anyway there’s another myth, he went on. That the first union between a shapechanging god and a mortal produced twins. One twin was a pure-blooded shapechanger. The other was a pureblooded mortal human child with the power to control her twin’s beast.

  Emma sat up. The Caller of the Blood.

  So the myth goes, Red said.

  Why didn’t anyone mention this before?

  It’s apocryphal. Red’s mental touch turned dark. The only other person I’ve ever met that knew of it was Telly. But what does it change? Could all be bullshit that this Brotherho
od invented so long ago they believe it now.

  Emma tucked her head against Ivan’s back again, and was quiet for a while, just listening to Ivan’s breath as she rocked with his steady pace. You think the Brotherhood might be bullshit, she eventually said.

  Could be, Red replied. Is this a mistake, going to them?

  Red huffed a breath that could have been a sigh or a laugh or an expression of agreement. Nah. We stay close, don’t split up. They’ll want you; you’re their fated Caller of the Blood. Probably wanna play out some Matrix-shit, Chosen One, blah blah blah.

  I can’t believe you’ve seen The Matrix but not Jurassic Park.

  Red’s snort was definitely a laugh this time. Guns and kung fu, I can get behind, but I have no desire to see a film about giant lizards eating scientists.

  Knowing he could see her clear as day even in the dark, Emma smiled sweetly at him. And that’s what makes us fundamentally different people. Her smile turned to a genuine grin as he laughed in her head, his delight fluorescing through their telepathic link like sunshine, but a moment later she sobered and shook her head to clear it. What if the Brotherhood does go full Matrix-level weird on us?

  If they’re legit, then they may be able to tell us something we don’t already know. If they get scary, I make us all disappear. So quit worrying and get some rest. We got the trump card, flower.

  She didn’t want to rest. She had a thirteen hour hole in her memory and a cold lump of anxiety in her gut. But she dozed anyway, and dreamed of falling.

  Moonlight made an alien landscape of the mountains. Frozen winds buffeted them and howled through unseen crevasses and in the nighted valleys below. Emma didn’t know how much longer it took to reach what Keti referred to only as the Monastery; after a while, the terrain became so difficult — and the temperature so cold — that she could no longer doze against Ivan’s back, instead holding on with numb fists bunched in his leather jacket and thighs gripping his waist so he was free to direct his effort into the climb.