by Barb Hendee
The grip on her leg jerked hard, and Wynn slid across the ground. Leaves and branches lashed her face and arms. The near-blue mist of Spirit permeating the leaves turned to a blur. She clutched desperately at branches only to have them bend and snap in her hands.
Wynn hooked her arm around the base of one branch and held on. The ache in her knee spiked into her hip as her whole body was pulled straight. A snarling and thrashing rose among the leaves above her.
Before Wynn's eyes, the mist of Spirit moved within the tree's bark.
It burned with a brilliance she had seen before, but only when she had looked upon Chap with her mantic sight.
Flowing blue-white wormed back and forth through the wood, as if alive and willful.
You hear us… listen to what is not for a mortal to know. Now you see us, yes? And you should not!
Leaves above Wynn's head split apart. A head glowing with blue-white mist shoved through at her face. Wynn almost lost her grip in fright, until she saw crystalline eyes.
One of the majay-hi snatched her tunic's shoulder with its teeth.
Chap heard Lily howl and then saw Wynn's legs emerge from the branches near the tree's base. A root was wrapped tightly around her shin and knee. Chap righted himself and staggered toward her as the pack bolted out of the forest from all sides.
Three dogs dove into the tree's bulk as the dark elder spun out in the clearing. He wove back and forth before the thrashing roots. Chap called to his kin.
Stop! You are discovered, but harming a mortal will change nothing.
Clinging dirt scattered from the roots as they rose in the air. One came down hard, rolling along the ground toward Chap.
He scuttled aside as the root lashed the earth, and mulch sprayed across his body.
The dark elder rushed in. His jaws snapped sharply over the root's narrow end and severed through it.
Chap's panic washed away in growing rage. His kin would not listen to him, and they tried to take Wynn. All because she had heard them and caught their deception, as he had. Lily hopped free from the birch's leaves, andtwo majay-hi followed after her.
One root rose high into the night. It lashed over backward into the mass of the downed tree. Leaves exploded upward under a clatter of snapping branches and a screeching yelp.
The root gripping Wynn coiled and jerked, and the sage spun out across the clearing. The shoulder of her tunic was torn open.
Three of the pack had gone in after Lily and Wynn, but only two had come out.
Chap rushed toward Wynn as his anger burst forth at his kin.
Now you injure your own children who took flesh long ago? It is you who have lost your way!
Wynn lay stunned as the root coiled up her leg, reaching for her torso. Its tip passed her chest, reaching for her throat, and Chap seized it, biting deep.
He ripped hard, shredding it with his teeth. Another root arched upward from the tree's base, and he whirled to grip Wynn's tunic.
The root arced downward as Lily appeared beside him. She took hold of Wynn beside him, and they both lunged backward, jerking the sage away. The root cracked down on bare earth, sending a shudder up Chap's legs.
He rushed into the open clearing before the tree's exposed base. He ground his paws through the scattered leaves and rooted himself amid the whirling wind.
No more will suffer for your hidden schemes.
He felt the elemental surge of Earth and Air, the moisture of Water within them, and even Fire from the heat of his own flesh. They mingled with Spirit from his own body as he closed on his kin.
Wynn tumbled across the ground. Then a crash filled her ears and thunder shook through the earth beneath her. She rolled over to find Lily beside her and saw Chap bolt out into the clearing.
She cowered for an instant at the sight of the tree's roots writhing in the air. Beyond Chap, the pack elder and two more majay-hi made quick darting passes as they taunted the roots. Each dog was two overlaid images in Wynn's mantic sight. Within their silver-gray forms glowed Spirit of blue-whitemist.But not the tree and its roots-and not Chap.
The whiter essence of the Fay moved like shifting vapors within that dark-stained wood. And Chap was the only singular form Wynn saw.
One whole shape, glowing with brilliance.His fur glistened like luminous threads of white silk in the moonlight, and his eyes scintillated as if holding a light of their own.
And the light of him began to burn.
Wynn did not know what he was doing, but her eyes started to sting. She grabbed Lily with both hands to hold the dog back.
Trails of white mist rose from Chap like vapor in the shape of flames. Wynn squinted against the pain of his light, but could not take her eyes off of him. He stalked inward, low and tight, toward the base of the tree.
The pack elder and his companions pulled up short. They backed away with their eyes on Chap. The roots in the air quivered in hesitation, and then one cracked downward.
Wynn stopped breathing as it fell directly upon Chap.
In a burning blur, he leaped out of its path. The root hit the earth, and Wynn felt the impact beneath her. Before it could coil back again, Chap threw himself on it.
Through the white mist of his form, she thought she saw his jaws close upon the arching root.
And the light of his body flashed.
Wynn cringed as if stepping from a pitch black room into full sunlight. A thousand leaf-wings crackled inside her head. She heard only screeching blind panic and no words. Chap's lone voice rose above them.
I will tear you… rend you… I will swallow down your severed pieces into nothing!
Wynn clung to Lily as her sight slowly returned. Swirling colored blotches marred everything in the night. She barely made out Chap's muted form pacing before the birch's base.
But Chap was the only thing moving.
If you come again for me or mine…I will come for you!
Slowly Wynn's sight cleared more and more. Her mantic vision gone, all she saw in the moonlight was Chap standing tense and watchful.
The gnarled ball of the birch's base towered before him, but its roots extended in stillness as if the tall tree had just toppled. No hint of wind stirred the stray leaves fluttering to the ground.
Chap stood rigid, as Wynn crawled toward him on hands and knees.
His kin were gone.
Chap felt the vibrancy slowly fade from his body. He had turned on his own kind. He could taste them like blood in his mouth.
No, not his kin.Not anymore.
He wanted no more of them. They cared nothing for the lives they toyed with in silent schemes for a world they claimed was theirs. They would sacrifice those he had come to care for-all for some purpose they would not share with him.
In their vicious complacency, they cut him apart and left only those pieces that served them best.
Gentle fingers threaded through the fur on his back and up his neck.
Wynn knelt beside him, her face scratched and dirty. One abrasion on her hand and a shallow cut in the side of her forehead left smeared blood on her skin. She looked small and frail.
"I am sorry," she choked out. "I meant no harm… no offense. I worried for you, when I heard what they said… what you said."
He looked in her brown eyes. She had nothing to be sorry for. What was happening to her-her sight, the way she now heard him-was not herfault. He only wished he understood why it was happening or how to stop it.
Lily crept in, leaning around Wynn to sniff at him cautiously. The rest of the pack stayed at a distance and would not come near.
Had they seen him turn on his own kin? Did they look at him now as some being they did not recognize, which hid within a deceptively familiar form?
Only the inky black elder stalked through the open clearing. His gaze stayed on Chap until he was close, and then his grizzled muzzle lifted toward Wynn. He trotted quickly off into the branches of the fallen birch, but at least he no longer growled at the sage in disapproval.
&nb
sp; Lily stretched out her muzzle, sniffing Chap again. He lowered his head. How would she now see him?
The warmth of her tongue slid up his jowl and across the bridge of his nose. But relief made him suddenly weary.
"You are not alone, Chap," Wynn whispered. "That will never happen."
A long mournful howl rose from the downed birch.
Chap lifted his head, and he, Lily, and Wynn looked to where the elder had slipped between the branches. When the pack had come, three had gone in after Lily and Wynn.
But only two had emerged.
Chapter Twelve
Chane turned his horse around a jagged stone outcrop. He followed Welstiel each night southeast into the Crown Range as directed by the old Mondyalitko couple. At any moment, he expected one of their mounts to drop.
The beasts moved slowerwith each passing dusk. Welstiel did not appear to notice and pressed on relentlessly.
On a few evenings they had awoken trapped within the tent by heavy snowfall. Chane dug them out, but once it was so severe they spent the night inside. Not a pleasant night, for any delay aggravated Welstiel.
Tonight was cold but calm, and Chane reined in his horse as Welstiel suddenly halted to look up at the stars.
"How much farther?" Chane asked.
Welstiel shook his head."Until we see signs of a ravine. What did the woman say-like a giant gouge in the mountainside?"
"Yes," Chane answered.
For half the journey, Welstiel seemed lost in thought. The last time Chane had heard the man talk in his sleep was the morning he awoke shouting; since then, Welstiel's dreams had grown infrequent. He had also nearly ceased any pretense of grooming. Dark hair hung lank down his forehead, and his once fine cloak continued deteriorating. Chane's was no better.
"I should look for a place to set up the tent," he said.
Welstiel just stared at the night sky.
Chane urged his mount onward, searching for natural shelter. It was some relief to be alone for a moment, as he believed Welstiel might well be going mad.
The man's state of mind grew worse each night, though at times he was as lucid as the first time Chane met him. They passed the time with Chane's lessons in Numanese, not perfectly enjoyable, but it broke the silent tension and kept Welstiel's wits from wandering. And Chane now spoke Wynn's native tongue in short but complete sentences.
Welstiel had made sure they would not starve, but feeding through his arcane methods was hardly satisfying. How a Noble Dead could settle for such bland and unpleasant sustenance was beyond Chane.
Chane's thoughts often slipped to the memory of a stimulating hunt: the taste of flesh between his teeth and blood on his tongue, and how his pleasure sharpened with the fear of his prey. Welstiel's method might last longer, and was necessary under their circumstances, but he appeared to prefer it. Chane would never understand.
He dismounted and trekked up the rocky slope to an overhang below a sheer face of granite. It would do for the day. He could tie off the canvas on the overhang's projections, weight the bottom edge with stones, and create a makeshift chamber. The extra room would be a small luxury, so he returned to his horse and began untying the rolled canvas.
He paused to scan the firs with their sparse branches and listen to the last of the night, but he heard only the coarse wind gusting across the mountainside. He dreaded another dormant day, locked in by the sun with Welstiel, only to emerge into another night of icy winds on an exhausted mount. Language lessons were his only respite.
Chane closed his eyes indulgently, his thoughts drifting forward…
In Malourne, across the western ocean and the next continent, lay the founding home of the Guild of Sagecraft. Educated men and women would walk old and sound stone passages in robes of light gray. What libraries and archives they would have, tables full of scrolls, parchments, and books, all lit by the glow of cold lamp crystals.
He saw himself there.
Red-brown hair clean and combed behind his ears, he studied an ancient parchment. Not a carefully scribed copy, but the original, unearthed in some far and forgotten place.
The familiar scent of mint tea drifted into his nostrils. He looked up to see Wynn walking toward him, carrying a tray. She offered a soft smile only for him. Her wispy brown hair was woven in a braid down her back, and her olive skin glowed in the crystal's light.
She set down the tray with its two steaming cups. He wanted to smile back, but he could not. He could only drink in the sight of her face. She reached out and touched his cheek softly. The warmth of her hand made him tremble. She sat beside him, asking him questions as her eyes roved the parchment. They talked away the night, until Wynn's eyelids drooped little by little as she grew too sleepy. In that still and perfect moment, he lingered between watching her sleep and carrying her to her room.
Chane's horse neighed wildly. He opened his eyes at the first growl, and the vision of Wynn vanished.
Downslope between the wind-bent trees, wild dogs approached. He had neither heard nor smelled them while lost in wishful fantasy.
Six dogs, their eyes on him and the horse, snarled as they wove closer through the sparse foliage.
Most were black with hints of brown and slate gray, but each bore patches of bare skin where their fur thinned from starvation. Yellow eyes were glazed with hunger, and their ribs showed beneath shrunken and sagging skin.
The horse tossed its head and tried to retreat, sending stones tumbling downslope.
Chane snatched the reins and reached across the saddle for his sword slung from the saddle horn. He wondered how the dogs survived this far up with so little to eat. He closed a hand on the sword's hilt, and the two closest dogs charged for the horse's legs. Chane ducked away from the bucking mount as the lead dog sprang.
Its forelegs hooked across the horse's shoulders, and its teeth clacked wildly for a grip. The second dog charged from the front, snapping at the horse's legs. The horse screamed and reared. Before Chane could swing at either dog, another snarl sounded from behind him.
A skeletal dog was in midleap when he turned. He sidestepped and swung.
His longsword bit halfway through its neck.
The animal hit the slope and slid, smearing earth and rock with spattering blood. Another dog collided into Chane's back, and he toppled facedown.
Teeth closed on the base of his neck as his horse screamed under the growls of other dogs.
Chane released his sword and rolled, pinning the dog beneath his back, but it did not let go. He felt his skin tear as he wrenched his elbow back. The dog's jaws released with a gagging yelp at the muffled crack of its ribs. Chane turned onto his knees, pinned the dog's head, and shattered its skull with his fist.
His horse was down. Four remaining dogs tore savagely at it, and the mount's weak cries reduced to gasping whimpers.
All the dogs suddenly stopped and fell silent. Their bloodied muzzles lifted in unison.
Welstiel stood beyond them, the reins of his horse in hand. His expression was marred with livid disbelief.
"Why did you not stop them," he demanded, "instead of rolling about yourself like some rabid mongrel?"
"I was stopping…" Chane answered in his nearly voiceless hiss. "There were too many to get all of them quickly enough."
"You are Noble Dead," Welstiel said with disgust. "You can control such beasts with a thought."
Chane blinked. "I do not possess that ability. Toret told me that ourkind develop differing strengths-given time. That is not one of mine."
Welstiel's disgust faded, and he shook his head. His resignation made him look older.
"Yes… it is." He studied the dogs and then Chane's chest. "Do you still wear one of your small urns?"
Chane grasped the leather string slick with his own black fluids still running down his neck. He pulled it until a small brass urn dangled free of his shirt.
Welstiel stepped closer and the dogs remained still as he passed. "Leave one alive to take as a familiar. It can track
ahead and perhaps aid in our search."
He turned away, glancing once at the dying horse with a weary sigh.
It was a sound Chane always found strange to hear from an undead, even when he did it himself. They breathed only when needing to speak, and a sigh was but a habit left over from living days.
"We'll walk and use my horse for the baggage," Welstiel said. "Collect what remains of your horse's feed, and roast its flesh to store for your new familiar."
Chane picked up his sword. It all sounded sensible and rational, but the scent of blood was thick around him. His hunger stirred, though he had no need for sustenance.
Dog and horse-lowly beasts-but the mount had served Chane, and the pack only sought to survive. He understood that, and it left him strangely disturbed as he skewered the first dog with the tip of his blade. Even at its yelp, the others just stood there, waiting to be slaughtered.
He did not pick or choose and merely killed the dogs one by one within reach, until the last stood cowering before him. He closed his eyes and imagined once more…
A quiet place in the world where Wynn's round face glowed by the light of a cold lamp crystal. Her eyes drooped in sleep over the parchment, and he reached out for her…
Wynn returned with Chap and Lily to the barrier woods. The silver deer was gone, but the remainder of the pack ranged about.
Her face and hands stung from scratches, and her left leg ached, but she limped along. These injuries seemed paltry compared to the majay-hi found broken and dead beneath the birch's branches. The steel-gray female had come for her as the Fay tried to drag her out to her death. Now her twin brother wandered listlessly among the trees, barely in sight of the others.
Of all things Wynn had faced, from vampires to Lord Darmouth and his men, the Fay's sudden wrath terrified her most. It was so unexpected.
Before discovering Chap, she had considered the Fay to be little more than an ideological personification of the elemental forces that composed her world. In knowing Chap and coming to believe in what he was, she had thought the Fay benevolent if enigmatic, much like him.
