Waer

by Meg Caddy

  ‘We should rest,’ Moth put in. She and Dodge were slow, and lagged behind Lycaea and myself. Dodge was nimble enough – Tadhg, his home, was framed by craggy peaks and sharp crevasses. Moth, though, needed his help.

  ‘No,’ Lycaea said. ‘We keep going until nightfall.’ I sensed her impatience with Moth.

  I braced my head on the rock for an instant, willing frustration not to best me. We had been travelling almost two days, up at first light and walking, often climbing, deep into the hours of darkness. We paused only so I could perform the small rituals of the Dawn and Grey Worship. I was sparing with the rosemary Moth had gathered, and glad I only needed it for the Dawn Worship. The Grey Worship was easier to adapt. I burned a stick, then blew out the flame to signal my surrender to the time of shadow. Pressed the cooling ash against the base of my neck to protect me from Hollow’s harm. Felen was not like Freybug. Felen demanded the Grey Worship, would give no help or protection without it. Freybug helped us unconditionally, and so the Dawn Worship was an expression of pure thanks.

  I performed the Dawn Worship on our way through the mountains, but my heart was not in it. Freybug had not been able to save my family. Had not protected our Valley. It was difficult to find things to thank her for.

  Where I struggled to fumble through in the dark, Lycaea seemed to have no limit. She climbed tirelessly and ignored her injuries until Moth tended them in the evenings. She was driven. In some ways, I was glad of it; the constant travel left me with little time to think about what had happened to my family. Even so, I fell into grief numerous times during the day. Something would remind me of my mother, my father, and hot pain would rise in my chest. Heaviness throughout my body. Sometimes it took me a moment to remember why I was grieving. My heart knew the absence of my family before my mind did. It was a crushing, exhausting pain.

  Moth sometimes tried to talk to me about them, but I preferred not to. Dreamless sleep, at least, was a blessing. By the time darkness fell at the end of each day, I was too tired to dream.

  On the third day, we climbed until the last traces light began to fade. The sky seeped from a warm gold to crimson as clouds scattered their way across the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of rain and cool mountain air. I paused on a flat section of rock to pull my cloak tighter about my shoulders. A dead man’s cloak, part of me whispered. I ignored it. My eyes were on the mountains before us. They pointed accusatory peaks into the bloody light. Behind, all that was visible of the Valley was a thick plume of smoke.

  Lycaea was level with me. She stopped also, tilting her face towards the light. Her jaw locked.

  ‘Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,’ she murmured. ‘Red sky in the morning…’

  ‘Shepherd’s warning,’ I put in, glad to have someone draw me from thoughts of home.

  ‘Shepherds have nothing to do with it,’ she said. ‘Shepherds took on the saying after some storyteller drew it inland. It originated at sea. With sailors.’ She opened her mouth, closed it again, then shook her head and changed the subject. ‘There’s a series of caves ahead. We can stop for the night. Be prepared to leave before the sun rises. We lost time today.’

  It felt like an accusation. I lowered my head and pressed on towards the caves. Like Lycaea, I could smell their musty air before I saw them. The moss. Traces of animals. My muscles ached. Somehow, it was all the worse knowing respite was so close. My legs shook.

  Lycaea drew her sword before she stepped through the mouth of the cave, ever cautious. She nodded over her shoulder and I joined her. When I sat, I could hear my legs click and groan.

  ‘You should stretch them out,’ Lycaea said. She did not sit. ‘Keep moving slowly.’

  I rotated my ankles. I dreaded the rest of the journey. My boots were too thin for mountain-climbing, and my feet were covered with blisters and cuts from the rock. My hands were raw and red, though I could not tell if it was due to the cold or the climbing. I performed the rituals of the Grey Worship in silence, too tired to speak.

  Dodge eased to the ground beside me when he and Moth reached the cave. It was harder on them both; they did not have our youth, and Moth in particular seemed ill-suited to such activities.

  ‘We need to hunt,’ I said, at length.

  ‘Yes.’ Lycaea squatted and started to clear an area at the mouth of the cave for a fire. ‘You and I, Sencha. Moth cannot, and Dodge lacks the stomach.’

  I dared a glance at Dodge. He winked at me.

  ‘Will you Shift?’ I asked Lycaea.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She did not spare it a thought before she moved on. ‘Fortunately, Moth is a decent cook, so I imagine whatever we catch will be somehow palatable. Derrys, you should look for herbs and greenery. I’m trusting you both not to poison us all.’

  I expected Moth and Dodge to be offended by her tone, her words, but they were unmoved. Moth was massaging her calf-muscles, and Dodge leaned back against the rough wall of the cave. They swapped a glance. I knew they could not be bound as waer couples were, but there was something in them that made me think of it.

  ‘We rest first, dear,’ Moth said, when Lycaea’s silence made it clear she was waiting for an answer. ‘I think it’s time we gave Lowell an explanation. Much has happened, and much has been left unspoken. He needs to know about Daeman Leldh. Who and what he is.’

  I watched something pass over Lycaea’s face; an expression I could not define.

  ‘I’m going to hunt,’ she announced. ‘Join me when you’re done here, Lowell.’

  She snatched a dagger from where we had set out meagre supplies, took her sword, and left the cave.

  ‘No surprises there,’ Dodge sighed. ‘I figured she wouldna much want to revisit this.’ His dark eyes found me. ‘If you dinna want to hear it just now, lad, say so. I know it’s hard. If it gets too much, let me know. I dinna want to cause you further pain.’

  ‘We think you should know why they hunt Lycaea. How she came to be involved with these people in the first place.’ Moth leaned her head on Dodge’s shoulder and they laced their fingers together. Her voice was soft. ‘It will not help, at least not in a practical sense, but it may give you some sense of peace, at least to know why.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Lycaea used to work for a man named Hemanlok.’ Although Dodge was the one speaking, he used none of his usual embellishments and flare. For once, he privileged content over delivery. I was grateful. I did not think I could stand a performance. ‘The man we’re going to see in Luthan. He’s a powerful man, and a dangerous one, but he protects the city.’

  ‘He is not nobility,’ Moth interrupted.

  ‘No. There isna rank nor title for what he is, lad. He’s the soul of Luthan. Do you know who Luthan’s king is?’

  ‘Kirejo?’ I felt my ignorance, doubting my answer, but Dodge nodded.

  ‘Kirejo, aye. He makes the laws, but Hemanlok dictates what passes and what doesna in Luthan. He has a network of folk working for him; Rogues, criminals, the like. His closest allies call themselves the Own. Lycaea was one of them.’

  ‘In Luthan? Then how did she come to be captured in Caerwyn?’

  Dodge nodded. ‘Hemanlok keeps informed on all the most powerful folk in Oster. Even Moth and I sometimes go to him with intelligence of happenings in various places. He keeps himself in the know so he can protect Luthan, you see. In any case, he got wind of a man setting up in Caerwyn. Getting mighty strong, mighty quick. So Hemanlok needed information.’

  Dodge seemed hesitant. I had heard his stories all my life, and he had never seemed so uncomfortable telling one. Perhaps the subject was too close to home.

  ‘Hemanlok decided to send Lycaea in to get that information. She was young, and quick, and the only member of the Own not yet known to Daeman Leldh. Lycaea leapt at the chance. She adored Hemanlok. I think she wanted to impress him.’

  It was hard to imagine Lycaea desperate to impress anyone. It was hard to imagine her adoring anyone.

  ‘How old was s
he?’ I asked.

  Moth’s eyes hardened. She answered for Dodge. ‘Fifteen. We should have told Hemanlok it was too young.’

  ‘For a while, Hemanlok had correspondence with her. Then, after a few months, it stopped. We tried to contact her. Tried to get her out. Seemed to us they’d killed her, because we sent people in and they either came out with no word, or they never returned. Three years passed, and we didna know more until your mother wrote us to come and help Lycaea.’

  Mother. Her worn hands, her dark eyes. Her wry smile and busy movements.

  ‘Tell me about Leldh.’ Vital to stay away from thoughts of home. I think Dodge sensed it. He rushed into an answer.

  ‘He hates the waer. Hates them, and is fascinated by them.’

  ‘Why?’

  Moth took in a breath too sharply. Dodge pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

  ‘Do you remember the stories I used to tell you, lad?’ he asked. ‘About the Kudhienn?’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied. The golden men and women who had once enslaved Oster. I always loved the story because they had been defeated, in the end, by the waer of the north and the south. The three Watchers, though I believed the Watchers to be no more than a myth, were added to the story for the sake of fantasy. The Kudhienn, according to Dodge, had long life-spans. They were able to see as many as six generations of a human or a waer. They were youthful and beautiful then, and cruel. But they had been wiped out hundreds of years ago, and had long become little more than stories to frighten or inspire children with. I hardly knew if I believed half the things Dodge said about them.

  I frowned. ‘What do the Kudhienn have to do with it?’

  ‘Everything,’ Dodge replied. ‘Daeman Leldh is one of them.’

  The storyteller was grim and silent. He let it sink in. I tried to read Moth’s face, but she was not looking at me. Her eyes were on the mouth of the cave.

  ‘He isna full-blood, I think,’ Dodge said. ‘But he is Kudhienn. It was one of the reasons Hemanlok sent Lycaea to Caerwyn; to confirm it. It seems she discovered much more.’

  The thoughts would not fit inside my head. I breathed out. Moth rose and excused herself, saying she wanted to gather some dry wood before any rain fell, and some herbs before Lycaea came back with her hunt. I was left staring at Dodge, trying to work out if he was mad.

  ‘It makes sense, lad,’ Dodge told me. ‘You know it does. Especially his hatred for the waer.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m a storyteller, lad,’ he said. ‘I collect tales, which means it’s my job to get people to tell me things. Hemanlok told me some things. Others, I pieced together from folks in Luthan. Moth told me a bit, too.’

  ‘Tell me what the Kudhienn could do.’ I bit my tongue. ‘Can do.’

  ‘They have long lives. They’re experts at manipulation. They can worm their way into your head, make you think their thoughts. Sometimes they can disguise themselves. Sometimes, they can keep people away from them; repel them, almost.’

  I rubbed my face. I did not know what to think. I wanted to find Lycaea and ask her about it, but I doubted she would give me any answers.

  ‘I…need time to think,’ I told Dodge. ‘I should help Lycaea to hunt.’

  ‘Too late.’ Lycaea’s voice, cool and flat. ‘Nice work with the fire,’ she added, with a pointed glance at the empty area we had designated for a fire. She slung a goat off her shoulder and sat to clean the blood from her sword. She must have been fast as a hornet, to catch and kill a goat with the blade. ‘Where’s Derry?’

  ‘Gathering herbs and firewood.’

  ‘Fine.’ She handed me the knife she had taken. It was an ugly, hooked blade. ‘Skin the goat, Sencha.’

  I had no qualms about skinning an animal. It was a skill I had put to good use at home. I took the knife and gathered rope to hang the goat from.

  ‘Outside the cave,’ Lycaea snapped. I opened my mouth to argue, then saw her face and realised she could not skin the animal. I wondered how hard it had been for her to hunt without Shifting. I moved outside and thanked Freybug for the gift of the goat before I began my task. It was difficult to string the goat up, more difficult than it would have been at home.

  I was so hungry, it was all I could do not to pull off a chunk of meat and eat it raw. But Valley waer did not do such things. We never ate raw meat. We hunted, and then we brought our food back so it could be cleaned and prepared. Civilised and decent. I restrained myself, and forced my thoughts to other things.

  The Kudhienn. The Kudhienn. A story so old, it was close to myth. I shuddered, those tales suddenly too close. Murder and torture. I had forgotten how much the stories frightened me as a child, even as I was entranced by them. Once or twice, after I had woken up crying from nightmares, Dodge had been sternly rebuked by my parents. The nightmares lingered in my mind now as I skinned the goat.

  Moth rejoined us as I finished. Her arms were laden with wood and herbs, and I set aside my task to help her carry them inside. I was surprised she had managed to find so many things to eat. Vegetation was sparse in the area, though other parts of the mountains were lush and green as the Gwydhan Valley itself. Still, Moth had always been clever with plants. I supposed it was the combination of being a healer and loving to cook.

  Dodge built the fire just outside the cave, and I finished with the goat, deferring to Moth’s cooking expertise when I was done.

  ‘I could tell a story to pass the time,’ Dodge suggested. ‘Lowell, would you want to hear a story of the Watchers?’

  Moth looked at him sharply, and placed a hand on his arm.

  ‘Not tonight, love,’ she said. ‘No more dark stories tonight.’

  Lycaea nodded. She prodded at the fire, keeping it alive through the evening. A subdued peace fell between us. I knew the Derrys were trying to let me absorb some of what they had told me, but I found I did not want to dwell on it. We needed something to stand in the stead of the story Dodge had told before. The darkness and worldliness of the Kudhienn. All I could think of were the Valley tales, which were so full of hearth and home.

  ‘Did you ever hear the story of Felen and the goat?’ I asked. Surprise awoke on Dodge’s face, became delight.

  ‘Nay, lad,’ he said. ‘Tell us.’ I suspected he was lying, as he seemed to know all the tales of the Valley, but I did not contest him on it. I glanced at Lycaea but could not tell if she minded. She kept the fire alive while Moth cooked the meat.

  ‘Felen saw the beginning of the world. The creation of the stars, and the first steps of man.’ I was not so skilled as Dodge at the art of storytelling, but I had always loved the story of Felen and the goat. ‘She thought herself very wise. Over the years, humans and animals worshipped her, and so her vanity grew. One day, however, she heard that there was an animal who boasted of being more wise than she. Felen was furious. She sought out the creature, and found it was a goat.’

  Lycaea raised an eyebrow. I faltered. The story suddenly felt home-spun and childish.

  ‘Go on, Lowell,’ Moth said, turning the goat. ‘Did she challenge the goat?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘She told the goat he would have to prove himself. She said if he was truly wise, he would be able to find the precious stones she had hidden in the woods. The goat was delighted, and went through the woods to find the precious stones. In spite of all his boasts, he was not very wise.’

  ‘Those who make claims of wisdom rarely prove it,’ Dodge grinned.

  I nodded. ‘So: he stuck his head in rabbit holes and bushes, scraped his hoofs at tree-bark, and almost drowned himself in the river. Eventually, he saw the gleam of those stones secreted beneath the jutting roots of a tree. He jammed his head through the roots, and then found himself stuck. Now was Felen’s chance. She coerced the roots of the tree into growing, and sharpening, and she drove them into the goat’s head.’

  Moth cast a reflective glance at the goat we were cooking, her lips tilting. ‘Poor thing.’

&n
bsp; ‘Felen left the goat for dead, but she had not counted on the soft heart of Freybug, the wren, who was watching from nearby.’

  ‘The wren?’ Moth asked. ‘I always thought Freybug was a wolf.’

  ‘A dog, sometimes,’ I corrected. ‘But Freybug could take all manner of shapes. In this story, she was a wren. She felt sorry for the goat and when Felen left, she went to him, healed him as best she could, and tried to pull the roots from his head. But she lacked the strength, so instead she called the woodpeckers to her, and they pecked at the roots until the goat could wriggle out from the tree. And there he was: left with two large roots sticking out of his head, but at least he was free and alive.’

  ‘Goat-horns,’ Lycaea muttered. ‘Quaint.’

  ‘It was not long before Felen realised what had happened. Outraged, she chased the goat out of the Valley, and into the mountains. His hooves were too large and ungainly for the narrow ledges, so he scraped them against rocks until they weathered into delicate cloves. Felen was relentless. She would not let him set a foot in the soft slopes of the Valley. Eventually, he learned to stay away, and so he remained in the cliffs and mountains.’ I stopped, a little sheepish. ‘That is all I know of the story.’

  ‘It’s a fine tale, lad,’ Dodge reassured me. He was being kind, but his words still warmed me. ‘And a grand homage to the poor beast we’re about to dine on.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s a great comfort to the goat,’ Lycaea said.

  ‘Do you have a story to tell, Lycaea?’ Moth asked with a small smile.

  Lycaea’s eyes flicked towards her. ‘Do you?’ Her frame was tight and hunched. Anger lurked in her features, though I could not tell why.

  Moth watched her a while. She said nothing, but her expression spoke for her. Sadness. Disappointment. Caution.

  Lycaea threw another log on the fire. ‘Let’s just eat,’ she said, and we did.

  Kaebha

  She was learning. Techniques, timing, the right questions to ask, the right games to play. Cooper was helping her, in his own combative way. They despised one another but they served a common purpose. Cooper knew Leldh wanted her to help with his experiments, and as part of his workings against the Watchers. Likewise, Kaebha knew Cooper was a fine torturer and an exemplary soldier. Leldh needed them both. It was their job to support him. Even if it meant tolerating one another.