Waer

by Meg Caddy

  Dodge burst into laughter. ‘Too quick for the rest of us, Lowell Sencha!’

  He was too quick. I would have to guard myself more carefully. There were thing I did not want him to know.

  ‘Very clever,’ I drawled, trying to cover my attempts to regain my footing. ‘Yes. Fine. My mother.’

  ‘Why has Moth gone?’ Lowell asked. ‘Why not you?’

  ‘Because the third Watcher is insane,’ Dodge said.

  ‘Insane?’

  ‘Raving,’ I confirmed. ‘Moth is one of the only people who has been able to sway her heart in the past. You should see when Hemanlok tries. The years have driven a wedge between the Assassin and the Dealer.’

  ‘Did she raise you?’

  Dodge and I snorted simultaneously. The question did not merit an answer. My mother would have more success raising a mountain than a child.

  ‘Do you have any of her power? Are the duties of a Watcher inherited through blood?’

  ‘No and no. Thankfully.’

  ‘Watchers are sought out and chosen by their predecessors,’ Dodge said. ‘Sometimes they hunt for years and years until the Balance shows to them the new Watchers.’

  ‘Do you think Moth can convince the Dealer?’ Lowell asked.

  ‘No.’ He sagged a little, and I shrugged. ‘No one said this would be easy, Wolf.’

  ‘But you said we need all three Watchers to attack Caerwyn. And Kirejo, and the Rogues.’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘Then what can we do?’ His voice snapped in frustration.

  ‘I’m working on it. There is no sense admitting defeat yet, Wolf. Our swords are hardly drawn.’

  Lowell

  Moth returned hours after we arrived at the Den. She was pale, and her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. She folded into Dodge’s arms as soon as she walked through the door, and I could see her shoulders shaking. Dodge kissed the top of her head and held her close. I could not think what the Dealer might have said to upset Moth so. Feeling like an intruder, I retreated to Lycaea’s room. The door was ajar, but I still knocked before entering.

  ‘Door’s open, Wolf.’

  I stepped into the room. Lycaea sat cross-legged on her bed, poring over lists and maps. She did not glance at me as I entered. The daughter of a Watcher. I had suspected, but I had hardly been able to believe it. In hindsight, it seemed obvious. By the curse of her blood, she was caught in these events for Kudhienn and near-deities. I wondered if she had ever known what it was to lead a normal life.

  ‘You should get some rest,’ she said. ‘We meet early with the Rogues and sailors. And souther-waer. I hope you don’t mind if I keep the lamp glowing, though. I have work to do still.’

  ‘Souther-waer?’ I could not care less about the lamp. ‘You said they eat people!’ I was nettled, and it was impossible to prevent an accusatory note from entering my voice. Had she been laughing at my expense?

  ‘They do,’ she said. ‘A rather useful habit, if they’re on our side.’

  ‘Are there many in Luthan?’ I adjusted my tone, though I felt uneasy. Even in the Valley, we had heard tales of the souther-waer and their barbarity. They did not have our control or our moral code. They were said to be savages.

  ‘Not in Luthan, but just outside. The Rustfur tribe lives on the river half a day south of Luthan, and at the moment their allies, the Greypaws, are there as well. They should put in with us if we explain the situation to them. They’ve had troubles with blood-purists before, and they’ll understand the threat Leldh poses to Oster.’

  ‘And the Rogues? And sailors?’

  ‘They might take more convincing.’

  I pulled over the sleeping clothes I had been lent by Mitri and cleared my throat. ‘Do not look,’ I warned Lycaea. ‘I am changing my shirt.’

  I saw the corners of her mouth curl upwards.

  ‘I won’t,’ she said. I changed my shirt. When my head came clear of the collar, I noticed Lycaea looking. Blatantly. She grinned at me, and I tossed the old shirt at her.

  ‘You take your clothes off every time you Shift,’ she said, with a rare laugh. ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘It is different. Wolves wear no clothes. We have no need for them. When I am human, I abide by human customs.’

  ‘Makes no sense.’

  ‘It makes all the sense in the world.’

  ‘When you are a wolf, do you act entirely like a wolf?’

  ‘Well, no,’ I admitted. ‘The human mind guides the instinct. It is a union.’

  ‘Then when you are human, why be so fastidious about human customs?’ I frowned at her and she lifted her hands. ‘I’m just asking. It doesn’t make sense to me.’

  ‘Perhaps if you Shift, it will.’

  She grimaced, and I felt the light atmosphere dimming. I swiftly changed the subject, not wanting to leave it tense and uncomfortable.

  ‘You said your mother did not raise you. Who did, then? Madam Derry? Hemanlok?’

  ‘Can you imagine Hemanlok raising a child? And you would have known if Moth had raised me. I would have gone with her and Dodge to visit you in the Valley, wouldn’t I? No; I was raised at sea. My father was a Pel. A slave. When my mother abandoned me, he took me and fled to the ocean, took up with smugglers. He died when I was six. I was brought up for the most part by an old quartermaster. She was the closest to family I had for eight years or so after that. Until I left the ocean.’

  ‘Why did you leave the ocean?’

  ‘When the quartermaster died, there was little to tie me to the ships, and I was itching for the novelty of city life. I obviously could not go to my mother; she was too dangerous. So I came to Luthan, found employment under Hemanlok. Sometimes I went with the other Rogues to different cities; Manon, and Tadhg. For the most part, though, I made Luthan my home.’ She folded the maps and started to put them away. ‘And yourself? What was your life before the attack?’

  My tale was nothing so glamorous as sea travel and visits to Manon. I related the short, uninteresting story of my life. The one point that stayed in my mind was how different our families had been. Her mother, insane and unloving. Her father, dead when she was a child. I was lucky that I had been given the blessing of many a long and happy year with my family.

  She listened as she worked, looking neither bored nor surprised. ‘Do you miss it?’

  I could not answer her for a while. I missed my family. I could remember the smell of grass and sheep, and incoming rains. My parents. My brother.

  ‘Yes.’ I could think of nothing else to say, and I felt the lack seep between us. That single word could not convey the loss of my home.

  ‘Ah.’ The syllable could have meant a range of different things. Lycaea cleared her throat. She sounded nonchalant, but she would not look at me. ‘You know, you are welcome here.’ She finished clearing the papers. ‘If we survive battle with Leldh. I’m sure we could find you a place to stay. There’s not much left for you in the Valley. And the other waer would be welcome in the Debajo as well, or we could find a place for them in the Ciadudan.’

  In the mix and swell of the city. Far from the rolling hills and quiet forest. I could not suppress a shudder.

  ‘That is a no. Am I right?’

  She was looking at me. I averted my eyes. It had cost her a good deal of pride to make the offer. Still, the answer was the only one I could give.

  ‘I can make no choices until I know what became of my people,’ I said.

  ‘They may not be alive.’

  ‘I feel in my heart they are.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, and though she said no more I could sense her cynicism. She looked away and resumed her work. Her jaw was tight.

  ‘When it is over, I will visit,’ I promised.

  ‘No,’ she disagreed. ‘You will lose yourself to farming and domesticity. You will forget what it was like to be here. To live in the moment. Luthan may be a corrupt pit of depravity and immorality.’ She lay down and pillowed her head with her hands. ‘But it i
s beautiful.’

  I was struck by her sincerity. I wished I could make her understand. ‘If you could go back to the ocean with your old ship-mates and the quartermaster, and know everything would be the same, would you leave Luthan?’

  She propped herself on her elbow and watched me again. I went on. ‘Things will not be the same when I return home. But they can be repaired. I could never survive here. Luthan is far too big a world for me to live in. I would drown.’

  ‘I know.’ She reached over and dimmed the lamp, in spite of her earlier words. ‘The offer is still there,’ she told me. ‘If the Valley becomes… if it is no longer home for you. There will be a place for you here.’

  I felt unexpected warmth in my stomach. I was suddenly very aware of her. She stared at me, unabashed and direct. Fruitless to try to fathom what she was thinking. Neither of us spoke as I felt the tension build. I broke it.

  ‘Tell me about Manon, and Pelladan. I have never been beyond the Valley before. I know little of such places.’ Dodge had told us much about the dry, hot city of Tadhg, but he had never told us much about Pelladan or Manon.

  ‘Pelladan’s not worth much,’ she said. ‘It’s an island to the west of Luthan. A few weeks’ sail. It rains there, almost constantly. Not a friendly place, either. The people are clever, I’ll grant you, but years of civil war and slavery have made them bitter and withdrawn. Moth says they’re way ahead of us in weapons and medicine.’ She shrugged. ‘Not worth much if the people aren’t treated well, though. And they’re not, even since the revolution. Women have a bad time of it, in particular. Even a Lady Governess in power can’t stamp out centuries of mistreatment.’

  ‘And Manon? Do you recall Manon?’

  Her face relaxed into a slow smile. I could see the space where one of her teeth was missing. ‘To the south-west of Oster,’ she said. ‘Not as far as Tadhg, which is two weeks souther still, but down from Luthan and Herithes by a long way. It’s hot there, and humid. Impossibly green and vibrant. And the food, Wolf. Never tasted anything like it.’

  ‘What of the people?’

  ‘Different. It’s a matriarchy, so a woman sits on the throne and women own most of the businesses there. Much of their culture is based around combat and honour. They have strange ways, to my eyes.’ She paused. ‘But then, I suppose we have strange ways to your eyes. Don’t we?’

  ‘Not so strange as I first thought,’ I told her, and she grinned. In a few moments, however, the grin faded, and her brow creased. Hard to tell what had stirred her thoughts, brought the shadows back to her face.

  ‘Best get some sleep,’ she said at length. ‘We’ll need our wits about us tomorrow.’

  ‘Sleep well, Lycaea.’ I knew there was no point in arguing, or trying to press her further.

  ‘Sleep well, Wolf.’ She flopped back onto her bed and rolled over, faced the wall.

  I tried to sleep, but my dreams were haunted by men with golden eyes, and soldiers who set fire to thatches. Kemp wailed in my ears every time I closed my eyes. When the members of the Own rose for their morning meal, I was still awake.

  The souther-waer were not like the waer of the Valley; they favoured open plains and the blue sky to caves and houses. They were nomads who travelled through the desert, known as the Parch, that stood between Luthan and Tadhg. Out of courtesy to them, we did not meet in the darkened tunnels and caverns of the Debajo, but instead beyond the southern wall of Luthan, not far from the main road. Lycaea and I sat in the long, spiny grass there and waited. Lycaea had a basket of dried and fresh meat under her arm. She had stopped at the Mercado on the way out, and bought it as a gesture of good-will.

  The souther-waer smelled of smoke, blood and sand. They approached us in their human shapes, but they walked like wolves; all intent and coiled muscles. They towered above us. Four of them. Feeling vulnerable on the ground, I scrambled to my feet. Lycaea, chewing on a blade of grass, remained seated.

  ‘Good of you to come,’ she said. ‘I’m Lycaea. This is Lowell Sencha.’ She nudged the basket of meats over with her foot. ‘We brought you food.’

  The gesture and the words troubled me. It was the language of a submissive wolf, not one in charge. I felt we had to be stronger with these people.

  ‘I’m Rog.’ The brawny man at the front sat, and the other three followed him. ‘This is Ariaf Greypaw, Keturah Greypaw, and Tarkin Rustfur.’

  ‘Nice to know you.’ Lycaea flipped the lid of the basket open. Rog sniffed at it, then nodded.

  ‘Speak your piece.’

  To my horror, Lycaea looked at me. I cleared my throat and looked between the four souther-waer. They were not armed; they did not need to be. It was obvious they could tear a man apart with little effort. The man who had spoken, Rog, had reddish hair and wore a pelt about his shoulders. A wolf-pelt, I realised, feeling ill. I wondered whether it was an honour custom, or whether it came from an enemy. The other three also sported wolf-pelts; grey for the Greypaws, and tawny for the other Rustfur.

  I did not know how to speak to someone who was capable of skinning a waer, no matter their reason. I thought of skinning the goat, back in the mountains, and my stomach turned.

  ‘Wolf.’

  All five of us looked at Lycaea, but I knew she was speaking to me. With difficulty, I gathered my thoughts.

  ‘I come from the Gwydhan Valley, in the northern mountains of Oster. We recently suffered an attack. A blood-purist named Daeman Leldh swept through my home with his army. He slaughtered my people. He plans on doing the same to Luthan, when he has amassed enough strength. It will not be long.’

  ‘We plan to strike at him first,’ Lycaea said. ‘We go with the men and women warriors of Luthan, but we need as much strength as we can gather. We’ve heard much of your skill in combat and the hunt. We would ally ourselves with you, and risk much to save all.’

  The souther-waer took the meat and sampled it. They tore it with their fingers and ate the fresh meat still bloodied. They chewed with their mouths open. My mother would have shuddered to see it.

  ‘We’ve dealt with purists before,’ said the sinewy Greypaw woman, Keturah. ‘Got no real wish to deal with them again. We can just go south. I’d like to see any mountain-fellow cross the Parch with his dainty army.’

  ‘Would you hide in Tadhg?’ Lycaea asked. ‘You are not permitted within the gates of the city there. Luthan is the only city to allow you free walk of the markets. If you lose Luthan, you scrape out a living in the desert forever. There will be no sanctuary for you. And what if Leldh dams the river? What if he takes over the trade ports? He will wipe out the chipretraders, you can wager on that. You rely on those traders for their wares during the hard months.’

  ‘We rely on no one.’

  ‘We rely on you.’

  They were going to refuse. I knew it, and Lycaea could sense it. It was in the way Rog’s shoulders eased back, and the way the others shifted their weight away from us. It was in the way Keturah’s muscles bunched, in case we took issue with it.

  I straightened and eyed Rog. He was a wolf, and I knew how to be a wolf better than Lycaea did. The souther-waer met my gaze, but only briefly. Size did not matter. Experience and nerve were everything. I reached for the basket and took some fresh meat. Pulled it apart with my hands and ate.

  It was bloody and tough, chewy between my teeth. And it tasted…

  No, I could not think about that. And I could not think about what the Valley waer would have said, either. A kill had to be cooked. The meat caught in my throat and I struggled not to gag. But it had the intended effect.

  Rog growled. It was their food, given to them. I was not one of them, and in his eyes I had not earned the right to eat their spoils. I did not lower my gaze as I ate. The male Greypaw edged closer to me, and I let a growl rip through my throat. The sound gave him pause.

  Lycaea opened her mouth to speak, but I shook my head at her. She watched us, intent. I let the silence hold. Then, when I was sure of their attention, I spoke again.<
br />
  ‘Waer should help waer.’ I sat back, threw the issue into their teeth. ‘My people were slain mercilessly. Will you fight for yours like wolves, or will you let them die like dogs?’

  ‘What do you know of fighting, little norther-waer?’ Rog asked. ‘Have you ever killed?’

  ‘He has.’ Lycaea cut through, her voice smooth and clear. ‘He is a head and a half shorter than you are, and untried, but he is willing to march into battle nevertheless. He has as much courage as any souther-waer. Are you his equals? Or will you flee to the desert to suck lichen off rocks for the rest of your lives?’

  The souther-waer said nothing. Lycaea and I waited, tense and motionless.

  ‘We need to take it to our packs,’ Keturah said at last. ‘If we put their lives at risk, we need to give them their options. You’ll be hearing from us.’ She took the basket and stood. ‘When do you leave?’

  ‘Three weeks. If you’re with us, meet us at the norther-wall of the city. We’ll have an army with us.’

  We rose and the souther-waer departed. I released a long breath.

  ‘Fair, Wolf,’ Lycaea told me. ‘Fair.’ She clapped my shoulder.

  ‘They were wearing pelts. Did you know about that? They donned waer pelts, Lycaea.’

  She waved a hand. ‘It’s not a violent thing for them. Those are the pelts of their fallen ancestors. It’s a mark of respect and love. They keep their past with them. It’s not supposed to threaten anyone. When they growled at you, though? That was a threat. One you managed remarkably well, I might add.’

  I was both embarrassed and pleased by her approval.

  When she spoke again, her words were short and sharp, jagged with nerves. ‘How much control do you have over it?’

  I did not have to ask what ‘it’ was. The inner wolf.

  ‘The more you Shift, the more control you gain,’ I told her. ‘In the first few years, it is difficult. We have to watch our young ones with care, to ensure they do not cause too much damage in the village and Valley. Now, I feel it tugging at me sometimes. When I am distressed or angry, or wildly glad. I can suppress it with ease, though I prefer to listen to it. Usually, if I feel a compulsion to Shift, it is because I need to do so. I always feel better afterwards. For couples who are soul-bonded, it is an even greater joy. They run with one another as pack, and the Shift of one gives them both energy.’