The Wildcat's Claw

by Varian Johnson

  As he passed a wooden cart, a familiar flash of faded blue cloth caught Rollan’s eye. He paused, then turned away from the market.

  “Rollan,” Meilin whispered. “Where are you going?”

  Rollan kept walking toward the boy. He and a few other kids stood between two carts, either using them to hide or perhaps to protect themselves from the biting wind. Rollan checked his pockets. He could only spare a few coins. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

  “Don’t spend them all in one place,” he said, tossing two coins to the boy. “And share with your friends.”

  The boy gave Rollan a smile warm enough to melt the coldest of hearts. Rollan returned to Meilin. She was grinning as well.

  “You’re such a softie,” she said. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.” Then her smile faded. “But we should hurry. For all we know, the Oathbound have already found Anka and Abeke.”

  Rollan looked at the sky. Essix circled over a large white-and-brown tent. A woman in a stained apron stood in front, showing off slabs of dried meats.

  Rollan’s stomach grumbled. That looked so much better than snake stew.

  They picked up the pace, weaving through villagers. They entered the tent to find Abeke and Anka quarreling with a merchant. It seemed to be over the price of a bag of grain.

  Abeke was always astute about her surroundings, even when Uraza was in passive state. She stopped arguing with the man, turned, and caught sight of Rollan and Meilin. She whispered something to Anka. Not looking in their direction, Anka slowly nodded, then continued her talk with the merchant.

  Abeke walked toward them, under the pretense of looking at other provisions on the makeshift shelves.

  “What are you doing here?” Abeke didn’t look at Rollan as she whispered. “Anka said—”

  “We caught sight of the Oathbound,” Rollan replied. “They’re here, in the village.”

  Abeke drew a long breath, then nodded. “I was afraid you’d say that. I’ve been uneasy ever since we reached the village.” She picked up a jar of spiced peaches, then frowned at them. “We picked up some warm clothes and are almost finished with the food. You two should head back to the camp. We’ll meet you there as soon as we can.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Rollan said. “If there are Oathbound here, we’ll have a better chance of defeating them together.”

  “Yes, but I’d rather not see them at all,” Abeke said. She chanced a glance at Meilin. “What do you think?”

  “I think if they’re here, in Eura, then we’ll have to fight them sooner or later,” Meilin said. “And I think it would be easier if we faced them with better weapons.”

  “You want to buy a sword, don’t you?” Rollan said. “How many arrows do you have left, Abeke?”

  “Not nearly enough.” Abeke had been collecting rocks to shape into arrowheads during their trek through Eura, but it was difficult to see them at night. “There’s a trading post on the west side of the market—the tent with the maroon flag. It’s probably the best place for you to find weapons. Anka and I will finish up here and meet you back at camp.”

  They nodded, then slipped back out of the tent. The trading post wasn’t hard to find. In addition to the maroon flag waving overhead, it was surrounded by trappers and hunters. They stood outside, laughing and singing.

  Meilin frowned as she passed the men. “You said your cell at the Howling House smelled like a pigsty. Was it as wretched as these men smell?” she asked, almost gagging.

  Rollan had put his hand over his nose. “These guys are way worse. Maybe that’s how they attract their prey—by imitating the scent of dead animals.”

  Once in the tent, they quickly made their way toward the weapons. The selection was meager—swords made from rusted steel and bows from flimsy wood—but they were able to find a couple quivers of arrows for Abeke.

  “What can I help you kids with?” a woman asked, approaching them. Her apron matched the flag flying over the tent. The wart on the end of her nose was large enough to be its own body part.

  “Just these,” Meilin said, holding up the arrows. “That is, unless you have any decent swords.”

  “Something just came in.” She patted her graying hair, rolled up tightly into a bun. “Come. Take a look. I’ll give you a good price.”

  They followed the woman to the center of the tent. Behind them, about twenty hunters entered. They were loud, their drinks sloshing from their mugs as they lumbered through the post.

  The woman took a sword from behind the counter. She slowly removed it from the black leather scabbard. It was a beautiful, single-edged blade, clearly cared for. There didn’t seem to be a single nick in the metal. The hilt also looked new, with intricate symbols carved into the steel.

  “It’s a falchion,” the merchant said. “One of the trappers just brought it in for a trade.”

  “I’m familiar,” Meilin said. “It’s similar to the Zhongese dao.” She picked up the sword, then considered its weight. She took a few steps away, quickly spinning the weapon in her hands. The blade almost buzzed as it sliced the air.

  “It’s a good weapon,” Meilin finally said. “It’s well-balanced.”

  The merchant studied Meilin. “You’re pretty good with a sword. Most of the hunters swing it like an ax, but you … you’ve been trained in proper swordplay technique.” She scratched her nose. “What did you say your name was again? And what brings you to this little village?”

  Meilin stiffened ever so slightly. Rollan realized that she might have been too good with the weapon.

  “My father used to be a warrior. He trained me.” She quickly returned the sword back to the counter. “But I gave that up. Too messy. Now I just sing and dance.” She looped her arm into Rollan’s and smiled broadly. “We’re traveling performers.”

  “Did someone say performers?”

  Rollan turned. The group of trappers must have overheard their conversation. Each carried a long, two-sided ax, similar to Conor’s. Their fur boots were caked with mud.

  At least Rollan hoped it was mud.

  The largest of them, a bearded man with a belly shaped like a big black cauldron, stumbled forward. “How about you all put on a little performance? After weeks in the wilds, my mates and I could use a good show.”

  Rollan quickly sized up the men. About half of them had encircled Rollan and Meilin. That meant at least ten more were roaming around inside the tent, and no telling how many remained outside. He was sure that he and Meilin could get away, but a dramatic escape would draw too much attention. The Oathbound soldiers were probably still in the market.

  “Well?” the trapper asked, scratching at his red-and-gray beard. Flakes of dandruff fell to the ground. “You going to perform for us or not? Or are you not any good?”

  Meilin let go of Rollan’s arm. “If you insist,” she said. “I just hope you all tip well.”

  Meilin unwrapped her scarf from her neck as she moved to the center of the group. Rollan slowly moved his hand toward his dagger. He wanted to be ready whenever she gave the signal.

  But Meilin didn’t take a fighting stance. Instead, she closed her eyes and placed her hands in front of her like she was meditating. Slowly she balanced on one foot. And then she tipped to her toes and began to spin like a top. Exiting her spin, she leaped through the air, her arms wide, the scarf twirling around her like a silk ribbon. She followed that up with three backflips.

  Rollan couldn’t believe it. She was actually dancing.

  The trappers began to clap and cheer. Meilin began to move faster, performing more spins, and flipping even higher. Her scarf was like an extension of her, twisting whenever she twisted, spinning whenever she spun.

  Something hit Rollan against the back of his head. He turned, ready to fight … and then he saw the gold coin on the ground.

  Cupping his hands, he began collecting money from the men. They were generous—both of Rollan’s pockets were weighted down with gold and silver pi
eces once Meilin had finished her routine. As she took her last bows, Rollan realized that she hadn’t even broken a sweat.

  “Let’s get those arrows and get out of here,” he said, dumping the money into her hands. More trappers had entered the shop. They seemed friendly enough, but he didn’t want to press his luck.

  Her eyes widened as she counted the money. “I think there’s enough here to buy both quivers and the sword.”

  “Meilin, you already have a weapon. Or do you not remember the quarterstaff that you swindled from that pirate on the boat?”

  “I didn’t swindle him,” Meilin said. “I won that arm-wrestling contest fair and square. The rules didn’t specify that we couldn’t use a spirit animal.” She glanced at the merchant. She had laid the sword out on the counter, along with two quivers of arrows. “Maybe she’ll negotiate,” she said.

  “Just hurry up and—”

  “Jolly good show, mates,” the large trapper said, interrupting them. He had particularly seemed to enjoy the dance, clapping and doing a jig during Meilin’s performance. His belly had looked like it was moving in slow motion. “So what do you do?” he asked, slapping Rollan on the back.

  “I’m a dancer in training,” Rollan said, rubbing his shoulder blade. Then he smiled. “Actually, more like the company jester.”

  Rollan had been in enough situations to know that when lying, it was best to tell the truth as much as possible.

  “So where are you kids off to next?” he asked. “I’ll be back in the wild with my mates soon, and it would be nice to see a proper performance.”

  “Um … why don’t you go ahead and finish getting those supplies,” Rollan said to Meilin. He couldn’t tell if the trapper was really interested in their show, or if he was trying to out-bluff Rollan. Either way, Rollan knew they needed to make a quick exit.

  Meilin nodded and headed to the counter.

  “Yeah, you should totally check out one of our shows,” Rollan said to the man. “I’m not sure where we’re off to next. Like I said, I’m new to the group. They don’t tell me anything—just where to sleep and when to rise. The real brains of our troupe is still in camp, off the road to the west of town.”

  They had actually bedded down to the east of town. Just in case his ploy didn’t work, he hoped the trapper would search there instead of their real location.

  “Well, where have you been to?” he asked.

  “We passed through Betarvius a few days ago,” Rollan said. Other than Trunswick, it was the only name of a town that he remembered. They hadn’t stopped there, but he had seen signs for it along the trail.

  “Oh, is that so?” The trapper’s eyes creased, and Rollan’s mouth went dry. Did the trapper know that Rollan was lying? Had Rollan said something to tip him off? That was the problem with bluffing too much. Lie enough times and you’re eventually going to get caught.

  “Did you try the pickled hog toes?” the trapper continued, scratching his thick beard. He took a lumbering step toward Rollan. “The town is famous for them.”

  “No, um, I’m more of a vegetarian,” Rollan said. “I’d better get my friend. Nice talking to you.”

  Rollan rushed to the counter. “Look, I’m trying to be reasonable,” Meilin was saying to the merchant. “But there is no way I’m paying that much for that sword. Perhaps you could—”

  “We’re good with just the arrows,” Rollan said, picking up the quivers. “Thanks.” He grabbed Meilin’s hand and pulled her out of the tent.

  “I just needed a few more minutes,” she said. “I almost had her talked down.”

  “We didn’t have a few more minutes,” Rollan said. He pulled Meilin into a narrow space between two tents and waited. Sure enough, the large trapper stormed by, with two other men following him.

  “Trouble?” she asked.

  “Maybe. The trapper was asking too many questions. I tried to throw him off our trail. We’ll see if it worked.” Then he smiled. “You were awesome back there, by the way. Why don’t you dance like that more often?”

  She shrugged. “Dancing and fighting aren’t all that different.” She looked over her shoulder, back at the tent, and sighed.

  “Don’t worry,” Rollan said. “I’m sure we’ll be able to make it out of the village without being caught.”

  “Oh, it’s not that,” she said. “I was just thinking—that was a really nice sword.”

  ABEKE RELEASED URAZA AS SOON AS THEY WERE within view of their campsite. She had told Anka that she wanted Uraza alert and ready, just in case any Oathbound soldiers were nearby. But if she was being honest, she also wanted Uraza by her side because she hated the idea of not seeing—and not sensing—her animal partner.

  Abeke’s stomach twisted into a knot and her mouth went coppery every time she relived the memory when Uraza had been stolen from her. How she’d gone from sharing her every thought with the leopard to suddenly feeling nothing. It was like falling endlessly down a dark, deep, cold pit. She hadn’t known what loneliness truly felt like until their bond was ripped apart.

  But that sense of loneliness paled in comparison to how Abeke had felt when she’d actually fought Uraza. The leopard, while under Zerif’s control, had tried to attack her. Abeke was sure that her spirit animal would have killed her, if not for Shane. He’d put himself between Abeke and the Great Beast, screaming in pain as the golden leopard sank her teeth into him and shook him like an empty burlap sack. Abeke had been forced to fire on Uraza, shooting her in the leg in order to get her to release Shane, but it had been too late. Shane was gone.

  Abeke often found herself looking at Uraza’s hind right leg when she thought the animal was asleep. She couldn’t see the results of the wound from her arrow—Uraza’s golden fur had covered any resulting scar. But still, she knew it was there, hidden out of sight. A wound dealt by her own hand.

  Uraza, perhaps sensing what was going through Abeke’s mind, lovingly rubbed against her leg. Abeke knelt and scratched the leopard behind the ears. Abeke had been surprised, and even comforted, by the amount of affection that they’d shown each other since rebonding.

  She often wondered how Uraza had felt when their bond had been snapped. Did she feel the pain as well? The emptiness? And how had the leopard felt under Zerif’s control? Did she know what she was doing when she attacked Shane? When she tried to attack Abeke?

  Perhaps they both needed comfort.

  As they waited for the sun to set, Anka suggested they all rest, but that seemed impossible with the threat of the Oathbound looming over them. Meilin had told the others how she and Rollan tried to throw the villagers off their trail. No one really trusted that it would work.

  Finally, after the sun dipped below the tree line, they packed up and continued their journey toward Trunswick. Worthy and Abeke took the lead, taking the group through an overgrown, lush forest. Large pine trees reached to the sky, blocking what little light they received from the moon. Abeke winced as pinecones and needles crunched underfoot—they were sure to draw the attention of the Oathbound.

  Worthy eventually directed them to a small, barely noticeable trail snaking through the trees. In some places, the path was so narrow that they couldn’t walk side by side. In other places, tree branches and exposed roots had overtaken the trail, slowing their travel considerably. However, this route was safer than taking one of the roads, now that they knew the Oathbound had reached Eura.

  Even with Uraza boosting her senses, it was hard for Abeke to see in the forest. Every snap of a twig, every howl of an animal, every caw of a bird put Abeke on edge. It was like the forest itself were looking down on them, watching and waiting to pounce.

  “Look sharp,” Abeke said to Uraza. “They could be anywhere.”

  “No way they’ll find us here,” Worthy said, ducking underneath a low branch. “No one knows about this path.” He glanced at Abeke, his slitted eyes stark beneath his white mask. “You move like Uraza, you know. Delicately. Softly. All catlike.”

  “So do
you.”

  Worthy leaped and did a flip, just to show off. He landed in a crouch, on top of a stump. “Yep. It’s one of the only benefits of merging with my spirit animal.”

  Abeke could have shown off as well, and probably could have leaped even higher than Worthy had, but that didn’t seem like such a good idea. “Maybe you should save your energy for our enemy,” Abeke offered.

  Worthy just nodded. They continued on in silence for a few more paces, now walking shoulder to shoulder. Behind her, Abeke heard Rollan and Meilin arguing over her dance moves. Apparently, Rollan was challenging her to a dance-off once they saved the world—again. Farther behind them were Conor and Briggan, guarding the rear. Like Abeke, Conor seemed to be so much more at peace with his spirit animal at his side, not stuck in passive state. Anka was somewhere in the group as well, but it was hard for Abeke to sense her, especially when she was using her chameleon powers.

  They reached a small river cutting through the forest. The bubbling of the water was nice. Calming. Abeke could imagine living in a place like this. Disappearing from the world.

  They stopped to take a sip of water. She cupped her hands into the cool river, then brought the water to her mouth.

  Uraza knelt beside Abeke and stuck her snout close to the water, doing her best to reach the river without getting her paws muddy. She quickly lapped it up with her tongue, causing small waves of water to ripple away from her. Uraza paused, and her eyes narrowed.

  “What is it?” Abeke asked. “Do you hear something?”

  Uraza nodded toward the water. There, below the surface, swam three large fish.

  “Not today,” Abeke said, running her hands along the animal’s black-and-gold fur. Water from Abeke’s hands beaded on her coat. Then, before the cat could respond, Abeke cupped her hand in the water and splashed Uraza. The leopard jumped and yowled. Then she playfully tackled Abeke, nipping at her ears and fingers.