by K. V. Wilson
“They won’t—”
“And don’t wave like this with your palm facing them. It’s a rude gesture,” I inform him hurriedly as we start off towards the ceremony.
“Good to know.” Conall’s eyes flash and a sly smile spreads across his face. “Could come in handy in the future.”
I roll my eyes. He hasn’t changed a bit.
3
ACCUSATION
It turns out ‘the others’ means roughly five-hundred Yeva’si. They’ve come from five different tribes, Xunnu had informed me. They had come to see their Guardian, who’d finally chosen to show herself after hiding amongst them for a few generations.
The clearing is chock-full of shapeshifters, and I try to make out the forms of my uncle David and aunt Margo. They’re intending to visit briefly with the Yeva’si – long enough to witness the Ru-Yeva ceremony – and then they’ll be heading off to search for recruits to join the ranks of the Silver League. My friends Damian and Jen will be doing the same.
As the sun descends below the western mountains, the valley of the shapeshifters is bathed in brilliant hues of magenta and tangerine, drenching the clearing’s inhabitants in ghostly shadows.
An immense bonfire has been lit in the centre of the clearing, and Yeva’si young and old have gathered around it. They chat animatedly and pound on small drums in anticipation of the ceremony.
I duck my head, staring at my bare feet. I do not desire the attention but it’s unavoidable; festooned with feathers and face paint, I’m quite the spectacle and it’s not long until all eyes are on me.
“Xera, zaavi,” Xunnu commands as he lifts the chieftain’s headdress from the ground and places it gingerly upon his crown. The feathers – obsidian raven and golden eagle – frame his face as the flickering firelight illuminates his shining eyes. The chieftain of the Yáahl gestures at a smaller fire pit to his left.
Xera nods and hoists a large lit torch. She crouches down to send the kindling aflame. The little shapeshifter then jogs around the edge of the clearing and I realize that ten additional fire pits loosely encircle the larger one. Soon the world flickers with firelight and crackles with warmth.
The stars overhead are the brightest I’ve ever seen them, and there isn’t a cloud in sight. I breathe a sigh of relief; my emotions tend to change the weather, so I was worried about how the planet would react to what may be the most terrifying night of my life. Apart from the Battle of the Ritual, of course.
Don’t look at them. Stare at the trees behind the crowd. Imagine you’re the only one here. Imagine this is just a dream.
“Pretend they’re all in their underwear,” Conall offers, his lips teasing my earlobe. He grins, pushing me towards Xunnu, who grabs my arm and raises it to the sky.
“I present to you…your Ru-Yeva!”
I jump as the entire congregation bursts into applause and chatter. I hold my breath, trying to remember what Xunnu told me to say.
I gulp, squeezing my eyes shut. Begin with… Oh, how did it go?
“Go, Skye!” Damian calls out. “You the Guardian!”
“Welcome,” Xunnu whispers.
I gulp and nod in gratitude, locking my fingers together to keep them from fidgeting.
“Welcome, Yeva’si. And Lycans,” I add in English, still scanning the crowd for Damian and Jen.
An enthusiastic wave diverts my attention and I smile as I glimpse the two of them. Damian’s hair is redder than ever in the firelight while Jen’s shines gold. They grin, not caring that the Yeva’si around them are awarding them with strange looks.
Conall stands just behind me, and I can sense the uneasiness in his spirit. Calm and collected Thirteen is nervous about my speech, too; that can’t be good.
I continue in Yeva’si, “Um…it has been far too long since I have stood among you as your Guardian.”
“You are no Guardian! You’re not one of us!” an unfamiliar voice cries from deep within the crowd.
I attempt to ignore the voice, but it gnaws at my mind as I try to remember where I’d left off. Glancing over at Xunnu, I plead with my eyes for him to help me out. He gives me a smile and a thumbs-up, perhaps hoping that this very human gesture will keep me going. Unable to remember what we’d decided I should say next, I choose to improvise. It’s all I can do, really.
“I want you to put yourselves in my shoes for a moment. Well, if I were wearing any…” I trail off, staring at my feet as if they’d know what to say. Taking a deep breath, I continue. “I am a shapeshifter like you are. I was born a Lycan – a daughter of Mac Tíre. I fought in the battle against the Covenant—”
A deep roar ensues from the crowd at the mention of the Covenant. Clearly, the entity’s influence had spread throughout Canada, even to those who wanted no part in the battle between Lycans and humans.
“And,” I continue, smiling as the voices die down once again, “I died there. I was killed by Covenant soldiers. I saw the other side.”
A few of the Yeva’si gasp. I glance over at Conall, who stares at me in confusion. He can’t understand anything I’m saying, and neither can my other Lycan friends. I am speaking only for the benefit of the shapeshifters.
“Your tribe member, the old woman Sejka, saved my life.”
I stroke the raven feather the old woman had given me so many months ago before I’d known who she really was. I’d asked Xera to weave it in with the others, tucked into the braid that rests right over my heart.
“Sejka brought me back,” I choke out, ignoring the tear that’s trailing down my cheek. “She brought me back by transferring her spirit into my body. She gave me this gift,” I say softly, and the shapeshifters lean forward expectantly. “Though I am eternally grateful to be given a second chance at life, and to carry on the legacy of the Guardian of Nature, I did not ask for this, so do not judge me based on that. I am here to help bring balance to the world, just as I have in past lives.”
“Very good,” Xunnu whispers in English for Conall’s benefit. The chieftain nods at me, indicating that he will continue, and I let out my breath, smiling in gratitude.
As the Yeva’si applaud, Conall encloses my hand in his and we kneel beside Xera in front of the nearest fire pit. Many of the shapeshifters still stare at me and I glance at the soil, focusing on the rocks that jut out from the hard surface. The grass is trampled and dying here. Maybe I’ll fix it after this is all over with.
Xunnu clears his throat, raising his arms to the sky. “We are gathered to welcome the Guardian back into our world. But as much as this is a ceremony of rebirth, it is also a celebration of past lives. As Ru-Skye has mentioned, Sejka chose to fulfil her vision. She was strong and brave until the last. I knew Sejka since the two of us were not three winters. At times, she was full of mischief and had a disregard for rules,” he says, pausing to chuckle softly. “But at others, she was the wise, intelligent woman I grew to love.”
I glance up at the chieftain and he smiles warmly at me before turning back to the tribes.
“Sound the drums in memory of Sejka of the Yáahl, and in memory of those – Lycan and Yeva’si – who fell in battle by her side to ensure the Covenant would not prevail.”
Elders and children alike strike their drums in unison, the small and large hides blending together like the percussion section of an orchestra. As one, the Yeva’si tribes bow their heads for the loss of their past Guardian and for the lives of the shapeshifters who’d helped their Lycan brethren gain a step towards freedom.
“Ashes,” the chieftain whispers, gesturing to three shapeshifters who carry baskets towards the bonfire. Raising his voice, he adds, “We send your spirits amongst the stars where they will forever watch over us and guide us.”
A lengthy pause ensues as the ashes are tossed into the flames. The fire surges to life and billows of wispy smoke rise towards the constellations above as the Yeva’si spirits join their ancestors. There they will join Sejka.
Xunnu glances at me again before continuing. “Spirit
s are immortal. Our physical forms may pass, but we never truly leave this world. We live on in our descendants, in our peoples. In the sky and earth.”
“Za de Ru milooqen keey,” the gathered Yeva’si chorus. Xunnu nods, urging them to continue.
“Da se yeva moru xa
No wyletthen da re maa
Reddqen si de eban se
Za de Ru milooqen keey”
“And so,” Xunnu addresses the congregation, “I want to thank the Ru-Yeva for once again demonstrating that she stands strong alongside her people. As a dedicated member of the Three who seek to keep the balance between all races and species on Earth.”
I dip my head at the gathered shapeshifters.
“What did they say?” I inquire of Xera. The chanting had gone by so quickly, and the blending of voices had been too much for me to decipher their words.
Xera thinks for a moment before slowly repeating the verse in English.
“Timeless, nature flows on
Earth oblivious to the changes
Enduring, the children of ancient ones
Solely the Guardian may keep the balance”
Xunnu calls up the chieftains, and upon peering into their arms, I can make out lopsided objects wrapped loosely in skins.
I almost die of embarrassment at being singled out even more than I already have been.
They’re bringing me gifts. But this is what happens when a long-lost goddess returns to her people, I suppose. They look like the three Wise Men, albeit there are four of them.
“Ru-Yeva, Great Guardian Spirit of the Forest, please accept Naatya’s blessing,” the first chieftain addresses me as she approaches and stands beside me, facing the crowd.
Her ancient face boasts laugh lines the size of trenches. Her hair is pulled back into hundreds of tiny braids, giving her the appearance of a buzz cut. She wears a chieftain’s cloak, and I note that the beading on the back depicts a great golden eagle.
The woman smiles at me with crooked teeth and gives me a deep bow.
“Please accept this gift. It is one that I made in your honour, but I never thought I would ever get the chance to personally meet you,” the woman says uncertainly. “How comical it was that I could have given it to Sejka all those years ago, had I known…”
She unwraps the object and tosses the hides over her shoulder with finesse. I gasp as the object is revealed. It’s a bow, carved with engravings of different scenes and runes from a time I can barely remember. On the bow’s widest surface lies the image of a raven, wings outstretched, its beak slightly ajar. Facing the raven is the head of a wolf, its form carefully represented in a line drawing like no other. It had obviously been crafted by the finest hand and had likely taken years to perfect.
Unable to speak, I bring both hands to my mouth, willing my brain to say something. I can’t appear rude to her, not after she has given me such a thing.
Xunnu clears his throat, forcing me back to reality and allowing me to sort out my thoughts.
“Th-thank you, Naatya,” I stammer, accepting the bow and holding it as delicately as if it were a human child.
The elderly woman chuckles. “No, no. My name is Litu. My tribe is Naatya. The eagle.”
“Oh. My apologies,” I tell her.
The elderly woman shakes her head at Xunnu, perhaps indicating that he has not taught the Ru-Yeva all she needed to know before this rite of passage. If that’s what it is. Hell if I know. I’m just the one melting away at the sight of this irreplaceable wooden bow.
“What kind of wood is it?” I ask the woman, hoping the question will break the awkward silence.
“It is cedar. The carvings are more recent. The raven to represent Sejka’s tribe, and the wolf to represent—”
“The White Wolf,” I blurt, picturing Sejka’s alabaster fur and silvery eyes. “Sorry…”
I glance at Litu and she grins widely at me. “You are the first Lycan Ru-Yeva, I believe. The wolf stands for you as much as it does Sejka’s favoured form.”
“It is beautiful. My thanks to you, Litu of the Naatya. I will never be able to repay you for such a gift.”
Xunnu leans over and whispers into my ear, “Remember the…” He twirls his finger as if that clarifies his sentence.
“Sorry?” I mumble, narrowing my eyes in confusion. “Oh! Right.”
I place the bow gently upon the ground and then raise both hands up to shoulder-height, twirling them slowly to create a slight breeze around the leader of the Naatya tribe.
Unfortunately, Xunnu hadn’t given me enough time beforehand to practice this particular exercise, and as the wind swirls around Litu, it ruffles her thin braids, tossing them into her eyes and causing her to utter a note of surprise.
One of the nearby fire pits roars to life, its crackles frightening the children who sit cross-legged next to it. They leap up and locate seats a short distance away, giggling.
To his credit, ever-sombre Xunnu is unable to stifle a laugh. I glance at him in a panic and he makes a flicking motion with his hand. I copy the gesture and the wind stops. The weirdest thing about nature magic is that somehow wind is the hardest to master. It’s fickle, ever-changing.
Well, consider yourself fully blessed, Litu, I think to myself as I groan inwardly, rubbing my left eye. I belatedly remember that I’m wearing face paint. Hopefully it didn’t smudge. Great going, Skye. You klutz.
The next few chieftains present their gifts and give me their blessings. The Katuu – wolf – tribe gives me a feather band that’s meant to fit around my forehead like one of those sweatbands from 80s music videos. I’m sure Margo is impressed. The woven band and its beads are exquisitely crafted.
The Saanxi – otter – tribe gives me a satchel full of some strange chestnut-coloured powder, and I thank the man profusely even though I have no idea what it is. To my relief, Xunnu notes my bewilderment and breathes in my ear, “Seeds. You cannot create life, but you may help it to thrive.”
When the fourth chieftain is called up, an immense figure in a long cloak approaches in lengthy, confident strides. He walks with purpose. The figure has his hood drawn up so it shields his features. I glance at Xunnu and note that his eyes are narrowed and his fists are clenched. I mentally prepare myself for what’s to come. Judging by some of the glares I received tonight, it’s obvious that not everyone here likes me.
“I am chieftain Xáan of the Ulawey. Son of Sehwen,” the man states, raising his voice so that all can hear very clearly. “And I bring nothing!”
A gasp rings out from the gathered Yeva’si, and Conall whispers in English to Xera, asking her what’s happening. Xera seems too stunned to answer, however.
“Xáan!” Xunnu whispers, stepping towards the other man.
Xunnu said he was the son of Sehwen, too. That could only mean this man is Xunnu’s brother. And if Xera is Xunnu’s niece, then this man – chieftain of the bear tribe – must be Xera’s father.
The brothers approach, and I note the unmistakable similarities between the two. Xunnu, however, looks much older and more weathered than his sibling. Xáan possesses dark, unforgiving eyes and an intimidating demeanour that matches that of his father, the bear I’d seen in Sejka’s memory.
“Xáan,” Xunnu repeats softly so only a handful of people can hear him, “retract that statement. You can give her a blessing rather than a gift—”
“No,” Xáan utters simply, raising his chin. Shifting his gaze to meet mine, the Yeva’si chieftain lowers his voice. “I will not bless the spirit that caused our father’s death.”
4
SENTIMENTAL VALUE
Aelshen
Ye know the worst thing about tryin’ to find a lost dragon? Nah, of course ye don’t. Ye’ve probably thought they were extinct all this time, or otherwise only mythological. Well, the thing about Nwyfre Flint is that’s exactly what he wants ye to think. He wants us to think he’s dead an’ gone – damn near impossible when yer a spirit capable of reincarnation – and taken all his kind
with ‘im.
An’ that’s why I was surprised to find his very own descendant when I first arrived back in London, England.
Ye see, Nwyfre Flint an’ I used to be real close. We founded a pub together a couple centuries ago. ‘Flint and Flockhart’ was the name. An’ I have to say, the lad was a fine host, he was. Always ready to entertain the young ones with his stories. He’d take the youngest in his arms and ye could see how his face would light up, perhaps even more‘n the kids’ faces would, heh heh. He was a loyal friend.
But there’s one thing about friendship: it sometimes grows sour o’er time if ye don’t keep it goin’ strong.
An’ it was for that very reason that I returned to the pub one day to see that Nwyfre had packed up his things and departed. I saw it comin’, o’course. But it still stung. Perhaps it stung the most because I could’ve done somethin’ to prevent it. But it wasn’t me place to join his cause. It was a filthy dirty cause, mind ye. But it was a cause nonetheless. I should’ve done somethin’ to help, no matter how small.
I blink twice to bring meself back to the reality at hand and concentrate on the wind ruffling me feathers. What a blessing it is to be an earthen spirit – the elements and animal forms just a thought away.
As I reach the moonlit skeleton of Conwy castle in north Wales, I spiral down and Shift to man upon the highest-most point of the structure.
“Ah, it’s been far too long since I’ve seen ye, Nwyfre,” I say to the wind, feeling its rough embrace upon my beard and thinning hair. “The battle of 1390 was a tough one, but ye survived it. Yer kind lived to see another day.”
O’course, man had just about brought his kind to extinction, to the point where no one had seen anything of the like fer centuries. That was a time of dragons and knights – a time long passed. An’ Conwy castle was once the centre of it.
But a hope still lives inside me rugged heart that maybe Nwyfre had just gone into hiding somewhere, building up the army he always said he would. Ready to conquer again, or solely to win freedom from the humans who so ruthlessly stripped it away. An’ I would be there, just as always, to remind ‘im that it ain’t his place to go around causing destruction where there should be balance. Spiritborne should know better than that, I’d say to him. Make peace, not war.
