Guardian (Book Two of the Spirits' War Trilogy)

by K. V. Wilson

  The wind is harsh up here, so I struggle to keep balance as I alight. Letting out a small whoosh of raven breath, I hop back into the air and do as Litu commands, spiralling down until I’m at eye-level with the two chieftains.

  Xunnu and Litu take an involuntary step back as I come to yet another crash-landing in front of them.

  I blame it on the sea air; British Columbia is far windier than Alberta. It isn’t fair.

  “Good try, Ru-Skye.” Xunnu attempts to hide his amusement.

  “Ha, ha. Nice faceplant.” A new voice enters the scene, speaking in English and not Yeva’si. I recognize the familiar slight-Scottish accent of Damian MacLarty.

  Shifting to human form, I gratefully take Sejka’s old beaded cloak from Xunnu and slip it around my shoulders to conceal my naked flesh. Damian greets me with a smile and a quick hug. Jen does the same.

  “Don’t listen to him. That was awesome.” Jen smiles, eyes wide. “Wish I could fly like that.”

  “Or at all,” Damian adds. “Hey, isn’t it true that the Ru-Yeva gave these people—”

  “The Yeva’si.”

  “Yeah. Didn’t she give them their powers? Could you…?” he asks, raising his eyebrows and giving me the puppy-dog eyes.

  “It’s like I told Thirteen—”

  “You called?”

  I gasp as a pair of arms reaches around me from behind. I lean my head against Conall’s shoulder, relishing the feel of his warm breath on my neck.

  “Heeeey,” Conall laughs. “She can’t remember how to do that yet. Don’t push her.”

  “I wasn’t pushing.” Damian pouts and then turns back to me. “So…?” He raises his eyebrows.

  “If I remembered how to hand out the power of shapeshifting, I would do it for you guys. One-hundred percent,” I tell my friends solemnly. “Then I could watch you fail flight school too.”

  “We wouldn’t fail,” Conall says confidently. “Flying is easy. Flap harder and you rise.”

  I turn and give him a grin. “You should print that on T-shirts.”

  Conall gives me the thumbs-up.

  “So” – I turn back to Damian and Jen – “did you find any recruits yet?”

  Though we hadn’t lost too many during the Battle of the Ritual, we hadn’t started with all that many, either. Any new face was welcome within our ranks, and I only hope that Aelshen will be successful in securing the dragons’ allegiance in our fight against the Covenant. All he has to do is locate their Spiritborne Guardian, Nwyfre Flint, also known as the original Welsh Dragon. Nwyfre was thought to have been the inspiration for the beast depicted on the Welsh flag, but I’m still not sure whether or not to believe Greg Flint and Aelshen on that fact. It certainly would be cool though. Talk about celebrity status.

  Damian snorts. “Do you see any?”

  “Well, no…”

  Jen sighs, stretching her arms behind her back. “We travelled to two towns, and all we found was one isolated family who wanted nothing to do with us.”

  “And I don’t blame them,” Damian says flatly, “but they could at least give us some funding.”

  “Funding?” I bite back a smile, sensing that he’s trying to make light of our situation. “We don’t even use weapons or anything.”

  Thirteen snorts. “We should—”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Xunnu cuts in.

  I’d forgotten that he and Litu had been standing there this whole time, listening in on our conversation. Of course, Litu probably couldn’t understand what we were saying; most of the Yeva’si don’t speak English.

  I take a step back. “Sorry! Damian, Jen, this is Litu.” The elder bows her head, smiling politely. “Litu, these are my friends Damian and Jen,” I inform her in Yeva’si.

  “Nice to meet you,” the Lycans mumble in unison.

  Litu nods, replying in a strong accent, “Same to you.”

  “And it’s nice to see you again, Xunnu. Even though we were only gone for two days.” Jen smiles, reaching out a hand to shake his. I watch Litu flinch, remembering that showing your palm in such a way is considered rude in her culture. She relaxes though, knowing we have no knowledge of these customs.

  “Likewise, young Lycans. I hope to borrow Skye again before the potlatch—”

  “Potlatch?” Damian raises his eyebrows.

  “A special feast,” I whisper.

  “Ah.”

  “I have something to give to her. Something that was meant to be given during the Ru-Yeva ceremony, but was not ready at the time.”

  “Ooh,” Conall whispers into my ear, then raises his voice so Xunnu can hear. “What is it?”

  The chieftain sighs, forcing a smile. “You may all come if you so choose.”

  “I so choose,” Jen says enthusiastically.

  “Very well. Follow me.”

  Xunnu heads towards the woods at a brisk walk and we have to struggle to keep up with his long strides.

  Litu falls into step beside me, and our cloaks swish back and forth. I try to imagine what the two of us would look like in a photograph: a short, pale teenager and an elderly copper-skinned woman walking side-by-side through the woods in matching beaded cloaks. The only difference is that hers depicts an eagle and mine depicts a raven. The pattern of the Yáahl tribe.

  “I am sure you will like this gift, Ru-Skye,” Litu says in Yeva’si, eyes shining with mischief.

  I smile. “I’m sure I will. But I certainly don’t deserve it, whatever it is. I didn’t deserve any of these gifts the tribes have given me,” I add, lowering my voice to a whisper.

  “You are their Guardian. They owe you.”

  “For what?”

  Litu grins. “For what you have done and for what you will do.”

  Once we’ve travelled far enough into the woods to escape all signs of civilization, Litu shrugs off her cloak and removes a bow from her shoulder. I hadn’t noticed she’d been carrying it. She must have picked it up after we’d returned from our flight. But as I look closer, I realize it’s the one her tribe had given me as a gift the other night.

  “My apologies for taking this from your tent, Ru-Skye,” the old shapeshifter begins, though mischief still dances in her eyes, “but we needed it in order to show you your new gift.”

  “Oh, um…no worries,” I say uncertainly, glancing first into Litu’s eyes and then into Xunnu’s. What are they planning?

  “What is it?” Conall inquires, stepping towards the two Yeva’si in anticipation. “What’s she saying, Skye? Are they giving you arrows? I was wondering what you were going to use with that.”

  “Shut up, Thirteen,” Damian hisses. “Sorry, mates.”

  Xunnu chuckles at Conall’s excitement. “The boy is correct,” he says, speaking slowly for Litu’s benefit. “We have developed arrows that may be used with your uncle’s serum, Skye. That way you do not have to get too close to the Ferals in order to rescue them.”

  My eyes widen in surprise. “Thank you!” I burst out. “Wow! This will really help. I wondered how I was going to use the serum on Sejka’s brother.”

  Litu and Xunnu exchange glances. “Of course, you will have to learn how to use the bow first. We don’t want to put you into a dangerous situation,” Xunnu says solemnly, adjusting his ponytail.

  “I can teach you,” Litu says in Yeva’si. “I was a fine hunter in my time.”

  “You still are a fine hunter,” Xunnu responds in English so the Lycans will understand. He turns to them with a smile. “And I was hoping you three would be interested in helping Skye with this endeavour.”

  “Are you crazy? Of course we’d be!” Conall says, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

  “You got that right,” Damian laughs as Jen nods her agreement.

  I turn to my friends. “Thanks, guys,” I tell them sincerely, “for helping me to fulfil my promise to Sejka.”

  “We’ll find Koyah, Skye.” Xunnu pats me on the shoulder. “I have missed him as well. I just hope he’s still out there after all
these years.”

  “Now,” Litu says with a smile that displays her crooked teeth, “let your archery lesson begin.”

  11

  ONE O’ THE THREE

  Aelshen

  By the time we finally reach Inverfarigaig, Scotland, another two days have passed. It’s nearing midnight from what me eyes can make out. We’d been travelling under the cover of darkness and camping by day.

  I want to ask Flint if there’s anythin’ he can see that I can’t, but I don’t want his head gettin’ any bigger than it already is. I’m here as a mediator for the prolonged argument between the two lads here, and I can’t be showin’ favourites. This ain’t the time.

  As we approach the town, I give a wee nod to Flint and MacLarty in turn, and they return the gesture.

  In we go.

  There ain’t a street lamp in sight, at least not on our side of town. It’s dark as death here, and smells just as foul. I’m tempted to enter me wolf form just to get a sense of what we may be dealing with; something seems off about this place. But I keep tellin’ meself it’s just me imagination at work. Just a familiar prickling of the skin that I’ve felt in the past, just before a battle takes place. A sense of foreboding, if ye will.

  Not to worry, I tell meself.

  “What?” MacLarty whispers from beside me and I realize I’d said the words aloud.

  “Ah, nothing. Hey, I sense somethin’ strange. Anybody else feel it?”

  I’m hopin’ this is Flint’s cue to take a look around with his reptilian sight. It’s probably a good idea that we scout out the area before going any further; me spiritual senses are tinglin’, and something had best be done about it.

  “As a matter of fact, I feel like we’re not alone out here,” Flint whispers.

  MacLarty snorts. “What is it? Ghosts? The bogeyman?”

  “Could be,” Flint says, his voice all seriousness. “Mac Tíre, you’ve been here before, right?”

  “Yeah. Was a long time ago, mind ye. An’ I never stayed more’n a day here. Travelled the length of the Loch in one of me past lives. But to be honest, lad, I don’t remember the town as well as I used to.”

  “Makes sense.” MacLarty pushes the dark hair out of his eyes and sniffs the night air. “You’re so bloody old, your mind is going, Aelshen.”

  This makes me throw back me head in a chuckle before remembering that we’re supposed to be quiet. “Lad, if ye only knew how much I know about the world compared with the minuscule amount that you—”

  “Shh,” Flint suddenly tells us, bringing a finger to his lips. I raise me eyes to his, noting that they give off a small glow. He’s usin’ his draconic vision, he is.

  MacLarty takes a step back and breaks a twig under his foot.

  “Shh,” I hiss. I can sense somethin’ amiss, and it sets me heart pounding. “Get behind me, boys.”

  I advance down the street. At this time of night, it’s completely deserted save for the odd cat. All the residents are sound asleep. All but one. Or possibly two.

  “Aelshen, what the hell are you doing?” MacLarty utters through clenched teeth. His words are doused in fear. I stifle a chuckle.

  “Lad, it’s fine. Just keep ready. It’s gonna be a rough night.”

  Flint grabs me arm. “Mac Tíre—”

  “Shh. Don’t you boys know how to be quiet? For Pete’s sake, it’s far past yer bedtimes.”

  “You wish,” MacLarty mumbles.

  I put a hand out and the two of them nearly run into me. “Hey. Shut yer traps. See those houses down there?” I lower my voice even more. “Hear it? Nay, don’t answer that. Just follow.”

  I start off towards the noise and the spirits I’d sensed. The slightest, faintest trace of light emanates from the house at the end o’ the lane. It’s a flickering kind of light, as if from a stunted candle that’s about to burn out. I shrug back a shiver, unwilling to show me companions just how a’feard I am. We’re walking right into the nest.

  “I sense the spirits of dragons,” I tell the boys ominously. “But there’s something a wee bit off about one o’ them.”

  “Sure it’s not just Greg, mate?” MacLarty asks sarcastically. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “Alright,” I begin at the faintest whisper, “which one of ye wants to knock?”

  The lads stare at me as if I’ve grown five heads. Heck, I’d look at me as if I’d grown five heads. Or six, for that matter. If we’re about to encounter a feral dragon or two, we’d best be ready for a battle. Perhaps some fireproof clothing. But there ain’t time for that now.

  I grin. “Oh, come on. Ye scared? This is what we came here for, boys.”

  “I’m fine,” MacLarty mutters, eyes shinin’ in the dim light of the waning moon. His stance gives away his fright, however.

  “Then be my guest,” I tell him, waggling me eyebrows. I love playin’ to his arrogant side.

  MacLarty rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he grunts, raising his knuckles to the oak.

  The young Lycan’s hand hesitates and I note that it shakes. MacLarty raps thrice on the door and I tell the lads to take a step back an’ let me protect them if need be.

  “We’re barging in on a potentially feral dragon, so let’s best be cautious,” I whisper, relishing the look on their faces as their eyes grow wide and the smug half-smile disappears from young MacLarty’s face. His features grow even paler than usual.

  “Potentially? You…we…” Flint stumbles on his words and backs away. MacLarty swears, stepping behind his comrade in cowardice.

  Before we’ve the chance to flee, however, a small metal clunk gives way and the oak begins to squeal. The door opens but a crack. Two bright and glowing eyes can be seen peepin’ through a pair of rusted spectacles.

  “Off with ye!” an old woman’s voice whispers in a thick Scottish accent. “‘Tis the middle of the bloody night!”

  As she attempts to slam the door shut in me face, I slip me bare foot in between the oak and the jam, wincing as the wood squashes the bones of me extremity together.

  “One moment of yer time, madam,” I say in me most polite way.

  “Off with ye!” she repeats. “I’ve got a sick husband tryin’ to sleep! Ye’d best be gettin’ lost!”

  If he was sleeping afore, he certainly ain’t now.

  The woman tries to slam the door shut again and her glasses tumble askew. She reaches up to straighten them, keepin’ the other hand firmly on the doorknob in case I attempt to force the door open again.

  “A sick husband!” I put on a look of innocence. “Nwyfre bless him, then, madam.”

  “Thank ye. Wait…what’d ye say?” she asks, eyes widening.

  I give the woman me broadest of grins. “May we come in fer a moment?”

  The old woman seems stunned in place for a few seconds before she swings the door wide, ushering us in.

  Afore long, we’re sittin’ on the loveseat, all crammed and squished like three peas in a porridge hot. Or was it three peas in a pod? That’s it, I think. Oh well. Not like it really matters.

  I run my hand through me thinning hair and scratch at me beard for a moment, hopin’ the old woman will say something first. When she doesn’t, I clear me throat.

  “So…nice home ye’ve got here, madam.”

  The woman rounds on me, cheeks rosy and bosom fluffed up like a plump goose. She’d been about to plop down upon the crimson armchair to the right of the love seat, but seemed to think better of it. She’s standin’ over me like I’m but a child bein’ reprimanded.

  “You have no right to be barging in here and takin’ all we’ve got, have ye?”

  “Er, excuse me?”

  “I know who you are!” she snarls, eyeing me travelling companions with just as much distaste.

  Her eyes linger on Flint afore returning to bore into mine. I have to admit it’s all I can do to not flinch back a bit, shrinking into the plush cushions of the loveseat. Can’t betray any fear in front of the boys.

  “Who do
ye think I am, lass?”

  “Lass? Ye speakin’ to me as if I’m a child, now, Lycan?”

  She spits out the name of me species like it’s poison on her tongue. The old woman pushes her spectacles back up on her bony nose but they promptly fall back down, barely hanging onto its hooked end.

  I clear me throat, casting a sideways glance at the young lads beside me. A tinge of humour is written upon MacLarty’s face, but there’s only fear on Flint’s.

  “Now, now. Don’t be blamin’ this on me—”

  “And why not? Yer kind started this whole bloody mess!”

  “Now hang on, madam! We’re here to help ye.”

  “An’ how can ye possibly? Three wee Lycans barging in on us, offerin’ to help,” the woman mutters, brushing some crumbs off her lap.

  She wears an ugly cream housecoat with a worn floral apron tied hastily around it. I bite me lip to prevent the chuckle forming in the back of me throat. She looks comical, red rosy cheeks an’ all; imagine a great scaly beast, disguised as a plump old housewife.

  I allow the adrenaline to take over me body so me eyes glow with the universe’s power and my fangs grow to points.

  She wants to intensify me anger, she’s bound to get a lot more than what she bargained for.

  “Mac…Mac Tíre…” the old woman breathes as she finally notes that me eyes are shining with somethin’ more than yer average Lycan glow. The woman sinks down into the crimson armchair. “One o’ the three. The Spiritborne.”

  “The very same.” I nod, allowin’ me appearance to resume its normal mortal quality.

  A sudden voice booms from the other room, making Flint and MacLarty jump. “What’s goin’ on in there?”

  “Nothing, dearie. Go back to sleep,” the woman calls out in a way that she must think is sweet, though her gruff words are anythin’ but a lullaby. Unless yer a young toad, that is.

  I clear me throat again. “I can help him, ye know.”

  The woman stares at her lap. Her floral apron is stained with what looks like white icing as if she’s been doin’ some midnight cooking. I wouldn’t be surprised.