Guardian (Book Two of the Spirits' War Trilogy)

by K. V. Wilson

  “Brother! Get back here! We can’t continue today. What will Xunnu’s father say?”

  The eagle circled once above me but did not show any sign of landing. He tilted into a banking turn, heading out over the water. His reflection was mirrored upon the smooth water beautifully, and I sighed involuntarily at the picturesque imagery. Snapping myself out of the reverie, I lifted my eyes once again to my brother.

  “Koyah!”

  But the bird did not listen; his form merged with the darkening clouds overhead. I knew he would not turn around unless I came and retrieved him myself.

  That is what he wanted all along. I should not have fallen for his trickery.

  Sighing in anger, I Shifted, taking off into the sky. The breeze lapped hungrily at my feathers as my hooked beak cut through the sea air.

  “Koyah,” I breathe, blinking a few times to adjust my sight to the present day. The bear’s eyes waver as if he’s unsure whether or not to address this new threat or to dismiss it in favour of hunting for fish. “Koyah, hichi kana yoh.”

  Please recognize these words. Even just a little bit. I know my pronunciation isn’t as good as it was when last we met, but surely you recognize me?

  No, of course he doesn’t. I am not Sejka, I tell myself. I am Skye. I’m Skye Matthews. I’m a pale Caucasian woman with flamboyant auburn hair. I look nothing like Koyah’s sister.

  The great white bear regards me with slight interest, but perhaps decides I’m not worth his attention. He lowers his snout to the still waters of the half-frozen stream. I switch to fluent Yeva’si, feeling the words flow like water along my teeth and tongue as if I’ve spoken them for centuries. And I have, in a sense.

  “Koyah, I know who you are. I met your sister. You’re the brother of Sejka, Guardian of Nature. You’re not lost anymore. I’m here to help.”

  I swallow, forcing myself to stare into the wild eyes of the bear. I know there’s a human in there somewhere.

  Reaching both arms out towards the gigantic ursine, I whisper almost so gently that not even the wind would be able to hear me.

  “I’m here to help you.”

  After a few seconds of disinterest, the white bear lifts his eyes and stares directly into mine. My heart freezes with terror but I hold still. Any sudden movement could be disastrous. If I’m going to persuade Koyah he’s really human, I first need him to know that I am treating him as an equal. If I can show him I’m not afraid, maybe he’ll snap out of it and recognize the signals as those of his own species.

  “Your name is Koyah,” I inform the bear slowly and firmly.

  As he locks eyes with mine, I hold his gaze. Yes, I’m here. I’m your equal. I may be younger than you, but I am the Ru-Yeva. I have the wisdom and experience of centuries. I may not know how to use all of it yet, but it’s there. Trust me.

  Koyah suddenly curls back his lips and growls. The sound is quiet at first, but to me, it’s like the entire earth is shaking. The bear’s heavy guttural noises increase in volume so rapidly that my heart almost stops.

  And then he charges directly at me.

  Damn. Wasn’t one bear attack enough for a lifetime?

  Koyah splashes noisily through the stream. I bunch up my muscles and leap backwards, feeling the energy surge through my veins as I Shift to raven form. I rapidly beat my wings, hoping to increase the distance between my tender avian flesh and the mad bear beneath me.

  Koyah liberates a wild roar. In my peripheral vision, I make out the silhouettes of birds fleeing the forest to get away from this terrible sound.

  As the bear finally meanders back to his spot along the stream’s bank, I plan my next move.

  I’ll have to get the bow and arrows that Xunnu and Litu had given me. They’re the only way to get the serum into Koyah and help him to remember who he really is.

  14

  RAMSEY AND ELSPETH

  Aelshen

  “Imagine it, Elspeth,” the elderly male dragon calls from the kitchen. “The one and only Mac Tíre! In our very own living room!”

  Elspeth glowers at us from the worn crimson armchair. We sit still as can be, crammed uncomfortably into the tiny love seat. I’m takin’ up almost half of it meself but there ain’t much I can do about it. I don’t dare move a muscle until Ramsey comes back in. He’s makin’ some kind of delicacy fer us. Not a name I recognized, as I’ve spent years an’ years in Scotland and I certainly know of all its unique culinary masterpieces. But it might be a Ddraig – dragon – dish. Should I be worried? Ah, I’m sure it’ll be just fine.

  “So...” I attempt, but fall silent at the venomous look Elspeth gives me.

  Her eyes are burnin’ with rage and I’ve no clue why. She can’t know the whole story of Nwyfre and me. She’s probably never even met Nwyfre, yet she worships him like the god he thinks he is.

  The ol’ dragon woman had tried to convince her husband to kick us out of the house, but Ramsey made it clear his guests were stayin’. He’d introduced himself and his wife. He’d informed us he was truly ecstatic to have visitors. When Elspeth had once again tried to throw us out on the street in the wee hours of the mornin’, Ramsey had brought up the fact that ol’ Mac Tíre had brought a young dragon with him. “If anythin’,” he’d said, “we could keep him ‘round for a little while, eh, Elspeth? After all, it’s been years since we’ve spoken with a fellow Ddraig!” That had made Elspeth perk up a bit, if only fer a few seconds. Then she was back to her grumpy old self.

  I bite me tongue, glancing at Flint and MacLarty. The latter gives me a wee shrug of nonchalance. He’s gone from wide-eyed to right at home in mere minutes, whereas Flint still has that accusatory look in his eyes as if I’d done somethin’ wrong. An’ if truth be told, that’s partially the case. But it isn’t me entire fault. It’s mostly Nwyfre’s. But I’d best not mention that in the company of three dragons, or I’ll be out searchin’ for a toupee later on if ye get my drift.

  “Okay then,” Ramsey’s gruff voice calls out again from the kitchen. “One or two?”

  Elspeth says nothing, so I answer for her. “Ah, jus’ the one for me, sir. Thank ye.”

  O’course, I don’t know what it is he’s askin’ me. But manners dictate I shouldn’t be goin’ and helpin’ meself to a wealth of bounty when Elspeth has specifically told me not to. Even more specifically, by usin’ the words ‘get’ and ‘lost’ in chronological order.

  There’s some rustling and then Ramsey enters the living room carryin’ a platter of who-knows-what. Me belly rumbles and me mouth waters as I take a deep breath of whatever it is they’re servin’. It looks like some kind of dumplings, but it smells like heaven to me.

  Ramsey lowers his head in a dragon’s attempt at submission, likely to please the wolf side o’ me. “Guardian,” he says solemnly.

  “Oh, don’t be callin’ me that. ‘Tis just Aelshen. Or Mac Tíre, if ye will.”

  “He’s right,” Elspeth mutters. “He don’t deserve any title.” The old woman crosses her arms over her chest and sinks even further into the armchair, jutting out her bottom lip in protest.

  “Elspeth, you old toad, help me pass these out to our guests,” Ramsey says, a telltale tinge of annoyance seeping into his demeanour.

  “I’ll do no such thing,” she spits, turnin’ her nose up.

  “Look,” I say, helping meself to one of the dumpling-like objects Ramsey has graciously cooked for us. “Mmm. These are delicious! Simply exquisite!”

  I gobble up the dumpling as politely as I can, then lick me lips and run a hand o’er me beard to make sure I didn’t drop anything.

  “I appreciate yer hospitality, Mister Ramsey, but we aren’t welcome here. We will take our leave.”

  MacLarty snorts. “The point of taking your leave is to do so before you accept the food,” the Lycan whispers, the smug smile back on his face.

  I lick me lips again, ignoring MacLarty’s comment.

  I haven’t the slightest idea what’s in those dumplings, but they taste like a
n angel decided to roll up a little bit o’ stardust into an itty bitty ball and then slow-fry it o’er the flames of heaven itself. Ah, how my taste buds thirst for more o’ that stuff…

  “Mac Tíre,” Ramsey says, sending me thoughts into disarray, “you have saved me life, and—”

  Elspeth lets out a loud groan, interrupting her husband. “Ye were fine, Ramsey. Ye were gettin’ better. This coot did nothin’ of the sort.”

  “Love, I was gettin’ worse by the day. I was sick with the…with the…”

  “Dementia,” Elspeth offers, her voice still sour.

  “The dementia, that’s what. Couldn’t think worth a hoot. Got meself lost out in the Loch. Got bruised black an’ blue out there.”

  “Black and blue, ye say?” I ask incredulously. “Cause ye looked nice and red all over to me, sir.”

  Flint stifles a laugh. Ramsey was the star of the local paper last week; he’d gone swimmin’ in dragon form, and had inadvertently played the role of the legendary Loch Ness Monster on the front page. Everyone said it was the greatest hoax in years. Thank Nwyfre’s fiery core that no one had gone investigatin’ into that. But I suppose it’s like that ol’ children’s story ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’: if everyone else says they can see the Emperor’s clothes and yet he looks naked to you, ye’d best not say anythin’. And if ye see a gigantic red dragon in the Loch, ye don’t want to admit that ye’ve seen it. People will only think ye’ve gone mad.

  “‘Twas a dark day. Thought I couldn’t make it back ‘ere,” Ramsey continues darkly.

  “Ah, shut yer trap, dearie.” Elspeth rolls her eyes, picking up one of the dumplings and plopping it into her mouth before regarding me once again with her fiery stare. Me stomach rumbles at the thought o’ those mouth-watering morsels of Ddraig cuisine.

  “Me muscles were tired and me feet could no longer kick. Elspeth was kind enough to help me to shore.”

  “I saved yer fat arse,” Elspeth grunts. “Could barely lift ye, ye old doughnut-gobbling coot. Should’ve left ye out there to drown.”

  I glance at Flint, whose mouth is ajar at Elspeth’s remarks. MacLarty, however, is biting his lip and tryin’ his darnedest not to burst out laughing.

  “And ye drew in these loonies, Ramsey. Who would have shown up but the traitor Mac Tíre ‘imself, eh?” Elspeth twists her body so she’s starin’ directly into me eyes.

  The old she-dragon’s glasses have fallen askew on her bony nose, but she refuses to push them back up. She’s too focused on tryin’ to insult me. Well, it takes more’n that to get to ol’ Mac Tíre, lass.

  Suddenly, however, I feel a tickle at the back of me throat. I raise a hand to me neck; maybe the pressure will help.

  Probably just gobbled the dumpling too quickly.

  “Elspeth, yer too uptight. Any friend of Nwyfre’s is a friend o’ mine.” The old gentleman winks at me, then seems to notice the two lads crammed on the love seat beside me for the first time. “An’ I don’t think I ever asked for yer names, young ones!”

  I stifle a cough, clearing me throat instead. “My apologies, sir. This here’s young Duncan MacLarty – goes by Ace – and o’er here we have the dragon Gregory Flint, descendant of—”

  “Flint?!” Elspeth suddenly bursts out, and she lifts herself from the crimson armchair and scuttles her way over to Greg, pushing her spectacles up on her bony nose. “Ye heard him, Ramsey? Flint?”

  “That’s what he said,” Ramsey confirms, setting the tray of dumplings down on the coffee table to get a nice long look at the young dragon before them.

  “My, my. Ye remind me so much of him. Nwyfre,” Elspeth whispers, and I can barely hear what she says.

  “Wait,” I interject, clearin’ me throat once again; the tickle doesn't show any sign of subsiding.

  “What?” Ramsey asks, glancing at me before turning back to stare at young Greg.

  “Who?” I feel me face colour as I try to keep meself from coughing.

  “Who, what?”

  I almost smack a palm to me forehead in exasperation. “Ye said he reminds ye of Nwyfre? Ye mean ye've seen the old dragon? In this life?”

  “Whaddaya mean ‘in this life’, Mac Tíre?” Elspeth spits out my name like it’s a rotten chunk of haggis. “We’ve only got one life, unlike you, ye ungrateful—”

  “Shush, love,” Ramsey whispers. “Yes, Guardian. We saw Nwyfre before he died. ‘Twas twelve years ago now, wasn’t it Elspeth?”

  An enormous – and very painful – burnin’ sensation creeps up the back of my throat, making me eyes water. I struggle to keep my mind focused on what the dragons are saying.

  “Before he died…?” Flint repeats, allowing his sentence to dwindle off as he notices that everyone’s starin’ at him.

  I’m grateful for the diversion; it’ll buy me a few seconds to try to recover from the dumpling. Note to Mac Tíre​: don’t consume Ddraig food without first askin’ what the bloody hell they’ve put into it…

  I place a hand on young Flint’s shoulder fer comfort, though it’s more for me own comfort than for his. I pray to the heavens no one’ll notice that me face is beet red and me eyes are gushin’ like flippin’ geysers.

  Turning back to our hosts, I inquire, “Ramsey, ye mean to say that Nwyfre was here in Scotland, twelve years ago? And…he died here?”

  “’Twas in Wales that he passed. An’ he didn’t just die,” Elspeth says very loudly and matter-of-factly for such a delicate topic. Her eyes grow darker and they emit a soft glow akin to the burnin’ embers of me old forge from centuries past. “He was murdered.”

  15

  ADHAIR

  Skye

  “Be careful,” Conall breathes into my ear.

  I sigh. “He’s a feral bear. What else did you think I was going to do?”

  He shrugs, a slight smile plastered on his face. “You’re getting nervous.”

  “Thanks for pointing that out,” I tell him flatly. “I really hadn’t noticed.”

  My friends had accompanied me to Koyah’s location. It’d taken us most of the day to return by foot, even in wolf form, and another hour to locate the bear again; he was downstream quite a ways from where I’d first met him.

  “Hey,” Damian pipes up, “don’t listen to Thirteen. It’ll be fine. You’re a fairly good shot.”

  I wince at his words. “Fairly isn’t good enough—”

  “Better than fairly,” Jen tells me. “After all that practice with Litu, you can’t miss.”

  True, I’d been studying under the chieftain of the eagle tribe, but even so, I wasn’t nearly as good as I was in past lives. Litu told me her main goal was to help me regain the muscle memory. Remembering archery and raven-flight would pave the way for other memories, such as fully mastering the elements and the animal forms again.

  Litu said that Sejka and her life before her, the chieftain Sitka, had been proficient at the bow. Perhaps Ru-Yeva’s other lives had been as well, but it would take far too long to wait for it all to come back to me.

  We have to get Koyah help soon; he’s getting older and older with each passing season. Falling even further into his feral mind.

  “I can hit a target when it’s standing still, but when she took me hunting, it was a no-go. You guys weren’t there. Hitting a moving target isn’t easy. I…I’m not sure if I can do this.”

  “If you miss, it’ll be ok,” Conall reassures me with a pat on the back. “Worst case scenario, you have to Shift into a bird and leave the bow behind.”

  I glance at the weapon that was carved for me by the Naatya tribe. It’s beautiful; I can’t risk it getting lost or trampled by a rogue bear.

  Damian, Jen and Conall crowd around me. They’re examining the arrows that were designed to free Koyah from his feral mind.

  The arrows are blunted so they won’t sink too far into the first layer of skin, but I’m sure getting shot by one would create quite a bruise. Each arrowhead contains a small amount of the serum – the pale liquid my uncle
had developed to target the minds of feral beasts and allow them to regain control of their former selves. I just hope there’s enough of it to do its job because if this goes awry, we don’t have much of a plan B.

  “I won’t miss,” I vow, staring at the sky.

  “Well, may the Force be with you, Padawan.” Damian bows solemnly, making Jen giggle.

  “It always is,” I sigh with a smile. “That is if I can remember how to use it.”

  I sling the quiver of arrows across my back and grasp my bow tightly as I advance towards the stream. My Lycan friends retreat into the woods to give us distance. I find a hill overlooking the water and take inventory of my surroundings.

  Koyah is fast asleep. His breath comes out in soft whooshes, and I can’t help but smile at the sight of the dreaming bear. He looks just like Sejka did – a great white bear.

  Spirit Bears, locals call them. Kermodes. I remember reading about them long ago. They’re not brown or black like the forms most Yeva’si use, but ivory.

  “Mi vensaa, eyviir,” I whisper, releasing my grip on the bow just a little. Thank you, brother. For remaining asleep.

  I roll my shoulders back, taking a deep breath. I stare at my bare feet as I place them a shoulder-width apart, gently nudging the soil to make indents. The earth’s energy hums through my body from the soles of my feet to the top of my head.

  I grab one of the serum-infused arrows, carefully nocking it. I feel a tinge of energy as my fingers pass over the feathers of the shaft. Raven feathers. I smile to myself, reaching up to touch Sejka’s feather at my neck. I’d re-attached it to my heart-shaped locket – the one Margo had given me after my mom died. The locket in which I’d kept a photo of my broken family at all times. If only they were here with me…

  Focus, Skye. You don’t have all day. Shoot him while he’s sleeping.

  “Alright,” I whisper to myself if only to calm my nerves.