by K. V. Wilson
The boy sighs. “Alright. But if they’ve got those weapons…”
I shake me head. “I’ll be careful. Get Ru-Yeva to safety. The Yeva’si will help.”
The Lycan scans the runway, squinting through the mist. Upon spotting the flock of starlings, he hoists Skye up o’er one shoulder, wincing as he heads off towards them. I turn back to the mass o’ dummies who tried to murder the Guardian of Nature. Many of them are wearing airport attire or police uniforms, but there are others. Covenant soldiers. Knights of Saint Patrick.
It’s time to put them back in their place, Mac Tíre style.
Crossing me arms and tilting me head towards the gaping hole in the walkway, I grin at me enemies.
“Ye’ve got two choices, lads. Either step back with yer hands up, or, as my good ol’ pal Elspeth says, ‘ye’ll get what’s comin’ to ye!’”
“Ha-hands up!” one officer stutters, gun trained on me. “Get your hands up!”
I do as they tell me, enjoying the game. The Covenant and the Knights stand far back, perhaps using the officers as human shields. They know what I’m capable of.
“Ye haven’t got any more o’ those sharp objects yer going to stab into me, do ye? I have to say, I really despise those.”
“Silence or we’ll shoot!”
I raise me eyebrows. “It’ll be a bit hard to do that without guns, now won’t it?”
The officers give me a puzzled look, tightening their grip on the puny weapons. It’s no use though, for the winds be on my side tonight.
In a flash, the men are slammed against the far wall and their guns clang against the floor. I pull the air back towards me so their weapons crash all the way to the tarmac.
Giving the officers a smug look, I withdraw my hold on the currents. The men fall to their knees, gasping and gawking at me.
“I wasn’t supposed to show ye that. But it’s time the Spiritborne started standing up fer ourselves and our people. That’s one thing Nwyfre was right about. If ye mess with one o’ the three, ye mess with us all!” I give the men a mock-salute. “Evening to ye.”
If I were a little more cliché, I would’ve said ‘this means war’ or the like. But I’m not cliché; I’m just plain ol’ Mac Tíre.
Turning on me heel, I Shift into wolf form an’ follow the dwindling silhouettes of Skye and the other Lycans. Overhead, a flock of starlings glitters brilliantly in the light of the setting sun. I let loose a howl; we’ve escaped with our lives. This time.
30
CREATOR
Skye
I clambered over the beams and to the centre of our dugout house, lowering myself to the floor and throwing my sack onto the mattress. My heart sank as I realized our cosy home was completely empty. Again.
“Koyah?”
I sighed. Koyah was supposed to be home by sundown, as always. My brother had gone out hunting with Xunnu and Xáan, unbeknownst to their father.
Had something gone wrong? Are they lost?
Of course they weren’t. A shapeshifter, getting lost in the woods? It was unheard of; if we ever got turned around, all we had to do was fly high above the trees and scan the earth below.
Maybe they were still out having fun without me. My punishment for not agreeing to come with them. Koyah’s harsh words from that morning still snagged at my heart: “Sister, you are always too good for us. The perfect little Guardian Father loves. Just because you can do magic and we cannot.” “You are a shapeshifter, Koyah,” I had retorted. “Shapeshifting is magic in and of itself.”
I felt a pang of anger towards my brother. He did not know the half of it. I spent my days torn between two worlds. To Sehwen, I was a lowly runt, struck with the same Sickness that had taken my mother at a young age. Unfit to be a member of the tribe, unfit to share any sort of love or even friendship with his son Xunnu. And to my father, I was a goddess – a nature spirit meant to be nurtured and guided. A daughter who would eventually rise, reclaiming leadership of her people and showing her true power to the world.
I could not live life the way the others did, with the innocence and recklessness of adolescence. I could not blindly follow Koyah and Xunnu into the forest, drooling over the latter like a twitterpated sparrow.
“Sejka?”
I bolted upright, smoothing the hem of my leather and the frizz of my braids. I bit my lip, scowling at the blackberry stains on my fingers.
“Yes?” I called out as joyously as I could, even though my heart was nearly thudding clean out of my chest.
He laughed, taking hold of either side of the centre log and sliding down with ease. He bent his knees gracefully as he landed, throwing his arms above his head in a luxurious stretch.
Xunnu turned towards me, running a hand through his long raven hair. I gulped, forcing a smile.
“So, did you have fun all alone?” he asked. “Regretting your choice yet?”
“No,” I lied.
Of course I did. But I could not go.
Xunnu and Xáan were disobeying their father by spending time with Koyah, but they’d be doing it even more so if I had come along. No one was allowed to be anywhere near me. If it weren’t for my father, I’d have been killed or exiled because the tribe thought I was feral.
I glanced at my basket of berries. “I picked these. I knew you and Koyah would be hungry.”
“Actually it’s just me.” Xunnu scratched the stubble on his chin absentmindedly. “Koyah is still out with Xáan. They found a bear cub—”
“What?” I gasped.
Xunnu laughed. “It’s no big deal. They just—”
“Xunnu! You just left them?”
The young shapeshifter stopped laughing long enough to regard me with a questioning gaze. “Yes, I did. They are nearly of age, Ru-Sejka.”
“Don’t. Never call me that.”
“I have been using your Guardian name for years. I’m not going to stop.”
I shoved him, throwing him off balance for a split second. “You have no idea what is going on in my head, Xunnu.”
“That is painfully true,” he said, a goofy look on his face. “You could have been there with me. I would have stayed, then.”
“I couldn’t! They think I’m dangerous! That’s why I’m stuck here all day!” I growl.
“Sejka, maybe if you…” Xunnu began, his expression deepening into a frown. “Sometimes, with the way you act, people think…”
“Me? You think your Creator is thick with the eynaang Sickness?” I spat, using one of the Yeva’si swear words I had invented in a past life. I placed my hands on my hips, narrowing my eyes into slits and staring the young man down.
Xunnu took a step back, half amused, half terrified.
“Now you’re my Creator?” he asked softly. “Well, maybe it’s a good thing we never ran off together. How could I ever choose my own Creator as my mate?”
Xunnu turned on his heel, stomping up the ladder and out of the home that Father, Koyah and I shared.
“Koyah is fine on his own, Sejka. And I hope you will be, too,” he called down softly.
I shut my eyes, blocking out the last glimpse of him before he disappeared into the night. Tears were already seeping past my lashes and skimming down my cheeks. I plopped down on the mattress and squeezed my hands into fists.
Koyah was not fine. I had seen the signs.
My brother had always valued his animal form above his human one. He enjoyed getting lost in the woods, and he was always begging me to go with him. Sometimes he would be gone for days. He would return a little wilder each time.
I was not the one Sehwen and Xáan should be worried about. My mind was as clear as it was in my past lives. But Koyah’s…
I had seen it before and I would see it again: the Sickness. The plague of my people.
It was borne of strong emotions such as fear and hatred. Sadness. Jealousy.
Perhaps it had begun when Mother had fallen sick all those years ago. Or perhaps it had arisen due to Koyah’s jealousy of my power
s – ones he’d wanted for himself. The more time he spent out in the forest, kindling those hateful emotions and brewing them in the confines of an animal mind, the sicker he would become.
I was powerless to stop it, and yet it was completely my fault it had existed in the first place.
I had given humans the ability to bond with the spirit world, the wild world beyond their civilization. It was bound to happen at some time or another. They would get lost in it, unable to grasp the entirety of nature itself. They would lose their minds.
I needed to find the other spirits, the ones that called themselves Nwyfre and Mac Tíre. I needed to seek their guidance. They could help me get through to Koyah.
Where were they? Had they seen the Sickness too? And did they know how to break the trance my brother had fallen under?
31
THE SAINT’S LEGACY
Skye
The rain is pouring down. I heave the velvet curtains apart, allowing what little light there is to douse my room. I recognize the street; I’m on the upper level of Flint and Flockhart, the pub that belongs to Greg’s family. The last known location of his ancestor, Nwyfre Flint.
A bronze bedframe boasts a rustic quilt and downtrodden pillows. Lamps of various heights adorn the bedside tables and a small chandelier hangs overhead, festooned with cobwebs. The room looks too mismatched to appear in a travel magazine, but if comfort is what Aelshen is going for, he’s more than achieved it.
I roll up my sleeve to examine my skin. It’s been healed; all that’s left of my injury is an ugly scar. Which means Aelshen must be here. He’s the only one who could’ve healed me this quickly.
“Covenant,” I mutter, remembering the faces of the soldiers who had ambushed us on the airplane and again on the gangway as we’d tried to make a run for it. They’d said they would continue the Saint’s legacy – whoever that was – and rid the world of demons. They had plunged one of their weapons deep into my flesh. It had taken away my ability to Shift, and it had prevented me from communing with the elements.
“Yeah. Covenant,” a voice whispers.
My breath catches and I whip around to determine its owner. The sixteen-year-old dragon, Gregory Flint, stands at the doorway. It feels strange when people sneak up on me; normally, I’d be able to sense a spirit long before it gets close enough to converse with me.
“Sorry.” He grins. “You okay?”
I smile back. “Flint. Haven’t seen you in forever.”
He nods, his grin disappearing. “I should tell Thirteen you’re here.”
My heart begins to thud. “So he’s okay? They’re all okay?”
“Yup,” he confirms, keeping his voice at a whisper as he plunks himself down on the nearest high-back chair. Its ebony frame is carved in the shape of a majestic dragon, and I can’t help but wonder how alike this boy would be if he Shifted to his reptilian form. The teen stares at me awkwardly for a few seconds, perhaps trying to gather up the right words. “Last night was almost a massacre, Skye.”
I grimace. “I tried to stop them. I mean, if they hadn’t stabbed me, I—”
“Yeah, that. But there were more of them. The Covenant and the Knights of Saint Patrick. They were waiting in the airport cause they knew someone would be coming to meet you guys. If Ramsey hadn’t warned the Lycans, it would’ve been—”
“Ramsey?” I wrack my brain for the owner of the name, but nothing comes to mind. “Knights of…Saint Patrick, did you say?”
“Yeah.”
“The Saint’s legacy.”
A chill runs down my spine as I remember the soldier’s words, his eyes boring into mine as I watched the light leave them…
Flint snorts. “Some legacy that git left. Anyway, Ramsey’s one of the dragons we found while searching for Nwyfre. And as for the Knights, ask Mac Tíre. But we should tell the others you’re awake. Then we’ve gotta leave.”
“Now?” I ask, squinting, even though there’s hardly any sun to squint at. Only rain and lots of it.
“We’re closing it down,” Flint says, nearly choking on his words. “It isn’t safe here anymore. Mac Tíre said it’s breaking his heart.”
“It won’t be permanent, though, right? You guys can reopen,” I mumble, trying to be comforting but not really knowing how to do so. This is the last connection Flint has to his dragon family.
Greg shakes his head. “I dunno,” he says. “For now, we can’t risk it. Todd said the Covenant’s been tracking the Silver League. Destroyed their last two hideouts.”
“Destroyed,” I breathe, wincing as I run a hand through my knotted hair. I glance back up at the dragon. “So my dad’s here too, I guess?”
“Yeah. Loads of Lycans are staying here until we can meet at the rendezvous.”
“When do we leave?”
“Soon as we can,” a new voice chimes in and I turn towards the doorway. Flint jumps up from his chair, eyeing Conall with apprehension.
“Thirteen. I was gonna tell you,” the dragon says quickly.
Conall only smiles, glancing at me and raising his eyebrows. “Red, how’re you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him wearily, glancing at the scar on my arm. “But I won’t be of much use if I can’t Shift.”
“If you can’t, we can fly. Or take the train or whatever.”
Flint clears his throat. “Yeah, we’re taking the train.”
“Where?”
I stretch my arms above my head. My injury sings with pain and I bite my tongue to curb it. I try to reach for the energy of the earth, but since we’re up on the second floor, healing would be difficult. I sigh, stepping back to the window and forcing it open with both hands. I breathe in the cool air, extending my arm to catch some of the raindrops on my palm.
“Wales,” Flint says carefully. “What are you doing?”
“Magic,” I tell him matter-of-factly. “So we’re going all the way to Wales?”
Conall laughs. “We’ve got to. It’s too dangerous in London now.”
“I don’t see why that’s funny,” Flint mumbles.
The Lycan sniffs, staring at the rug. “You’ve gotta make some light of this situation, Flint. We’re all alive—”
The dragon bristles. “Except my parents and your mom—”
“Uisge,” I state in Gaelic, focusing on the droplets on my palm. It’s also a handy way to break up their little spat.
“Gesundheit,” Conall says flatly.
I sigh. “Well, I’m still out of commission.”
How long will it be until I can use the elements again?
Conall glances at me. “Not forever. The Covenant is treating this like a game. So let’s step things up; let’s king our queen.”
I peer at him in confusion.
To his credit, Flint finally begins to laugh. “Thirteen, you’re mixing checkers and chess.”
“It’s been a while,” the Lycan replies stiffly, breaking into a slow smile. “What I mean by that is Aelshen wants to train you in the ways of the spirits or whatever.”
“Train me?” I gulp, scratching my head. “Well, I sure need it.”
Conall bites his lip. “Definitely.”
“Uisge,” I whisper harshly, willing the water to take shape in my palm. The droplets quiver, melting into my skin. “Damn it!”
“Aelshen said the weapon’s effect takes a few days to wear off.”
Flint nods his assent. “Yeah. Mac Tíre was out for quite some time. Utterly useless.”
“I need to talk to him,” I state, slamming the window shut and making the two of them jump. “Where is he?”
“Three guesses,” Conall snickers. I roll my eyes, smiling. Of course.
32
THE HEART OF LONDON
Aelshen
“Mr. Ross, I’d appreciate it if ye could lower yer voice—”
“No! I ain’t lowering my voice till I get what I want!”
I sigh, glancing warily at the other patrons before turning me attention towards the bar
.
“MacLarty, get the gentleman what he wants.” I wince as three pairs of eyes seek out mine. “That MacLarty. Ace,” I clarify, pointing at the goth Lycan. “Ye know, the one who actually flippin’ works here.”
“Hey, I’ll help too,” Ace’s twin says, excusing himself from the table he’s sharing with his mom, dad, and stepdad. Must be a right awkward conversation, if ye ask me. No wonder he wants out.
“Damian, was it? I like ye already.”
The lad smiles, slipping behind the counter to join his brother. The two o’ them start to prepare a mug of Lycan’s Head Ale fer our patron.
“Hey, I should introduce Mr. Ross to old Elspeth. I’m sure they’d get along.” I wink at Ace.
“That might actually be fun to see.”
“Why’s that?” Damian asks.
I grin wickedly. “I was only joking. Let’s just say Elspeth’s a bloody pain in the—”
“In the what?!” a familiar Scottish accent demands. I nearly jump out o’ me skin at the sound of Elspeth’s voice. She hasn’t even finished descending the stairs an’ she’s already joinin’ our conversation. Ye can blame it on those dragon ears of hers.
A few of the patrons glance up from their mash and beans. I still haven’t told them that I’m about to shut the place down. Don’t have the heart to do it, if truth be told. I might have to ask Todd to do the honours. He’s got the personality for such a task, that’s fer sure. Still hasn’t thanked me an’ Ramsey fer saving his hide back at the airport; if we hadn’t warned them beforehand, they might be piles o’ bones fer all we know. But then again, I went against orders, so that’s all he’s focused on.
I gulp, smiling awkwardly at the old Ddraig. Her husband Ramsey tails behind her, the nicer of the two by far.
Ace snorts. “He was gonna say that you’re a—”
I slam a hand down on the counter, making the Lycan jump. “That’ll be enough o’ that, Ace. Here, Mrs. Andarsen. Why don’t ye meet me good old friend Mr. Ross? There we go. I’ll get ye some coff—”
“I hate—”
