by K. V. Wilson
I rub the skin under me eye before realizin’ it. I haven’t yet looked in a mirror, but I’m guessin’ the bruise Nwyfre gave me ain’t anything small an’ sweet.
“Flint’s not a teenager; he’s an ancient spirit, an’ I deserved that punch,” I mutter. Maybe that wasn’t the best comeback. But it was true, at least.
“Hey!” Thirteen pipes up, an’ I glance over, ready to stand up fer the poor lad if he gets himself in too deep. Not that I’d be of much help; me countrymen have all but betrayed me. Mutineers, the lot of ‘em.
“Speak, stray,” Matthews says, turning his gaze on the young man who holds Skye’s heart. The alpha is really throwin’ loose the insults today.
Thirteen bristles, but manages to bite back his retort. “They’re on a spy mission. We can’t just butt in—”
“An’ what do you know?” Duncan demands, placing his hands on his hips. “Time is a-wastin’ and yer sitting on yer sorry arse, doing nothing about it!”
This observation would be more effective if Thirteen was the one sitting on the sofa rather than MacLarty.
“If we’re going to do anything, it should be to keep on researching the enemy,” Ace pipes up. “Or at least work on better understanding their weapons. You can’t just—”
“Shut up!” Matthews roars, rounding on the lad. “I’ve spent nearly a decade researching and training for war! I’d throw it all away to make sure my daughter’s safe.”
I take a step forward, placing meself between the alpha and the young MacLarty boy. “If ye harm one hair on this lad’s head, I swear I’ll—”
Duncan, of all people, grabs hold of me shoulder and pulls me back. The sneer on his face grows even more pronounced as he glances between Ace and me. “Stay away from me son.”
“Or what?!” an angry female voice demands, and I cringe as I realize this is about to be a family feud. “He’s more of a father than you’ve ever been, Duncan!” Ace’s mother, Emily, growls. Her eyes glow with rage and her fangs have begun to emerge.
We may have a dogfight up an’ comin’. By the First Guardian, why’d I have to go an’ create the Lycan race?
“Oh, my friggin’ God, people!” Damian calls out, exasperated. “Stop this madness!”
“I second that,” his twin mutters, rubbing his arm where one of the Lycans had elbowed him during the kerfuffle. “What is with you all?” Ace asks, throwing his arms above his head in exasperation. “Mac Tíre is an ancient spirit of Earth. He has much more experience than all of you put together. I mean, this guy is old. Really, really old.”
I snort. “Now, don’t ye get carried away, there, lad.”
“Come on, Lycans!” Damian yells, pumping his fists fer emphasis. “Who do you want leading your army? Bloodthirsty fools? Or the man that founded your organization in the first place?”
Uh oh. Yer going too far. Though I’ve never felt such pride in me heart.
“Exactly!” Quinn chimes in. “You are all here because of the Spiritborne. Each and every one of you. And last time I checked, you’ve been living under my wing. So to speak.”
The Ddraig lifts her arm and glances at it as if it’ll magically transform into the appendage of a mighty dragon. Quinn stares into Matthews’ eyes in a challenge. A challenge that’s long overdue, mind ye.
“The Spiritborne,” Matthews spits. “The ones who just sent my daughter off on a suicide mission into enemy territory? Those Spiritborne?”
I take a deep breath. “If it was a suicide mission, why in hell would ye let any one of us go? Explain that, dear Alpha.”
Matthews is at a loss for words. At this exact moment, he happens to glance at Elspeth, who, I might add, is no longer sitting in her prized crimson armchair.
“What’d ye say?” she asks, all traces of former humour gone from her raspy draconic voice. “This is how ye see us, as expendable? Ye’d send me dear ol’ toad on a mission ye didn’t expect him to come back from?”
“N-no,” Matthews stutters, but he rolls his shoulders back and stares the she-dragon down as best he can. It’s mighty hard to do when she’s advancing in such a way; mark me words.
“Lìog Airgid,” Quinn says, stepping onto a dining room chair to rise above the crowd. “All in favour of allowing the wisest of us all to lead us, the ones who’ve risked their countless lives to fight for our freedom?”
“Aye!” a chorus of Lycans chants in unison. Damian punctuates it with an enthusiastic whistle.
“And all in favour of Matthews and the others remaining in charge?”
Me heart sinks to me stomach as the second round of cheers erupts. The second “aye” is near twice the volume of the first.
O’course. In my absence, Todd had gained hundreds of followers. They’ve lived at the warehouse fer years, training together and plotting their war.
I glance at Quinn, meeting her sad russet eyes. She nods at me curtly and then raises her voice once again.
“Then that settles it!” she barks, voice cracking. “I opened my heart and my property to the Lìog Airgid. And it shall stay open to the true Lycans of the Silver League. That includes its founder and all that stand with him, and with me.”
Duncan clears his throat. “Bunch of sore losers.”
“Everyone else, out of here within the hour!”
I take a deep breath, sending a message to Flint as the Lycans and Yeva’si shuffle around, clearly not relishing the thought of being separated.
His reply comes a few moments later.
Quinn claps me on the shoulder. We watch as Matthews, Duncan, and the Lycans who’ve sided with them finish clearing out of the dragoness’ farmhouse. Plenty more join them as they weave through the campsite, an’ I make no move to stop ‘em. If they truly wanted to follow me, they’d have done so already.
I don’t have what it takes anymore. But I’m not about to use brute force to put them in their places. Such a show is not what we spirits are tasked to do. We are to bring balance to the world, nothing less.
Some Guardian I am.
“Get over here, Duncan. Damian. Move yer arses!” Duncan MacLarty Senior calls.
“Our arses are staying right here, Dad.” Ace scoffs, shaking his head. “Just…be careful.”
“With our friends,” Damian adds. “We don’t care what happens to you.”
I raise me eyebrows. Damian’s always been the nice one.
“Well said, boys,” Emily declares, nodding at her ex-husband. “Ye heard them! Get lost!”
“Or,” an elderly voice crows, “ye’ll get what’s comin’ to ye!”
Elspeth stands by Emily’s side, one hand gripping the hem of her floral apron and the other pushing her wire-rimmed spectacles further up on her gaunt nose. She meets me gaze, and I catch the sparkle within her beady little eyes.
“Never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad to have ye aboard, Mrs. Andarsen,” I tell her with a grin.
“Don’t get too used to it, ye old coot!” she cackles. “Now, what’s on the agenda fer today, then, Mac Tíre?”
“That’ll be up to our dear friend, Ace. The brains of the Lìog Airgid.”
The lad glances up at me in confusion as a room full
of eager Lycans and Yeva’si stares at him in anticipation.
Thirteen gives Ace a slap on the back. “Better get talking. All eyes are on you.”
“Well,” he begins uncertainly, gulping to buy some time, “I swiped my dad’s drive and loaded the data onto my laptop while you lot were arguing.” He snatches his device from the coffee table and flips it open with a flourish. “We’ve got access to the Conwy network – except for the castle, which seems a bit shady.”
“And for good reason,” Damian adds.
His twin nods his assent. “All we need is that last bit of intel from Flint and the others, and we can start planning our attack on Saint Patty’s lair. As for the weapons, Mac Tíre knows best.”
“That’s the lad. An’ that I do,” I address the contingent of loyal followers whilst simultaneously rubbing me arm where the Knights had inserted their Two-Pronged Weapon of Doom.
“What’s next, Alpha?” Quinn inquires with a half-smile.
I grin back. “I’m not yer alpha. I’m merely the humble Guardian that brought ye all to life. That responsibility falls to the next in line if he so chooses.”
I glance at the beta, George. He gives me a pained smile. “I didn’t expect this.”
“Ah, but I did, George. You are a far better leader than I could ever be. And certainly far better than Matthews or MacLarty Senior.”
“Thank you, Mac Tíre. You won’t regret your decision.”
I reach out to George’s spirit and I sense that he means every word of it. He will do whatever it takes to keep me people safe, an’ that’s all I can ever ask of the alpha of the Lìog Airgid.
47
CONWY CASTLE
Skye
Droplets slam against our drenched feathers as we weave our way through relentless banks of fog. Flint flies point with Ramsey soaring overhead. I can barely make out the sleek forms of the other ravens in such conditions, so I try my best to keep Xera’s tail feathers within sight.
Ramsey and Flint had discussed different routes during breakfast, which consisted of bread and cheese as well as dried beef from Ramsey’s saddlebags. I still found it rather amusing that the dragon had bags strapped across his great scaly hide, but if not, we’d starve. Even though these lands are full of foliage, most animals are hiding deep within their dens to escape the downpour. Hunting would be utterly useless.
I hadn’t slept at all since Koyah had taken the next watch; the minimal trees didn’t provide much cover. Not to mention, Xáan had left the campsite and none of us knew where he’d gone. I continually scanned the area for signs of his spirit, but it was of no use. Eventually, he’d climbed up from the river, smirking. He appeared fully rested; he’d clearly found somewhere dry to slumber while the rest of us waited patiently for the early hours to fly by.
Lightning flashes ahead and I glance up at Ramsey. I prepare to influence the next surge; perhaps I can redirect it away from our little flock.
Flint reassures me, reading my mind. True to his word, the next pulsation arcs to the far north. As lightning breaks through the fog, I can make out the stone walls of a magnificent castle. Then all is dark again.
Conwy castle. We’re almost there.
Not for the first time, I wonder what Aelshen and the Lìog Airgid are up to. Especially Conall; I miss the feel of his hand in mine, the pitying glances he’d give me when I’d say something dumb. It feels strange to be separated from his kindhearted, yet somewhat disturbed, spirit. It scares me that I’m embarking on a dangerous mission without him; we’d seldom left each other’s side since he’d escaped from the Covenant’s clutches.
I should let them know we’re nearly in position.
Concentrating on the spirit of Mac Tíre, I project my voice into the void.
A few moments later, I breathe a sigh of relief as I feel his familiar presence slip into my mind.
I feel a mental chuckle from Aelshen.
Aelshen chuckles again.
I peer through the dense fog, trying to make out Flint’s obsidian feathers.
I gulp.
I strain to follow his glance. A dark mound rises out of the fog, still a few minutes away from us.
Flint turns his raven head back at me as if to flash a haughty grin.
Of course. But not when it’s risking not only my life, but five others as well. Leave it to Nwyfre to rush into the devil’s nest without a second thought.
We alight in a densely-treed area, and I wince as Ramsey descends. If not for the fog surrounding us, we’d have been spotted long ago. Lances of rain still slant down upon us, stinging our skin as we Shift and take cover under the trees.
“What’s the plan, Nwyfre?” Ramsey asks, stepping into Flint’s personal space and peering down at the teen. It takes every effort for the smaller dragon not to take a step back.
“When everyone’s ready, we enter. And I need two people outside as guards. I want you to stay in human form unless things get rough.”
“Who’s standing guard, then?”
Flint smiles at the elderly dragon. “You and Xera.”
Xera nods her approval yet looks a bit dejected that she can’t come inside with us. “I will enter to warn you all if needed?”
“Exactly,” Flint replies.
Xera pulls her onyx hair into a ponytail, securing it with a piece of leather she’d been keeping in Ramsey’s saddlebag.
<
br /> Xáan clears his throat. “The sun reaches mid-sky,” he croaks in Yeva’si, glaring at us. I translate for Ramsey’s and Flint’s benefit.
“I see,” Flint responds flatly. “We’d best get moving, then.”
Ramsey cracks his knuckles. “I hope this body o’ yours is as good at fightin’ as yer old one was, Nwyfre me boy.”
Flint nods brusquely. “We won’t be doing any fighting. Don’t let anyone see you,” he tells the elderly gentleman. Once again, I translate.
As we take up our positions, Xera approaches me. “Are you going to be all right in there, Ru-Yeva?”
“Yeah. I think so. We’re going to stay out of sight.”
“I mean…” Xera points to her heart, glancing first at her father and then at Sejka’s brother. The man I consider to be just as much my own brother.
I swallow, turning away. “I’ll be fine. It shouldn’t change anything.”
“You did not sleep much. Keep from daydreaming, even if you start to—”
“Remember? Yeah, I know I shouldn’t rely on the dreams. I’ll remember it all, eventually. And, if Sejka could handle the truth, then so can I.”
It’s true; Sejka had been angry with Xáan, yet he remained part of the tribe ever since that fateful night when he’d turned against Sejka and Xunnu. He’s Xunnu’s younger brother, after all. And Koyah’s childhood friend. I just wish I’d remembered their full story first. Before I’m forced to trust Koyah and Xáan by my side in the face of one of our greatest enemies.
I give him a withering look.
