Daybreak

by Shae Ford

  While Jake swatted and swore, Declan watched silently. There were lines on the mage’s face that he hadn’t seen in a long while — the troubling sort of lines, the little creases that made him look worn. Yet, he’d been all bright and grins a month ago. The last time Declan had seen him so ragged, it’d been after they’d won back the plains.

  He remembered it well because Jake had been frowning on a night when everybody else was nothing but cheery. Now all of those lines were back again. They’d turned up when he did — in the middle of the night and without so much as a warning …

  It made Declan wonder if Nadine had been right. “It’s the clouds casting shadows, eh? Are you sure it’s not that glare of yours?”

  Jake looked up from where he’d been scowling at his gloves. “I wasn’t glaring — I was concentrating.”

  “Well, you haven’t stopped concentrating since you got here.”

  “Perhaps I’ve got a lot to think about.”

  “Yeh, maybe that’s it.” Declan scraped a hand through his stubbled crop of hair and looked straight out at the waving horizon. “Or maybe you’re just missing someone.”

  “Even if I am, I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Declan understood. He’d rather not have to ask, to be honest. But Nadine had been so sure about it that he felt sick not asking. “All right, suit yourself,” he grunted.

  The afternoon had started damply and only promised to get damper as the day wore on. Something about the early spring always thickened the air. But once they’d had their first rain, it’d cool off nicely.

  Perhaps the damp was just the sky groaning, working its way to spring.

  Laughter filled the air behind them. Declan glanced over his shoulder and saw another handful of children gathered in the field beside the pens. They walked in a perfect line behind a desert woman who barely stood over their heads.

  Declan had been through lash and storm. He’d fought battles with mages, beasts, and bloodtraitors. But he’d never been more nervous than the day he brought Nadine home.

  He swore his heart didn’t stop pounding the whole time they walked. The closer they got, the more he worried that she wouldn’t like it. Whitebone was a great deal sandier, after all. The way she spoke of her little mountain farm made him feel like nothing in the plains would ever be grand enough, or green enough.

  But it turned out that he’d worried over nothing: Nadine fit the plains like the moon fit the stars — and she glowed every bit as brightly.

  There was a satchel across the front of her red dress, now. The silver links that weighted its hem were dulled with the crust of earth; she’d removed her bangles and rings. While she paced down the tilled rows, she used the butt of her silver spear to press holes into the soil.

  The smallest of the children wandered close beside her. They reached into her satchel and put seed wherever she pointed. Some of the older children carried satchels of their own — and walked with staves that had clumsy points carved into their tops.

  Nadine said something that made the children giggle. She was always making them laugh — even when she was supposed to be scolding them, she still brought out their grins.

  Declan couldn’t help but smile when the noise of their laughter drifted across the emptiness between them. But something crushed the smile just as suddenly as it’d appeared: a little gap in his roof that let the rain come in. “Don’t scowl over it too much. There’s not a man alive who understands womenfolk.”

  Jake snorted. “You seem to understand them pretty well. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Nadine so happy.”

  “Yeh, she’s happy. Maybe it’ll be better just to leave it at that. Maybe we’d only be clodding it up, the other way.”

  “What other way?”

  Declan looked down. Perhaps Jake might be able to help him — but he didn’t want the whole plains knowing about it. He wound his fingers through the dead bits of grass and pulled them up by their withered roots, trying to think of a clever way to ask it.

  “You’ve spent time with Nadine’s folk, haven’t you?”

  “The mots? Oh, yes.” Jake propped a fist beneath his chin and nearly smiled at the red mountains that rose against the southern sky. “They’re a fascinating people. I’d very much like to visit them again.”

  “Do they do anything … strange? Anything we wouldn’t do here?”

  Jake pursed his lips. “Well, they honor the earth more than the sun — which is strange for desert folk. They’ve managed to fit the whole of their society inside three different colors … five, if you include the Grandmot and her Dawn. But that’s a complication all in itself —”

  “What about the normal sorts of things?” Declan interrupted, before Jake could give him the full history of it.

  “Normal things?”

  “Yeh, like eating or sleeping or … marriage?”

  Jake’s eyes pierced him from over the top of his spectacles. He stared for such a long moment that Declan began to worry that perhaps he hadn’t been clever enough. But if the mage suspected anything, he didn’t show it.

  “The mots eat and sleep like anybody else. They marry like anybody else, but the asking is a bit different.”

  That was exactly what Declan needed know. He stared at the ground again. “And how is the asking any different?”

  “The women are usually responsible for it.”

  “Well, what if she never asks?” Declan growled, digging his fist into the dirt. “And what if when he asks, all she ever says is that she’d only disappoint him? And how in the clodded summer breeze is he supposed to know what that means, eh? What’s he supposed to be disappointed about? Her smile, her laugh? The way the sunlight touches her skin? Maybe his heart isn’t supposed to swell up and burst when she dances. But what if it does? What’s the rule for that?”

  Declan hadn’t meant for it to all come spilling out. But now that it had, he supposed there wasn’t any point in sobbing over it. He’d held it in for so long that it felt better to finally say it.

  “That’s rather, ah … specific.” Jake’s robes scratched against the rocks as he shifted his weight. “I’m not sure the mots have a law for that — in fact, I doubt if anybody does.”

  “They ought to make one,” Declan growled again. “I tell you, mage — you come up with a potion that protects a man from a woman’s spell, and there’ll be a line outside your clodded cavern.”

  “My cavern?” Jake frowned. “Where do you think mages live?”

  Declan thought it was obvious. “In holes, mostly. Dark places where you can whisper secrets and read dusty books.”

  Jake’s mouth fell open for a moment before he snapped it shut. “I’m going in.”

  “For a man who came here to study the plains, you’ve spent a lot of time indoors,” Declan called.

  Jake didn’t answer. Declan watched from over his shoulder as the mage shuffled across the open land and ducked inside the heavy front door.

  Nadine and the children had finished their planting and were on their way back. The children peeled off to join their siblings with the horses, and Nadine went straight for Declan.

  He ducked his head as she drew close. “It’ll never work, mite. Clan Horseman’s soil isn’t good for anything but galloping and grass-growing.”

  Nadine leaned against her spear, one hand propped upon her hip. “Perhaps that is because you do not tend to it. Not all earth is made perfectly — but with a little work, it can be made good.” She jerked her chin at the house. “Did you speak with him?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “He didn’t admit to it.”

  “Why not?”

  Declan went back to plucking grass as a bothersome heat spread down his neck. “We wound up talking about … something else.”

  Nadine pursed her lips. “I suppose I will have to speak with him, then.”

  “No, you’ll only make things worse.”

  “How does speaking about something painful make it worse?
” She flung a hand into the air. “If I were wounded, I would want it bound!”

  Declan would’ve smiled at her, but he knew it’d only make her angry. “You can’t keep picking at him. Magefolk are a clever lot. Jake’ll figure it out. Now quit stomping your feet and come sit beside me.”

  “I will not sit — there is too much that must be done.”

  “And it’ll all get done. There’s plenty of spring left to do everything. But right now the sun’s shining, the breeze is cool, and there’s not a single weeping mouse in sight.” He tugged playfully on the mailed hem of her skirt. “Enjoy it for a moment.”

  She tried to swat his hand away, but he only laughed. Finally, she seemed to give up. “You are a fool,” she muttered as she plunked down beside him.

  Her dark hair had grown long, and was bound every hand’s length with a silver clasp. It fell across her shoulder as she bent to lay her spear in front of her, and the sun shone down its length.

  They were quiet for a moment, listening to the horses’ snorts and the laughter of the children. Then Nadine broke their silence with a heavy sigh. “I wish I could speak to Elena. I am certain there must be a reason she would turn him away.”

  “Maybe he caught fire to her lips. You can’t force it,” Declan muttered when Nadine glared. “You’ve got to let these things work themselves out.”

  “Sometimes these things need some prodding,” she insisted. “If I knew her reason, perhaps I could help.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t know her reason.”

  Nadine snorted. “Every woman knows her reason.”

  “Really? Then what’s yours?”

  Declan didn’t look away when Nadine fell silent. If she wouldn’t have him, then he would at least have an answer. “I have already told you —”

  “You haven’t told me a clodded thing. All you’ve said is that I would be disappointed, which is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Nadine glared. Her chin rose defiantly. “I was married once before. Did you know that?”

  No, he hadn’t known that. But he was only surprised for about as long as it took to draw a breath. “That doesn’t make me any difference.”

  “Well, would it be different if I told you he was killed in battle?”

  Nadine’s eyes shone furiously, now. But Declan didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned forward and took her hand in his. His thick fingers covered her to the wrist, but he held her gently. “Is that all it is? You won’t love me because you’re afraid I’ll —?”

  “No, that is not all it is!” she said vehemently, pulling out of his grasp. “There is another thing, something that shames me. You must trust me when I say you would only be disappointed.”

  Declan was about to say something else when Marion came sprinting up to them. She threw herself in Declan’s lap and laughed as she pointed skywards. “Look at the birds!”

  “What birds?” Declan frowned as he squinted up. “You aren’t telling stories again, are you?”

  “They’re flying,” she insisted through her giggles as Declan tickled her. “Look at the birds!”

  “You’re just being a silly wee mouse —”

  “No, she is right.” Nadine got to her feet quickly, her gaze fixed upon the sky. “I can see them.”

  They were blackened pinpricks in the distance — a flock of birds flying so high that they looked more like a cloud of gnats. The birds circled aimlessly at first. But as Declan watched, their circles began to creep them closer.

  They hovered above the Prince’s castle and grew larger with every pass. It was strange for them to be gathering there. He was certain there weren’t any crops inside the castle walls. There wasn’t anything at all that might’ve interested birds.

  It was too strange a thing to ignore.

  “Get the children inside,” Declan said. He put Marion into Nadine’s arms and leapt from the ground. “Don’t step one foot out from under that roof.”

  “What is it?” she called as he charged away.

  But Declan didn’t answer.

  Something grew inside his chest as he ran: a black cloud that filled him to the skin with worry. The birds were still a castle’s height above the walls, but their bodies were growing larger by the second.

  And by the time they landed, they’d be monsters.

  CHAPTER 27

  To the Gates of Midlan

  The sea of dried grass shrank beneath Declan’s stride. His feet thundered in a furious beat. Sweat drenched his tunic and his lungs were tight with strain. But he never stopped. The closer the birds came, the faster he ran.

  They were crows — he knew from their glossy black feathers that they must be crows. But he’d never known crows to stay so quiet. Not a caw or squawk sounded among them. He swore not a wing beat harshly.

  When the crows came a tower’s reach from the walls, he could see large gaps between their feathers. Patches of dark, swollen skin popped up across their bodies. The flesh of their wings was stretched so thinly that he could see the sun glowing through.

  Some of them had strange-looking legs. Instead of keeping them braced against their tails, the legs dangled freely. The way they kicked beneath the wings made them look as if they were running. It was almost … human.

  Declan didn’t have time to wonder. He didn’t have the breath to fear. A fresh surge of strength burst through his limbs when he realized what those creatures were.

  He was nearly to the castle walls when a soldier came up the rampart stairs. He moved slowly, and didn’t seem to notice the horde closing in above him.

  Declan swung his arms and bellowed: “Monsters! Beat the drums — call the guard!”

  His helmet craned upwards and he nearly startled himself off the wall when he saw what Declan was pointing at. The soldier turned on his heel and went sprinting for the drum tower. He was nearly at the doors when the glint of his armor dulled, covered over by a monstrous black shadow.

  It happened too quickly for Declan to follow: from somewhere among the crows dropped another sort of beast. It was a tawny bolt with blackened eyes and a great, curved beak — a hawk.

  Its talons swung out as it struck, crushing the giant as if he wasn’t anything more than a rabbit. Declan heard the crunch of the soldier’s armor as the talons dug in. The last thing he saw was the monster’s wicked beak: it flashed down and returned with an arc of red.

  Declan roared. Black flooded his vision until all that was left was a narrow strip of light. The monster’s eyes swelled inside the strip — growing, burning, taunting.

  He was going to rip them out.

  He was going to rip them out!

  The hawk monster matched his roars with a screech. Its wings burst open and its black, maddened eyes locked upon Declan’s. A lion woke inside his chest: it stretched its mighty limbs to his fingers and toes. It filled his lungs with its roar. The lion grew until his skin could barely hold its strength. It would split him down the middle if he didn’t calm it quickly.

  And there was only one way to sate such a beast.

  He grabbed the hawk’s talons the moment they slid into his vision. Its struggling only swelled his limbs, made his blood burn hotter. The lion roared as it smelled the monster’s fear. Declan slung the hawk’s body against the ground. He shattered its bones and drove its flesh into the dust.

  But the lion didn’t calm.

  No … it wanted more.

  Crows fell upon him, drawn to the hawk’s dying screech. Declan’s vision blackened against their caws. Soon he could no longer see the battle before him …

  But he could feel it.

  Bones snapped against his fists. Flesh gave way beneath his hands. He crushed them, he stomped them. A warm, sticky cloud wrapped around his body. Its tendrils scraped down his back and across his chest — maddening him with its hold.

  Then all at once, the flesh and bones were gone.

  His fists pounded against something that didn’t fight him back. It didn’t scream. No matter how hard he struck, it
only made one sound:

  Thunk … thunk … thunk …

  Cold crusted over his body. It seized his limbs and stole the roar from his chest. Declan tumbled out of the blackness and back to solid earth.

  A strange blue light covered everything. It gave the blood on his knuckles a purplish sort of shine. His breaths came out like smoke. When he dragged his chin from the dirt, he saw he’d been trapped beneath some sort of window.

  It arched over him — a stone’s top of blue glass that shimmered and froze the air. Its sides were frosted up. Declan crawled over to the nearest one. There were dark smears beneath the frost. He could make out the clear marks of his fists.

  His tunic was soaked in sweat and gore, but there was a clean patch on his elbow. He scrubbed a hole into the frost and stared out at the shimmering world beyond.

  What he saw brought the lion roaring back.

  Jake stood beside the window. One of his hands was stretched out towards Declan, his glove pulsing in time with the blue window’s light. He raised the other at the coming horde: a storm of screeching crows.

  They were a wave of talons and beaks, a mass of murderous eyes. Declan’s rage swelled up again. He beat the window with his fists. But it never shook, it never budged.

  The crows had come to within an arm’s reach of Jake when a light erupted from his hand. Declan heard a low boom and the crows’ bodies went flying backwards. The ground beneath him trembled. Most of the monsters simply tumbled away and clawed themselves back into a panicked flight. But those closest to Jake burst into tiny shreds of black.

  No sooner had the crows gone than the world beyond lit up with a fury of colorful bolts. They flashed so brightly that Declan’s eyes began to ache. Jake slowly disappeared inside the storm of colors until all Declan could see was his fingers — the hand that held the blue window tightly.

  Declan didn’t know what was happening. There was a constant noise outside: the crashes and rolls of a thunder that never seemed to stop. He wouldn’t be any good trapped beneath the window. “Let me out, you clodded mage! Let me out!”