Unfinished Song(Book 4): Root

by Maya, Tara

Amdra kept running.

  Finnadro

  Finnadro wanted to fight Amdra, not her slave. The wounded man gave him no choice; he fought like a wolverine trapped by bear. Blood poured from Hawk’s shoulder, but he was still powerful man.

  “Why fight for her?” Finnadro panted. He dodged a blow. “This is your chance, man! Cast off your leash and be free!”

  Hawk punched him across the face. Finnadro had to absorb the blow, since he could not avoid it, but on the next blow, he grabbed Hawk’s fist and flipped him over his back. Hawk countered with a round kick.

  “They stole you from your family and made you a slave!” Finnadro shouted. “Don’t you want your freedom?”

  “No, you fool!” Hawk picked up broken arrow. “I love her!”

  He drove the broken arrow at Finnadro’s chest.

  Dindi

  The Tavaedies kept dancing, though it was pointless. It took them too long to bring down a single Raptor. Neither the Giant’s Bow, nor Finnadro’s gathering of wolflings had been enough to stop the assault. Six Raptors glided toward the Winter Warrens and a wave of warriors ran beneath them. Behind them came the Vyfae, sleek and terrible.

  And behind them came another seven Raptors and Rider.

  The archers on the walls shouted, “They have fresh Raptors!”

  The Tavaedies groaned. There was no way they could take out Raptors fast enough, not now.

  Nor was that the worst of it. All of them had Orange magic, at least, it seemed so…at first. When she peered more closely at the newcomers, however, all breath fled her body. The new warriors were projecting Orange magic, but under the illusion they were something else, something even worse, something without color.

  Something that devoured color.

  The Sylfae linked their branches together, like a circle of dancers holding hands in the air. They sang low and deep.

  All at once, they burst into flame.

  The Tavaedies stopped dancing. They shouted in alarm. Some stumbled to find water, as hopeless as that would have been. But the Sylfae ripped their rooty legs out of the ground. They threw themselves at the Raptors like giant clubs. The Raptors could not fly in the smoke. They could not escape conflagration as one tree after another uprooted itself and rolled down the sloping field. Enemy warriors climbing to attack the tribehold were crushed beneath the blazing, rolling trunks.

  When the burning trees hit the Vyvae, glowing Green wolf shapes leaped free of the wood. The Sylfae, awakened from their wooden homes, had shifted form from flora to fauna, each transmuted to an animus of pure emerald light. They grappled their ancient rivals.

  The Sylfae had set themselves on fire. They’d sacrificed their trees to defend the humans who loved them.

  Yet even their tremendous sacrifice was not enough. The reinforcements had not been touched by the burning trees.

  “The new arrivals aren’t fighting,” Kemla said suddenly.

  “Keep dancing!” ordered Elder Ferret.

  “I am!” she snapped. “But look—they haven’t entered the fray yet.”

  “They are the reserve, perhaps,” he guessed. “And when our men are utterly exhausted, they will sweep up the remnants of resistance. No—look, their leader is signaling them. They are preparing to enter the fight now!”

  The Rider on the lead bird raised a spear and waved a green flag.

  A green flag.

  At the signal from their leader, the six other Riders simultaneously threw off the Orange sashes across their dark wool tunics, and replaced them with green sashes. To Dindi’s Vision, the transformation was even more dramatic. All of them had displayed Orange Chromas before. Now suddenly, they seemed to shine with Green Chromas. Yet underneath, there was a darkness about them, as if Green were no more their true Chroma than Orange had been.

  “They lost their magic!” exclaimed Kemla.

  “No! It was a ruse!” the Green Zavaedi cried with delight. “Look at them! They are on our side! They must be Green Woods men! The White Lady’s spell during the war dance has come true. Orange has switched sides to Green to give us victory!”

  It was undeniable that the strangers had switched sides in the battle, if they had ever been on the side of the Orange at all. They now attacked the Orange Canyon warriors with lust. Furthermore, they attacked the Vyfae too. They had no trouble finding the Orange fae. The Orange fae, on the other hand, were strangely helpless before them, as if they could not see the dark riders to anticipate attacks, just as ordinary humans were not able to see the fae. Everywhere Dindi looked, the dark warriors turned the tide of the battle.

  Vessia

  The shield was weak, and only Vessia’s ongoing dance kept it up around the Great Lodge. Contracting it had bought her time, but she could not maintain the shield forever.

  She danced alone on the porch of the Lodge. Everyone else was busy elsewhere defending the tribehold. Occasionally, one of the women from inside would bring her water to drink. If she were at a place in the tama when she could pause, she would take a sip or two. She heard someone behind her. Now was not a good time.

  “Just set the jug down, I’ll get to it later,” she said, without pausing.

  Strong hands slipped a sack over her head and grabbed her arms from behind. Her magic shattered. The shield fell like unlaced ribbons in a circle around the lodge. The man pinched her wrists together with a rope.

  “I’m so very sorry, Vessia.”

  She knew that voice. “Vumo?”

  Vumo picked her up like a sack of corn and slung her over his shoulder. His easy manner and beer belly made it easy to forget that he had once been, and still was, a powerful man.

  “What are you doing? Have you gone mad?” she demanded. She kicked her legs ineffectively.

  “Didn’t think you had to worry about me, did you?” he rumbled. “Good old Vumo. Dumb old Vumo. Drunk old Vumo. My daughter doesn’t take me seriously and she knew you wouldn’t take me seriously. But you forget, Vessia. Only one of ours sons can be War Chief. I’ve never been much of a father, but I owe this much to my son.”

  “You think you serve him by this treachery?” she cried. But he would not answer her.

  With the shield down, the burning stench from the forest fires blew over the Great Lodge. Even in the sack, it overwhelmed her. Vumo jogged with her across the marae, to the wall. She heard scrapping and rustling.

  “I can’t believe you got her!”

  It was Amdra.

  “Your doubt wounds me,” said Vumo. “Where’s Hawk?”

  “Delayed,” she said. “We’ll have to flee on foot.”

  “Flee? Aren’t we winning?”

  “We were, until our so-called reinforcements betrayed us. They aren’t from Orange Canyon at all. They are Deathsworn. They tricked me; I do not know their magic.”

  “The Deathsworn? Why would they interfere with a tribal clash?”

  “Why do you think! They must know what he is planning!”

  “Well,” Vumo said, “I can do better for our escape than our own four feet, at least. Vessia isn’t as skinny as she looks, for your information, and I don’t intend to carry her over my shoulder all the way to Cliffedge. We can travel much faster on horseback.”

  Umbral

  Umbral arrived right after the Sylvae sacrificed themselves to fire, so he had no trouble crossing the boundary into the marae. The smoke from the various fires made flight too difficult, so Shadow wore the shape of a black stallion. Umbral wrapped his Penumbra around himself, rendering himself invisible to all but the most perceptive of the tribe holders. Most would see only a shadow on the ground and look the other way. A few might see someone they thought they knew. The last remnants of Orange Canyon’s pride fought to die with glory. The Tavaedies had scattered to a dozen different brawls. He bashed heads only when they came too close.

  The young maiden stood alone, as if she waited for him, as if she had expected him.

  “I knew you would come, Kavio,” she said.

  Even though
he was prepared for it this time, he tensed at the name. He managed a curt nod.

  “I know what you intend to do,” she added. “Let me help.”

  “What is it you imagine I intend to do?”

  “A rain dance. To save the forests. You’re the only Rain Dancer here. You’re the only one who can do it. But you can show me the steps. I can help you.”

  Umbral breathed the ash-hot air. He nodded briskly.

  “Why not? Let us save the forests of Green Woods.”

  He dismounted. It had been long since he’d performed a Rain Dance. Deathsworn were not generally concerned with the weather. But he wanted the woman’s trust. It would make it easier to complete his task.

  So he danced.

  She mirrored his movements. Shyly, at first, then more boldly. It was not a partnered dance, but they made it one. After a single round, she learned the steps. Then she stood with her back to him; Umbral slipped his hands about her hips and they side-stepped, dipped and leaped in parallel.

  He had forgotten how sweet he found her magic. This close, the taste drugged him into ecstasy. He could have sipped from her aura forever. Her magic fed his and he spun it, amplified it, until a rainbow crossed the sky. The black clouds gushed torrents of sleet from horizon to horizon.

  “We did it!” She whirled in his arms. Her eyes were shining. Rainbow light formed a halo around her. Whatever spell hid her magic from the world, he had broken through it, at least for himself.

  He could not resist.

  He bent his mouth to hers and deeply kissed her.

  Dindi

  He kissed her. For a brief flicker, it was wonderful, but then she felt something twist, a sense of vertigo. Her stomach clenched as if a Raptor had dropped her from a terrible height.

  Falling, falling…

  The otherlight of a Vision flared around her, but the otherlight was not golden and bright. It burned darkly, fiercely, like night under a blood moon, and it was not a Vision of Mayara, or any Aelfae.

  The Man in Black

  On a night with a gibbous moon, a secret society gathered in full costume, masked, scarred and painted, all in black. They danced in a circle around another masked figure, dressed in a garment of indeterminate color now brown with dried blood, who had been securely lashed to a dark megalith. Despite the profusion of rope employed to prevent him from slipping altogether from the rock, the bloodied, misshapen figure thrashed and drooped his head. The top-heavy wooden mask did not help matters.

  Drumming and dancing continued long into the night. It was not until near dawn the dance leader, an elderly, sharp-tongued woman, called the rest to a halt. She wore the mask of a vulture.

  With a nod of her beak, she indicated one of the masked dancers, a powerful male. Except for black, skintight legwals and a stone knife belted around one thigh he wore nothing else. An expanse of sweat-slicked muscle across his broad chest indicated that he was a young man endowed with strength and agility.

  The man in black yanked the heavy headdress off the victim.

  His broken nose was a mass of battered flesh, his jaw hung lopsided and shattered, he had been tortured until his flesh turned purple and yellow, but he was unmistakable.

  It was Kavio.

  The man in black tossed away his mask and stepped forward.

  “Now,” the vulture-masked woman commanded. “You know what to do.”

  The man in black nodded. He gripped the handle of his obsidian knife. With one swift movement, he drove the blade into Kavio’s chest.

  Kavio’s inhuman shriek of pain rent the air. The man in black cut away the flesh beneath the costume, and withdrew a still beating heart. For just an instant, he hesitated, some rebellious disgust fleeting across his face. Then he steeled himself and bit into the heart.

  The black mask he wore gleamed and flared with electric fire. He pushed it back on his head.

  His face mirrored the face of his victim exactly: pale, handsome, chiseled. He looked more like Kavio than Kavio himself, for his features were pristine, as Kavio had once been, not bruised. His expression was ice cold. His eyes, two demonic coals, burned everything they gazed upon.

  He was a perfect twin of Kavio.

  The throng of dark dancers howled and cheered. The young man spit out the bite of flesh he had taken and flung the heart aside. It flopped once or twice before it stilled for good, already graying.

  “Congratulations,” said the woman in the vulture mask. “With the Mask of the Obsidian Mirror, those who look at you will see who only the face they most dread or long for. The Obsidian Mirror is one of the three original Weapons of Lady Death herself. No one will know you are an imposter.”

  “There is one who will know.”

  “No, you are mistaken. Now that you have killed Kavio, and assumed his power, you could take his place and the White Lady herself will not be able to tell you are not her son.”

  He shook his head. “I didn't mean her.”

  “Then who…?”

  “I will know.” He said it flatly, with no touch of bitterness or melancholy, and yet something about his statement disturbed the woman in the vulture mask.

  “Yes, Umbral,” she said. “You will not forget whom you serve.”

  He inclined his head.

  “How could I forget?” he asked in the same uninflected tone. “I live for Death.”

  Dindi

  Dindi thrashed free of the Vision, screaming.

  When she looked at Umbral, she still saw Kavio’s handsome face, but she knew the truth.

  “You aren’t Kavio! You’re the man who murdered him!”

  His eyes glittered darkly. He advanced toward her one slow step at a time.

  “You will forget what you saw…”

  “No, Umbral! You will not command me to forget who you really are!”

  He blinked at her, shocked she had countered his command with one of her own.

  Before he could work any other wickedness against her, Dindi grabbed a spear from the ground and smashed it into his head. The blow felled him. She did not dare hope it had killed him.

  Dindi ran.

  She ran through the burnt roots of uprooted trees, through the heavy sleet, onto a field of snow and blood. She recognized the vision of chaos before her. She had seen it in her nightmares. From across the steep field strewn with snow and blood, the Deathsworn rider on a black horse galloped toward Dindi. She saw him for what he truly was now. He devoured all color in his wake. He was coming for her. Nothing was more important than to escape him. Yet a part of her yearned to surrender herself to him, and this was the most repellent of all.

  “Dindi!” cried Kemla. “They have the White Lady!”

  Time slowed as Dindi turned around and saw two other horses galloping toward her. On the first horse, a man held a woman with a sack over her head in front of him. Muffled screams came from the sack. Dindi recognized Amdra on the second horse, bearing down, spear poised to hit her. Amdra scowled with rage. A frozen moment followed in which the spear was loosed, aimed without flaw for Dindi’s heart.

  Umbral snatched Dindi up onto his horse, taking the spear intended for her on his black shield. Dindi was too stunned to struggle. Not that it would have availed her, considering how tightly he clutched her to his chest. He dashed at full gallop from the battle as if Dindi were the only prize he wanted from the whole war.

  The dark rider had swept her onto his horse, just as he had in her dream…and by doing so, he had saved her life. The dream hadn't forewarned her of that little detail. Dindi looked up at him at the same moment he glanced down at her with ice eyes. An ironic smile touched his lips. She shivered. Instead of gratitude, dread filled her.

  Kavio’s murderer had saved her life.

  Epilogue

  Mayara

  Mayra’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren laughed and played in the yard between the three houses. The youngest of Mayara’s daughters called out injunctions to her children, before she ducked her head into the hut to bul
ly her mother.

  “Mommy!” The young woman clucked her tongue at Mayara. “Don’t get out of bed. You need your rest if you’re going to recover from this hex.”

  “This kind of hex, none can heal.” Mayara coughed. Droplets of blood came up with the phlegm. She washed her hand from the jug of water near the bed, careful not to show her daughter.

  “Don’t say that,” her daughter chided. She checked the jar, saw it was almost empty, and dirty besides, and took it outside to refill it in the stream.

  Mayara and Joslo, already weak from old age, had both caught a bad fever. They shared the same cot, soft with their old, beloved wolf fur blanket.

  “It will be hardest on her,” Mayara said. “She’s the youngest. She’s not ready for us to leave, especially not so close together.”

  “No one is ever ready,” he said. “But if I have to make the journey, I’m glad to make it with you. I’ve forgotten so many times to tell you, so let me tell you. I love you. You were like a swan in my life, bringing me beauty and joy.”

  For a moment, she didn’t answer. Their dual breathing sounded strained, more like snores than breaths.

  “The biggest regret of my life is I let my mother die without ever trusting her with the truth about me,” Mayara said. “She loved me, and I loved her, and yet never did I tell her my secret. I wish I had had the courage to tell her the truth before she died. I don’t want to make the same mistake with you.”

  Joslo smiled. He had two teeth, both blackened. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I want to…”

  “Because I already know,” he finished. “I’ve known since before we wed. You are an Aelfae.”

  She stared at him in astonishment. “How did you find out?”

  “Your mother told me, the day she died,” he said. “And she told me she had always known, since the day she found you. She said you were a gift, like a wild bird, and that I must protect you, hide you and keep you safe and loved forever. And I have tried.”