by Jan Delima
* * *
SOPHIE CHECKED HER WATCH. ALMOST MIDNIGHT. AND the children had yet to settle down. Eighteen hours confined in a basement had confused their routines and tried the patience of every adult in the room, except for Francine. Her mother snored softly in one of the overstuffed chairs, blissfully unaware, whereas the children were ready to climb the walls. For kicks and giggles, Sophie inwardly decided she might join them.
A squeal of delight came from Ella, a young girl with long golden braids, as Joshua agreed to give her yet another piggyback ride.
“One last time, Pixie Girl,” Joshua teased. “But only if you promise to take a nap afterward.”
Ella rocked forward, kicking her pudgy legs into his sides. “Promise.”
Ella’s mother sent Sophie an apologetic shrug. It was the first unguarded gesture of the evening, and Sophie smiled in return. The villagers had graciously welcomed Joshua around their children, but they had kept a guarded distance from Sophie and Elen. At first, she’d assumed Tucker made them nervous, but more often than not, their worried gazes turned to Elen.
As if sensing her restlessness, a petite woman with a mass of tangled brown hair approached, holding out her hand in greeting. “My name is Gwenfair.” She went on to explain, “Dylan told me you might be interested in teaching at our school. If that is indeed the case, I would appreciate your help.”
Grateful for the distraction, Sophie shook the woman’s hand. “I would like that.”
“Wonderful.” She smiled to show crooked teeth that added to the natural warmth of her features. “I fully intend to continue their education, even if we have to do it behind guarded walls. We can meet in a few days to discuss our curriculum.”
“How many children do you normally teach?”
“Eight. But don’t let that small number fool you. They’re all highly inquisitive and bore easily,” she warned with good humor. “The oldest is twelve years, and the youngest is four.”
Scanning the room, Sophie recounted the heads of all the children. “Why are there only seven here now?”
After a slight hesitation, Gwenfair supplied, “Taran chose not to bring her daughter.”
Sophie blinked in surprise. “I hadn’t realized Taran had a child.” She made a mental note to have a conversation with Dylan when all this was over, and learn the names and family history of every person who lived in Rhuddin Village. Hopefully he had begun to trust her enough to release that information. “How old is her daughter?”
“Melissa is the youngest,” Gwenfair said with obvious concern. “She’s four years old.”
A warning chill crawled down Sophie’s spine; her inner voice of reason was stronger than her distrust of Siân’s family. Regardless of their unpleasant history, or whatever demotion Luc had enforced on Taran, not choosing the safest place for her daughter didn’t make sense, not for any parent.
A twinge of pain lanced through her head, a warning sign she’d learned to recognize, just before an unwelcome voice not her own flooded her thoughts.
Your instincts are correct, Sophie Marie Thibodeau. The serpentine cadence weaved through her mind, an unnatural resonance that made her skin crawl with dread. The mother and daughter are in danger.
“Do you smell that?” Gwenfair darted glances around the room as if looking for an unknown visitor. “It smells like—”
“Apple blossoms,” Elen interrupted, placing a tentative hand on Sophie’s shoulder, only to pull back with a hiss. “It smells like apple blossoms and power—old power.”
With flared nostrils, Gwenfair’s chest rose and fell with several slow breaths. “Yes,” she hummed with pleasure.
“I’ve smelled that scent once before,” Elen whispered breathlessly, “when I was much younger.” Her eyes fell to Sophie’s waist, covered by her sweater. “Are you wearing the Serpent?”
“I promised Dylan I would.” Sophie stood, and immediately wavered as blood rushed to her head. Her vision blurred. “I think I need some fresh air. I’m going to go check on Sarah.”
The mother and daughter are in danger, the Serpent repeated.
Leave me alone, Sophie answered back with silent force, making a conscious effort to close her mind, pushing against the unseen tormentor. It had worked once before, so why not again?
A serpentine laugh whispered back, not entirely displeased with her effort to expel it. You are strong, Sophie Marie Thibodeau, but I am stronger . . .
* * *
DYLAN OPTED TO MEET IN THE SHELTERED GARDENS OF Rhuddin Hall. A place without walls was a more practical location if a quarrel were to ensue, a likely possibility with eight dominant shifters within striking distance of one another. As the leaders arrived, each in their human form, a heavy fog settled around their unruly circle, blessing their dangerous union with a mantle of obscurity.
“Madoc, Ryder, Drystan, Daron, Isabeau.” He addressed them each with a nod, followed by the two representatives sent by Nia and Kalem. “As you know, I’ve asked you here to unite with me against a shared enemy.” He tossed the banner in the center of their circle, bright blue and gold, colors that heralded the most vile cruelties of their past. “Our time of peace has ended.”
Voices rose in unison, each one adamant to be heard above the others. Arguments filled with uncertainty. In response, elements churned, pulled forth by eight powerful beings in one location. A gust of wind brushed through the forest. The fog lifted briefly to form a dense cloud mere yards above their heads. Snow began to fall, then turned to sleet, like a lover’s bite, teasing and wanting. Their combined power was pure, potent and addictive. And Dylan’s wolf wanted to play.
Holding her hand up for silence, Isabeau stepped forward, wearing jeans and sneakers, her hair tucked underneath the hood of a sweatshirt labeled Gap across her chest. Earlier that day, upon her arrival, Dylan had noticed her hair had been dyed kohl black, probably the only color that concealed a red so pure it attracted unnecessary attention. He saw no evidence of the broken girl who had stumbled upon his camp all those years ago.
Currently, she stood with her arms crossed and her lips pursed in feigned boredom, and looked no older than eighteen, a guise that suited her well. She had killed men thrice her size before they knew to be frightened.
“You speak as if we’re already at war with the Guardians,” Isabeau said. “I will fight, with pleasure, if they come, but I have not seen evidence of them in my territory.”
“Has all that hair dye made you daft, woman?” Madoc blurted with his usual candor. “’Tis their bloody banner lying at your feet.”
“It may be a warning,” she returned through clenched teeth, her voice too sweet, “but I don’t believe it was a Guardian who placed it. It’s not their way.” And she would know, having lost her entire family to the Guardian Rhun. “It’s not in their best interest to give warnings.”
“I share Isabeau’s view on this matter,” Drystan argued. “I have not seen evidence of the Guardians, and neither have the others. I don’t know who’s playing with you, Dylan . . . but I don’t believe the Guardians have any intentions of leaving Europe. So why should we chance their interest if it is not yet here?”
Daran grunted with agreement. “Having Math among us is enough. I, for one, don’t want to entice any others.”
“None of us do,” Drystan added, urged by the support. “Math has lived among us for almost three centuries now and has left us alone.”
“Math likes his privacy,” Madoc muttered with a sneer. “And we all know why. He doesn’t want the Council close any more than we do. They’d put a halt to his little . . . dalliances.”
“Please,” Isabeau scoffed. “As if the Council cares.”
“Regardless of who placed the banner in my territory, or for what purpose,” Dylan interrupted, displeased with their trepidation, “I believe it’s only a matter of time before more Guardians arrive.” He inhaled the scent of his forest, letting his wolf rise to the surface, a tenuous challenge necessary for his next disclosure. �
��I have a son.” That earned a murmur of surprise and a generous slap on the back from Madoc. “He was born fifteen years ago. My mate is human. Our son can run as both a man and wolf.”
Agitated by this new information, Isabeau began to pace. “If the Guardians learn you’ve fathered a shifter with a human mate—”
Dylan interrupted, “I’m fully aware of the danger that threatens my family, Isabeau. When the Guardians come, and they will eventually come . . . Do you truly think they’ll remain satisfied not to claim it all? Do you truly think they’ll not move on to your lands? Have you lived so long in peace that you’ve forgotten their ways?”
Isabeau winced as if slapped. “Now you insult me.” She turned and glared at Dylan, her hands fisted against her sides in outrage. “I will never forget!”
“Then join me,” Dylan challenged. “I will not welcome war, but if it comes to my home, I will fight, just as I will fight for anyone who stands with me.”
Twenty-six
THE SERPENT REFUSED TO RETREAT.
Sophie pressed her palms against her temples. The pounding sharpened, became stronger. Angry. Outwardly, she heard whispers of concern. She felt Tucker’s nose against her arm, heard his soft whine, as if he too felt the Serpent’s displeasure.
The voice became more vehement and annoyed by her resistance. See for yourself, it chanted with dangerous intensity. The mother is betraying you.
A shaft of white light, too pure to be of this world, blinded her into darkness. The pain subsided to a dull ache, replaced by an awful sense of unbalance. The room weaved and the floor rose. There was carpet under her palms, damp and abrasive.
Had she fallen?
Reality shifted into nothingness, a void between truth and delusion. Blurred shapes began to appear, flooding her mind like flashes in a photo booth, monochrome and flat. Soon there was sound, garbled and then pure, as if a higher consciousness was tuning a frequency specific to her mental reception. Serpentine images weaved through her thoughts, slit like a leaf and framed by a crested oblong shape.
Was she seeing through the creature’s own eyes?
* * *
FLASHES OF THE GREAT OAK SWAM BEFORE HER, THEN A stream and a cluster of white birches. The images came fast, making her dizzy. A field appeared, matted in the center by a struggle. It was nighttime but she could see clearly; her new eyes preferred the darkness. There was a dead tree in the distance, with a birdlike image carved on its trunk. Dark shapes formed, of blood, so much blood, from a broken woman with long red hair, and other bodies fallen on the ground. There was also a child, limp and unconscious, held carelessly in the arms of a hooded figure too large to be female. He was not alone. There were other shadowed figures, watching and not helping.
Smiling, he lifted his arms high above the ground and let the child roll . . .
“No,” Sophie screamed, reaching out, but her voice went unheard and her arms remained empty, like mist on an ocean of tears. Flashes of inconceivable cruelty lanced through her mind, a mental rape she couldn’t fight back.
The child landed by the man’s feet with a sickening thump and remained motionless. The woman’s screams pierced through the valley, so anguished that angels should have fallen from the sky to answer her call. She tried to cushion the child’s fall with her own body, even as her legs crumpled in broken disarray. Vile laughter followed her attempt, inhuman and without remorse.
“Tell me where she is, Taran, sister of Siân,” the man taunted in the singsong voice of the disturbed. “Tell me where to find Elen ap Merin. Tell me where to find your leader’s sister . . . who keeps the forest alive in winter.”
“There’s a clinic,” Taran sobbed, answering too quickly, inching toward her daughter even as the words fell from her mouth. “Just north of the grain fields. Elen is always there.”
“You dare lie to me? I know she is not at this . . . this clinic.” He sneered the last word as if it were the vilest institution, a building that housed vermin that should be exterminated, not aided. A booted foot lifted, and with shining eyes aglow with malicious joy, he kicked the child, once, and then again . . .
“Stop!” Taran curled her broken body around the child, absorbing most of the blows. “Please,” she sobbed, “please stop.”
“Tell me where Elen is . . . or your little Drwgddyddwg will die for your weakness.”
“In the village.” The hunched figure wept tears of betrayal for choosing her child over others. “There’s a blue house . . .”
* * *
THE BASEMENT CAME BACK IN A RUSH OF SOUND AND color. Gasps of horror and pitiful cries from frightened children echoed throughout the room. Tucker’s wet nose nudged her cheek. She tried to sit up but the abrupt motion made her heave.
“Oh, dear Lord,” her mother exclaimed from someplace near. “Sophie, what is wrong with you?”
“Mom?” This from Joshua. Fear clogged his voice, unaccustomed to any weakness from his mother. “Are you okay?”
“Sophie,” another familiar voice repeated her name, professional and persistent. “Sophie, can you hear me?”
“I can hear you.” Her throat felt raw as she spoke, as if she’d been screaming the entire time. She attempted to nod but her reflexes balked. She blinked once, tried again. Elen’s face came slowly into focus.
“Taran . . .” Sophie’s voice broke. She swallowed and tried again. “Taran’s in trouble. She’s hurt. So is her daughter. They need help!”
Elen’s blue eyes held hers, heavy with concern. “How do you know this?”
She didn’t hesitate to reveal her source, the vision having been too real to deny its validity. “The Serpent showed me in a vision.”
Elen blinked once, her only outward show of surprise before hiding her reaction. “It talks to you?”
“Yes.” Sophie dared her to disagree.
She didn’t. “What did the Serpent show you?”
Sophie lowered her voice to a whisper. “A man in a hooded cloak hurting a child. I think it was Melissa. He called her a weird name. It sounded like droogeth . . . something. He wasn’t alone. I saw more figures in the shadows, watching but not helping.” Her hands fisted by her sides as she recounted the sickening scene. “Taran was there. She’s hurt. So are others on the ground.” She stood slowly, gaining her balance.
Elen reached out to steady her, her expression one of horror but not disbelief. “He wanted information from Taran. Do you have any idea what that might be? Did you see or hear anything that might—”
“You,” Sophie warned. “The man is after you. He said something about you keeping the forest alive in winter. I know it doesn’t make sense, but it was so real. Taran told them where to find us. They know where we are.”
“It makes more sense than you know.” Her voice had gone quiet, deadened with acceptance.
“The Guardians are here.” The announcement came from a male who had obviously overheard, a father of one of the children.
“It’s because of her,” another parent accused, a mother this time, pointing her finger at Elen.
“I knew she wasn’t natural.” A hushed accusation. “I knew she was one of them.”
“What are we going to do?” This from Ella’s mother. Sensing her mother’s fear, Ella began to cry.
Panicked voices rose in unison, flooding the small room with verbal chaos.
Elen seemed to shrink into herself. “I should not have come here,” she told them. “I will leave.”
“We all have to leave,” Sophie announced, not sure what had transpired between these people and Elen. Whatever it was, it ended now. She took a step forward, testing her balance, and then another, gaining their attention. “I’m going outside to speak with Sarah.” Tucker sauntered by her side in silent support, followed by Joshua and her mother. A hush settled in the room. The parents didn’t look pleased but they listened. “Stay here and remain silent while I discuss a plan with the guards. I won’t be long.” As soon as she stepped onto the porch, Sarah rose from the sh
adows, frowning with obvious annoyance.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” the guard hissed.
“I have reason to believe the Guardians are here.” Pressed for time, she reinforced her story by lifting her sweatshirt. The Serpent lay coiled neatly around her waist. Sarah straightened, nodding for Sophie to continue. “The Serpent showed me in a vision. They know where the safe house is. We need to evacuate the children.”
Without hesitation, Sarah turned toward the woods, issuing a sharp whistle. Malsum and four other guards came forward, bathed in moonlight while they listened to a brief explanation from their female comrade. As several doubt-filled eyes landed on Sophie, she lifted her chin, not caring if they thought her insane.
She recounted her vision, adding details with useful location markers, “I saw a man, in a field by a cluster of white birches. There was a dead tree in the distance, with a bird carved on its trunk. They have Taran and her daughter. Taran told them where we are.”
“Taran wouldn’t betray us,” one of the guards murmured.
“The man was beating a child I believe was Taran’s daughter,” Sophie countered. “There were shadows on the ground. Shapes that weren’t moving. I’m not sure if it was your guards or not. I just know it felt too real to be ignored and we need to get a message to Dylan.”
“I know the field you speak of. It borders our land.” Malsum had silenced the other guards with a displeased glare. “Sarah, you will leave now and apprise Dylan of his mate’s warning. Use Yellow Moss Trail.” He turned to one of the other male guards. “Michael, you do the same, but follow East Branch south and warn the others before circling back. Whoever gets there first, tell Dylan we’re returning to Rhuddin Hall on foot and that we’ll follow the back Arwel passage.”
Sarah and Michael dispersed in the directions they were ordered, while the remaining three guards looked to Malsum for further instruction. Their grave stance grounded Sophie’s conviction that danger was imminent. Her stomach tightened with unease.
