by Mary Weber
I snicker just as a shout erupts from the middle of the room, saving me from having to tell him to go to hulls.
“I’m tellin’ you, she’s Draewulf’s daughter,” one of the men from the rowdy group says. “Isobel, they call her.”
Breck’s head is up in an instant. She snaps at Colin to quit his slurping.
“Yes, except the Drust ambassador is real, and Draewulf’s not!” a blond-haired man yells from the table of court officials. He breaks into a cackle, and his friends join him. But they’re the only ones laughing. Everyone else just glares.
“Some say she’s a Mortisfaire. Can change your heart to stone,” the dwarf pipes up from his perch on the table. He leans over to a man beside him and pokes him in the chest three times, each with more emphasis. “With. One. Touch.”
I look at Colin and mouth, Stone?
He just shrugs.
“Maybe it’s not her touch, maybe it’s her looks,” someone yells. “I hear she’s somethin’ to behold, if ya know what I mean!”
“She can touch me if she wants!”
A fresh wave of hilarity sweeps through the room.
I move uncomfortably on my stool. Blasted men.
“Well, we’ll find out when she arrives next week, won’ts we?” says the dwarf. “And maybe our king’ll get some answers from ’er. Like what ’er Draewulf father is up to.”
“It’s a load of posh!” the blond-haired official pipes up again.
“No, it’s true. Tell the story of the Draewulf, Dwarf!”
“Yeah,” one of the ladies near us says. “Tell ’im the story!”
“You want me to tell it? You sure you want me to tell it?” the dwarf asks, hopping on one foot and then the other.
The audience erupts with shouts and the pounding of their metal mugs on the tables until he gives in and shushes them into delighted anticipation. The little man licks his lips and sweeps his hands in front of him like a magician.
“’Twas a hundred years ago and still known as the bloodiest night in Faelen history. Bron’d been hounding the coast for weeks on the one side and Drust attacking from the other. Three kingdoms at war, and Faelen in the middle set to fall.” He pauses for breath. “Our little island’s High Court streets was smothered in a fog-cloaked mood tha’ evening. The trees, bare from winter frost, rocked back and forth, back and forth.”
The dwarf rocks back and forth like the trees, in hypnotic timing, luring his listeners into a trance. “They say the bark was peelin’ down the trees’ white trunks like the ghost fingers of a dead man.”
He lifts his fingers above his head and curls them into tree-like claws. A collective shiver ripples through the crowd. Even the politicians stop drinking.
“Twenty bodies they found,” he growls. “Men, women, youngsters. Draewulf had slain them one by one tha’ night, in his hunger to wear human flesh. Shape-shiftin’ into a man to draw ’em in, then returnin’ to his real form for the kill.”
“And what is his real form?” a woman near us dares to whisper.
My dream flashes through my mind—of me lying in the snow with bloody hands. It makes my neck tickle and my hands clench.
The dwarf leaps around to face the speaker and slams his little foot down on the table, causing half the room to gasp. “Not sure really. Altho’ some claim he’s a great boar.”
He straightens for a second and cocks his head funny, scratching his chin. “Or was it a bear?”
“He’s a wolf, you dolt!” someone yells.
The dwarf laughs. “Just testin’ you. Course he’s a wolf. But when the captain o’ the guard and the king’s men caught up with ’im that evenin’, he was dressed up like one o’ the men he’d just killed. Stole his very essence, he did. That’s how he does it—climbs inside a body and slowly absorbs his soul ’til there’s nothin’ left except his wolf self hidin’ inside the person’s skin. A perfect imitation of ’em. An’ a hideous and ghostly way to die, so I’ve ’eard.”
The dwarf’s hands dance, making monstrous shadows on the common-house walls. My breath dances along with them as the story reaches the breaking point.
“An’ the only reason he was caught? He allowed it. Cuz you can’t tell he’s taken over someone unless he wants you to. Twenty months he’d been at it—the great wizard Draewulf, king of Drust—makin’ a three-way war with Bron and Faelen. Now he’d found a way into Faelen to get an audience with King Willem, to make a deal he knew he’d get offered.”
I look around. Not even a drip of drink or an inhale. Even Breck looks spellbound.
“The old king demanded Draewulf return to Drust an’ never enter Faelen again. But that wizard-king, Draewulf, was a smart one. Swore he’d be an ally against Bron an’ save Faelen from fallin’. For a price.”
I swallow and tug my cloak closer around my head. Somehow when the minstrels used to sing the story, it didn’t sound quite so authentic. I want to crawl under the table and plug my ears. Instead I set my jaw. Act natural.
“The price was the Elemental children.”
Suddenly the room isn’t holding enough air. My eyes feel too blue, my hair not colored dark enough. My Elemental curse thumps beneath my skin, threatening to give me away. I peek around, certain someone must have just now recognized me. But every eye is on the dwarf. Even the black-cloaked official.
“The Hundred-Year-Ol’ Deal with the Devil, they calls it. The treaty between Draewulf and our former king that cursed every Elemental to be murdered at birth. An’ the older ones to die in ‘protection camps.’ And just like that, compassion fled our land with the monster’s bloody X marking the edge of a treaty note. And now . . .”
I shiver, and Colin slides his hand over mine. He squeezes.
I pull away.
“Now the Sea of Elisedd, she’s been churnin’ noisy ever since.” The dwarf winds down. “Cryin’ for those Elemental boys whose voices ’ave gone to the graves of their fathers. An’ Draewulf? Well, he went back home to Drust and took his army full force against Bron. Leavin’ Faelen weak, but intact.”
My shallow inhale sounds brassy in the room’s quiet.
One breath.
Two breaths.
“Seventy years later, Draewulf lost to Bron, and Drust became a wasteland in which he disappeared. Altho’ on stormy nights, some say they can still ’ear the monster walkin’ Faelen’s High Court streets lookin’ to feed. And makin’ sure no Elementals is there to resist ’im.”
The blond-headed heckler stands with a raucous, grating laugh and claps his thin hands. “Bravo, Dwarf! Bravo! That fairy tale of yours nearly put us all to sleep. Except that the treaty was between two sane kings and it saved our nation from being torn in two! They were smart in taking sides against Bron and smart in seeing the Elementals as dangerous!”
“It’s no fairy tale—it’s the truth!” a woman yells. “An’ the Elementals weren’t dangerous. They was our only defense!”
“The Elementals would’ve destroyed Faelen! They were too arrogant and capricious with their powers, and they were growing too numerous. Sacrificing them to gain Drust as an ally was strategy.”
I slouch lower in my seat.
“Draewulf’s no ally! Never was. He got rid of the Elementals so we’d be powerless against him. And now he’s helpin’ Bron!”
“He’s not helpin’ Bron,” someone says. “He’s helpin’ himself.”
“That’s ridiculous!” the official yells. “First he helps us, then he’s against us? You peasants are superstitious!”
“Exactly,” Breck mutters a bit too loud.
“An’ what do you know of war?” the woman sneers. “You ever been in it? Cuz my husband has. Lost his arm, he did. And now he’s back there gettin’ hisself killed so the rest of us can sit here and argue about it.”
I watch the agitated crowd, all vying to add their pieces to the story. In my early years of being a slave, I assumed the story was a folktale, with Draewulf made up by my first owner to torment me. I can still recall h
im saying, And that’s what’ll happen to you one o’ these days. He’ll come atcha in the night and eat your brains out while I watch.
It took me years to sleep more than an hour at a time after that.
A trickle of sweat runs down my back. I suddenly want to get out of here. And yet, I want to hear more. About Draewulf. About Bron. About this war I’m supposed to help win.
“Tell us about Bron,” Colin shouts. I shoot him a grateful glance. “How close are they? And why do they want Faelen so bad?”
“They don’t just want us!” the drunk boy-soldier responds. “They wants all five kingdoms of the Hidden Lands! Faelen’s just the blockade keepin’ them from those other kingdoms. But what do our allies do? They wait and watch while we get slaughtered!”
“That’s what’s losin’ us the war,” the bartender says.
“No, it’s not!” someone fires back. “It’s the fact that Bron’s got industry that we ’aven’t. They’ve got armor for their soldiers and crossbows that shoot faster and farther, an’ they’ve got more of ’em. Rumor has it they even got these self-moving carriages that don’t need horses! While we’ve spent the past hundred years twiddlin’ our thumbs, the Bron kings were developing weapons we can’t even replicate! An’ now King Odion’s got these flying ships dropping boiling explosives. The only reason we lasted this long is because he killed his smarter brother. If the twin had won the throne instead of Odion, we’d already be dead!”
“How do you know that?” another voice yells. “Odion seems plenty smart to me. Why do you think he’s never even met with King Sedric for negotiatin’? It’s because Odion’s too busy makin’ those war machines to actually fight face-to-face.”
“It’s more than Odion’s weapons that’s losin’ us the war.” The drunk soldier gets louder. “It’s the plagues an’ Draewulf, I tell ya!”
Breck rises and places her hands on her hips.
Ah kracken. I eye her empty drink mugs. I should’ve cut her off.
“Well, maybe you all should be workin’ on inventions rather than standin’ here scarin’ yerselves with talk of imaginary wizards when we gots an enemy that just bombed us!”
The soldier’s chair flips out behind him as he jerks up and stands to wave his hand at Breck and the officials. “Shut up. You’ve no idea what you’re talkin’ of.” He sways back and forth. Someone reaches out to help steady him, but he shrugs him off and wags a finger at the room. “You arrogant fools. The plagues aren’t natural. They’re a curse. Sent by Draewulf hisself. And there’s a Dark Army of unnatural things followin’ him. Monstrous things.”
The blond from the officials’ table guffaws. “Go home, drunk. No wonder they sent you back from the war. Can’t even hold your liquid!”
I put one hand on Breck’s elbow and prod Colin’s shirt collar with the other. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
The tipsy soldier’s expression dissolves into hatred. He lifts that finger he keeps pointing and thrusts it at the official and his companions. “You’re only a doubter because you send the rest of us to do your dirty work. But when Draewulf’s monsters come for your throat?” He moves his finger to his neck and with a slow gesture makes as if he’s slicing it open.
I tug on Breck’s and Colin’s frozen forms, pressing them toward the door. “We have to leave now,” I whisper with a mouth that tastes like fear and smoke and the bone dust they’ll all become if my curse gets free. I catch the hooded official’s gaze on me. He smirks as his companions rise, as if challenging me to stay for the entertainment about to erupt.
My stomach performs a somersault as his blond friend tosses a slur at the soldier.
“Oh hulls, not again,” the bartender says.
CHAPTER 13
FIIIIIIIGHT!” SHOUTS THE DWARF, AND I ’M instantly shoving my friends in the direction of the door as the room explodes. Someone throws a pint glass at the dwarf, and it barely misses Colin’s head as it sails for its target.
The dwarf catches the glass and throws it back so fast, the female recipient crashes into Breck, and the two of them end up taking us down with her. The lady sits up dazed while I scramble away amid a forest of legs all suddenly in motion, only to realize Breck’s foot is trapped beneath the woman’s wide girth.
I clamber back to her to push, then tug, while Colin regains his feet and just stands there glancing back and forth between us and everyone else in the chaotic place. His body bounces, caught up in the excitement of the brawl.
“Help us!” I snap at him.
He focuses on me and blinks with eyes as wide as hen’s eggs, then bends over to assist. We extricate Breck just as the lady grunts and grows lucid. After a head shake and knuckle crack, the woman grabs the nearest man to use for hoisting herself up and tramples him as she charges back into the mix.
Colin ducks, then clamps his hands onto Breck’s shoulders and drags her between the sweaty bodies and flying stools as I etch a clear path in front of them. I think Colin’s yelling, but it’s hard to tell above the clamor of breaking wood and bones.
Something smashes into my back and suddenly I’m pitching forward. My eyes blur as my knees slam onto the floor. But then I’m up and my aching body is crawling for the door as terror wraps its talons around my veins. If I don’t get out soon, none of us will. I can feel the curse itching, like a crossbow trigger begging to be pulled. All it needs is the right fist hitting at the wrong moment.
Just as I reach the entrance, I look up to discover Colin and Breck have made it. He turns to search for me when an enormous object flails through the air and hits him flat across the chest. The impact sends him through the doorway and skidding along the outside stones for a good three yards.
I lunge the last few feet between the legs of two men. And then I’m outside and feebly stumbling to where Colin’s sprawled out with what looks like a body on top of him. Please be breathing, please be breathing. I start to tug the thing off of him with my good hand when I realize it’s wiggling and yelling things. I pull back and squint at it.
The dwarf?
The little man shakes free, stands, and dusts himself off over Colin’s gaping mouth that’s clearly seeking the air knocked from him.
The dwarf glares at me, straightens his shirt, then turns to the broken door and cups his hands around his mouth. “Hey, boys! The fight’s out ’ere!”
Not that he needed to announce it. When I turn around they’re already spilling out—with the common-house owner leading the charge. I don’t see Breck, so I reach for Colin’s hand and yank him to his feet. But as soon as he’s standing, someone grabs my arm and flips me around.
My fist is in the guy’s stomach before I even recognize his face. He folds over, then lifts his head, eyes flashing, and slowly rises to his full height. It’s the blond-haired wretch of an official.
Colin shoves me so hard, the next thing I know I’m picking myself up and he’s ten feet away, bent low to the ground. And the earth is starting to rumble.
“Colin, no!”
The blond man lunges for Colin, and it’s as if the blur of bodies surrounding them speeds up, blocking my view. The stone street beneath us is groaning harder now, and as angry as I am that Colin’s using his Terrene abilities, I’m also holding on to those growing vibrations as consolation that he’s still okay.
Suddenly the crowd’s yells change tune, from riotous to confused. The fighting slows. Or maybe it’s just my imagination, as the whole common house and nearby buildings begin swaying.
With a tearing sound the ground shreds in a perfect circle around the pile of men still encompassing Colin. Like crumbling puzzle pieces the stones break apart in a thin swirl and sink down a half foot.
Shouts break out, scared rather than angry now, triggering a fresh tide of sweat sweeping over my skin. The cries sound similar to ones I’ve caused before. Except unlike me, Colin is in control.
Right?
The men scatter like ants, scrambling to hop over the shallow crater Colin’s created
. Although, from their bewildered expressions, most haven’t figured out what, or who, the source of the disturbance is yet. But the blond official seems to have. As the crowd clears, I see him rise from his fallen position, and steadying his legs, he stalks back over to Colin.
I scream Colin’s name, but the crowd’s too noisy.
The official draws a knife from the sheath at his waist.
Blast you, Colin.
The thunder surges in so quick, my hood and hair whip back in a frenzy as a fracture tears through the sky. Loud. Immediate. The blond official glances up at the same time as Colin, and before the man can recover, Colin’s rolled out of the way.
I shut my eyes—sick with what’s to come as the energy snaps and sings along my nerves, charging the air with static. No, I beg it. Please don’t do this.
I force my thoughts to focus, to imagine Eogan’s fingers on my neck. Soothing my pulse. My fear. My anger. His breath a lazy breeze whispering words on my skin, telling me to aim for the trees. Except there aren’t any trees, just hovels, and pointy towers, and staggered streets leading up to the white Castle, and stone.
Stone.
I aim for the wider stone street in between a host of the buildings.
Focus. On the stone.
On Eogan’s voice.
On pine and honey and emerald-green eyes that slow my heartbeat.
The static crackles.
Focus on his words.
The friction dissolves as quick as it tensed, and my whole body lags.
And it’s over.
I open my eyes to see raindrops beginning to fall from the unnatural storm clouds, subduing the mood of the disarrayed crowd. Prompting some into laughter even. The blond official drops the knife as Colin’s foot finds his gut.
There’s no lightning strike.
No thunder.
No deaths.
Colin rushes over and takes my hand. He pulls me as the shower turns heavy. “C’mon, Breck’s waiting for us!” But I’m still looking around in thrilled wonder at what I’ve just done. How was that possible? I want to yank away from him and run and shout and twirl like a child in the thickening downpour.
