Daughter of the Wolf (Pathway of the Chosen Book 2)

by Cat Bruno

  With a small bottle in her hand, Caryss turned and stopped. Her face was drawn, as if in thought, and one of her hands went to her mouth to rub at her lower lip.

  “Will the fennidi come here? Into the Tribelands?”

  Mixing a mug of goat’s milk, Sharron stilled.

  “None know what they will or will not do,” she explained. “When I was a child, before the Academy, my mother told me a tale of how the fennidi came to be. Whether there is truth to it or not, I never knew, but it is said that they are the kin to the Tribe. There are many here who would know the answer better than I.”

  “Find Conall, if you can, Sharron.”

  There were questions written on the other healer’s face, even though she did not voice them, but, as way of explanation, Caryss added, “Neither mage nor healer has found what is wrong with the King. But he is no normal man. And yet we all have sought to treat him as such. The fennidi, from the little I know, are neither mage nor man.”

  Sharron did not question why it was she that needed to find the Tribesman and not Caryss. All knew of their conflict.

  He is not his brother, she thought, hoping to find peace with him as she waited for Sharron to return.

  *****

  After having spent so many moon years at the Academy, Willem felt uncertain in the saddle, and, after a few days, his body ached and his mind drifted. To distract himself, he would often talk aloud, although the large, curly-maned mount beneath him was his only companion. In less than a moon, he had traveled from the southwestern corner of Cordisia across the heart of the land, and now he was heading north, to a land he had not seen since just after his exile.

  When he had been forced to leave Rexterra, it was assumed that he would settle in Eirrannia, with his father’s kin, yet his banishment had marked him as traitor, and he had decided he would not bring that shame to his father’s door. His mother, own sister to the King, had begged her brother to reconsider, but Herrin had told her that the only other option was for Willem to be hanged for his treason. Under the threat, his mother quieted, and he departed, choosing the Academy, and its distant location when little else seemed tolerable.

  His time at the Academy had taught him much, and running the clinic had become rewarding to him. Yet, in the moons since Bronwen had been gone, it no longer seemed like the Academy offered him enough reason to stay. If he could not find her, little choice remained to him but to return to Eirrannia.

  “I will not go until she tells me so,” he murmured, prodding the gelding along.

  He had crossed through much of Planusterra, where the land was flat, and the high grass was beginning to brown under the early autumnal sun. In a day’s ride, he would be at the base of the Faelan Mountains, and in Eirrannian land.

  “She is near, Lucky,” he said, smoothing the gelding’s course mane with his free hand.

  Willem traveled on, thinking of the girl he had last seen moons before when he helped her leave the Academy, reminding himself that she no longer called herself Bronwen.

  No matter, he thought, I will find her all the same.

  *****

  “He will not let you go, Caryss,” Conall explained, for the third time, no longer able to contain the anger that edged his words.

  “I will not be gone for long, and, if you go with me, he would never know that we were gone at all.”

  “There is little that escapes my brother’s watch, even when he is engaged elsewhere. You will have to find another way.”

  Louder than before, Caryss exclaimed, “There is no other way! If you will not go with me, then I shall go alone. I am not Tribe and have oaths of my own. I have taken the King from his homeland, and, as you have explained, I now have the most powerful army in Cordisia after me. For all involved, the King must be healed. And to do that, I believe I need the fennidi.”

  Sighing as he ran his fingers through his long hair, Conall replied, “I do not know a way to safely reach their lands.”

  “What about the spirit animals?”

  “The epidii? They are a fickle bunch and would not permit one such as you to ride.”

  “One such as me?” she huffed.

  “A mortal. They have long served our kind, although serve is a strange and not at all fitting way to describe it.”

  “Did Nahla not ride one from Rexterra?” Caryss asked, already knowing the answer.

  “She was with me.”

  “Then we are at a cross-battle it seems. I must seek them out or try to call them here.”

  “What do you mean?” Conall asked, although Caryss noticed that much of his sharpness had disappeared.

  Knowing she needed him, Caryss softened her words. “The babe’s mage-skill is strong, enough so that with help from the Great Mother, I have been able to summon her for help when necessary.”

  “Caryss,” he warned, “You cannot call on a foreign god here! Not within the Tribelands. Promise me that you will not try it.”

  “Then call for an epidiuus. Surely you know where to find them.”

  The Tribesman said nothing. When he turned and walked from the room, she followed, continuing until they were at the back of the large building. Sharron parted from them as Caryss and Conall strode through a field, still in silence. The sky was darkening, and the air had cooled, causing Caryss to pull the sleeves of her cloak down and wrap it tight across her chest.

  “Where is the dagger?” he asked without turning to look at her.

  “With the diauxie,” came her muttered reply.

  “Conri has better control than I. Had it been me that you struck, your death would have come swiftly. You will do as I say and ask no questions, and, if you cannot abide by such, I will have the epidiuus bring you back here.”

  Caryss nodded, although she knew much of his words were bluff. The last few days had shown her much, including that Conall was far less threatening than the High Lord. The younger Tribesman was quite likeable, and she regretted that she had made an enemy of him when she had attacked the High Lord.

  She watched as he lifted a small, aged horn from a strip of leather that hung from an iron gate. The horn appeared as old as the gate itself, tarnished and dull, the metal no longer shining. When he pressed it to his lips and blew the air from his cheeks, she heard nothing, and reached for him, tapping him on the arm.

  Again he blew the horn, and again she heard nothing.

  After a third, and final, blow, Conall tied the horn back on the gate, looked to Caryss, and said, “What you cannot hear, they will. Now we wait.”

  It was not until the sun was nearly hidden beyond the horizon that Conall said, “You are in luck, healer. She comes.”

  Hurriedly looking about her, Caryss saw nothing against the black sky, wondering if all the spirit animals were white like the only one she had seen, moons ago on the beach with Conri. For several moments she scanned the dusky sky, listening and watching.

  Noticing her movement, Conall laughed and said, “I am so unused to mortals that I forget your ears and eyes are not what mine are. Look, just there,” he pointed. “She arrives from the west, from their home close to the sea.”

  And then Caryss saw her, a glistening streak moving fast and angling downward, part lightning, part falling star. As she got closer, the outline of wings could be seen feathered against the sky, silver and fine, fluttering like a butterfly. Yet, she knew that, when it came aground, the epidiuus would stand nearly twice her height, and it would look more mirage-like than real.

  Stealing a quick glance at Conall, who was far less impressed than she herself was, Caryss wondered how the Tribe had gained the use of the spirit animals, who many had long believed were myth. Before she could look back to the sky, the animal was nearly at her feet. Falling backward, Caryss stumbled until she regained her footing. Her hair flew across her face as the creature shook out her wings. Once recovered, Caryss bowed her head, not knowing why she did so, but awed at the animal before her.

  “Being astride her will be similar to sitting a horse,�
�� Conall explained. “However, we must sit far enough back to be out of the way of her wings. As you can see, there is no saddle, but the hair across her body is thick enough for you to grasp, which you must make sure to do. I will sit behind to prevent you from falling. Laysa will do the rest.”

  “Her name is Laysa?” she asked, as Conall stroked the beautiful, glowing animal’s neck.

  “My brother has served you poorly, Caryss, and, as a result, you know little of our ways, even though you have the pup inside of you. Already Nahla knows much more of the Tribe than you. If you would so like, upon our return, I would teach you some of the ways of my people.”

  His words were kind, and she did not doubt that he meant them to be such. He offered her a new beginning, one that she wanted to accept.

  Yet she told him, “I am only in the Tribelands out of necessity, Conall, and, when I can leave, I will. My daughter will be my own, as I have told Conri. When she is of an age to know her father’s people, I will not stop her. Until then, she is no more Tribe than I am.”

  The laughter that came from him startled her, although she noticed that Laysa was as silent and still as ever. Conall continued to laugh as he reached for Caryss, grabbing her gently and lifting her with ease until she was atop the epidiuus. Just as quickly, he mounted, settling himself in behind her and folding his hands together just above her rounded stomach.

  Into her ear, he whispered, “The babe was Tribe before she was even created. Our father willed it so. There is nothing that you can do to change that, and nowhere you can go that will make it less true.”

  Louder, he called, “Laysa, to the sky!”

  Caryss said nothing to him, nor could she speak at all as the creature jutted forward and leapt into the air. All she could so was hold tightly to Laysa’s thick mane, until her hands were white and her arms taut with effort. As they flew over a darkening sky carved with the light flickers of early stars, Caryss closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe deeply despite the sensation that her lungs were heavy and failing. Conall’s hands had not moved, and, behind her, his body pressed against her back. Yet he seemed as relaxed as she was scared. He has done this many times, she reminded herself, but still her eyes remained closed and her throat tight.

  Nearly an hour they rode, away from the setting sun that was no longer visible. The moon was clouded over, and the sky was gray, and, when Caryss peeked out from half-opened eyes, she could see little. Bile stung her throat and, a few times, tears fell onto her lips. Only through breathing and will was she able to stop herself from vomiting all over the shining white coat of Laysa. When she thought that she could no longer fight the retching, Laysa slowed, gently descending, unlike how she had raced to the ground earlier.

  When Laysa’s hooves struck ground, Caryss leaned across her arched back and heaved the contents of her stomach onto mud and grass, gasping and panting until she was sobbing.

  “I should have warned you that the ride would not be an easy one. Fear not, healer, many react as you have. Gather yourself as quickly as you can, for we are near fennidi land, and, soon they will know that we have arrived.”

  In a voice raw and raspy, she asked, “Can you help me dismount?”

  Conall hurried to her side and again effortlessly lifted her from Laysa and set her shaking legs on the ground, keeping a steady hand at her back. If it had been Conri who had ridden so close behind her and who comforted her now, Caryss did not believe she would have tolerated it half as well.

  The thought was enough to rouse her from the queasiness that had seeped into her whole body, and she shook slightly, yet Conall did not remove his hand.

  “And so we wait?” she murmured, wiping at her mouth with the back of her sleeve.

  “I see no need to do so if you feel as if you can walk. I know where to find them.”

  “I had been told that they are only found if they allow it.”

  Again his laughter came as he told her, “For most that might be true, but none can hide from me, Caryss. Conri has his own skills, and I have mine. Many of my kin call me le faegal. Do you know the word?”

  “No,” she answered as she pulled her hair, which was now thick and messy into a healer’s knot at the base of her neck.

  “I am called the hunter.”

  His words hit her like an arrow to the back, and she nearly staggered, and might have had his hand not steadied her.

  “You are the dog then, and your brother the master. But it was not you who killed my parents.”

  There was no more laughter after her words, sharp and bitter, fell upon him.

  Solemnly, he sighed. His hands dropped from the arch of her back, then reached up to brush his graying hair away from his face. His eyes, amber and smooth, gazed upon her. In his gaze, she saw something akin to sadness.

  “I warned him that you would never forgive that act. Nor would he be able to make you forget it. Caryss, I offered to do it for him, often in fact. Yet he would not allow it, even though I have made many kills for him in the past. Because, as you mentioned, I am his to command. Perhaps you will never understand why it was done or why it had to be so, but you must realize why Conri insisted that none but he strike.”

  Her eyes were still wet as she uttered, “My parents are dead, and he is the reason why. I need to know nothing more.”

  “When we return, there is something I need to show you. Until then, we have other things to concern ourselves with. The fennidi have found us, it seems.”

  Frantically, she looked around, back and forth along the path, each side lined with thick, heavily leaved trees that, in the darkness, looked like they were reaching for her as they swayed and creaked. Caryss saw nothing, and heard little, except for Laysa chewing on a patch of soft grass. Dry, withered leaves fell to the ground, crackling and crunching.

  Without thinking, she moved until she was beside Conall, their legs touching, and whispered, “Will they help me?”

  “Not without cost. Such is the way of the fennidi.”

  His words were hushed, spoken near to her ear, and Caryss twitched as warm air tickled her cheek. Under the cover of a darkened sky, the blush that spread across her cheeks wasn’t visible, but where their legs stills rubbed, Caryss knew that Conall had felt her recoil. Without much memory of the North, the mysterious and elusive fennidi scared her, even with a Tribesman by her side, yet she knew that she needed them, just at much as Herrin did.

  “Do you mean coin? I did not think to bring any with me,” she mumbled.

  She knew that he smiled, and knew that he wanted to laugh. Instead, Conall whispered, “Some pay in coin, when they have nothing else the fennidi want, but your coin will buy no answers. From you, they will demand more. Have you thought this through, Caryss? You will leave here unharmed, but you will leave with ropes tied about your wrists, so fine and soft that you will not even know they are there. Until a time comes when the fennidi tug at them. No matter where you are, your wrists will sting and your thoughts will fade, as if you know nothing but what it is they want you to know.”

  Caryss scratched at her arms with pale fingers.

  Conall placed two fingers lightly on her lips and murmured, “Nothing more. They come.”

  He was not wrong. Where once only large-trunked trees edged the path, five fennidi now stood, four men, dark-skinned and small, and one woman, hair as silver as the epidiuus and hanging well past her tiny waist. They were all of a similar height, and none taller than Caryss’s chest. Their bodies were covered in leather, fine and soft, yet close-fitting on their small frames. When first she looked, it seemed that the leather had been painted green, to match the abundant leaves, yet, looking again, she realized that it was dark, of a shade more similar to the trunk than to its leaves.

  Yet it was their skin that shocked her most.

  In the Southern Cove Islands, she had seen skin of various shades of brown, tan and dark. At the Academy, the Tretorians, including her foster mother, had nut-colored skin. At the clinic, she often saw skin redden
ed from the sun or fever or nearly white with sickness. Yet, never had she seen skin like that of the five fennidi that circled them. Where leather didn’t cover, green skin glimmered, the color of faded grass, she suddenly thought.

  Strapped to the backs of each of them hung a crescent-shaped sword, unsheathed and shining in the darkness.

  “Ohdra, I had not thought to see you here,” she heard Conall call, his words lilting and sweet. “Blessings, friend. You honor us with your presence.”

  When he bowed to her, Caryss did the same, although not nearly as gracefully, for her stomach would not allow it to be so. However, through her half-lidded eyes, she could see that it mattered little as the small woman whom Conall addressed had her glistening, opal eyes on the Tribesman and seemed to hardly notice or care about all else.

  “And you surprise me with yours, old friend. Who is the child? I had not heard that the Tribe keeps Northern pets now.”

  As the words slipped from the tiny woman’s mouth, Caryss began to understand. Moments later she realized that they were spoken in the language that she had heard Conri use moons before, the night the babe had been created. The language of the Old Ones, she thought, uncomfortably, knowing she had little right to the words. A gift from Conri, one that, while useful, felt strange and undeserved.

  In a voice she hardly knew as her own, she addressed the woman. “Which child do you speak of? I am a woman grown, and, soon, a mother myself. Nor am I leashed and chained as if I was no more than a hound.”

  Next to her, Conall paled, his skin even whiter than usual. With a slight movement of his hand, his icy fingers wrapped tightly around her own in warning.

  Ohdra’s words sliced through the air, cold and sharp, as if carved from the trees around them.

  “I see your pup can bark.”

  When Caryss laughed, half-mad, she knew, Conall’s grip tightened until she pulled her hand free.