Children of the Sun

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Her mother had always told her how she had been unable to read her mate’s mind when they’d first met. The love that Juliet and Ryn shared had always seemed ideal to Keelia, and it was what she wanted most of all. More than being queen, more than possessing remarkable powers like no other... she wanted what her parents had found. Was the fact that she was unable to read this man’s mind a sign that he was her mate? Were the dreams and fantasies of him unrecognized visions of what was to be? She held her breath. Had she been dreaming about her mate all along? It was tradition for Anwyn males to abduct their mates, and while this scenario was extreme... perhaps he was the one. Perhaps her mate was a rogue who lived beyond The City walls, and he had finally come for her.

  He wrapped his fingers around the bars that imprisoned her, and the bracelet he wore made a clinking sound as he settled his hands there. By the light of the torch, Keelia finally got a clear look at his face. The mouth was full and wide and wicked. In her dreams that mouth smiled often, but it did not smile now. The nose was perfect in shape, and the cheekbones were high and prominent. The eyes were slightly slanted and mysterious.

  It was as she studied those eyes that Keelia put aside her wish that he might be the one she had waited for and she suffered her first real rush of fear. In her dreams, those eyes were as golden as her own. All Anwyn were graced with golden eyes, some deep amber and others brightly gold, with most colored somewhere in between.

  Her captor’s eyes were green. Not just any shade of green, but a deep and lively shade reminiscent of emeralds.

  Her dream lover was a Caradon, and he was not a happy creature.

  Keelia had always refused to accept that the ancient prophesy that the Red Queen would take a Caradon lover and thereby bring peace to her people might be true. It had been told so many times, for so many years, it had obviously been twisted and misinterpreted. Her mate would be Anwyn, not a contemptible Caradon!

  The Caradon kidnapper gripped the bars tightly with large hands. Hands that had grabbed her, hands that had found a pressure point on her throat that had disabled her.

  In her dreams, her lover whispered only sweet things in her ear as he used those hands for happier purposes, but in reality he scowled and asked hoarsely, “What have you done to my people?”

  ***

  Joryn gripped the bars so tightly, his knuckles went white. The woman who lay on the floor, draped in soft gold fabric and tumbling flame red hair, looked innocent and harmless and even tempting. He knew she was not innocent or harmless, and he could not afford to be tempted.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice even, her strange gold eyes unflinching. “Explain yourself.”

  For the past ten years, he had heard tales of the powers of the Anwyn Queen, and when the Grandmother—the wizened old witch who had lived longer than any other Caradon—had come to him and informed him that the Red Queen was the one behind the horrid transformation of some of those among them, he had sworn to do all he could to stop her.

  If he’d thought killing her would end the dark magic, he would’ve done so already. Druson, another student of the Grandmother who had been present when she’d shared her knowledge, had suggested that Joryn kill the Anwyn Queen as soon as possible. The Grandmother had strongly advised against such a dire measure. In fact, she had forbidden such action. The queen must be forced to undo the dark magic she had used to curse his people. If he killed her, those who had been turned into mutant creatures that had no name would be doomed to remain in such a state.

  “You know very well what I mean, My Queen. Undo what you have done, and maybe I won’t kill you.”

  She huffed prettily, showing no fear as she rose up into a more rigid sitting position. Even with the floor as her throne, she appeared regal. Unshakable. “I am not your queen, Caradon scoundrel, and I have done nothing which needs to be undone. I command that you release me immediately.”

  Joryn said nothing for a long moment. It was almost funny that the Red Queen believed she could command anything of him. He owed her no allegiance, no explanation, and she was in no position to hold any authority over him—or anyone else. She did look pretty, sitting there issuing orders as if she expected his obedience.

  The Anwyn Queen was beautiful, but he could not afford distractions.

  He wanted more than her cooperation; he wanted answers. How was such bad magic possible, and why would she go to such lengths when most of the Caradon left the Anwyn in peace? Only a few outcasts felt compelled to annoy and on occasion attack the Anwyn beasts. Most were content to leave the wolf-people who shared these Mountains of the North alone.

  In the beginning, only a few of his people had been infected. They had been cursed by this woman and wore talismans—stones hanging from thin leather cords—to mark them as bewitched. Not that anyone who saw them wouldn’t know that they were no longer as they should be, but the talismans made it clear that whatever had happened was no mistake—no freak of nature. No, they had been purposely ruined.

  Terrible as it was, that curse had been only the beginning. Those Caradon who had been turned into evil, monstrous things were now spreading their disease. Joryn had recently learned that a number of innocent Caradon who were bitten by the monsters had become like those who had lost their spirits to this witch, and on the rise of the next full moon after the attack they, too, were affected. Those who had been bitten began to change, as they always did beneath the full moon, but the transformation did not complete.

  The infected ones were horribly caught between mountain cat and man. No longer human, but neither animal, they were twisted in mind and body. Some of them lost their minds entirely and ran into the mountains alone or threw themselves from cliff sides to their deaths. Others joined the rampage of the monsters who cared for nothing but violence and murder.

  “As you do not care for being called queen, perhaps ‘witch’ will suit you better.” He clanked his bracelet against one metal bar that imprisoned her. “Do you wonder why you can’t read my mind, witch?” He could tell by the flicker in her eyes that she did wonder, very much. “Your evil magic doesn’t work on me because I am protected by the power of the ancient Caradon.” The bracelet he wore had been fashioned by the Grandmother, and he had been warned not to take it off for any reason. Even when he shifted into a mountain cat, the bracelet would remain in place, and he would be protected from the queen’s probing magic.

  “I am a witch,” she confessed, “but I am not evil.” Moving with a gentle grace, she unwound her body and stood.

  Anwyn men were quite large, but apparently the females were small. The queen was not much more than five feet tall, he would guess, and the other female who had been with her when he’d taken her was no bigger. Even her bones were small, as evidenced by the tiny structure of her wrists and the delicacy of her hands. She did not look at all powerful, but then he had been warned that she was well practiced in deceit and dark magic.

  “If you are not evil, then why did you curse my people?” Joryn asked, his patience growing thin. “Only a creature with a dark soul would infect the innocent as you have.”

  A light of awareness came into her eyes, and she took a step toward him. “Oh, I understand.”

  She looked innocent enough, but he would not be fooled. “Of course you understand.”

  The queen moved forward and stopped close to the bars of her cell, but not close enough to reach out and touch him. “The creatures you speak of have been changed, but that is not of my doing, I swear. Something terrible is happening, not only here in these mountains, but in the lands below. An evil is spreading to all corners of the land. I have dreamed of it. I have seen the growth of this evil in my visions, and the abnormality of your people is a part of that growing darkness.”

  Joryn didn’t want to believe her, but he searched for deception in her face and saw none.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  The queen was immediately incensed. “Because I do not lie!”

  “Ah, a virtuous
Anwyn. Of course you do not lie.”

  “Do not patronize me, Caradon.”

  “My name is Joryn, witch.”

  Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “I do not care what you call yourself. Your name is of no consequence. Release me this instant.”

  “No,” he said calmly.

  The queen stamped her small foot and glared at him as if her stare alone would undo him. “I demand that you release me!”

  He was unaffected by her anger. “You issue commands like a woman who is accustomed to having them obeyed.”

  Her lips thinned slightly.

  “Does no one ever defy you, witch?”

  “No one.”

  She looked at him oddly, almost as if she recognized him. He was certain their paths had never crossed, but he would admit—to himself, not her—that there was something familiar about this beautiful redheaded woman.

  Maybe she had crept into his head with her magic, in spite of the protection of the bracelet. Maybe her powers were stronger than he, or the Grandmother, realized. At this moment he wished she were older, uglier, and lumbering. It would be easier to do what had to be done if that were the case. The Anwyn Queen was the kind of woman any male of any species might wish to call his own and protect.

  Such fancies were not for him.

  “Are you waiting for your mate to rescue you?” he asked. “Is that why you feel you’re in a position to issue commands? I can assure you, no one will find us here.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “An entire army is searching for me.”

  She did not mention her mate, and he found that strange. It was the weakness of the Anwyn, that they relied so completely on their mates. They were all but crippled by the connection, as if they were not whole without their other half. The Caradon had no such weakness. Joryn could not imagine being so dependent on another being that he could not function without her.

  The Anwyn and the Caradon had been enemies forever. They shared one trait: they shifted with the rise of the full moon, three nights out of the month. The Anwyn transformed into wolves, the Caradon to mountain cats. Beyond that, they had nothing in common.

  The Anwyn lived and ran together, congregating in their City and shunning all those who dared to be different. They mated for life, choosing one partner and pledging themselves to that one person for a lifetime. They adored their queen and relied on their army to protect them. The Anwyn people very rarely birthed girl-children, but produced many large males who were forced to kidnap mates from among the lowland humans.

  The females, like the queen and her mother and her sister, were so unusual they were all but worshipped.

  The Caradon ran free, beholden to no one and unfettered by cities or clans or marriage. There was no queen, no king, no army, no unnecessary rules to bind them. They mated with whom they chose when they chose, and very few spent their entire lives with only one mate, though a few chose to do so. They also birthed many girls. Joryn’s mother was Caradon by birth, a direct descendant of the Grandmother. His father had been a wandering human from Columbyana who’d caught her fancy for a few nights before she’d disappeared, taking his unborn son into the mountains with her.

  Joryn enjoyed the freedom which was his birthright as a Caradon male. When his duty to his people and the Grandmother was done, he would return to the life he had enjoyed before the curse. He would study and increase his inborn magic, run wild beneath the full moon, and love with abandon.

  Not that he was indiscriminate. Far from it. Joryn was a lover of beauty, particularly where women were concerned. Not many were as beautiful as his captive, not that he cared to touch her in any pleasurable way. She was, after all, Anwyn.

  The queen’s expression softened, and she clasped her small hands at her waist, well beneath her small but very nicely shaped breasts. “There has been a terrible misunderstanding. Release me and I will return to The City on my own and tell no one of your mistake. You will not be harmed for your foolishness.” She spoke to him as if he were a small child, or an imbecile.

  “I’m not going to let you go,” Joryn responded. “Ever.”

  Her mask of innocence dropped, golden eyes flashed with anger, and she rushed toward the bars, and him. Joryn stepped back as one small hand shot through the bars. There was not yet a full moon, but that arm—the arm only—shifted in a heartbeat to that of a russet wolf, complete with wicked claws that missed him by mere inches. Only that one arm shifted, and it was under her complete control.

  He had heard that the Anwyn Queen had such powers, but he had not believed it was possible.

  “You... you... Caradon!” she said as she swiped at him. “How dare you! You will release me, or I will have your head. Release me now, or I swear... I swear...”

  “You swear what?” Joryn asked at a safe distance away from the bars.

  Her eyes shone, but she did not shed a tear. “You will be sorry.”

  “Somehow I don’t think so, witch.”

  Indignation rose within and around her, as if she infused her humble surroundings with her dignity. The limb she had tried to attack him with transformed into a delicate, female arm as quickly as it had become a clawed weapon. “You will address me as Majesty or Queen, you lowly Caradon kidnapper. I am your superior and you will address me as such.”

  “Yes, Your Wondrous Magnificence,” he responded with an exaggerated bow, smiling at her before he turned and walked away. She continued to shout after him, using surprisingly vile language to describe him and his people. It was very unqueenlike behavior, in his opinion. Joryn did not yet have what he needed from the Anwyn Queen, but he would in due time. Perhaps she was a powerful and fearsome sorceress, a queen accustomed to having her every desire fulfilled at the snap of her fingers, but she was also a female like all others. She was small and weak and afraid, and with the protective bracelet he wore to keep her from peeking into his mind, and the bars on her cell to keep her from touching him, she was powerless.

  Best of all, she was his.

  ***

  “Does he have her, Grandmother?” Druson asked, his voice too eager for Vala’s liking.

  “Yes, he does.” Though some of her powers of divination had been dampened of late, Vala knew without doubt that Joryn had succeeded in capturing the Red Queen.

  “Where has he taken her?”

  Vala glared at the handsome young man who questioned her with such ferocity. Druson was one of several Caradon males who came to the Grandmother here in her home for magical instruction and teachings of the past. She was happy to assist those who had been born to magic or who were interested in collecting and sharing Caradon history, and she shared much of what she knew of the past and future of her people—though not all. Never all. It was not yet time.

  Given the chance, Druson would gladly murder the Anwyn Queen simply for being who she was. He had little inborn magic, though he practiced diligently at simple magics and spells. Surely he understood that she could look at him and see his intentions. Some of them, in any case. She needed no magic to see his ambition.

  “You do not need to know where Joryn has imprisoned the queen. It is done, that is all you need to know.”

  Druson’s hands clenched, but Vala felt no fear. The young Caradon would not do her harm. He did not dare. He was afraid of her and her magic, and he was very jealous of Joryn’s talents.

  “I wish only to help,” he responded, almost pouting.

  Vala reached out and patted his cheek. Druson had goodness in him, and one day he might be a good man. That would happen only if he chose wisely in the weeks and months to come. She was not yet certain which path he would take. Her wrinkled hand looked ancient against his smooth, young skin. “All is as it should be. Joryn has taken the first step in returning those who have been lost to us.”

  “When will he bring her here?”

  “When the time is right. That is all I know.” She should see more, but the truth of the monstrosities which had once been Caradon was lost to her. Much was lost to her
. There was a dark magic at work in the world, a dark magic which hid that which she needed to know from her. With the Anwyn Queen at her side, perhaps she would be able to see more clearly. They could merge the powers of the Caradon and the Anwyn to battle against the evil that threatened them all.

  Perhaps. If the darkness which had dampened her psychic ability had also touched the Anwyn Queen, then they were truly lost. Caradon, Anwyn, human... lost.

  “I’m very tired,” Vala said, dropping her hand and stepping away from her student. “You may come back tomorrow if you wish. Perhaps I will know more at that time.”

  The old woman who was reverently called Grandmother by the Caradon people passed her days in this small cabin which was so high in the mountains it was lost to human eyes. Her needs were simple, and that simplicity was reflected in her home. A long sparsely furnished parlor served for teaching and reading. Her small bedroom and narrow bed were sufficient for the few hours she slept each night. The kitchen was as large as the other two rooms joined together, and it was there that she cooked her meals and prepared her potions, when potions were required. Yes, everything she needed was here.

  Druson departed, disappointed that she had not revealed more. Vala sat upon her favorite piece of furniture, an oddly shaped wooden chair which allowed her to rest her legs and lean back at a comfortable angle. Some restless nights she slept in this chair. Her needs were few these days, but she did enjoy her moments of silence, her moments of rare comfort.

  Alone at the end of a long day, she closed her eyes and thought of Joryn and his queen. She reached for them, picturing Joryn in her mind and allowing the scene around him to expand and unfold until she saw him not as he had been, but as he now was.