Guilt overcame him when he remembered his she-wolf. He should have restrained the wolf before she had tried to defend him. It also felt devastating that Beloved had not protected her people at the bonding ceremony and allowed the slayers to hurt them so deeply. It made him question his allegiance to the goddess.
He knew how much pain Famere would suffer because of Darkas’ death. He should have protected her parents. But when the hidden slayers had burst into the bonding meadow, something only a mageen could assist, he had fled to the side of the grass and watched in shock, waiting for the hidden mageen to reveal himself so he could fight him.
When slayers had attacked nearby suns, he had defended them with his thrip and blade, unwilling to use his limited sahr until the enemy mageen arrived. When he heard Famere’s desperate shout, he guessed Darkas or Mereeth had died, and that he had waited too long.
Shortly after, the slayer with the gold coat had led the assault on him. Ison had wanted to burn him alive, but he didn’t have enough power after he had killed the other two slayers. Then Harken had come.
One mystery he didn’t comprehend was the dark sky parting in the bonding meadow. He had heard Mereeth’s explanation that a loss of sahr was responsible for the forever cloudy sky. That made sense to him. Someone, or some power, had kept the sky overcast for a century by taking sahr from the world. He wanted to understand this power, somehow connected to the appearance of the shadows and stone tester.
His fingertips tingled and his hand twitched. Focusing on his palm, he closed his eyes and tried to coax energy into it. Straining at first, with no results, he decided to relax his limbs. When he did, sahr energy flew through his fingers and into his arms and torso, making him giddy. Excited thoughts of taking revenge against the slayers, while leading his cheering people to victory, flew through him.
Unexpectedly, the energy grew hot inside his limbs. He tried to stop the flow, willing it to leave, but he began to burn inside. Groaning, he swooned. Concentrating, after a few moments the flow of sahr reversed and he was able to drain it from his hands.
Sagging against the wall, covered in sweat, he almost shouted in excitement. Previously he could send energy from his hands, but without understanding how to draw it in, he soon used up the meager amount his body was able to hold. Now he could build his strength at will.
He kicked the gray robe at his feet. With some weariness he stood, stripped off his belt and breeches, and slipped the gray robe over his head. The inner lining, softer than the coarse strands on the outside, made it easier to wear against his skin. Using his sharp black nails, he cut his life-pouch off his woven belt and tied it to the robe’s belt.
Then he faced the door and waited.
This time when Harken came, he would obey. He would do anything the power mageen asked, and win his trust. He would learn everything about the sahr weave and become stronger than any with it. Even stronger than Harken. No one could ever take that from him. And when he learned everything the power mageen could teach him, he would return to the wyshea.
Famere would pledge to him, and he would lead the wyshea to victory over their enemies.
He smiled. A year ago, when a trickle of energy had first tingled his fingertips, he had sensed his destiny. Now he finally understood how he would arrive there.
11
War Council
Sitting cross-legged in the foot-high grass, Famere frowned at Bosho.
In a few hours they would fight four armies in a battle where they could all die, and yet she sensed that her friend was going to challenge her. It bothered her. Worse, if anyone knew she was going mad, they would never follow her into battle again.
While waiting for Huro, she stroked Shir and Lor who lay beside her, the sweet scent of their breath in the air. The shadows’ jaws hung open, their red tongues resting against their large fangs. Famere considered the shadows part of her family. Though massive and grotesque in appearance, their presence always soothed her.
Often her thoughts drifted to Ison; where he was, if he was alive, and if there was some way to rescue him. She remembered his strong arms around her, whispering my love to him, and kissing his soft lips. He had been gone for nine months, since Darkas died, but she still had to work to keep tears out of her eyes.
Not far away, a white crystalline spider web stretched between two trees. The poisonous web had a sweet scent to entice prey, and a large white vener spider rested in the center of it. Sometimes Famere felt she was caught in her own web.
Above the spider, a lyrre bird sang from a norre tree. Famere tried to regard the bird’s lilting song as a good omen for the impending battle.
Huro finally arrived with Hirr, his large brown she-wolf, and sat in the circle, setting down a woven basket brimming with edible roots, red heartfruit, nuts, and berries he had collected.
Famere lifted a hand in greeting. A good friend, and trustworthy, she respected him. It also comforted her to have one of Darkas’ baethe-brue on the council. “Are you ready, Huro?”
“I’ve gone over the plan with my fighters. We’re ready.” Thin, his face gaunt, he always remained sincere and gentle. He had been chosen by the wyshea as one of Famere’s advisors. Like many of their fighters, Huro had bonded years earlier to his wolf.
“Blessings.” Famere signaled the other chosen advisor with a flick of her fingers. “Laflel?”
In his thirties, Laflel’s hands blurred as he wove a new thrip from meadow grass. Grass strands were soaking in a bowl of norre sap near his feet, a thousand of them required for one thrip. He dropped the weave, gesturing in slashes in front of his short, wiry frame. “My warriors are prepared. We’ll destroy all of them this time.”
“Good.” Laflel was an excellent fighter and smart, but he seemed naked to Famere. His wolf-bond had died weeks ago in battle, but like some fighters he refused to bond again out of loyalty. She couldn’t imagine life without the strength of Shir and Lor at her side. “Goflin?”
Goflin had grown handsome and stronger, and looked like a warrior now. His wolf, Gir, lay beside him. His brow wrinkled, but his eyes were steady. “The scouts report nothing new.”
“Good.” She had been allowed to choose two council members, and she had chosen Goflin as one, to have a close friend beside her. He supervised the scouts, and she relied on his presence to give her strength.
His frown told her that he wanted to talk with her alone. Though unsure what bothered him, she was glad. Many days she never talked to anyone alone. Barely lifting a finger, she signaled they would meet later. He made an even smaller movement with his chin, acknowledging her.
The last council member had also been her choice. “Bosho?”
Bosho sat cross-legged like the others, his female shadow, Basir, lying beside him. His round, black melder shield rested against his legs. Melders lived to the northeast of mrilwood, and one had traded the light, glittering stone shield to Bosho months ago.
It signaled another change in wyshea custom, allowing a fighter other than the guide to carry something different. But no wyshea had complained, and Famere accepted it.
Bosho lifted his square jaw. “The shadow guard is ready.” Unhappiness filled his words.
“As always.” Famere waited, her arms tense, but he remained silent.
Bosho always seemed confident, his green eyes serene. The strongest wyshea, he was the first male to bond with a shadow. Guide of the shadow guard, loyal and calm, his riders trusted and loved him, and were willing to follow him anywhere. He had significant influence in the council because of this.
“This battle will decide the war.” Huro’s loose hands rested on his knees. “We’ve never fought four armies.”
Famere knew what he wasn’t saying. This might be their last battle together.
Bosho fixed his attention on her. “And if we win?”
Famere matched his determination. “We’ll crush our enemies so they’ll never threaten us again.”
“How?” Bosho continued to stare at her.
>
“We’ll burn the slayer city.” Laflel’s hands slashed the air. “Then we’ll take the staven wood and send them all to caves so they’ll know what it’s like.”
Laflel’s bitterness matched the anger burning inside Famere. Only the knowledge of how many of the enemy they had killed, and the safety that brought to mrilwood, sometimes dulled her pain.
Huro tapped Bosho’s knee. “What are you thinking, my friend?”
Bosho looked at each of them. “If we win, we should ask for peace. From a position of strength, we can demand an end to the war.”
“Peace?” Laflel’s voice hardened. “You want peace with those who killed Famere’s father, Darkas? Peace with enemies who desire our norre trees and suns? For me, there will never be peace.” He picked up a stone and hurled it. The rock clicked against a tree trunk and bounced along the ground, quieting the lyrre bird.
A nearby hunting fox lifted its nose.
Bosho and Huro regarded Laflel with raised eyebrows, and he looked at the ground. Famere didn’t like his loss of control either, but didn’t say anything. She understood his anger.
Huro gave a small wave south. “Peace is impossible with the slayers.”
“We’ve never asked for it since the shadows arrived,” said Bosho. “And we’ve won every battle we’ve fought with them.”
Goflin kept quiet, his head slightly bowed.
Famere raised a palm. “How can we talk about peace when four armies are approaching us?” She glared at Bosho, who calmly stared back. She was surprised he wasn’t challenging her more.
Laflel lifted a finger. “Even if we all die tonight, it will be good to see the slayers’ faces when the shadow guard attacks them.”
“The Blind Fangor’s a fool.” Huro pressed his fingertips together. “But what about the Coyote, where will she be?”
“We’ll track her and signal you if anything changes.” Goflin glanced at Famere, a trace of amusement in his eyes. “The Coyote is as brilliant as our guide.”
Famere’s arms tensed. Goflin was right. The first time she had fought the Northerner—named Coyote by her wyshea warriors for her smart escape tactics—had also been the first time they had used the shadows. She had lost control, and had tried to take the life of the brown-haired female slayer. She had nearly lost Lor because of her recklessness.
Since then, Famere had been more careful. So had the Coyote. The slayer leader had escaped all skirmishes with the wyshea with minimal loss. It impressed Famere that a female slayer was so clever in battle strategies. Killing the Coyote, or any female, would be shameful. Still, Famere wanted to destroy the Coyote’s male riders.
She had killed the Coyote’s father; the way the female Northerner had knelt beside the dying older male had made their relationship obvious. It also guaranteed that the Coyote hated her and all wyshea as much as Famere hated slayers.
Goflin cleared his throat. “Our scouts report that the Coyote’s Northerners haven’t joined the Blind Fangor’s army. She remains west of them.”
“Safe and protected.” Laflel softly backhanded Huro’s knee. “We have to be careful tonight.”
Huro nodded. “We don’t want to walk into a trap.”
Famere couldn’t think of anything to say to ease their concerns. “Until tonight, then. May the melody of sahr bring you peace, baethe.”
“And you, Famere.” Huro gathered the food basket, rising with Hirr and Laflel—who nodded and picked up his weaving materials. Their figures quickly faded into the woods.
Goflin barely met Famere’s eyes before he stood and walked away with Gir.
Famere rose, waiting for Bosho, knowing what he wanted. “Let’s talk.”
He rose beside her, a half-foot taller, slinging his shield over his wide back. They strolled in silence, their towering shadows at their sides. Grass brushed against their legs, the soil cooled their feet, and norre trees sang to them, but none of it brought Famere peace.
Bosho floated his hand toward the woods. “It’s a blessing. No staves or slayers have set foot in mrilwood since the shadows returned. Our people can walk safely in our forest.”
“Beloved is watching over us, Bosho.”
“I agree.”
After the mril had stopped the strange beast from attacking her eight months ago, Famere became confident the goddess protected them. However, even Grandfather Toash had never encountered the creature she later described to him. The beast mystified her.
But for some reason the creature had listened to Beloved’s daughters, the mril, and hadn’t returned. Oddly, the female creature had worn slayer clothing. She didn’t know what to think about any of it.
A flock of red birds were noisy in the trees and mice scurried from the hunting fox. Far to the west floated the high-pitched scream of a raacor.
“Soon more land will be free of the slayers,” she said.
“I look forward to it.” Bosho gathered his long hair from his neck and trailed it over the front of a shoulder, his fingers twisting it.
They stopped beside a norre.
Famere ran her palm along the tree’s rough trunk, pushing her nails against it. She heard beetles chewing beneath the bark, and other smaller brethren scurrying in the grass near her feet. Her friend’s heartbeat pattered softer than raindrops.
She admired Bosho’s bulging back muscles, powerful shoulders, and sculpted arms. She had trained hard too, but her body was lean. She could never match his strength.
Bosho turned to her. “I consider you family, Famere.”
“I’m your baethe-brue, your blood-sister of the forest. I’d give my life for you, Bosho.”
He smiled. “We’ve saved each other’s life often in battle.” He hesitated. “Can we talk freely?”
“Always.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Swear you’ll always be honest with me.”
“I swear it.” He spoke with a rare edge to his words. “And I’ll start today.”
She dropped her hand and stiffened.
“I want to have a life with Yameen, to be finished with killing and battles. I’m fighting to end the war. Don’t you want a life other than battling our enemies?”
His question caught her off guard. “Of course I do.” She almost choked on her next words. “I’m waiting for Ison.”
“And if he doesn’t return?”
“He will. I sense it, Bosho. He still loves me.”
“He isn’t the only one who cares for you.”
She hesitated. “I promised myself to him, Bosho, and I know he’ll come back to me.” She dreamed of the two of them fighting side by side, ending the war and living in peace. She also wanted someone to confide in, someone to hold and love. She stirred. “Why are you asking me this?”
“I’m afraid your hate will never let the war end.”
His sincerity made her force back angry words. “Have you forgotten that slayers killed your parents?”
“I’ve paid back that debt a hundredfold. Slayers have children, and many of them have lost their fathers too. I don’t pity them, but I’m tired of war. If peace becomes an option with the other races, will you accept it?”
“For a century slayers have killed us for our land and norre. They’ve broken every treaty we’ve ever had with them. We can’t trust them. This is our time, Bosho. It won’t come again. Even Beloved supports us. Do you think the shadows would stay with us if we were doing something evil?” Shir and Lor eyed her, and she held her breath, hoping they would speak to her. But as usual they remained mute.
“You could be right.” Bosho’s hand dropped from his hair. “But I hope you’re not continuing the war for your revenge.”
She lowered her hand from the tree, her voice sharp. “You think that’s all I care about?”
“No, but I’m asking if you’ll ever pursue peace.”
“Do you want to guide our people?” Take it from me, my strong baethe, before I destroy all of us. Though tired of responsibility and giving orders, she couldn’t give it up eithe
r. She held her breath, waiting for his response.
He spoke softly. “The shadows were wise to choose you. You saved our people and mrilwood. Our warriors will do anything for you. But if we win this battle, I demand a peace effort.”
“We might all die tonight.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She stiffened. Bosho never said anything lightly. “Are you threatening the shadow guard’s loyalty?”
“The shadow guard will always be loyal to the wyshea.”
His unspoken words were obvious; the guard was loyal to their people, not their guide. “Will you remove the shadow guard from tonight’s battle if I don’t agree?”
“No.”
Her shoulders eased. A decisive win was impossible and they both knew it. In fact, it was unlikely any of them would survive the night. “If we defeat all four armies and send them home, we’ll ask for peace.”
“Agreed.”
She gave silent thanks to the goddess.
Bosho reached up to stroke Basir’s shoulder. “Why did the shadows leave the wyshea a hundred years ago? I wonder if it was something our people did.”
“Mereeth said it has to do with the loss of sahr.” She paused. “I’m glad we talked, Bosho.” She couldn’t be honest with him. She would never trust the slayers enough to offer them peace. However, she couldn’t be upset with Bosho for asking. All wyshea were weary of the war.
“I remember the night Shir and Lor bonded to you.” He gestured to the overcast sky. “And how the sky opened. I miss the light and want to see it again. Everyone still talks about it.”
The darkened sky had weighed heavier on Famere over the last nine months too. “Each time I saw the light, shadows were present, so I expected the arrival of more shadows to open the sky again. When it didn’t happen, I expected victory over our enemies to open it.”
“Maybe peace will.”
She grimaced. “Perhaps.” Or maybe we have to kill all of our enemies. Loneliness overwhelmed her and she wanted to embrace her friend.
Wyshea Shadows Page 11