Cormorant Run

by J. C. McKenzie

  “Or women,” he muttered. “I think you’re missing the point.”

  “Oh, I got it.” She studied the forest again. A gentle breeze flirted with the leaves and the open skies had provided lovely weather for daytime travel. The lack of cloud cover now, however, promised a cold night.

  She hugged her arms again. Why couldn’t they get closer to the coast? The ocean waves always had a way of calming her and right now she was a ball of nerves from running through all the possibilities. Normally, overanalyzing meant she prepared well for channel crossings. Now, it almost drowned her to the point of suffocation.

  Warm hands gripped her arms and dragged her thoughts kicking and screaming from her own head. Since their crash landing, he’d voluntarily touched her on numerous occasions. Almost as if he looked for an excuse to soothe her.

  Cora frowned.

  Had he hit his head as well as his wing?

  “It will be okay,” Ronin said.

  Why did he have to be so unbearably handsome with that confidence and growly voice? After Mom died, she’d returned to the Eyrie broken and beaten and he’d turned his back on her.

  Cora scowled at him now, but that seemed to encourage him. His mouth twisted into a small smile and he rubbed her arms before letting go. “How much food do you have left?”

  “Not much.” She pulled out the package of dried meat from one of her sealed pockets. “I only brought enough for three days.” The original plan involved travelling to Iom, staying the night, and returning to the Eyrie the next day. She’d brought more than she needed “just in case” and thought it overkill at the time.

  The smell of beeswax tickled her nose as she unwrapped the dried meat, broke off a piece and handed it to Ronin. They’d already eaten a day’s worth on the trip over and she’d snacked on some more while waiting for Ronin to return from his meeting. They needed to find more food, or they’d run out after tomorrow.

  Cora chewed on her share before rewrapping and stuffing the remaining food back in her pocket. The dry meat stuck to her teeth and she used all her spit to wash it down. Water would be nice right about now, but they’d have to wait until they found a stream or river.

  “We need to make camp,” Ronin repeated, wiping his mouth with his vambrace.

  She didn’t like the statement the second time around either. “In the middle of a deer trail?”

  Ronin studied their surroundings and frowned. “You’re right. We should get off the path a little and spend the rest of the light we have finding somewhere more tolerable.”

  Without a word, he spun and walked into the woods, giving her the choice of tramping after him or staying on the path. Cora grumbled and followed. The forest didn’t offer much in the way of “tolerable” accommodations. They had a choice of rocks, sticks, dirt, moss, or a number of combinations for their bedding. When Ronin found a large patch of spongy moss, he called a halt to their searching.

  “Should we risk a fire?” she asked. Though the sun hadn’t fully set, yet the night chill had already seeped in to scare off the lingering heat of the day.

  “Too risky,” he replied. “Those hunters won’t be found for a while, but my would-be abductors are still around somewhere.”

  “They would’ve headed to the Cap,” she said with more hope than certainty.

  Ronin’s dark look said enough. He wasn’t willing to risk it. “Not all of them.”

  She didn’t want to argue, especially when Ronin was probably right. But a fire would be really nice right now. Instead of picking a pointless fight, she nodded and lay down to curl up on her side. She rested her damaged wings out behind her instead of folding them in. The pain had subsided to a dull constant ache. Maybe the throbbing hadn’t lessened. Maybe she had just became accustomed to it.

  Ronin didn’t move to copy her actions. Something flicked across his expression as he looked down at her on the moss. Interest?

  Her breathing stopped. She wasn’t prepared for that. Not now. Not after all this time. Not when she was literally the only option available.

  He unstrapped his sword belt and placed it in front of Cora before he stretched out on the moss, facing her. In the darkening light, his eyes resembled two deep pools of black. Without a word, he stretched his broken wing out to cover her, cocooning her in feathery warmth. The white feathers softly caressed her face and the considerate gesture made her want to cry. Cora wasn’t prone to tears.

  “Come here,” he said.

  Cora stiffened.

  “I can hear your teeth chattering from here.”

  When she didn’t move, Ronin scooted closer so only a few inches separated them. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping his damaged wing tighter around her. The splint helped brace his wing and prevented her from getting smothered.

  She should’ve called him a fool. She should’ve pushed him away. Instead, she nuzzled into his warmth and let the exhaustion take her into its dark depths.

  18

  “Genetic engineering is to traditional crossbreeding what the nuclear bomb was to the sword.”

  Andrew Kimbrell

  A branch cracked and Cora snapped awake. Moisture from the moss had soaked into her flying leathers, leaving her skin cold and damp.

  Ronin’s arm tensed around her, his hand splayed over her back and his breath fanned the top of her head. He was awake and he’d heard it, too.

  Another snap.

  Ronin pulled her closer and shook his head.

  Cora itched to leap from the ground and launch into the pre-dawn sky. Knowing how stiff and injured she was, she’d probably flail before collapsing on the moss in a giant body cramp instead. Overriding instincts weren’t easy. She lay tense and shook with the need to move.

  Something large roamed the forest nearby. Ronin must think they remained undetected, otherwise he’d grip his sword or dagger instead of her.

  The next branch snapped closer.

  And closer.

  Cora held her breath,

  Another snap, even closer, near the edge of their makeshift campsite.

  Ronin released Cora, his hand drifting to the dagger strapped to the waist of his armour.

  Cora gripped her own dagger’s hilt and eased it from the worn sheath. Her mouth grew dry and the sound of her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

  The rest of the forest remained silent, as if waiting with bated breath to see how events unfolded.

  Ronin withdrew the wing he’d covered her with, his feathers trailed down her arms and along her face. The cold air washed over her, and she missed the heat of Ronin’s wing immediately.

  Slowly, Ronin folded his wings behind him. The grimace creasing his face said he was just as sore and stiff as she was. Their odds didn’t look good. Something fell heavy against the ground near their feet.

  Ronin surged up. Cora scrambled to follow. A wave of light-headedness spread through her and she stumbled to the side.

  Ronin gripped her arm and steadied her. When Cora’s vision cleared, she almost fell over again.

  “I thought they were a myth,” she whispered.

  Standing in front of them stood a magnificent unicorn. Rumoured to be a result of genetic testing and radiation prior to the cascades, unicorns were categorized along with sapavians as scipers—products of scientific experimentation. Until this moment, Cora didn’t believe unicorns survived the nuclear apocalypse. Some myths said the scientists’ quest to create unicorns caused the first cascade.

  Cora had only seen sketches from history books. Larger than the horses humans rode, both in height and width, the unicorn was far more magnificent. The white coat and wavy white mane glistened under the predawn light, giving off a sparkly light of its own to the point it made the beast appear to glow. Intelligent purple eyes studied them from a few feet away and the golden horn with flecks of silver protruding from its forehead looked more like a deadly weapon than a magical item rumoured to cure any wound.

  Ronin leaned down. He
still gripped her arm, but whether he did so to continue supporting her or to reassure himself was unclear. “No sudden moves.”

  Hah! Like she could move right now. Even if her muscles weren’t locked in a full body cramp, Cora had no wish to be the first known sapavian skewered by a magical unicorn. Her lip curled up and Ronin chuckled.

  The unicorn snorted a puff of condensed air from its muzzle before bouncing its head up and down. The mane rippled like a waterfall, mesmerizing.

  Maybe death by unicorn was the way to go.

  “Beautiful.” The cold seeped into Cora’s bones and her limbs ached. She wanted to curl into the heat of Ronin’s body under the shelter of his wing, but she also didn’t want to break this moment.

  And die. She didn’t really want that to happen, either.

  The unicorn bobbed its head again, this time angling its head to the side. Ears pinned back, the unicorn whipped its tail and opened its mouth to reveal sharp, jagged, blood crusted teeth.

  Cora flinched. Ronin stiffened beside her.

  Another branch snapped deeper in the forest and they all turned toward the sound. A gust of wind brushed the side of Cora’s scarred cheek. When she turned back to the unicorn, the beast was gone.

  Ronin frowned at the empty space the unicorn had occupied moments ago. “I’m not sure if that was a good omen, or—”

  Screams erupted in the night. Clashes of metal, thrashing bushes, jostling branches, cracking and wails of agony bounced around the dark forest.

  Cora’s blood turned cold. Those men had been so close. Too close. The humans would’ve found their trail when the sun rose and set off again. Instead, a unicorn feasted on their flesh. They’d never go home to their families, but they also wouldn’t take down Cora and Ronin.

  The cries and whimpering faded away, consumed with an eerie silence. Cora swallowed. Should she feel relieved? Thankful? Scared?

  Yes, fear seemed appropriate. She willed the tension from her shoulders and turned to Ronin who still held her arm in an iron grip. She would’ve said something catty—as if she’d run off after that thing—but she found the near-painful pressure reassuring. “It didn’t eat us. I think it’s a good omen.”

  A higher, shriller sound than a horse’s nicker echoed through the trees.

  “It hasn’t eaten us, yet.” He hesitated and released her arm. “Why didn’t it attack us?”

  “Do you want to stick around and ask it?”

  “Fuck no.” He cast a wary glance at the forest again. “I’d still like to know why.”

  Cora shrugged and collected her belt and extra dagger from their sleeping spot. “Maybe it feels a kinship with other scipers?”

  “Would be nice if the Sea Beast and thunderbirds afforded us the same courtesy,” Ronin muttered.

  Cora chuckled and then clamped her mouth shut.

  “Too late.” Ronin leaned down, impossibly close. “I saw it.”

  “Shh. It’s nerves. Let’s get out of here before the unicorn realizes it left behind two tasty snacks and gets peckish.”

  The humour drained from Ronin’s face and he plucked his sword from the spongy moss. She followed him as he stumbled from the clearing to find the deer path.

  The unicorn had moved so quickly and so silently, it could sneak up on them at any time. Instead, the fabled beast had stomped around their campsite with little attempt to mask its presence. Did that mean the fellow sciper found sapavian flesh unpleasant? Or was there another reason?

  Cora really didn’t care to find out either way.

  19

  “Anger, if not restrained, is frequently more hurtful to us than the injury that provokes it.”

  Lucius Annaeus Seneca

  The sun dipped below the horizon and Cora scrambled to her feet to stretch. After a long, tense day of hiking along deer trails and goat paths, they made it to the place where Cora exchanged messages with Ava. The unicorn hadn’t returned to gnaw on them, but they spent most of the journey looking over their shoulders and flinching every time something snapped in the woods. The unicorn was by far the most magnificent and scariest thing Cora had ever faced.

  Along with the pain from their injuries, they arrived at their destination with sore necks and tense shoulders. Since they made it to the meeting place by midday, they decided to nap and rest. They had to wait until dark to signal Ava anyway and needed to conserve their energy in case the meeting went poorly.

  Ronin stepped up behind her and placed his large hands on her shoulders. He kneaded the knots from her sore muscles. God, that felt awesome.

  No. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t stand here and pretend like he hadn’t treated her like garbage, or that his father wasn’t responsible for her mother’s murder, or that she hadn’t been manipulated to escort the prince on this hot mess mission.

  She tensed and ducked out of his hold. With a deep breath, she tried to calm her racing heart before turning back to face him.

  Ronin stared down at his hands and frowned. “What gives?”

  Cora shrugged and pain shot through her body. She winced. Let’s not do that again.

  He dropped his hands to his sides. “No, that’s not good enough. Why are you pissed off at me?”

  Really? He wanted the list? “Besides you walking into a trap and placing my life and that of my father’s in danger?”

  Ronin tried to knock her over with his glare.

  She lifted her chin.

  “Yes, besides that. You’ve been a ball of hostility before we left. We were friends once.”

  Ah, yes. Friends.

  “Was it because my father sent you and your family away? Is that it? Do you blame him for your mother’s death? I’d get that, but this feels like something more. This feels like it’s directed very much at me and I had nothing to do with that order.”

  “Of course, I blame your father,” she hissed. “He was the reason we were there.”

  “He saved your life.”

  Cora rocked back on her heels. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your father was a traitor. Normally, he would be sentenced to death and the family cast out. My father couldn’t bring himself to tear your family apart, so he sent you away instead.”

  Cora clamped her mouth shut. A traitor? Never. Did Ronin actually believe the lies he’d been dished? Had the king even bothered to give details of the alleged betrayal or had Ronin bought it on his word alone?

  “I can’t believe you,” she whispered.

  Ronin’s expression softened and he stepped forward to grip her arm, the warmth of his hand chased away the cold on her skin.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in, but—”

  “No, you fool. I can’t believe you bought that crap.”

  Ronin’s hand fell to his side. “What?”

  “My father is not a traitor.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “No, he’s not. Think about it.” She tapped the side of her head with her finger. “Why else is he allowed to live on the Eyrie to command the largest known spy network with your father’s knowledge? Why would your father allow that? Why would a king trust him if he were a traitor?”

  Ronin stepped forward again, waggling his pointer finger in the space between them as if to lecture her with the facts. He hesitated and then clamped his mouth shut.

  She waited.

  He rocked back on his heels and dropped his hand again. “Why then? Why would he send your family away only to take you back again?”

  “I don’t know.” She turned away to stare at the ocean from the safety of the trees. She yearned to dive from the cliff into its icy depths and feel the water as a healing balm on her skin.

  “Your father never said?”

  She shook her head. “My mother said once that your father betrayed mine when my dad’s only fault was blind loyalty.”

  Ronin stepped up beside her to look out at the same ocean scenery. The wind tussled his white hair. They stood there for a long moment, silent and watching the ever-mov
ing ocean before Ronin spoke again. “Sounds as though your father isn’t just a keeper of spies.”

  She nodded. Knowing where his reasoning took him because her own mind had travelled the same path. “He has a secret.”

  Ronin nodded.

  “A secret your father would’ve killed a lesser man for having but banished us instead.”

  Ronin’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “What changed?”

  “Maybe your father took pity on mine. Maybe he realized the hurt he caused. Maybe he grew a conscience and tried to right a wrong. Or maybe he realized how much he needed my father on the Eyrie.”

  Ronin peered down at her, his face encased in shadows from the setting sun. “Is that why you hate me? Because the pain my father caused?”

  “I don’t hate you,” she whispered, though she had at one time. Grief, anger, and hatred in high doses tended to swirl together and become indecipherable.

  “Is that why you’re angry at me, then?” Ronin continued to study her, gaze intent, body tense as if he’d release a world of violence at the wrong answer—not on her, but everything around her.

  She shook her head, trying very hard to let the dying light over the ocean transfix her instead of Ronin. “I’m not angry at you or Sasha for your father’s actions. Not anymore, anyway.”

  “What then?”

  She clenched her hands, letting her nails bite into her palms.

  “Cora!” Ronin growled.

  “I’m pissed at the two of you for abandoning me.” She whirled toward him. “Even if my father was a traitor, I wasn’t. You were my friends. I was sixteen years old. What could I have possibly contributed to this alleged betrayal of my father’s? You didn’t even give me the common courtesy of questioning me about it.”

  Ronin’s head jerked back as if she’d slapped him.

  “You two acted as if I was tainted. I lost my home, then my mother and then my only friends. I returned injured and scared, drowning in grief, confusion, and anger. And I had no one. My father was lost in his own grief, and you…Our friendship meant so little to you, I meant so little to you, I wasn’t even worth checking on. I was so alone.”