“I think you figured right,” Wren said. “But I wish you hadn’t.” He shuddered a bit.
“What’s wrong?”
“How do we know when we win? How do we know when she wins?”
“We won by sunset. She must win by sunrise, right?”
“A whole night without Mama…” he said. “That’s too long.”
“The sooner we go, the sooner we find her,” Reyna said.
He huffed and nodded. As if it were choreographed, they each raised their nose and took a long sniff, then lowered it for three sniffs along the ground. When they had the scent of the land in their noses, they wordlessly slipped over the hill and into the night.
#
When two creatures have lived every minute by each other’s side, learning the same lessons and pursuing the same goals, words cease to be necessary. Both Reyna and Wren knew just how to track a scent and follow a path. It wasn’t a matter of one knowing better than the other. It was a matter of one looking left while the other looked right. When two were of one mind, a simple twitch of an eyebrow or flick of an ear could convey volumes of information.
Wren pawed softly at some soil. Reyna watched and knew—this was a footprint that Sorrel had swept away. That meant they were heading in the right direction. Reyna dropped down to sniff the ground. The merest shift of her weight told Wren that she’d found a trace of their mother and they should continue to the east.
It took a few hours, but they were able to find something resembling a trail left by Sorrel. They’d had to circle all the way back to a path they knew they’d followed, so it felt like cheating. Fortunately, if there was one lesson the many adventures of Swift had taught them, it was that it isn’t cheating if it’s the only way you can win.
Night had fallen. What little light there was came from a crescent moon that was low in the sky. It was plenty for their sharp eyes. Wren and Reyna almost felt confident that they would stumble upon their mother any moment when, quite suddenly, the trail came to an end.
“I don’t understand it,” Wren said, nose low to the ground. “Even Mama can’t just decide not to leave a trail.”
“Maybe she can. Maybe there’s more to learn than we thought,” Reyna said.
“But there’s no footprints, and nothing like what she leaves behind when she wipes them away.”
Reyna crouched and hugged her knees, eyes on the ground. “I’ve never seen ground look like this before,” she said, a chill in her tone.
Wren stood and paced back. The ground was in a curious state. The sand was terribly churned up, but the disturbance was a near-perfect circle.
“I don’t think she did this…” Reyna murmured.
“She must have done this. Who else could have done this? Mama is just showing us she has more good tricks. Maybe that’s the reward. We get to learn the better tricks now.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t like it.”
Wren trotted over and placed a paw on her shoulder. “You look scared.”
“I am scared.”
He waggled a finger at her. “What does Mama say? Don’t look scared. If you look scared, the scary people know they are winning.”
“Then there are scary people,” she said.
“No! I didn’t say that.” He gathered himself up, trying to stand tall and brave. “I’ll show you. What does Mama say to do when you are expecting prey and you don’t find it?”
“She says look for other hunters.”
“That’s right. So we look for other hunters, and when we don’t find any, that means this is all still the game and we keep looking.”
Reyna nodded and let herself tip forward onto all fours. Wren did the same, and they put their noses to work once more. On their way there, they had been scouring every whiff for the very specific, very familiar scent of their mother. It had a way of blinding one to other things. Now they were looking for anything that wasn’t their mother. That was a very wide net to cast. Each breath that had once registered itself in their mind as nothing at all was now a bouquet of aromas. A dusty old desert rabbit from three days ago. A jackal from a few hours ago. The dry sting of desert shrubs. … And something else.
Wren was the first to notice it, but Reyna caught a whiff a few moments later. Both froze in place. They shut their eyes and held still, as though it took all of their mind and body to make sense of the odor. They lowered their heads and took in a long, thoughtful breath. When they opened their eyes, they locked each other in a disbelieving gaze.
“It can’t be,” Reyna said.
“What else could it be? It isn’t my smell, it isn’t yours, and it isn’t Mama’s. But it is our smell. It’s a malthrope smell.” He sniffed again. “Not just one either… Three. There were three malthropes here.”
“But there aren’t any malthropes but us and Papa! And this isn’t Papa’s smell.”
“We don’t know there aren’t any. Mama knew some back where she came from. There could be more.”
The wind shifted. Even without a sniff, both twins dropped to the ground and turned to the southeast.
“More… and they smell the same! Different, but the same!” Wren said, eyes sweeping in the direction of the breeze.
“I don’t like it,” Reyna said. “Why didn’t we smell these things before? We’ve been through here before. And where’s Mama?”
“There!” Wren said.
He sprang to his feet, standing tall as he saw something sprinting toward them in the soft moonlight. The motions were so sure, so swift. The way they hugged the contours of the ground, using paws as well as feet to scramble as quickly and purposefully as they could. It was precisely the way their mother moved. Wren had all but waved and shouted for what he believed to be their mother when a second figure emerged from between two dunes. It moved just as the first had.
“That’s not Mama. Not either of them,” Reyna said.
“But they’re malthropes! They’re malthropes like us!” Wren said. “Come on! They must know where Mama is.”
He took a step toward them, but Reyna caught his arm and held him back.
“What are you doing?” Wren asked. “Malthropes! After all this time, there are more malthropes!”
“We should go. We don’t know if they’re friendly.”
“But they’re malthropes!”
“Mama said everyone’s unfriendly except for us.”
“But they are us!”
Reyna held tight to his wrist. She looked like her mind was stretched tight between the hope of others like her and the carefully taught fear of outsiders that Sorrel had instilled. Wren glanced back and forth between her and the rapidly approaching malthropes. The fear was real, and deep. And something in the way the others moved toward them seemed wrong. There was no doubt the twins had been seen, and seen for what they were, but there was not joy and charity in the postures of these creatures. They moved with the speed and focus of Sorrel when she was on the tail of a plump meal.
“We’ll go… Yeah… We’ll go,” Wren said.
They turned and launched into a full sprint. A dash of relief and familiarity washed over them. Running, hiding. That, at least, they knew. That, at least, they were good at. But the relief was all too brief. As they bounded north and west, the dim light of the moon offered the briefest glimpse of motion. They had time enough to turn and yelp in fright before a blur of motion and the grip of fingers pulled them both into a well-hidden hole.
The pair struggled and squealed, but whoever had snatched them managed to keep them off balance and moving, half dragging and half leading the frightened little creatures through utter darkness. In just a few strides, even the twins’ sharp eyes couldn’t see their snouts in front of their faces. They wouldn’t know where to run even if they were free. For better or worse, they could only go where they were ushered, deeper and deeper into the cool, dark tunnels.
Chapter 4
The confused, terrified sprint continued in the darkness. Though they didn’t stop run
ning for a moment, something in the way these unseen helpers moved was less hostile, less predatory than the malthropes that had been charging their way. When the waves of panic started to calm, Wren and Reyna realized that these, too, smelled like more of the same. Malthropes for sure, though not quite like them.
In time, they stumbled out into the light again, quite far from where they had slipped beneath the dunes. The moon gave them their first clear glimpse of the three creatures that could be either captors or rescuers. Indeed, they were malthropes, but nothing like what the twins had come to expect. They were small, a match for the size of the children. They dressed in rough clothes. Slender, spindly limbs moved them with precision as they vaulted a dried riverbed and vanished into another tunnel. Their fur was the same shades as the sand, creamy yellow, tawny brown, and platinum white. Their snouts were shorter than Reyna’s or Wren’s. And despite their size, there was something in their movement, in their scent, that made it clear they were adults. A ragged-looking fairy buzzed among them.
The twins looked to one another. Fear had faded to fascination, and even anticipation. If these creatures had ill will, they’d had ample time to show it. And it felt better to be running with someone than to be running from someone. Without words, Wren and Reyna agreed that they would go where these creatures led. Until they saw whatever they were being taken to, they would not try to escape.
It wasn’t until more than an hour of near-constant running later that their strange companions finally slowed. They trotted for a short distance, then came to a stop in what, at first glance, seemed to be little more than a hilly stretch of the arid plain. The fairy regarded the three malthropes for a moment. After a gesture from them, it flitted off over the dunes.
The three mysterious little malthropes stopped their sprint and turned to the children. One by one, they unfolded their ears from the backward, tucked-away twist of their sprint.
Reyna blinked and stared. Wren nearly snickered. The ears were enormous. Each creature’s ears were nearly as large as the rest of its head. As Reyna gazed in wonder at the odd sight, the three malthropes stared back, silently measuring and judging what they saw. Wren looked around.
The group that had dragged them here comprised a female and two males. One of the males tugged a large bottle from his back and took a long drink of water from within. One by one, the others slaked their thirst, then the bottle was passed to Reyna. She gratefully accepted.
“Is this… oh, wow,” Wren said in a hush. “I think this is a town!”
Reyna finished her drink and reluctantly took her eyes from their companions’ to look around. While Wren took his turn at the bottle, she discovered what he had. It was subtle, but here and there a sandy mat of woven reeds formed what could be a door. If one did not know where to look, one could easily have missed the place, but now that they had a moment, they could see at least a dozen such makeshift doors.
One of the light-furred malthropes chattered something odd and complex. It was the female. She reached forward and turned Reyna to face her once more. She leaned closer, and Reyna felt a stir of concern. Something in the expression seemed less friendly now. The little creature sniffed at her, then glanced down at her own fingers. She pinched and rubbed away the layer of soil she’d wiped from Reyna when she turned her.
One of the males grabbed Wren by the arm and pulled him close. Though he was the same size as Wren, the desert malthrope was quite strong. He tugged at Wren’s ear.
“Hey! Stop that!” Wren shouted, shoving him away.
The desert malthrope snatched the bottle out of his paws and splashed it in Wren’s face.
“What are you doing?” he sputtered, wiping his eyes.
The water dripped muddily from his face, revealing the red fur that he had so carefully layered with soil while they were hiding.
The three little malthropes chattered angrily to each other. The female pulled a short sword fashioned from a red-green metal. The others revealed dirks tipped with spikes of the same mottled material.
Wren and Reyna leaped back and instantly bounded to a full sprint to escape those who were now certainly their captors. Alas, while they had been trying to make sense of the three strange little malthropes before them, a dozen more had emerged from the hidden entryways of the burrows that made up the town. All were armed with weapons of various sorts. All were the same child-sized, tawny-furred malthropes, and all had the fierce look of someone more than willing to skewer two children rather than let them get away.
Wren bared his teeth and spread his fingers. Reyna clutched his arm.
“Don’t…” she breathed through her terror.
“I h-have to protect you. M-mama would want it—”
“Mama says don’t fight if you can run, and only fight if you can win,” Reyna said, huddling close. “Mama says if you fight, people fight back.”
“Th-then what do we do?” he said, crouching down and pulling closer to her.
The other malthropes closed in. Those nearest stowed their weapons and revealed nets and ropes.
“They’re going to trap us!” Wren said, swiping at the first of the desert creatures to approach.
“We’re already trapped,” Reyna said. “And tied up is better than dead.”
One of the little malthropes held out a loop of rope. She was chattering insistently. Those flanking her brandished their weapons more vigorously.
“I don’t understand!” Wren said, flinching at the gleaming blades.
They chattered more, patience waning.
“We don’t understand you!” Reyna said, this time trying Varden rather than Tresson.
Confused glances rippled among the strange little malthropes, but soon their agitation returned.
“Just tell us what you want us to do!” Reyna made the desperate request in the last language she knew, Crich.
At the outburst, the whole of the village seemed to twist their heads and flick their ears at once. A murmur swept across the gathered creatures. Here and there, a single phrase the twins could understand was mixed in.
“Dragon talk,” the rope-wielder said.
“What?” Reyna said. “What dragons? Where?”
The malthrope with the rope motioned for them to hold still, then shouted something. The crowd of creatures rippled a bit and parted as a hunched, wizened malthrope, more gray than tan, hobbled up to them.
“Do you understand my words?” he said.
The Elder malthrope spoke with excessive care, as though it was a phrase he was repeating by rote rather than a proper question. Reyna and Wren nodded.
“W-we understand,” Reyna said.
“Give your paws to Tessi. She will tie you. You will be safe,” he said.
“I don’t trust him,” Wren rumbled in Tresson again, so that the others could not understand.
“What else can we do?” Reyna said.
Wren clenched his teeth, but offered his hands. The malthrope with the rope, presumably Tessi, cinched the loop tight around his wrists and fashioned a second one for Reyna.
“Swift would have figured a way out of this,” Wren moped as he and his sister were led forward.
#
The twins huddled down and waited as the malthropes around them chattered back and forth in their odd little language. Both Reyna and Wren had their paws very firmly tied, and each had a guard assigned. Wren was tense and coiled, ready to spring in the direction of freedom if an opening came, but with each passing moment such an opening seemed less likely. There was something in the gaze of the other malthropes. They watched with the same knowing, predatory gaze their mother had when they caught a glimpse of her during the game. Every motion seemed anticipated. Wren had the very real feeling that if he made a wrong move, not only would his guard know precisely what the young malthrope had in mind, but he would also be fiercely and firmly punished for it.
And yet, despite the dire circumstances, the twins couldn’t help but feel wonder at having discovered more of their kind.
“They’re mean malthropes is what they are,” Wren said, trying to match the intensity of his captor’s gaze. “They aren’t even malthropes. They’re mallies.”
Reyna kicked him. “That’s a bad word, Wren.”
“It’s the right word. The first malthropes we meet since Papa and they point weapons at us and tie us up. That’s not right.”
“Still. We don’t use the bad words,” she said.
A quiet conversation between two of the other villagers came to an end. One of them, a male with a somewhat more elaborate outfit than the others, stepped forward. While most of these desert malthropes wore airy layers of rough, billowy cloth, this one wore clothes cut closer, more tailored. He wore a tunic and trousers. A wide-brimmed hat shaded his face. It had holes for his enormous ears to poke through, and every bit of the outfit was festooned with silver and gold ornaments. He was certainly some manner of chieftain.
“Why did you come here?” he asked.
The question had the same stilted delivery as the Elder’s, but the words weren’t as precisely formed. There was a residue of the chattery language he’d been speaking earlier.
“You brought us here,” Wren barked, switching to Crich so he would be understood.
“Why do you disguise yourselves?” he said, reaching out to scratch some of the sandy muck still clinging to Reyna’s muzzle.
Wren snapped at him, his jaws narrowly missing the chieftain’s fingers. The chieftain laughed and motioned to one of the guards. A lightning motion clamped Wren’s jaws in a strong grip. A second guard produced and affixed a muzzle to keep the jaws clamped tight.
The chieftain looked to Reyna. “He bites. Do you bite? Or will you talk?”
The Story of Sorrel Page 4