Kaybree Versus the Angels

by Harrison Paul

CHAPTER ONE

  The Hunt Begins

  I'd met a few talking wolves since moving to the city by the forest, but this one I could recognize before he opened his mouth. His fur was the color of snow, his eyes yellow-gold, and his body twice the size of an ordinary wolf. The smell of rotting meat lingered around his fangs, and black clumps of earth clung to his fur.

  "Come out, little Witch," he said, pacing the cobblestone road. Twisted plants grew from between the stones, blanketing the road with a patchwork underbrush. "I know you're here."

  I peered out from behind the crumbled pillar into the empty street. No one was in sight except for the wolf's massive form. A trail of dropped purses and fallen coins on the uneven stones marked the path of my classmates' flight when the wolf had struck. I fumbled around in my purse for the relic disc I'd kept hidden there. This was supposed to be a class trip to the ruins on the outskirts of town, the wrecked buildings that had been destroyed at the first Angel's attack fifteen years ago. But this wolf knew who I was—a student at the sagekeep—so he'd jumped out and attacked us, scattering the group.

  I listened for sounds of the others. Nothing. At least they'd gotten away. Not only did I not want to put them in danger, but I couldn't fight him without revealing my identity to my classmates.

  The air was still, and I peered out again. The wolf stood there, not ten paces away, looking straight at me. I flinched and backed away, coming out into the open and edging toward the cover of a ruined tavern. Its windows were gone, leaving holes in the walls like a skull's eye sockets. "So you're back," I said, searching for the relic. "You must have really missed me. To come all this way instead of frolicking in the forest with your pack."

  The wolf snarled and took a step closer. "The mission's not done yet," he said, saliva dripping from his fangs onto the ground. "Now if your little heart would stop beating, maybe I could get back to my merry frolicking."

  My hand closed around the relic. "Sorry to disappoint you." I sparked the energies of the relic, and its power rushed through me. Usually this meant that I would transform into a girl of lightning and blazing fire, leaping through the air and blasting enemies with streams of flame.

  But this time, something hit me from behind—knocking the relic out of my hand before I transformed. I stumbled forward, and my disc clattered to the ground and landed next to a pile of stone rubble.

  I turned and my face blanched; another wolf stood there, and this one wasn't interested in talking. It launched at me, snapping its jaws. I ducked aside, rolling through the dirt and coming up against an abandoned tool shack. Splintered wood stuck out at odd angles from the boards, and I glanced behind me to make sure I didn't get my clothes caught on it. I'd worn a slim dress of bordertown cut, which wasn't supposed to be disposable, but now I just hoped it wouldn't get me killed.

  I glanced at the rubble, spotting the disc among chipped bricks and scorched stones. One leap and I should make it. The second wolf rushed forward again and snapped at me. I dodged aside, but not before the wolf's teeth scraped against my arm, drawing blood. I winced from the pain, covering my arm. This wasn't good. I could only use my Witch powers when I had a relic in hand. I glanced up at the rooftops. Where were Will and Mira when I needed them? Had they forgotten all we'd practiced?

  The first wolf stalked toward me. "Come on," he said, tongue lolling out. That seemed to mean he was mocking me. "Don't tell me you only brought one relic with you. That would make this so anticlimactic."

  I bolted for the tavern, grabbing onto the stone windowsill and vaulting into the common room. I was grateful for my training sessions with Galen. I landed on a dusty table, slipping on a puddle of rainwater and rolling to the ground. The tavern was dark, its only light source the sun outside. The oaken front door had rusted hinges, and the few remaining chairs were reduced to wood piles on the floor. The roof had sunken on itself, leaving a hole above the tavern's counter where a shaft of sunlight streamed in.

  A splintering sound turned my attention to the door. The white wolf burst through, scattering pieces of wood everywhere. Another white shape leapt in through the empty window, crouching on the table. I glanced back at the hole in the roof, now my only exit. The wolves closed in, padding forward with their eyes locked on me.

  I spotted someone scurrying along the rooftop and took a deep breath, hoping it was who I thought it was. "Will, NOW!"

  The wolves turned to look at the figure on the roof. Willard Matthias stood there, wearing a ridiculous green and orange cloak that flapped in the icy wind. "Here, catch!" He pulled a handful of relics from his pockets and tossed them from the roof. The wolves leapt up and caught a few in their jaws as they fell, but two of them managed to get to me—and one was all I needed. I ran to the ring that fell on the ground beside me and snatched it up with a handful of dirt and dust. It irked me to get dirt under my fingernails, but when my life and the human race hung in the balance, I could afford to get a little dirty.

  I slid the ring on my finger and focused. The wolves snarled and leapt at me. Someone threw a bagful of burning dust from the rooftop, and the wolves flinched back. The smell burned my nostrils as well. Sulfur. Toxic to the Angels and creatures of the forest, but dangerous to me too. Mira stood atop the roof, empty bag of sulfur in hand. I flashed her a smile; I could always count on her to think one step ahead of the enemy—and a step ahead of me too.

  Flames rose from my hands, and my skin glowed bluish white. The second wolf lunged at me, and this time I fought back. I slammed a kick into its face, sending it flying into the tavern wall. The stones shuddered from the impact. I shot forward in a blur of motion, coming out into the road and hovering there for a moment, waiting for the first wolf to come out.

  When he emerged, the wolf hung back and circled me. "Bravo, little Witch," he said, tongue lolling out. Why was he mocking me when I clearly had the upper hand? In my transformed state, I could fry any one of his forest friends. "Very nicely done. And right on time, too."

  I froze. Something wasn't right. Those wolves could have pounced on me before I had the chance to transform, but they hadn't. Were they too afraid that I'd pull out some trick when they came close? Or was this . . . part of their plan? A hand grabbed my ankle, and I screamed. Will and Mira shouted something from the rooftop, but I didn't hear them. All I could hear was the grinding sound of something rising from the ground behind me.

  I tugged my foot free and turned to face an Angel.

  It had been weeks since I'd last seen one, and that was by the dim light of the moon. By day, I could see the lines of this one's face zigzagged like fissures in the earth. This Angel was dirt brown, with blocky rocks for arms and legs. There was still a lot we didn't know about the Angels—how they came to live in the forest, why sulfur and heretic bones hurt them, or why they turned from beautiful to hideous when they attacked.

  But we did know why they attacked us fifteen years ago: because of me. Whether they thought I was dangerous to humanity or a threat to their survival, all but one of them wanted me dead. And this wasn't him.

  The Angel swung a fist at me, catching me on the forehead. He was fast! I hadn't expected a rock creature to move so quickly. My vision swam as I dodged his next attack. The ground shook beneath me. I punched at him, but the shifting ground threw me aside. He planted a kick in my stomach and I flew into one of the broken pillars. The stone cracked where my back hit.

  The Angel blurred forward, throwing a spray of rocks at me. I blocked them with my arms, though one hit me in the head. I felt for the essence of the relic I'd put on. It was a fire relic, so I'd have to channel fire through something to beat the Angel. But what?

  Something metallic flew through the air, pinging against the Angel's stone back. Will stood beside a fallen pillar, using it as cover as he lobbed sulfur-tipped knives. It was just like how we'd practiced, although he wasn't a very good shot. Most of the knives had turned to the hilt by the time they hit, and they pinged harmlessly to the ground. With the Angel's attentio
n diverted, I rolled to the side and pushed off of a ledge.

  The Angel turned back and hurled razor-sharp stones at me. I leapt over them and kicked at the Angel's head. My kick connected, knocking the head clean off. It bounced against the ground like a fallen boulder. "Not the head!" Mira yelled from the side. She had my father's journal open and was scanning the pages. "This isn't the Angel's natural form. It's only using the earth as a shield for its heart, and that'll be its weak point."

  A shield for its heart. The Angel fired off another barrage of rocks—at Mira this time—and she ducked under the cover of the ruined tavern. The center of the Angel's body had a slight glow emanating from it. A spray of stone projectiles flew at me, slicing my hands and face, and one hit me in the stomach. I stumbled back, taking cover beside a fallen pillar.

  A crossbow bolt lodged in the Angel's shoulder. Smoke rose from the wound, and the Angel hissed in pain. "Kaybree!" I turned to see Galen Valkegaard, my knight in shining armor, galloping toward me on a doe rangir. Well, he wasn't really a knight, and he wore a black uniform with silver buttons instead of armor, but he charged forward, holding a crossbow in one hand and the reins in the other. I didn't know how he aimed the contraption while he rode; I would have been lucky not to hit myself in the leg. His coppery hair waved in the wind, and his sea-green eyes pierced through the distance between us. "Hit him now!"

  I snapped a piece of wood off the tool shack. A massive white shape streaked toward me: the wolf. I clenched my teeth and waited for him to strike. Galen's rangir bashed her antlers into the wolf's side, throwing him back. She turned toward me and said, "We'll cover you. You take the Angel."

  "Right," I said with a nod. Galen arched an eyebrow at me, reminding me that he couldn't hear his rangir speak. But I could talk to Signy, and Signy could talk to me, and if she said she would cover me, then she would.

  The Angel recovered from the bolt—dipped in sulfur, if the acrid smell was any indication—and pulled it out of its shoulder, dropping it to the ground. I slammed him in the chest with my fist, hearing something crack and hoping it wasn't my hand. I knew I'd feel it later, every ding and bruise. The Angel reeled back and slashed at me with rock-hard claws, gashing my shoulder. I focused my energies into the chunk of wood, setting it ablaze. The Angel struck again, but I stepped in and tackled it, throwing it to the ground. I plunged the fiery weapon into its center.

  The Angel kicked me in the face. I staggered back as it rose, flaming stake protruding from its middle. How was it still not dead? Its insides had begun to melt, and airy, bluish blood trickled from its wounds. It struck out again, clipping me on the side of the head and sending me spinning.

  I glanced at the crossbow bolt on the ground. As the Angel lunged for me again, I grabbed the bolt and threw it into the open wound. The bolt sizzled as it sank in, and the Angel gave a horrible shriek. The blocky figure fell to its knees and crumbled to a pile of stone in the street.

  My transformation ended, and pain flared up on my arms. And my stomach. And—ouch, my head! I looked down at my now-normal hands. No scars, at least. I hoped the marks on my face healed fast, because I did not want to show up for class at the sagekeep looking like the victim of a tavern brawl. Galen and Signy swept in front of me protectively, and I struggled to my feet. I could barely focus through the pain.

  Someone chuckled off to the side. I looked up, straight into the wolf's yellow eyes. "You've got spunk, little Witch, I'll give you that," he said. His partner wolf limped away behind him. "I told Karna the straight-on approach would get him killed. But who listens to a lowly wolf?"

  I forced a smile. "I guess this means you'll go back to stalking me," I said. Why couldn't Signy install some metal spikes on her antlers and gore him right here and now? "And you still haven't even told me your name."

  "My name?" The wolf bared his teeth. "Any self-respecting Witch from the last centuries would have grabbed a drop of my blood and boiled it in baby's tears to find out my name."

  "I prefer to ask first. Otherwise I'll just have to make one up. Like Meatmouth."

  He seemed to flinch. "You could have at least picked something dignified."

  I thought of historical figures we'd learned about. "Siegfried." I nodded. "Fine, then. You're Zeik. Zeik the talking wolf."

  He started slinking back, away from Signy's antlers and Galen's crossbow. "Zeik," he said. "I like it. Simple but predatory. Perfect for the Winter Hunt."

  "The Hunt?" The yearly hunt was about to begin, but I hadn't known that forest creatures kept track of our holidays, much less celebrated them.

  He licked his lips. "My true master is coming for you, little Witch," he said. "This'll be over soon enough. Let the hunt begin." With that, Zeik turned sharply and loped off toward the forest.

  Galen dismounted from Signy and put a hand on my shoulder. "Are you all right?" he asked. "You were talking to that wolf." He didn't know that Witches could talk to animals. I kept meaning to tell him, but I could never find the right moment. I thought that one of his books on Witches would have told him, but he must have skipped that part and gone straight to the explosions. "I know you're still getting used to all this fighting."

  I smiled up at him. "My prince came and saved me," I said, letting a little sarcasm drip from my words. "How could I not be all right?"

  He gave me a flat look, but it curled into a smirk. "Sorry, Kaybree, but in this fairy tale, the damsel saves the prince." Galen was probably the smartest, most charming guy in all of Nordgard—the kind whose eyes blazed with passion whenever he talked about saving the world. Which was convenient, since I was the Witch that defended humanity from the Angels, and we talked about saving the world quite a bit. Of course, he was betrothed to somebody else. So I could look, but not touch.

  Unless he was inspecting me for wounds after a fight, that is. Then it was "save the world" business.

  "How did you know where I was?" I asked.

  "Mikael said you were in danger," he said. He lifted my chin with his finger, scanning my face for wounds. "He said he saw you when he was coming back from a patrol. What were you doing out here all alone?"

  I glanced up at the rooftops. Mikael stood there in the distance, wrapped in his billowing brown duster. He could probably see the expression on my face right now, down to the last detail. I didn't know how he did it, but he could see me over long distances, and knew when I was in trouble.

  It was sweet of him, looking after me and all. But with him sending Galen and Signy to help me today, I wondered how he felt about the results. Mikael was an Angel too, and had helped me defeat—kill—a fellow Angel this Midwinter. Now add another one. Did he feel like he was betraying his own people? He didn't like the idea of killing me, since he thought I was innocent, but how far would he take it?

  To Galen, though, Mikael was a only borderman soldier who worked for my mother. If he knew I was having secret conversations with a real live Angel, I didn't know what he'd do.

  On the other side, Will and Mira climbed up a set of cracked stone stairs, waiting until Galen was out of sight. Thankfully, Galen hadn't seen them on his way in. He and my mother had hidden my powers from everyone, including me, for fifteen years, and they didn't like it when I risked exposing my identity to others. But Will and Mira were friends, and I'd saved them from Zeik a few months ago, so they helped back me up.

  Like bringing Weapon relics when I lost mine. Zeik's deadly gibes made me feel foolish for only bringing one, when that left me open to attack. But the relics were cumbersome to haul around, especially when possessing one could draw unwanted attention from the sages. I'd know better next time.

  "There were a lot of us here earlier," I said. "Before the wolves attacked. I was with some of the other students, scouting out good spots to launch hunting parties."

  Galen shook his head. "I can't believe they're still going through with that," he said. "After the Angel attacks and forest creatures pushing the borders, you'd think they'd cut down on the deliberate danger."<
br />
  I shrugged. "Have you entered a sagekeep lately? If you're a boy who likes a girl, what's more important—having a pretty wolf pelt to show off to your friends, or having all four of your limbs?"

  "Losing limbs makes certain courtship rituals rather difficult."

  "You're right. Holding hands, for instance."

  "Of course." He cleared his throat; I knew he hated talking about courting—likely because of the girl he was betrothed to. If Galen was the kind of guy who only existed in fairy stories—gallant, visionary, and charming—then his betrothed was the kind of girl who only lived in funny tavern songs—prickly, arrogant, and self-absorbed. "My point is, you really need to be more careful." He picked up the disc relic I'd dropped and brushed the dirt from it. "Your mother won't be pleased if you damage her Weapons. And she does care about you too, don't forget that. All of us do."

  "I'll try," I said, wishing he'd mention more about how much he cared about me. Galen's seriousness came off as mysterious, but my mother's had always struck me as callous. I was still trying to figure her out. "Mind if I ride Signy back to the sagekeep? We'll take it slow so you can keep up."

  "Won't be a problem," said a voice behind me. It was Mikael. How had he arrived so fast? He held the reins of two rangir and motioned to me. "I'll take her back, Lord Valkegaard. I know you have business to attend to at the Order."

  "Thank you, Mikael," Galen said. He turned to me. "I'll see you at the sagekeep. If you meet any trouble, just run, okay?"

  I nodded in response. Just run. That meant that he didn't want me to transform. That made sense, since I was already hurt and tired from the last fight. And also he didn't think Mikael knew I was a Witch. He climbed back onto Signy, kicking her into a trot and riding off.

  Mikael helped me gather the fallen relics from the tavern—and my purse, which was so covered in sulfur dust that it made my eyes water—and helped me onto one of the rangir. I was glad that the wolves hadn't carried any relics off; my mother kept strict watch over her precious magical items. "Your charming lord has one thing right," Mikael said. "It's far too dangerous for you to be traipsing around the city borders."

  "I'm tired of being stuck in the sagekeep," I said. "Besides, we were supposed to meet up with a few border scouts to give us a tour. I didn't think the Angels would know where I was."

  Mikael's face broke into a wry smile. "We can't see everything, but we see quite a bit. And that wolf has your scent. Going out with the others for the Winter Hunt is like painting a 'please eat me' sign on the back of your head." He mounted his own rangir and we started through the streets at a slow trot. "They set this trap just for you."

  "You could have told me that an hour ago." I looked into his eyes as we rode. He had very serious eyes, grayish-blue, set in a face that was ruggedly handsome, with a few days' growth of beard stubble. I wondered if being able to change his appearance let him keep the stubble the same length all the time.

  "Then you wouldn't have learned the lesson," he said. "The Angels' purpose in the beginning was not to prevent mankind's follies, but to ensure that you learned from them."

  I studied his half-smile and shook my head. "You didn't even know about it, did you?"

  "You're starting to catch on," he said, still smiling. "At least you had your friends here to help."

  "We're starting to become more of a team, I think," I said. I thought of Will's attempt at knife-throwing. "Of course, we all have a lot of work to do."

  "They can help you, but you can't rely on them too much. By the time you transform, the battle becomes yours alone. If that wolf can be believed, it looks like you'll have another fight on your hands soon enough."

  "Who do you think his master will be disguised as?" I asked. I winced as the saddle scraped against the tender flesh of my leg. There was a cut there from one of the Angel's rocks. "Someone that goes hunting with us?"

  "Hard to say," he said. "I'll watch for suspicious activity around the borders when I'm on patrol. We have extra soldiers around this year from the capital because of the Angel attacks."

  We rode in silence for a few minutes before I asked him what I was thinking about. "How does it feel?"

  "What?"

  "To . . . kill other Angels."

  "I'm protecting you," he said, his lighthearted tone vanishing. "If the Judges try to harm you, they are acting against my wishes as a Vision Bringer."

  "But why?" I asked. "Why do you protect me?"

  "You are innocent," he said. "That's enough." I wondered if there was another reason, but if there was, he was keeping it to himself.

  We arrived at the sagekeep and left our rangir with the handlers. I stared up at the arched spires and the intricate carvings of sages and philosophers that adorned the face of the sagekeep. Last time an Angel had hidden here to attack me, he'd used the guise of my history teacher, Brother Jans. He'd been such a loving, caring person, that I couldn't believe he'd be a murdering Angel.

  But he had his reasons, like they all did. I wondered whom the next Angel would pose as—or if this one would attack in a way that none of us would ever suspect.

  Acknowledgments

  The road to publishing a novel is long and arduous, and many have helped me along the way, so forgive me if I forget to mention someone (and remind me so I can credit you for your help).

  First, I want to mention my mentor Brandon Sanderson, who has given honest feedback and helpful advice through the last several years, and who gave me the idea to publish this series in the first place. I also want to thank Dan Wells, an author whom I greatly admire and whose works have been an inspiration to me. Another author I wish to thank is David Farland, who has provided excellent advice through his Daily Kick and Writers Death Camp seminar, and stands out as one of the greatest writing instructors of our day.

  Many thanks to my editor, Jenni Alan, for taking a rough draft of this book and challenging me to do better. No book would ever be complete without a competent editor, and Jenni's help has been invaluable. Additional edits and revisions are thanks to members of my writing groups. In no particular order: Michael Vatcher, Kim Mainord, Laurel Amberdine, Jonathon Burgess, 13 Lucky Waffles from Space, Tony Dutson, Jared Olsen, Mark Fassett, Jo Schneider, my FOGCon workshop group (David Levine, Gregory Randolph, Eva Folsom, and Carolyn Cooper), and my BYU writing group (Laura, Christian, Erik, and Anthony).

  If you like the cover art, you can thank Claudia McKinney, a superb graphic artist with lightning-quick email responses, as well as Maria Amanda Schaub, our magnificent cover model, and Ashley "The Bookish Brunette" who crafted the wonderful typography.

  My alpha readers have been of immense help in refining this book and my writing in general. To list a few: Henry Bartholomew, Matt and Jin Di Giordano, Carl Brinton and Gloria Gong, Kimberly Green, Heber Nelson, Alice-Catherine Hawks, Annelis Walker, Wendy Freeman, Daniela West, Courtney Fanello, Earle McEwen, Elizabeth Gray, Victoria Garza, Xu Guo, Jim Paul, Jameson Fox, Brandon Cusak, Ryan Bennion, Diane Humann, Dallon Penney, and Bridget Paul. Also many thanks to Nik Rode for insightful critiques on pacing for this version.

  Special thanks to my creative writing class at MIT Academy as well as the students and staff who have shown me their support. The creators of All Things Paul should get some credit as well, for forming a fan club before they knew I was anything other than a Chinese teacher who didn't look Chinese: Nelissa, Charline, White Rabbit, Rea, Textbook Penguin, Jonalyn, Toni, Justin Palor, Regina, Trisha, Priscilla, Darren the Robot King, Elisa, Anayancy, Ethan, Princess Leah, Dawei Gongzhu, Missy, the Rettinhouse twins, Patrick Jesus, Ben the Pinkman, Caitlyn, Alpha and Omega, Anthony, Stingray, Maricar, Jamie Pudding, Ana and Pamela, Jessica, Justin, Ben G and Ben L, Claudio, Donnie, 100% Domo, Josephine, Taylor, Reniel and Francis, Dajsha, Bai Meiguo, Nathan, and Mileena.

  I've also met numerous professionals at conventions who have helped me become part of the writing community: Brandon Lindsay, E.C. Myers, Simon Larter, Jessica Corra, Mary Thompson, Miles Romney,
Sam Sykes, Jessie Cammack, Eddie Schneider, James Dashner, Ian Drury, Jordan Ricks, Joshua Bilmes, and many more.

  Finally, my family and friends have been great supporters of my work from the beginning, but you know who you are. Nicolette and Sean, thanks for letting me name my main character after your daughter. An additional thanks to all of my readers; you are the ones who make this all possible. And of course, thanks to Aisha. For being awesome.

  I would be remiss if I did not express thanks to my God as well, for gifting me with the inclination and the insanity to become a writer, and for teaching me that divine beings are not always easy for mortals to understand.