The queen screamed and dropped, claws extended. Daine brought the bow up, loosing as she reached the best point in her swing. Her arrow buried itself in the queen’s eye as Onua cheered.
Daine had another arrow on the string and in the air, but the queen pulled away. Blood dripped from her ruined eye. If she felt pain, she ignored it, hovering well out of bow-shot, her good eye furious.
“Ohhh, I’ll remember you, girlie.” The hate in her voice forced Daine back a step. “Your name on my heart.” She looked at Onua. “I’ll return for you two ground crawlers. You belong to Zhaneh Bitterclaws now.” She launched herself into higher air and was gone.
“I can’t believe it.” Onua sounded as if she were talking to herself. “The rumors said there were monsters abroad, but these? Where did they come from?” She went to examine the body of one of the creatures, the stink so bad she had to cover her nose to get close to it.
Limping, Daine followed. She was unhurt, but she felt battered and cut and torn in a thousand places.
A chickadee lay in the road. She picked it up, to find a wing was attached by only a bit of skin. Tears rolled down her cheeks to fall on the dying bird. All around her, birds lay in the rushes, bleeding, dead.
“I’m sorry, little ones,” she whispered. “You should’ve stayed hid.” Her temples pounded. Stripes of black-and-yellow fire crossed her vision. Her ears filled with a roaring sound, and she fainted.
Onua saw her fall. The bird that had been in Daine’s hand jumped into the air and zipped past, nearly missing the K’mir’s nose. In the marsh, she heard a rush of song. Birds took off, clumsily at first, as if they were stiff. An owl that lay in the road moved, then flew away as she stared. She was positive that the bird’s head had been cut half off.
Shaking her head, she went to the fallen girl. As far as she could tell, Daine was unhurt. With a grunt the K’mir levered her onto a shoulder, surprised by how light she was. “You need to eat more,” she told her burden as she carried her to the ponies. Cloud trotted over to nuzzle Daine, worry in every line of the pony’s body.
“I don’t suppose you know a place where we can get off the road,” Onua asked, half jesting, never thinking these animals would understand her as they did the girl. Cloud trotted into a nearby stand of reeds. Just beyond her Onua saw a clearing, floored in solid ground.
This was food for thought. Onua followed Cloud. The remainder of the ponies followed her, Tahoi bringing up the rear.
Coarse hairs tickled Daine’s face. Opening her eyes, she saw nothing but Cloud’s nose.
“Let me up.” Her voice emerged as a croak. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t really—her whole body ached—but the pain that had knocked her out was over.
“Swallow this.” Onua brought over a cup of water. Drinking it, Daine tasted herbs. A tingling filled her veins and left her feeling much improved. The only sign of the pain that had knocked her down was mild stiffness.
“I didn’t faint ’cause I’m a baby or anything—” she began, afraid the K’mir would be disgusted by her weakness. She struggled to sit up, and finished the water.
“Don’t be silly.” Onua gave her a silvery feather. “Don’t touch the edges,” she warned. “They’re razor sharp.”
It was metal, etched and shaped like a feather. If it was steel, as it seemed to be, it was paper thin, impossible to bend. Moreover, it felt wrong, as the sight of the creatures had felt wrong. If she knew nothing else, she knew nature. Such creations did not belong in the world: seeing them made her feel wobbly and sick. “What were those things? Do you know?”
“I’ve heard tales, but—they aren’t supposed to exist, not here. They’re called Stormwings.” She heard awe and fear in Onua’s voice.
“What are Stormwings?”
“The Eaters.” Onua wrapped the feather and put it away. “But they’re legends. No one’s seen them for three, four centuries. They lived on battlefields, desecrating bodies—eating them, fouling them, scattering the pieces.” She crouched beside Daine again. “Listen—I need to leave you and the ponies for a while—I hope not too long. I can’t tell you why.”
“Then I’ll follow.” Daine was comfortable enough with her now to be blunt. “This is a marsh, remember? Quicksand, mud bogs, snakes—you told me you don’t know anything about marshes.”
“I can’t help that. What I must do is important. You stay put—”
A picture of the Stormwings as they’d first seen them flashed into Daine’s mind. “It’s that hawk, isn’t it?” she asked, and Onua looked away. “That black one. You tried to call him, but he couldn’t make it, so he hid in the reeds. Now you want to go after him. Why is a bird so important?”
Onua’s eyes glittered with annoyance. “Never you mind. He is, that’s all—he’s more important than you could imagine. If something happens to me, take the ponies to the Riders. Tell Buri or Sarge what happened—”
Daine saw how she might repay some of what she owed this woman for taking her in. “I’ll go.”
“Out of the question.”
She retrieved her crossbow and quiver from the packs. “Don’t be silly. It’s only a few hundred yards out. How much trouble can I get into? Besides, I know about bogs. And I can find lost animals.” If she waited, the K’mir would find a good reason to keep her back. She saw a game trail leading into the reeds and took it. “I’ll yell for Tahoi if I get stuck,” she called.
“Daine!” There was no answer. “When I was that age, I listened to my elders,” Onua muttered, conveniently forgetting she had done no such thing. She grabbed Cloud’s rein as the pony tried to follow her mistress. “No, you stay here. And don’t try to argue.” She tied the mare’s rein into a string for the first time since they’d left the fair, and settled down to wait.
The trail took Daine to a pond. She skirted it, always making for the spot where the monsters had left the wood. A grouse darted out of the brush. Following it, she walked a trail that lay on firm ground to reach the trees at the marsh’s edge. There she sat on a rock, wondering what to do next. If the bird was alive, it had come down somewhere nearby to hide from the Stormwings.
It was nice, this green wilderness. The scents of growing things filled her nostrils; the sounds of animals and plants waking from their winter sleep filled her ears. What had the badger said, in her dream? If you listen hard and long, you can hear any of us, call any of us, that you want.
Surely listening wouldn’t bring on the madness. She wasn’t trying to be an animal; she just wanted to hear them. Definitely she’d taken advice from worse people than badgers in her time.
Besides, if the hawk was alive and hurt, it might be thrashing or crying its pain. She’d hear it, if she listened.
She’d have to be very quiet, then.
She settled herself and slowed her breathing. Her blouse itched; she eased it. A burn throbbed on a finger; she put it out of her mind.
A breeze fanned the tips of the reeds, making them sigh.
Two plops ahead: a pair of mating frogs. She had no interest in that.
A rustle on her left, some feet behind: a pair of nesting ducks. Didn’t people think of anything else?
A gritty noise at her side was a grass snake, coming up to sun. It was nice on the rock, the warmth just perfect on her face and on the snake.
There—left, closer to the trees. She frowned. It didn’t sound like a bird—like the hawks and falcons back home. She felt dizzy and befuddled, almost like the time she had swiped a drink of her mother’s home-brewed mead.
That yip was a fox, who had found a black bird. A large one.
Daine headed in his direction. The fox yipped again when she almost made a wrong turn. She found him next to a large, hollow log. The hawk had concealed itself inside.
“Thank you,” she said. The fox grinned at her and vanished into the reeds while Daine looked at her new patient. “Clever lad, to think of hiding there,” she murmured. (And since when did hawks ever think of concealing themselves?) “Come on
out—they’re gone.” She put her hands into the log’s opening, praying she wasn’t about to get slashed.
The bird waddled forward, easing himself onto her palms. Moving very slowly, she lifted him out and placed him on top of his hiding place.
He stared at her, beak open as he panted. One outspread wing seemed broken in two places, maybe even three. Her hair prickled at the back of her neck. Anyone less familiar with hawks might have taken this bird for one: she could not. He was too big, and hawks were not solid black. His color was dull, like velvet—there was no gloss to his feathers at all. He wasn’t wrong as those Stormwings were wrong, but he was not right, either.
She cut reeds for splints. “I’m from Onua—Onua Chamtong of the K’miri Raadeh,” she told him. “You recognize the name?” She didn’t expect an answer, but she knew a kind voice was something any hurt creature responded to. “I have to splint that wing. It’s broken.” She cursed herself for not having bandages of any kind, and cut strips out of a petticoat.
“It’ll hurt,” she warned. “Try not to peck me, or we’ll never get you fixed.” Ignoring his gaze, she gently spread the wing. The hawk cried out only once. That was another strange thing, she thought; other birds had savaged her for less pain than she was giving this one. She secured the outspread limb onto its reed framework, feeling him shake under her hands. “You’re being a fine, brave lad,” she crooned, securing the last cotton ties. “Your ma’d be fair proud of you—wherever she is. Whatever she is.”
Repairs made, she slung the crossbow on her back. “I’ve got to carry you,” she explained. “Try to keep still.” When she gathered him up, taking care not to bump the wing, he trembled but didn’t bite or slash. “You’re the oddest bird I’ve met in my life,” she murmured as she followed the trail back to the road. “Heavy too.” She was sweating by the time she found Onua. “His wing’s busted.”
“Horse Lords be praised, you found him!” The relief on the K’mir’s face was scary, as if he’s a friend or something, Daine thought. Onua lifted the hawk from Daine’s arms, examining him with delicate fingers. Somehow Daine wasn’t surprised to see that he was as calm with Onua as he’d been with her.
“If we move the packs onto one of the gentler ponies, he can ride on them,” Onua suggested. “We have to get well away before we camp.” Daine nodded and shifted the packs to a mild-mannered chestnut gelding. On the road, the bird rode quietly, panting without making any other sound.
They left the marshy valley and entered the wood, moving on after dark. Onua lit the way ahead with her magic. They had walked for hours before she took them off the road, onto a small path.
Here she lit a torch and gave it to Daine. “Farther up there’s an open shed for drying wood. It’s big enough to shelter us and the ponies.” She dug out the materials she used to work her magic. “Get a fire going. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She went back to the road, a bag of powder in her hand. Tahoi started to follow: she ordered him to go with Daine.
“I think she wants to hide our trail,” Daine told the dog. She led the pack pony, and the others followed obediently. “But why? The monster—what’s her name? Zhaneh Bitterclaws—can she see in the dark? Apart from revenge, why follow us?” She glanced at the hawk. Meeting his eyes directly still made her head spin. “Not for you, surely.”
The bird shuddered.
The shed was big, with three walls to keep out the wind. Moreover, it had a fire pit inside, and a well outside. With relief she freed the ponies, watered them, and fed them grain from the extra stores.
Tahoi had brought in three rabbits that afternoon. As soon as the fire was going, Daine skinned and gutted them. Two went on the spit for her and Onua; Tahoi got half of the third. Cutting strips from the remaining half, she offered it to her patient. He turned his head away.
Perhaps he hadn’t gotten the scent. Daine waved it in front of him. Again he turned his head aside.
She sniffed the meat: it was no different from what Tahoi crunched so happily nearby. She laid it on the pack in front of the bird, having moved his travel arrangements to the floor of the shed. The hawk picked the morsel up in his beak and threw it away.
Getting the rejected meat, she offered it to Tahoi. The dog ate it and returned to his bones. Planting her hands on her hips, Daine scowled at the bird. She’d heard of captive animals refusing to eat, but such a thing had never happened to her.
“There’s many a hawk would be happy for a nice bit of rabbit,” she told him, not even realizing she sounded like her ma. “Now, I’ll give you another piece. Don’t you go throwing that away, for I won’t give you any more.” She offered a fresh strip to the bird, who sniffed it—and turned his head. She placed it before him, and he threw it to Tahoi.
“He won’t eat,” she told Onua when the K’mir joined them. “What’s the matter with him? I never had an animal that wouldn’t eat for me.”
The woman crouched near the hawk, her gray green eyes puzzled. “Let me try, Maybe it’s ’cause he doesn’t know you.”
“I’ve fed plenty of animals that never met me first,” Daine snapped, cutting another strip of meat for Onua. The hawk refused it as well.
Onua scratched her head. “Try cooked meat. I have to ward this place. There’re armed men all over the road, searching.” She walked outside the shed.
“For us?” Daine asked. Onua shook her head and began the now-familiar spell. “Not for you, surely,” the girl whispered to the hawk. Cutting meat off the spit, she cooled it with water and offered it to her patient. He sniffed it for a while, but refused it in the end.
“Maybe he’s sick,” Onua suggested as she ate. “I broke my collarbone once, and I was queasy for a day or two.”
“That’s shock.” Daine rested her chin on her knees. “I s’pose that might be it.”
“He’s not just any creature.” Onua finished her meal. “He may be a little strange to care for, Daine. Just do your best—please?”
The girl awoke in the night to hear a quiet murmur. Peeking with a half-closed eye, she saw that Onua sat with the hawk, talking softly to him. And Ma said I was fair foolish with animals, she thought. Rolling over, she went back to sleep.
They moved on in the morning. Searchers passed them on the road, men on horseback and men afoot, but none appeared to see the bird riding in state on ponyback. “I can’t throw fire or heal,” Onua told Daine, “but when I hide a thing, it stays hidden.”
For three days they pushed on. The hawk’s eyes still would not focus, and his balance was poor. After some debate with herself, Daine lightly bound his claws to the pack he rested on. He didn’t seem to mind, which bothered her still more. Even the mildest sparrow would have fought the ties.
Her patient worsened. He refused any and all meat, raw or cooked. Their third day together she offered him raw egg and then cheese. He ate both, to her joy, but vomited it up later. That night she woke to hear Onua chanting a spell over him, but it didn’t seem to help. The K’mir still talked to him about human things—road conditions, the fair in Cría, the doings of the Queen’s Riders.
Once, after meeting the bird’s eyes, Daine walked into a ditch. Another time she fell over her own feet. After that, she avoided his gaze and resented it. Why couldn’t she look at this bird? And why did she not feel connected to him, as she felt with other creatures?
His wing did not heal. The fourth night she stayed up with him, coaxing water mixed with honey into his beak. It did no good. The fever she had fought to prevent set in and began to climb.
She woke Onua sometime after midnight. “He’s going to die. Not today—tomorrow, maybe. I hate losing one I’ve nursed!” To her shame, she felt tears on her cheeks, and wiped them away with an impatient hand. “He’s not right! He’s not like any bird I ever met, and I can’t fix him! Can we stop at a village or town, and find a sorcerer who might—”
Onua shook her head. “Out of the question.” When Daine opened her mouth to argue, the woman said, “There are reasons
. Important ones.” She tugged at her lip, and came to a decision. “All right. Get some rest—I’m calling for help. Horse Lords willing, somebody will be in range.”
Daine was too exhausted to protest or ask questions. It was hard even to crawl into her bedroll. The last thing she saw was Onua, kneeling before a fire that now burned scarlet, hands palm up in a summoning.
She slept until dawn, and Onua greeted her cheerfully. “I got lucky—help is closer than I thought. Eat something, and you might want to wash up. There’s a bathing pool behind that hill. They’ll be here around noon.”
“They who?” Daine’s voice came from her throat as a croak.
Onua shook her head.
“Wonderful. More secrets. My favorite,” Daine muttered grumpily as she found towels and soap. Since the day was warm, she washed her hair and took extra time to scrub every inch of her skin. Why hurry? she thought, still feeling grouchy. They won’t get here till noon—whoever they are.
The hawk’s eyes were closed when she returned, and he was shivering. She warmed small rocks and wrapped them in cloths—towels, scarves, handkerchiefs. Carefully, talking to him the whole time, she cocooned bird and rocks in a blanket, hoping to sweat the fever out. After an hour of the extra warmth, he took some heated water and honey when she coaxed.
Onua had worn herself out with her magical efforts, and slept all morning. Daine had to content herself with frequent trips to the road, looking for the promised help. Cloud and Tahoi followed her, as worried as she was.
The sun was at its height, covered by thickening clouds, when she saw movement to the east. She raced back to camp. “Onua, there are people coming.”
The K’mir grabbed her bow and arrows; Daine got hers. They went to the road to wait. It wasn’t long before Onua said, “It’s my friends. The ones in white are in the King’s Own. They answer directly to King Jonathan.”
Daine gaped at the company that approached. Mail-clad warriors on beautiful horses rode in four rows, their white, hooded capes flapping grandly at their backs. The earth shook with the pounding of their steeds’ hooves. Before them came a standard-bearer, his flag a silver blade and crown on a royal blue field.
Wild Magic Page 3