The Unfinished Song (Book 5): Wing

by Tara Maya

  The four Green Woods tribesmen were brothers from the Woodrat Clan. They had plenty of arrows in their quivers besides the Raven each carried. Their noses quivered and their beady eyes gleamed as they boasted to the prisoner how they would kill him.

  “If I catch you first, I’m going to aim my arrow at your legs so you don’t die right away,” said the biggest Woodrat. “I’ll trip you up, then give your belly a thin slice, so I can pull your guts out. Might make sausages out of ‘em.”

  “If I catch you first,” said second biggest Woodrat, “I’ll cut your heart out still beating!”

  “I won’t need weapons at all,” said the third Woodrat. “I’ll just punch you in the face until you have no face left!”

  “You can have his face,” said the fourth Woodrat. “I’m taking his scalp!”

  The Orange Canyon lad gibbered and lolled his tongue. If they were trying to terrify the prisoner, it seemed to be working. Unfortunately, it was working on Hadi too. He didn’t think the brothers would take to it kindly if he stole their kill. Which was really unfair of them, considering they had only one Raven each, and he had fifteen, and killing this scrawny captive was probably the only realistic chance Hadi had of paying a deathdebt.

  The drums sounded. The biggest Woodrat cut the captive free. The lad took off at a pace Hadi would have not believed possible. He wondered if any of them had a chance of catching him.

  All the prisoners tore across the field until they were out of sight. The hunters waited for the shadow to cover the scruff in the dirt the War Chief had marked. As the time stretched, Hadi thought about how fast the lad had run, and wondered how anyone could catch him after such a big head start. Though he supposed it wouldn’t have felt long enough if he had been on the other side.

  Finally, shade fell on the mark. The drums sounded. Some hunters raced forward immediately. Others made a show of taking their time, as if they didn’t need to hurry. Finnadro was one who seemed to be taking his sweet time. The four Woodrat clanbrothers were among those already running.

  They were quite fast too.

  Hadi would have liked to lounge about confidently, but he didn’t dare. He started running.

  The stitch in his side flared up before he was half way across the field. He forced himself to keep going, at least until he was out of sight of the women back at the line-up. He slowed to a jog. Then he slowed to a walk.

  One couldn’t go far in any direction in these parts without encountering forest, so he shouldn’t have been surprised that the field gave way to dark, fire-blackened forest, but he was, and also dismayed. Hunting a running lad across a plain was bad enough, now he had to hunt him through the woods too?

  This was the point where he was supposed to use his huntsmanship and look out for broken twigs and the imprint of a big toe that would tell him exactly where to find his prey. While the Woodrat brothers blundered through the underbrush, Hadi would cleverly sneak around them and catch the prisoner with one shot through the heart. The prisoner would even benefit; he’d win a clean, honorable death from Hadi, not all that mucking mess the Woodrats had promised.

  Hadi looked around for footprints. The frost was hard, but above that a layer of ash and slush actually held prints well, and he found the impression from the heel of a boot. Excitement raced through his veins. This was it! This was his victim, er, prey! He kept going in the direction the boot had been facing.

  He found a trail, amazingly clear, of zigzag steps, leading through the woods. Fa, how easy was this? He was a mucking hunting genius. The prints were so clear he could even match up his feet in them.

  Mercy, the lad had a big stride. And a bigger—what had he been taught it was called, during his Initiation year, when the hunter’s lore had been passed to his cohort of boys by grizzled old men in Yellow Bear? Stride was the space between the steps walking forward and the other…. Oh, yes. Straddle. The space from side to side between the prints. These zigzag prints had a big straddle. It was a bit uncomfortable, actually, trying to waddle in the steps, which were spaced as if by feet attached to much wider hips than Hadi’s. Odd, that. He could have sworn the enemy lad was about the same size as he, or even scrawnier.

  Along his right, Hadi spotted a spruce that looked like it was wearing a skirt. The bark had had been yanked off the bottom, and the strips that remained curled upward like a dancer’s costume flaring on the twirl.

  Hadi had seen trees like that before, in Yellow Bear, which made sense, because it was a bear tree, and they had way too many bears in Yellow Bear. Some bear had come along and scratched off the bark at the base of the tree, to suck up the tasty sap inside. Hadi had wondered, once, if the sap was any good and even tried some from a bear tree back in Yellow Bear. Answer: sweet at first, then rancid. The aftertaste lingered like a punch to your mouth. He had no urge to taste it again in his whole life, any more than he had an urge to encounter another bear again in his whole life. The Green Woods tribesmen had warned that there were bears in the Hidden Forest, not the golden bears found down south, but grizzlies, which were even bigger.

  Apparently a grizzly had been walking along same path as Hadi’s prey. The exposed sap in the spruce looked like it was still dripping. It hadn’t been too long ago.

  Hadi had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  He knelt and examined the footprints he’d been following more closely. Five wide toes… bare toes… bear toes.

  Orange Canyon tribesfolk wore boots, nice ones, made from fleece with the wool side in and tanned side out.

  Look for boot prints, idiot, he chastised himself. Bears don’t wear boots.

  He was pretty sure he had seen a boot print to begin with, before he’d been distracted by the far, far too easy bear trail. It was a good thing no one was with him. He’d never live it down if anyone knew he’d gone tearing after a grizzly instead of a hunting his man.

  Before he had retraced his steps all the way, he found another boot print, definitely a boot print. Good enough. He followed where it pointed, more cautiously this time. He was rewarded when he found more tracks, a large number of boot prints.

  Four sets, in fact.

  He groaned. Wonderful. He’d found the tracks of the Woodrats. Their clumsy passage had obliterated any more subtle signs of the Orange Canyon man.

  This was pointless. He had a hard enough time hunting deer. He’d caught an elk by himself once, but even that time, it had been more a matter of the elk catching him. Spooked by other hunters in another part of the woods, the elk had run. When those big antlers stampeded in his direction, he’d raised his spear in self-defense, and the next thing he knew, he’d thrust it into the elk’s breast. The elk had shucked him aside like husk from corn, but after running a while, keeled over and died. Hadi had claimed the kill and the acclaim and the other boys had stopped mocking his hunting skills. But they’d had the right of it all along.

  Somehow he doubted the Orange Canyon enemy was going to come rushing forward onto Hadi’s spear. More likely, given Hadi’s luck, the grizzly would.

  This whole Chase was pointless.

  He turned around to trudge home.

  Even that turned out to be difficult. The tribehold seemed to have moved. Or he had turned himself around while dashing off after a grizzly bear trail. Mists roiled over the mountains, and blocked the sun, so he couldn’t get his bearings. Eventually, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds again, which allowed him to study the shadows and take another stab at orienting himself. He realized he had been walking in the wrong direction.

  Footprints in the snow drew his attention. There were too many to belong to his prey, or any of the lone prisoners; probably the tracks had been made by another gaggle of hunters. He figured he could follow the tracks backwards to the tribehold, and anyway, it was easier to walk in the tramped down snow. He even saw the hoof print of a horse. How unfair. He had been told they could not use horses. Not that he knew how to ride.

  The tracks led back to a clearing dominated by a l
arge, upright black stone over another slab laid flat before it. A skull sat on top of the upright stone.

  Hadi stopped so fast he bumped into a tree. A Deathsworn menhir!

  Mercy, how did he get himself into these fixes?

  This Deathsworn area was smaller than the one with four stones, where they had brought the bodies. But there had been recent activity here. Soot from a burnt out fire made a circle around both stones, and scraps of clothing littered the frosted earth.

  Hadi was already backing away. He didn’t want to get caught by Deathsworn. He’d be better off taking his chances with the bear.

  His heel snagged on a shred of material. He yanked it off, but just as he was about to toss it away, he saw the design. It was just a bit of pattern, but unmistakable: a swan on a six-colored maze border against white. His clan’s totem, his clan’s pattern. He even knew what garment it had belonged to. He had seen it many times.

  Why did I malign you, bear? I could have enjoyed a fun day of mauling and not had to face this.

  This had been Dindi’s blouse.

  Vessia (Present)

  They let Vessia out of the sack when they stopped by a stream. Amdra watched with crossed arms while Vessia watered a bush. Then, grudgingly, she allowed Vessia to wash her arms and face, drink and share their meal of corn bread and jerky. They sat on charred logs next to eat and rest.

  “When we travel again, don’t put me back in the sack,” Vessia said. “At least let me sit up.”

  Vumo had the grace to redden. Amdra, however, glared at her.

  “We can’t take chances with her, father. She’s too dangerous. You can’t trust fae.”

  Vumo sighed.

  Vessia didn’t ask why they were doing this. What would be the point? She knew. She had known for more than twenty years this day would come. And she had suspected Amdra’s loyalties for a long time. But Vumo?

  “Who else serves him?” Vessia asked. “Nangi? Zumo?”

  Vumo shook his head. “Not them.”

  Vessia wanted to believe him. But how could she? Vumo might not even know the truth himself.

  “I hate horses,” said Vumo. “Smelly, stubborn beasts, if you ask me.”

  “They don’t like you either,” said Amdra.

  Vumo rubbed his buttocks, trying to find a comfortable position on the charred log. “This would be easier if we had Hawk.”

  “But I left my lover to die,” said Amdra. “Thank you, father, for reminding me.”

  Vessia piped up cheerfully. “Oh, I doubt they’ll kill him, Amdra. They’ll torture him for information first.”

  Amdra paled.

  “You have a link to him, don’t you?” asked Vessia. “An Orange leash to control his thoughts and bend him to your will. But Finnadro is quite adroit at that game too, though he works in different Chroma. You had better cut your link to Hawk or you might end up sharing the agony of his torture.”

  “I can gag you, auntie.”

  “Fa!” Vessia snapped her fingers. “But I forgot. They will let him join the Chase. It’s an honored Green Woods tradition. It’s a hunt, with human quarry. Jolly fun for both the human and wolf hunters of the Green Woods. They can’t torture Hawk if he’s eaten alive by wolves first. So that works out nicely.”

  “That’s enough! Gag her, father!”

  “Just ignore her, Amdra.”

  Amdra fumed, but didn’t press the issue. After a moment, Amdra asked in a small voice, “The Chase…is that real?”

  “Yes,” said Vumo.

  “Frankly, I don’t fancy spending a moon on the rump of a horse either,” Vessia said. “Why don’t you fly us there, Amdra?”

  “No!” Vumo said. He stood up and jabbed a finger at Vessia. “That witch is just goading you, Amdra. You know the Great One won’t allow that.”

  “I’m sure ‘the Great One,’ as you call him, though he doesn’t deserve the title and you know it, would allow it if it meant he had me in his power that much sooner,” said Vessia. “It’s not like you would be using your ability to rescue Hawk during the one opportunity you’ll have—during the Chase.”

  Now Vumo glared at her. “You’re right, Amdra. Never trust fae. I think I will gag her.”

  “But she’s right,” said Amdra. “We could save him. It’s the only way!”

  “Don’t even think of it!”

  “And we’d get to the tribehold sooner. It’s worth it.”

  “Don’t you think she put the idea in your head for a reason? Can’t you see she wants you to head back into enemy territory? Of course she does!”

  “Your father is right, Amdra. Little Medo will understand why you couldn’t save Hawk,” said Vessia.

  “Shut your mouth, Vessia!” shouted Vumo. “Why do you think any of us are doing this, except for that boy?”

  “Father,” Amdra said. “Hawk is still alive. I just tested our link. He’s running toward us even now. But he won’t make it across the river before Finnadro catches him.” She paused. “You know I have to do it.”

  The resistance went out of Vumo. He sank to back down on the fire-blackened log.

  “It’s taboo. If the War Chief finds out we went back for your slave…”

  “Are you going to tell him, Father?”

  “Of course not.”

  “We just have to get Hawk across the river and away from the Green Woods tribelands. No one will know he wasn’t with us from the start.”

  “Amdra, I’m begging you. Don’t do it.”

  She clenched and unclenched her fists.

  “I have no choice,” she said. “He needs me.”

  Dindi

  Dindi stood straighter. Now that it came down to Umbral’s offer, her heart thundered in her hollow chest. The campfire flagged until Umbral fed it fresh wood. The pleasant aroma of roasted fish still lingered. It had been odd to watch him eat, just like an ordinary man. He’d given her the larger portion when he clearly could have finished the whole by himself. He’d polished off his piece with neat, swift bites which wasted nothing, and stacked the tiny bones like firewood. She had accepted his food without thinking, but now she regretted sharing his meal, as if by doing so, she had already sold herself to him.

  It was an intolerable burden, waiting for her captor to demand his price. How she wished that she and Tamio had consummated their infatuation when they’d had the chance.

  She wondered if Umbral would be rough with her. Thus far he had done nothing to physically harm her. No, what he had done was worse: turn her own body against her. She couldn’t suppress her dread that when he decided it was time to take her, she would lose all volition to fight him. She would fall into the void and lose herself. And, what appalled her most, she might even enjoy his touch, though it destroyed her.

  Morning brightened and he didn’t speak. He stared away, avoiding her, as if he were the one who had something to fear.

  “You must already know what I want,” he said finally, looking directly at her. “There could only be one thing.”

  “Yes.” She trembled.

  “You must be…willing.”

  “Why? You seem quite able to take what you want by force.”

  “Not this. Otherwise why would I offer you your life? I would have just taken it. You must be my partner, at least while our bargain lasts. Otherwise, you are useless to me. ”

  “You threaten me with death, but at the same time ask that I be willing. That is nothing but an illusion of willingness.”

  “For one such as I, an illusion must suffice. But you do have a choice. The question is, what are you willing to do to stay alive?”

  No. The question is what am I willing to do to kill you.

  “Anything you demand,” she said through grated teeth. Until I avenge Kavio.

  He released a breath. “We might as well do it now.”

  He approached her and pulled aside the flaps at the top of her parka. His finger gently grazed her collarbone.

  Her voice quavered. “You’ll have to tell me what
you expect. I’ve never done it before.”

  “Yes, you have, Dindi.”

  Does he know that Tamio and I went down to the stream bank together? Dindi wondered. Tamio was right. Gossip spread unaccountably far unbelievably fast.

  “I swear to you that I have never—” she began.

  He lifted the collar of black energy that he had leashed around her neck. It dissolved.

  She had forgotten its weight until she was free of it. As if a rock fell off her shoulders, she felt more buoyant as soon as it was gone. Even the air tasted less of ash. Umbral stepped back.

  “I want you to dance for me.”

  “D... dance?”

  “Dance for me,” he repeated softly. “Dance for me, Dindi.”

  “W... what Pattern do you want me to dance?”

  “I want you to show me a dance that has never been taught to you.”

  “How can I do that? How could I know a dance that I haven’t learned?”

  His eyes bore into hers, inescapably piercing. “You know how. Dance, Dindi. Just open yourself and dance.”

  It was impossible to resist his urging. Dindi wasn’t sure if it was because he exerted some magic over her or because his command echoed the inner song that had compelled her since the earliest days of life she could remember. Dance, Dindi, he told her. Yes, she could do that.

  Except that she almost couldn’t. She stood still, the flickering fire at her back, Umbral’s glittering eyes before her, and she panicked. She had danced without predetermined steps before, with the fae, a thousand afternoons, but she had never danced freely in front of another human being.

  And to dance for this man, of all people. He seated himself on the raven cape, one arm resting on a raised knee, dangerous and Deathsworn to his black heart. His gaze fell on her so exclusively and intensely that she felt it almost like a touch, intimate and forbidden.