The Story Hunter

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  Oh stars above.

  “Digwyn, please,” Braith begged. “I know your brother. And this . . . this will kill him. Please don’t do it. I beg you. Do not help this woman.”

  “Quiet!” commanded Frenhin.

  Digwyn glanced halfway over her shoulder but did not meet Braith’s gaze. “I’m sorry, my lady. They spoke well of you.”

  “The rebel weavers?” Frenhin leaned forward. “Tell me what you know.”

  But Digwyn was still speaking to Braith. “My brother’s battle is his own. We no longer travel the same path.” She turned back to Frenhin. “They had already found one strand by the time I left, some days past.”

  “Excellent.” Frenhin nudged Naith beside her. “Maybe you aren’t as useless as I feared.”

  Naith frowned. He did not look at all pleased by this new arrival.

  Frenhin was practically beaming at Digwyn. “Perhaps the weavers will show soon, and I can put you to good use, my dear.”

  “I will prove myself to you, Master.” She balled her empty fist and gripped her flaming dagger in the other. “No one will ever hurt me again. Including my brother.”

  “Most excellent.”

  Digwyn blew along the length of the dagger until the magical flames were extinguished. Then she placed it in an empty sheath at her hip. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Braith slumped back against the stones, defeated.

  Because this girl—this broken, terrifying creature—seemed to be Frenhin’s soul mate. Her most dangerous tool, her deadliest weapon.

  The daughter she’d never had.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  TANWEN

  Karlith rested her head against the stone wall of the cave.

  “Karlith?” I said gently. “Can I get you something? Brisk-leaf tea, maybe?”

  She tried to smile. “I sense another strand nearby here, but we must be growing closer to this Master. My soul is so heavy, Tannie.”

  I looked at Father, the question in my eyes. What could we do for her? He shook his head and spread out his hands helplessly.

  “I’ll be all right,” she said, clearly trying to force some strength into her voice. She wasn’t very successful. “Just to the left up here. I think.”

  I found myself beside Warmil in the dark as we all followed Karlith.

  “She’s not well, War,” I murmured.

  “Aye. I know. She’s exhausted. So is Aeron.”

  “Could we spare a few days of rest?” But I already knew we couldn’t. Rations were low enough as it was. And who knew if another team had already collected three strands and delivered them to the Master?

  No, we had to keep pressing on, and Warmil and I both knew it.

  I lowered my voice even more. “Aeron shouldn’t have come.”

  He snorted. “You try telling her.”

  “But if she could go back and make a different choice—”

  “She’d still come with us, Tannie. She’s a soldier. She doesn’t know when to quit, unless the mission is complete.”

  I gave a little smile. “But I guess that’s why we love her.”

  “One reason.”

  How far we had come since that one awkward conversation by the river where I’d clued him in that Aeron was in love with him. And even since the moment in the Daflin pub where he’d thought he’d missed his chance.

  But as I opened my mouth to tease him, the captain let out a sharp cry, then disappeared from my side. Simply vanished. I screamed, and it echoed strangely about the cave.

  My mind hiccupped—what in Tir had just happened? The rocks shifted beneath my feet, and I heard him shout from . . . below me? “Tannie!”

  “Mor, Father!” I fell to my knees and felt blindly before me. “Warmil’s gone! Something collapsed!” More rocks tumbled beneath my fingers, and a gap became visible for a moment, revealing the space into which rocks were tumbling—the space into which Warmil had fallen.

  Mor and Zel skidded to the ground beside me and reached into the void.

  “Be careful!” I yelled. “It’s still falling!”

  “War!” Mor called. “Can you hear me?”

  His voice came back faint. “I’m here.”

  An awful realization struck me. Warmil was being buried in rocks from the cave-in.

  “He’s being bur—” Before I could finish, Aeron dove headfirst into the gap. “Aeron!”

  Mor and Zel followed her somewhat more cautiously. One minute they were there, and the next, they had slid out of sight.

  Father stopped Dylun from following. “No. We could cause more ground to collapse.”

  Sakes.

  I held my breath for what seemed ages. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I called into the blackness. “Mor?”

  “We’re here. We’re all here, Tannie. But . . .”

  Oh, Creator. What didn’t he want to say?

  “We’re here, but we’re standing on a bit of a ledge. There’s some underground river here, and we just about fell into it.”

  A small whimper escaped me. “Tell me what we can do, Mor.”

  “Here,” said an unexpected voice from beside me.

  I almost keeled over in shock to see Dray next to me, pulling rope from one of the packs. “Dray?”

  “Don’t sound surprised. That’s very rude.” He handed me a length of rope. “Do you know how to tie this? I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “Aye.” I took the rope and ignored the pang in my heart when I recalled practicing with Wylie. He would have whipped it into a perfect lasso in a heartbeat.

  My ugly but functional knot would have to do. “Here. That’s the best I’m able right now.”

  “Good enough.” Dray lowered the rope into the dark hole left by the cave-in. “Bo-Lidere, wrap this around the lass’s waist.” In response to my raised eyebrow, he huffed. “She’s missing a leg, you know. She acts like she forgets sometimes.”

  Mor’s irritated voice carried up from the pit. “Put it on, Aeron!”

  “We’re working on more,” I called down, in case that would help. She probably wanted the first rope to go to Warmil.

  I prayed he wasn’t terribly injured.

  We tossed down a second rope, then two others. Dray, Dylun, and Father each anchored a rope from above, and Karlith and I held one together.

  “You should tie it around me, Tannie,” Karlith suggested. “I’m afraid we wouldn’t be able to hold fast if someone tugged on it suddenly.”

  It didn’t seem safe. If someone fell hard and fast, wouldn’t they pull Karlith down with them?

  Though none of this was particularly safe, if we wanted to sort sniffler fur . . .

  I was still trying to decide whether or not this was a terrible idea when Karlith let out a soft moan. “Oh no.”

  “What is it, Karlith? Are you hurt?”

  “No, dear.” She turned to me and flashed a pained smile. “The strand.”

  “Aye?”

  “I think it’s down there.” She nodded to the abyss below.

  Brilliant.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. “Father?”

  “I heard.”

  Of course he did.

  “Mor?” he called down.

  “We have Warmil uncovered,” Mor shouted back. “Getting ready to climb.”

  “Hold that thought.” Father’s face was tense. “We’re coming down instead.”

  “General?”

  “Karlith thinks the strand is down there.”

  Mor’s reply was hesitant. “All right. The ledge is . . . narrow. We can help you down. I think.”

  “I swear to the goddesses,” Dray said, already testing footholds, “if we actually make it to the Master, it’ll be a miracle.”

  Karlith clucked her tongue. “If you want to see miracles, maybe you should stop swearing to the goddesses.”

  “Maybe we could argue this later?” Dray held out a hand to me. “Well, story girl, are you coming?”

  I glanced at Father. He pulled his
rope taut. “Use this as you climb down.”

  Between Father’s rope and Dray supporting some of my weight, I was able to slip into the gap and down the rocks without tumbling off the ledge. Mor caught me as my feet hit solid rock.

  Solid for the moment, anyway.

  Karlith and Dray came down next—together, mostly, with Dray helping support Karlith’s unsteady steps. The others scooted forward to make room on the ledge, then Father and Dylun shinnied down.

  The rocks began to shift.

  “General, move!”

  “Dylun!”

  A cascade of rocks and dust flowed from the gap above, splitting our party in two—Aeron, Zel, Warmil, and Karlith ahead on the ledge, and me, Mor, and Dray on the other side of the tumbling debris.

  And Father and Dylun were . . . where?

  Mor, Dray, and I were all gripping the same rope, and I could have burst into tears of relief when I realized my father was on the other end, bracing himself against the wall as the rocks slid.

  “Dylun! Where’s Dylun?” I shouted. “Dylun?”

  “He’s here.” Zel’s voice, on the far side of the stream of rocks.

  Finally, the rocks stopped falling. The dust began to settle. The others came into view. All of them were there, hugging the wall, just like us. A gash bled on Warmil’s cheek.

  A long moment of silence passed. I fought to reclaim my breath, to soothe my heartbeat.

  Karlith nodded ahead. “This way.”

  I gave Dray one last curious glance before scooting along the ledge after Mor and into the darkness ahead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  TANWEN

  The strand looked about how we felt. Battered. Bruised. Exhausted.

  Several inches of it slithered out from the rock, then lay limp and listless. Did the strand feel defeated? Or was it merely reflecting the weaver trying to pull it out? I redoubled my effort.

  With a sigh I could almost hear, it slipped from the rock wall and tumbled into a pile on the floor. Dylun lay his open jar on the ground, and the strand slowly snaked toward the glass.

  The white lightning within the strand crackled, fizzed, then faded. I frowned. Perhaps another crew had tried to pull it up and damaged it somehow.

  Or else we were the damaged ones, and this was all the poor strand could muster in our presence.

  I tried to help it along by directing it into the jar with my hands, but these ancient strands didn’t behave the way mine would.

  “It looks sad,” Zel observed as Dylun placed the lid on the jar.

  “Weary,” Karlith corrected. “It’s nearly time.”

  “Time for what?” I asked.

  “The end.” She turned away as though this were a real and complete answer.

  I looked up at Mor with wide eyes. “The end of what? The world?”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  “Come.” Father hoisted his pack. “We best be—”

  “Handing over that strand?” a woman’s voice cut in. “I quite agree.”

  Swords flew from scabbards as a figure emerged from the shadows. She wasn’t alone. A crew of ten flanked her. They edged toward us, weapons drawn.

  It wasn’t until my palms were burning hot with barely contained strands that I realized I knew this group. The leader with her twisty smirk and blonde-and-purple hair. The big sandy-haired one, and the even bigger one who looked like he was carved out of a block of muscle. The beautiful Meridioni woman who had flirted with my father, an older Minasimetese man, and several others.

  It was Mor’s old crew.

  “Venewth?” Mor squinted in the unsteady lantern light. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you.” Captain Venewth En-Gorgyn didn’t sheathe her sword. “Hunting strands.”

  I scanned their crew. All armed. No one was lowering their weapons.

  Venewth tilted her head. “The strand, please. In fact, why don’t I take that whole jar.”

  “You don’t have a weaver on this team.” Mor looked around. “How did you even enter the Hunt?”

  “Lied, of course.” She shrugged. “I knew you would come, if you were still alive. You wouldn’t be able to resist this particular adventure. So we wouldn’t need a weaver. We have you.” Venewth held out her hand. “Strands, please.”

  “Your plan was to follow us and rob us.” Warmil glared at them.

  Venewth grinned and offered half a bow. “Pirates.”

  “Mmm.” Dray flashed his smarmy smile. “Care to grab a drink later, my lady?”

  If glares could incinerate, Dray would be a pile of ash on the floor, the way the rest of us looked at him.

  The big one—Mor’s former first mate, Gyth—offered Mor a sheepish smile. “Sorry, mate. Nasty business, this. But you remember the life. Gotta take what we can, when we can.”

  “Listen.” Mor lowered his sword but didn’t sheathe it. “There’s more going on here than you realize. This is bigger than a strand hunt. Much bigger.”

  “Ah yes. Another quest to save the world, I’m sure.” Venewth moved forward, her sword inches from Mor’s chest. “We’ll not delay you. Just hand over the strands, and you’re free to save all the worlds you like, Bo-Lidere.”

  “Ven. Please.” Mor took a step back and sheathed his sword. But his fingertips ignited with blue light. “This is not how this has to go. This isn’t who we were. This isn’t you.”

  “Ah, correction. This isn’t you, and it’s not who we were when you were captain.” She advanced again. “I’m the captain now, Mor.”

  The sandy-haired one—Croy, as I recalled—nodded to Mor’s hands. “Can’t fight like a man anymore? Need to resort to those magic strands?”

  “It’s for your protection, sailor.” Father’s voice was like winter rain. “Bo-Lidere doesn’t want to shed blood. None of us do.”

  “Who said anything about blood?” Venewth held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Jar?”

  “I’m sorry, Ven.” Mor shook his head. “It’s not happening. If you would just listen to—”

  But Venewth and her crew didn’t give Mor a chance to finish. She gave the signal, and the pirates charged.

  Warmil blocked the first strike from a Meridioni man, but I saw him wince. He had hurt his shoulder in that cave-in. That did not bode well.

  Aeron, Zel, and Father crossed blades with some of the others. A wall of water sprang up in one corner of the cavern, and I realized Karlith and Dylun were behind it, protecting the jar of strands. If the pirates were able to fight their way past our defenses and steal the jar, all would be lost.

  Mor’s fingertips still shone blue, but he stood transfixed in the middle of the cave.

  Who could blame him? How was he supposed to fight his former crew?

  Maybe he couldn’t, but I could.

  I shot a beam of hot light at Venewth’s face as she charged at Mor. She flinched, stumbled, then whirled toward me.

  “Ah, your new lass, Mor?” She bared her teeth. “And here I thought I was the only one for you.”

  That seemed to shake Mor out of his trance. “Not funny, Ven.”

  Venewth’s sneer melted into her twisty smirk. “Just jesting, lass. You going to strangle me with those strands now?”

  I glanced at Mor. He wouldn’t want me to hurt her, and yet these pirates were not playing around. They wanted those strands, and it seemed like they were prepared to kill us to get them.

  As I stood there, unsure if I should attack, Venewth charged again.

  This time at me.

  Mor’s blade blocked her strike just in time. He fought his former crewmate like she was any one of the enemies who had attacked us over the past year. She spun to parry his blow, then danced away, slipping beneath another of Mor’s swings. When she lunged forward to strike, her blade just missed the stitches along Mor’s neck and shoulder.

  She was a swordswoman nearly to match Aeron.

  I shot whatever strands I could think of that would hinder the pirates without hurting
them much—hot air, beams of light, something to tangle their bodies or weapons in.

  I’d just bound Gyth’s sword arm in a length of rope when I heard Venewth cry out. I whipped around to find her holding her side. Blood stained Mor’s blade.

  “Go, Ven,” he commanded. “Leave, now! I don’t want to hurt you again.”

  Her eyes blazed, but she bent over the wound in her side. Red blood seeped through her fingers. She drew ragged breaths through gritted teeth.

  A hint of a smile ghosted her lips. “So. You’re still a pirate.”

  Mor shook his head. “No. But this is bigger than you or me.” He gestured toward the tunnel. “Go on. Get out of here.”

  Venewth paused for one long moment, but then she whistled softly. At her signal, her crew sheathed their swords.

  Schiva, the Meridioni woman, winked at my father. “I hope to cross blades with you again someday, General.” Then she turned and glided toward the exit.

  From the expression on Father’s face, I didn’t know whether to shoot fire at her back or laugh.

  “I could have stitched her up.” Warmil lowered himself gingerly onto a rocky ledge, rolling his shoulder. “Venewth, I mean. Was the wound deep?”

  “I don’t think so.” Mor wiped blood from his sword and sheathed it wearily. “She wouldn’t have let you. Anyway, Seni Kaizu has some skill with a needle and thread. He’ll put her back together.”

  We took a few moments to survey the damage. A few scrapes, bruises, and cuts, but nothing serious.

  Dray’s scandalized cry startled me. “He took my waistcoat! The blasted pirate stole it! Forced me to give it to him.”

  And, indeed, the fine leather garment was gone, and Dray had only his linen shirt to keep him company.

  “Look on the bright side, Bo-Anffir.” Father patted him on the shoulder. “At least he let you keep those expensive leather trousers.”

  Aeron raised her eyebrow. “A mercy for us all.”

  Mor sat on the ground, his head lowered onto his clasped hands.

  I sank down next to him. “Are you all right?”