Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga Book 4)

by Forthright

  Mikoto gave in with a nod.

  Yulin began packing his things.

  Staring fixedly at the big hand Mikoto still held in both of his, he asked, “How did he know I am in love?”

  Silence stretched for so long, he risked a peek at his companions.

  Uncle’s expression was soft, but he only shook his head. As if such mysteries had no answers.

  Yulin’s fingertips brushed Mikoto’s arm as he offered the simplest answer. “Because you are.”

  Mid-high had come and gone before Mikoto made his way toward the Circle Green. Buses were already arriving, and he wanted nothing more than to quicken his steps. But a little dog with short legs and a shorter attention span checked his stride at every turn.

  Mikoto was sorely tempted to scoop up and pocket Noble. But no reaver set his own convenience ahead of proper training. It would go against everything the In-between was founded upon.

  The Amaranthine were patient with humans, treating them as equals despite their differences. And each clan looked to the animals with which they were associated. Life was life, even brief lives. And young lives needed guiding.

  So Mikoto slowed his steps and smiled over his puppy’s antics.

  Had he looked this silly and small to Merl when they first met?

  Might Noble become a loyal friend if Mikoto was loyal first?

  Loyalty. It defined him, yet his attachment was so hard to put into words. Maybe because it was a feeling. A sense and a sureness. A symptom of the season.

  He breathed deeply and knew it was summer. Sunlight seemed to dance, and with it came the certainty that she was back. It was always like this when Lupe was near. Ever since the summer when a long jump to a slippery stone nearly ended in tragedy. But Lupe was a strong swimmer. She’d pulled him onto the riverbank, forced the breath back into his lungs, and hugged him tight until Merl arrived in a thunderclap and the day dissolved into confusion.

  They downplayed the accident, since no harm was done. Yet Lupe’s heroics brought about two monumental outcomes. One that stirred Mikoto’s young heart to devotion. And one that would carry her far from Wardenclave. Because saving Mikoto brought Lupe to Priska’s attention.

  Priska of the Runefarer clan.

  Priska of the Eldermost Islands.

  She was a recruiter who traveled through the various camps, seeking young reavers whose aptitudes and inclinations fit the ever-shifting needs of her cooperative.

  Nobody ever said what happened on those distant, undisclosed islands, except that it was important. As was secrecy. No reaver returned from a placement with the Runefarer clan.

  Until now.

  Lupe had sent word through her best friend, Mikoto’s sister Hana, to expect her arrival and to arrange for accommodations. She was returning with Priska for one last summer.

  One last chance.

  Part of Mikoto knew it was too late. Lupe had made her choice, and his duty was to Wardenclave. It wouldn’t do any good to confess his attachment to another man’s wife. Even if the reaver way allowed for certain … exceptions. But there was another part that refused to be ignored.

  Against all odds, Lupe was returning. There had to be a reason. And Mikoto couldn’t help hoping it was him.

  SIXTEEN

  Someone Like Me

  Tenma gravitated toward Wardenclave’s song circle, where buses unloaded streams of passengers and stacks of luggage.

  Many of these campers would probably try their hand at pottery, and as Goh’s assistant, Tenma would meet them, get familiar, maybe even learn a little about them. But he doubted he’d make friends. These kids were just … kids. To them, he was old. Hardly friendship material and worthless as a mentor.

  Times like this, he missed Class 3-C at New Saga. And especially Inti.

  Pulling his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, he kept a promise he’d made before leaving Japan … and texted a friend.

  Lonesome today. Must be the crowds.

  Isla’s return text wasn’t long in coming.

  Where are you?

  The Americas

  Can you be more specific?

  Northern Hemisphere

  MORE specific, please

  A bench in front of …

  I think it’s a gift shop

  How long are you going to draw this out?

  With a smile, Tenma relented.

  First day of camp

  Surrounded by little geniuses

  Reminds me of you

  Summer courses!

  Where is Goh-sensei teaching?

  Wardenclave

  No

  Yes

  No!

  His phone hummed in his hand, and he took the call. Isla was already talking.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were scheduled to be at Wardenclave?” Isla’s exasperation came through loud and clear.

  “I didn’t know myself.” He reminded her, “Most of my travel plans are off the record.”

  “But you’re at Wardenclave!”

  “I am. For the whole summer.” Tenma wistfully checked, “Any chance we’re on your tour of duty?”

  “No.” Her tone gentled. “Sorry, but listen. You have no reason to be lonesome. You see, my little sister is a camper this year. You remember Lilya?”

  “Kind of.” Tenma couldn’t imagine why this was such exciting news. “No offense, but it was enough of a stretch being friends back when you were twelve.”

  “Lilya’s eleven,” she reported, entirely missing the point.

  He hung his head. “Isla, even if I were almost, sort of, secretly a distant friend of the family, hanging around with your baby sister would be just plain creepy.”

  “Yes, well. I do see your point. But listen! I was getting around to telling you that my big brother is there.” Isla sounded entirely pleased with herself. “If you’re lonesome, all you need to do is find Timur!”

  Strong in the way Mum’s strong, only with curlier hair and hairier arms.

  With this scanty description, Tenma searched the crowds for a guy with sufficient heft, but it wasn’t easy. All the biggest people divided neatly into two flourishing groups—dogs or horses. Starmarks and Alpenglows, for the most part. Isla really should have given him more to go on. Despite being at Stately House several times, Tenma hadn’t exactly been introduced to the family.

  Back then, Isla had somehow talked Lapis out of his whole “eastern bride” notion, which had been an honest relief. Meanwhile, Argent had pushed for the protection offered by a formal apprenticeship. Much more palatable.

  Both Tenma and Inti had been brought to Argent’s estate, but secretly. Pretty much nobody knew they were there, not even Lady Mettlebright.

  Those had been his summer courses, overseen by Argent, Lapis, and later on by Goh-sensei. But mostly by Isla’s dad, who was the leading expert in sigilcraft and wardstones … and a universal favorite when it came to tending.

  Such a cheerful guy. Tenma missed his funny habit of calling him and Inti young squires.

  For a while, his overseers tried to explain him. They’d certainly studied him. But for the most part, they simply let him do what he could. One by one, they brought in Amaranthine with heavy wards and haunted eyes, and he tended them. Mended them. And word began to spread that there was hope for the Broken.

  The only other person Tenma officially met was Jacques, the butler. But there had also been a little boy, maybe six years old, who could walk through wards like they weren’t important. He’d been quiet and polite and curious … and in so much trouble from the fox crosser who’d tracked him down.

  Kyrie and Ginkgo.

  After that, Argent’s sons would sometimes kidnap him and Inti for crazy romps through the woods or walks on the beach at the base of Stately House’s cliffs. Or for starwatching from the rooftops. Or to share some rare treat smuggled from the nearest convenience store. Which was a long way away.

  Tenma missed those little breaks from the monotony of protection. The excitement of a sec
ret friendship. But he was also glad those days were over.

  Traveling with Goh-sensei was so much better. Tenma felt less like a prisoner, even if he did still have to stay a stranger to everyone he met. Safe distances and secrets kept him safe.

  “What have we here?” A hand touched Tenma’s shoulder. “Do you often stray so far from your protector’s side?”

  “Salali?”

  The whole reason Tenma had come down to watch the arrival of campers was because of what Salali had said. That there was someone like him, and that she was coming. Didn’t that mean she was on one of these buses?

  Indicating the hundreds of milling people, Salali said, “This will take hours to sort out. Hours we could spend in pleasanter pastimes.”

  “What …?”

  Shushing him with a finger to his lips that triggered a burst of color before Tenma’s eyes, Salali scooped him up and streaked away from the hubbub. Inti often resorted to this kind of thing. So did Goh, for that matter, so Tenma simply kept his eyes shut and held on tight.

  If Salali Fullstash was part of Wardenclave’s security, he had to be trustworthy.

  But even more persuasive than role or reputation, Tenma was relying on the splash of blue that ornamented the squirrel clansman’s soul. Gent was an avian, and from what Tenma knew about his former classmate Suuzu, the blue jay’s high opinion of Salali could only mean good things.

  Maybe Salali was only teasing again. But Tenma wasn’t alone anymore. And he was grateful.

  “Do you have trouble with heights?”

  Tenma thought it a little late to be asking, since they had to be dozens of stories over Wardenclave. At least, that was the impression he’d gotten during Salali’s final soaring leap into a tree that had appeared out of nowhere. Now, Tenma was surrounded on all sides by rustling leaves and gently swaying branches, for the squirrel had deposited him in what amounted to a rustic nest.

  “Goh-sensei is from the monkey clans,” said Tenma. “I learned to like heights a long time ago.”

  Salali tipped back his hat and smirked. “You really will go along with anyone’s plans.”

  “Is that so bad?” Tenma reached into the leaves closest to his face, lifting them aside to reveal a delicate cluster of orange flowers. “I’ve seen more than I could have imagined because other people wanted to show me things.”

  “Not everything in this world is good.”

  Tenma’s hand came away streaked in pollen. “I know. I’ve seen.”

  “What have you seen?”

  Closing his eyes, Tenma took a slow breath. What a pleasant scent.

  “What have you seen?” Salali held up a finger, silently commanding eye contact. “I want to know.”

  Why the sudden urgency? Tenma reached out, inadvertently smearing pollen across gray freckles. He shook his head. “I don’t have any deep, dark secrets. I’m the secret.”

  Salali bit his lip, then gruffly said, “You’ve touched the Broken.”

  That was the label given to Amaranthine who’d become addicted to the hit of power they received by touching a reaver’s soul. Some from constant indulgence. Usually tied to a quest for power. But Tenma had encountered several Amaranthine whose Broken status was a result of subjugation. Under certain circumstances, tending could be used as a means of control.

  “Yes. They come to me, or I go to them.” Tenma started tapping fingers, counting up the years. “It’s all I’ve done since graduation.”

  “So you would know.”

  Tenma shook his head. “Know what?”

  “If someone was nearly there.” Salali seemed pale under his freckles. “Near to breaking.”

  “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

  Salali scowled. “I’m no coward.”

  “What do you want to know?” asked Tenma. “I’ll help if I can.”

  “You? You are so very young.”

  Funny. That’s what Tenma had been thinking, looking at all those little kids getting off the buses. “And here, I was feeling old.”

  “Mister Subaru, you cannot comprehend old.”

  “I can,” he protested. “I love old souls like yours. Try me, and you’ll trust me more.”

  Salali tweaked his nose. “Trust is meant to come first. And a proper reaver waits to be asked.”

  “I’m not really a proper reaver.” Tenma quietly repeated, “Try me.”

  The squirrel clansman grumbled under his breath, then sketched sigils in the air over their heads. A puff of wind cleared Tenma’s head even as a barrier shimmered into place, holding the scent of flowers at bay.

  “Do you understand what it means if I tell you that my first taste was a beacon.”

  Tenma did. “For most, it’s their last taste. There’s no going back once someone’s touched the rarest of souls.”

  Salali placed one finger over Tenma’s heart. “I’ve never forgotten that long-ago sip. And I haven’t dared take another.”

  Pondering that for a moment, Tenma asked, “How are you so strong?”

  Salali snorted.

  “I mean no insult, but someone of your strength gets that way with the help of many reavers over many centuries.”

  He snorted again, then sighed. “This is my nest.”

  Tenma considered the implications of that. Their perch was a comfortable mess of soft fur and overstuffed pillows, a haphazard tree fort for an afternoon’s lounge on a sunny summer afternoon. But not any kind of house. “This is your home?”

  “I have few requirements.”

  The nest’s shallow bowl was comfortable, but there was barely room for the two of them. “Alone?” Tenma asked.

  “Gent is good company.”

  Tenma had almost forgotten the Kith. “Where is he?”

  Salali’s smile regained its teasing twist. “Giving me some privacy.”

  “Because you want me to tend you?” he guessed.

  Eyes averted, the squirrel said, “Just … check. I want a checkup.”

  “To see if you’re Broken?” Tenma shook his head. “You’re not.”

  All of the sudden, Salali was much closer, practically nose to nose. “Squirrels are greedy. I watched my clan shatter, so I abstain. But I’ve never stopped wanting another taste. I can be very … greedy.”

  This was a new one. Then again, every person’s circumstance had been a little different from everyone else’s. “You want me to tend you because you think I can’t break you.”

  “The theory is sound.”

  “Understood. No problem. I’m pretty sure it’s impossible for me to overwhelm you. You’ll see.” Tenma gently repeated, “Try me.”

  Salali sat across from Tenma, dragged the hat from his head, and rumpled his gray hair while studying him. The haunted, hungry gaze might have been frightening if Tenma hadn’t spent the last few years coaxing people like Salali into a connection that would do them both good.

  He began, and Salali’s sharp intake began to worry Tenma. It took longer than usual for him to gasp for air. And mere moments for him to sway forward.

  Different clans approached tending with a startling range of opinions. Some considered this a holy rite. Others took it medicinally. Tenma had met misers with jealously guarded cossets, and he’d spent time with reavers who spent all day, every day doling out little portions of their soul like a chain restaurant with a drive-thru window.

  Tenma had begun to suspect that his only purpose as a reaver was this intimate give and take. “Do you think generosity is a job?”

  Salali cleared his throat. “A time-honored one. Do you know why a cosset’s tunic is yellow?”

  For someone who saw a soul in terms of color, Tenma had never given much thought to the colors worn by the various reaver classifications. “Why yellow?”

  Words softly slurring, he said, “Intoxicating as pollen, sweet as honey, gentle as sunbeams.”

  Tenma accepted that as a compliment. “You know, when they found out about me, I was barely anything but a spark. Some of my friends still
call me little glimmer.”

  “You’ve gained.”

  “Yeah. There’s a reason for that. Try tending me.”

  Salali favored him with a baffled look.

  “I know, I know. It sounds backward.” Tenma admitted, “It’s sort of a secret, but you wanted mine. This one’s especially nice.”

  Working out how to do what was needed took a few moments. Success tugged a soft whine from Salali, who toppled into Tenma’s waiting arms.

  “That’s the way,” he murmured encouragingly.

  They hadn’t really settled on official terms for this thing Tenma—and maybe one day, his line—could do. It had been described in terms of echoes and bouncing, of reverberation and even feedback. Those who were generous with him found themselves repaid tenfold. At least. And because Tenma was only returning what was given, his Amaranthine partner gained something compatible. Maybe even essential.

  If tending was candy, Tenma was mother’s milk.

  “Don’t stop,” whispered Salali.

  “I won’t.”

  Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he again begged, “Don’t stop.”

  “I haven’t stopped.”

  “More?”

  Tenma promised, “All you need.”

  Somewhere along the way, Salali began sniffling, and Tenma bundled him close. The squirrel softly demanded, “Not a word to anyone. Especially not Gent. Or Glint.”

  “This is between us.”

  And again, Salali demanded, “Don’t stop.”

  Bumping his lips against his new friend’s temple, Tenma confessed, “I’m glad I stumbled into your trap, Salali Fullstash.”

  “Is that what this is?” inquired a new voice, all intrigued innocence. “Entrapment. But which one of you is trapping the other? And may I join?”

  SEVENTEEN

  Mathematically Impossible

  With the confusion of unloading happening all along the circle, Noble was safer back in Mikoto’s pocket. He kept a hand on the pup, fondling one perked ear as he strolled along the edge of activity.