Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga Book 4)

by Forthright

  “My new apprentice would be more comfortable with a neutral party looking after his interests. Be his advocate.”

  “But why bring him here?”

  Ginkgo stole another glance at their surroundings. His gardener’s heart was going pitty-pat. He wanted to explore everything from the flower borders to the herb beds. Not to mention several varieties of trees that had to be both ancient and affectionate.

  “He has the ear of Argent Mettlebright,” Salali was saying.

  Ginkgo fluttered his anew. “Both ears, actually. Family resemblance.”

  Salali went on. “And his enclave will be receiving a Scattering in the months ahead.”

  “And …?” demanded the stallion.

  Ginkgo’s ears pricked. They were getting down to it, now. Real reasons.

  With a stubborn posture, Salali said, “Linlu’s lyrics mention a person between.”

  Unimpressed, the stallion pointed out, “Every reaver is a Betweener.”

  “A reaver stands between two cultures. A crosser brings them together.”

  Hannick gazed off into the sky, then nodded. “I can appreciate that kind of balance. And … he is the stuff of songs.”

  “And you’re too polite to enjoy such novelties?” Salali gave Ginkgo a little push forward.

  Ginkgo braced himself for the usual formalities, but the stallion kept it simple. “I’m Hannick. A healer.”

  Finally, finally, his gaze drifted to the top of Ginkgo’s head.

  This was familiar territory. “Am I your first crosser?”

  “Strictly speaking.” Fingers twitched, and Hannick gave in to the inevitable. “May I make a brief examination?”

  Ginkgo grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

  The stallion’s expression lapsed into gentle wonderment as he carefully tugged and scratched Ginkgo’s ear. He eased closer and angled his head, making a display of his trust while they chatted about the mares at Stately House, some of whom were Alpenglows.

  “Since I am sure it was Salali’s true purpose, allow me to introduce you to some friends.”

  Ginkgo suspected his own delight was showing as Hannick took him around what amounted to a small village populated by tree-kin. Salali lagged behind while his apprentice was kissed and petted by tree twins. Ginkgo welcomed their curiosity and unloaded plenty of his own, quizzing their human counterparts on the contents of their gardens. Enough healers were hanging about to give the whole place the ambiance of a hush-hush hospice, with a secondary business being the preservation and packaging of medicinal herbs, teas, and pollen.

  By the time he’d chatted with everyone, Ginkgo’s pockets were bulging with seed packets.

  “You would do well here,” remarked Hannick.

  Ginkgo shrugged that off. “I like people. Especially kids.”

  Salali casually interjected, “We could probably push for ours to go to him.”

  “Is that so?” Hannick led the way to a small building with colored glass set into its windows. Rapping on a door left open to catch the flower-scented breezes, he said, “I apologize for interrupting your lesson, Mare Anella, but I bring a visiting professor. He is a leading expert on crossers.”

  Eighteen children stared at Ginkgo with widening eyes. Half of them were human. The others looked to be Alpenglow colts and fillies.

  Hannick said, “Ginkgo is our guest because his enclave will receive a Scattering.”

  “How many?” asked a teenage girl with a toddler propped on one hip.

  Salali said, “If he takes a liking to you, he’ll have no choice but to take the lot of you.”

  “We can stay together?” asked a surly boy of nine or ten who’d been clinging to a shyer friend’s hand ever since Ginkgo stepped inside. “All of us?”

  “What about us?” whispered a filly cradling a sleeping baby.

  Nothing like being put on the spot. Ginkgo thought he’d sized up the situation, but he wanted to be clear. “Are you all tree-kin?”

  The human children looked to Hannick and the mares first, but slowly, they each brought out necklaces. Some displayed slim capsules. Others looked more like lockets. Dad had told him about this. Kids born with a golden seed in their hand. Just like in the stories.

  “And … since this garden’s jam-packed, you have to go someplace else to plant your seeds and start a new grove.” Ginkgo’s heart went out to them. “Is going all together an option?”

  Hannick said, “If an existing grove needs a specific variety, one or two might be sent. But your enclave is starting anew.”

  “So it’s not crazy to hope?”

  The teenage girl, the one who looked to be oldest, asked, “Is there room?”

  “Plenty.” Ginkgo wanted to help them. “Why don’t you write up some letters of introduction for my Dad. Tell him why you want to stay together.”

  The filly on baby-cuddling duty dared to repeat, “What about us?”

  “Guess that’s up to your Stallion. We have a small herd—including a few distant relatives—at Stately House. Could be like boarding school. Could be apprenticing. Maybe?”

  “Perhaps,” said Hannick.

  Looking to Mare Anella, Ginkgo suggested, “Address the letters to Lord Argent Mettlebright of Stately House.”

  That stirred more than a few whispers.

  “And maybe get started on language lessons. Any chance someone around here can teach Japanese?”

  This time the response was clearer. Over and over, they repeated one name—Sora. Sora. Lady Sora.

  Salali jostled him with an elbow and rolled his eyes. “Mikoto’s mother came to us from Japan. Seems to me, you and yours might be interested.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Ginkgo’s stomach did a little anticipatory flip. “Why’s that?”

  “Could be a distant relation.” Salali quietly added, “Before taking the Reaver name, Sora was a Hajime.”

  Kyrie searched the star’s face, struggling against the urge to hide his own. He rivaled the dawn, and his gaze seemed to slide right into the secret places of Kyrie’s heart … as easily as his voice slipped into Kyrie’s mind.

  “Are you certain you are not an angel?” he asked.

  The shining person smiled. “I am sure that I am not carrying a message.”

  Oh, tricky. The literal meaning of angel was “messenger.” Was he hiding a truth or revealing one? Perhaps angels were members of the sky clans with deliveries to make. Starry heralds.

  Kyrie refined his question. “Are you an Impression?”

  “That is how my people are understood.” The hand that partially supported Kyrie tugged. “Come, Kyrie. You must set your seal upon me, or I will overwhelm you.”

  “Seal?” He swayed with the treetop, nearly colliding with the star.

  “A sigil.” The star caught him close, and they were flying. “A ward. Lest you become drunk upon my light.”

  Did stars have sway? Concentrating on his sigilcraft was more difficult than usual, so maybe it was true. Kyrie managed the lines of a basic seal and nudged it into place over the star’s heart. There was an immediate shift. Almost like a good sneeze after breathing in too much pollen.

  “Are you the one I heard singing before?”

  “Just now? Yes.”

  “No. When we first arrived. Almost two weeks ago.”

  The star arranged himself as before, sitting amidst fluttering leaves, only this time with Kyrie across his lap. “I am newly arrived. You probably heard Wardenclave’s star.”

  “Whose star are you?”

  “That is a secret.” The star was easier to look at now. Maybe the sigil had helped with that. He said, “I will give you another secret in its place. Did you know that reavers are descended from us?”

  Kyrie needed a moment to grapple with that. “Descended from stars?”

  “From stars and mountains and moonbeams. Occasionally even winds. But mostly from trees.”

  Mother would be interested. Lapis, too, if he didn’t already know. “Reavers have imps i
n their ancestry? Are you the parent of a reaver?”

  “Not I.” His smile was wistful. “I have no desire to leave the sky.”

  Kyrie nodded and nodded again. He would fly forever, given half a chance. Surely it was his dragon side that yearned for the sky. “Why are you here?”

  “To shine. To sing. To greet. To guide.” His gaze sharpened. “To confront.”

  “Me?”

  He inclined his head. “What have you realized?”

  Even though the question was vague, Kyrie instantly knew what he meant, and shame burned across his face. “I realized … that tool is just another word for weapon. And that I have many and more than most realize.”

  “And what might you do with such weapons?”

  “I could find Sinder.” It felt like a boast. “I did find him.”

  “What else?”

  “I could reach him.”

  “And …?”

  “I could catch and hold him.” That would mean winning this game of theirs.

  The star waited, knowing there was more.

  “I could … I could hurt him.” Kyrie’s voice broke on his final confession. “And I think if I wanted, I could kill him.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  Show Me

  Argent had warned Timur more than once that he was too quick to trust. As if optimism were a dreadful trait. Timur liked people, and he definitely looked for the best in them. True, it had brought him to grief more often than he liked to admit. But he couldn’t help believing that things would work out. That his hopes would find a safe harbor. That he’d reach the kind of balance the herds held in high esteem.

  Sinder had the potential to be that kind of friend. Timur couldn’t deny his growing attachment. The dragon needed him, but that reliance might be nothing more than desperation. Even so, Timur would support him.

  Once again, he probably cared more than he should.

  Why was it so hard to find someone who cared back?

  Fend’s tail smacked Timur’s thigh, and he spared his Kith partner a glance. The cat’s annoyance confused Timur. Sure, Fend wasn’t as much of a people person as Timur, but he’d never acted out against anyone before.

  He offered his fingertips.

  With a sinuous slide, Fend draped himself over Timur’s lap, demanding a larger share of his attention.

  Burying both hands into plush fur, he quietly protested, “It’s my job to watch out for him.”

  Mikoto quietly asked, “What does he have against Sinder?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest.” Timur glanced toward Sinder’s latest vantage, low in the branches of a hulking oak.

  “Is he a black panther?”

  Timur didn’t mind chatting, but he pulled a quick sigil out of the air to muffle their voices. “Basically. Fend favors his mother, who is from a jaguar clan. But cats of their coloring are often referred to as black panthers.”

  “How long have you been together?”

  “We’ve been partnered for a little over a year, but he was born at Stately House. My home. I got to cuddle Fend as a newborn cub. But in cat years, he’s probably older than me now.”

  Mikoto nodded. “That is how it is with Kith.”

  They lapsed into a comfortable silence.

  Like they’d been friends for years.

  As a battler, Timur could only approve of Mikoto. Although young, he exuded competence and reliability. Earlier, they’d spent the better part of an hour comparing arsenals, each impressing the other. A battler of Mikoto’s caliber was wasted on Wardenclave. He was a front lines kind of guy.

  Mikoto sat shoulder-to-shoulder with him, facing the opposite direction. Routine for battlers, since it gave them vision on all sides.

  For a while, Timur pondered how far they could’ve gone in the annual tournaments as a two-man team. Totally unrealistic, given their responsibilities. New headman. New dad. But it was fun to ponder training menus and battle strategies.

  A large owl passed overhead. A rookie’s Kith. It gave no sign of having noticed Sinder, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t.

  Sinder slipped away without a sound.

  Mounting Fend, Timur and Mikoto followed.

  When Sinder next stopped, Timur made sure he drank some tea before falling back to a reasonable distance. To Fend, he said, “It happened again. I was standing right there, or I might not have noticed.”

  Mikoto silently signaled a request for information.

  Timur took more care with his sigils this time. “It’s Kyrie.”

  “Is he coming?”

  “I don’t think so. Sinder would be reacting differently if Kyrie had begun his approach.” Timur searched for some sign that the dragon realized what was happening. “I’m going to have to get that boy to show me how it’s done.”

  Mikoto shook his head.

  Timur lowered his voice. “Kyrie’s marked him.”

  “With what?”

  “Small sigils.” His curled fingers described a circle no bigger than a coin. “They started arriving just before sunup. I have no idea how he’s delivering them. Unless he marked Sinder before they parted. Or keyed off that crystal I warded. But … I don’t think so.”

  “How far can a sigil travel?”

  “Depends on the anchor. Etch a sigil into stone, and it’ll go as far as you can fling it. But these are airborne.” Timur squinted at Sinder. “I wonder why he hasn’t noticed? I mean, he’s a dragon.”

  Fend’s big paw gently biffed him across the cheek. Then planted that paw on Timur’s ankle. Where a small sigil gleamed faintly on his pants cuff.

  “Oh. Well spotted,” Timur muttered sheepishly. “Kyrie got me, too. I wonder why I hadn’t noticed. I mean, I’m a ward.”

  Mikoto rubbed at his face, trying to hide his smile.

  Shaking his head, Timur scanned the forest. With a scowl, he gruffly lapsed into the accent of his mother and his uncle. “A dragon who thinks like a fox. Is a dangerous combination, yes?”

  As a rule, Amaranthine were patient. But Sinder had always been a bit of a rule-bender, if not an outright breaker. “Joining the dawn patrol implies attacking at dawn,” he muttered. Yet the sun was nearing mid-high.

  “Show me what you can do implies showing up at all.” Sinder’s gaze flashed across scenery. Granted, a dragon’s camouflage was universally effective, but he’d expected Kyrie to leap out of a shrub or cast a barrier or … something.

  All he attracted were rookies, and their heart wasn’t in the hunt. They were being too cautious. Not because they were afraid of dragons, but because the blessed idiots were afraid to hurt him. Should the mission be scrapped?

  He’d talk it through with Torloo.

  Michaelson might have ideas, too.

  Sinder checked on his support crew. Timur and Mikoto were conferring under the cover of a barrier, but Fend was staring. And it wasn’t a nice stare. If anything, the big feline looked eager. Hungry? No it was more like … anticipation.

  Oh, shit.

  He dove, narrowly evading a pretty bit of sigilcraft. Something like a net that promised restriction. How had the kid gotten close enough to drop it? Sinder took to his heels, only to be brought up short by a three-man cell. Dunce and double dunce. He was willing to bet the battlers didn’t even know they’d been warded.

  Swearing at all Four Storms, Sinder forced himself to hold position. Where?

  It was no use running if you ran straight into your pursuer’s arms. Where?

  A breeze brushed his face. Another slid through his hair.

  Definitely time to go.

  Sinder ran.

  Ginkgo was used to keeping track of children. It was part and parcel of life at Stately House. Wards for out-of-bounds spots. Special necklaces with etched sigilcraft. Added to those were his own eyes, ears, nose, and gut. All making sure Ginkgo was where he needed to be whenever he was needed.

  Michael’s and Sansa’s kids were a special case. As was Kyrie.

  All of them had been bound to him by sigils, pr
etty much since birth. That had been Dad’s idea and Michael’s doing. Making Ginkgo their bodyguard. Giving him every excuse to become more. Reminding him over and again that he was family.

  For this trip, Michael went above and beyond with tuned crystals. Stones in Lilya’s necklace, Gregor’s bracelets, and Kyrie’s armband had been tuned to those Ginkgo wore wolf-style, on a knotted cord around his neck.

  They gave him a general direction, resonated with strong emotions, and tipped him off whenever Kyrie was working a bit of sigilcraft. So he usually knew if they were at lessons with Michael. Or mixed up in mischief.

  Most of the time, he tuned them out.

  This wasn’t one of those times.

  Ears flattened, teeth gritting, he muttered a hasty excuse and was over the wall in a bound. Salali was half a heartbeat behind.

  “Any chance this is some kind of … early warning system?” Ginkgo demanded.

  “None.” The squirrel blandly added, “At least, not one of mine.”

  “Coulda fooled me. What the hell’s wrong with your trees?”

  “Somebody is using them.”

  Ginkgo spared him a glance. “My brother.”

  With a faint smirk, Salali remarked, “The sons of Stately House do not disappoint.”

  “You’re not bothered?”

  Catching his arm, the squirrel forced him to slow. “Why are you bothered?”

  “My brother might be in trouble!”

  Salali pulled up short, and Gent wheeled tightly, coming to a rest atop the squirrel’s hat. “Sinder is testing him. At your request.”

  “But this …!” Ginkgo indicated the woods. “You gotta admit this is unusual.”

  “That, my dear apprentice, is an understatement.” Salali cocked his ear and smiled. “I know full well what a mismatched jumble of shards your brother found. Barely worth a second look. But he’s not only coaxed them into song, he’s tuned them to each other.”

  “So my brother’s a crystal adept. Not exactly news.” Ginkgo swiveled his ears, trying to catch the music Salali was hearing. “Unfortunately, I’m not.”