A warm, breathing wall of fur curled around Misti’s back, Dis settling down next to her. A soft hand pushed a lock of hair off her forehead. Tired as she was, tingles still raced down Misti’s spine at Dylori’s gentle touch. Gratefulness washed over her, as Dylori’s presence soothed her.
“Always,” Dylori whispered.
With that familiar rumbling voice settling over her like a blanket, Misti fell asleep.
Chapter Five
MISTI AWOKE WITH A start, her side needling with pain. A warm breeze blew around her, carrying the earthy scent of dirt and fresh-cut grass. The wall of fur behind her had disappeared. Dis must’ve moved. She wanted to go back to sleep, but something poked her in the side and she yelped, opening her eyes. Daylight burned her vision. She lifted her hand to shade her face. Her wrist throbbed from the bite but not as terribly as before, and some white cloth had been wrapped around it.
“Don’t move,” Dylori muttered.
Another poke to Misti’s side. She had to tense to not move away from the sharp pain. Her tunic was lifted to near immodesty and Dylori was crouching over her. Ponuriah’s ass! But her side ached too much to be embarrassed.
“What’re you doing?”
“Fixing this slash in your side. That you didn’t tell me about, by the way. I also fixed the one on your forearm and the bite on your wrist.” Dylori glared down at her, holding up a piece of twine and needle. The usually white twine had an orange stain on it, and Misti tried hard not to think about how many times the needle had already been pushed through her skin. Bile rose in her throat.
“They weren’t that bad.”
“Not bad for normal wounds, but a suncreature’s claws and teeth can carry ailments their original species didn’t. You know that.” Dylori arched an eyebrow, continuing to suture the wound. “Should’ve told me.”
The disappointment in her voice cut Misti deeper than any suncreature’s claws. “I know. I’m sorry, for whatever that’s worth.”
“Just…don’t keep things like this from me again,” Dylori muttered. She lowered her head down to Misti’s side, low enough to cut the twine with her teeth. Low enough that Misti could feel her soft, warm breath dancing over her skin. Her side tingled in response. When Dylori lifted her head once more, Misti noticed a faint dark orange tinge to the tips of her ears.
Is she sunburnt already? An entirely separate thought crossed Misti’s mind before she could banish it away. Or…blushing? The skin was a little lighter on the tips of Dylori’s ears than the rest of her face; it was the only place Misti would notice the color change.
In all the seasons Misti had known her, Dylori had never once blushed in the proximity of a woman. She had an easy confidence in her sexuality and in herself that Misti had always admired, but never could quite get the knack of herself. It would be nice to be able to accept compliments, to flirt, to kiss someone even, without going fire-orange in the neck, cheeks, and ears. Misti tucked the thought away in a secret corner of her mind for further analysis later on.
Dylori slathered some honey over the wound, a natural antiseptic, and then helped Misti wrap a clean piece of cloth around her waist, covering the injury. Dylori lowered Misti’s tunic over the bandaged wound and helped her sit upright. An ache shuddered through Misti at the movement, but it wasn’t as bad as before. She looked around at the little encampment Dylori and Arias had created while she slept, though ‘encampment’ might’ve been a stretch.
Four packs sat nearby, and Misti’s weapons rested next to them. The grasses were high here, high as her shoulder, and denser. A small hill stretched up directly behind them, sloping gently upward. A large dark shape stood atop it, and for a moment, panic rose in Misti’s chest. But then Dis turned and raised his snout to the air, huffing. Misti grinned and waved back.
“You should get some more rest. We should be fine here for a little bit longer. But first, eat something.” Dylori leaned over and dragged their packs closer, opening her own instead of Misti’s.
“Wait! I’ll eat my own things. Arias gave me supplies, remember?” No need to use Dylori’s food stash. She gently guided Dylori’s hand away from the packs and opened her own. Her long light brown hair fell over her shoulder, and the charred tips came into view. She closed her pack and got her dagger out, pulling her hair close to study the blackened edges. Sighing, she said, “I didn’t know pyrewolf suncreatures could shoot fire.”
“We should’ve been told that they could. It’s something I’ll note when we see the knights in Amiin.” Dylori put out her hand. “I’ll do it. You’ll butcher it if you do it yourself.”
Misti arched an eyebrow. “And you won’t?”
Dylori smirked. “I’ll do a better job than you would. My sister does do this sort of thing, you know.”
A bubble of laughter escaped Misti. “That doesn’t mean that you’d be any good. And Carlia probably does it with scissors, not a dagger.”
“True.” Dylori moved to sit behind her and pulled Misti’s hair back across her shoulder. The quick and easy movements brought another blush to Misti’s cheeks. Moon above, hold yourself together, girl. She frowned. Why can’t I stop blushing around Dylori? I’ve been harboring this crush for seasons.
Dylori ran her fingers through Misti’s hair, pulling it back so it lay flat, and her scalp tingled. Misti tried to ignore the lovely sensation. To distract herself, she untied Zora’s feather from her hair and thumbed the spine. “Just don’t ruin it, okay?”
“Deal.” Dylori plucked the dagger from the dirt. She ran her hands down Misti’s hair a few more times—more times than was necessary perhaps, but Misti found she didn’t mind—before sliding the dagger through the strands. Misti felt a few short tugs, gentle to start, then quicker. The hiss of the dagger cutting into her hair made her wince at first, like a softer version of the sounds of sharpening the dagger itself, but she soon got used to the noise. She would’ve felt tense allowing any other person to wield a dagger so close to her head, but since it was Dylori, her nerves were quiet. After a few moments, her hair, while never heavy to the point that she’d noticed it, felt lighter.
“Done?”
“Think so.”
Misti ran her hands through her hair. It was shorter than she would’ve worn it, but the way that blue-eyed banished one had grabbed hold during the village fight made this cut a good idea.
“Like it?” Dylori shifted around to face her. “Wait, don’t answer. I need to do the front still. Carlia would kill me if I forgot it.”
Dylori lifted the dagger once more, her eyes flicking down to the Blood pendant and then up to Misti’s hairline. Misti couldn’t help noticing how Dylori caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she focused, the skin between her dark eyes creased in concentration. How the gray lines by her eyes blended so well into the darker skin around it. How the small dark horns above her ears matched the gray lines perfectly. How her scar seemed to shine in the sunlight. How Dylori was so close to her Misti could close that gap in less than a heartbeat and change their friendship forever.
But Misti knew that if she chanced it and failed, they might not have a friendship ever again. She had had crushes before this one, had fallen in and out of love just as Dylori did. But she had never had a friend as dear or trusted as Dylori. She couldn’t break that for the slim chance of romance, and so she held still.
“Where is Arias, by the way?” Misti asked, breaking the soft silence that had settled around them.
“Seems to like being around Dis.” Dylori looked toward her companion animal before cutting another lock, the strands tickling Misti’s cheek as they fell away. “For someone who’s ‘always good for an adventure’ and crossed the Rainy Pass, she certainly didn’t like the suncreatures. No one does, of course…just figured she’d had more experience with them.”
Misti shrugged. “I’d feel better with Dis too. It doesn’t mean she can’t take care of herself.”
Dylori nodded and shifted back a little. “Now I’m done. What do y
ou think?” She grabbed a cracked mirror from the pack by her hand, showing off Misti’s new hairstyle on its spiderwebbed surface. Short and simple, with some layers around her face and back. Kind of like Dylori’s longer hairstyle when she wore it out of her bun. Maybe that’s where she learned how to cut it that way.
Misti tied Zora’s feather to a lock of hair then tucked it behind her ear. “It’s good. Thank you.”
“Anytime. Now eat and rest a bit longer. I’ll keep watch.” She stood, brushed the dirt from her black pants, and headed up the hill toward Dis, her sliver armor glinting in the sun.
Misti had to swallow a lump of fear rising in her throat at her friend’s departure. She eyed the tall grasses around her, remembering the deep-throated growling from the pyrewolf suncreatures. More could be hiding in the grasses right now. Calm down, girl. The sun beat down on her head and beads of sweat dripped down her forehead. Misti wiped it away and dragged her weapons closer, putting two of the daggers back in her belt and sheathing the sword. She kept the blade Dylori had used on her hair out in case she needed it. The sun was almost at its highest, which meant the suncreatures would be at their worst. Still, she had Dylori, Dis, and Arias keeping watch. Right now, she had to eat and rest.
Reaching inside the brown side bag Arias had given her, she pulled out a small metal container of dali nuts, along with some cheese and one of the loaves of bread. She enjoyed the heavy bread full of dried berries and nuts, the sharpness of the cheese, the fullness of her stomach, but ate in silence. Something nagged at her. Something important. She ticked off the most troubling things in her mind: she was eating now; she had slept a little and would sleep more; the cage locked the pendant away. What am I forgetting?
The letter. Misti nearly dropped the last bit of bread. She stuffed it into her mouth and wrapped up the food, putting it back into the side bag. How could I have forgotten about the letter?
After wiping her hands on the thick cloth of her dark pants, Misti opened the front pouch of the side bag, slipping her sister’s letter out. Nerves jangled at her stomach, as they always did when she heard from Char. Being away from her siblings was hard and she always worried that something might have happened to them because of her flight. It had been many seasons since then, though, and nothing had happened yet. Please, let Char and Danill be well. She took a deep breath and tore open the seal, letting the letter unfold in her hand. A bit of dried leaf, gray and crumbly, fell from the envelope as well, but Misti wiped those away.
My dear sister,
I hope your travels are treating you well and that the Moon Knights are doing their duty across the lands. Thank you for the coin you sent us a few cycles back. As always, we appreciate it but would like to see you more. It’s been too long since your last visit. I wish this letter had better news to offer on our front, but I’m afraid it cannot. Our parents are sick with the mayla fever. I know you want nothing to do with our parents, and I understand. I do, truly. But Danill and I can’t fix this. We can’t find the yellow jaho that will heal them, nor can we travel to the Nemora who have it. We hope that you might come across the Nemora, and that you might come home with the herb, or at the very least send it to us. I know it is a lot to ask, but please, Misti, consider it. Danill is scared for them, acting angrier than I’ve seen him before. His most recent outburst—yelling violently at his instructor—nearly lost him his place in his schooling, and he is so close to being done. They are our parents, after all, and with this fever, they may not survive the cycle.
Forever your sister and with all the love under the moon,
Char
Misti folded the letter back up and slipped it into her pouch. So someone was unwell, but not Char or Danill. Serves them right. A twisted sense of justice sliced through Misti as cleanly as a knife, cutting hot and deep, and sparking the tiny flame of revenge that always lived inside her into a blaze for a moment. But only for a moment. Then confusion banked the flames. Why would Char ask this of me?
She visited her siblings as much as she could stand. Every season while she was in training, but less once she had started going out on missions. Her last visit had been nearly three seasons ago. She had traveled up north on a rare holiday and met them in secret in a town neighboring their parents’ home. They had seemed healthy, but they were too young for Misti to spirit them away, to take Danill from classes without being noticed. Vagari stayed with their parents until they reached eighteen, and then even some seasons after, learning and growing into the person they were meant to be before heading out into the world. Now twenty-two, Char could have left, but she’d never abandon Danill. She was a gentler soul, a better soul. Misti felt a pang near her heart. Guilt wrapped around her like a wool blanket, heavy and itchy and overly hot.
She read the letter again. Her siblings might be able to deal with their parents’ betrayal, but Misti couldn’t. When she crushed the letter and envelope in her fists, more gray leaves spilled onto the ground, dappling the dark earth like dirty snowflakes, but Misti hardly noticed. Memories flooded her mind of running joyfully through the snow toward a wooden shed, and a terrible secret.
Misti approached to the door of the tall wooden shed, so tall she couldn’t see the top of it and never had, her curiosity getting the better of her. Fear had almost stopped her from coming here. There were suncreatures outside. She had told Zora to stay behind and finish her food, so there wasn’t even the flutter of wings to comfort her. Misti knew she shouldn’t be out during the day, and the shed was a good distance from their home, down by a loud, burbling stream, but if she stayed on the path, she should be all right. The shed belonged to her family, anyway, and she had always wanted to know what was inside. Mother and Father had told her not to look, but she was a teenager now, nearly seventeen seasons, and she could make these decisions on her own.
She wrapped her hand around the large metal ring attached to the door and pulled. It was surprisingly heavy, only opening a little, so Misti pulled harder. Familiar voices came from deep inside—her mother and father.
A sickening yelp cracked through the air, and Misti clamped her hands over her ears. It sounded almost like a vulnix’s yelp. The yelp of a creature in terrible pain. Without hesitation, Misti wiggled through the small opening.
She found herself standing in a square room bathed in bright light. Animals were everywhere, some hanging from the walls, some lying on the floor, all etched with a strange bent line Misti didn’t recognize—and all dead and cast aside as if they didn’t matter. Misti felt dizzy from panic and disgust. How could anyone do this? She was so horrified that she almost didn’t notice her parents. They stood in the center of the room, hands raised to a roof that Misti realized wasn’t there, to the sun beaming overhead. Both had identical bent line symbols smeared in dark orange blood on their foreheads, and identical looks of shock on their faces. Smeared blood darkened their clothes, their skin, even their hair. Terror ripped through Misti at the sight, leaving waves of shock in its wake. Her gaze finally landed on what was between them. A beautiful blue vulnix lying dead on the table with its belly cut open, orange blood spilling out.
Misti turned and ran.
Misti shook herself from the memory. The horrible visions faded, but the ripples of fear, shock, and horror lingered. She had found out that day that her parents were worshippers of the sun goddess Ponuriah. They had spoken to Misti after, explaining how they sacrificed animals to Ponuriah on a near-daily basis in order to show their devotion, not to the creatures of the world like a true Vagari would but, to her, and had been for seasons.
How each race had a different form of devotion but how each one went against their first nature, their first belief system, their very core, in order to conform to Ponuriah’s will and show her she was their true calling. “Scorching the past self,” they called it. How eventually even though her parents proved their devotion to her, they continued to do so again and again and again, killing creatures each time, and they had learned to enjoy it.
How a
nyone could do such a thing was beyond Misti, but that a Vagari—whose bloodlines and crafting ran with the beasts of this world, whose ancients could turn into the beasts before the Great Rift—could do such a thing shook her to her very soul. It was a deed that went directly against the Aluriahian Law and against the Vagari culture. It was a deed her parents should have died for.
Worshippers of Ponuriah were often caught and thrown in jail for their cruel rites in honor of her but their unmatched ease at escaping the tight cells proved them to be a large population of the banished folk as well. So large most folk confused banished with worshippers, but that wasn’t always true. Some people just did terrible things and managed to escape the guards. Misti often thought they had to do something different with the worshippers, since they became banished far too easily and didn’t seem to mind the sunlight.
Misti had vowed to split from her parents then and there, though she spent one more season with them, trying to get them to end their madness. She had kept Zora with her at all times save one, fearing for her little vulnix’s life. Her faith in the moon goddess died that day, for no deity would allow her parents to do such horrible deeds. And when her efforts to sway them to sanity failed, Misti severed ties with them completely.
At eighteen seasons, on the exact day of her birth, she had taken Zora and run off to enlist with the Moon Knights. She had left that terrible piece of her past in the snow, but she had also left her siblings. Misti had wanted to take Char and Danill with her, but Danill refused to come. He loved their parents, worshipping the ground they walked on, and Char had refused to leave Danill. So Misti had left them behind, but a broken part of her had always stayed with them, leaving a deep, empty space in her heart.
Sunkissed Feathers & Severed Ties Page 9