“Why not hire a Healer from the capital? There are willing Lahyf that need purpose. Why would you do this to me? I saw the love letters on your desk. I know you’re a man of compassion. Don’t do this to me. Don’t.”
“Healers aren’t as common as you might think. At least, not talented ones. It’s a dwindling science. The Taoiseach has seen to that. Greenport needs you.”
“My sister needs me!” I shout. “I can’t put her life in your hands. You’re asking me to give up when she’s headed for her execution, sir. She has nobody else. Not you. Not your smugglers or thugs. Only me. I am her brother. I am her protector.”
“What is one girl compared to an entire village? Deny this, and I will hand you over to the Taoiseach myself. It is decided.”
Sometimes I wonder why I strive for the better. It seems as if nobody else in this world has a care. They see fear and run. And they tear the world down in doing so. I cannot let the passions of others, or lack thereof, drag me down. I am the cause of all this anarchy, and it is my responsibility to correct it. I must break away from the rest. I must find my independence so I can share it with the world.
22 Jaymes
W eeks have passed, and we travel still. Mostly through the dense forest of the Ancient Redwoods where the shadows hold, day or night. As we rise out of the trees to the peak of a hilltop, I sense a fear settling over the land like a lake-birthed mist in Autumn. We creep closer to the capital. The night is dark, with Cerise making only the occasional appearance to cast more shadows. A pack of wolves is unyielding in the distance with a constant howling. And they seem to be getting closer.
That is not what strikes my fear, however. The true culprit is the gap between us and the Crimson Capital. It’s getting smaller with every step. It’s closing in on me too rapidly. We will enter the city before sunup, and the gap is closing between me and the man who will decide my fate, the man who will take away my ability to cast my own shadow, the man who will be my end.
My body trembles. It’s an odd feeling to know this could be the last time I experience the red glow of Cerise or hear the serenading howl of a wolf. I can see the capital’s lights reflecting off the overcast in the distance. Normally, I would find the luminescence intriguing and beautiful, but not tonight. Tonight, they represent the light at the end of the tunnel—a gateway to the heavens—for tonight may very well be my last.
My melancholic thoughts are interrupted by a much louder and closer howl. Bushes rustle directly behind us as we travel on Persia’s back together, but I brush it off as a creation of my imagination. Regardless, my arms tighten around Ellia’s waist.
“No need to fret over a few wolves. They’re afraid of us. They would never attack unless threatened or hungry enough that they’re willing to risk their lives for the kill. And that’s not likely because the amount of meat you’ll provide is scant. There is plenty of easier prey in this forest.”
“That’s not why I’m afraid,” I reply.
“No? Then what are you afraid of?”
I admire her skill in imitating compassion. She made it sound like a sincere interest in my wellbeing, but I know better.
“I’m afraid of entering the capital.” I point with my nub in the direction of the glowing horizon.
“There is an intriguing beauty to it, isn’t there?” Ellia peers over her shoulder, attempting to look me in the eyes. “Like a gateway to the heavens.” She smiles.
She’s reading my thoughts again.
“The Taoiseach won’t kill you,” she says.
I don’t believe her. “How do you know? He’s ruthless. He’d kill anyone who interfered with his absolute power. Including you.”
“He doesn’t have absolute power, and contrary to the common perception, that is not his ambition.”
“Whatever,” I say, unconvinced of the validity of her remark. Almost knocking down a tree with my talent or murdering an innocent person in no way correlates to being valuable. What is it that sparks their interest in me? All this time, Stone had us hiding in the Broken Forest because we were fugitives for taboo we weren’t part of. We were hiding from the Taoiseach because Stone believed we’d be executed if he found us. But there’s more to it. Whether Ellia is being honest about how valuable I am or not is beside the point. The Taoiseach would have had her murder me on the spot if he wanted me dead. So why does he want me alive? As a hostage to reel in Stone and Goose? But he could just as easily have assassins hunt them down. He doesn’t need me, so why does he want me alive? Unless…this is Ellia’s decision.
“How do you do the mind reading thing?” I prod.
“This is going to sound cliché, but I kill men who gain that knowledge. I’ve killed men simply for knowing it exists. But you can breathe easy. Your fate is in the Taoiseach’s hands.”
Silence consumes us for a period until a silhouette dashes toward us. Two large yellow eyes move closer and closer. A wolf! And it’s larger than I’d ever imagined them.
Persia snarls and crouches, putting herself into a defensive position with Ellia and I still mounted on her back. The vicious beast gets close enough for Persia to swat at, but it darts out of the way and back into the shadows just as quick as it came.
I cower my head, burying it between my shoulder and Ellia’s back as I clench down on her waist. Ellia assures me once again I have no reason to fear some puny wolves. They don’t seem so puny to me.
“They’re testing us,” Ellia whispers. “They’re intelligent enough to know they can’t attack a cat as large as Persia. They’re developing a strategy by learning our weaknesses.”
“And what are our weaknesses?” I ask. Ellia remains silent and alert.
A few clicks pass and they attack again. This time, one set of eyes charges directly at us from the front, another set to our right, and another to our left. The three wolves shred toward us at once. Persia focuses on the wolf ahead, seemingly unaware of the two approaching on the sides. I quickly realize all my faith for survival lies in Ellia. She’s fearless. I don’t know how she plans to save us, but I hope she does it quick.
“You are.” She replies just as the beasts are upon us.
Ellia rips her claymore from the leather harness mounted to Persia and slashes the wolf on the right in mid-air. It drops with a thud. As I watch the terror on my right, Ellia has already shifted her two-handed blade to the left and sticks the next wolf. She pierces it just below the jaw and is forced to lower her blade so the beast can slide off. That slight miscalculation ruins her chance for the third.
Ellia doesn’t flinch the slightest. Just as Persia could care less about the two attacking from the sides. It’s as if their instincts are bound together, intertwined through their thoughts. Persia focuses solely on the wolf in front and with one swipe of her massive paw, arrayed with merciless claws, she knocks it to the ground. The wolves are similar in size to Persia, but the cat handles the abrasive beast with ease.
I exhale, realizing I’ve been holding my breath, and release my grip on Ellia’s waist.
“It’s not over yet,” Ellia whispers over her shoulder.
“What do you mean?” A knot builds in my stomach.
“Shh…” she mouths with a finger at her lips.
Another wolf sounds off. Then, several more join in.
“There has to be hundreds of wolves out there. What kind of pack has that many wolves?”
“Fuck! Calm down! And check your talent! Get your claws out of my hip.”
I loosen my grip with my right hand, realizing I’ve left a mark of black rot. My left is hardly a nuisance without a hand to dig into her.
Ellia brings Persia to a stop. All around us, dozens of eyes reflect the terralight. Some bright yellow, some silvery white, some deep blue, some reflecting the red glow of Cerise, but all fiercely glowing in the night. Fear petrifies me.
I come around once I realize I’m being thrown from Persia’s back. And I soon find out the forest floor isn’t as soft as it was in the Broken Forest. Ellia
, far more capable, manages to land on her feet only a few paces away. With her claymore ready for action, she fearlessly taunts the pack.
We’re surrounded. Countless dire wolves, all as large as Persia, creep toward us. I curl into a small ball, hoping the dire wolves will attack the others and forget about me and it’ll all just go away.
The hair-prickling growls are too close. The first few come bounding toward us. Persia mutilates the first one with a swipe of her paw while another leaps onto her back, clenching down with its gnarly blood-stained fangs. Ellia swings her heartless blade, decapitating the third with ease. Then spins, maintaining momentum, and slices deep into the shoulder blade of a fourth, removing its forelimb.
Persia frees herself from the grasp of the dire wolf on her back just in time for another two to clamp down on her. Ellia swings her blade with a precise finesse that allows her to strike the beasts one after the other. Her movement is flawless. She slices off the leg of one, rendering the beast inactive, and moves onto the next. She doesn’t look over her shoulder once to see whether her blows are effective or not. Pure confidence. She dances forward, to the side, backward, as though it’s choreographed. She maintains constant movement with both her feet and her sword as one wolf goes down after the next.
I shake the awe of Ellia’s brilliance and witness Persia being overcome by several wolves. She drops to the ground. Ellia sees the same thing, momentarily distracted, and one of the wolves takes the opportunity to get inside Ellia’s blood circle.
The wolf gouges out a small chunk of Ellia’s leg, dropping her to the ground. She tries but can’t rise to her feet. The major threats have been nullified. The inflicting wolf, and all the others, turn their attention away from her, setting their hungry eyes on me.
The wolves charge. Don’t hesitate. That’s what Stone has always told me in the event of a Lost Soul attack. Hesitation warrants an undesirable outcome. So, I don’t hesitate to get to my feet, turn, and run.
I manage thirty or forty paces before they’re nipping at my heels. My adrenaline is high, and my legs are moving faster than I realized they could, but it won’t be enough. Not for a beast with four legs the same length as my two legs. One pinches at my calf, and it instantly feels hot and wet beneath the sharp pain. There’s a large chunk of flesh torn from it. The sight of it is nauseating. My leg crumbles under the weight of my body with my next step, causing me to trip over my own feet and soar headfirst through the air with my arms outstretched.
The peppered wolf clamps its jaws around my leg and drags me back the way we came. I dig my nails into the dirt and flail, but to no avail. The other wolves trot back to the battle scene where Ellia and Persia lie wounded. They treat me as a helpless, wounded piece of meat. Wounded, sure. Helpless, never.
A wave of emotions flushes through me. The pain recedes as my body grows warm. Rage to fury. The warmth becomes overbearing. All fear absolves into anger. My body convulses. Fury to berserk. The wolf eases its lockjaw and I kick free inadvertently as I try to cope with the overwhelming emotions. The wolf steps back. I bounce to my feet and charge the beast recklessly. It flinches and shuffles backward a few paces. However, it doesn’t take long for it to remember I’m the prey. It bulls toward me.
“Perfect,” I quietly think aloud.
It bounds into the air, heading for my throat with its jaws wide and fangs glistening with blood-tainted slobber. I drop to a full slide on my rear, thrusting my arm high as it leaps over me. My fist melts into its underbelly as it bounds overhead. When I retract, a glob of entrails and blood come pouring down over top of me. I confidently rise to my feet, legs strong, muscles tense, covered in wolf’s blood. Black rot consumes the lifeless wolf at my feet.
I rush back to Ellia and Persia, bracing myself for another duel.
Ellia sits propped up against Persia. The last of the wolves are toppled over her. One with its lower jaw removed from its skull and another with her claymore protruding from its spine. She looks up at me with a cold, empty stare.
“You’re alive,” she mumbles.
I help her remove the dead weight and pull her to her feet. She’s missing a chunk of sinew on her thigh. If it were me, I wouldn’t be able to stand.
Then, I remember the damage done to my own body. I look down to see I’m covered in blood. Much of it my own. My calf has a small bite, and my lacerations have reopened. The pain drops on me like an anvil as my berserk emotions fade. Exhaustion swathes over me, and my body gives out.
Ellia, on the other hand, not only remains standing but walks with a half-eaten thigh. She pulls a small jar from a pouch at her waist and rubs the contents onto her wound. She does the same for my wounds.
“Persia is worse off than us,” she comments.
I can’t help but admire her courage and strength. I’ve never met a woman I’ve aspired to be.
“How do you do it?” I ask.
“What?”
“The fighting. You’re fearless.”
“A life of pain.” She stares off into the distance. She looks disgusted.
“I’ve had a life of pain. Can I fight like that too?”
“It’s a different kind of pain than what you’ve experienced. We’ll see what the Taoiseach wants to do with you.”
I have always kept to myself, spending the majority of my time in my athenaeum. That has ended. Now that word has spread that I’m the Hybreed, I have new friends waiting outside my residence daily. They neglect to hear me when I tell them to leave. If I can muster enough courage, maybe a true friendship will arise. It may be needed to endure the trials that await me.
23 Goose
T he treetops are ablaze, lighting the entirety of the canopy plaza. Not with wildfire, but a controlled one. The smell of burnt wood has always been an alluring one to me. Centrally located in the canopy plaza, the villagers of Redcliffe dance and socialize around an intense bonfire. A danger I hold at a safe distance despite its appeal.
The deck they dance upon is an ankle-turner—a grand web of intertwining vines and branches. But these villagers have been gallivanting through the treetops since they could walk, so they are more likely to turn an ankle on the forest floor.
More impressive is their vigor. Several benches encircle the fire—enough for half the village—but they’re mere decoration with none being occupied. Neither the elderly nor the adolescent seem to utilize them. Even a mother with her babe at her tit lightly jostles around amongst the others with the babe wrapped tight to her breast. The energy of these people is euphoric and seemingly infinite.
“Thank you, Graytu, for allowing me a bath and fresh garb.” Bath is an exaggeration. It included a pail of chilly water being dumped over my head after a barrage of elderly women stripped me of my attire, unwillingly, and discarded it. I was then forced to adorn a faded green tunic and a set of brown twill trousers.
“You are very welcome, Goose of House Greyson. You will find the people of our community are generous. Even to fellow drifters such as yourself.” Graytu speaks earnestly.
“The women attending to me…they burned the tunic and trousers I was wearing,” I add. “I recently bartered for that outfit. They didn’t give me much choice. And they made sure to acknowledge my trousers were soiled beyond redemption.”
The squirrel on his shoulder chirps wildly. “Ah, yes, my nose has grown large with my old age. I was cognizant of your trouser situation.” His nose wrinkles as he places a finger under it.
I cross my arms with a frown. He taunts with utter sincerity, and I find it more irritating than if he were to make a mockery of me.
The two of us approach the energetic plaza together with Helios trolling behind. I thought it wise the cat stay behind in the sole stable they have in this village, but Graytu insisted I bring him along.
“Tell me again what this celebration is for?” I ask the odd old man.
“Life.”
“Life?” I repeat.
“Yes. Life.”
I don’t understand,
but I accept the answer. I’ve noticed the more answers he gives me, the more questions I have, and after the day’s events it will only cause my head to hurt more.
I was quite surprised when the invitation to this gathering was passed along to me. A stranger welcomed with open arms. It’s not something I’m accustomed to, but I am more than eager to attend. Too many seasons have passed since I’ve had such an opportunity. I chose the life of near solitude, but I never anticipated the miseries that would accompany it. One of them being the lack of socializing. Being a man—and a man raised by my father—I would have never thought it a necessity in my world. It’s something women fill their empty days with. Although, approaching this energetic scene filled with smiles and laughter strikes an emotion buried deep within me. Not forced, not a result of prank, nor the product of somebody else’s misfortune, but a true genuine smile rises between my cheeks.
A sudden bellow of a drum thunders, silencing everyone. My body tenses. I anxiously look over the crowd to see where the war drum is coming from and where the assailants will appear. As I look around at everyone, nobody else is alarmed. I suddenly feel like the fool here to entertain the party.
Graytu places his hand upon my shoulder. “The show is starting. Let’s squeeze to the front of the crowd. You’ll want a better view. With the children.”
The blazing fire softens to a mild glow of embers. Hanging high above the celebration amongst the highest reaches of the canopy, giant thunder lanterns spring to life. First, two above the stage light in unison, accompanied by massive booms from the drums. Then, consecutively, they all spark in synchronization with the thunderous booming. About a dozen in all, the entire plaza fills with the ambient, energized light of the thunderbugs. These are not conventional thunder lanterns made with glass but something more organic, as I have come to expect in this village. The grandeur in the mere opening moments of the show set the expectations high for the remainder of it. I find myself filled with anticipation.
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