He shrugged. “Instant protection. Not against Basin law. I’d have plenty of time to remove an attacker, or a thief. I stored a batch in the tank of a little device I’d been developing for the growers to hand-apply fertilizer. That first unit had too short a nozzle, and the brew accidently splashed onto the mechanical components. The droplets combined with my lubricant and set up like mortar for ten to fifteen minutes, the same amount of time it knocks out a person. Couldn’t have the operation shutting down with every errant drip, so I extended the applicator”—he pointed to the stunner’s barrel nose—“and enclosed the gears. The improved stunner is rugged enough to address the vermin problem.” He gestured to the device Jac had unslung from her shoulder.
“Please, Dae?” Jac said. “I know you’re adamantly opposed to firearms, but say you’ll give it a try. With only two pairs of us, we’ve already killed half as many pests in an hour as last night’s count. We don’t have to dodge the teeth. It’s Mar and me, and James is working with Zar. You’d make a third with Terrent. Miriam gave him approval to go out tonight, but only if he doesn’t shift forms or run. A few more days, and his leg might be completely healed. He’s anxious to help and chasing his tail without a partner.”
“You’ve persuaded me,” Daeryn said. “I wish Annmar had this when Paet attacked her.”
Jac shifted beside him. “Maraquin and I discussed that, but now that I’ve seen it work, we hope only the good guys ever find out about it.”
Master Brightwell cleared his throat. “The very reason I’d kept my fungus brew under wraps. In the wrong hands, it’s dangerous. For people and machinery.”
Chapter two
Daeryn tried not to look at the cold metal device he carried out to the dark fields. He never thought he’d see a weapon again, let alone hold one. Or use one. Putting distance between himself and the Borderlands meant less of a chance he’d run into a hunter. Another hunter who might devastate his life like the last one had.
He met up with Terrent and handed over the stunner. The other two teams hunted in the farm’s northernmost section, the one most overrun by pests, so Jac suggested he and Terrent spread south to the middle section of Wellspring’s crops. The rising moon, only a day past full, cast plenty of light, allowing their ’cambire night vision a clear view in gray tones.
Row after row of winter cabbage had been rolled from their straight lines and pocked with bites. The kale lay in tatters. Withered tomato stalks hung in their cages, the fruits rotting. The smell of fennel preceded their broken tubular leaves, and some of the bulbs had been unearthed. On a brighter note, the trial pea nut rows looked untouched, but the lone test field wouldn’t carry the harvest and support Wellspring’s dozens of vested farmworkers through the winter.
They stalked to the edge of their assigned squash fields. With their numbers increasing each night, the gobblers had become easier to find. In a glance, Daeryn spotted four different shadows darting among the mass of vines, in and out of the wilting leaves and dark globes. Black-furred vermin bigger than rats and smaller than hares. A normal farm pest would eat the random ripe vegetable, leaving the rest to mature and possibly be harvested. These cut through the plant stalks—when they weren’t attacking the nocturnal guards.
Shuffling behind him, Terrent cleared his throat. “Yous gonna change forms?”
Thank the Creator they had to wait for Terrent to finish healing. Perhaps Daeryn would never need to shoot the stunner. “Just give me a minute to see if they have any patterns to their movements.”
“In a minute they’ll be on us, Dae.”
“Then shoot ’em. According to Jac, I’ll have a good ten minutes to make the kill. See if you can hit one.”
Terrent laughed nervously and lifted the stunner to his shoulder, not at all the technique Jac had demonstrated. The boy sighted along the barrel and aimed at a shadow. It disappeared behind a squash, emerged on the near side, lengthened and wound into a cluster of leaves with Terrent still tracking the gobbler. It reappeared—
Click!
Milk-colored gunk shot from the brass barrel. The animal jerked when it hit, then stumbled forward and fell, the rear half of its fur glistening in the moonlight.
“That’s one,” Terrent muttered. He pivoted slightly, eyes darting for a second then narrowing as he raised the gun a few inches and tracked.
Click! The metallic tick came faster than Daeryn expected.
“Two.”
Daeryn blinked. He didn’t need to watch for patterns. “Uh, you’re rather good at this.”
“Over at Forestridge’s Borderlands, we don’t have it near so good as youse fellows down in the Black Mountains. Too many of them Outsiders close by. We gotta persuade them we aim to keep our property private. Never give ’em the chance to get near the Gap Gateway.”
“Well, maybe you haven’t heard, but down in Rockbridge, we haven’t had it so great with Outsiders either.”
Terrent sighted down the metal barrel. “Sounds like a story there,” he said, and the trigger clicked again. Another of the pests fell, its back end coated in mush. “Three.”
“Are you actually aiming for the rear?”
“’Course. So yous can bite the neck without getting the fungus in your mouth. Earlier tonight, Zar got laid out by biting a glop of the muck.”
Damn. Daeryn shook himself, then slipped off his braces and pulled his shirt over his head. His clothes landed in a heap at the edge of the field. Bringing up his ’cambire form, he took a deep breath to focus. Fur sprouted over his body, and he dropped to all fours. The night air dampened in his nostrils, making scents sharper, including the odd clean odor the vermin gave off. His rounded ears gathered sounds clearly: Terrent nearby, the others on the next hillside, several mice scurrying away behind him.
The fox boy had another gobbler sighted, but not the one gnawing at a vine four feet away. Terrent would see it before the pest moved far. Daeryn bunched his shoulder and thigh muscles and sprang forward, covering the distance to that first furry vermin in two leaps. A quick sniff identified the fungus-soaked end. The smell of Master Brightwell’s concoction overwhelmed the clean odor of the pests, but even this close the animals themselves had no real smell, the reason they’d been so effective in their surprise attacks.
He swung his nose to the non-fermented end. Huh, this wouldn’t be as easy for him as it was for Jac and Maraquin. The wolf snout—and even Terrent’s fox ’cambire—had the advantage of length over his shorter nose. Normally, he’d shake prey, but this time he clamped his jaws over the ears and angled the head back. To his relief, the spine snapped.
Daeryn dropped the animal carefully, so the wet fur didn’t touch his own coat, and leaped over it. Where had the second—
Click! Swoosh. “Five,” came Terrent’s soft count.
Five? What had happened to four? Hang it all, he had to get going.
“Watch it!” Terrent shouted.
Daeryn jumped instinctively. Something brushed his heel, and click-swoosh the stunner fired again, this time at him. Nearly at him. Daeryn twisted toward the glistening mass of fur lying inches behind him.
“You all right?” called Terrent.
He gave a quick sniff to his left rear leg. A scratch. He yipped an affirmative.
“Good. Better get going. We don’t need this first lot waking up at our feet.”
Not only had Jac taken more of the lead during his days with Annmar, even this boy had seen enough of the new situation tonight to be giving orders. That’s what he got for dividing his attention. He leaped to the newly downed animal and grabbed its head, turning it while he closed his jaws. Snap.
But it’d been so worth it to be with Annmar. The memory of her warm softness filled his ’cambire body better than his human form. It was his polecat form Annmar had clutched in pain, then snuggled into as she relaxed under medication.
Daeryn dropped the gobbler and scampered the few feet to the third animal and grabbed up its dry head, snapped it and leaped to the next
.
Annmar’s city taint had dissipated over the week since her arrival. Her own sweet earthy scent engulfed her and overwhelmed him. He smelled it now—new spring grass shoots—in his fur. He’d marked her with his musk as well. Had to. Just as he had to do this work tonight, with the weapon-like stunner. To keep her safe, keep them all safe. Without Wellspring Cooperative succeeding, there would be no home for him, or Annmar, in Blighted Basin.
Snap. That was five. Practice rounds were over. Terrent shot again, and Daeryn bounded to the next animal. Automatically, his snout arrowed to the dry end, clamped over it and twisted.
Snap.
* * *
At the barest lightening of the sky, rain began to fall. A few birds woke and sang, and the gobblers slunk away. Did the drizzle trigger their departure, or the daylight? Or were the pests as tired as he was? Daeryn had no extra thoughts left to worry over the details. By gut memory, he trotted to where his polecat form knew the prey lay, the spot indicated by the splat the fungus had made when it struck its target.
He dispensed with the animal. Ninety-eight. Or was Terrent’s count eighty-nine? Not even an hour into this desperate game, he’d stopped thinking and let predator instinct take over, sending him bounding to the next. And the next.
In the soft pattering, he looked around. Terrent hadn’t shot for a few minutes. Daeryn raised his snout in question. Terrent scanned the field. He wove his way out of the vines and strode the dirt road, raising the stunner and then lowering it. Their gazes met.
“One’s lying to your left,” Terrent said, “and another yards east of it. Kill them while I patrol the edge for stragglers.”
Daeryn did, listening for more shots. Great Creator, he was tired. He could lie in the rain-soaked plants until Terrent returned. But what team leader did that? He paced to the edge and waited until the boy’s footfalls advanced.
“All gone,” Terrent said. “Time to head in.”
Daeryn shifted, got his wet clothes and trudged with Terrent to their changing hut to wash under Master Brightwell’s spray fixtures. Even after Terrent left his stall, Daeryn let the hot water fall on him. When the hut door opened, he cranked off the nozzle. Maraquin walked in, shaking her chest and shoulders in the final stages of shifting so all that remained of her fur was a full mane of hair.
She peered around, her gaze coming back to him twice.
He snatched a towel from the pile to cover himself as he rounded the wooden barrier between the wash stalls and the cubbyholes that held their clothes. “Looking for someone in particular?”
“You reek of her.” She stomped past him, and Terrent snickered from where he sat on the bench putting on his socks.
Daeryn pitched his damp towel at the fox boy’s head. “You’re both full of it.” He grabbed a fresh towel and rubbed briskly at his chest. But his grin faded at the sight of Zar shifting forms in the doorway.
The lynx’s snout wrinkled in a way that turned to a grimace on his bearded human face. “No, they ain’t kiddin’.”
Daeryn stilled the towel and sniffed at himself. “She smells nice.”
“Didn’t say she doesn’t. Just that it’s not you. Different. Too fast to adjust to.”
“Exactly,” Maraquin called above the spray of water. “I thought she was in here. I mean, logically I knew she wasn’t, but it still makes you stop at the door.” Her drenched head popped over the wooden stall, her yellow eyes trained on him in sympathy. “It’s fine, really, Dae. I mean, she wasn’t one of us, but somehow that night, she suddenly was.”
“She is.” Jac picked up a towel on her way in and came to stand beside him. “Show him your rear, Mar.”
Daeryn wrapped the towel self-consciously around his middle before he’d realized what he’d done. Zar and Terrent sidled over as Maraquin maneuvered her previously gouged bum around the stall edge, her forearm hiding her breast. Smooth skin showed no scars from the bites Paet had left.
“My body was completely repaired when I woke the next morning,” Maraquin said. “I can’t wait to thank her.”
“Agreed,” said James from the door. He pulled his shirt over his head and kicked the wet clothing aside. “Though I’m still not sure what happened while the city girl drew.” The lines of a five-clawed scratch marked his upper shoulder, cuts Annmar must have missed because of the worse laceration to his thigh.
“We don’t need to know,” Jac said. “And none of us should call her a city girl anymore. Mary Clare says she’s Basin bred.”
Huh, he’d have to ask Annmar about that. Daeryn poked Jac’s shoulder. “Are you admitting you’re glad she’s here?”
Jac swatted at him, but her grin spread clear to her sparkling eyes. “Only for your sake.”
“She’s got pluck, that artist,” Zar said. “Comin’ here. Fittin’ in. Healin’ the hides of beings she’d never lain eyes on. Compared to all that, handlin’ one little polecat ain’t so much.”
Everyone laughed, and Daeryn took their teasing. But he couldn’t shake one question from his head, one that the older, observant Zar, the female-savvy wolves, or even Terrent with his Borderlands’ experience with Outsiders, might be able to answer. When his fellow night guards had dressed and were walking across the misty farmyard to breakfast, he asked, “You think she’ll stay?”
Terrent just shrugged. Maraquin looked at Jac, who said, “Attempted kidnapping, the possibility of rape? That kind of thing throws off a female’s sense of security, but Miz Gere has done everything she can to fix that.”
Daeryn nodded and looked at Zar, willing more wisdom from the man.
“Not sure about that. Just that she ain’t afraid. Let her have her head.”
Daeryn dropped his gaze. “Suppose I don’t have much choice.”
“Yous don’t.” Terrent grinned. “Not if yous want her in your bed—”
“Keep mum!” Maraquin mock-beat his head, messing the boy’s neatly combed hair.
“That girl is some healer, even with her own injuries,” James said. “How’s she doing, Dae?”
“Less restless, sleeping deeper since Miriam started feeding her that minty herb mix.”
“Ugh,” Maraquin groaned. “You know when she puts mint in it, that’s the strong stuff, the stuff you can’t choke down otherwise. How’s she doing it?”
Daeryn’s gut twisted. While his polecat had noticed the sour smell, he’d missed that point. “She hasn’t been conscious enough to notice. I think that’s part of what Miriam’s doing for her head to recover from Paet’s shaking.” And in saying that out loud, in human form, he had to face what his polecat form had avoided. Annmar was seriously bad off.
chapter three
Annmar woke to hands touching her head. Who? She froze, her mind clear enough to be afraid. Within seconds, she realized the touch was gentle, a survey of a sore spot.
Where Paet hit me. Oh, Lord.
The horrible night tumbled back. Annmar’s stomach heaved.
“You’re awake,” a female voice said. She cupped Annmar’s chin with one hand. “Can you open your eyes?”
Annmar blinked. The face above her blurred, then resolved into the sharp features of the healer. Her eyesight—it worked. Relief flooded Annmar, turning her limbs a bit limp. “Miriam,” she whispered.
Miriam’s gray eyes were soft and worried, and unlike other times Annmar had seen the older woman, loose wisps of her brown hair formed a halo around the crown of her head.
“Yes.” Miriam’s smile crumpled, and she wiped one eye. “Your eyes are focusing?” She held up her fingers. “How many?”
“Two.”
“Follow this one. Without moving your head.”
Annmar did, tracking the finger side to side and up and down.
“Any pain?”
“No.”
“Thank the Creator,” Miriam said with a release of breath. “That’s enough for now. Rest your eyes.”
Annmar sank into her pillows and shut her eyelids, though a few tears leaked out.
<
br /> Miriam wrapped her hand around Annmar’s. “I am so very sorry I missed the seriousness of your head injury.”
“But I sat and drew when I wasn’t supposed to. I mean—” Annmar pressed her lips together. She should never have brought that up. Mary Clare and Rivley had worked hard to keep her healing Knack a secret. And Daeryn. She remembered Daeryn standing up to Miriam, saying she didn’t need to explain her wild gift, one different than other Basin dwellers’. Her head started throbbing.
Fingers lightly rubbed her forehead. “Learn and let live,” Miriam said. “You’re hurting yourself. Nothing matters but you healing. Which you are.”
She was healing. Thank the Lord—Creator—whomever. More tears ran down her cheeks. She wanted to lie still as Miriam instructed, but her muscles ached from being in bed too long… “How many days have I been asleep?”
“Four.” Miriam wiped her face with a warm cloth and got up from her chair. Rustles sounded at the table. The clinking of silverware against crockery and the familiar whir of a tea warmer.
Annmar’s eyes flashed open. If her eyesight worked, would her Knack sight? She focused, like she had when finding her gift while drawing, going deep within herself and willing the luminated threads to appear. Then, careful of her head, she eased over.
Miriam blocked the table. Annmar wanted to rise up or crane her neck—already feeling a bit warm from activating her Knack—but she didn’t dare. Pushing herself might hurt her head. But she had to know. Then Miriam moved.
A flicker of cerulean blue lit the gears of the tea warmer.
A sigh escaped her. Annmar closed her eyes in case Miriam turned. That was enough.
She was healing. She could focus her eyes. She had her Knack. The thought of being able to draw, to work, sent a flurry of plans to her clearing head. She could continue drawing Mistress Gere’s labels and at the same time start the search for her father. Once she wasn’t so tired, Annmar would figure out how many days until the next Market Day. In the town square, she could approach Old Terry to ask what the woman knew about the doodems—the figures that were part of the Basin Creator worship—and the sparkling tunnels that had upset Rivley. Yet these plans left her uneasy. Just like the rough Paet, wild people such as Old Terry held unfamiliar risks. Maybe she should leave Blighted Basin.
The Twisting Page 2