Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  And what of the other Incarn? There were twelve in all, one for each god in the pantheon. Apparently they resided outside of Elysia. Perhaps they were not even aware of what they really were. Lluava cared little for any of them. She cared even less for the gods.

  Gently running her fingers through Varren’s loose curls, Lluava wondered, Where was his god? Humans believed in only one god. Where was this all-powerful creator? Was he as heartless as the Theriomorphs’ pantheon? If the human god cared, let him bring Varren back. Out of all of them, Varren was the one who needed to be saved.

  “You have to let him go, Lluava.”

  Startled, she looked up at Byron through her platinum-blond hair, partially distorting her sight.

  “I can’t. I won’t.”

  “You must let him go,” Byron gently repeated as he bent down to lift her. “You need rest.”

  As Byron walked her to a blanket that he had spread on the ground, Lluava moaned, “I will never let him go.”

  Byron tucked her in just as her mother, Maessa, had done when Lluava was younger than her sister, Lamb. Mouse, her baby brother, would still be enjoying these simple pleasures. Her family would be asleep in their rundown farmhouse in Rivendale. That is, if Rivendale still existed and the war had not moved farther south.

  Tilting her head to the side, Lluava glimpsed the Okeanos River sparkling in the moonlight through the trees. The sounds of lapping water soothed her. It had been more than half a year since she had lived and trained by the ocean.

  Her pet raven, Onyx, alighted on her saddle bag, where he stood plucking out the entrails of some unfortunate lizard. What would the poor bird do when—if—she died? Fly away and join his feathered friends? Search for her after she was buried? Find another person to care for him?

  Whispered words wafted to Lluava’s ears as those huddled around the campfire conversed.

  “I still think someone should watch her in case she runs.”

  “Look at her. She can barely stand.”

  “Can’t you see that she is greatly pained by all this?”

  “Good. She deserves pain. We should not trust her.”

  “Her weapons have been confiscated. She will not be harming anybody.”

  “Some refer to her as that pagan warrior goddess. She is dangerous.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Lluava tried to distract herself from the others’ conversation, but her thoughts returned to what the men had said. They had taken Issaura’s Claws, her weapons, after the cave-in. She remembered distinctly the Shadows pulling the golden weapons off her hands and tossing them into a travel sack. Her last memory, before she had lost consciousness, was her distorted reflection multiplied in the three curved, metallic blades of each claw.

  The blades, in turn, were affixed to their specialized handles, akin to brass knuckles. She had received Issaura’s Claws during her military training. Yet they were not like any weapon she had ever seen. They were a weapon made by a Theriomorph for a Theriomorph. They, too, had a special ability—they shifted with her to gild her foreclaws in hardened sheaths. A god’s weapon. Apex and Yena also had gods’ weapons, which, though different in design, shifted with them as well.

  Longing to have the Claws returned, Lluava curled into a shivering ball. The early spring was still snow laden, and the chilled air turned her breath into puffs of cloud. Cold had never been kind to her. Maybe she would freeze to death.

  Soon her tormented dreams robbed her of the little rest she had gained. Muddled and confused, she dreamed that arrows with shafts as long as men skewered people together like the kabobs the traveling bandits had served. More projectiles flew past, pinning Theriomorph and human together, blood oozing from open mouths. Only Lluava was left standing among the bloodshed as an eagle keened high above.

  Suddenly, Lluava was shaken awake.

  “What’s happened?” she croaked out, blinking away the realm of dreams.

  Byron stood over her, his eyes wide.

  “It’s Varren, isn’t it?” Lluava struggled to sit up. “Is he…?”

  A tear slid down her blond-haired friend’s bristly face. “He’s awake.”

  Chapter 2

  Sightless

  Take me to him.”

  As Lluava struggled to rise, Byron lifted her up in a single, fluid movement. Was she really that weak? That light? Or had Byron always been that strong? With a whispered thanks, she quickly focused on Varren, who still lay on his stretcher. The entire camp encircled him, and her partner was shielded from her sight.

  Themis was the first to take note of her approach. “You cannot possibly—” he began, but Regin cut him off.

  “Let her through.”

  Several figures stepped back. Lluava half ran, half fell forward, landing on her knees as Varren struggled to raise his head and arms toward her. There was a moment when their eyes locked, green to blue, blue to green. Then, holding one another, they both began to sob. Neither cared whether their tears were happy, sad, or some other elusive, unexplained feeling. No words were needed. Neither apologies nor fears were voiced. They held each other tightly, more for emotional support than physical. Soon Varren’s grip weakened, and he eased back down onto his stretcher.

  “You both need rest,” Regin stated. “There is too little time for that as it is.”

  “Wait,” Varren rasped, his voice barely a whisper. “Let me look at her.”

  Lluava knelt as Varren lifted a hand to her face and tucked a swatch of her silvery hair behind her ear. Though his hand trembled, he succeeded in his gesture.

  Onyx landed on Lluava’s other shoulder and peered down at Varren with great interest, causing Varren to crack out a dry laugh. “You two look more alike every day.”

  Though his remark might not have been taken with such good humor in a different situation, Lluava chuffed playfully as she turned to observe her bird’s scarred face and single dead eye.

  “At least I should regain my sight,” she said as she gently touched her swollen eyelids. Their tender mass had begun to subside, although the bruised skin was still painful.

  “You are thin,” Varren observed, his voice serious.

  “Look who’s talking,” retorted Lluava.

  “Both of you must recuperate,” interjected Regin.

  Lluava had forgotten that Regin still stood there. Though he was dressed like the other Shadows, Lluava could identify him by his build, eyes, and voice.

  “Now, Your Majesty, please rest,” he said.

  Varren nodded. Another Obsidian Guard offered the king some broth to sip before he slept. Byron helped Lluava to her feet and returned with her to her sleeping area. At last, she could consent to rest.

  ***

  The following morning seemed brighter, somehow—the sky bluer, the evergreens a deeper shade of green. Even the broth Byron gave her tasted good.

  At Varren’s side once more, Lluava could not help but grin down at the young man. He, too, looked better. “How did you sleep?” she asked

  “As though I had not taken rest in a long while,” Varren admitted. “Strange, is it not?”

  “Regardless of your rest,” the ever-watchful Regin interjected, “I must insist that you continue to travel upon your stretcher, at least until you are able to eat a heartier meal. I cannot afford to let you break your neck falling off your horse.”

  “I will follow your advice without complaint,” replied the young king, who was still very weak.

  Lluava gently squeezed his hands; they felt warmer today. “Where are we heading?” she asked.

  “Far away. Far away. Far away from them,” mumbled Thad, who had stood silently a few feet away throughout the couple’s greeting. Although his eyes were cast downward, he was obviously listening to the conversations around him. Lluava gave the lordling a sidelong glance. Thad continued to shift his weight from side to side. He seemed to be getting worse. What had the Raiders done to him?

  Regin, saddling his horse, replied to Lluava’s question. “To t
he Verta Mountains.”

  Until now, Lluava had not cared where they were going, but her curiosity seemed to have awakened overnight. The Verta Mountains served as the spine of the kingdom. Somewhere within their peaks and valleys, far past Elysia’s border, lay Leucrocotta, the hidden city of Theriomorph Outlanders, where High Priestess Yena ruled. Leucrocotta, the birthplace of so much of this misery. To be headed so near it caused a shiver to run down Lluava’s spine, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

  Her discomfort grew as they traveled. Even though Lluava’s body had begun to regain its strength and heal, as had Varren’s, she could not shake the idea that more evil awaited her among the ever-growing, white-capped peaks. As they neared Lake Cherin, the largest landlocked body of water in the kingdom, Lluava hoped that they would seek refuge at the Middle Camps. Maybe that had been Regin’s idea after all.

  ***

  Unfortunately, her hopes were dashed upon the pebbly shores of the Cherin branch of the Okeanos River.

  “Certainly, we leave her there. She can be held and tried at their leisure.” Themis’s voice seemed to cleave the calm of the deepening twilight. “We can leave that soldier with her as well.”

  Lluava had chosen to sleep away from the main caravan, though someone was always posted as sentry. This did not bother her. She understood that only Varren and Byron wanted her around. She strained to make out the words of the voices she overheard.

  “I will send a Guard to scout the camps,” Regin responded. “The inhabitants will not have been notified of the status of either Cronus or the second opposing army. If they still exist, they may prove useful. When did you last hear from their representatives?”

  There was a long pause, for which Lluava surmised the reason: the High Council must have ignored and minimalized the war. Had Themis even kept in contact with the other training camps and forts? The Northern Camps had been destroyed when the Raiders attacked from the North with their Berserker Legion. The Southern Camps were barely functioning after their battles over the summer. Only Durog, the Theriomorph men’s camp where Lluava had trained, still stood. Had the Middle Camps survived?

  As the conversation resumed, Lluava was grateful for her hypersensitive hearing. Clearly, the humans believed she was out of earshot.

  “We will continue to follow our prearranged plan. Cronus has fallen. You, as well as King Varren, know the protocol.”

  Varren spoke up, confirming Regin’s statement. “The king and the head councilman will be taken to a safe refuge.”

  “Yes, yes,” noted Themis. “But no others will be permitted. The point is to minimize the chance of an enemy discovering our sanctuary until we have overcome the crisis.”

  “The plan also states,” Varren interjected, “that the High Council and royal family members are to be taken to several other hidden refuges for the duration of the crisis.” His voice had almost returned to its former authoritative strength. “Head Councilman Themis and I are all who remain. And Thad—Thad is as close to me as any family member.”

  Lluava felt a twinge of jealousy as she listened to Varren.

  “He comes with me. Moreover, we never envisioned a time when all human Cronians would be slaughtered. Byron will travel with us the entire way. Lluava also.”

  Themis cut in, sounding rather heated. “You know as well as I do, Your Majesty, where we are headed. No Theriomorph has ever, EVER crossed into that sanctuary. None are allowed. The Obsidian Guard will not stand for it!”

  “Then, Themis,” Varren sighed, “this is where we must part. Without my limited protection, Lluava will be hunted down by everyone. I will not leave her to die. She travels with us, or I stay with her.”

  “Noble words, my King,” began Regin. “Yet Themis is correct: Theriomorphs are not welcome in that sanctuary. However, this is an extraordinary situation. The Lady Lluava will be brought with us, if only to ensure that you remain protected.”

  There was a moment’s pause, as though Varren had been about to speak, but Regin continued. “She will come, but by a means of my choosing. She is a prisoner and will be tried accordingly for her actions, which resulted in the events leading to Cronus’s fall.”

  Varren uttered an oath, but Regin went on, “Where we are going, even you, Your Majesty, will be out of your jurisdiction. If Lluava is found guilty, she will be punished, even if it means she must relinquish her life.”

  “And if I do not go with you?” Varren’s question seemed to drip with poison.

  “I’m sorry,” said Regin. “That is not an option.”

  There was movement in the dark. Onyx cawed loudly and flew into the canopy. Before Lluava’s still stiff body could react, she felt a sharp prick on her neck. The silhouette of a Shadow holding a long needle stood next to her. As she focused on the glinting metal, she felt her eyesight dim.

  She was blind.

  ***

  The days that passed were hard on Lluava. The cold had returned with all its former severity. Wind whipped and tugged at her riding hood, nearly buffeting her off her horse. Worst of all was her lack of sight. She was led like a child on a pony lest she trek off into the wilderness and freeze.

  At first, Lluava had screamed when she lost her sight. She struck out, but a second needle prick caused the rest of her senses to relinquish their grasp. When she regained consciousness, she realized that she had been thrown across the back of what smelled like her mount and then strapped down like a sack. Moving sideways was horribly uncomfortable, and the ropes around her ankles and wrists cut deeply into her skin. Her vision had not returned.

  The scent of rosemary and fennel alerted her that Varren was nearby. “Lluava. Please, do not struggle,” her partner whispered. “Listen to me. Do not resist, and I will have them untie you.”

  “What’s happening?” she questioned warily.

  But Varren was gone. Was anybody near her? Who was watching her horse? Soon she sensed others arriving. Three, by the number of heartbeats; one was Varren.

  He said, “They will untie you as long as you swear to behave for the rest of the journey.”

  “I will.”

  Cords were cut. She was helped onto her saddle.

  ***

  In her darkened world, one day followed the next without change. As they traveled, the sunlight’s thin warmth was soon lost to them. The chill intensified, as did the snow.

  Lluava longed to talk with Varren. Would he understand what had happened to her in Tartarus? She had finally broken down the walls she had built against her own goddess, Theri/Issaura. Lluava had fought her inner darkness, that place where she lost conscious control, for a long time. She knew that Theri sought to manipulate her for an unknown purpose, and this terrified her.

  Yet during her battle in Tartarus with Master Hon, the Outlander whose form was that of a massive white rhino, Lluava finally permitted—or, rather, accepted—her role as Incarn. She was more than a Theriomorph; she had been created so the goddess Theri could access and interact with the mortal world. In those moments of unification, Lluava had never felt more powerful and free. Although she was loath to admit it, the young woman was glad to have permitted the goddess entry. But should she do so again? Could Lluava give herself fully to the goddess whenever Issaura desired? Through Theri’s acts, could Elysia actually be saved?

  As Theri’s Incarn, Lluava was deemed the savior of the Theriomorph race. Clearly, Yena believed that such a saving necessitated the eradication of the human race. Lluava was not so sure. If her gift as an Incarn was “to end war,” could her willing unification with the goddess save Elysia? How? She did not know. She hoped Issaura did.

  And what of the other part of the prophecy—that the child Lluava would conceive with Ullr’s Incarn, Apex, would be the source of their salvation? She was to save her people by giving birth to the actual savior, Yena had told her. Through Lluava’s life’s blood would be born the one to rescue all Theriomorphs from the ultimate evil. That was what Yena had said. Yena. The one who had
tricked her. The one who had taken over Cronus. Could Lluava believe anything the high priestess had told her?

  Sighing, she shook her head to clear her thoughts. As long as they were traveling, she would be unable to discuss anything with Varren until they were safely at their destination. When would they arrive?

  Eventually, Lluava realized she was being led down a slope. The decline was remarkably steep. Lluava gripped the mane of her horse, hoping she would not fall off. The horse’s hooves clacked on stone. What had happened to the snow? Another horse trotted alongside her. Suddenly, someone shoved her head down. When she straightened up, she rammed her head into a ceiling. Stone. Were they in a cavern?

  Down and down they descended. Finally, the clatter of hooves stopped, and Lluava was assisted from her horse. She felt Byron’s strong, gentle hands leading her onward into the depths of what Lluava guessed was the earth. Where was Varren?

  Several times, she stumbled on the stony ground. Once, she careened into a horse walking beside her; fortunately, the animal was less startled than she. Byron increased their pace. At least the cold had lessened.

  More than once, the small caravan paused. Words were passed between voices she did not recognize, before they moved on. Eventually, the ground leveled out, and their horses were left behind. Byron helped her navigate turns and climb stairs. Up, up, up.

  Finally, they stopped. Lluava’s ears perceived a multitude of sounds. Most of the party seemed to trudge off in a different direction. She heard the movement of cartwheels, the swaying of ropes, and the clatter of…weapons? Lluava gave a start, but Byron told her, “All’s well. Keep moving.”

  Easy for him to say. He could see. Just when she began to pant for lack of breath, Lluava was led into a chamber. She recognized the sound of keys and the clank of a lock, followed by the groan of a door opening.

  “You can’t be serious!” Byron exclaimed. “She doesn’t deserve this.”