Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  “That was not your fault,” said Lluava sympathetically as she stood up, half wondering if she should hug the young man.

  “I’ve come to terms with that now, but over the winter it tore me apart. I regretted not bringing her with me when I came south. I had no idea that the Raiders would take the North so quickly.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner? I could have…I don’t know. I would have been there for you.”

  “When you hold yourself to blame to the point of self-loathing, you feel nobody can redeem your soul. As I said, only you can forgive yourself and eventually move on. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  As she lay down, Lluava pondered her friend’s words. How could she not be upset about the Fall? Yet Byron was right. She was so focused on what had happened that she was not figuring out where to go from here. If she continued to wallow in her sorrow, she would be all but useless. She had to stop letting her emotions rule her thoughts, and think of her friends and her family instead of herself.

  When sleep was not forthcoming, Lluava again sought out Byron. He was leaning against the wall outside her door, tired but vigilant. “Do you know who tried to kill me?”

  “No. I think someone was captured, though,” he acknowledged.

  “Was it a Shadow?”

  “I don’t know, Lluava. I do know you need to try to sleep.”

  “One more question. How is Varren doing?”

  “He misses you. Now, sleep.”

  Grudgingly, Lluava returned to her mat and eventually dozed for a time. She got up when Onyx started moving about. Somewhat less heavy-hearted now, Lluava called out, “Byron, I’ve decided to take your advice. I’ve—”

  But Byron had been replaced by Jigo. “Your friend’s shift ended. He is resting now.”

  For some reason, Jigo’s presence startled her. Maybe it was the fact that he left no telltale odor; maybe it was because he was a male human, one whom Lluava did not fully trust. As far as she could recall, no Obsidian Guard ever gave off a scent. “Where’s Holly?”

  “I do not know of her current whereabouts,” replied Jigo neutrally.

  “What about Regin? I want to ask him something. It’s important.” If all Shadows were odorless, Lluava wondered, how would she know if one were about to attack her?

  “The commander is a very busy man. I will inform him of your request for a meeting. Until then, remain in your quarters.”

  “What about my breakfast?”

  “It will be brought to you shortly.”

  Was she under some sort of house arrest? Lluava did not like being confined in such a small space. Her phobia of being trapped began to resurface, and her heart began to pound.

  Jigo seemed to sense her concern. “This is only a temporary arrangement.”

  Backing into her room, Lluava shut the door. If her assailant were one of the Guards, could it be Jigo? Yet, like the other Guards, he had no scent; moreover, she knew the distinct odor of each of the Elysian humans. But the odor she had picked up today was unknown to her. That meant it could not have been Themis, at least not directly.

  Could the councilman have hired one of the Shadows to do his bidding? Could the Obsidian Guard be so easily swayed? Doubtful. But someone did try to assassinate her, and the Obsidian Guard’s original purpose, after all, was to kill her kind.

  ***

  That afternoon, Lluava received a welcome visitor. Holly called to her from the open doorway, “Lluava, come with me.”

  Jigo gave both women a small bow before moving off in a different direction. If he was curious about what was happening, he did not show it.

  Lluava hurried behind the female Guard. As they wound through the network of corridors in the gloom, she tried to keep quiet, hoping that Holly would proffer the reason for this sudden excursion. Taking stairway after stairway, they made their way toward the topmost part of the mountain and at last stopped at a well-guarded door.

  Turning to Lluava, Holly stated, “You weren’t the only prisoner here.”

  So, she had been viewed as a prisoner, and maybe still was. Lluava watched curiously as Holly waved to the pair of Obsidian Guards standing watch. “Be wary,” she warned them. Then, unlocking the heavy latch, Holly motioned Lluava to follow her inside.

  Two more Guards stood at attention in a cell that mirrored the one that had originally held Lluava. This chamber, however, was positioned much higher up than hers, and its captive was male.

  Behind the two Shadows, Lluava discerned a tall, lithe man kneeling on the ground. Shirtless, his sun-darkened, freckled skin was marred by old scars, though he could not have been much more than twenty. His long auburn hair, streaked with blond, hung raggedly over his face.

  As soon as Lluava entered, the prisoner lurched forward. Instinct kicked in, and she vaulted sideways to move out of his path. She needn’t have worried; the dart shot into the man’s neck caused him to collapse to the ground within three strides.

  Rubbing her skinned knee, Lluava stood and warily eyed the unconscious prisoner. His hide pants had been torn off up to mid-thigh. It was the same hide that had been used for the noose.

  “Who is that,” Lluava asked, “and why does he want me dead?”

  “That is one of the nomads from beyond the Sudn Plains,” explained Holly, her mouth turned down in displeasure. “He was captured entering Elysia through the Verta mountain range. He was hunting Theriomorphs.”

  Lluava knew all too well that bands of southern nomads had hunted and killed Theriomorphs since the goddess Theri bestowed upon a group of humans the ability to shift into the forms of animals. This newly created race carried her name: Theriomorphs. That was the myth Lluava had been told by her father and her grandfather. These nomadic humans were the original inhabitants of the continent.

  With the arrival of Varren’s ancestors, they were expelled from Elysia. The spears and longbows of the horse-riding people had been no match for Mandrun’s invading soldiers, armed with broadswords and recurve bows. The nomads had taken refuge in the deserts and survived in pockets of oases. As a result, their hatred of both Theriomorphs and Elysians had grown stronger and more deeply ingrained with each generation.

  Holly spoke again. “He must have seen you in the main chamber from this vantage point.” She pointed to the cliff’s edge. “He could have been watching you since you arrived.”

  The eyes, Lluava realized. He, not the Obsidian Guard, had been responsible for that feeling of eyes staring into her. She was the nomad’s natural enemy. He wanted her dead for no other reason than that she was a Theriomorph.

  At least she had discovered who her attacker was. Now that he was locked up and guarded, she could relax a little.

  “Thank you for showing him to me,” Lluava offered as she stepped out of the cell.

  Tentatively descending the first flight of stairs, Lluava waited for Holly to lead the rest of the way back. As the female Shadow stepped in front of her, she warned, “I do not think you are safe.”

  “Do you believe that man can take down multiple Obsidian Guards?” Lluava questioned.

  “It is not the prisoner who worries me,” admitted Holly. “It is whoever released him from his cell.”

  Chapter 7

  Gold Wings

  Someone let him out? Lluava’s worries rekindled.

  “There were no signs of forced escape,” explained Holly. “His door was barred from the outside. Someone released him and then re-latched the door.

  “Why would anyone let him out?”

  “To do exactly what he attempted,” Holly answered. Her green eyes burned in the dark. “Whoever set him free knew he would first find and kill you. You were the target; the prisoner was just the chosen weapon.”

  Uneasy now, Lluava said, “Then the prisoner could try to kill me again.”

  “Precautionary measures are being taken. Several of the Guard will stand watch outside his cell at all times. But, Lluava,” Holly warned, “until we discover who tried to orchestrate
your murder, I cannot promise you will not be attacked by some other means.”

  Lluava nodded toward the top of the stairs. “Can you find a way to get that man to tell you who freed him?”

  Holly motioned Lluava to follow her, as if she did not want to loiter in the stairwell longer than necessary. “I have never dealt with the nomadic tribes. I do know that they refuse to disclose information, no matter what means are used to encourage them.”

  “So, we have no way of knowing who was actually behind all this, and I am left with a target on my back.” A low growl rumbled up Lluava’s throat. She made no attempt to stop it.

  “Your room will be watched from now on,” responded Holly.

  “What if one of those men is my would-be killer? What then?” the young woman demanded uneasily.

  “Two Guards will be stationed at all times to prevent any attempts by either one. But you must stay on high alert.”

  “I appreciate you telling me all this,” Lluava replied earnestly. After a few paces in silence, she spoke again. “Holly, you and I both know that I should not be in Erebos. I only came because it was supposed to be a refuge and, well, to make sure Varren came along. But I think it’s time for me to leave. I am not safe here.” Holly’s pensive silence, Lluava knew, was her way of agreeing.

  Once back in her room, Lluava knelt at the low table and began to strategize. Using the quill and ink provided, she wrote in Theriomorph script in case her attacker found her plans. Surely these humans, like most others, had never learned to read the ancient runes. Although Lluava’s father had taught her a few basic characters before he died, it was only through the encouragement of Hyrax, the Guardian who had infiltrated the High Council, and through her own studies in Leucrocotta, that she had developed some proficiency. Unfortunately, all her ideas led to ends as dead as the language itself.

  “On the positive side, I’m far less bored,” she told Onyx fondly when the bird hopped down to inspect the scribbles of drying ink. His foot stepped on a still-wet character and left a line of four-toed footprints trailing off the page.

  There was a knock at the door, and the lead Guard, Regin, entered. Once inside, he pulled off his masked hood and said, “I was informed you wish to leave Erebos.”

  Though mildly surprised, she should have expected Holly to tell her superior of Lluava’s wishes. Had Holly told anyone else?

  “Does Varren know?”

  “Should he?”

  “No,” admitted Lluava. She knew the king would want to go with her.

  “Sometimes the best decisions are the hardest to make,” acknowledged Regin. He moved over to Onyx’s perch, on which the raven had just alighted. “That is why I cannot allow you to leave without knowing what you intend to do next. Many here do not think you are trustworthy. Some believe you are working against us.”

  “I’m not; you know that,” Lluava tried to reassure him. She stood up so quickly that the scroll fluttered off the table.

  Regin bent down and picked up the parchment. “Yes. But others—” He broke off in mid-sentence as he looked at the runes. “You know how to read this language?”

  “Yes,” Lluava replied cautiously. Would this make him think she was a traitor? That she had been lying the whole time? That she was working with Yena? “It’s to be expected that I, a Theriomorph, would want to learn to decipher my people’s writing.”

  “Could you translate something for me if I showed you a piece of script?”

  This request was not what she had expected. “Possibly,” she said carefully.

  After replacing his hood and opening the door, Regin told the outer Guards, “Lluava Kargen will accompany me for the remainder of the afternoon. Do not leave your posts until we return.”

  Once again, Lluava found herself being led all but blindly through corridors that snaked through the unlit underbelly of the mountain. This time, she was led below the main level to a chamber whose door was sealed by several large locks.

  Pulling out a set of brass keys, Regin opened each lock in turn. He pushed the door inward and stepped into the blackness. Lluava heard a hiss, and torchlight flared.

  Should she follow him? Before she could ask, Regin stepped back out of the room. In one hand he carried a torch, in the other a recurve bow. He carefully handed Lluava the golden weapon for her inspection. As soon as she held it, she realized that it was not real gold, for it was far too light. Stranger still, the weapon resonated with a warmth of its own. On its handle were runes, which she instantly identified.

  “Where did this come from?” she asked sharply. At the same moment, Regin inquired, “Can you read them?”

  With quickening heartbeat, she asked again, “Where did you get this?”

  “What does it say, Lluava?” he countered.

  She gave the metallic weapon a closer look and noted that the bowstring was made from the same golden element.

  “The Wings of Giahem. This is a god’s weapon. Just as are Issaura’s Claws. Where did you find it? Regin, I need to know.”

  The head Guard looked at the bow with an expression both expectant and skeptical. “This weapon was in the possession of the prisoner with whom you have recently become acquainted.”

  “That should not be,” stated Lluava as Regin returned the bow to the vault. “Those bandits use only longbows. Giahem’s Wings were made for a Theriomorph owner.”

  “Is it impossible to consider that its rightful owner may have been slain by the nomadic tribes?” questioned Regin as he began to lock the heavy door. “They would kill any Theriomorph they found.”

  “Yes, it is,” Lluava explained, “for the person who was meant to wield that weapon is Giahem’s Incarn.”

  Regin looked doubtful, so Lluava quickly added, “I know you don’t believe in the concept of Incarns or Theriomorph gods. But the man destined for that bow would be a powerful asset in this war. With that man, the Incarn of the King of the Gods, on our side…”

  Lluava did not know how to make him understand. For most humans, the concept of the Incarn was far too pagan an idea for their liking. “All I’m saying is that if we can track down that weapon’s true owner, we might find a great ally.”

  “Why wouldn’t such a person, if he were alive, side with that false priestess, Yena?” questioned Regin. “You claim that Selene and Luka are Incarn, and they follow her. If your huntsman does the same, why would I risk bringing another enemy into our midst?”

  Lluava considered his question. “He would be powerful, I promise you. Yena is searching for him as well as for the other Incarn; there is no way around that. Whether he is for us or against us, we must reach him first. And that means we need to find him.”

  What Regin would do, if he did anything at all, was uncertain, Lluava knew. If he believed her, then he must acknowledge the Theriomorph pantheon. On the other hand, doing nothing would give Yena time to gain more allies and weaken Varren’s chances to reclaim the throne.

  “How can you be sure such a man exists? That bow was tested and proven false.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The bow and string are of one solid material. Our best archer attempted to draw it, and the bow would not bend. The weapon was not designed for actual use but merely as a decorative symbol.”

  “If it cannot be used, then why did the prisoner carry it with him? Certainly he would not have relied upon a fake weapon.”

  “Unfortunately, our questioning of the nomad has proven fruitless. We have no rationale to explain why he was transporting this item or where he intended to take it.”

  “You could not get him to talk,” Lluava began, just as an idea came to her. “But I can. I will need Giahem’s Wings and Issaura’s Claws.”

  ***

  Once she had finally convinced Regin, she still had to present her idea to a delegation of elders. Luckily, the head Guard backed her up, and the elders agreed to her plan.

  Taking one last slow, deep breath, Lluava nodded to the Guards outside the prisoner’s door
before walking in, completely alone.

  Regin waited in the corridor with Holly, Jigo, and a few other Shadows. They had weapons in hand in case things went badly for the young Theriomorph. Although Lluava hoped it wouldn’t come to that, she was certain of one thing—the prisoner would try to take her life.

  The captive was sitting down and staring over the edge of the cliff. He did not glance behind him to see who had entered until the door was shut and Lluava spoke.

  “Is this yours?” she inquired, holding up Giahem’s Wings.

  The prisoner looked at her critically, then at the bow. He did not speak but slowly rose to his feet. Lluava felt herself tense in response, but she refused to show any sign of weakness. This man wanted her dead. She would not give him the opportunity.

  “This weapon—is it yours?” she repeated.

  No response save the glare of his fiery eyes.

  “Do you know that this is a Theriomorph weapon? Do you know you are carrying something made by my people?”

  Lluava’s attempt to infuriate the nomad worked. The anger in the captive’s eyes turned to hatred.

  “That bow belongs to my family. My bloodline.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” countered Lluava. “This was meant for Theriomorphs. Who did you steal this from?”

  “That weapon belongs to my family, beast,” snarled the prisoner. “We would never use anything made by your kind.” His spittle landed on the ground mere feet from Lluava.

  “Well you have, and you do,” replied Lluava. She pointed to the handle. “Do you see these marks? They’re my people’s writing.”

  “Those are gods’ marks.”

  Ignoring the prisoner, Lluava read the runes aloud, “The Wings of Giahem.”

  “That is not what they say!” yelled the man. With an effort, he calmed himself. “They claim the weapon for the First.”

  “Who is the First?” Remembering that the nomads were also polytheistic, she asked, “One of your gods?”

  The man clenched his bruised jaw. “That is no monster’s weapon. It was made for my bloodline.”

  “If it’s yours, prove it. Draw it back. Show me that you can wield it, and you can keep it.” Placing the weapon on the floor, Lluava stepped away to allow the man room to approach.