Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  For a moment, he did not move. Then he leaped forward with the power of a wild horse and picked up the bow. In one fluid movement, he drew the cord back to his face, aimed an invisible arrow at Lluava, and released the string with a twang.

  “That’s impossible,” Lluava gasped out. Searching for an explanation, she could not hide her shock at the smirk on the prisoner’s suntanned face. The bow was without a doubt one of the god’s weapons designed for the Incarn. The human should not have been able to draw back the bow, especially when no others could. Even she had tried and failed.

  “I don’t understand,” she murmured under her breath.

  “This,” the captive began as he stepped closer, proudly holding the bow, “does not belong to your kind, she-beast.”

  “If…if you would hand me the bow back for one moment, I want to test something,” Lluava said. This was her last attempt to prove the bow’s authenticity.

  The man stepped forward to pass one end of the bow to Lluava’s outstretched fingers but instead swung the metal device toward the side of her head. Lluava reacted too slowly. She stumbled on impact and managed to right herself just as she reached the edge of the cliff.

  Turning quickly to face her attacker, she saw the captive swing the bow like a bō staff once again. As the second blow forced her to skid over the edge, Lluava shifted into her dual form.

  Within seconds, her inner heat caused her flesh to bubble, as white and black fur sprouted out all over. The searing prick of an erupting tail, the taste of blood as old teeth dissolved and new ones burst forth, the snapping and tearing of muscles and bones breaking and realigning— all resulted in a large felid form exploding through her clothes. Bits of shredded cloth scattered as the tigress dug her claws into the stone. The grating sound quieted as she hung over the ledge. With one loud roar, Lluava hooked her rear paws against the rough stone wall and lunged back into the cell.

  Clearly, the prisoner had not expected a white tigress to emerge from the young woman’s transformation. He held his ground and waited for the feline to attack.

  There was a click, and the door behind them swung open. Guards flooded into the small space. Lluava spied several blowguns and shouted, “Stop! This is between him and me!”

  Regin waved the Shadows off.

  Lluava approached the captive. The man swung the bow at her a third time, but her large paw swatted the weapon out of his hands.

  “Kill me then, beast.”

  “I am not here for blood,” growled Lluava. “Not yours, anyway.” Stepping back, she asked the Guards, “A cloak? I’ve destroyed my clothes.”

  As she kept an eye on the prisoner, Lluava heard several people moving behind her. Soon, she was given one of the dark tunics worn by the acolytes.

  “Leave us,” Lluava said to Regin and the other Shadows.

  “That is ill-advised.”

  “Then leave Holly. Please do not make me shift in front of everyone here.” The men filed out after Regin gave his nod. “And Issaura’s Claws.”

  The golden weapons were passed to Holly, and the head Guard stepped outside and shut the door. Shifting back, Lluava hastily dressed herself as Holly watched the captive. The bow, which had been reclaimed by the Guards, had been placed at Holly’s feet.

  Once dressed, Lluava slid one of Issaura’s Claws over a hand. The touch of her weapon made her feel whole again—which was strange; she had not considered herself broken until that moment.

  Turning back to the prisoner, she picked up Giahem’s Wings with the other hand.

  “Issaura’s Claws are my weapons. Though they look odd, they were made for a Theriomorph like me.” Lluava knew she needn’t go into too much detail. “They are of the same metal as your bow, and if I am right, both weapons are gods’ weapons, which means…” Lluava touched the two weapons together, and just as hers had done when touched to Ullr’s Fangs, strange, rune-like designs appeared on each of them. And on her weapon, a name appeared: The Claws of Issaura.

  Both Holly and the prisoner gasped. Lluava heard the door open and quickly separated the weapons, which reverted to their normal appearance. The captive continued to shake his head. “That cannot be. That cannot be.”

  “As I said,” Lluava began as she handed Issaura’s Claw back to Holly for safekeeping. “That bow is meant for a Theriomorph, a special Theriomorph. I need to know who.”

  “You are a witch and a monster,” spat the prisoner. “You will not make me question my beliefs!”

  “I don’t want to, but—”

  Before Lluava could finish her statement, the young man lunged at her, a fragment of rock grasped in his hand. Lluava raised the bow between them in defense, but it was Holly’s sai positioned at the man’s throat that halted his attack.

  “Drop the rock,” hissed Holly as she pressed the three-pointed weapon into his neck hard enough that droplets of blood began to ooze down. Regin and the others re-entered, but the nomad had already released the stone.

  Lluava eyed the blood. Strange, she thought, and then asked, “Where were you born?”

  “Your questioning is over,” Regin stated. Lluava was ushered out. She picked up Issaura’s Claws from where Holly had dropped them. When she tried to hand them back to Regin, the head Guard pronounced, “Keep them. They are yours.”

  Suddenly, Lluava was elated. But the feeling was short-lived, for she saw Regin removing Giahem’s Wings.

  “I told the prisoner he could keep the bow.”

  “You had no authority to do so,” replied Regin.

  “But I promised!”

  “Something that was not yours to offer.”

  Though unhappy to be perceived a liar, Lluava was thrilled to have Issaura’s Claws back in her possession. She held them tightly as Holly led her back to her quarters.

  “You were right about his weapon and yours,” noted the female Shadow. “They are special.”

  “But,” Lluava said, “I just don’t understand how he could use it. He was able to draw the bow back with such ease.”

  “Are you sure he is not one of you? Maybe he was raised to believe he was human.”

  “No. He is human,” asserted Lluava. “Yet there is still an impression of Theriomorph about him, like a thumbprint on glass. I’ve never sensed anything like it before.”

  Chapter 8

  Amargo Bound

  Yet he is human?” Holly questioned once more.

  “Yes.”

  Pondering the strange essence that wafted from the captive, Lluava pressed on. “The bow he possessed. Have you examined it closely?”

  I was only recently made aware of its existence.”

  Lluava wondered if Holly was offended that Regin had not taken her into his confidence, but the Shadow seemed as collected as ever.

  “Did you notice how strong it is?”

  “I know only that the captive has been able to bend it.”

  “Yes, yes. But how much power does one need to use a weapon like that?”

  “The draw strength is far beyond the normal requirement. Are you insinuating that he is unnaturally strong? He was captured as easily as all the tribesmen who infiltrate Elysia.”

  “No. I wasn’t about to go that far.” Lluava hesitated as she tried to explain herself better. “I was thinking about the arrows. What arrow could match the power of that weapon? Any standard shaft would be too light. Or am I wrong?”

  “The nomad was kept alive for reasons that I do not know. If that decision was based on the weapon he possesses, the knowledge he has, or the actions he took, Regin would know the answer.” Holly paused, then added, “Those who are meant to wield weapons like yours have a greater purpose, do they not?”

  “I believe so.”

  They had reached Lluava’s quarters. The Guards stood at attention at the door. With a curt nod, Holly left the young woman for the night.

  As Lluava drifted off to sleep, she wondered about the true owner of Giahem’s Wings. Where was he? If she could convince him to fight on th
eir side, could they defeat Yena and rescue the people inside Cronus’s walls?

  ***

  Lluava was in the castle’s Grand Hall, the heart of Cronus. The smell of death and decay permeated everything. High Priestess Yena, garbed in her silver robes, sat on Varren’s throne. The sultry Selene was seated at her right hand, the pallid Luka on her left. Selene’s luminescent, sepia-hued fist clutched a bronze chain linked to a collar that encircled Apex’s neck. In his wolverine form, the enormous bronze beast reclined complacently near Selene’s manicured toes.

  Lluava was confronted by faces of Leucrocottan Theriomorphs. A few she recognized, many she did not. Four unknown figures stood around her, guarding her, eyeing the bindings that tethered her hands behind her back and kept her from rising from her kneeling position.

  She was on trial for her life. This she knew instantly, though she could not recall how she got there. Everyone was silent, as if waiting to hear her defend herself.

  Glancing at Apex, Lluava silently hoped he would break free from Selene’s grasp and come to her aid. But he seemed all too content where he was. He was the only one who took no notice of her and her plight.

  Suddenly, to her horror Lluava realized that she would die just as the Elysian Theriomorph High Councilmen had died during the takeover of Cronus. One of her guards held an axe. If given the chance, he would cleave her head from her body in one stroke.

  She had to run, but the rope bindings constricted her wrists. She had to fight back, but try as she might she could not shift. Without fang and claw, Lluava was helpless.

  As the man with the axe stepped closer, there were four sharp, short sounds of kee! The cry of an eagle accompanied the four golden shafts that lodged themselves deep within the sternums of the men around her. As they collapsed outward like the unfurling petals of a flower, Lluava looked around for Giahem’s Incarn, for it was certainly he who had saved her.

  Yet the man who stepped before her was not a Theriomorph savior but the captive nomad, carrying Giahem’s Wings. He stretched his arm toward her, and Lluava instantly realized she was unbound. As he assisted her to her feet, the nomad said, “As we promised.”

  Lluava awoke. She understood immediately the message within the dream. The nomad, though a human Outlander, was an essential participant in the upcoming game of life and death that would be played out as they marched on Cronus. Whatever plans Varren, Regin, and Themis were developing, the captive must be included. It was Lluava’s job to ensure it.

  Onyx fluttered down onto Lluava’s chest and cocked his good eye to look her over. Had she wakened him from his slumber, or had he been observing her for a while? Regardless, Lluava could sense that morning had arrived, even though she lacked the ability to see the rising sun.

  Clacking his beak, the black bird flew back to his perch. As soon as he alighted, there was a knock at her door.

  Sitting up, Lluava called out, “Who is it?”

  “It is I,” came Varren’s voice from beyond the wooden barrier.

  “Come in,” Lluava called as she quickly ran her fingers through her shoulder-length hair, trying to tame it.

  The king’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement as he entered the room. The long candle he held seemed to quiver with his pent-up energy. “I have come to tell you that we will be heading out tonight.”

  “So soon?” Although Lluava was not upset about the sudden departure from the dark underground abyss, she had not expected it.

  “The decision was made a while ago, but we were advised to keep this information between those with whom we—” The sparkle left the young king’s eyes. “I still trust you, Lluava. You know this.”

  Lluava thought his statement lacked earnestness. If he trusted her, he would not have allowed her status to be revoked. He would not have pushed her aside.

  Sensing her doubt, Varren continued, “I wanted to tell you in person, since I believe you are, as I am, ready to join the rest of the realm.”

  “Where are we going?” Lluava inquired.

  “South. To Amargo.” He moved over to scratch the back of Onyx’s head. Surprisingly, the bird permitted him that privilege. Varren continued, “Word was sent that the resistance has been massing there. An army is being formed, Lluava. They are waiting for their king to lead them. We will meet them within the next few weeks and together set our sights on liberating Cronus. It is time to make our last stand against those who wish to destroy our kingdom.”

  Lluava could clearly see that the young king firmly believed in this plan. “What then, Varren? Do you have a strategy for combating two opposing armies? Yena’s followers hold Cronus, while the Raiders continue to ravage the rest of the kingdom. How many trained troops are ready to fight? Many of our soldiers have been slaughtered.”

  With a look of dismay at her apparent doubt of him, Varren countered, “Durog’s legions from the Southern Camps who survived the battles by the sea, as well as the recruits from the Middle Camps, have assembled there. The soldiers at Swelore, along with those stationed at the Noma outpost, also await our arrival. In addition, many refugees that have fled south are willing to fight. We have an army—the largest one we have mustered since the attacks began last spring.”

  “And the plan?”

  “That will be finalized once we are all united at Amargo. The commanding officers stationed there deserve to be included in the decision.”

  “So, who’s going with you?”

  “The Obsidian Guard, Head Councilman Themis, Byron, Thad, and you.”

  “You do realize that I am no longer your partner.” The words nearly stuck in her throat.

  “I know. But you are still an Elysian soldier.”

  Lluava pursed her lips at the unsatisfactory answer.

  Varren started to raise his arm but held back. A glint of sadness flickered in his cool eyes. “I miss talking with you. I miss the way things once were.”

  “I do, too. But—” Suddenly, guilt for all the lost lives caused Lluava to choke up. “After what happened in the capital…that can’t be forgiven.”

  Varren was all too solemn. “I know. I have told myself that ever since it happened. I don’t deserve forgiveness, especially from you. I still cannot explain why I made those decisions, but I must live by their consequences.”

  “What are you talking about?” questioned Lluava, now clearly befuddled.

  “Selene. The Clans. All the ludicrous proclamations I made when I should have been protecting my people.” He looked at her as if expecting her censure. “I was given full authority over the kingdom, and I made a mockery of it.”

  “Uh—” Lluava gasped sharply. Did he really believe she was the victim of his indiscretions? Did he not realize what had been done to him? “Varren, that wasn’t you.”

  “I wish I could believe that. But I made those choices. Disastrous choices.”

  “No, listen to me,” Lluava began in earnest. “Selene has a special ability, a power of sorts. She can manipulate men. Hypnotize them, if you will. You were under her spell. Those choices you made were actually hers. She was controlling you. You are innocent.”

  “That’s preposterous. Magic, mind control—those are nothing more than myth and legend. Something dreamed up in Yamir’s fantasies.”

  “But they’re not. Selene is an Incarn. She—” Lluava realized that Varren was unaware of so much. Upon her return last winter, she had not shared this information with him, for by then it was too late; he was already under Selene’s spell. And there had been no time in the days preceding the Fall. Lluava had never explained. But why, she wondered, hadn’t Regin divulged this information? Regardless, now Varren had to know.

  “I haven’t told you the real reason I went north with Apex,” she began. After they had seated themselves on the floor mat, Lluava finally explained all that had occurred over the past months. She disclosed everything she had told Regin and the elders who had judged her, but because she still trusted Varren above all others, she shared more.

  “W
hen we were fleeing Tartarus, and I turned to kill the Theriomorph known as Master Hon, I finally allowed Theri to take over my body. I’ve never felt anything like that before—that amount of power resonating through me, that feeling of some all-knowing presence making my decisions, our decisions. There was no fear of death or pain. I knew, we knew, exactly what to do to kill him. And I did.”

  “I felt complete in my purpose. In that moment, I fully accepted my role as Incarn. Because of that experience, I believe that the enemy can be conquered. But I am afraid of what will happen if I give myself fully to Issaura. If I am an Incarn created exclusively for Theri’s wishes, will I lose myself and become only her?” Lluava voiced this new fear that she had refused to acknowledge until now. “What if, once this is over, I cease to be?”

  “No. No. No,” Varren soothed as he pulled her into his reassuring embrace. “I have you now. I will always have you. I will never let anything take you away. Not Themis, not Yena, not some Theriomorph deity. I promise you this as I live and breathe.”

  Trembling, Lluava thought about what had happened between them. Varren had been hurting all this time, blaming himself for circumstances over which he had no control. He had thought Lluava was angry with him for his engagement to Selene, the imprisonment of Yamir, and his inability to defend the kingdom. She, in turn, had thought Varren was disgusted that she had placed her faith in Yena, abetting the evil that led to the Fall. If only they had found the strength to talk openly to one another earlier, these past few weeks would have been far more bearable.

  Feeling stripped bare and emotionally raw, Lluava relished the comfort of Varren’s embrace. She had missed him horribly. Even though they had been near one another for the past few months, neither had actually been there. Did that even make sense? There was a distance between them that each had helped create. But this invisible, intangible distance had finally been overcome.

  As Lluava breathed in Varren’s familiar scent of rosemary and fennel, she reacquainted herself with the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. She turned to look at his compassionate face. Without a second thought, she reached up and pulled Varren’s face down to hers. The kiss they shared held no awkwardness or reserve. Lips passionately roamed over lips, cheeks, and neck. Fingers curled around locks of hair; bodies pressed as close as two separate forms could.