Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  “Now, we must depart and make camp elsewhere. We cannot risk staying in this location any longer. Evil is about.”

  ***

  Before Lluava went to bed, she found an opportunity to talk to Varren alone. There was rarely a moment when the king was out of the Shadows’ sight and hearing.

  Sensing her worry, Varren motioned her to sit next to him on the blanket. “Sit down. Please.” Once she was beside him, Varren asked, “What is on your mind?”

  “I have no idea how to get Yena’s followers to side with me. I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

  Varren gave her a hard look, then grimaced. “Yena wants something from you. Maybe that is the bargaining chip. Maybe that is what is needed for the Outlanders to follow you, for Elysia to survive.”

  Lluava felt bile claw its way into her throat. “She wants Ullr’s child—a child conceived by me. How could you bear that? How could I?”

  Remorse was clear in the young king’s voice. “Elysia is dying. It is my duty to save her. Even if…” Varren hesitated. “I will not command you to pursue that path, but I must make you aware of the sacrifices we all must be willing to make so that our home, our people, can survive. Elysia must live on, whatever it takes. You must persuade the Outlanders. You can do this, Lluava,” Varren spoke softly. “I know you can.”

  The thought of bearing a child that she did not want was sickening. Yet if Varren could accept this in order to protect Elysia, shouldn’t she?

  “I will do my best.” She reached for his hand.

  “That is all I ask,” he replied as he gently clasped hers in return.

  Lluava tried to suppress her fear of the journey ahead. In a tone drained of emotion, she said, “I might die.”

  Varren sat in silence, staring at the small campfire. Lluava whispered, “If this is our last time together, I have something to ask of you.”

  “Name it, and it shall be yours.” He leaned in to hear.

  “I would like—”

  Before she could form the words, Varren leaned toward her and kissed her. This was one wish he could grant. Lluava pulled him close to her in return. The fire crackled, but the warmth she felt was not from the flames.

  “Caw?”

  Onyx alighted before the pair and cocked his good eye as if to get a better look at their embrace. Their sense of seclusion shattered, Lluava stood and bade Varren good night.

  Walking past Thad’s bed, she heard him mumble, “Better to be dead than in their grip.”

  Lluava soon realized that sleep would offer no comfort. Her dreams never did…

  ***

  There it was. The sound that caused her stomach to churn. The one she wanted to find and destroy. But where was the source?

  “Lluava,” the husky voice began, almost teasing—the one who made that horrid sound. Looking about, all she could see was black.

  “It is time.”

  Lluava reached ahead of her. Her hands—no, her paws—clawed at the blackness. The speaker was out of sight and out of reach.

  “Rise,” rasped a second female voice. This one, harsher, was unknown to Lluava's ears. There was a sense of urgency.

  The first female purred, “Your destiny is nigh. It will find you, and so will I. You cannot hide.”

  “Rise!” the second voice cried, cracking.

  “We, the Incarn, await you,” decreed the first voice, then burst into a peal of laughter, one that rose and fell in that horrid sound Lluava hated over all others. The laugh of the hyena. The laughter of Yena.

  “RISE!”

  Onyx was screaming above her head, fluttering about in a panic, as she awoke violently from her nightmare.

  Lluava threw a handful of slushy snow at the bird; she had to quiet him before a throwing sun did. Shadows were patrolling the camp, and the bird was a nuisance. All else was quiet.

  She checked about her. Everything was as it should be—except that Thad was no longer in his bed.

  As her senses heightened, the world seemed to brighten, even in the night. Thad knelt next to Varren, who was propped up on an elbow. The two were talking. She could hear their conversation.

  “…better to die than to go back there. Better to die than be at their mercy. The blue monsters. Blue monsters…” Thad sounded so pitiful.

  “I told you,” Varren responded, “I will not let them harm you. You will stay at Amargo and not return with me to Cronus. You will be safe.”

  Thad shuddered. Varren reached out and hugged him. “You are my brother. I love you.” He kissed his friend’s forehead.

  “Love is mercy,” replied Thad, quoting scripture from the humans’ religion.

  “Yes.”

  “Mercy.”

  Suddenly, Thad’s hands were at Varren’s throat. Lluava sprang from her bed with weapons at hand, just as a wall of living night swarmed about the pair. Varren coughed as he struggled to push Thad away. “No one harm him! He is sick. Sick, I say!”

  The Obsidian Guard, weapons drawn, were ready to end Thad’s misery. There was no need. Varren had pushed Thad to his side and pinned his friend to the ground.

  “Thad, Thadius, listen to me,” Varren tried to calm his crazed comrade. “They will not get you. You are safe. Safe.”

  Lluava stood in the midst of the Guard and watched the exaggerated rise and fall of Thad’s chest finally lessen.

  “He is better now, see?” Varren said to the Obsidian Guard, though his eyes never left his friend. “He will be all right.”

  Aquila was the only one still abed. He had watched the strange ordeal without interest. Although Thad was an immediate threat, other Shadows had kept their eyes steadily on the captive.

  “Thad will have to be monitored, Your Majesty,” Holly said as Varren held his friend down.

  “Yes,” agreed Varren, “but not harmed.”

  Thad’s eyes stayed shut, though they rolled about under his lids.

  “Mercy,” he murmured almost inaudibly.

  A Guard helped Varren to his feet. Byron moved to assist Thad. Though unwilling to right himself, Thad was pulled to his feet easily enough. Though his eyes remained closed, a tear slid down one pale cheek.

  “It will be okay now, Thadius,” Byron said. But Thad collapsed on the ground. As Byron shrugged at Lluava, she noticed something glinting in Thad’s boot.

  In that moment, she understood. Thad would try to kill Varren again; he believed that death was the most merciful way out of their predicament. A kindness, an act of love. Even held at bay, how many times might he attempt to slay the king? Varren would do his best to protect his friend even though it meant risking his own life. That’s who Varren was. He would do the same for her. But she could not allow him to make that mistake.

  Just as Thad righted himself, Lluava shoved Issaura’s Claws into his back. Spitting blood, their distraught companion lost all strength of body and collapsed into her arms. A small knife fell from his hand to the ground.

  “No!” Varren shouted. Unable to look at the horror on the king’s face, Lluava stared into Thad’s blanched one. “Love is mercy,” he coughed out. “Better to die than—”

  “What have you done?” Varren screamed as a Guard pulled the Claw from the body. In death, a smile brought peace to Thad’s features.

  “What did you do?”

  Lluava had murdered the king’s oldest friend. Her relationship with Varren would never be the same. She was known as a warrior, a killer of enemies. But now she would be known as a murderer. That’s the kind of person she was.

  Chapter 13

  The Lion’s Enemy

  God, no!”

  Varren rushed to the Shadow who had retrieved Thad’s body.

  Lluava stepped aside. To save the king’s life, she had murdered his best friend, but there would be no forgiveness. She had destroyed whatever chance she and Varren might have had for happiness together. There had been no other way.

  “Thad!” Varren cried as he gently laid the body on the ground. He lifted Thad’s d
usty-blond head to his chest.

  Slipping away, Lluava quietly gathered her gear. She did not want to wait any longer. As she listened to the heartbreak in Varren’s cries, her heart shattered with his. A tear slid down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. She did not deserve to cry.

  Lluava motioned to Aquila, who seemed to understand her intentions. Together, they swiftly saddled a pair of horses. The Shadows watched, yet no one attempted to dissuade them.

  “What about food?” Aquila asked.

  “You can hunt, can’t you?” Lluava replied harshly. She could not tarry any longer. The very essence of her being implored her to leave immediately.

  “’Course,” huffed the nomad as he swung onto his mount with ease.

  Just as Lluava climbed onto hers, a solitary figure approached. It was Holly. She positioned herself in front of their horses. Would she try to stop them? Was it Lluava’s turn to be punished for what she had done?

  “You did the right thing.” Holly’s statement refuted Lluava’s fears.

  Gritting her teeth in an attempt to hold back tears, Lluava nodded. She knew her words would drown in salty rivers flowing down her cheeks.

  Holly continued, “To reach Cronus, you will need to use every resource at your disposal. Take these.” She handed Lluava a set of daggers, obviously confiscated from the slain Raiders, and a leather pouch containing a set of throwing suns.

  “They are light and will not burden you too much. And this.” Holly lifted Giahem’s Wings, the glimmering golden bow, and handed it to Lluava. Though Aquila would have happily accepted it, the nomad seemed content simply to have it near him again. Lluava knew that feeling. She gripped Issaura’s Claws tightly once everything was packed.

  “I have no arrows for you,” acknowledged Holly. “But when you get to Cronus, there is a cache stored in the vaults. Go there first.”

  “What about Regin?” Lluava knew he would surely disagree with Holly’s decision.

  Holly chose not to respond. Then, without wishing them farewell, she disappeared into the darkness.

  Onyx fluttered onto Lluava’s shoulder, his favorite position on long journeys, and crooned softly in her ear. Glancing back at the camp one final time, Lluava’s gaze lingered on the silhouettes of the two figures huddled on the ground.

  “Winds picking up. Might storm soon,” Aquila noted as his horse pawed anxiously at the ground.

  “No,” refuted Lluava. “The storm has already arrived.” She kicked her horse, and the pair rode off to the north and the awaiting enemy.

  ***

  Through the night and all the next day, Lluava kept up a fast pace, trying to distance herself from the pain; yet it remained and would, she knew, for some time. Pain and heartbreak had become second nature. Was it really worth it to fight on? Should she just give up? They had so little chance of success. Something, surely, drove her to continue. But to what end?

  The sky birthed clouds as dark as her mood until the heavens grew dim. Lluava claimed that the overcast gloom compelled her to make camp early, yet it was her exhaustion, both emotional as well as physical, that forced her to dismount.

  Aquila kept his word and made no attempt to flee. Moreover, he kept pace with Lluava and even roused her when she almost fell asleep on her slowing steed. After that incident, she realized that she should be on her guard. The nomad could have killed her. Although they had a common enemy, he was by no means her friend.

  Why had she brought him along? Her certainty that the nomad served some greater purpose had dwindled to almost nothing. She was a fool to believe in prophecy, to believe that greater powers communed with those on the mortal plane.

  Yet wasn’t she herself the instrument of a goddess?

  Fine; so she had been chosen for some larger purpose, but Aquila had not. He was human and certainly not Incarn. And she now possessed Giahem’s Wings. Could he be any help without the weapon? Why had she felt so sure that he would prove valuable? She was his enemy. Didn’t that make him hers?

  How could she trust him? Glancing sideways, Lluava saw Aquila gazing at the golden bow slung over her shoulder. How could she risk sleeping near him? He could take the weapon and run—or worse, kill her where she lay. Something had to be done.

  “I must tie you up tonight,” stated Lluava matter-of-factly.

  “Why would I kill you now, when I could have before?”

  So he had thought about it. This knowledge unsettled her even more. “I need insurance, since you have tried to harm me in the past.”

  “As do I. My people have a saying: A hungry lion is always your enemy. You have not eaten, she-tiger. You haven’t fed all day.”

  “We can hunt tomorrow during our journey,” she told him. It was a partial lie, for how could she trust him with any weapon? Rubbing her neck, she remembered what he was capable of doing with only a few strips of hide.

  Aquila looked at her dubiously.

  “I will not eat you. I’m not that hungry.” Lluava added in a teasing manner, “And you’re probably too gamy for my liking.”

  Though the nomad did not look amused, she did not sense the fear of death about him. Yet he was still hesitant.

  “What?” she asked. “I will need you to keep watch for part of the night. So I do trust you, in a way.”

  “If I’m tied up, what do you expect me to do if the enemy appears?”

  “Wake me.”

  Thankfully, Lluava did not have to resort to threats. Aquila grudgingly allowed her to tie his wrists and ankles. Then, settling himself next to his saddle pack, he said, “I’ll take first watch.” Before she could protest, he added, “You almost fell off your horse. You need sleep, now.”

  Tentatively, Lluava lay down on her saddle blanket after tucking the Wings beneath it. She turned to face him and forced her eyes shut, gripping her weapons tightly. Though she tried to keep her ears on alert, she was soon pulled into a haze of dark dreams.

  A sudden nudge awoke her, and she lurched to her feet. Aquila hopped back to escape the swinging Claws.

  “I’m sorry,” Lluava said as she blinked away her mental fog. “Is it time already?”

  “Yes. Unless you want me to keep watch the entire night.”

  “No. You sleep. It’s my turn.”

  The night passed peacefully. Was that a cricket she heard? Had the weather warmed up enough for nymphs to become adults? Her breath no longer puffed out in milky bursts. Soon, trees would bud and leaves unfurl. For now, all Lluava could see was the sky sluggishly brightening as the sun fought to shine through the layer of clouds.

  Aquila awoke on his own. Lluava had already saddled her horse when he asked, “Am I to stay bound?”

  The idea would be a pleasing one, but Lluava untethered the nomad. And so the day began with little conversation between them, until Aquila halted his horse and pointed.

  “Deer. Five of them.”

  Studying the imprints in the muddy earth, Lluava noted how fresh they were. Allowing her senses to heighten, she imagined the strong, gamy smell of fresh venison. Her mouth began to water.

  “I require a knife,” Aquila said as he rubbed his wrists. “To hunt, of course.”

  “Of course,” Lluava responded hesitantly as she reluctantly handed over one of the blades.

  Quickly, Aquila broke off a branch and began to strip it of leaves and twigs. “Lead the way,” he said as he began whittling the tip into a point.

  “After you,” Lluava rebutted. She needed to keep both eyes on the nomad. He shrugged and allowed his horse to mosey after the whitetails.

  Aquila used his spear skillfully; by dinnertime, the two were feasting on his catch. Even without the Wings, he could hunt with great accuracy. Lluava wanted to acknowledge his help but could not bring herself to voice the words. Instead, she kept her praise to herself and wondered if she should ask him to relinquish his new weapon.

  As she approached him, he seemed to realize her intentions. “Tying me up again?”

  “Unfortunately, ye
s.”

  The next several days passed in a mix of strained silences, occasional hunts, and uncomfortable sleeping shifts. The wind arose in harsh gusts, while the chill in the air refused to abate. Though the predicted storm never fully manifested, all nature seemed to be building to something fierce.

  Then one day, they both exclaimed, “We are being tracked!” They blinked at their unanimous statement.

  “When did you notice?” Lluava asked, hoping that she had known before him. Yet her answer never came. Instead, a long, solemn howl cleft the silence like a double-edged sword.

  “Wolves,” Aquila snarled as his horse shied sideways.

  “No.” She paused, sensing something else. “Theriomorphs.” Moving her own steed close to Aquila’s, she added, “Give me your wrists. I need to tie them.”

  “You don’t know whether they are friend or foe,” he hissed. “I am not about to relinquish my best source of defense.”

  “They are Theriomorphs,” Lluava reaffirmed. “Which means that whether you are for or against Elysia, you will be viewed as their enemy. If they see you are my captive, they might allow you to live.”

  Aquila continued to glare at her.

  Lluava implored, “Do not die today out of foolish pride.”

  He thrust his hands at her. Quickly binding the nomad, Lluava sensed an incoming blow to her face. Too late. The sharp kick knocked her off her horse and onto the thawing ground. Ears ringing, spitting out blood, she lurched to her feet. Aquila was gone. His horse remained next to hers, whickering.

  Lluava had just enough time to clamber onto her mount before a pack of fifteen snarling canids burst from the underbrush. Struggling to keep her horse under control, she scanned the battle-scarred wolves. Aquila’s abandoned mount ran, maddened, in panicked circles. Though the wolves were in rough shape, they clearly had a good bit of fight still left in them.

  “Theri,” a voice growled out. Lluava turned toward a large black male. “You are still alive.”

  “Derrick!” Lluava cried out and half fell off her horse as she moved toward the shifting creature. As soon as the young woman reached him, she embraced her dark-skinned friend. “I haven’t seen you since—”