by P. C. Cast
Filled with strength and gratitude, Mari looked lovingly at the cluster of boats grouped around and before her and felt so much joy and excitement that her heart could not contain it. She threw her arms wide, as if to embrace them all.
Mari shimmered.
Mari glowed.
Mari blazed.
“Pack! This is truly our beginning! Together we have chosen to start our lives anew and to work to create a world where we all can be our truest selves—where we all are respected—where we all are valued as individuals as well as the whole we form.”
“May the Goddess keep you strong, Moon Woman!” Davis’s voice rang over the water, which had turned silver with Mari’s radiated light.
“She will! She will be with all of us on our journey. And so will the Sun God. It will be a powerful thing, indeed, to have a Goddess and a God blessing our Pack.” Mari saw the surprised pleasure reflected on the faces of the Pack members who used to be a Tribe as she included their God in her thanksgiving. Her voice amplified by happiness and the power of the moon, Mari concluded, “So may the Great Earth Mother and the Sun God bless us as we begin our journey to our new life and our new world on the free Plains of the Wind Riders!”
As the Pack cheered Mari gently released the moon magick and, laughing, fell into Nik’s waiting arms.
* * *
Iron Fist had found a single small canoe that the fleeing woman and her friends had left undamaged. He’d launched it silently, thinking how much swifter and easier to handle it was than the rough rafts the People used to traverse the river that flowed through their city.
It would have been simple to catch the slowly moving group, especially the two boats that had launched not long before him. They were lagging behind the others, laboring to catch up. Iron Fist had to traverse the rough shallows as he hugged the far side of the Tribe’s island so that he didn’t overtake them or wasn’t seen by them, and it was only his enhanced strength that kept the boat from capsizing in the unpredictable current.
When he heard the shouts drifting across the water and realized the group was tying up together, Iron Fist managed to anchor his boat beside a grounded root ball as he waited for them to get under way again.
But they did not simply tie up together and continue. Iron Fist strained to make the sounds that carried with the current into words. He’d almost despaired of it and was formulating an alternative plan that involved shadowing them only long enough to capture one of the laggers and take him to Death to be interrogated.
And then the woman amazed him by beginning an invocation—something mystical, magickal—something that caused her youthful voice to swell with power so that it was magnified and Iron Fist was able to easily hear what she was saying.
The woman was invoking the power of the moon!
Then Iron Fist’s amazement grew and changed to shock as the cloud-filled sky was suddenly shattered by blazing spikes of moonlight that found the girl—for as he got a good look at her Iron Fist realized that she was, indeed, little more than a child. But a child with incredible power. She glowed silver with it, so brilliantly that looking at her directly hurt his eyes.
He listened to the invocation in awe, hearing that she was a magickal being called a Moon Woman, invested by the Great Earth Goddess with the ability to draw down power from the moon—and that she claimed to have the ability to heal.
Iron Fist watched and saw her lay hands on first one, then another, then a third of her group. He saw their joy-filled response to her touch and realized that this Moon Woman did, indeed, wield the power to heal.
Iron Fist’s mind was whirring with possibilities. The God of Death would be so very pleased to receive news of this magnitude. The girl who threw fire as simply as a dry stick catches when touched to a red-hot coal can also call power from the moon and heal people in the name of the Goddess! He could hardly contain his excitement.
And then he refocused on the Moon Woman as she addressed her people, the ones she called “Pack,” and spoke of their new beginning, their new world, and their destination!
Then, in the illuminating light of the moon Iron Fist discovered something else that his God would be eager to hear. There, in one of the boats, smiling and cheering with the rest of the Pack people, were Dove and Lily! Iron Fist had stared a long time, hardly believing his own eyes, but Dove’s sightless face was unmistakable, and Lily sat beside her, hugging her mistress and looking happier than he’d ever seen her look in the temple where both women belonged. The fact that the two of them had somehow deserted Death and joined with the fleeing people was undeniable—as undeniable as the vengeance the God would mete out to them.
Iron Fist looked forward to that. Perhaps Death would allow the Reapers to enjoy the two women before He killed them. Just the thought sent a shiver of desire through his body.
Iron Fist did not wait to see them paddle slowly away. He did not follow them. He’d discovered the answer to the question his God had sent him to find, and more. He knew that Dove had betrayed her God. He knew where the Moon Woman who could throw fire was going—to the Plains of the Wind Riders! And even though Iron Fist’s secluded, poisoned life had not taught him where those plains might be, he knew his Lord, his God, would know.
Death knew everything.
With renewed excitement Iron Fist loosed the canoe and headed downstream and back into the Channel, eager to give such good news to his master.
CHAPTER 4
TWO YEARS IN THE PAST—THE PLAINS OF THE WIND RIDERS—NEAR HERD MAGENTI’S SPRING CAMPSITE
River knew she and Anjo were being tracked before the Flyer sounded its death call. She’d felt Anjo’s uneasiness through their bond, but had initially thought that the two-year-old was just nervous because today was the day they’d agreed on for River’s first official ride—something she and her filly had been anticipating for an entire year. Today, after seventeen years of wishing and waiting, dreaming and desiring, River was going to become a Wind Rider.
So, instead of trusting her horse and pausing to search the sky and the prairie around them for signs of trouble, River sent soothing thoughts to Anjo, assuring her that all was well—that they were ready for their maiden ride—and then River picked up their pace, jogging quickly beside Anjo and putting more distance between them and the spring campsite for Herd Magenti. Her thinking had been half good. River had reasoned that Anjo’s nerves would calm if there was no chance of anyone interrupting them, and if she was being completely honest she agreed with her Companion. Two-year-olds were usually ridden slowly, gently, and under the watchful eyes of mature horses and their Riders, but as usual, Anjo and River were in agreement.
They weren’t just any two-year-old/Rider pair. Ever since that wonderful day a year ago when Anjo had chosen River, Herd Magenti had been abuzz with speculation about the next Lead Mare—and that speculation was almost unanimously aimed at Anjo and River. It was justified. Anjo was growing into an exquisite filly, and with Echo’s decade of reign as Lead Mare coming to an end in another year, it was natural that the Herd was considering who would be the next Lead Mare/Rider team. And it was also natural for the Herd to look to the talented daughter of the Rider of the mare that had led them in a decade that had been prosperous and had seen unequaled births of strong, healthy foals as well as content Riders. It wasn’t possible for River not to hear the gossip and the musings, and she usually didn’t let the talk bother her. As her mother consistently told her: River, just focus on being the best version of you—not the version of you others want you to be. But that didn’t mean River or Anjo wanted an audience for their first ride.
Which was why they’d set out at dawn, jogging determinedly away from the sprawling Herd and looking for privacy.
The shrill cry of a Flyer had Anjo tossing her head and snorting as she sent River waves of fear.
“Ssh, it’s okay, Anjo. I don’t see anything yet.” River cupped her hand over her eyes against the glare of the bright spring morning as she studied the sky behi
nd them. The Flyer’s distant cry had seemed to come from in front of them, but the dangerous creatures had the ability to throw their voices. Unsuspecting prey trying to escape from the death cry of a Flyer ran right into the hunting path of the creature. But River was far from unsuspecting. “We have time. Look, the cross timber line is there.” River pointed at the distant smudge of green that seemed impossibly far away. Flyers only attacked their prey on the open prairie. They were unable to dive and latch onto their victims under the cover of even scrubby trees. “We’ll be safe in there. Come on—I’ll hang on and keep up with you.” River wound her hand into Anjo’s long mane so that as the big filly increased her speed from a trot to a canter, she would practically pull River with her.
But Anjo wasn’t having it. She slid to a stop, snorted at River, butted her gently with her head, and then—as if it was an everyday occurrence—bowed to her knees, ready to be mounted.
“You know we shouldn’t. Your bones might not be ready to carry me while you run. We can’t mess up our future—all the decades we have together—and chance an injury, or worse, a break. No, I’ll keep up if I hold on to you. Like I said, we have time.”
The Flyer’s scream sounded again—this time closer. River searched the sky behind them. Her stomach roiled when she sighted the black silhouette circling in the distance, getting closer and closer with each wing stroke. From River’s vantage point the creature looked deceptively like a harmless vulture. But River knew better. Flyers were able to appear like vultures from below—though instead of feathers they had leathery wings with scales and dark fur that covered their bulbous bodies. And instead of being harmless carrion eaters, they only ate fresh kills, preferring to consume prey slowly while it was alive after diving from the sky to attack. One small bite from a Flyer’s razor-tipped beak flooded prey with poison that caused instant paralysis, so the creature could eat slowly as its living meal suffered silently—unable to move or even scream for help.
Anjo snorted again and tossed her head fretfully, but she remained kneeling, even when the Flyer screamed its hunting cry once more—this time much, much closer. Anjo’s body trembled, and she filled River’s mind with an intense need to flee.
“You’re right. We won’t have a future if a Flyer bites either of us.” River moved to Anjo’s head, looking into her Companion’s beautiful brown eye. “We’re going to be careful. We’re only going to go fast enough to get to the cross timbers before the Flyer reaches us.” She rested her hand on her filly’s broad forehead. “This isn’t how I thought our first ride would be.”
Anjo’s swishing tail said that she agreed.
Moving quickly but carefully, River went to Anjo’s shoulder, grabbed a handful of mane, and then slid onto her filly’s wide, smooth back.
Anjo stood easily, prancing a little to the side as she got used to River’s weight. River had, of course, lain over her filly’s back many, many times during the past year—readying Anjo to bear her weight slowly, gently. No horse in any of the Wind Rider Herds was ever rushed to carry a Rider, which was one of the reasons horse-and-Rider pairs remained sound and healthy for many decades. Anjo was already used to her slight weight, though River had never sat fully on her filly’s back until that moment.
Even with a Flyer stalking them, River was filled with excitement and pride. She leaned forward and stroked Anjo’s smooth neck. “You’re doing great—actually you’re perfect!”
The Flyer screamed again, shrill and loud—which seemed to come from directly ahead of them. River didn’t waste time staring behind them; she knew what she would see—a dark silhouette closing on them from above and behind. She gripped Anjo’s sides with her thighs. “Let’s get out of here!”
Anjo leaped forward into a smooth, effortless canter. River leaned over her neck, sending her encouragement but also murmuring, “Easy, easy, Anjo. We have time. Keep it easy, perfect girl.”
The filly’s stride was strong and true, and though River had been riding since before she could walk, she felt a huge rush of joy at the smoothness of Anjo’s canter.
And then it happened. The amazing, miraculous bond that had begun that day one year before when Anjo had Chosen River expanded, strengthened, and was finally complete. River gasped as new sensations flooded her. Suddenly her sense of smell heightened, though not as much as her sight, which became crystalline sharp and expanded far past her limited human ability. And River knew things a human couldn’t. She could feel that they were being hunted—sense imminent danger coming from the sky. She also shared Anjo’s barely controlled panic and automatically sent soothing thoughts to the filly. We’re going to make it to the trees. We’re going to be fine. Then the power washed through her. River could feel her filly’s strength as her muscles warmed and flexed and her hooves pounded into the soft, verdant ground.
“Oh, Anjo! This is what Mother and the other Riders talk about—this sharing of senses that you only understand when you’re a Wind Rider. It’s incredible!” The filly’s ears twitched back to catch her words, and River laughed because her hearing, too, was bonded to Anjo’s and had become clearer.
“SKRAAW! SKRAAW!”
The screech sent a skitter of fear through filly and Rider. This time River’s heightened equine senses screamed DANGER and she swiveled at the waist to peer up at the sky behind them.
The Flyer was closing on them. In moments the predator would fold its scaly wings and dive at them.
River checked the distance to the approaching tree line and knew that unless they moved faster they simply would not make it. Her fingers twitched against Anjo’s mane, aching to unwind the leather strap from around her waist, fit the short throwing spear into it, turn her filly, and attack the Flyer with the momentum of a thousand-pound, galloping horse behind her spear toss. But she and Anjo hadn’t practiced spear throwing—not yet. None of the two-year-old horse/Rider pairs did until their bond was completed after their maiden ride. River was a decent shot, but she didn’t want their lives to rest on her inexperience.
Silently, River berated herself for not bringing her lasso, the throwing rope she’d been practicing using since she was a child. The lasso came easy to her, and River had no doubt that she could snap a noose around a diving Flyer’s neck. I will never leave my rope behind again!
No—she couldn’t attack the Flyer, not as long as they were on the open prairie. So River made her decision quickly. She leaned low over Anjo’s neck, gripped the filly tighter with her thighs, and spoke the words the young horse was poised to hear.
“Run, Anjo! Run!”
River felt her filly’s relief as Anjo’s stride lengthened, pounding the ground as she ran. The wind whistled past River’s cheeks, making her eyes tear and taking her breath, but her grin was fierce. Anjo’s speed was incredible. The grasses that surrounded them were knee high to the filly, and as she sped across the prairie it seemed to River that they were flying over an ocean of green.
The tree line grew closer, so close that with her equine-heightened senses River could smell that there was a creek close within the cross timber line, and she scented something else as well—something darker, feral—something dangerous. In the same moment, Anjo reacted. Her head lifted and her gait faltered.
“What is it?” River shouted as she scanned the cross timbers, trying to understand why Anjo’s senses had alerted them to danger.
The stallion seemed to materialize from nowhere. Later, River realized that he had to have been hidden in the scrub brush that dotted the area before the timber line, but at that instant his appearance was as magickal as it was surprising. He bolted in front of Anjo, squealing and nipping at her, forcing her to turn to her left. The filly panicked and lunged to the side, almost unseating River, who could only cling to her neck and stare, wide-eyed, at the beautiful but utterly crazed stallion.
“Ghost!” She could hardly comprehend it, but she definitely recognized the young stallion. “Stop!” River shouted at him. “Get away!” She even tried to kick out at him,
but the colt was too fast. He kept herding Anjo to the left so that they were galloping parallel to the tree line. Anjo’s ears were pinned back against her head and the whites of her eyes showed as she squealed her anger at the young stallion.
Ghost suddenly changed direction and gave her rump one last nip—this time herding her toward the tree line before the stallion slid to a stop and whirled around to face the Flyer.
“Go! Go! Go!” River shouted to Anjo, who needed no more encouragement. At a flat run, they finally entered the sanctuary of the cross timber tree line.
River kneed Anjo so that she spun around, and they watched as the Flyer came at the stallion. Ghost reared and struck out with his hooves and teeth, and the Flyer broke off its dive to circle and begin another approach.
“Come on!” River shouted. “Get under the trees with us!”
But the young stallion ignored her. She could see the whites of his eyes and he was squealing and tossing his head—obviously filled with anger that needed to explode at the Flyer. The dark and dangerous creature screamed its death call again.
“SKRAAW! SKRAAW!”
Ghost trumpeted his own challenge, turning to keep the Flyer in sight.
“Shit!” River cursed under her breath. He isn’t going to retreat and I’m not going to sit here and watch him get killed. Anjo danced to the side, snorting and tossing her head as she filled River with her need to help the stallion. Frantically River unwrapped the wide leather strap from around her waist with one hand as she reached behind her and into the travel pack strapped to Anjo to pull out a throwing spear. She quickly hooked the notched end of the short spear into the center of the long leather strap. Then she tightened her thighs around her filly again. “I’m with you, Anjo. We haven’t practiced together, but we can do this. We have to. We can’t let that creature get Ghost.” As she spoke she also sent her filly images of them sprinting together toward the stallion while River threw the spear at the Flyer.