Edgelanders (Serpent of Time)

by Jennifer Melzer

  She muttered something to herself that sounded like, “Now who’s playing games,” but Finn was too tired to answer. Besides, the less she knew about where they were, the less likely she’d be to try something stupid, like running off.

  He gathered a few logs of dry wood he found near the cave entrance before Vilnjar came in with more kindling and dry logs from the woods just outside. Finn had been smart enough to take Kres’s tinder box off his belt after killing him. He crumbled dried leaves and pine needles into a nest on the stone floor and struck the flint until the sparks caught fire. Gathering the kindling into his hands, he blew softly on the smoldering ash until smoke plumed and flickering flames lapped against his fingertips. He lowered the nest of flame into the wood Vilnjar arranged and began feeding larger pieces of dried bark and kindling into the slow-growing fire.

  The sandwich he mentioned earlier would have been nice, his stomach rumbled and a few feet away he heard Lorelei’s groan too, but none of the guards had been carrying any food. The supply horse had taken off during the fray and though they’d debated about tracking it down, Vilnjar said he didn’t think there were actual supplies in those packs on its back and it wasn’t worth the risk only to find empty saddlebags.

  A nice haunch of roasted horse would have been good though, he thought.

  “I’ll be back,” Viln announced, looking between the two of them. “I’m going to scout the area, make sure our tracks are covered and set a false trail to lead them away from this place. It’ll buy us a little time to rest here.”

  “Sounds good,” Finn nodded. “Do you think you could bring me a sandwich when you come back?” He grinned up at his brother, who almost took his incredulous request seriously, then he chuckled. “Mutton would be nice, with some of that relish Greta makes every year and fresh baked bread right from the oven.”

  Vilnjar groaned a little, as though the mere mention of those things triggered a hunger inside him unlike any he’d ever known, and then he shook his head. “Would that I could, little brother. Once you get that fire burning steady, maybe you can scout for game, just don’t embrace the beast or wander too far.”

  The spoken denial of the beast beneath his skin made it itch and push against him, as if in challenge, but Finn wasn’t stupid. Allowing the beast to overtake him would create a link to the pack that hunted them, the stalking beasts catching the outright scent of one of their own, but he supposed after some of the things he’d done, Viln had a right to remind him not to be reckless.

  “I won’t, Papa,” he droned, his eyes arcing toward the dark hood of the cave overhead.

  The light sound of his brother’s soft-leather footsteps disappeared with his shadow, and they were finally alone again after what felt like an eternity.

  Silence, heavy and uncomfortable in a way that spoke volumes of all the things there were to say, but lacked the brevity to rise into conversation. Occasionally he caught himself looking up from his task by the fire to catch her gaze, but as soon as their eyes met she looked away as if ashamed.

  “Look, I’m sorry about last night.”

  “Which part? The killing, or the part where you threw me over your shoulder like I was little more than a sack of turnips?”

  “I’m not sorry about the killing, Princess.”

  Maybe he should have been sorry about it; a part of him was still conflicted on that front. Their people were already so few, and it seemed a waste to have to put down six good U’lfer warriors that might very well have meant the difference between saving and destroying their village, but a fine line had been drawn the minute he’d caught the scent of those hunters on the wind. If he hadn’t done what he’d done, Krestof and the others would have led them straight into that ambush without a second thought.

  “I wish I could be sorry, but sometimes you have to take lives to preserve your own life, and there was no way I was dying last night. I wasn’t about to let you die either, so I guess I’m sorry I treated you like a sack of turnips.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “You were acting a bit…” He stopped himself from finishing that sentence when she leveled a narrow glare at him, the growing fire dancing in her bright amber eyes like molten gold. “I mean, I just did what I had to do to protect you.”

  “I don’t need protecting.”

  Finn snorted laughter. “I beg to differ, Princess.”

  “Will you stop calling me that?” she snapped. “It’s so condescending. I can’t stand it.”

  “Maybe if you stopped acting like a little princess, I wouldn’t call you that,” he shot back, reveling almost joyously in the look of horror that twisted her face. “I’ve never seen a grown woman throw a tantrum like that before. You must have always gotten your way growing up, huh?”

  “I was out of my mind with fear, and you didn’t exactly do much to alleviate those fears, swinging axes and chopping people up like some kind of barbarian.”

  “So you’d rather I’d just let them take you to be torn apart by hunters? Because if that’s your wish, Princess, that can be arranged.”

  “No, but…”

  “No, but what? You think there was a more diplomatic approach? That we could have reasoned with the men walking us to our death?”

  “I don’t know, perhaps…”

  “Perhaps nothing. Those were decent men,” he hardened his voice, “men I looked up to because they taught me how to fight when I was a boy. Maybe that was their mistake, but it was them or us. Kill or be killed. That is the story of our lives right now, and you better get used to it because I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be doing a lot of killing if we want to live.”

  Something in those words softened her anger, a glimmer of fear flashing in her eyes again as they widened. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. I don’t know what happened back in Drekne, the whole thing with Rhiorna and Llorveth, or whatever that was, but the council was terrified. So scared they don’t want to take any chances on us making our way back from exile one day to carry out whatever Llorveth has planned. I don’t know about you, but I want to live and I want you to live too.”

  She didn’t say anything to that, but lowered her head in thought while rubbing the tip of her left thumb along the fingertips of her right hand.

  “Why do you care if I live?”

  She didn’t look up when she asked that question, and he was glad. How could he explain to her that her life was his life now, that he would protect her with every muscle in his body as long as they both lived because he couldn’t bear the thought of living without her? They were strangers, but he knew her in ways he’d never known anyone else before. The beat of her heart, the smell of her skin, the fire of her spirit—she was a part of him.

  It was a strange, but powerful bond, one he’d never imagined would touch his life, one he hadn’t cared one way or the other about experiencing until he’d come upon her in the clearing. Vilnjar said their mother was a different woman entirely before Deken was executed, vibrant and full of life in the presence of her mate, but losing the other half of her soul had shattered her in ways that could never be repaired.

  Now it made him sad that as a boy he shunned the very idea of mating for life, and when his hormones started to turn his head away from training and toward the pretty girls his age in the village, he realized he would have been perfectly content living out the rest of his days satisfying whatever carnal urges arose inside him with whoever might be interested in alleviating a little stress with him at the time, just so long as she didn’t ask him for his heart and soul.

  Now his hormones were more inflamed than they’d ever been, and a parade of the most beautiful naked girls in the village could have marched by him with lust and promise in their eyes, but he wouldn’t even look twice at them. His body, mind, heart and soul longed for only one other, and at the moment the other half of him had no idea how much he needed her to survive.

  How could she not feel that? Not even just a little? She was only half-blooded, but sure
ly the wolf buried deep inside her soul felt the connection they shared.

  “I just do,” he finally said. “All right? I have my reasons, reasons I can’t really put into words, but protecting you and keeping you alive is the most important thing in my world right now. You can accept that, or not, but I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep you alive and well.”

  She hesitated, some of the hardness and distrust melting away from her features as she nodded. “I accept that.”

  “Good.”

  The fire was burning strong, and he could feel the soft leather breeches he wore growing hot, so he pushed out of the crouch and took several steps back from the pit. The smoke filtered out through small breaks in the stone near the back of the cave and he wondered how easy it would be to spot from afar. Would those black plumes draw the hunters to their location? Would he return from hunting to find they’d already been found? The mere thought made him hesitate, but then his empty stomach joined hers in a groaning song.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “A little.”

  “A little, huh?” Finn laughed softly. “I can hear your empty stomach rattling all the way over here. Can I trust you to sit tight for a little while, so I can go out and find us something to eat?”

  “I’m not exactly going to make it very far with these shackles on, am I?”

  “I don’t know. You’re a crafty one. I imagine you’d find a way if you really wanted to escape your own rescue.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him with a sigh and then leaned her back against the hard stone behind her. “I’m too tired to run away right now.”

  And when she wasn’t tired? Would she run away then?

  “Take some rest while I’m gone. I won’t be long, and if you keep good on your promise to not run away, I’ll take those shackles off when I get back, okay?”

  Her upper lip curled into a grumbling sneer, but she gave no reply.

  Finn covered the entrance to the cave with fallen branches and stepped back to inspect the trickling line of black smoke rising toward the sky in short puffs. They were just close enough to Breken that from a reasonable distance it might be mistaken for hearth smoke from the village, but if the hunters passed through Breken and spotted that smoke it could give away their whereabouts.

  He only hoped Vilnjar diverted their trail far enough away from Breken to keep them safe.

  They’d taken all the weapons from their guards, and slinging the bow and quiver he’d wrenched from Necal’s dead body over his shoulder, Finn slipped quietly into the thickening trees stretching south and away from their camp. The air was clean, the only wolf-scent he could smell was his own and his brother. Lifting his face toward that smell, he knew exactly how far away Vilnjar was, but the lacking scent of the other wolves made him feel a little better.

  He tuned his senses into his environment but kept the thin line of smoke in view at all times.

  It was kind of funny to be out hunting with a bow and arrows. He was used to stalking and hunting prey as a wolf, not a man, but he was no slouch with a bow, and his wolf senses soon picked up a doe trail that climbed a stony pathway to their daytime hideaway in the thicket. As he climbed, he felt the exhaustion of the night’s run behind him, his left shoulder aching subtly from her weight. He stretched his muscles as he hiked, careful not to crack or pop them for fear of startling the deer that could already sense his approach.

  Their senses alerted by the slightest shift in the environment, he crested the craggy hilltop and watched their long necks rise from the grass, their black eyes scanning for the trouble they knew was coming. Finn stilled himself completely, eyes darting across the serene place they’d bedded down in the shade. Seven fawns, five doe. The little ones nestled in close to their mothers, heads down to keep them hidden in the tall grass.

  He gave them time to get used to his presence among them, to feel as if he belonged there as he surveyed the herd for the perfect target. Slowly sliding an arrow from the quiver, he glided the notch along the bow string with a fluid movement. Lifting the bow, he zeroed in on his target, a lone doe near the edge of their hideaway, no fawns nearby. Aligning the tip of the arrow as close to her heart as he could get, he drew in a deep breath through his nose and held it inside. The arrow flew, striking panic in the herd as the doe’s startled bleat echoed through the silent meadow. They leapt into action, even the little ones, darting through the brush and clover in a chaotic chase for safety, but the wounded doe faltered, moving slowly enough that he was able to knock another arrow and sink it through her front leg. She toppled forward, rolling and skidding through the grass, grunting and bleating in terror.

  Finn slung the bow over his shoulder again and hiked toward her, withdrawing Grodon’s knife from his belt as he approached his fallen prey. She kicked her back legs when he knelt beside her, lowering a calming hand to rest upon her neck. He stroked through her fur, fingers trailing down the long stretch of her neck.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, “for offering your life to fill our bellies,” and then he slashed the knife quickly across her throat to end her suffering.

  The scent of her blood filled him with longing, his hungry stomach groaning in anticipation of roast venison. After gutting her, he slung her over his shoulder and carried her back to the cave. The trail of smoke still plumed through the cracks in the rock, but the brush looked slightly disturbed. Not that he’d been worried about her actually trying to escape, but a part of him feared her discovery in his brief absence. Lowering the deer onto the stone beside the entry, he tugged aside the brush and ducked in to let her know he was back.

  He expected to find her curled up and asleep on her side near the fire, but the cave was empty and needles of panic stabbed through him. Muttering every curse he’d ever heard beneath his breath, he backed out of the cave, nearly tripping over his own kill, and scanned the woods for signs of her. Had the hunters tracked her to the cave, had they taken her, or had she found the strength to run away after all?

  He could still smell her in the air around him, a sure sign she hadn’t been gone long. There was still time to track her. A small, but obvious trail led away from their well-hidden camp, the kind of trail that would get her killed if someone were to happen upon it.

  So she hadn’t been too tired to try her luck. Jaw clenched in anger, he darted into action, following her scent and the trail she’d made through the weeds. Barreling through briar and dried grass so high it came up to his waste, he attuned every one of his senses to her. His eyes scanned her pathway through the brush, ears listened for sounds of struggle, could almost taste her on his tongue, but none of his primal senses were near as effective as the beat of his heart. Aligned with hers, it seemed to pick up speed as he neared where she was. He ignored the tear of prickling thorns against his wrists and arms, the itch of dried nettles as he shoved his way through that dense foliage, and then he stopped.

  Coming from a narrow clearing was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Quiet, clear singing, the song she sung flowed from her in an intricate tangle of words he didn’t understand or recognize, and the underlying gurgle of the stream provided music to her tune. The fury and terror he felt immediately began to ebb away, and though he was terrified that she’d been abducted or stupid enough to run away still bound in chains, just knowing he was near her calmed the furious pumping of his heart.

  Slowly peeling through the grass, he followed the sound of her voice into the thinning trees until he spied her kneeling before the stream, splashing frigid water against her face to wash the dried blood from her skin. Dipping her cupped, chained hands in, she lifted them to her face and stopped singing long enough to scrub away the grime. Finn watched her, gracefully bound, the early morning sunlight filtering through the trees and shining upon the bright red tangles of her loose hair.

  He contemplated leaving her to her task, but then looked down at his own hands, stained dirty brown with blood. Slipping through the trees, the sound of footsteps coming in
behind her didn’t alert her until he was within reach of her. Gasping with a start, she spun around quickly, both dripping fists clenched and ready to pummel whoever dared to try and harm her.

  “Relax,” he laughed, holding up his hands in a gesture of peaceful surrender. “I came back and you were gone. I thought someone found you, until I promptly realized you’d left a trail behind you wide enough for a blind gopher to follow.”

  She turned her gaze downward to avoid the intensity of his scolding eyes, momentarily abashed by his observation.

  “You’ve got a lot to learn about keeping a low profile on the run, Princess.”

  “I tried to sleep,” she confessed. “I’m so tired, but there was so much blood. I just wanted to feel clean again, but I don’t think I ever will.”

  “Here.” He took another step toward her, fishing the keys to the shackles from his pocket and dangling them in front of her. “It’ll be easier to get all the blood out with both hands free.”

  Finn squatted down beside her and she held her hands out so he could set her free. The shackles opened and dropped into his free hand, and for a moment he stared down at the pink indentation left behind on her skin. His fingers lingered over the sore, irritated skin, a part of him wishing he’d taken the time to learn the simple art of healing so he might soothe her wounds and take away her pain.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “A little,” she shrugged, bringing her hand up to touch the dried blisters decorating his wrist. “But not nearly as much as that looks like it hurts.”

  “It’s the silver,” he shrugged, dropping the chains on the ground and inspecting the fresh blisters that cropped up on his fingers and palm. “We are allergic to it.” She smoothed her hand along the rough, painful skin, her gentle touch sending shivers up the length of his arm until every hair stood out. “It looks like you are too, but not so severely.”

  Finn lowered his large hand to rest over hers, blood-stained fingers curling over her clean skin in a startling contrast that showed him just how different they really were. She was so dainty and feminine, barely able to stomach the thought of living with blood on her hands. Dirt and blood caked beneath his fingernails, seeped into and dried between the cracks where his knuckles bent. He could have gone for days the way he was, covered in the blood of his enemies, but not her. The thought alone sickened her, and yet she didn’t pull her hands away from his.