There was one place she could go, one place she wasn’t outnumbered.
So she loped at a steady pace, feeling the power of the ley-line alongside her.
Its aura leaked into her. For the first time, she accepted it fully. She breathed it in and used it to fill her body, used it to drive her legs farther and harder than she could run on her own. The road became less of dirt and more of grass, then became merely hard-pressed grass and rock. She didn’t know how long she ran, but she became aware that the skies were darkening, and the land around her was filled with trees and the pure smells of moss and peat and other things: deer and elk, squirrel and hawk, denizens of the forest like her.
Kyree.
The male’s scent was bold in the clean night air.
It spoke of her place in the world.
No, it spoke of the world itself: big and broad, noble and harsh, powerful beyond understanding.
She felt the aura of other kyree, too, dozens upon dozens of her kintype, no less present, no less bold. She merged with the power of her magic, forming it into a single message, a single plea.
:Come with me!: she sent to them all. :Save my pair-mate!:
And they came.
The woods erupted with a cascade of movement, sounds, and scents of a hundred kinds. Boar beasts came through brush and briar. Ring-tailed bears and athletic elk came out of the woods with a scouring rustle that rose over the land. Muscled cats, coyote dogs, rabbits and rats, owls with the wingspan of cows, she called to the forest and the forest came to her.
:You are of us,: the alpha male said to her. :We will do your bidding.:
With that, her kyree cousins rode shepherd over this animal army as they turned toward the city proper and rolled over the land.
Nwah led them toward the city, feeling the true power of her Gift as she ran forward.
The ley-line was her life now. It was her purpose.
Its power raged through her army as they ran and flew and hopped and slithered toward the city. Her skin burned. The smell of clean fire overtook everything she knew as she raced ahead, her paws flying over the ground, her lungs burning with sweetness almost too great to bear.
:Save Kade!: she thought as she breathed in the world around her. :Save Kade!:
The night was dark when they arrived.
The ground was wet, but the rain had stopped.
The gate was closed, but walls are nothing to peregrines and owls, and gate latches can fall to the smallest of rodents when placed just so.
Nwah’s heart pounded as she entered the city.
Her breath ached as her animal army raced past the guard and took the castle proper.
Her legs gave out then, and she lay in the manor yard, her tongue lolling in the mud.
She gulped last draughts of the ley-line.
Empty now. Unable to continue.
:The dungeon!: Nwah called, pulling at her Gift as hard as she had ever pulled and feeling it collapse over her. :Find Kade in the dungeon!:
It was the male kyree who took the command as she fell.
Nwah felt him, strong and bold in her stead.
Then the night went dark.
• • •
As with the city, there had been places to avoid in the Pelagiris.
Dark hollows, dangerous lairs, forces that tangled the land and oozed the essence of ugly magic.
The forest was her home, though, the place Nwah knew best. Her mother had taught her how to sense these places and how to slip through the brambles to avoid them. That was her answer when she asked herself how they survived in the woods, anyway. That was the story she told herself.
But in the darkness of this moment, Nwah could finally admit to herself that it was her Gift, too, that had saved them, that, unbidden and unthinking, she had tied into the wild powers of the dark forest and thrown protections over herself and Kade that kept them shielded while they lived under its canopy.
The Pelagiris was her home, though. It hadn’t felt odd at all.
It was what she knew.
• • •
She woke to the smell of undergrowth and the sound of Kade’s humming. The melody seemed somehow familiar. The pressure of his hand on her shoulder was like sunshine on her pelt.
A beetle scratched somewhere in the woodlands.
She opened her eyes to find herself in the cool shade of trees.
“She’s awake.”
It was Winnie’s voice.
:Nwah?: Kade said. His voice was relieved, and so good to hear.
She rolled to her side, gave a grumble, and shook herself to remove debris from her coat. Every muscle in her body throbbed. :Kade?:
:I’m here.:
And he was there, beside her as he had always been, only this time the girl was also there. The expression on her face was more relieved than even Kade’s.
Nwah felt another presence then. Masculine, noble, and very much kyree.
:The whole pack has been standing over you since we returned,: Kade said.
:Why?:
:I think you know.:
And she did.
Or, at least she almost did, which was good enough.
Life is long, she thought. The world is big, and full of dangerous places. If she had learned anything from their travels, it was that she had much more to learn about how the world around her really worked.
But she had even more to learn about herself.
She had to accept her Gift as part of who she was. Deal with it for being as real as Kade’s was. She had to come to grips with what it truly meant to be kyree and to be paired with Kade in this strange way that was less than a Herald link but somehow so much more. They were lovers without being lovers, after all, friends who were more than friends, two people who circled each other like moons and planets, unable to exist alone but together pulling tides.
They were a strange pair, perhaps, but they were a pair.
And together they were going to make a difference.
“Is she going to be all right?” Winnie asked.
Kade put his hand on Winnie’s shoulder and smiled in a way that said he’d followed everything she was thinking.
“Yes,” he said. “I think she’s going to be more than all right.”
Trust Your Instincts
Dylan Birtolo
Fayne Jadrevalyn resisted the urge to wipe his damp palms against his clothing. He knew the gesture would be moot, since the sweat would just reappear within seconds. Despite the large gathering assembled here to witness the coronation of the new Queen of Rethwellan, the windows and open doors let in plenty of sun and allowed an occasional cool breeze to pass through. Fayne’s perspiration had nothing to do with the day’s temperature, but rather the duty that was soon to be passed to him as a distant relative to the Queen-to-be and one with the Mage Gift, even if he was yet to complete his training.
The trumpets sounded outside of the throne room, their echoes filling the chamber with a tune that made everyone stand a little bit straighter and hold their chins a bit higher. A few attending dignitaries went so far as to straighten their sleeves and pull them taut or smooth their dresses. For Fayne, he had to clench his hands tight to release some of the tension and resist the urge to shake them loose again. The time had come.
With strong, confident strides that were not matched within his heart, Fayne walked toward the small dais holding a weapon mount, on top of which rested the Sword That Sings. The hilt of the blade was adorned with emeralds set into the ends of the quillions, stones cut so perfectly that no matter how you looked at them, they caught and refracted the sunlight. The tip of the pommel housed a ruby the size of a child’s fist, a gem that seemed to glow with its own light. Resting in the center of the hall to catch the slanted sun beams, the ornamental weapon was clearly a masterpiece.
But even tha
t beauty paled in comparison to Fayne’s senses once he curled the fingers of his right hand around the hilt. A warmth flooded up through his arm, not unlike the heat that came from resting in the field during a long summer day. The sensation was comforting, and in that moment, all his fears and concerns fled, leaving him with a sense of tranquility and peace.
Fayne reached out with his other hand and eased the weapon from its cradle, laying the bare blade against his palm. Turning around, he carried the weapon in front of him, his boots echoing off the stones with each step as he approached the Queen-to-be. She stood there, dressed in a gown that shimmered as if made from liquid silver, her hands clasped in front of her stomach. She appeared to be the picturesque definition of calm authority, but Fayne saw the tension in her hands. They didn’t move, but the tendons were tight as she awaited her judgment. While her outward appearance was calm, she was nervous over what was to happen. In his opinion, that was an excellent quality for a ruler, but it was not his decision to make.
Even before he reached her, he knew how the sword would respond—he could feel it with every fiber of his being. The Sword That Sings had chosen her. She would be a good ruler. She would bring prosperity to his homeland, a realization that filled him with pride. The people would thrive and be well, and that was all he would ever think to ask for.
When he reached her, Fayne dropped to one knee, lifting the blade up high over his head with the hilt extended. At the edge of his sight, he saw the attendants holding their breath as they waited for the judgment of the Sword. It amazed him that they could not already tell what its answer would be.
She curled her fingers around the grip of the sword and lifted it to point at the ceiling. As she did so, it began singing, sending forth music that could never be matched or duplicated by human instrument or voice. It also began glowing, shining with a brilliance that made the sunlight itself seem pale by comparison. Those who had been looking on had to turn their heads or otherwise shield their eyes.
The Sword That Sings had made its choice clear. Queen Lethonel Jadrevalyn was the new ruler of Rethwellan. Long live the Queen!
• • •
“Don’t you ever wish that you were named King, instead of your fourth or fifth cousin, or whatever our new Queen is?” Jhaeros brushed down a horse with exaggerated motions that made the animal snort and flick its tail at him. The thin man stood just out of reach and ignored the swat but did lessen his enthusiasm.
Dipping his hands in the water bucket, Fayne splashed some onto his face and used his wet hands to slick his short blond hair back, pushing it out of his face. A few trails of water dripped down his cheek until they lost themselves in his beard. The coolness felt refreshing on this inordinately warm autumn day—a nice break from helping an old friend with his stable chores.
“Not really. Sure, there was a time we used to talk about what we’d do once I was king, but those days are long past. They were nothing more than the flights of fantasy of a child anyway. Much the same as you pretending to be a traveling swordsman. I just became a Journeyman. That’s good enough for me.”
Fayne chuckled as he picked up his brush again. He walked to the next mount in the stable, a temperamental bay that flattened her ears and snorted at him when he came close. Only when he fished a treat out of his pocket and held it out to her in a flat palm did she lift her ears back up. He came down here often enough to visit Jhaeros that he’d learned the horses’ temperaments almost as well as the stable hand.
“Yeah, just kids being kids, I suppose.” Jhaeros paused and rested his hands on the horse’s back. He was tall enough that he didn’t even need to reach up to do so, even though this was one of the larger horses in the stable. “I just don’t understand it. You had a chance for everything and never would’ve needed to work another day in your life. And you’re okay with that because an artifact chose her over you?”
“You don’t understand. It’s not just some ‘artifact.’ It’s the Sword That Sings.” Fayne emphasized each word. He paused for a moment, savoring the memory of holding the blade in his hands. He’d thought about it off and on over the last year, but now it sprang to the forefront of his thoughts. After a shake of his head, he continued. “Even if it wasn’t directly responsible for our prosperity as a nation, it’s . . . alive and it knows things. I felt it.”
“And it told you these things?” Jhaeros turned to face Fayne. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he looked down at his childhood friend, one eyebrow raised. “It spoke to you? In a voice that only you could hear?”
“Well . . .” Fayne’s motions slowed as he searched for the words to explain the sensation. Just thinking of it brought a brief shudder of comfort through his body. “It’s not that it uses words or anything like that. It’s more of a feeling. As I said, it knows things, and when I touched it, somehow it just shared what it knew with me. I knew it was going to choose Queen Lethonel. And I know without any doubt in my heart that she’s the right choice. She’s the rightful Queen. Besides, she’s done well over the last year and change.”
Jhaeros scoffed. “You sound about as convinced about that as I am. You sure you aren’t having regrets?”
Fayne pressed his lips together and shook his head. His friend misread his tone, taking his distraction for a lack of faith. The more he tried to ignore it, the more his brain actively sought the memory of the warmth from the sword to calm his spirit. The mare in front of him swatted at a fly, the coarse hairs of her tail stinging his face as he got too distracted to remain at a safe distance.
That thought continued growing over the rest of the day, until Fayne found himself tossing in his bed and sweating, unable to find anything even close to resembling sleep. He tried meditation, but the Sword That Sings invaded his thoughts even there, becoming a compulsion and a need. He knew he had to feel its warmth once again.
His mind made up, Fayne dressed and walked quietly through the halls toward the throne room. The moon was faint tonight, but it still cast enough light through the windows to paint long white stripes across the wooden floor. The rest of the palace was quiet, ignorant of his nighttime wandering. Not even the guards were awake at this hour, at least not inside the palace.
The hall looked almost more majestic when lit by the moon and the stars. The banners hanging from the ceiling had an unearthly glow to them, and where the moonlight struck the marble floor here, it looked like ribbons of silver. The throne was empty, but Fayne had grown so accustomed to seeing his cousin in the seat that he thought he caught a glimpse of her, causing a hitch in his step. Next to the throne, the dais was back in its proper place holding the Sword That Sings.
The moment Fayne saw the blade, it captured his entire focus. Nothing else seemed to matter. He moved forward as if in a trance, bare feet shuffling against the stones, his hand reaching out even before the blade was within reach.
Before long, he stood next to the dais with his hand hovering over the hilt, shaking with the anticipation of gripping the magical sword. Fayne closed his eyes tight and curled his fingers together around the hilt, anticipating the welcome, calming warmth.
The shock of bitter cold forced him to suck in air as his entire hand felt as if it had just plunged into a glacier stream from the mountains. The chill spread up his arm through his chest until he found he couldn’t even inhale. His body swayed back and forth as he struggled to breathe for what felt like an eternity. A sense of fear flooded his brain, a sudden, irrational fear which had no source nor reason, and seemed to come from nowhere. He just knew he needed to run, but his entire body refused to listen to his commands.
With a surge of will, he managed to release his fingers and jerk his arm back. Air rushed into his lungs in a long gulp, and as soon as his legs would obey, Fayne ran back to his room. He burst through the door and closed it, flattening his back against the wood, panting as he tried to calm himself. The memory of what he had felt sent a shiver through his spine,
and he slid to the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs and pulling them close against his chest.
Fayne had no concept of how long he stayed in that position, but at some point, he fell asleep. His dreams were plagued with the fall of his kingdom. He saw disease, famine, war. He saw a man sitting on the throne, someone he didn’t recognize but knew was of his blood, growing wealthy while the people of his kingdom starved. When he managed to wake, curled up on the floor next to the door, Fayne could not shake the feeling of dread threatening to overpower him.
Now his fear had a source, but that realization brought him no comfort.
Trying as hard as he could to push the dreams away seemed only to keep them close to the surface. Nonetheless, Fayne went about his duties for the day. As he attended court, he barely registered the words that were said, his eyes continuously drawn back to the blade. He felt it watching him. Fayne didn’t know how and didn’t know why he knew, but the sword was aware of his presence. It was asking something of him, almost as clearly as if it had spoken. But Fayne didn’t know what it wanted. Was he being punished for touching it when it was forbidden? If so, it knew how to torture him and what images would cause the most pain.
Fortunately, court was blessedly short today, with no matters that required his expert opinion or insight. As the members shuffled out of the main hall, Fayne hesitated, his gaze lingering over the sword. Just as the first beads of sweat formed on the side of his face, he jerked his eyes away and strode out of the throne room without glancing back.
• • •
That night, his dreams were no better. When sleep finally came, the nightmares of the previous evening returned with a vengeance. The people suffered under a cruel regime, crying to each other, and as they cried, Fayne felt his own tears warm his cheeks. At the end of it, the Sword That Sings was broken, shattered into fragments as he watched.
Fayne jerked to a sitting position, his breath coming in ragged gasps and his hand clutching his chest as he tried to shake off the remnants of the dream. When he was finally able to breathe normally, he knew what he needed to do. He didn’t know how to explain it, and he didn’t think anyone would believe him, but he needed to get the sword out of the capital.
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