by Meg Caddy
‘Won’t that take longer?’
She shrugged. ‘A little longer, perhaps. But it’s a safer route.’
I could not disguise my relief. Dodge put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
‘Still no sign of the souther-waer,’ Hemanlok said, his gruff voice breaking through our conversation. ‘I went back a day, but couldn’t find them.’
Lycaea bit her lip. Moth tugged a hand through her hair.
‘Can you go back further, brother?’ she asked. ‘I feel we will need them before this is through.’ Hemanlok growled in irritation, and Moth touched his arm. ‘Please, brother. Time eats all bones. The longer we delay, the longer Leldh has to prepare for our attack, and the longer he torments the poor souls in his keeping.’
‘I ain’t so keen to leave you unprotected,’ he said. ‘Don’t think you’d do them much good with a sword, Derry.’ In spite of his rough ways, he always seemed gentle with the little Healer.
‘If you don’t go, brother, we will have to ask Melana to do so.’
‘Please don’t make me deal with that woman again,’ Lycaea put in.
Hemanlok ground his teeth. ‘Fine,’ he snapped at length. His shoulders were high and tight, his fists clenched.
‘Thank you, brother.’ Moth, with her customary tact, did not press him further. Hemanlok turned from us and disappeared into the shadows of the sparse trees protecting the camp from the south. The tension in the group eased.
‘He’ll find them.’ Lycaea sounded convinced, but she did not look it.
We struggled with the mountain-passes. The wind was desperate and rain assaulted us at every point, making the way treacherous and slippery. On the second day in the mountains we lost a man. He fell as the sunlight died. After that, many secured themselves to others with ropes, and we all moved at a slower pace. I tried not to imagine the drop. On the way to Luthan from the Valley I had been too preoccupied with thoughts of my family to be so concerned. Now, with the weather peaking and my head clear of the grieving haze, I was all too aware of the dangers.
And Lycaea. I was aware of Lycaea.
Sometimes I caught a trace of her scent or saw a glimpse of her. Instantly recognisable, even from a distance. Straight-backed and focused. Relentless and unyielding. Confused thoughts of her distracted me from the hard march, and from the threats posed both by the mountains and what lay beyond, in Caerwyn. Half of the time, I saw her as she had been in Luthan; my friend, my ally, difficult and blunt though she was. At other times I saw Kaebha. A torturer. A murderer. Daeman Leldh’s loyal servant. The stench of blood and silver threaded its way through my nightmares.
Night fell in a sea of crimson clouds, and I moved along the narrow mountain trail towards Lycaea’s part of the camp. The Rogues liked to keep track of our numbers, and Flicker had sent me to gather the muster roll from the soldiers marching with the Ultimo-folk. It was at least an hour from where I had been travelling with the others; the folk of the Ultimo were always pushed far to the front, away from the main camp. Even in an army, the people of the Ultimo were shunned from the rest of Luthan. They were guarded almost like prisoners themselves. As I approached them, I felt stirrings of both pity and disgust. We all stank of sweat and the road, but it was worse where the Ultimo-folk camped. The humans from the Primero and the Ciadudan complained about it; it was much stronger for my waer senses. I breathed through my mouth and tried not to show my revulsion.
The people of the Ultimo bore the marks of exhaustion and malnutrition. Their clothes were of little use against the elements and they had a shortage of tents and blankets. They crouched in the shadow of the mountains, huddled close and shivering. Although the rest of the army was camped an hour or so to the south, where the trail was wider and less exposed, the people from the Ultimo were on the face of the mountain. The ledge was narrow, in full view. Guards were posted at all times, and there were young runners ready to sprint back in warning in the case of an attack.
Lycaea was awake, as I had expected, and training. She caught my scent and turned before I could say anything. She took a small step back and lowered her staff. Her angular face was hard.
‘Has Hemanlok returned?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘Is something wrong back there?’
‘No.’
‘Is there something you need?’
‘Muster rolls.’ The smell. The hard, cold scent of silver. Bloodied hands. I saw her killing the soldiers in the Valley, saw her striking Dodge with a sword. I avoided her gaze.
‘I collected them an hour ago.’ Lycaea pressed the rolls into my grasp.
‘Thank you.’ I turned to leave, but her hand snapped out and grabbed my elbow.
‘Come aside,’ she said. She stepped away from the others, heading up the narrow mountain path and behind a crop of rocks. I followed her reluctantly.
Lycaea shifted her weight uneasily, her shoulders tense. Her face had lost some of its harshness. I did not know what to say to her. There was nothing left to say.
‘I’m trying, Sencha.’ It was a mutter, bitter and short.
‘I know.’ I found myself leaning away from her, trying to edge closer to the main camp.
I’m trying. As if it could make up for the people she had tortured and killed. What did she expect me to say? Did she seek absolution? It was not mine to give.
The silence ached. My throat was tight. Part of me wanted to bridge the gap, to take her hand and bring her comfort. How could I, after all she had done?
‘Lowell.’ Her voice was strained now, and full of pain. ‘Wolf. I’m not the same person I was. I’m not…’ She glanced around to ensure no one was close enough to hear. ‘I’m not Kaebha anymore, Wolf.’
Our eyes met. She must have read my hesitation. Her face tightened.
‘I have to go, Lycaea,’ I told her. ‘There are things to be done back at the camp, and Flicker wants the muster rolls.’
‘Let me try to show you. Give me a chance, Wolf.’
The pain in her voice gave me pause. Lycaea was proud. It was not in her nature to beg like this. I turned back to her and waited.
Her expression flickered. Fear. Desperation. Resolve. Then her shoulders hunched, and a strange ripple passed through her arms. Quiet, quick clicks sounded from her bones and tendons. Her skin flushed and her hands spasmed. She lowered her head, shuddering.
‘Lycaea?’ Alarm hastened my pulse. ‘Lycaea, stop. What are you doing?’
But I did not need to ask. I knew what a Shift looked like.
She pitched forward – tried to catch herself with her hands and missed entirely, her weight falling on her elbows. Her back arched and she collapsed the rest of the way to the ground. I dropped to my knees beside her. She breathed in struggling gasps. I could hear air rattling through her chest.
‘Lycaea.’
Sweat rolled down her brow. ‘Help me,’ she choked. ‘Help me do this.’
She clawed at my hands and I laced my fingers with hers. She was already in the Shift. There was no backing out now. Fur was starting to spear through her skin. I kept hold of her hands. It was not her first Shift, but it was still going to hurt.
‘Lycaea,’ I said. ‘Hold a moment more. Remove your clothes, so they do not tear.’
She almost ripped them anyway in her haste to be free of them. I helped unlace her shirt and pull it over her head. Whimpers twitched through her body.
I placed my hand flat on her back. ‘Good,’ I said to her. ‘Good, Lycaea. Try to relax. Keep your breathing steady.’
She lurched forward, pressed her brow against my shoulder. I could feel the muscles and bones of her back as they realigned. A strangled sob jolted her frame.
‘Hurts.’
‘I know. Just a little further now.’
I almost fell back from the rush that came with her Shift. She rolled away from me and lay in the dirt, panting.
Her fur was silvery-white. She was lithe and elegant, a wintry wolf with vivid green eyes. I touched her shoul
der. The fur was soft and new. She did not move or respond. I scooted closer and gathered her onto my lap, wrapping my arms about her.
She was Lycaea. Not Kaebha. Kaebha could never have done such a thing, she would not have had the courage. Guilt enveloped me. We had come far enough together, Lycaea and I. I should have trusted her.
I stroked a hand over her head, lowered my brow until it touched the back of her neck. ‘Hunt with me?’ I whispered.
She raised weary green eyes and looked at me. Then she picked herself up, slow and shaking. I had to help her the first few steps. I stripped my clothes, folded them and set them aside with Lycaea’s. I Shifted, feeling air and life rush through me. I could no longer smell silver and blood. All I could smell was another wolf, another waer. Lycaea stumbled into step beside me, bumping her side against mine. My wolf instincts surged to the fore. It had been so many months since I had hunted with one of my own kind. She and I were pack. I felt as if I could hear her heartbeat. My own was flying. I nudged her, then sprang away. She was too drained by the Shift to play, but her tail waved back and forth slowly.
I jumped in and out of the rocks. I wanted her with me. She leaned against a low-growing tree, watching, slow to read the ways a wolf talks, but attentive. I stayed close to her, nudging her, pawing gently at her shoulder. Her energy gathered as we wandered, steps growing lighter and more confident. I sprang at her heels in play, darted away again as she almost tripped into a stiff mountain bush. She growled at me, but her eyes were bright and her tail was still moving.
We were moving further and further from the camp, but I could not focus on that. I could smell goats and mountain-hares, and small scavengers attracted by horse-feed. Lycaea jumped as a rat shot across her path. She lunged after it, then reined herself back. Looked at me for reassurance. I yipped at her and she took off. She was as clumsy as Kemp, charging around with just as much enthusiasm now the pain of the Shift had faded. I ran with her as she lunged after a fat mouse, then a couple of rats, catching nothing.
Unused to the shape, Lycaea did not know how to be quiet with it. Her paws scrabbled on rocks, sending pebbles skittering, and she could not seem to restrain the growls and yips that bubbled in her chest. The rodents were well ahead of us but the rush of the hunt made the effort worthwhile. If we had caught anything I think I might even have eaten it raw, just to have more time with Lycaea before we returned to the camp.
Eventually she gave up. She trotted back to me, sniffing at my face and bumping her nose against my neck. She was gentle, gentler than in her human form. I breathed in her scent and licked at her face. She flicked her ears, uncertain. Pressed her nose to my jaw with a quiet whine.
Then suddenly we both seemed to remember there was a battle to be fought. We turned reluctantly back towards the camp, Lycaea pressed against my side as we padded back to where our clothes were. I Shifted back first to guide her through, but she did not need my help. The Shift was still slow and painful, but her body knew how to adjust this time, more accustomed to the human form. We pulled on our clothes in silence. She was shaking and sweating, but her eyes were bright.
‘Pack,’ she said, surprising me. I had not known if she felt it the same way. She caught my expression, and her lips twisted into a smile.
‘Pack,’ I agreed. ‘How are you?’
‘Sore. We didn’t catch anything.’
‘Not this time. Tomorrow night we will.’ I stood and offered her my hand. She surprised me again by taking it. I pulled her to her feet. She stepped in close and kissed the corner of my mouth.
‘Don’t go back to the other camp tonight,’ she said. ‘Stay here, Wolf.’
At that moment, I would have stayed with her even if the mountains were falling out from under our feet.
I followed her back to the camp. No one had noticed our absence and no one commented on our return. Lycaea found an extra sleeping-roll for me and I set it alongside hers. When we bedded down to sleep I carefully put one arm about Lycaea, ready to move away if she was uncomfortable. Instead, she leaned against me and closed her eyes.
Flicker could wait until the morning for the muster.
Lycaea
I eased into sleep. My dreams were not of Kaebha, or Cooper, or Daeman Leldh. There was no fire. No Caerwyn. No darkness of the cells, or screaming. For the first time in years, I dreamed of the ocean. The lurch of a ship, and the call of a gull. The ocean turned green and melded with the rolling hills of the Valley. Part of me braced for violence and fear, but it never came. Wolves called, and I answered them. Lowell Sencha did not hate me.
He slept beside me that night, warm and close. I slept with my head against his shoulder, my arms about him. My breath matched his. He had looked tired when he approached me, and I doubted he had been sleeping. Perhaps his nightmares had matched my own – though that night, by his side, my dreams were only of wolves and gentle winters.
I woke just before dawn, watched it roll in on the clouds. Rain began to drizzle. I turned over and pulled my blanket up over my collar. The ground was unforgiving, and I was sore from the hunt; it had taken the best of me to Shift, and perhaps a little more than that to make amends with Lowell. My muscles were tight and painful and when I opened my eyes they stung with tiredness. I wanted nothing more than to stay as I was, in the grey world between sleep and wakefulness.
‘Lycaea.’
Lowell’s voice was low and quiet, but it made me jump and tense. I pulled myself up and stared at him. His face was pale, dark eyes alert.
‘What?’ I whispered. It was still a good half-hour before we were due to be roused, but Lowell, it seemed, had woken to conduct the ritual of worship for his goddess Freybug.
‘Do you smell that?’
‘Smell what?’ I lifted my head and sniffed. The cold wind. Rain. The stench of an army. Food. Horses. I shook my head, frowning at him. Nothing out of the ordinary. He did not relax, so I tried again. Rain, rock, moss, mountain-goats. Metal. Oil. Sweat. Unfamiliar bodies. Silver.
All I could hear, suddenly, was the sound of my own breath, rasping in and out of my lungs. My stomach clenched, then dropped. Too soon. It was too soon, and we were unprepared. We were on a mountain ledge. The pull to Shift was immediate and violent, spurred by an instinctive urgency.
Lowell caught my arm. His voice, shaking, brought me back to the moment. ‘Lycaea. We cannot Shift. We need to communicate with the Ultimo-folk. We have to move.’
I set my teeth, forced my wolf back down. ‘Get everyone up. Send a boy back to the other groups. Quick.’ It would be like the Valley all over again. If we had a chance, it was only slight. We had set guards, but none of them had the same keen sense of smell Lowell and I possessed. I struggled to my feet and went through our part of the camp. I thanked gods I did not believe in for the quickness of the Ultimo-folk. They were awake in moments, boys running back to alert the others.
‘What is the commotion?’ An officer, abrasive and far too loud.
‘Enemy,’ I hissed. ‘Keep quiet. It’s possible we can slip around them.’
‘Do not presume to give me orders.’ His voice was like a trumpet.
The scents were getting stronger. I was almost mad with fear. ‘Quiet!’
He opened his mouth to respond, but the words never made it from his lips. An arrow sprouted from his neck. Fletched red and black. Blood spat at me, covered me. I could not move. More arrows. Our officers shouted orders, but they lacked authority and the Ultimo-folk lacked discipline or experience. They panicked. Lowell grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to the wall. Impossible to see where the volley was coming from. We were exposed, there on the face of the mountain. Rain washed the blood from my face.
‘Get low!’ I shouted. ‘Keep close to the wall and move!’
Someone fell and I had to step over her. A man wailed, clutching his arm. We pressed forward. Too late, I realised how far we were from the rest of the camp. We rounded the bend and stopped. Men in black and red faced us. They were not surprised. They were
ready for us. They had known we were coming. Had they been watching us? Did they have waer amongst them?
‘Retreat!’
Panic behind me as our people tried to retreat, and bunched on the narrow mountain ledge. People slipped and fell, screaming, over the edge. I drew my sword.
‘Surrender your arms.’ I did not recognise the man who spoke to me. Not Cooper. At least it was not Cooper. I kept my sword high, ready to fight. Thick whirs and squelches behind me as more arrows found their marks. Finally, our own archers rallied. Blood and screams. I turned and tried to order the others on the ledge, as our archers shot past me at Leldh’s soldiers. We pushed through, only to find more men scaling the mountain on our other side, hemming us in. Someone died at my feet, and I stumbled on the body. A man dropped to the ledge we were on and drew his sword. I hit the face of the mountain, trying to back away from him. He grinned, then jerked, stiffened, and fell limp. The Ultimo-woman with the frying pan gave me a curt nod and stabbed another man with her knife.
I pushed away from the rock-face and used the hilt of my sword to knock a man out. If I could get to the front of the group, I might be able to prevent the soldiers from gaining ground, at least until the rest of our army came to help us. An arrow zipped past. I dropped to the ground, found myself lying on a corpse. Hands gripped my elbows, and Lowell pulled me over.
‘Where are the others?’ The boy Moth had healed screamed the words at us. ‘Why aren’t they helping?’
‘They are on their way!’ Lowell shouted back.
Even as he said the words, I had a moment of clarity. As far as the officers were concerned, we were just the Ultimo. It was not the Rogues who commanded the army of Luthan, but people from the Primero. The Ultimo-folk were there as a buffer. There to be shot down. We were a distraction, and they would let us die so they could escape the ambush.
A man grabbed Lowell from behind, raised an axe to strike him. I swung my sword into the man’s side. He screamed and dropped his weapon as his flesh split. Lowell pulled away. I gripped his arm and turned him around so we could fight back-to-back. He had a sword, but he was of little use with it. We could not Shift here, though; energy released by the Shift would send people flying off the ledge. Neither of us could risk it yet.