Soul of Smoke

by Caitlyn McFarland

  “The wind blows where it will. We can only adjust our wings.” Griffith’s expression turned thoughtful. “Once you’re sworn you’ll be able to handle a bit of distance. Maybe Kai could go home while you settle things in Eryri. She could see her family, put her life in order, say goodbye.” He laughed quietly. “You could meet her father and brothers.”

  Rhys thought of the distance, and a wave of nausea rolled over him. He rubbed his chest. “Even sworn, I don’t want her that far away. Humans are so...breakable.”

  “She won’t be human. She’ll be Wingless.”

  Rhys shook his head. Without Cadoc’s constant music, his thoughts were too loud. Any second he expected to see the tell-tale heat shimmer that surrounded a veiled dragon, a flash of fire, or to hear Cadoc’s voice in his head.

  He whirled the staff. It was as heavy as stone. “Let’s go again. I can manage a little longer.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mine to Make

  Juli stared into the rising sun. The light burned her eyes, but it kept her from crying. Blinking, she looked around. Everyone else was far below. They’d already looked this way, but Juli couldn’t shake the feeling that if Kai had gone anywhere, it would be up. She was determined to try the peak one last time.

  She put one hand on the rough stone of the cliff base, not seeing or thinking, cool rock slipping away beneath her fingers. The days trekking up and down the mountain had taken their toll. And now...now some of the search and rescue people were saying Kai was dead.

  Dead.

  The farther she walked, the more her mind clouded. She waved a hand in irritation, as if surrounded by a swarm of gnats. The urge to turn around hit her hard enough to make her stumble. Kai’s face flashed through her mind, and she forced herself to her feet. Keep moving, she chanted at herself. Keep moving. The feeling that she was headed in the wrong direction grew, overwhelming her, and she stopped to breathe. There was no logical reason not to go in this direction. Zero. And yet, this feeling, like she was going to keel over or throw up if she didn’t turn around...

  No. Every section on the map had to be searched. If she kept heading this way, she could put an X on the personal map she kept in her bag. The one that kept track of the places she had re-searched after everyone else had given up. And this was the way Kai’s arrow—if one could apply that name to the hasty jumble of stones—had pointed. Though the sheriff refused to believe it was an arrow at all. But it had to be. Kai wouldn’t have gone somewhere, willingly or unwillingly, without leaving a sign.

  Juli would not give up, and she would not rely on strangers. She could only trust herself and Kai’s family—who had arrived mere hours after Juli had made the gut-wrenching phone call—to be truly thorough. The sheriff was here because it was his job. The volunteers were here to make themselves feel good. They didn’t care about Kai.

  After a time, the fog eased. Moving forward became less of a struggle. She came fully back to herself in front of a deep ravine whose rocky floor sloped upward. There was no ravine on her map.

  Suddenly, after days of despair, she knew she was going to find Kai.

  She clambered up. Ten minutes later, she stepped out into a brilliantly sunlit meadow, wondering how the helicopters could have missed it.

  The wind whispered through knee-high grass, carrying the scent of wildflowers and earth. Close by, a small hill rose above the rest of the little meadow. Here and there, swathes of dirt were visible. One huge, brown scar ran through the center of the meadow, as if something enormous had crashed and skidded. It wasn’t Kai, but it was more than anything anyone had come across so far.

  Hope quickening her heartbeat, Juli stepped into the grass, heading for the hill. It would offer a better vantage point.

  All thoughts of churned earth were driven from her mind as she came over the top of the rise and saw the wreck of a camp surrounding a stone fire pit. Beyond tall blackberry bushes, the edge of what looked to be a garden was visible. Who would grow a garden in the middle of the mountains?

  Wary but curious, Juli jogged down the hill. Stepping over the rocks ringing the fire pit, she held her hand over the ashes. Cold. Cautiously, she touched the top layer, sending up a gray, smoke-scented puff. Still cold. She curled her fingers into the gray dust beneath. Cold. No one had lit a fire here for days. Nothing stirred in the meadow but the wind.

  Then the sound of a woman’s voice, high and tuneful as birdsong, made Juli start.

  A man replied, his voice deep and resonant. The skin on the back of Juli’s neck prickled. The sliding, musical vowels and precise consonants reminded her of water flowing over rocks in a stream.

  Juli held her breath. So there were people here. They could know Kai’s whereabouts...or they could be the ones who had taken her. Juli pulled her hand from the ashes, dusting off her fingers. Suddenly, her decision to come here alone seemed extremely ill-advised.

  She crept to the edge of the blackberry bramble, watching as a man and a woman came around the far edge of the garden. The man looked a few years older than Juli—perhaps in his midtwenties. The woman, who looked to be Juli’s age, was short, with a long mane of complexly braided bronze hair and a curvaceous body.

  Juli exhaled, long and low as she studied the man. He was tall, with burnished skin, sleek black hair, a body like a UFC fighter and the fierce, hawkish face of a desert warrior. He froze, putting one hand out to stop the woman next to him, his gaze fixed on the spot where Juli hid.

  Her heart pounded. He didn’t see her. He couldn’t see her. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

  “Come out,” he growled.

  They both stared at the spot now. Juli let her pack slide off one shoulder as she stood, ready to hit them with it and run.

  The man rolled his eyes to the sky. “A thousand years without a breach in any of my barriers, and now two of you in a week. Who are you?” He had a hint of the Middle East in his voice, but it was spare, nearly covered by an accent from somewhere in the UK.

  “Two in a week?” The hair on Juli’s arms stood up. He could only be talking about Kai.

  The man scowled. “How did you get to our camp?”

  “I’m looking for my friend, Kai Monahan. You’d have heard about her on the news.”

  The man glared at her with eyes the honest-to-goodness color of gold. “Answer the question.”

  She flashed her brightest smile. One caught more flies with honey. “I saw the ravine and climbed through.”

  He regarded her a moment longer. “We haven’t seen your friend.”

  The lie was blatant. Juli’s smile turned to ice. “I see. So when you said ‘two in a week...?” Her eyes fell on a bag slung over his arm. Between them, the man and woman carried several bags. Most were gray and covered with stitched patterns. One looked, disturbingly, like it was full of swords.

  It was the smallest bag, however, that caught Juli’s eye. It was a faded, dirty sky-blue.

  “That’s Kai’s bag!” She took a step toward the man, her hands half-raised, ready to snatch it. “Tell me where she is this instant. The police are coming up the ravine. They’re right behind me.”

  “No one is coming up the ravine.” The man folded his arms, staring her down with his lion-eyes.

  Juli pressed her lips together. The key to a good bluff was commitment. She folded her arms, as well, tilting up her chin. “I guess we’ll see who’s right when you go to prison for kidnapping.”

  The woman looked thoughtful. She said something to the man in a fluid, musical language, never taking her gaze from Juli.

  He shook his head and argued. The woman put her hands on her hips, pointed north, then back at Juli. From the sound of it, the man was getting a thorough dressing-down. He might have the kind of voice that could command armies, but under the tiny woman’s tirade, his resistance visibly crumbled. Th
ey went back and forth a few more times before he made a clear ‘do what you want’ gesture. Juli was about to interrupt when they finished.

  “We know where Kai is,” the man growled.

  Juli remained standing through sheer force of will, relief and terror rocketing through her. “She’s alive? Please, her family and I will do anything to get her back.”

  The woman shook her head. “It’s not that easy. But I believe,” she glared at the man, “the people who love her should know she’s safe. She should have a chance to speak with you. We can take you to her, if you’d like. It’s your choice. Though I must make it clear that Kai can’t come home.”

  Relief warred with desperation. She could see Kai. And if she could see Kai, she could save her. Juli stepped closer to Ffion. “What do you want? Money? We’ll come up with it, however much.” Even if Juli had to beg her drunken, negligent mother.

  “What happened to the police?” The man’s full lips twisted into an impatient frown. “We don’t have time for this, Ffion. Rhys needs the draught tonight, and I still have to brew it.” He glared at Juli, his eyes roving down her body for a moment before he brought them back to her face.

  “Will you come?” the woman called Ffion asked.

  Juli couldn’t believe these people thought they had to ask. “Yes. Absolutely yes.”

  The man folded his arms across his chest. “You are not making a wise decision.”

  Juli tilted her head up, meeting him glare for glare. “It’s mine to make.”

  “Then it’s done. Let’s go.”

  “Go whe—”

  Juli felt an odd, gentle pressure inside her head. Before she could finish her sentence, everything went dark.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ap Brychan

  Blackness rolled back from the world. Cadoc blinked damp grit from his eyes, groaning as he registered the pain of his injuries one by one. The Quetzal had not been careful with him.

  Below him, the ground was stony and bitterly cold. His hands were bound in front of him with a rope of twisted metal wires. Finely wrought chains wound through his fingers and wrapped over his palms. He’d never worn chains like this before, but the metal was common enough. It was used in everything from keeping boxes, which hid magical trinkets, to lining the cells in the lower levels of Eryri, where Rhys and the Council sent their most dangerous enemies. It blocked magic.

  He wouldn’t be able to use his fire.

  “Cadoc ap Brychan.” A blond man towered between Cadoc and a rope ladder that led through a narrow hole in the ceiling. No older than Ashem, he exuded an aura of power that made the air heavy as syrup.

  “Owain.” Cadoc pulled his legs under him and struggled to his feet, shoving tangled, dark hair out of his eyes. Owain wasn’t short, but he still had to tilt his head up to meet Cadoc’s gaze. Owain’s irises were white, ringed with dark gray; even before losing his fire and becoming the white dragon, he’d had those bizarre eyes. “Get it over with.”

  Owain’s only reaction was to give him a half-smile, unnervingly like Rhys’s, but cold. Someone snorted, and Cadoc realized two people stood off to the side. One was Demba, a tall, ebony-skinned Bida with a vicious reputation. The other was a woman with golden-brown skin and a largish nose.

  “You are stupid, Cadoc ap Brychan o’r Draig.”

  Cadoc recognized the voice of the Quetzal who had captured him. Her lip curled. “I find it hard to believe you’re one of the King’s vee.”

  “He’s strong, Izel,” Owain said, his gaze never leaving Cadoc. “In fact, he’s perfect. You couldn’t have done better.”

  Izel snorted, glaring with proud, black eyes. “Is he?” She took a knife with an obsidian blade from the belt slung low on her hips. She stopped in front of Cadoc, glaring, and then slashed the blade over his collarbone.

  Cadoc flinched, but didn’t make a sound. The slice burned, but it was no more than a cut. Worse would come.

  He refused to break eye contact as Izel raised the knife and placed the point of the blade on the left side of his chest. Leisurely, inch after excruciating inch, she dragged it diagonally across his chest. He didn’t move, didn’t step back. His shirt parted, blood dripping hot down his skin. Cadoc bit his tongue, his breathing ragged. When she stopped, the tip was over an inch inside his flesh.

  “That was for Ranvir. He was a glorious warrior.”

  Cadoc quirked an eyebrow. “Gloriously dead.”

  Smiling, Izel ran a finger through his blood and brought her finger to her mouth.

  She licked it. Cold nausea rolled through Cadoc’s stomach.

  Izel stepped close, as close as a lover, and raised the knife to slice a long cut down his left cheek. Ignoring the burning line of pain, Cadoc turned his palm up. The chains stopped him from summoning fire, but they still grew hot.

  He wrapped his fingers around Izel’s arm. She yelped and tried to pull away. When he didn’t let go, the yelp turned into a scream. Cadoc bared his teeth in a grin. “Apparently I’m not the only stupid one here.”

  Everyone in the room disappeared. No sound, no warning. They were there, and then they were not. Cadoc gasped and let go of Izel’s arm before he realized her arm still felt very real in his hand.

  Owain, Demba and Izel winked back into existence. Cadoc blinked. Izel backhanded him across the face, and he fell to his knees, her many rings leaving scores down his right cheek.

  An old man with a round face and huge, dark eyes emerged from the shadows behind the others, his arms pinioned by two of Kavar’s vee. Owain and Demba wrestled Cadoc to his feet and slipped a hook into the rope around his wrists. They hauled on a chain strung through another hook sunk into the ceiling, yanking his wrists above his head. Cadoc’s heels left the ground; he could barely settle weight on his toes. The metal rope bit into his wrists, and it became hard to breathe.

  Izel stood behind them, grinning, blood dripping from the blade in her hand. She yanked on the slash in Cadoc’s shirt, tearing it the rest of the way off.

  Owain frowned at Cadoc. “You know how this works, ap Brychan. You’re fast. You’re a skilled fighter. I’d rather have you on my side than waste you.”

  “Go burn your wings. Ah, that’s right. You can’t.”

  Owain folded his arms, genuine displeasure crossing his face. “It’s a shame Aderyn inherits the mantle when Rhys dies. I don’t relish the thought of killing her. But you could save hundreds, Cadoc. Tell me where to find my cousins. If I kill them now, the war will end.”

  Cadoc glared. Despite the way Izel’s slashes burned and the cut across his chest throbbed to the skies, the rest of him was without pain. He tried to capture the feeling. “I’d be killing hundreds of thousands.”

  Owain shrugged. “Millions. Billions, I hope, though we’ll probably keep a few. You don’t count the life of every ant you smash when you land.”

  “Humans are not ants.”

  Owain raised an eyebrow. “They’re useful gene-donors and child-incubators, but they’ve barely been around long enough to see their first monuments go to dust. Their legacy is nothing. If we die, the earth loses a million times more history.”

  “Then why don’t you let your Quetzal draw her claw across your throat? Your death would save hundreds.” Cadoc bared his teeth in a humorless grin. “You have to turn it on, don’t you? That feeling of power you ooze like a boil.”

  As if speaking had called it forth, the air around Cadoc seemed to thicken and grow heavy once more, and he struggled for breath. “It comes when it’s summoned,” Owain said, his voice dry.

  Shoulders burning, Cadoc tried to stand taller, put more weight on his feet. “Rhys doesn’t have to summon it, you know. Anyone who stands near him can recognize the true king. Power rolls off him like rain. You’re nothing but a puddle.”

  Owain turned to Izel a
s if Cadoc hadn’t spoken. “Tell me when he’s broken.” He ascended the ladder and hoisted himself gracefully through the opening and out of sight.

  Izel smiled and prodded the old man. Based on his umber skin and curly salt-and-pepper hair, he was one of the Wonambi, the light-bending, illusion-casting clan from Australia.

  Cadoc blinked. The old man wasn’t as old as he had first appeared. And he wasn’t a stranger. “Uwan? You...you were dead.” Cadoc’s old teacher was still robust, even if his body had gone mostly to fat.

  Uwan refused to look at Cadoc, staring at the floor as Izel pressed the tip of her obsidian blade into his throat and blood trickled red against his dark skin. “Begin.”

  Uwan shook his head. The movement dragged the blade over his neck, and the trickle turned into a stream. Izel sliced a shallow groove just under his right eye. “Begin, or lose your eye.”

  Cadoc jerked against his chains. “Oi! I thought I was here so you could stick knives in me. Let him alone.”

  Izel’s eyes held all the compassion of a dead fish. “Patience.”

  Her knife flashed toward Uwan’s face, and he cried out as part of his ear went flying. He put a hand to the side of his head, blood dripping between his fingers.

  The cold nausea returned, bringing fear with it. Cadoc inhaled, willing his breathing to steady, calling to mind Rhys’s face, then Ashem’s and the rest of them. He saw Uwan’s years of suffering in his shaking, sparsely-fingered hands, in his skin, crisscrossed with white scars, in the strained, aged face. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Do it, Uwan.”

  Izel went very still, her knife half-raised. For the first time, Uwan met Cadoc’s eyes.

  “Do it,” Cadoc repeated. “I’m clever enough to know what’s real.”

  Uwan shook his head, but this time it was more pity than denial. In a gravelly voice as familiar to Cadoc as childhood, Uwan said, “Stay strong, boy.”

  Cadoc blinked. Instead of Izel, he was looking at a tall, slender man whose face he only knew from records. For a moment, his heart stopped. “Dad?”