Talon (The Astor Chronicles Book 1)

by Greenslade, Amanda

  ‘Hurry,’ Rekala hissed faintly through the waves.

  The ward on my Rada-kin was a thin black ring hung over her head. I wrapped my fingers around it and called on Krii. Most Kriites called it dispelling, but to me it was simply a surrender on my part, an admittance that I could do nothing, but Krii could. I felt the presence of Sy-tré like a distant howl on the wind as the magic in the ward ring snapped and raced away.

  Rekala’s presence was strong in my mind once more. She was instantly aware of a third presence in the waves with us.

  ‘So much has changed in our time apart,’ she complained.

  ‘Where’s the key to your hobbles?’ I demanded.

  She looked up at me, large eyes dim with lack of rest. ‘Leave me….’

  ‘I would rather die!’ I choked as I spoke through the waves.

  The smoke swirled in thick eddies through the stable. I left her there, crashing into the stable wall as I blindly sought one of the fallen stable guards. More of the roof collapsed behind me and I could hear other horses squealing in panic and pain. I found one of the Zeikas, but there were no keys. I blinked tears of fire and desperation from my eyes and hunted about for something to break the hobbles. Near the body was the Zeika’s sword, conjuring up memories of searing pain from the last time I’d attempted to wield a Zeika weapon, but this time, the weapon’s owner was dead. Coughing violently, I carried it back to Rekala’s stall.

  I hefted the huge weapon in the blinding smoke, and struck. Sparks flew, Rekala recoiled from the shock and pain in her hooves, but the hobbles remained. A tingling reached through the scars on my hands, and my gut squirmed with dread. My insides burned from inhaling too much smoke. Pushing my discomfort aside, I stood on the blade end of the sword and wrenched the hilt upwards. Three pulls, shoulder muscles tearing… no give.

  This is metal. It will never snap. Am I going to die here?

  ‘Krii, help me!’ I shouted, gagging on smoke.

  On the fourth try, part of the hilt snapped and the blade slid free. A puff of green smoke bled outwards, blending with the rest of the smog. I crouched down and rammed the hilt into the bolts on the hobbles until each one broke. One by one the bolts fell away. I wrestled the pins out of the hobbles and pulled Rekala’s feet free.

  Rekala sneezed and stumbled into tiger form—she was in no condition to carry me.

  ‘Get out now,’ I told her. The instruction was sent with such force into her mind that she had no choice but to obey.

  Fire extended to the stall I was left standing in, caressing the dry wood. I gagged and spat smoky saliva from my mouth. Debris crashed down around me. The other horses panicked as fire spilled down the walls of their prisons. Could I leave them here to die? I debated with myself for only an instant. Just because they were natural, soulless animals didn’t mean they should be left to die.

  I threw the bars back on the stalls and prayed they’d have the sense to escape. The fire raced to overtake me as I freed the last of the animals. I grabbed its mane and jumped onto its back, and it panicked and bucked its way out of the stable. I clung to the horse’s mane and withers with all my strength, squeezing my knees to stay fixed on its bare back.

  The stable crashed down around us and hot wood struck my back from above. The horse tripped over fallen beams and I grazed my legs against the collapsing walls. I noticed a sharp sting across my brow as we came out into the cool night air. The horse trotted briskly into the forest behind the stable, snorting and flaring its nostrils.

  ‘Steady,’ I said soothingly, leaning back as far as I could.

  The horse slowed long enough for me to slide down—at least it was trained that much. I started to lean on its back, but it sidestepped away from me and disappeared into the night.

  Chapter Nine—Heirloom

  Darkness lay thick around me in the forest. Despite the Zeikas’ ability to conjure fire I felt safely out of sight. Rekala was waiting beyond the first band of trees in her natural form. She was lying down in a pile of brambles, eyes half closed. I stroked her head and inspected a shallow wound where the black ward ring had been.

  There was a bonyness to her sides that had not been there before. Her skin seemed to hang off her gigantic frame and the fur was dusty and lacklustre.

  ‘Ah but it’s good to hear your thoughts,’ she seemed to sigh through the waves.

  ‘You have been so mistreated,’ I lamented. ‘Are you injured?’

  ‘I’m well enough,’ she lied. ‘I just need a moment to recover.’

  ‘Go to the catacombs,’ I said. ‘I’ll imprint its location for you.’

  Although I’d never done it before, imprinting was a procedure I was familiar with from growing up around wave-users. Now that I had access to the waves between myself and the Rada-kin, it was simple enough to send my memory of a specific place and its general location. We were further north than Rekala’s territory had been, but the great cat was able to learn the way from the landmarks I called up in my memory. I had been to the Catacombs of Krii on Jarian pilgrimages a few times before—sometimes Kriites from other nations came to town to be escorted there.

  When I was certain Rekala would be able to make it on her own I crept cautiously back to the dilapidated stable. Apart from the smoke the night sky was clear and, as I looked up at the stars, I saw a falling star, its beauty a counterpoint to the devastation around me.

  For the moment the Zeikas were distracted, trying to protect their tents from thre spreading fire. I chuckled at the absurdity of their situation, harangued by their own evil fires. Controlled Zeika fire would not usually catch on their own possessions or people, but out of control it quickly morphed into something far more terrible than ordinary flames. Red warred with green across the camp providing a welcome chance for the remaining Jarians to escape.

  Most of them were running now, some carrying wounded friends. In the distance I could see Sarlice fighting in human form alongside six Jarians. As I emerged from the forest a Zeika close to the enormous stable bonfire was conjuring something in the air. It went from being nothing but a shade to something resembling a bird with an overly large head.

  My gut iced over with fear. Those wings… just like… When he saw me the Zeika started in surprise and, with a sneer of hatred, he directed the conjured beast after me. It snapped its long jaws and flapped forward.

  I ran back into the forest, tripping over a large trunk in my hurry. The conjured beast whipped after me with a shriek. Terrified, I morphed into my black wolf form and rushed through the forest, but the conjured bird kept coming; clearly it could see well in the dark. With my ears pressed hard against my skull and my chest becoming tight with strain I cleared a huge log. Upon landing I sharply changed direction, but the creature wasn’t fooled. I risked one look back and caught a glimpse of its bright green wings. That shape… just like the hawk… a death hawk….

  The flying creature descended on me, tore skin from my back and snapped at my legs. I imagined the hawk from my childhood, talons locked in my flesh, struggling. Pain! The beast following me now could do so much more damage than a hawk. What should I do? If I stopped to face it, that enormous sharp beak would go for my throat. If I continued to run it would gradually tear me to pieces.

  ‘The source,’ Tiaro schooled me, finding it difficult to make herself heard in the jumble of thoughts that was my mind.

  Source? The conjurer! I darted back towards the wild red bonfire. Bursting through a row of weeds and shrubs, I could see the Zeika conjurer standing on the other side of the obliterated stable. I picked up speed, bounding over bracken and forest debris until the clearing was before me. As the stable’s blackened carcass came into sight my vision blurred with smoke and red haze. I sprang upwards, heat clutched at me and I realised clear ground on the other side was a body length too far.

  I skidded across a piece of wall and jumped again, black coat turning grey with ash. The red fire reached for me so I twisted to clear it and landed in a crashing slide, shocked back
into my human form. The momentum carried me straight onto the concentrating Zeika’s back. I wrapped my arms around his neck from behind and we struggled on the edge of the giant furnace. I glimpsed the flying creature shooting vacantly towards us and scrabbled out of the way.

  Its sharp beak struck the Zeika in the chest and he collapsed, quivering. The death hawk vanished as its master breathed his last and the Zeika’s flesh finally remembered how old it truly was. Skin pulled taut over his body, wrinkles and lines split into peals of pink and red and one hand crushed in on itself and shrivelled to black.

  My struggle had gone unnoticed by other Zeikas, but Sarlice gave me a nod. She and three Jarians finished off the last of a group of Zeikas as I stood there gasping for breath. I crawled to my feet and ran to meet them, trying to ignore the pain in my back and forehead.

  ‘To the meeting place,’ Ofrent, one of the Jarians, called.

  Sarlice rested her hands on her knees, fighting to catch her breath. ‘I don’t have the strength to morph.’

  ‘I’ll help her,’ I said to Ofrent.

  Without arguing they shapechanged and ran ahead, so I half carried, half ran with Sarlice from the camp. Kestric paced from side to side behind us watching for remaining enemies, but most were occupied with putting out fires or pursuing other Jarians.

  After we’d made it to the partial safety of the forest I let Sarlice rest against a tree.

  ‘We mustn’t stop,’ she whispered. ‘Or… won’t be able to keep going.’

  I helped her back up and we crashed our way through the thick vegetation. There was little to be done about the path left behind us. I only hoped that with this many Jarians and Zeikas in the forest our enemies wouldn’t be able to discern one trail of broken branches from another. The Zeikas were unlikely to come close to the catacombs or they risked being reversed like the corpse I had just seen.

  Eventually we emerged from the scratchy trees to find the small entrance of the Catacombs of Krii, a cave mouth low down on a steep incline. A small river burbled between us and the cave, but it was only shin-deep. The cave mouth was hidden by two shrubs, but my sense of Rekala’s location drew me directly to it.

  As we crept inside I sensed a feeling of peace from the Rada-kin within the catacombs. This was the birthplace of the first animal-kin, Krii’s own silver wolf, Sy-tré. Some said all the divine abilities of the Rada were amplified while in this place.

  The dark passages at the beginning of the catacombs were littered with rocks and vegetation. We stumbled around a bend and I noticed a warm glow up ahead. Beyond a natural archway there was a wider passage of pearl-white walls with a soothing inner light. It was as if Sy-tré himself had frolicked beneath the mountains at the dawn of creation, his silken coat burrowing out a safe haven where nothing foul would ever venture.

  Kestric helped us follow the right path through the echoing tunnels until we came to an enormous loaf-shaped cavern. Here Sy-tré had curled up in a ball and rested, creating a round womb that glowed with light and warmth. The Jarians were sprawled about the Womb in clusters; sleeping, talking or praying. Ivon had found Sarlice’s and my packs, brought them inside and used our provisions to start a fire and a pot of broth.

  I smiled at him and stood with Sarlice for a moment, inspecting her by the firelight to ensure her injuries weren’t life-threatening. Ivon scowled at me in mock jealousy. Ignoring him I helped Sarlice over to the far side of the cave where Rekala was curled up against the glowing wall asleep.

  Seeing her in good light for the first time in more than three weeks wrenched my heart—her usually spiky fur was matted and singed and the brilliant blues had faded to a murky grey. She would remain discoloured until her summer fur was shed and new fur came to replace it.

  I sensed her stirring in the waves, exhaustion warring with desperation to be near me. I sat close by and lifted her head onto my leg, stroking it. She chuffed at me, wiggling closer. Her forced stay in horse form had weakened her physically and mentally. For such a new Rada-kin it had been an experience that pushed her to the brink of sanity.

  Since becoming sentient, Rekala recognised Sy-tré’s presence in her spirit, and it had been on his strength that she relied. During her trial with the Zeikas there had been a certain letting go, an acceptance of her weaknesses. I now sensed new contentment in her despite what she’d been through.

  Kestric stood still, watching her. Being strangers to each other there were certain feline protocols the tigers had to observe. Although they were both thinking beings, instinct and old habits still remained.

  ‘Greetings, Rekala,’ said Kestric through an open wave. I, and all the other Rada-kin in the Womb, could hear him.

  Sarlice slid down against the wall nearby. With a knowing glance at each other, we watched the two tigers meet. Rekala opened her eyes a fraction and growled at the male firetiger.

  ‘You should get someone to clean that up.’ Sarlice was looking at the slash across my forehead.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I murmured.

  I closed my heavy eyes, resting. Only then did I experience the burning pain in my throat, countless stinging cuts and a sharp pain in my arm. I rested my head against the wall, being careful not to scratch the earring. Tiaro’s thoughts were circling around our combined knowledge of the Catacombs of Krii. I didn’t feel like I could go to sleep, but I didn’t feel like moving either. I allowed Tiaro’s explorations to consume me.

  “Womb” was an appropriate name for the part of the Catacombs we now occupied. It was here that the white wolf Sy-tré was born into the living world. In the year 27 AA the young prophet Krii met a white wolf in this cavern and it never left his side from that day.

  They became known throughout the lands for their ability to perform great miracles, inspiring scores of people to join the Kriite faith, known then as the Lightbringers.

  Sadly, there were those among the Lightbringers who focused too much on their own light with little understanding of the true calling of the Lightmaker. Through their machinations, Krii was brought to trial for the crime of unauthorized wave use and bonding with an animal. He was slaughtered at the Devil’s Gate on the island of Kaslonica where life first began. That same island was now known as Reltland and was home to the prolific Zeikas.

  So tightly were Krii and Sy-tré bonded that the wolf died with him. But that wasn’t the end of their tale. Their adventure continued when, as spirits, they went on to break the seal that separated the Lightmaker from his people.

  Afterwards Krii returned to Shamayim, the perfect realm, to be with the Lightmaker. Sy-tré was sent back to Chryne in spirit form and charged with the task of watching over humankind. The third age—the Age of Astors—was declared to have begun at Krii’s birth year.

  My quiet reverie was interrupted by voices. Realising a group of people were conversing about me nearby I opened my eyes.

  ‘Our thanks, Talon,’ said a man to my right, ‘for coming after us. And you, Sarlice.’

  Sarlice nodded at him.

  ‘It was nothing,’ I replied slowly. ‘You would do the same for me.’

  I opened my eyes to look at him. He, too, was leaning against the wall with his hands flopped at his side. I recognised him as Kolinar, a herbalist and soapmaker from Jaria. In his thirties, he was a well-featured man with sandy blonde hair and warm brown eyes. Without the characteristic dark skin of my people, Kolinar was from a migrant family of Rada.

  ‘Aye,’ he agreed, ‘except that I couldn’t have dispelled those wards like you did.’

  I reached a hand up to stroke Tiaro. The earring almost seemed to purr through the waves, enjoying the attention. For a few minutes, the only sound in the cave was the gentle crackling of the fire.

  ‘I just don’t understand why the Zeikas are here,’ Kolinar mused. ‘Why build here in the Land of a Thousand Perils? This is the only place safe from the lava, geysers and mud pools, but they’re Light-touched, and therefore dangerous for many Zeikas.’

  ‘Perhaps they intend to
corrupt the catacombs with their foul magic,’ Ivon suggested. ‘For what purpose I do not know.’

  ‘They obviously had an interest in Talon,’ said Namal, who was standing with his head in his hands. I was impressed by his ability to master his grief and continue functioning as one of Jaria’s leaders. We needed him now more than ever.

  ‘But why, then, did they let him escape?’ asked Ofrent. His cat Rada-kin was curled up on his lap, pressing its brown-furred body as close to his leather-clad torso as it could get.

  ‘What happened to you out there, Talon?’ Namal asked me.

  I told my story as briefly as possible, not used to having dozens of people listening to me speak.

  ‘It seems like they weren’t expecting this much trouble from us,’ Ofrent said.

  ‘Nor Talon’s ability to banish spirit circles and wards,’ Namal added.

  ‘By the time those fires got out of control most of us had fought our way out,’ Ivon said. ‘The Zeikas were so busy trying to save their encampment they hardly had time to follow us, much less find Talon amid the chaos.’

  ‘If they were trying to lure you here, Talon, it seems like a botched attempt,’ Namal concluded. ‘And if they were hoping to have Jarian slaves to help build their new fortress here, they have been disappointed.’

  ‘That murderer, Regar, did anyone see him?’ I asked.

  Sarlice stirred beside me. ‘He is dead, slain by one of Henter’s arrows.’ The Lythian stroked her warbow affectionately, the black wood shining orange in the firelight. It took me a moment to realise she was referring to her Tolite-kin by name.

  ‘Many Zeikas died this night,’ Namal said, ‘but this is far from victory. More will come.’

  A woman by the fire, Sefrel, turned to face him. ‘And where does that leave us?’

  ‘Leaving Jaria,’ Ivon stated bleakly. Having grown up in Ubu he knew what it meant to be a Rada in a non-Rada society. If we were forced to leave Jaria would we lose our identity as a race? Become like all the other Rada who were scattered throughout Chryne? Mostly they lived like ordinary people, and expected their Rada-kin to fit in with a city lifestyle. Those who were awake looked sharply in Ivon’s direction.