Curses and Warfare

by Jeri Baird

  By the way the moon lay in the west, he’d been out for an hour or two. He squinted, unable to see out his right eye, and shivered. The ground had sucked all the heat out of his body, and a light dusting of snow covered him. Pushing into a sitting position, he tried to whistle for Shadow. No sound escaped his dry lips.

  Puzzled, he stared at the open doors to the stable. An image forced its way through his foggy brain. Helios had raced out right before Zander had been clubbed. He tried to stand, but dizziness forced him back down. Who did this? He probed his swollen cheekbone. He’d have a helluva black eye.

  A whimper drew his attention. A dark lump lay twenty feet in front of him. Zander half scrambled, half crawled to his patron.

  Shadow struggled to raise his head, his breath slow and labored. He pulled himself across the cold ground to meet Zander and then collapsed, whining.

  “Stay quiet, boy. Let me check you out.” Zander ran his hands over the coyote’s legs. Nothing broken. He brushed down his sides, and Shadow yipped in pain.

  When he lifted Shadow’s head, thick, sticky blood caked his left ear. Zander knelt next to him. He slipped both arms under the heavy body and lurched to his feet. He cradled Shadow to his chest and stumbled to the stables. He’d worry about Helios later.

  Shadow moaned.

  “Easy, boy. You’ll be all right.” Zander fought back tears. He’d lost Shadow in the quest, and Moira’s magic had brought him back at Alexa’s cost. He couldn’t lose him again.

  Zander limped into the stable and laid Shadow on the bed. He heated water on the wood stove and added dried lavender, rosemary, and yarrow. His right eye had swollen shut and everything looked blurry out his left. Collapsing into a chair, wave after wave of nausea rolled over him.

  As the water heated, the smell of herbs filled the room. Zander leaned over the pot and inhaled the healing fragrances. The rosemary cleared the fog from his brain.

  Just before the water boiled, Zander dipped a clean cloth into the pot and wrung it out. He walked back to Shadow and gently wiped the blood from his fur. It took several trips before he had Shadow clean and could see the wound. It needed stitches. Zander’s stomach flipped. He wasn’t at all sure he could stitch Shadow on a day when his own head wasn’t splitting from pain. Fulk was the one who stitched the horses on the rare occasion of an injury, but the marshal would be gone for days.

  Dizziness rolled over him. He hated needles. The blood had clotted. It could wait a few hours. Zander dipped two clean cloths in the hot water. One went on Shadow’s wound. Zander crawled into bed next to him and draped the other cloth over his swollen eye.

  He slept.

  3

  “Zander? Zander!”

  Someone shook his shoulder. He threw his arm out and almost knocked Alexa in the head. The horrified look on her face reminded him of the last night.

  “What happened?”

  “Where’s Helios?” Zeph paced behind Alexa. “His stall’s open and he’s gone.”

  Zander winced. “Right before I was attacked, I saw Helios charge out and gallop north.”

  Alexa sat next to him and appraised his face. “Do you have salve?”

  Salve. Why didn’t he think of that last night? Because he couldn’t think last night. His brain was fuzzy still.

  “I’ll get it,” Zeph said.

  Alexa smeared the thick oily paste over his face and swollen eye.

  Shadow whined, and Zander twisted his fingers into the thick fur at his neck. “Shadow’s hurt, too. I need to stitch him.”

  “I’ll do it. You forget. I’m handy with a needle.”

  Zeph handed Fulk’s kit to Alexa. She rubbed numbweed on the gash. As she stitched, Zander lay back and held Shadow’s head in his lap. He closed his good eye. It made him dizzy to watch.

  As she knotted the last thread, Alexa twisted to look at Zeph. “Stop pacing.”

  “I found tracks. We have to go after Helios.”

  “Zander’s not going anywhere.” She raised her chin. “Helios has hours on you. You won’t find him.”

  With his head clearing a bit, Zander said, “I didn’t see a rider, but someone wanted him gone. All the doors were open.”

  Zeph snorted. “No one can ride him but me.”

  Alexa bristled. “Zander can ride him now that I spelled the embroidery.”

  Someone tried to kill him, Helios was missing, and still Alexa argued for her magic. Zander glanced at Zeph. He felt sure his face showed the same doubt he saw on Zeph’s.

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  Zephyr

  Zeph had paced the length of Zander’s room as Alexa stitched Shadow’s wounds. He breathed in and out like Zander had taught him. He tried thinking calm thoughts, but one kept intruding—he had to go after Helios before it was too late. The horse had been gone for hours.

  “Zander?” Zeph winced when Zander turned to look at him. His face had to hurt. “Can I take Lady to look for Helios?” He tapped his fingers against his thigh. If Zander didn’t say yes, he might explode.

  Before Zander could answer, Alexa said, “No. It could be dangerous.”

  Through his one good eye, Zander stared at Zeph and nodded. “It might be dangerous. Take Fulk’s horse. Tipper’s faster. And take a bow and a knife.”

  Relief flooded Zeph. Zander trusted him, and Zeph wouldn’t let him down. He’d find Helios and bring him home.

  Alexa twirled to glare at Zander, but as she started to speak, Zander interrupted her. “He’s training to be a warrior. He’ll face worse when war comes. If Zeph wants to search for Helios, he can go. Hard to know when I’ll be able to look. I can’t stand without getting dizzy.”

  In five minutes, Zeph had Tipper saddled and headed for the door. A sheathed knife hung at his belt. He grabbed his bow and quiver from the peg along the side wall.

  As Zeph mounted the horse, Zander hollered, “Remember, Zeph. If you run into trouble, get back here, and we’ll send for Fulk.”

  Steam rose from the fields as the mid-morning sun burnt away the snow. Zeph followed the tracks north until he lost them in the hard ground. He slid off Tipper and knelt. A faint hoof print led north. Tipper followed as Zeph searched for signs. He reached the line separating Elder Warrin’s property from Elder Terrec’s and hesitated. Elder Terrec didn’t tolerate trespassers. He thought of Zander. He never let Elder Terrec intimidate him. Zeph wouldn’t either.

  He mounted Tipper and followed the prints into the north woods. Zeph could tell by the spacing of the hoof prints that Helios had slowed to a walk. Once he rode into the thick undergrowth, Zeph lost the tracks.

  Zeph stared into the sky. “Moira? I could use a hound dog.” He didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t get one.

  As he rode deeper into Terrec’s land, he hunched over Tipper’s neck. Maybe he should have waited for Fulk. At a distant sound, he cocked his head. Voices floated through the trees. He pulled back on the reins and strained to hear. He recognized Lash’s harsh laugh. Nothing good would come of running into Lash on his father’s land.

  Then he recognized a whinny that could only be Helios. And he was skittering. Zeph pulled the bow into position and took a calming breath. He urged Tipper toward the sound.

  Zeph broke into a small clearing. Lash and Elder Terrec stood with their backs to Zeph. Hobbled and tied to a branch, Helios jerked his head and squealed.

  When Tipper snapped a stick on the ground, Elder Terrec spun to face Zeph. Recognition lit his eyes, and he smirked.

  The lord’s hair had faded with age, but without his usual cap, the red was unmistakable. Understanding sank into Zeph’s belly like lead. Elder Terrec was the only man in the village besides Father Chanse with red hair.

  Lash practically snarled. “Get out of here, tag-a-long. Tell Zander we found his horse.”

  “Found it or took it?” Zeph nocked an arrow, hopi
ng his shaking hands didn’t betray his nerves.

  “Why, you little weasel.” Lash lunged toward Zeph.

  Elder Terrec grabbed Lash’s arm. “Go back to the manor.”

  Disbelief colored Lash’s face. “But Father . . .”

  The elder shoved him, and Lash stumbled to his knees. “Go. I want to talk to the boy alone.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Lash stomped from the clearing. He threw Zeph a look of hatred over his shoulder before disappearing into the trees.

  Elder Terrec turned to Zeph and sneered. “Lash may not have my red hair, but he has my temper. How about you, Zeph? Is there some fire under that red hair of yours?”

  Hardly able to breathe, Zeph lifted the bow.

  “Put that down,” Elder Terrec commanded. “You’ve nothing to fear from me but the truth.”

  Zeph lowered the bow to his side, but kept the arrow nocked. He stared at Elder Terrec. He didn’t want to hear his truth.

  “Don’t talk much, huh? That’s fine. You need to listen. I’ve been keeping an eye on you. Wasn’t happy to see you take up with Zander and his foolish ways.” He stroked his chin. “But that might prove useful.”

  Heat flushed Zeph’s face. Still, he kept quiet.

  Anger flashed across Elder Terrec’s face as he strode to stand in front of Tipper. “Stars, boy. Did your mother never tell you about me?”

  Blackness washed over Zeph. He grabbed the pommel of his saddle to keep from falling and managed to croak, “Tell me what?”

  Elder Terrec laughed then, and Zeph hated him. He pulled the reins to turn Tipper, but Elder Terrec grabbed the bit.

  “I’m your father.”

  No black mist hovered over Terrec’s head. He told the truth.

  “I have no father.” Zeph yanked the reins and Tipper pulled his head up and away from Elder Terrec. They bolted across the clearing.

  Elder Terrec yelled after him, “Blood wins over friendship, Son. You’ll see the wisdom in that soon enough.”

  Tipper raced through the woods until Zeph slowed him at Elder Warrin’s gate. His heart beat as if he’d run beside the horse. Mother would tell him Elder Terrec lied. Zeph laid his head against Tipper’s neck and let his tears soak into the mane. It didn’t matter what Mother said. He knew in his gut—Elder Terrec was his father.

  Panic swept through him, and he started to shake. When Mother lied to him, he never saw the black around her. His gift didn’t work with blood relatives, and Lash was his brother. Lash could lie and Zeph wouldn’t know.

  Zeph rode down the wall of the gulch and followed the almost dry creek bed. Tipper labored to climb back up to the shack houses. He stopped at his house, but knew Mother wouldn’t be there. When he wound back through the woods to Elder Warrin’s stables, Alexa paced out front.

  She waved him in and ran to meet him. “Where have you been?”

  The noon bells rang. Stars! He was late for the Welcoming Ceremony. The villagers would see him rush in late. He hated being watched like that. He pulled Tipper to a stop next to Alexa.

  “Quick! Run in and change into your quester clothes,” Alexa said. “If you ride, you might make it to the Quinary before the ceremony’s over. I’ll bring Tipper back.”

  After he changed, Zeph raced back and vaulted onto Tipper’s back. He grabbed Alexa’s outstretched hand and drew her up to sit behind him. He kicked his heels against Tipper’s flanks. “Go!”

  Zeph urged Tipper to the edge of the market. The mingling villagers made it impossible to go any farther. He slid off and handed the reins up to Alexa. Then he ran to the Quinary.

  Six questers stood in line across the pavilion. Father Chanse and Melina Odella stood in front, ready to share the duties of the yearly ritual. Wearing the traditional black robe and white cap, the priest began. “I represent God, the Church, and tradition.”

  Zephyr’s face burned at the laughter from the crowd when he tripped as he joined the line of questers. He found a place behind Father Chanse. Only two men in the village had red hair: Terrec and the priest. Self-conscious, he pushed his own hair behind his ears. Did everyone but him know that Terrec was his father? He glanced down the row at the other questers. Another embarrassment—everyone had a patron but him. Oddly, they were all assorted species of birds.

  Melina Odella stood next to Father Chanse. Sheba sat by her side, black eyes intent on the questers. A long, purple embossed tunic flowed over the fortune-teller’s black skirt, tied by a gold cord at her hips. A scarf of gold velvet covered her hair. As she gazed across the crowd, the villagers grew silent.

  The fortune-teller began the speech she repeated every year. “I embody Moira, our Fate, and things hidden. On this day, the priest and I remind you of the balance between the faith and mystery upon which our village was founded.” She paced erratically in front of the questers.

  The priest frowned, but kept to his part. “Ten generations past, our God protected Hedron Puck as he led the Five Tribes in his dream to create a utopian society by the Merope Sea. His destination changed after they camped in our gulch during a lightning storm.”

  Melina Odella continued the history. “While they were climbing the steep sides of the gulch, every wagon broke a wheel. Only Moira works in this way. Our ancestors built the village on the upper rim of the gulch. The first building Puck constructed was this Quinary with five living oak trees to support it. The five equal sides represent the five tribes. He dedicated it to both the God who led them to safety and to Moira who kept them here. Unfortunately, Hedron Puck died in a hunting accident in the gully before he could establish his dream of equality for all.”

  Puck. Zeph wished the old codger had stayed dead. The ghost wouldn’t rest until he got his way.

  “With the village without a leader, five elders stepped in and created our order based on tradition.” Melina Odella’s mouth twisted. “Puck’s vision of each tribe having an equal voice died with him.”

  Clearing his throat, the priest said, “At the first New Year celebration, Moira came in a vision to the priest and the fortune-teller to explain the purpose of the quest she designed for our youths. Moira would reward and punish the sixteen-year-olds with tokens and omens for their actions. She gave the priest and fortune-teller the duty of teaching the questers how to use them in the five-day quest. Only the teens worthy of joining our society as adults would survive. Each year since, it has been our tradition.”

  “Today we celebrate our past and look to our future,” Melina Odella said. “These young men and women standing before you with their animal patrons represent our hopes for a productive society.”

  Zeph’s heart thumped. Where was his patron?

  “Let us pray.” Father Chanse raised his arms, fingers pointing to the sky. His green eyes drifted across the crowd as his voice boomed. “We bless these questers and ask our God to keep them safe. May their good actions and pure thoughts bring the tokens needed to survive their quest. Purify their sinful nature, that they shall take their productive place among us. And if they refuse to bend to thy will, we release them to the fate of the quest.”

  The priest strolled across the stage, sprinkling holy water on each bent, submissive head, blessing them. When he came to Zeph, Zeph felt a nudge in his back, and a warm head pushed under his arm. A small gray donkey, with a white face and big ears that stood straight up, nuzzled Zeph’s face. Great stars! Moira gave him a donkey as a patron?

  The priest stopped as if surprised and then smiled. He sprinkled the water over Zeph. “Blessings, my child, in your time of magic.”

  A young acolyte followed, swinging a metal censer. Zeph swallowed a cough as the smoke of the burning sage flowed over him.

  Moira gave him a donkey.

  The fortune-teller seemed to float down the line. One by one she gazed into the questers’ eyes. She gave each a single word to symbolize his or her journey throug
h the quest. “Dove, rose, lavender, rock, copper, sun.” Melina Odella hesitated in front of Zeph, as if listening. “Diamond,” she whispered.

  Diamond? What did that mean?

  As if she read his mind, and maybe she did, Melina Odella said, “Light-bearer.”

  Skirt swishing, she turned to the villagers. “I present to you your questers. May their bravery save them.”

  The villagers turned to each other in confusion. Those weren’t the traditional words Melina Odella used to end the ceremony.

  All Zeph could think of was—Moira gave him a donkey.

  He didn’t stay for the meal. He needed to talk with Zander. As he walked to the stable, the donkey ambled beside him, stopping to grab a few bites of grass or sniff at a tree. As he walked, the donkey’s name popped into Zeph’s head. Dorothy. He looked underneath. She was a jenny. It was bad enough he got a donkey, but even worse, she was a female. Questers always got patrons the same sex as themselves. Always. Even Zander would make fun of him for having a female patron.

  And if the day couldn’t get any worse, there was Lash, his half-brother, coming from the other direction, leading Helios to the stable.

  Chapter NINETEEN

  Alexa

  Alexa sat cross-legged on the end of Zander’s bed and watched him sleep. He hadn’t finished the meal she scavenged for him before he curled up next to Shadow and started snoring. It hurt her to look at them. The swelling in Zander’s face had gone down from the salve, but the bruises were darkening. If only he’d listened to the warning from the cards. The Seven of Swords had foretold a theft, and Helios was gone.

  On the wild ride to the Quinary, Zephyr’d said Lash had Helios. Too many questions rolled through her mind. As hard as he slept, Zander wouldn’t miss her, so she slipped off the bed and headed outside, hoping the crisp air would clear her mind.

  When she stepped out, she saw two figures coming toward her. One was Lash, leading Helios. From the other direction came Zeph, dawdling as if trying to avoid Lash. With his hood thrown back, Zeph’s red hair reflected the sun. A pang of regret hit her that she hadn’t been at the Welcoming Ceremony to support him, but Zander needed her. She squinted. Was that a donkey following him?