Guardian (Book Two of the Spirits' War Trilogy)

by K. V. Wilson

  “Uisge,” I whispered.

  Rain.

  And then there was blackness.

  6

  CARVINGS

  Skye

  My eyes burst open and my heart skips a beat as I note that the world is still pitch black. I hold my breath, shielding my eyes from the smoke.

  The smoke...

  I suddenly feel the presence of a nearby spirit, but it isn’t Koyah’s.

  It’s Conall’s spirit.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I work to slow my heart rate to a safer pace.

  I’m not Sejka. I’m Skye.

  The dream was so real. I’d experienced one of Sejka’s earliest memories, back when she’d found out she could influence nature. And she’d almost died in that fire. She would have died if that memory from a past life hadn’t resurfaced.

  I smile at Conall’s sleeping form, trying not to snicker at the snores emanating from his tired body. I lift myself from the floor of the tent and carefully peel back the zipper.

  Stepping out into the cool midnight air, I release a yawn and stretch my arms above my head. The world is bathed in azure moonlight, very much like the colour I see when I Shift to wolf form.

  But tonight I think I’ll fly.

  Shrugging off my sweatshirt and jeans, I crumple them into a ball and shove them into the tent, zipping the canvas closed.

  I shut my eyes, feeling my arms shrink back and my face elongate into an elegantly-curved beak as my body becomes a small feathered beast. I hop a few steps to build up speed and then I lift myself into the air. It still takes a bit of getting used to.

  I keep Sejka’s memory of home within my mind’s eye as I beat my wings harder and faster. I circle the shapeshifters’ settlement twice, gaining altitude so I have a better view of the landscape before me.

  The waning moon sets the trees alight with an eerie glow akin to the one I’d seen in Sejka’s dugout, just before it had caught fire. I shiver, shrugging the thought away.

  Maybe I can find the previous location of the Yeva’si settlement. And maybe – just maybe – Koyah will be there. Perhaps his subconscious had led him back there. Perhaps the human inside of him would remember the location. It’s worth a try.

  What seems like hours later, and could very well be, I pass over a clearing that looks oddly familiar. The forest is thinned on one side as if someone had cleared the trees to build houses and other necessities of life. On the opposite side, a trickling stream runs lazily down the sharp slope of a nearby hill.

  This is it.

  I immediately send out my consciousness in order to locate nearby spirits. I sense a multitude of animals, but nothing human. Yet.

  Perhaps Koyah’s spirit doesn’t have the essence of humanity anymore. If what Sejka said was correct, her little brother had spent decades in bear form. If so, how difficult would it be to locate him, let alone cure him of his feral nature? How can I expect to find Koyah when the previous Ru-Yeva had failed?

  As I spiral down towards the abandoned encampment, I choose a thick cedar branch to light upon. Sejka’s words come back to me as I visualize the old Yeva’si settlement, imagining years upon years of young shapeshifters meandering these woods.

  Da se yeva moru xa

  No wyletthen da re maa

  Reddqen si de eban se

  Za de Ru milooqen keey

  Timeless, nature flows on

  Earth oblivious to the changes

  Enduring, the children of ancient ones

  Solely the Guardian may keep the balance

  A chill runs up my spine as I scan the scene below.

  I feel like a pawn here – a character in a horror story who will soon receive an unwelcome surprise.

  I can’t see as well as I’d like to with my beady raven eyes, but instead of switching to an eagle or other bird of prey, I decide to circle down and walk upon my regular two feet.

  As I Shift, I feel the wisp of a sickly breeze through my hair. I’m still wearing the braids from the Ru-Yeva ceremony, as well as Sejka’s raven feather. The braids tame my unruly red hair, pulling it away from my eyes so I can see clearly even if the wind picks up. And I’m sure it will; there’s nothing like a spooky wind to punctuate a midnight visit to a shapeshifter ghost town.

  I walk through the centre of the settlement, realizing its pattern mirrors that of the current Yeva’si encampment. I squint at the abandoned housing, struggling to remember which one belonged to Sejka’s family. As I near the ninth dugout, something clicks inside my brain and I approach at a tiptoe as if the slightest crunch of a twig would convey the kind of horror you might encounter in a suspense novel.

  Koyah?

  My heartbeat quickens when I glimpse the house more clearly. The pole is blackened by fire, and the skins themselves are rock-hard. I gingerly reach out to stroke the material, noting that the roof is torn in multiple places. By the dim moonlight, I note that most of the dugouts no longer have coverings. They must have been dismantled and brought along when the Yeva’si moved.

  But the question begs to be answered… Why did the shapeshifters move in the first place? Why did they pack up all their possessions and leave these perfectly good houses here?

  I step carefully across the logs until I reach the centre one – the ladder – and peer down into the dugout. Sensing no threat, I lower myself into Sejka’s house. The smell of charred wood and burnt material is strong even after all these years.

  I wonder if Sejka’s family had moved to another site after the fire or if they’d just cleaned up and continued to stay here.

  I glance around, searching for any clues to indicate Koyah had returned in the recent – or distant – past. I can’t smell anything, but when my eyes reach the mattress in the corner, my heart skips a beat.

  Lying on the furs that once belonged to Sejka’s little brother are the old wooden toys Koyah had been playing with in my dream.

  Rabbit lounges on his side, eyeing the centre log – the only escape route – as if he’s fully aware the house could burst into flames again at any moment.

  Wolf stands on the pillow, and upon closer examination, I realize that he is whole once again. A thin line of sap has been inserted between his two halves, effectively glueing them together.

  A smile stretches my lips as I reach out to caress the wood. But that smile suddenly disappears as I catch sight of a third carving. This one is smaller and simpler than the others, and it lies on the pillow beside Wolf. What’s more, the wood is not old and worn; this carving is from a more recent time.

  And it’s in the shape of a bear.

  7

  INVERFARIGAIG

  Aelshen

  If there were a prize for the amount of times a man can ask “are we there yet?” in one day, Ace MacLarty would take the flippin’ cake.

  The kid’s been riding upon Flint’s draconic back for hours, an’ he’s not afraid of showin’ us how much he’s been hatin’ every moment of it. Yet me ears burn more’n his saddle sores, I’d wager.

  “How many more days do ye think, lad?” I ask Flint as I Shift from eagle to man, unbuckling me pack from his side and tossing it to the ground.

  Flint kneels upon the earth and turns to stare at his rider expectantly. MacLarty slides down, but stumbles, falling right onto his arse. I cover me mouth with me hand to prevent the snicker that threatens to escape.

  “Ugh! Do you really have to jostle around that much, Greg? I feel…ugh.” MacLarty groans, leaning against the magnificent crimson dragon for balance.

  Flint flinches as if his rider might puke on his talons. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Lycan did, heh heh. Travelling by dragon is no pony ride, that’s fer sure.

  The young reptile stands about six feet tall, give or take, but if he gets up on his haunches he can prob’ly reach nine feet. His elegantly curled horns are a burnt charcoal. Flint’s talons are perfectly formed and sharp as scythes, as are his fangs. His crimson scales coat his lithe body like the hardest, thickest type of armour.


  Humans had clearly learned somethin’ from dragons at one point, else they never woulda come up with such brilliant ideas in terms of battle regalia. I have to say I’m glad to see a Ddraig – a dragon – again. It’s been far too long since Nwyfre has graced me with his sinuous, scaly presence. Or any presence, for that matter. An’ Flint is a city boy, so he doesn’t get the chance to Shift much.

  As the lad transforms, I peel some fresh clothing out of me pack for ‘im. MacLarty stands by my side, arms crossed.

  “Got some sores and bruises there, lad?” I snort, giving the Lycan a clap on the arm. He ignores me question, stretches with another of his excessive groans, and glares at Flint.

  “It was hardly my fault, Ace,” Flint grumbles, running a hand over his face. “And you weren’t exactly the best passenger either.”

  “Well, the ride up here sure was scenic!” I comment as I pull on me own shirt and trousers.

  MacLarty rubs the insides of his thighs and I note that his denims are worn through. We’ll have to pick some up when we reach the nearest town.

  “We could’ve flown lower where it’s easier to breathe, too. There was hardly anyone—”

  “No,” I tell the Lycan. “It ain’t safe here. Lad, this is the birthplace of the bloody Covenant, for Pete’s sake. Despite the cloud cover I could command with me magic, we still might be seen.”

  “Mac Tíre is right,” Flint says, slipping on his raincoat. “We have to be careful. I mean, especially in this area, they could be looking out for something like me.”

  MacLarty narrows his eyes. “What do you mean by that, mate?”

  “I mean we’re headed for Loch Ness, Ace.” Flint smiles.

  Now it’s my turn to be sceptical. “Lad, yer not saying we’re after another one of them monster sightings, are ye? Cause those are all—”

  “No, this one’s different. Trust me,” Flint’s voice rises as it always does when he’s tryin’ to get me to listen. It seldom works.

  “Ye know, Greg,” I sigh, “I thought maybe ye had somethin’ worth chasing.”

  Flint reaches into the pocket of his raincoat and brings out a crumpled piece of what looks to be a newspaper. “Read it and weep guys,” he says as he hands the page to me.

  I unfurl it and me eyes grow wide as I lay eyes on the article. It’s a photograph of Loch Ness, that’s fer sure, but it’s not the usual blurred-out image of a piece of old driftwood or a drawing of some mythical creature that’s badly photo-shopped on top of the famous lake.

  “What is it?” Ace asks flatly. “Nessie?”

  “Flint…” I stare at the dragon with incredulity. “Ye said ye didn’t know of any others.”

  “I said what I thought was true. I don’t have any relatives that I know of.”

  MacLarty grunts, clearly bored despite Flint’s recent revelation. “Maybe it’s Nwy-fire himself.”

  “Nwyfre. Noo-iv-ruh, lad. Get it right. Ye should know the name by now.”

  “Whatever. It’s not that hard to believe there are other dragons, is it? I mean, they can hide as well as Lycans can among the humans. If Greg can do it, anyone can.”

  “But this one ain’t hidin’,” I observe, frowning. “This guy’s out in broad daylight. It’s a wonder he didn’t get caught, the poor creature.”

  MacLarty rolls his eyes. “He sorta did. On camera.”

  “They didn’t buy it. Not for one second. The columnists, I mean,” Flint adds as he sees our confused glances. “They joked about it being the hoax of a lifetime: a realistic-looking red monster swimming in the dead centre of Loch Ness. How strange, when everyone knows Nessie is supposed to be green,” Flint chuckles, taking the newspaper clipping back to get another look.

  “And from the looks of that, it’s up near Inverfarigaig.”

  “Inver…what?” MacLarty makes a face.

  “Ah, come on lad. Ye should’ve heard of the place, being Scottish an’ all! One of the lake cities, ‘bout halfway down.”

  “I’m from Edinburgh, genius. I studied tech and machinery, not mapmaking. Plus, Dad moved us to London years ago. All for the bloody Silver League,” he grumbles.

  I’m struck dumb for a few seconds at his arrogance. “The cheek of ye! The bloody Silver League?! The Lìog Airgid saved yer sorry arse from gettin’ killed by the flippin’ Covenant soldiers! That’s mighty high of ye to be talkin’ to me like that, boy.”

  Flint snorts. “And Ace would know all about getting hi—”

  “Hey, hey,” I interject. “No need to get yer tails in a knot. ‘Twas only in fun.”

  MacLarty glares daggers at Flint, but the young dragon doesn’t seem to notice; he suddenly looks very weary. I imagine it’s the first time he’s carried a rider, not to mention a fully-grown man with a child’s attitude.

  “Yeah, no reason to get butthurt about it. Oh. Right.” Flint grins sideways at Ace and then releases a loud sigh. “Anyways, yeah. It’s up near Inverfarigaig. I’m guessing if we keep an eye out over there, we’ll eventually find out who was responsible.”

  “Aye. Sounds like a plan worth puttin’ into motion, Flint.”

  MacLarty groans, slumping onto the dirt and crossing his arms. “I wish I’d stayed back at the bar,” he mutters. “I don’t think my stomach can take any more dragon-riding.”

  “Speak for yourself, Ace,” Flint mutters, rubbing his back. “I think your arse knocked a scale or two loose.”

  MacLarty clasps his hands together, cracking his knuckles for effect. “Watch yourself, mate, or next time it’ll be one of your teeth.”

  “Ha.” Flint smiles without emotion. “Try me.”

  I chuckle, glancing at each of them in turn. Their faces are sour and weary even though we’re only but a day into our journey.

  It’s hard to believe Greg is the one who’d wanted Ace MacLarty to join us. They’re makin’ enemies of each other, and that’s never good. I know from me own experiences.

  “Aw, come on lads. It’ll be an adventure. Gets ye out in that fresh country air again.”

  “I’ll get some firewood,” MacLarty grumbles, picking himself up off the ground and ignoring the wet splotch coating his backside.

  “And I’ll start the fire,” Flint offers wearily.

  I grin at Nwyfre’s descendant. “That ye will.”

  8

  INVITATION

  Skye

  After I nearly destroyed our home with my inability to control the flames, the other Yeva’si were curious as to what had happened.

  Father had lied and told them the fire was an accident, that the sky had blessed us at just the perfect moment. He agreed how strange it was the rain had only covered a small amount of forest. The others were skeptical, but he was nonchalant. His reputation for living in the present was what finally convinced them that there was nothing to worry about. My father had a gift with words and he could easily sway the minds of others.

  “I had guessed, Sejka,” he told me one night as we gnawed the last of the venison from its bones and sat down together beside the fire. “I was told the Ru-Yeva, the Guardian of our people, was only a legend. But as soon as you were born, I knew there was something different about you. Your premature shapeshifting abilities and your way with nature – they were all signs.”

  “I am not that Guardian, Father,” I had told him, shaking my head brusquely, “I am just…me.”

  I had stared down at my bare toes. My heart was still recovering from the incident. The fire had nearly killed me and my brother. Our home had been badly burned, but fortunately, the rain had come in just the nick of time. Father had carved a new stairway and we had stayed at a neighbouring dugout until our beds and other items could be repaired. I had wanted to move. I wanted us all to forget this had ever happened, but Father refused. This had been his own father’s home and he would not leave it.

  “If you are not that Guardian, how did you extinguish the fire?” Father had asked me, rubbing the bridge of his nose in thought and taking a seat on
Koyah’s furs. My brother was out with our aunt. Father had wanted to speak with me alone tonight.

  “I…didn’t. It was not me,” I had told him, but my words were uncertain. Father noted this, and he placed an arm on my shoulder. I turned away, tears in my eyes.

  “Sejka,” he said softly, “do not fear it. Only remember. I know you can do it—”

  “No!” I had cried out, and I’d rushed to the centre log to exit our dugout. I refused to believe that it was me who had performed such abilities. It was only a dream and a coincidence that the rain had come. I had been dreaming a strange dream.

  I had run away from our settlement and into the forest beyond. Father let me go. He knew by then that I had unlocked enough animal forms to be able to fully take care of myself out there.

  The next few sun-ups had passed without a word from Father. He’d provided for my brother and me and we had eaten together, but I could tell that he was contemplating how he should address my newfound talents. I had refused to meet his eye. Part of me knew that I could be this Guardian my father had spoken of. And part of me knew that if I was, my life would become even more of a mess than it already was.

  “Sejka,” Father began on the sixth night after the fire occurred. We were sitting across the room from one another as if he did not want to come too close to me for fear that I would run away again.

  I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “Yes, Father?” I began reluctantly, my muscles on edge. It was inevitable that he would bring it up again. It was not a subject to be taken lightly.

  Father sighed. “Have you remembered anything yet?”

  “What?”

  “Manners, Sejka. Do you remember your past life?”

  I glared at him, fumbling with the hide of the mattress.

  “Ru-Yeva?” Father asked uncertainly, as if by uttering the Guardian’s name he might awaken some lost part of his only daughter.