by K. V. Wilson
This threat seems to anger the chieftain; he clasps his hands together in front of him, staring at Koyah. At his friend.
“Look at me!” I scream, and these are not my words but Sejka’s. Her frustration is rising to dangerous levels and I struggle to regain a foothold, an air of control over my own body. “Teine!” I feel the word dance across my tongue like the flicker of the flame it represents.
“You are unworthy of the Guardian’s gift,” he tells me simply, but I note that he has taken a step back, eying the fire that now burns upon my fingertips.
“Just like Xunnu was unworthy of becoming Chieftain. So you tried to kill him.”
“No—”
“Yes,” I mock him.
I raise my palm, smiling wickedly at the look on Xáan’s face. His fear soon disappears, however, and his face is again a picture of nonchalance. I advance on him, expecting him to shrink away, but he doesn’t.
And so I give him what he deserves.
Xáan’s cloak erupts into flames and I cry out in frustration as his body shrinks down. A weasel peeks out from underneath the pile of linen and leather, worming its way out and scampering out of the barn. The others let out a scream as they jump aside to let him pass.
I pull off my own clothing; I’d slept in my street garb. I follow, Shifting to wolf form to chase down the little weasel.
How fitting, I think to myself as I lock onto my target, breaking into a full-on sprint. The eynaang weasel has become a genuine weasel.
“Skye!” I hear Mr. Adolphus’ words in the back of my mind. “This is not the way!”
I don’t care. Xáan is going down.
“Sejka!” Koyah screams. I ignore him.
As I catch up with Xáan, he suddenly Shifts into bear form and I do the same, dodging a heavy claw as the shapeshifter swipes at my face. I growl menacingly, rearing up on my hind legs and slamming down heavily. Xunnu’s brother is too quick, however, and it’s clear that he has the advantage; bear is his chosen form.
Xáan lets out a roar, charging towards my left, and I barely evade the swipe of his claws as he attacks. I manage to bite into his leg as he turns around. He yowls in pain.
A sudden blow to the side of my face sends me reeling. As I struggle to regain composure, Xáan’s jaws enclose onto my shoulder. He wraps both of his furry arms around my body, forcing me to the ground. I growl to mask my pain, but I know that this will not end well.
Teine! I call to the flames, wincing as Xáan’s fangs continue to sink into my tender flesh. The furry barrier helps absorb some of the force, but it won’t last long. I feel hot blood on my skin. Teine, teine, teine!
Suddenly, the shapeshifter loosens his hold, screaming as his entire body is engulfed in white-hot fire.
“Sejka, stop!”
Koyah’s voice can be heard over the conflagration. I lift myself from the ground, groaning at the pain and drawing energy from the earth to begin the healing process. I glance over at my brother; he’s in a state of panic, waving his arms over his head. My heart beats forcefully in my crushed chest, drowning out the cries of my family and friends. Turning back to Xáan, I meet his gaze. He stares up at me in fear, his body quaking violently with the pain. The damage has been done.
Uisge.
The rain is instantaneous but does not come soon enough. The bear at my feet has Shifted back into his human form, but he no longer resembles his former self. He is bruised and barren, scarred by the markings of the demon flame.
“Covenant,” Xáan gasps.
I Shift and kneel next to the shapeshifter, lowering my head so I can hear him. “What?” I ask softly.
“Humans…killed…my father.” He coughs, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Tried to kill…us all.”
My heart lurches and I crouch down, willing the rain to stop; the flames have long ago ceased to be.
“They…were there…for you.”
I look deep into the eyes of the shapeshifter – Xunnu’s younger brother and Xera’s father – and know that I must fix this. I raise my hands and close my eyes, hoping I can heal his wounds before it’s too late.
What have I done?
40
QUARREL
Aelshen
“Mac Tíre!” a distant voice cries.
I stifle a sigh. MacLarty, what is it now? I gradually slow me pace and glance o’er me shoulder at the young Lycan. He’s already transformed and I note with some humour that he’s panting.
“Can we take a breather?”
I Shift, raising meself to full height and placin’ me hands on me hips. “O’course! Take all the flippin’ time in the world, lad! The fate of shapeshifters worldwide doesn’t depend on us, now does it? Why don’t’cha have some honey biscuits an’ tea while you’re at it?”
“Thanks, mate,” he calls back and I roll me eyes. At least he’s bein’ polite fer once.
I glance around at the other Lycans. They do appear to need a break – if not now, then sometime soon.
“Alright, listen up, me comrades!” I belt out, hopin’ me voice will reach the stragglers. “Are you Lycans or sissies? C’mon, lads an’ lasses! Speak up!”
But this little speech has the opposite effect of what I’m goin’ for; I only receive a handful of glares.
“Why not let the flyers do it?” one of them asks me.
“Well, certainly a good point—”
“We’re probably running around in circles,” another observes, “starving half to death while you’re just getting all your energy from nature.”
Ace snorts. “Exactly. You’re the lazy one.”
I wince at his words. Truth be told, I hadn’t even been drawing energy from the earth. Perhaps I’m just stronger than they are. But if I come out an’ say it, they’d never believe me anyhow, so I might as well play along.
“Okay then. I’ll make you Lycans a deal. I’ll spread the earth’s energy around to all of ye. Give you a little boost, if ye will.”
Some of the Lycans nod their heads in approval. Even Ace perks up a bit.
“Brilliant.” A wide grin stretches across Damian’s face. “Or, you know, you could pass on more than just that. We could all learn to Shift into bird form!”
I sigh deeply, scratching me forehead in thought. “How best to word this? I can’t do that. It’s complicated.”
Truth is it hasn’t been done in centuries upon centuries. I can’t remember how. Even Sejka was unsuccessful when she’d attempted it at the Battle of the Ritual. Those soldiers, however, weren’t in the right mind to become shapeshifters. It wouldn’t have worked anyhow.
“Can’t, or won’t?” Ace inquires, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Both,” I tell the lad simply. “Now, let’s get going again.”
The tired horde emits a round of grumbles and I roll me eyes. The other two contingents of Lycans must have gotten farther’n we have by now. Blame it all on charisma, I tell ye. I’m far too nice. Time to harden up.
What now?
The lass seems to think fer a few moments. I wait patiently, aware that all eyes are on me. Perhaps they know I be speaking telepathically. Or perhaps they just think I’m a nut case.
As I tell her this, I lower meself to the ground, clasping me hands together.
I raise me eyebrows.
She laughs at this.
<’Tis detrimental to assume, lass. I’m afeard to ask ye what the other dose o’ bad news is,> I prompt.
There’s a short pause before she answers.
This takes a few excruciating moments to sink into me thick ol’ skull.
I turn away from the contingent of Lycans to hide the look on me face. Tears sting me cheeks, a sensation I haven’t felt in donkey’s years.
A wave of remorse washes over me from our connection, and I know that Skye feels partially responsible fer this. After all, her father had brought many of his clan members to the pub fer a while, if only to regroup and move on. But she can’t be blamed fer that.
The distant notes of a fiddle emanated from the corners of me brain. With them came the sweet sound of a melodeon, weaving playfully along with the methodical thumping of a drumstick on a wee bodhrán.
“Ah, Flint! Thought ye’d never rise,” I addressed the fiddler an’ he grinned widely. “Getting the band together even afore breakfast. Now that is raw dedication!”
The melodeon and bodhrán players ceased their playin’ so Nwyfre could answer me.
“Can’t have our patrons stuffing their faces along to some half-arsed music, can ye, Mac Tíre?
“That ye can’t,” I said, smilin’. “Keep at it, the lot of ye.”
The three grinned and resumed their ditty. I turned and ambled back to the bar, intendin’ to get the place ready fer another day’s work.
As I began to prep the tables, I laid eyes on the mural on the far wall. A gigantic horned red dragon stared onward, wings unfurled and catchin’ the wind, jaws wide and a deep fiery core concealed just behind those fangs. A tiny man stood below the great beast, quivering in fear and most likely wettin’ his trousers.
Most of me patrons blindly assumed this knight was there to defeat the monster and save the damsel in distress or whatnot. I pictured the kindhearted Nwyfre in me mind and smiled. ‘Tis always detrimental to assume.
My eyes continued on to the next wall where a large flag hung, bedecked with a shamrock. I frowned deeply. I’m sure Nwyfre hung it with good intentions. After all, it was getting close to Saint Patty’s day. Not that shamrocks had much to do with the ‘cleansing’ of Ireland’s Druids centuries ago, but the public had begun to celebrate the holiday nonetheless. There was nothin’ Nwyfre or I could do about it, short of bringing attention to ourselves and gettin’ killed as a result.
Let the public have their fun. And the Knights wouldn’t come a-snuffling around our door so much if we appeared akin to a regular Irish pub.
I stared at the framed paintings and works on our wall, all depicting the life an’ times of Nwyfre and I. There were a few of Ru-Yeva there, too, though she had long ago left to explore the lush rainforests of the New World.
“Mac Tíre.”
I nearly jumped out of me skin. I was so entranced by me thoughts that I hadn’t noticed the music stop.
Nwyfre jerked his chin at the shamrock. “I hate it nearly as much as you do, but I had to.”
“How many?”
The great Ddraig shook his head solemnly, pulling his fiddle case from under the counter an’ placing his instrument ceremoniously inside.
“Four,” he said softly. “I got the letter last night. Couldn’t sleep a wink.”
“Mo chreach. I’m sorry to hear that. May their souls rest well.”
“My thanks.”
“Is there anythin’ we can do? Is the pub in danger?”
“I think it is fine. We just need to take care an’ not bring any attention to ourselves. They’re looking for beasts, remember.” The dragon scoffed, his eyes darting to the mural. “If I were there, you know what I would have done.”
“He was merciless, Nwyfre. He already had a followin’ so large, it outnumbered me Druids tenfold.”
He glared at me. “Patercius perished hundreds of years ago, Mac Tíre. It’s time we start standing up fer ourselves, don’t ye think? Give the Knights a good fight? Me numbers are dwindling, but surely yours could lend a hand. Er, paw.”
I smiled without feeling. “Blending in is the best we can do until the happenings of the past have been forgotten by all but us. War? I’ve had more than my share o’ that, my friend.” I busy meself with polishing a few mugs and straightening a few condiment shakers.
“Mac Tíre, I mean it,” he said, clearly not takin’ me hint. “I told ye to consider it, and I’d hoped ye’d come through fer me. I’ve already started planning it.”
“Count me out, mate,” I tell him formally. “I said nay before an’ I’m still sayin’ nay. It’s not worth it.”
Nwyfre’s eyes burned with a brilliance I hadn’t seen in years. He drew his mouth up into a fine line but said nothing more, instead sending a bout of wind forth to rip the shamrock flag free from its nails. The linen spiralled down and landed beneath one of the far tables. I turned to give the dragon a dirty look, but he’d already gone.
Little did I know that would be the last I saw of the great beast.
When the dream world relinquishes its hold on me mind, all that replaces the memory of me precious pub is the imagery of flames licking against centuries-aged green wood. I imagine the golden lettering finally ripping free and charring unceremoniously upon the pavement of modern-day London. Anger rises in me heart and I take a deep breath, addressing Skye once again.
I wrinkle me brow in confusion. That didn’t sound like Skye. A note of bewilderment seeps into the conversation, and I can’t quite tell if it’s mine or hers. Or both…
After a slight pause, she answers, her voice small and hesitant.
A sudden surge of unbridled anger buffets the inner workings of me brain. I try to ignore the Lycans who’ve crowded around to see if I’m all right. I don’t need any more drama; there’s sufficient action going on in me head to sink a good-sized battleship.
My breath catches.
Skye gives him the pleasure of a mental gasp as she realizes he knows all about her little fight with Xáan.
I shiver, wondering what it is we’ve gotten ourselves into. Centuries of pent-up draconic rage are about to be released into the world.
And I’m the flippin’ target.
“All right. Change of plans, me brethren,” I bellow, addressing the horde of lazy Lycans. “We’re heading back to the farm now.”
“What? Why?” Ace inquires.
“We don’t need to be lookin’ fer Nwyfre anymore. Let’s just say…he’s coming fer us.”
And by us I mean me. Luck o’ the Irish, my arse.
PART THREE
CONVERGENCE
Coimhéad fearg fhear na foighde.
Beware the anger of a patient man.
~ Irish Proverb
41
Y DDRAIG GOCH
Aelshen
The sun has long since dipped below the horizon when we finally reach the outskirts of Miss Rhys’ rural property. I don’t bother to glance o’er me shoulder at the group of Lycans who’d accompanied me on our mission to search for the missing Welsh dragon, Nwyfre.
The torches have been lit within the barn; a warm glow emanates from the building and I can make out the sounds of excited voices inside.