Quench the Day (Red Wolf Trilogy Book 1)

by Shari Branning

  “Enough!” Ormand cried. “Would that I could use magic, so I could silence your babble.”

  Rigall glared at him. “Enough yourself. You be quiet too, if you don’t want the Gift to latch onto you and turn you into a wolf instead. I can’t say I’d be sorry.”

  Ormand growled, but said nothing more. Rowan almost could have laughed.

  Rigall pushed his desk back against one of the bookcases and took down a small gong that Rowan hadn’t noticed before. Then, from other shelves, he brought out a number of bells, and a pan flute that he hung around his neck.

  “Nawassa—the Gift, my people call it—is a mystery even the best of us haven’t entirely figured out,” he said as he touched one of the mirrors to adjust it, focusing the light on Rowan in the center of the room. “It lives in the atmosphere around us, like air, yet not like. It can be summoned, harnessed, and commanded, yet it seems to have a will of its own sometimes. Perhaps that was a balance put in place by the One who created it for our use, so that we could not abuse it fully.” He broke off and shot Ormand another glare as he swiped a little folding fan, similar to the one Rowan carried, off his desk. Except this one was made of some kind of exotic metal.

  “At any rate,” he continued, and Rowan wondered if he was simply flaunting his opportunity to talk without Ormand’s interruption, “Our relationship with it is tenuous. Any disturbance could disrupt the whole process. A strong gust of wind, or a very loud and out-of-place noise. Of course it would depend on the spell being worked, and how far along it was, how bad the results would be. You might end up with a disaster, or it might just dispel the Nawassa altogether.” He shrugged. “Now. Silence.” He looked at each of them pointedly, then took a deep breath, and of all things, began to dance.

  Rowan watched, and a tinge of fear crept back over her. Yet she was fascinated. The little magician moved, he and his fan, high-stepping and twirling around the room. The metallic fan flashed in the light, sometimes fluttering, sometimes beckoning or waving, and then Rigall began to hum. At intervals he would strike the gong, ring one of the bells, or blow a note on his flute.

  Nothing happened.

  But then it did. It began so subtly she didn’t notice at first. The air began to change. It felt thicker, warmer, yet cool and tingling like oil of peppermint rubbed against her skin. Always the reverberations of the gong or the flute lingered, and as the air thickened, the vibrations seemed to remain longer. The light and the vibrations coalesced around her like a second skin, soothing but slightly itchy.

  Rigall moved closer, his movements like liquid. He snapped the fan closed and touched the tip of it to her forehead, speaking a single word that she didn’t understand. Instantly though, the image of a huge, coppery wolf flooded her mind. Then he said, “Sleep.”

  The colors of the wolf image leaked out. The room faded to black. She felt like she was floating. Then nothing.

  * * * * *

  She woke to the sound of birds and insects, and the overpowering aroma of wet earth and grass. She was lying on her side, and long stalks of grass and tangles of weeds waved in front of her eyes and dripped water on her. She blinked. Something didn’t seem right. The colors looked different. The smells were stronger, more varied. Her body felt… She shifted and tried to sit up. And screamed.

  But the scream came out as an agonized, wailing howl from a throat that was no longer human. The cry of a wolf.

  They’d actually turned her into a wolf.

  She managed to get her haunches under her and sat up, raising one giant coppery red paw to stare at it. She tried to turn it as she would have turned her hand to look at her palm, but found the movement awkward.

  She tried to stand up, but that too felt off-kilter and strange, so she sank down to all four paws, swinging her head back and forth. Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she spun. Whatever it the thing was remained just beyond comfortable sight, so she spun some more. Then the other direction. A flash of white and red. She could almost see it. Almost reach it…

  Rowan sat back down suddenly in horror. Cautiously, slowly, she stood back up and ducked her head down to see between her arms, now acting as front legs, along the length of her shaggy belly, and beyond. She had a tail.

  And she’d just been chasing it.

  “Of all the…” she tried to say, but it came out garbled, more of a throaty whine than words. She tried again. Her tongue felt too big and floppy, but she slowed down and labored over each sound. Nothing would work right. Not her tongue, not her lips. All she got was something that sounded like “O waaarr eh…”

  She snapped her mouth shut. Of all the… and her last spoken words had been to Ormand. The slime. He should be the one wearing an animal hide and trying to walk on four legs. But thinking of Ormand, where was he? Where was she? The last she remembered had been Rigall’s underground study. The magician’s command to sleep. She had been fighting tears for hours, her head pounding. They’d killed Aaro, and she hadn’t been able to cry over him.

  Now, looking around, she saw that she was alone on the prairie. Not a building or a person in sight. The only animals she could see were birds. They had just left her here? How far was she from town? But what was she thinking? She couldn’t run back to town like this. She’d be shot on sight. Maybe that’s what Ormand had meant when he said she might not live long anyway.

  She lay back down on her belly and covered her face with her hands.

  Paws, she corrected herself.

  Well. She would stay alive, if only to spite Ormand. And she’d find a way to break this curse. The magician had said it was possible, and if it was possible, she’d find a way. What else did she have to lose? Ormand had taken everything from her. Her home, her family, her love, even her identity. Going back was dangerous and delusional. She could only go forward.

  But first, she would cry for Aaro. If she must be a wolf, then she would mourn as only a wolf could. So she raised her snout to the red, overcast sky and howled. She couldn’t cry, but the sky wept for her.

  Chapter 8

  Aaro rested, his back against a tree, feet stretched out toward the stream. His throat still felt raw, and the rest of his body throbbed. Rain fell again, soaking his clothes and plastering his hair to his neck, cooling his hands and face, and his throbbing arm. He had dozed a little, though he knew he shouldn’t, while he waited for Jake to get back from town. It felt like all his energy had been washed away, drained into the wet ground under him. If any of Ormand’s troops came back and found him now, he’d never be able to fight them. He could barely move his head without fighting not to throw up, and was sure several of his ribs were cracked.

  But he didn’t think Ormand would send anyone back. Not right away. Tomorrow maybe, to scout for survivors. Or when one of the nobles with enough influence demanded it.

  Flames still licked through the collapsed buildings despite the afternoon’s on and off rain showers, and black, reeking smoke hung in the shallow valley with no wind to blow it away.

  Aaro felt another coughing fit coming on, and braced himself for the assault of pain that would come with it. He wrapped his arms around his ribs and coughed until tears streamed down his face. When the fit had passed, it left him breathing in ragged gulps while more tears leaked from his eyes, their warmth mingling with the cold rainwater. If he could have laid down and died on command he would’ve done it. Except for one thing. Ormand. Ormand was the ember that blazed hot against the cold inside him. He would stay alive long enough to kill Ormand, and anyone who supported him. Then he would find some way to die.

  The sky had turned red with the coming night, while the rain continued. Over the rain, he heard pounding hooves approaching. That would be Jake, riding hard to get back to him before nightfall. In another moment two horses and a single rider appeared, slowing down as they made their way through the destruction. Jake walked the horses across the stream and dismounted, his face as bleak as the day.

  “You able to ride?” he asked.

 
Aaro twitched a shoulder by way of a shrug.

  Jake nodded toward the other horse, which Aaro saw was one of their own. “Found him wandering the prairie. Haven’t seen any of the others. One of us’ll have to ride bareback, ‘cause I couldn’t buy another set of tack without raising suspicion.”

  “The mask?” Aaro rasped.

  “It’s here. And you’re right. It ain’t an ordinary mask. Got everything else, too.” He offered a hand, pulling Aaro to his feet and then steadying him when he swayed. “I’m thinking we ride to the cabin and stay put till it quits raining.”

  The cabin, a shanty some of the hands stayed in occasionally when they were working the eastern section of range, was a good two hours’ ride away. But it would likely be safe.

  Aaro limped to Jake’s horse and winced his way into the saddle, leaving his friend to ride bareback. He tossed Jake the reins and hunched over, one arm wrapped around his ribs and the other hand gripping the horse’s mane. “Go,” he whispered.

  “There’s already rumors going around,” Jake said as they turned east and left the burned-out buildings behind them. “Some of ‘em are even true. But the official word is that you defied the king, then attacked him, and the soldiers killed you to protect him. Ormand’s calling it a tragedy that should never have happened. That you forced his hand. I didn’t hear anything about Rowan.”

  Aaro didn’t react to the news. Mostly he just felt numb.

  Soon the prairie hid all but the smoke still pouring into the sky. For a few minutes the rain slacked off. The overcast sky glowed red. In the distance, they heard a wolf howl, the cry sounding eerie and out of place. It went on and on, rising and falling, dying off finally to be renewed a second later. Jake muttered under his breath and urged the horses on, but Aaro felt no fear. He listened to the wolf’s cry and thought it sounded like how he felt.

  The rain started up again, but the howl continued, and Aaro let the sound and the cold wrap around him and lull him into a stupor as they rode on into the deepening night.

  * * * * *

  The smoke led Rowan back to the ranch, after she had howled her throat raw. It reeked, spreading for miles like a beacon in the night. One good thing she’d discovered about being a wolf was that she could travel fast, once she got used to using four legs instead of two. She topped the final knoll, slowing down as her ridiculously heightened sense of smell went crazy. That, she had already decided, was not a good thing. She could smell everything. And so far, it hadn’t done her any good. She couldn’t sort out or make sense of the smells. She only knew that they were there, and there was no escaping them.

  In the bowl of land below her, what remained of the ranch sat in blackened heaps against the dark gray of the prairie. She could see better in the dark than she used to, but the sight wasn’t comforting. Fires still glowed here and there among fallen timber and charred sections of walls that remained standing. The building that had fared the best looked to be the stable, but even of that only half remained standing. Nothing stirred except the smoke and the rain. She turned away.

  She couldn’t go back to town. She’d be killed before anyone knew any better, and the ranch was no more. What to do?

  A slight breeze picked up from the north, clearing the smoke away and bringing a distant smell of pine. She’d heard that where the prairie ended, a wilderness began. The place from which the ancients had hauled stone and timber for the town, the place where you could go and vanish. When she lived back east she had heard rumors that the Shonnowa lived there now, scattered among canyons and mountains and forests. There were towns up there as well, though they were wild and unsafe.

  But who was she to worry about safe? She bared her fangs in a bitter grin. North it would be. If she could find the Shonnowa, maybe they could help her break the curse, if they didn’t kill her first.

  Her stomach rumbled, and she looked longingly toward the burned-out ranch. No help there. She could only hope her taste buds had undergone a significant change as well. The thought of catching field mice or rabbits and eating them raw… not appealing.

  * * * * *

  Two days later the wilderness began, with forested foothills, rivers, and lakes. Another three days, and the foothills had become steeper, broken by gullies and waterfalls, caves and canyons. Hunger and sorrow traveled with Rowan, but also wonder.

  A few times she’d caught whiffs of what she learned to identify as human scent, though she only saw them from a distance, cutting and hauling lumber, or traveling in small groups. She sat and watched them several times, debating whether to approach. But they were all armed and rough looking. Of course, anyone out here would likely look rough. The problem was, how would she ever show herself without getting killed? Even if she did find the Shonnowa. They must not have any better feelings toward wolves than her own people. She didn’t have any great love for wolves herself, and she was a wolf.

  Her constant hunger was what tempted her the most toward approaching the men she came across. She’d managed to catch a couple of rabbits and a mouse, and didn’t like to dwell on the memory. The raw meat didn’t taste like she had expected—it also didn’t taste good. And a couple of rabbits in five days was hardly satisfying.

  On the sixth day she wandered into an ancient forest of towering pine, the forest floor broken by intermitted rocks stabbing up through the carpet of needles and moss. The hillside sloped steeply down toward a churning river.

  She lay down on her belly, front paws stretched out, panting and watching the river below and wondering if raw fish would taste any better than raw rabbit meat, or be any easier to catch. The breeze kicked up, wafting a distant smell of smoke and cooking food. The smells of a campsite or small village. Her stomach rumbled.

  Twilight was coming on, and a big, round moon hung over the horizon, not quite at its full, but nearly. She had a clear view, and her skin tingled as she looked up at it, her fur standing on end. The air around her felt congealed. She knew the breaking of the curse could not be as simple as staring at the moon, yet for an instant her heart leaped, and she rose, still panting, yearning toward the light and her human form, and she cried. The lonesome, hungry, heartbroken cry of a wolf.

  A yelp of surprise from just beyond the rocky ridge startled her, and she fell silent, ears perked toward the sound. She heard the snap of a twig, then nothing.

  She looked from the ridge back to the moon, knowing that if someone was here, she should hide herself, yet reluctant to wander from the patch of moonlight, which was growing stronger as the twilight deepened. She could still feel the prickles of magic along her skin, and remembering what the magician had said about the curse being incomplete, half expected something to happen, though she didn’t know what.

  Several minutes passed, and she thought perhaps she had imagined the sound of someone’s voice, or that her longing ears had changed the sound of a fallen branch or another animal to that of a human. She lowered her head to the ground, covering her face with her paws, and shuddered. That single sound, or imagined sound, had wrenched her heart. She missed them so much. Dustan, Annalie, Uncle Lance. Aaro. Most of all Aaro, though she’d known him for the shortest time. A strangled sob escaped her, though this time it sounded less wolfish and more human.

  She jerked her head up. Red curls, their color dim in the fading light, fell around her face. Long, human fingers splayed on the ground in front of her. She picked up her hands and looked at them, bewildered, then at the rest of her. Fully human, bathed in moonlight. The white dress she’d been wearing when Ormand took her was rumpled and smudged, but still intact.

  “Oh…” she breathed. “Am I…?” The words felt strange in her mouth, and she dare not finish the thought. She could still feel the tingles of magic, tickling the skin on her bare arms, raising goosebumps. She rose unsteadily to her feet, taking a moment to get her balance, and stepped out of the moonlight, into the dark shadows of the trees. For several minutes, nothing happened. Her heart pounded, and her eyes stung. It felt like a burlap sack
full of moths had been let loose in her stomach as she held her breath.

  Then, as she watched, her hands grew stubby and furry, her slender arms turning into the forelegs of a wolf.

  “No!” she cried, jumping back into the moonlight. “Please…no.” In another moment, her human form returned. She dropped to her knees in the pine needles and sobbed.

  “Ellowaha?” said a voice.

  Rowan startled, sitting up and choking back a cry as a human—a man—stepped through a gap in the ridge, spotted her, and hurried over. He spoke as though he were in a panic, looking about wildly and beckoning for her to come, but she couldn’t understand a word he said.

  “Who—” she croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again as he rushed to her side and pulled at her arm, still looking alarmed. “What’s wrong? And who are you?”

  The man paused for a moment in concentration, then switched to her own language. “Please, woman, you must hurry. Did you not hear the wolf here a moment ago?”

  She stared at him for a second, his earnest expression and dark Shonnowan features, and then she laughed. She must truly have gone mad over the last several days, to laugh now. But still she laughed, and a tiny bit of the burden lifted from her heart. So she had found one of the Shonnowa. And he hadn’t tried to kill her. Yet.

  She let him pull her to her feet, aware that he was watching her warily now. Probably thinking her a raving lunatic. She tried to drop a curtsy and nearly fell over.

  The man still looked worried, glancing around at the rocks and forest for the wolf he thought to be hiding nearby. But he also looked confused, and guarded.