“Forgive me,” Rowan said. “There is no wolf. Well, there is, in fact, but that wolf is me. Lady Rowan D’Araines. So very pleased to meet you.”
“D’Araines,” the young man said, butchering the name as he mulled it over. “This is familiar. But you are not a wolf.”
“I am cursed,” she said, and hoped that taking a direct approach would be safe, for she hadn’t the time to hedge. The man wasn’t reaching for weapons yet, so she took that for a good sign. “My people’s king, Ormand D’Araines, killed my husband, his cousin, and made his magician curse me into the form of a wolf.” She glanced up at the moon. “Apparently the moonlight turns me back.”
The young man was shaking his head. “King D’Araines, his name I know. And you are his…cousin? But of this thing called a magician…” he spread his hands and said something unintelligible. “This magician, this is a person?” He eyed her curiously.
“Yes. One of your people.”
He shook his head again. “Not one of us, if he is making curses. Perhaps one of Them. My people do not fashion the Gift into curses.” He looked at her again, really looking now, and reached a hand to touch her wild hair. “Why are you so far from your own people?”
Why did men find her hair so fascinating? Rowan withdrew a fraction of an inch, not wanting to offend, but after Ormand’s slimy fingers caressing her throat, she had no desire to be touched.
The stranger caught himself and withdrew his hand, looking sheepish.
“My people would have seen only a wolf and killed me.”
“Ah, of course. But why are you here then?”
“I was looking for you!” Rowan felt impatience gnawing at her. “I have to break the curse! But I don’t know how. The magician said it was possible. That no magic is ever permanent. And I thought if anyone could help, it would be the Shonnowa.”
“Magic, magician.” The stranger shook his head again, his eyes wandering back to her halo of red curls as he spoke. “If you are speaking of the Gift, Nawassa, then he was right. It can be bound to people or things, but that bond is…what is the word? Unsteady?” He shrugged. “I am not a craftsman, so I know little about it. But there are others who might be able to help. You will come with me to see them?”
“Please!”
“Good!” His eyes danced. “In the morning, we will go.”
“Oh.” Rowan felt herself droop. Her stomach rumbled, and the Shonnowan man looked at her. “I’m not very good at being a wolf yet,” she said.
He burst out laughing, like it was the funniest thing he’d heard in his life, then beckoned her toward the rocks at the ridge crest. “Come. I have food.”
She followed, leaving the moonlight behind with a reluctant glance, plodding up the hill. By the time they reached the rocks she had resumed her wolf shape. The man led her to a cleft, sheltered by a tree, and turned to speak. He started when he saw her in wolf form, but then he smiled.
“Ah! I see!” he said. “But you are a very beautiful wolf, as you are a very beautiful woman.”
If Rowan had known him better, she would have growled.
“Can you speak?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I am unhappy for this. But you can understand, so it is…” he shrugged. “Enough. It is enough. My name is Sorrell. Be welcome. Perhaps tonight you can help me keep watch for real wolves.” He sat down and dug through a leather satchel, offering her dried fish and flatbread that was reasonably fresh.
She went to sleep that night with her belly full for the first time in a week, and didn’t stir till morning. But she dreamt of dancing with Aaro, kissing him under a full moon.
* * * * *
The next day they walked down toward the river, with Sorrell keeping up a steady, one-sided conversation the whole way. Sometimes he asked her questions, then apologized. For some reason, Rowan had always pictured the Shonnowa people as being silent and mysterious, perhaps having magical abilities. But the more time she spent in Sorrell’s company, the more he reminded her of a masculine version of Annalie. Bursting full of life and energy and words, though sometimes he couldn’t think of the one he wanted, so he would fill in with a Shonnowan word instead, then try to explain it.
They crossed the river, walking along a fallen log overtop of the water, then continued on for the rest of the morning. Rowan could smell the Shonnowan village drawing nearer, distinguishing the aromas of meat and baking bread, leather, herbs, wood smoke, and people. She kept expecting to see it over every rise, but it was another hour before they came in view.
Sorrell paused at the top of a ridge, and when Rowan sat down panting beside him, she saw the clearing below with its dozen or so little cabins, a corral, and children playing around the buildings. Fires burned in front of most of the houses.
“Our people have become nomads,” Sorrell said. “Since They drove us out of our cities, and then your people came and rebuilt the abandoned ones. Now we live in houses that we can leave when we need to. This is a good place. Perhaps we will make our own town here, in the next years. Some of our people have begun to build again, some of the other clans. And our women are always eager to plant and to be welcome in one place.”
Rowan sensed a wistfulness in him as he spoke, and glanced up. His gaze had gone from the tiny village below them, to the valleys southward. She wished she could ask. But even if she could talk, these were not her people, nor was this her heritage. She wouldn’t know the first thing to ask without sounding like a jackass. For the first time, it pressed on her and annoyed her how little she knew beyond her own life. Longing she understood. Longing to be home, to be free, to have Aaro back. But what things did a Shonnowan man long for?
He shook himself from his reverie and grinned down at her. “Come. And be welcome.” He started down the hill, and she followed.
The first person he saw, he called out to them in his own language, waving toward Rowan. The other man stopped and stared, then grinned. He ducked into one of the houses and came out with a woman, pointing to Rowan again. If Rowan could have blushed, she would have been red as a tomato again as people gathered around them, with Sorrell speaking in Shonnowan. She sat down beside his feet, her head coming level with his waist, and curled her tail around herself.
Children joined the crowd, pressing close to see. They were cautious at first, then bolder, reaching out to touch her coppery fur, squealing with delight, then chasing each other in and out through the crowd.
The conversation seemed to focus more between Sorrell and an older man, until they were joined by a young woman. She spoke, and they listened, and then she knelt down in front of Rowan, looking her in the eyes.
“My brother says you understand the speech of the king people.”
Rowan dipped her head in a nod.
The young woman, not much older that Rowan, if she had to guess, giggled. She reached out a hand, then paused. “May I?”
Rowan returned her gaze, unable to respond with words, and slightly taken aback. The woman must have taken her lack of response as consent, for she reached out and ran her fingers through the thick mane of fur around Rowan’s neck, cooing to herself in her own tongue. “Beautiful,” she said. “Yes. Sorrell says you are even more beautiful as a woman though.”
Rowan heaved a sigh. All the cleverest wit in the world was of no use to her now, when she needed it.
The woman laughed, seeming to understand. “Have no fear. Be welcome. We will speak tonight when the moon is shining, yes? My name is Willow. It is one of your words, I believe. Our father spent many years with the king people. He was a merchant.” She stood up and beckoned Rowan to follow. “Come with me. We will get away from the noise.”
Willow led Rowan to one of the little houses, built of slender, supple branches woven together, layered with woven grass, and covered on the outside with animal skins. Inside, tools and supplies hung from the walls, and a stone fire pit with a chimney sat cold in one corner.
“This is our home, my husband and I,
and one more, soon,” Willow said, rubbing the slight bulge of her belly that Rowan hadn’t noticed before. “Be welcome here, for as long as you need. Rest if you are able. It is a long journey from the king city to our mountains. I am the clan’s healer, so we are accustomed to having guests stay with us.”
Rowan’s gazed flicked from Willow’s pretty, round face to the bump of her growing baby, to the tidy little shanty she called home. Her chest ached, and her head filled with a roar. Aaro. This should have been us.
She turned and fled back out the door, past the startled crowd, back into the forest. Behind her she could hear Willow and Sorrel calling, the thud of footsteps following, but she kept running. Her big copper-red paws flashed in and out of dappled sunlight, and the trees blurred around her.
Why?
Why couldn’t it have been them?
Her paws slid in the thick layer of pine needles as she charged down the valley, and she slipped and rolled, crashing through underbrush before she came to rest, belly up, in a shallow stream. Ice cold water soaked through her fur, tingling along her back. Rocks dug into her. She rolled over and slogged back to shore, shook herself, and lay down.
Why?
And she couldn’t even cry. Not as she should be able to. Her cries came out as whining, guttural noises that scared even her.
In rage, she screamed—a long, deranged wail that sent birds scattering out of the trees and echoed back at her from the hills. Truly the sound of a beast.
If the Shonnowa were still following her, that should have turned them back. But no. From the top of the hill a rustle of brush announced company. Rowan didn’t want company. She wanted to be left alone. She wanted to cry. A real, human cry. But if she couldn’t do that, then to scream out her frustrations in whatever voice she had.
She covered her face with her paws and lay still, hoping they wouldn’t see her. But the footsteps shuffled closer, and someone sat beside her, the soft rustle of linen and doeskin sounding next to her ear. A hand touched her head, stroking it.
“I am sorrowing to cause you this,” Willow said. “I did not think. What must have happened to you these past days? Sorrel says your husband was killed. I cannot imagine that. Even if I try…no, I cannot try. It hurts too much.” She stroked Rowan’s ears, her head, her back. If Rowan kept her eyes closed she could almost imagine it was her mother, long ago, rubbing her back, petting her hair, telling her all would be well when her childish troubles got the better of her.
“Don’t go,” Willow said. “Come back with us, and we will find a way to break your curse. Or we will do everything we can to try. Tonight you will tell us your story. With more learning, we can have more ideas what could…eh, remove? This curse.”
Rowan heaved a shaky sigh. That was what she’d come here for.
That night the moon rose full as the sun set, a huge red orb hanging in the cleft of the eastern mountain peak. Rowan sat and watched it from the wide clearing in the valley northwest of the village, where a fire ring and trampled grass evidenced other gatherings.
Willow sat nearby with a stack of slender green twigs and a pile of linen strips which she worked at weaving together. Rowan could only guess she must be making some kind of soft basket to carry the baby around on her back when it arrived. She watched her for a moment, acid rising in her throat, then turned back to the moon.
She could already feel the curse tingling along her skin, the air congealing around her. She lifted a paw to look at. Not yet.
Willow started to sing softly as she wove, a lilting, longing murmur of music, and words that Rowan couldn’t understand. Her eyes stung, and she felt tears running down her face. She lifted her hands to wipe them away, and saw that they were human. Willow looked up at her soft gasp, and her eyes widened. Her hand stilled, resting the basket in her lap.
“Darsaw! I believed you, but to see you a woman…!” she said. She put her work to the side and shuffled over on her knees, reaching out to touch Rowan’s hair and face, wearing an unreadable expression.
Sorrell strode over and sat down on Rowan’s other side, flashing a white smile at her in the twilight. Soon the circle around the fire had filled in, and two of the men worked on getting the fire started. Rowan felt all of their eyes on her. She touched her hair, running her fingertips through the silky curls. It felt strange, after just a week. What if they never found a way to break the curse? What if moonlit nights were all she ever had to be…real?
She ducked her head, but too slowly to hide the terror in her eyes as Willow looked at her. She felt the other woman’s arm go around her shoulders.
“It may take months…or years. But we will find your cure.”
Chapter 9
Three years later.
The buzz of voices, the roaring fire, the constant thump of beer mugs slammed down on tables, and the plink of the cheap piano in the corner blended together into a drone that Aaro had ceased to hear almost from the moment he stepped through the door. As usual, the noises faltered when they saw his mask. He heard the whispers, but when he made no move other than to sit down at the counter and order coffee, things resumed, just as they always did.
“More coffee?” The bar maid stood in front of him again, holding the tin pot with a towel wrapped around the handle.
He let go the mug and gave it a push with his fingers, sending it sliding to her. She filled it and set it back in front of him.
“You ever take that mask off?” she asked, cocking her hips as she leaned an elbow on the counter. She blinked at him slowly, making sure he got a good look at her long, black eyelashes.
“Wouldn’t be much point in wearing a mask if I took it off, would there?” he growled.
“We get men in here who are on the run from time to time,” she said, not to be put off so easily. “They’ll take their masks off eventually. With help from the right person.” She gave him a lazy wink. “Haven’t seen one like yours before though. It looks foreign.”
Aaro took another sip of his coffee and didn’t answer. If the wind wasn’t whipping into a blizzard out there he might have considered riding on. Then again, his horse needed rest. It was too cold to push on relentlessly, and he had nowhere to go for the moment.
“Will you be staying a while?” the girl asked.
“Maybe.”
“Don’t talk much, do you? I figure most men, if they’re wearing a mask, want to brag about why. Who they killed, or how big of a reward they’ve got on their heads. Or what kind of a job they’re on their way to do.”
Aaro looked up at the girl finally, his mask shifting slightly with the movement. He’d been wearing it for so long now he didn’t even feel it most of the time, like a second skin covering his cheeks and the upper half of his face. The only time he took it off any more was to shave.
“Well! Look at those eyes!” she cooed. “Eyes like those don’t deserve to be hidden. You’re quite the looker, I do believe. Play your game right and you might be able to get some free company for the night.”
Aaro stood with a growl and threw a coin down on the bar. “Get me a room. Alone.”
She pocketed the coin and shrugged. “Can’t blame a girl for trying. We don’t exactly have the top pick of men around here. You on the other hand,” she said, coming out from behind the bar, “something tells me you’re at the top of the top.”
Aaro remained silent as she prattled on, shouldering his bedroll and saddlebags and following her up a narrow flight of stairs to an equally narrow hallway. The girl opened a door and waved him in.
“Here you go. Will you be coming down for supper?”
“Yes.”
Still she lingered, leaning on the door, watching him drop his things onto the bed and shed his overcoat. “You must at least have a name. Or a nickname.”
“No.”
She sighed. “Alright then. We’re serving food in half an hour. Don’t be late, if you don’t want leftovers.” She turned and disappeared down the hallway, leaving him alone finally.
&n
bsp; He set his hat down on the bed and pulled the leather thong out of his hair, retying it into a short tail. The mask stayed in place, held by the Shonnowa magic infused into it, rather than by any physical ties. No one but he could remove it. So it stayed. His face hadn’t been seen by another soul other than Jake since the day Rowan died. And Emrella. And Mitchell. And Hank.
Now even Jake had left him.
Justice I understand, Jake had said before he rode away, now almost a year ago. But this is bloody revenge, and it’s eaten you alive. I don’t know you anymore, and all my helping is just helping you turn into worse of a monster. Killing for money? No. I’m done.
He was one of Ormand’s bootlickers, Aaro had retorted. We can’t go forever without income, and I’m not stopping for a couple years to raise beef.
You’re a damned murderer, Raines. You decide to go to Heymish, like you always planned, and I’m with you every step. But I’m not killing people for money. I don’t care what they done.
Aaro wondered fleetingly where Jake was now. If he’d found someplace to settle down again. Maybe got himself a girl. He’d be better off. He was right, after all. Revenge had turned Aaro into a monster. A man with no face, no name, and no life. And for all of that, he still hadn’t killed Ormand. But what Jake didn’t understand was that if he gave up now, it would all be for nothing. Blood on his hands, with no way to redeem it.
* * * * *
Back down in the common room, more of a crowd had filtered in, and it was impossible to get a table to himself, so Aaro settled for a seat in the corner, facing the room, at a table between two old-timers who looked at his mask suspiciously but said nothing. It was not entirely uncommon, wearing a mask. Ormand’s list of wanted men was ever growing, and if you were wanted and no one saw your face, then no one would have to lie. Or tell the truth.
The meal of meat pies and thick slabs of bread was served, and the flirty bar maid came back around and filled his coffee mug, giving him another hopeful wink. Aaro hadn’t realized he’d been chilled to the core until the hot food and coffee started to thaw him out.
Quench the Day (Red Wolf Trilogy Book 1) Page 10