Fearless

by Jennifer Jenkins

  Joshua and Sani sat in the corner of the tent, bickering as usual. They hadn’t intended for their whispered argument to wake him, but he’d been up since they first started their latest contest.

  “Ow!” Joshua complained, rubbing the back of his hand. “I wasn’t ready that time.”

  Sani placed his hands out in front of him, palms up. Joshua placed his on top of Sani’s, palms down. The person whose hands were on bottom was supposed to lift, flip, and smack the back of the hands of the person on top. It was a game of speed and reflexes many Ram children played. The object was to hit the person on top before they could pull their hands away. If they got a hit, their hands stayed on bottom. If the person on top pulled their hands away before getting struck, then the pair traded places.

  Sani’s hand flew through the air the moment they got back into position. Three smacks came in quick succession.

  Gryphon bit into his hand to keep from laughing. Poor Joshua had only found one more thing Sani beat him at.

  “How are you beating me?” he demanded. “I’m usually good at this game.”

  Sani, in his level voice, simply shrugged and said, “I’m faster than you.”

  Gryphon didn’t have to see Joshua to know his cheeks and neck were likely as red as the flaming hair atop his head.

  First, it had been a foot race. Then a game of riddles. Now, hand slapping. If the poor kid didn’t win at something soon, Gryphon thought he might explode.

  Smack, smack. A pause. Smack, smack, smack.

  “Enough!” Joshua didn’t even bother whispering anymore. “I have to be better than you at something!”

  Gryphon rolled over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as though he’d only just awoken. “Sani is a talented young man, Joshua. That doesn’t mean you’re not.”

  As expected, Joshua’s face glowed almost as red as the backs of his hands.

  “This coming from the man who taught me that ‘if you’re not the best, you’re dead.’”

  Had he really said that?

  Probably.

  “We’re not on a battlefield, Joshua. Slapping hands is hardly a life-or-death skill.”

  Joshua jumped to his feet and launched himself at his pack. He produced a woolen sling and waved it over his head, victorious. “Your bow to my sling. First to kill a rabbit wins!”

  Sani inhaled deeply, as though drawing in patience along with air. “Fine. But this is the last game, Joshua.”

  Wiggling his brows up and down, Joshua said, “What? Afraid I’m going to win?” Joshua didn’t wait for a response. He bounded out of the tent, red hands and all, prepared for battle.

  Sani sighed again. “He’s exhausting.” He picked up his quiver and bow and followed Joshua out of the tent to hunt rabbits.

  Gryphon dressed and followed them out to find breakfast. His guard wasn’t waiting outside his door, nor had they followed him from the training fields last night after his talk with Laden. Gryphon could only assume they’d been ordered to watch him from a distance—probably Laden’s way of thanking him for the information. The Commander knew as well as Gryphon that he had an entire army of Wolves milling about the camp who would have been more than happy to report any crime, real or imagined, that Gryphon committed—especially since half of them believed he was responsible for the sudden disappearance of those four guards.

  That mystery still bothered him.

  The person who had set fire to that tent was still somewhere among the people of the Allies. It had been too targeted an attack to leave any room for doubt. Whoever lit that fire had wanted Gryphon hanged for the deed. This unseen threat was smart, watchful, and patient. Definitely not an enemy to be taken lightly. They would have seen that Gryphon’s guard hadn’t been around him and chosen that moment to act. The plan would have worked, were it not for Laden’s levelheaded leadership and Sani’s testimony.

  As he walked through the tents, he was met with either a sneer or a frown as Wolves stoked morning cook fires and went about their chores. Most probably didn’t appreciate that a Ram had been granted the freedom to walk about camp, especially after the fire. In their hate-filled minds, he was guilty. A threat.

  Gryphon ducked inside Laden’s tent, surprised to find the Commander not there as usual to take his breakfast.

  Millie must have read his surprise. “He’s overseeing the team of men preparing the Kodiak sector for Murtog’s arrival.” She set down a bowl of porridge and a plate of sausage links.

  “Are you trying to fatten me up?” Gryphon lifted a sausage to her in salute before taking a bite. He couldn’t stifle a groan of pleasure as he chewed. “I’ll never be satisfied with trail food again.”

  Millie did her best not to appear flattered, making her usual scowl pained. She used the folds of her dress to grab the kettle from over the fire so not to burn her hand.

  “Tell me, Millie, do you honestly think Murtog and the rest of the Kodiak will come?”

  Milled filled his cup with the steaming brown tea and returned the kettle to the hook above the fire. “With Zo, anything is possible.”

  Gryphon nodded his agreement. He didn’t like the idea of Zo baiting the Kodiak here, but the girl could be persuasive. He snorted at the irony of him, a Ram, sipping tea in an enemy camp. Yes, Zo was a woman for whom men would change the order of the stars. Even the thought of their last kiss made his hand tremble as he reached for his cup.

  “I didn’t start that fire,” Gryphon said, when Millie set a hot scone on his plate.

  “If the Commander says you’re innocent, that’s good enough for me.” She gave a decided nod, but then her certainty seemed to waver. “Two more men went missing last night, did you know?” she spoke in low tones, checking the entrance of the tent for listening ears.

  Gryphon’s whole body stiffened. He swallowed and shook his head.

  Millie wiped her brow with the hem of her apron. “Something is happening inside this camp.” She took a step toward the tent flaps. “Be careful, Ram. Someone seems determined to make you out to be our enemy.” She turned and walked stiffly out—likely to the Healer’s Tent to look after the burn victims.

  Gryphon studied the wall of the tent. His mind raced at the implication of this new development. He could easily fathom someone trying to sabotage his reputation. But were these missing men deserters, or had something actually happened to them? A sense of foreboding filled his gut. The Allies couldn’t afford to have enemies working against them within the camp.

  He finished his meal, determined to speak to Commander Laden. Just as he stood to leave the tent, the soft sounds of sniffling reached his ears. Pushing up from the table, careful not to make noise with the wooden chair, he walked toward the whimpering. Only one creature in this camp could be the owner of such a high, heart-melting sound.

  “Tess?” he gently called. Half of the Commander’s tent housed his paper-scattered desk; the other half was separated by a cloth divider. He pulled back the cloth to find a bed and a wooden chest. At the foot of the bed, Tess sat hugging her legs to her chest.

  She looked up at Gryphon and quickly rotated to show him her back before hurriedly wiping the tears from her cheeks.

  “Tess?” Gryphon frowned. “Are you hurt?”

  Her back still facing him, she shook her head. The movement sent her wild blond hair dancing along her narrow back. A comb sat abandoned at her side.

  Gryphon had almost no experience with children, but instinct brought him to sit on the ground a few feet away. “Will you tell me why you’re crying?” he asked.

  She shook her head again.

  Gryphon grimaced then looked down at the comb. He cleared his throat. “I can help you with that … if you like.”

  She glanced back to see him gesture to the comb. Her big eyes were rimmed in red. “Do you know how?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

  “I will if you teach me.”

  Tess pinched her lips together and after only a mome
nt’s indecision, picked up the comb and crawled the few feet separating them. “Start and the bottom, and then work your way up.” She handed him the comb, and as an afterthought added, “Don’t tug.”

  Gryphon lifted a snarled portion of Tess’s hair and carefully worked the comb through the blond strands. After a few minutes Tess said, “You can go faster.”

  “But you said not to tug.”

  The little girl released a long-suffering sigh. “I just wish … ” Her voice took on a shaky quality. Another sniffle meant more tears.

  “What is it, Tess?”

  She didn’t answer and Gryphon kept combing.

  Finally, with forced sincerity she said, “Zo usually combs my hair. Millie hurts.”

  “Is that why you’re hiding in here?”

  Tess shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Gryphon picked up another section of hair. “You miss her, don’t you?”

  He was getting better at knowing when to be gentle and when to be firm with the comb.

  Tess wiped another tear from her cheek. Her back stiffened. “I don’t miss her. I hope she never comes back.”

  Gryphon’s hands froze in her hair. “You don’t mean that.” He finished combing the final section and set the comb down.

  Without warning, Tess turned and jumped into his lap, pressing her wet face into his shirt. The effort of crying shook her tiny frame. Gryphon gathered her to him and held her, shocked by the sudden change. “It’s all right, Tess.” He caught himself swaying back and forth, rocking her again on instinct. “Shh, it’s all right.”

  He held her for several minutes without pestering her further about her tears.

  She eventually picked up her comb and left him, without another word, sitting on the floor of Laden’s tent.

  The next two mornings, before Gryphon took his breakfast, Tess arrived at his tent with comb in hand. No words exchanged. No questions about how she was doing. Tess simply looked up at him and offered the comb. On the second day, Joshua even let her practice braiding his shaggy red locks, lying down with his head in her small lap as she worked.

  Gryphon did his best not to let the child see how pleased he was when he accepted the comb on the third day.

  I’m going to miss this …

  “One more!” Gryphon shouted to his gasping men when they reached the bottom of the foothills. His order wasn’t received with groans as it had been during yesterday’s sprints. He’d rewarded that reaction with three more trips up and down the mountain. This time, the men simply put their heads down and sprinted back up the mountain.

  Gryphon paused a moment at the bottom—keeping an eye out for the youngest boys in his ranks—before digging his feet into the rich valley soil and sprinting after them. He’d overtaken the leader before they reached the top. “The Ram train this hard every day, men,” he called down to them. He wanted to taunt them. He wanted them to be angry with him, to use that anger to push themselves harder.

  They all reached the top a little faster than they had the day before. He nodded his approval and said, “Use the jog down to catch your breath. Dismissed.”

  Gryphon walked behind his men, taking in the distant sight of new tents being erected on the eastern edge for the Kodiaks. Earlier that morning, the camp awoke to find over fifty newly made spears snapped in two and a pair of Allied soldiers impaled near the armory. Laden was in a lethal mood, and the general animosity toward Gryphon had spiked yet again. At least his forty seemed to trust him.

  Down below, a drum beat out a rhythm. Gryphon wouldn’t have thought anything special of the beat were it not accompanied by other sounds—noises he’d never heard before.

  He picked up his pace and trotted down the mountain, following the curious melody through the training fields to a Wolf campfire. Five men sat around the fire clutching strange objects that produced the most amazing sounds under their nimble fingers.

  The song was both high and low pitched. One man put his lips over an elaborate stick while using his fingers to cover the holes to manipulate the pitch. Another held a wooden box under his chin and dragged a stick across a row of strings.

  Gryphon couldn’t help but tap his toe to the beat of the music. His jaw hung open as the syncopated sounds consumed him. Inside Ram’s Gate, no one was allowed to sing. Gryphon had spent his childhood fighting the melodies that came to him as he carved. He’d always been embarrassed by the time he’d spent humming those tunes and then trying to match words to the melodies. Most of his songs were the product of his lonely childhood. Music was a friend to an outcast boy who never quite belonged, and something to be ashamed of. But this … the way the different pitches mingled and blended to create something completely new … it was nothing short of exhilarating!

  “Are Wolf musicians that much better than Ram?”

  Gryphon looked over to find Gabe leaning back, resting on a barrel. It wasn’t common for Gryphon to let someone sneak up on him. But the music had cast a spell upon his mind, requiring every particle of his attention to fully appreciate.

  Instead of the ten hateful remarks he’d rehearsed for Gabe after learning about his deception, Gryphon simply shrugged and said, “We only have drums inside the Gate.”

  “Ah, yes. The Ram’s determined goal of never having any form of amusement outside of the prizefight ring.” He rolled his eyes. “How could I forget?”

  The two men watched the musicians, neither feeling the need to bridge the huge chasm Gabe’s lie had created between them. Gryphon was surprised by how little resentment he held for the Wolf. Mostly because he couldn’t imagine the pain Gabe must endure knowing the girl he’d loved most of his life had chosen someone else. If their situations were reversed, Gryphon would have been desperate to win her.

  Gryphon didn’t feel too badly for him. Unless a miracle happened, Gryphon would be out of the picture in only a few short weeks.

  Less than three weeks, he mentally corrected himself. Only eighteen days …

  “She’ll want to dance.”

  Gryphon shot another glance in Gabe’s direction.

  “Zo.” Gabe gestured toward the musicians. “She’ll want to dance at the Ostara.”

  Shaking his head, Gryphon said, “I don’t know how.” He barely knew what music was, let alone how to dance to it.

  “There are four staple dances that are favorites among the Wolves. I think it would mean a lot to her if you surprised her by learning them before the Ostara.”

  “That’s only a few days away.”

  Gabe swatted away Gryphon’s concern. “I’ll have the boys come to the meeting tent tomorrow night. Tess and Millie can help us.”

  “W—why?”

  Gabe scoffed. “I’m certainly not going to dance with you.”

  Shaking his head, Gryphon finally found his tongue. “No, why would you do that for me?”

  Gabe’s jaw flexed as his attention turned back to the fire. “It’s not for you, Ram.” Seconds passed. Finally, Gabe swatted his shoulder and said, “Tomorrow night,” before walking away from the light of the fire.

  Zo, Ikatou, Talon, Raca, and Poi gathered around a long table with Murtog seated at the head. The upper body of a large Kodiak bear was mounted to the wall above his head. Deep blue gems gleamed from the dead creature’s eye sockets and its arms extended as though it would love nothing more than to rip Zo’s limbs from her body before devouring the rest of her whole.

  Zo shivered, unable to pull her gaze from the morbid creature, its beautiful eyes refracting the torchlight of the private room.

  The company had been given the chance to soak in the chief’s private hot springs that morning. A large Kodiak woman had attended both Raca and Zo, slathering a black, silky mud onto their bodies and faces before allowing them to rinse in an equally warm, freshwater bath. They were given new clothing adorned with fine gems and expensive cloth while their own was washed. Everything they gave Zo was too large. When Raca’s clothing fit to perfect
ion, the woman shrugged and explained, “They were made for a child.” Both Zo and Raca had laughed.

  Now as the dishes from their morning meal were being cleared, Zo marveled at the positioning of those at the table. Raca sat at the chief’s right and Zo sat at his left. The seating arrangement had been intentional and Zo couldn’t help but notice the chief’s attention to Raca. Though he spoke barley a word throughout the course of the meal, Zo caught him casting curious glances at the girl when she wasn’t looking.

  Murtog clasped his oversized hands on the table and in his rumbling voice said, “Tell me of this blood oath and why you’ve come.”

  Ikatou opened his mouth to speak, but with a simple raised hand, Murtog silenced him. “Not from you.” He turned to Zo. “The healer will speak.”

  Where to begin? And why did she have to be the one to tell the story? Then an idea struck her. She’d never spoken about what happened the day her parents died, but standing in Murtog’s room, feeling his grief and mourning, Zo knew that was the story Murtog needed to hear.

  She took a deep breath. “The first time I heard the battle call of a Ram horn was at the age of twelve. We lived with a large and powerful pack on the outskirts of the Valley of Wolves. At the sound of the deadly horn, my mother insisted I climb inside a woven basket and handed me my sleeping little sister, making me promise to stay hidden no matter what I heard before closing the lid.

  “The holes of the basket were large enough to peek through. I witnessed my father’s murder at the door of our hut as he tried to defend us. I remember hugging my sleeping sister to my chest as my mother was beaten and dragged from the room.” Zo’s voice caught, but she knew she had Murtog’s attention. The bear chief gripped the edge of the table with white, shaking hands.

  She continued, “Commander Laden raised us as his own. Brought us to the Allied Camp. But I couldn’t run away from my hatred of the Ram. Desperate for revenge, I begged to be used as an Allied spy inside the Gate. That’s where I met Gryphon.”

  Zo went on to explain her time inside the Gate, their perilous escape, the Nameless march to meet the Allies, her run-in with the Clanless, and her promise to Ikatou that saved her life and earned her the scars of the blood oath.