Fearless

by Jennifer Jenkins

Awake. The silver glint of a knife raised above his head.

  Darkness.

  Awake. The small, boyish figure perched above them. An arrow drawn.

  Darkness.

  Gryphon rolled onto his side, the violent sounds of battle replaced by whispers and oaths. Next to him, a Ram lay on the ground, an arrow sticking up out of his chest, his fingers clutching it as though he’d spent his final breaths trying to wrench it from his body.

  Ever fighting. A Ram through and through.

  “You died on your shield, brave one.” Gryphon’s voice came out raspy and nearly inaudible. He placed his hand on the Ram’s shoulder, looked up in search of the boy, and then collapsed to the ground in exhaustion.

  Zo’s eyes flew open at the sound of booming drums and the staccato shouts coming from outside the tent.

  “What’s happening?” Tess cried.

  Zo cursed the gray darkness of early morning and swung her legs around, jamming her feet into well-worn boots. Feeling her way through the dark tent, she hurried to Millie’s cot. The older woman moaned and slowly sat upright.

  “I think we’re under attack,” said Zo. “You and Tess prep the healing tent. I’ll be right back.”

  “You can’t leave!” shouted Tess. “You promised.”

  Zo took her sister by the hand, kissed her palm, and placed it firmly in Millie’s. “We need to know what we’re up against. I’m counting on you, bug. Help Millie. I’ll be right back.”

  Zo didn’t bother with a torch as she sprinted out of the tent. The sun was yet to rise over the cliffs of the valley, but dawn wasn’t far off and the glow of morning filled the gray-blue sky. Lanterns had been lit around the camp and men raced past her wearing half-buttoned trousers with weapons slung across their backs.

  She ran a short distance to Gryphon’s tent and caught Joshua scrambling out the flap, blinking and distorted.

  “Where’s Gryphon?” she asked.

  “Gone,” said Joshua. “Sani too.”

  Zo’s heart dropped into her stomach. “Where are you going?”

  “After him, of course.” Joshua took off at a full sprint in the direction of the men.

  It seemed the entire Allied Camp had answered the drums as they headed like a syncopated pack north toward the slot canyon entrance to the valley. If the Ram were foolish enough to bring the battle to the Allies through that small canyon where they’d be forced to travel in single file, they had no prayer of survival.

  It had to be something else. But what?

  The ground sloped upward. The men of the camp jogged ahead. Some carried torches while most relied only on the moon for guidance.

  “Hunt them down!” someone yelled.

  After five minutes of trying to keep pace with Joshua, a stitch knotted Zo’s side. The crowd of men thickened, but Joshua wouldn’t be deterred as he shoved his way to the front of the group, leaving a trail for Zo to follow.

  “Clear a path!” a familiar voice called.

  Gabe. It had to be.

  “Transport the injured. Three to a man. Get them to the Healer’s Tent. Careful!”

  Zo burst through an opening in the crowd of men to find three Allied soldiers lying lifeless on the ground at the mouth of the slot canyon. Others stirred in obvious pain.

  She ran toward the wounded and something caught her arm. “You shouldn’t be up here,” said Gabe. “It’s not safe.”

  Zo pushed his hand away. “They’re hurt,” was her only explanation as she ran past him to the first wounded man in her path.

  Stab wound. Shoulder. “I need a shirt!” she yelled. The man nearest her pulled his shirt over his head and offered it. She bundled the fabric and pressed it against the wound, earning a sharp curse from the wounded. “Keep pressure on the wound and get him to the tent.”

  She hurried over to the second man and stopped short. The left side of the man’s face was split completely open from hairline to chin. The torchlight cast harsh light over shadow and bone, flesh and fatty tissue in the cheek. Blood filled the eye socket, the eye itself splayed open in tatters.

  Less blood. Non-fatal, as gruesome as it was.

  Zo had seen many wounds, but they never ceased to cause her near physical pain. She knelt beside the man, forgetting the other soldiers looking down at her. She ran the tips of her fingers along the man’s good cheek. “You’re going to be all right,” she whispered near his ear. He looked so young. Sixteen or seventeen at most.

  Eyes closed, she offered a quick blessing to help numb the pain then nodded to the men around her to carry him down the hill to the Healer’s Tent, where she could work on him properly.

  Zo winced as a sharp pain shot across her own cheek.

  Silence swept through the ranks in a wave that started at the mouth of the slot canyon and crashed over the men outside. Hair on the back of Zo’s neck stood on end as four Raven emerged from the slot canyon, each carrying the corner of a blanket. Other Raven solemnly joined them, bearing up the sides so as to not jostle the small, lifeless boy inside.

  “No.” Zo took off at a run but Gabe leapt out and hooked her by the waist.

  “He’s gone,” he whispered in her ear.

  “You don’t know that!” Zo shouted.

  Gabe clamped his hand over her mouth, and she shoved it away, furious.

  “Listen to me.” He gave her a light shake. “The Raven see death differently than you and I. I’ll explain later, but please, for their sakes, don’t make a scene.”

  Gabe supported most of her weight as she watched, helpless, as the Raven walked Sani’s body down the hill. She spotted Joshua standing alone, hugging his arms to his chest and shaking all over.

  Zo collected herself enough to lean away from Gabe and close the few steps separating them. “I’m so sorry,” she said, wrapping him up in a hug he didn’t return. Tears collected in his eyes. He worked his lips from side to side, fighting emotion that begged to release.

  Then Zo’s own heart plummeted with dread.

  “Gryphon,” she said. She ran to the slot canyon and after taking only two or three steps in, halted.

  Blood.

  Sprayed on the walls. Soaking the ground.

  Ram soldiers staring up at the sky with lifeless eyes, their shields discarded on the ground. Light finally peeked over the high canyon wall, casting the morbid scene in what should have been cheerful light.

  “Zo?”

  Zo startled, and said, “Go back, Joshua. You shouldn’t see this.”

  “Where is he?”

  Zo didn’t know how to answer him. She didn’t dare look into the faces of the men, too afraid that one of them would be Gryphon.

  “I’ll find him. You go back.”

  Joshua snorted his disgust at the idea and walked into the slot canyon ahead of Zo, stepping over the bodies of his clansmen as he tried to avoid touching the bloody rock walls. Voices up ahead had them doubling their time. They turned a corner to find Laden, covered in blood and dragging away the body of a Ram soldier from a narrow place in the slot canyon.

  “Where’s Gryphon?” she ran toward Laden.

  “You shouldn’t be in here,” the Commander growled. “Neither of you.”

  Zo took a few steps back, nearly stumbling over a spear on the ground.

  “I’m here, Zo.” Gryphon, covered in blood, slid through the narrow crevasse and fell to his knees when he cleared the gap.

  Relief hit Zo like a bucket of cool water. She and Joshua both rushed him, each kneeling on either side of him. “What happened?” she demanded. A long, deep gash ran along his side. He wore no shirt, and his chest, arms, and shoulders were covered with scratches.

  Gryphon didn’t have the chance to answer before Laden cut him off.

  “Your boy just single-handedly stopped a full mess unit from taking our location back to Barnabas.” Laden reached a hand out to Gryphon to help him stand. “He’s a hero.”

  Chapter Twenty


  Gryphon never once took his eyes off Zo when they returned to the Healer’s Tent as she administered fifty-seven stitches, four blessings, multiple ointments, and one fitted eye patch to the men injured in the attack. Zo leaned against the leg of a wooden worktable as she melted to the floor. Resting her chin on her knees, she stared out at the sleeping forms of the men—boys, really—whom she, Millie, and Tess had attended.

  At some point, the sun had reached its highest place in the sky and fallen into the western horizon, casting warm light through the tent flaps and turning the fabric honey amber.

  Tess gathered the remaining soiled bedclothes and took them out for cleaning. “You did well, kid,” Zo said to Tess.

  And the little girl had. Gryphon doubted she’d ever seen anything so gruesome as the men she helped Zo work on today. But with the coming battle, this was only the beginning.

  Zo let her head fall back and her eyes close.

  Gryphon couldn’t stand watching her sleep in such discomfort and didn’t want to think about the price she’d likely pay for healing those men. When they first entered the tent, he’d refused her help. He still shuddered over the memory of her striking blue eyes darting up to meet his in cold defiance. Her mouth had set into a firm line before she’d turned away without another word.

  It had been Millie who sewed Gryphon back together. The older woman’s healing strength was nothing compared to Zo’s, but at least he wasn’t heaping more pain upon Zo.

  Taking his time to swing his feet out of the narrow bed, Gryphon stood and walked over to Zo’s side. His stitches tugged as he bent to lift her from the ground, but he ignored the pain.

  She turned her face to nuzzle into him. For a few moments, he savored the feel of cradling her in his arms before her eyes flew open. “Your stitches,” she said, her voice a low whisper.

  “I’m fine,” he promised, walking her over to the bed next to his and lowering her down. “After all you’ve done today, I think you deserve a proper bed.”

  She barely seemed to register the light brush of his lips on hers and the woolen blankets being tucked around her. Stars, she was beautiful. Gryphon watched the steady rise and fall of Zo’s chest, the soft planes of her face, the fluttering eyelashes that kissed her tanned cheeks.

  He was a man completely and utterly smitten.

  “I’m worried about Joshua,” she said, eyes still forced closed by exhaustion. Was she paying for the healing already?

  “This isn’t the first battle scene the boy has witnessed. Probably not the last either.”

  “But he’s never seen his best friend … ” Zo’s eyes fluttered open. She sat up on the bed, placing a hand on her cheek. “Oh, Gryphon. You don’t know!”

  She slid her feet from the cot, and took his hand in hers. “Sani followed you. They say he saved your life.”

  Gryphon didn’t remember standing. “What?”

  “Laden told me Sani was the one to raise the alarm, but when told to stay back, he followed anyway. Sani climbed the rock wall of the slot canyon and made his way over to where you were fighting. The men said that when they found you, there was a Ram lying next to you with an arrow through his heart.”

  Gryphon couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t breathe.

  “Is … is he all right?”

  Tears filled Zo’s eyes. She shook her head. “He didn’t make it, Gryphon. I … I’m sorry.”

  Gryphon stood, numb and broken, and left the tent. Joshua. He said the boy’s name over and over in his mind. He needed to find the kid. But when he reached their tent it was empty. He hurried over to the Raven sector, knowing his presence wouldn’t be welcome but not caring enough to stop walking.

  What had Sani been thinking? Gryphon shook his head, and a surprised sob escaped him. He fought back his emotions, knowing the Raven didn’t welcome any form of outward mourning. They believed that if the people wept over their dead, the spirits of their loved ones would linger instead of entering into the afterlife. There would be no funeral for Sani. No words spoken over his grave. No tears shed. The thought made Gryphon want to punch someone.

  Gryphon came to Chief Naat’s tent. Two Raven guards stood still as statues at the door, confirming the chief was inside.

  “May I speak with him?” Gryphon cleared the emotion from his voice. “Will he see me?”

  The two guards exchanged an uncertain look. One ducked inside the tent and was out in only a few moments. “The chief is grieving. He will see no one.”

  “Where are Raca and Talon?” Gryphon asked. He had to speak to someone. He had to apologize. To kneel at their feet with shame for letting this happen to their beloved little brother.

  “Raca has taken the trail south out of the valley. She threatened a quick death to anyone who followed her.”

  “And Talon?”

  “With his wife and children.”

  Gryphon swore under his breath. “Please tell the chief … ” He stopped, unsure how to find the words to make something this horrible right. Untying the string of Sani’s beads around his wrist, Gryphon held them out to the guard. “Please give these to the chief. Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I didn’t know Sani followed me. Tell him I wish it was me.”

  Zo walked with tender, slow steps along the trail through the southern canyon and out of the valley. Her muscles ached and head pounded, and an invisible gash on her side flamed hot with pain whenever she twisted. She’d stitched a man in that exact spot yesterday. Millie had warned her not to bless the wounds, but with some of the more dire cases, she’d given a little of herself in a blessing anyway.

  When she examined the spot that morning, the skin where she’d purged the man’s infection and coaxed the skin to heal was red and irritated. A thin, angry line had formed. Was it possible that she’d taken the man’s infection into her own body?

  A shiver rolled over her skin as she pushed away the thought. There had to be some way around this. In the meantime, she’d have Millie or Tess look at her when she got back to camp.

  She fingered the knife sheathed at her side. Though she preferred not to wear the ugly weapon, the Ram attack at the north canyon yesterday had put her on edge. Somehow the Ram mess unit, trapped on both sides in the slot canyon, had managed to kill not just Sani but fifteen others before the Allies could stop them. Sixteen dead. Many others wounded. And this wasn’t even a fair fight out in the open. If so few men could do that kind of damage while cornered, she shivered to think of what an actual confrontation with the Ram might look like. Living in the Allied Camp with all their numbers made one forget just how deadly an enemy the Ram were.

  Laden had teams scouting for miles in every direction, looking for any sign of the Ram. Early reports proved that no one was anywhere near the camp, but the Raven teams he’d sent to scout the lands nearer Ram’s Gate wouldn’t return for another day or two at best.

  The southern entrance to the valley was all but forgotten. The only area south of here belonged to the Wolves who were friendly to their cause. Still, Zo clutched the knife at her side.

  After three painful hours of hiking, Zo hadn’t seen a single person on the trail. Not even the person she had hoped to find.

  Poor Raca.

  The feisty Raven princess already carried so many burdens without the added blow of losing her brother. Zo caught herself rubbing the space around her heart—massaging the ache that collected there when she thought of losing someone so close to her again. If it had been Tess, Zo couldn’t imagine carrying on.

  There wasn’t much Zo could do in this battle other than try and save lives and offer a bit of compassion. And she intended to do just that, despite the grief she’d get for leaving camp without telling anyone.

  The canyon opened up to a vast bench overlooking green rolling fields littered with pockets of dark trees. A blue stream cut through the valley and wispy, white clouds moved across the enormous blue sky. The view demanded appreciation. Zo settled against the trunk of a tree at the edge of
the bench and leaned back, letting the view block out memories of empty eye sockets, torn flesh, and splattered blood.

  She took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of cedar and clean air.

  An arrow cut through the sky to her right and embedded into the branch of a tree not ten feet away.

  “Leave me!” Raca’s strong voice penetrated the foliage surrounding Zo. Though the girl was still not visible from Zo’s current position, she could tell the arrow came from just below the bench.

  Zo opened her mouth to apologize—she’d been warned Raca didn’t want company—but stopped short when someone else beat her to it.

  “You shouldn’t be alone.” A male voice. Less familiar, but so distinct it really could only belong to one person.

  Zo winced at the pain in her side as she shifted onto her stomach and peered over the ledge. Two figures, opposites in every way, stood fifteen feet away from each other. If Zo didn’t know them both better, she might have thought they’d met here to settle some old feud. Raca seemed perfectly ready to rip the bear’s head off.

  “I’m so tired of people telling me that I shouldn’t be alone. That I’m not capable of taking care of myself. My brother is dead!” Her voice caught, thick with emotion. “Let me mourn him in my own way.”

  Murtog took a tentative step toward Raca. He wore his long dreads of hair unbound so they fell around his shoulders. His sleeveless tunic left his tattooed, muscular arms bare. Across from him, Raca clutched her bow at her side, her other hand balled into a fist, and her chest pumped as though the lid stoppering her control was ready to blow.

  “I know a thing or two about loss,” said Murtog. “I know what it’s like to want to retreat into your pain and let it swallow you up. There is a time to be alone,” he took another step toward her, “and there is a time to be comforted.”

  Then, in a smaller, gentler voice, he said, “Please. Let me comfort you.” His hands shook at his sides. How someone could manage to look so small and vulnerable in such a large body was beyond Zo. Though his voice communicated one thing, his demeanor said something entirely different. Let us comfort each other.