Fearless

by Jennifer Jenkins

  Laden looked beyond Gryphon in a distant trance. “Fate is a cruel mistress, son. One day she kisses your cheek and the next she stabs you in the chest.”

  “Sir?” Gryphon pressed.

  Laden stood and placed a heavy hand on Gryphon’s shoulder. “You and I will leave camp before dawn. I’ll see you to Barnabas myself when we meet on the battlefield in the morning.”

  Gryphon exhaled his relief. “Thank you, sir. But that isn’t necessary.”

  Laden shook his head. “You’re a good man, son of Troy. A little too good for my blood.” He smiled, but the lines around his eyes didn’t lift. “You make me proud.”

  One of Laden’s guards ducked into the tent. “The others have arrived, Commander.”

  “Send them in.”

  The Raven Chief showed more feathers than skin. The shadows of candlelight exaggerated his crooked nose. He offered Laden a curt bow and stepped aside to make room for Murtog. A short train of lesser lieutenants followed. Gabe and the Wolf Alpha brought up the rear.

  The tent flaps closed. As Gryphon scanned the powerful company, he couldn’t help feeling like he didn’t belong.

  “I’ve called you all here to discuss tomorrow’s strategy.” Laden clapped Gryphon on the shoulder.

  A few men nodded. The rest openly stared between Gryphon and Laden, intrigue scrawled across their faces. Laden launched into a detailed plan of attack that involved meeting the Ram head on in battle.

  Gryphon offered his opinion when called upon but otherwise stayed relatively quiet. After a while, his eyes grew heavy and his mind clouded with thoughts of his own mortality. He didn’t even try to mask his disinterest. It wasn’t until the Raven Chief slammed his fist into the arm of his chair that Gryphon bothered to listen.

  “I demand to meet Barnabas with you tomorrow. As Chief, it is my right,” he said to Laden.

  Gryphon leaned forward. “May I offer my opinion?”

  Everyone in the circle seemed surprised by Gryphon’s sudden entry to the conversation.

  “I don’t think anyone should go out to meet Barnabas tomorrow. It’s not customary for Ram to treat war with formality. They don’t acknowledge the other clans enough to bother. For them, this is just another raid.”

  Suddenly, a Raven warrior burst through the tent. “Chief Naat!” The short man panted to catch his breath. He wore his head shaven on either side of a four-inch mohawk. “Our scouts have Raca! She is injured. The healer is working on her, but suggests you come quickly.” A pause. “The wound. It’s deep.”

  Joshua felled a full-grown man with the slash of his short sword before realizing he was, in fact, Raven. The arrow had been a mistake. The shroud of night mingled with the fear of the Ram army so close had made the young warrior skittish with his bow. Help was called and Zo found herself in a makeshift Healer’s Tent with Tess helping Millie grind herbs into a fine powder.

  “Too much blood,” said Zo for the tenth time. The human body wasn’t meant to lose so much in such a little amount of time. The arrow sank deep into Raca’s shoulder. The wound would have been manageable were it not for the sprint that followed. Her heart had literally pumped her blood out as she ran and now she lay white and ghostly, without so much as a cot to rest upon.

  “I absolutely forbid you to give that girl a blessing, Zo.” Millie used her forearm to wipe at the sweat beaded along her brow. Millie had been working on Raca for the last hour without much success. There was only so much the healing gift could do for a person. “Sometimes the body loses the will to fight.” She nodded toward Raca. “It’s up to her now.”

  “But I know I can help her beat this!” said Zo. With her new abilities, she could easily have Raca up and sipping broth by tomorrow.

  “I forbid it.” Millie set her jaw, closing discussion on the matter just as Laden stormed into the small tent.

  “Zo,” he growled. “Outside. Now.”

  Zo swept her hand down Raca’s wounded shoulder and pushed vitality into the girl before standing to join Laden outside the tent. She stood too quickly and faltered just a bit before catching her stride.

  Laden surprised her by pulling her into a tight hug the moment she exited the tent. “Dear girl.” He gasped. “What are you doing here? You should be miles away with the other women and children.”

  Zo returned the embrace but ignored the question. “I counted the Ram as they passed us. One hundred and fifty mess units.”

  Laden’s arms around her froze.

  “That’s three thousand men. A thousand more than I reported inside the Gate.”

  A heartbeat. Two. Three. “Who have you told?”

  Zo faltered, “Nobody but Raca.” Zo hadn’t seen the wisdom in telling Joshua or Tess. They already had too much to fear.

  “You need to evacuate these men,” said Zo. “You’re all going to die unless you run to the Valley of Wolves. Warn the people and leave the region. It’s the only option.”

  “There isn’t time, Zo,” Laden whispered. “The Ram are already too far south. They could overtake an evacuation easily.” He stared off into the night, unseeing. “We are the Wolves’ only chance now.” His eyes turned to steel. “And we will not abandon them. Not when we can fight.”

  The crush of gravel betrayed an approach. “How is she?” A deep voice. Familiar cadence whirled around her. A hurricane of thoughts and feelings and moments that summed up the man stepping out of the darkness.

  Zo knew the moment he saw her. His fur-lined boots skidded against rock and he stood, eye-level, with Laden, blinking as though he didn’t know what to do or say. Finally words did come, just not the ones Zo would have liked.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Laden touched Zo’s arm and bent down to kiss her cheek. “I will be in my tent. Report in ten minutes to discuss your orders for the morning.” A pause. “Twenty minutes.”

  Laden left her with Gryphon standing frozen five feet away.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” Gryphon raked his hand through his hair, his eyes trained anywhere but at her. “I … I can’t have you here.”

  Zo charged him.

  Her fingers threaded beneath the leather weapon belt strung from shoulder to hip and she pulled him to her. His hands found their place around her waist and an explosive sense of rightness washed over her as his mouth met hers. Between kisses she said, “You’re an idiot.” He lifted her off the ground and her long legs locked at the ankles around his waist. He walked them away from the tents and deeper into the forest before setting her down on her own two feet again.

  With all her self-control, Zo pulled away from him long enough to speak. She blinked away tears and pressed her head against his chest. “You left me to sacrifice yourself out of honor?” She gently pounded her fist into his chest. “How could you … how could you let me believe you didn’t want me?”

  Gryphon swept the hair from her face with his calloused hand, her cheek still pressed to his chest. His laugh came out as an ugly sort of sob that choked the back of his throat. “I didn’t want you close to the fighting.” Kissing the top of her head, he added, “I didn’t know how to tell you I was choosing this instead of us.”

  “I thought you didn’t love me. That you couldn’t be happy with me because of my culture.”

  Gryphon pulled away and held her by the shoulders. “You are the other half of my soul, Zo.” His solemn, deep voice caused chills to roll in violent waves up her spine. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give for the right to court you and claim you properly. I would have devoted my life working to deserve your love and companionship. I would die for you, Zo.”

  A tear leaked down the corner of her eye, leaving a warm trail on her cheek. “But you won’t live for me.”

  Gryphon’s hands fell away from her shoulders and covered his face, roughly wiping away his own tears. “That’s just it, Zo. It isn’t my life to give. It belongs to someone else.”

  Zo shook her head. “No it doe
sn’t.” She pressed a hand directly over his heart. “Can’t you feel it?” She looked up into his painfully handsome face, her body aching for him.

  “It belongs to me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Enter,” came the rough voice of Commander Laden before Zo stepped into his tent. A single candle flickered on the square table, the only piece of furniture in the room besides his chair. “How are you holding up?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his palms. Even in candlelight, Zo could tell they were bloodshot and swollen.

  “Don’t let him do this,” said Zo. “You have the power to stop him. If you ever loved me or my parents, I beg you,” her voice cracked, “please, force him not to go in the morning.”

  Laden frowned. “I’ve made the boy a promise, and on my honor, I will not keep him from meeting Barnabas.”

  “You two and your promises!”

  Zo tried to take a step forward, but staggered and fell to the grass. A chill swept over her body. She assumed it was from the small blessing she’d pushed into Raca. Blood loss. Taking her infirmities as her own. Headache. Stiff, unresponsive fingers and toes. Dizzy spells.

  Or perhaps it was just the knowledge that she couldn’t convince Gryphon to give up his own honor.

  Laden came over and helped her gain her feet. “You need to be in bed. This is all too much for you.”

  Zo clamped her hand around Laden’s wrist, as much for balance as to get his attention. “You know so much about the Ram. You trained me and prepared me to enter the Gate. Please,” she released his hand and took a deep breath to anchor her voice, “tell me what I should do for him. Some Ram custom that will help me say goodbye.” She clutched her stomach as it rolled.

  Laden frowned. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

  She couldn’t admit or deny that she did. How could you properly describe the constant heat of the sun or the comfort found by the light of a fire on a cold night? It was her reality. No labels could do it justice.

  “Before battle, women of the Ram stay up the night before their soldiers leaves to clean and polish their armor and weapons until they can see their own reflection in the metal. They consider it a small service compared to their husband’s risk, but I know it means a great deal to them.” He cleared his throat. “I meant to have one of my wards clean and polish a set of armor taken from the body of a Ram in the slot canyon … ” His voice trailed off, and when he spoke again it was through thick emotion. “The shield is old, passed down from father to son in the Ram tradition. Ram see it as a mark of family and honor.”

  “May I take his armor to my tent tonight?” she swallowed. “May I clean it for him?”

  Laden cupped her cheeks and bent down, pressing a fatherly kiss to her forehead. “Of course.”

  In her tent, Zo dipped a rag into an oil polish Millie had scavenged. She made slow work of cleaning the shield, moving the rag in methodic circles until the metal gleamed.

  Zo was not Gryphon’s wife, neither did she possess any claim to him, but she needed to do something. Some gesture to show her gratitude for all he’d done for her and Tess. Some way to demonstrate exactly how she felt about him.

  Joshua hadn’t come back from talking to Gryphon. Zo doubted she’d see him before morning. Tess sat on a blanket next to Raca, singing one of their mother’s healing songs.

  After an hour of work, all of the major marks and blemishes on the shield were gone, leaving behind a number of dents and grooves made by enemies who had failed to kill the shield’s owner. Marks chronicling the life of a Ram.

  The wax candle dripped low, becoming more fat than tall as time passed. Zo worked a whetstone along the edge of his sword. It made a chilling sound, a high song promising death. The skin on her arms turned to goose flesh. The vibration of the stone was felt from the tips of her fingers to the very center of her being.

  The words of the blessing came unbidden. A song as high and sweet as the singing of the blade. She blessed sword and armor, shield and spear, pushing her love and strength into the metal and wood. And, surprising even her, the wood and metal accepted the gift. Fibers tightened. Metal fused and flexed into something … more than it was before.

  Zo’s eyes drooped. Her arms grew heavy. When the task was finally finished, Zo blew out the exhausted candle and didn’t bother crawling over to blankets to sleep beside Tess. Instead, she lay down next to Gryphon’s weapons and hefted the round shield over her body like a hard blanket. Looping her arm in the strap made it feel as though Gryphon was lying beside her, their arms locked.

  Until sleep took her.

  Gryphon couldn’t sleep those final hours. But he did dream. He imagined Zo in his arms, the feel of her body. The honey sweet taste of her lips moving slowly against his. He let himself believe that they were companions for life. That they grew old together. They had a small farm with a vibrant garden filled with Zo’s healing herbs. His shield hung on the wall as decoration more than a tool of war. He raised his children without beatings. Strong, like their mother. A happy life where he kept the people he loved safe from the struggle of the clans.

  It wasn’t real. Even in his dream, he knew it.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Zo had hardly gotten settled under Gryphon’s shield when the sun woke her. She flipped over the shield and studied her pale complexion in its reflection. Her hair stuck out at odd angles and a line creased her cheek where the shield had pressed against it in the night. Of all the times to want to be pretty, she thought.

  She released her night braid and let the long, dark strands flow where they desired. She straightened her billowing white shirt and scrubbed a streak of dirt from her jaw.

  Satisfied, she turned the brilliant shield on its back and loaded Gryphon’s weapons and armor on top. Zo lifted the shield with some difficultly, battling the weight as much as the balance of the load. Luckily, Gryphon’s tent wasn’t too far from hers. Most men were still in bed. The few that were up wandered among the tents, casting curious glances in her direction. Bacon grease and campfire smoke wafted through the air.

  At Gryphon’s tent she heard the faint rustling of movement from within. “Gryphon? Are you up?” She pushed open the tent flap just as he pulled up a pair of cotton trousers. His warrior chest leaped as he hurriedly tied the pants at his waist.

  “I’m sorry,” said Zo. “I … ” He was beautiful. All shoulders with thick ropes of muscle coiled around biceps and forearms, knotting in just the right places. “I shouldn’t have barged in.”

  His eyes were red.

  “I’ve brought you … ” She stopped, wishing she knew the proper way to do this. She wanted to do it right. “I’m not sure how this is done … ”

  Gryphon wordlessly took the shield from her arms and set it on the ground. Zo could see his temples pulse as he clenched his jaw. He cleared his throat, never once taking his eyes off hers. “You didn’t have to—”

  “I wanted to.” She swallowed hard. “Isn’t there some sort of ceremony to this?” She gestured to the pile of armor resting on the ground next to him.

  He nodded, speechless.

  Zo bent down to pick up his shirt. She gathered the material around the collar and pushed up to her toes to drape it over his head. She lost balance and his warm hands took her waist, wrapping most of the way around her middle to support her. His touch made it impossible to think of anything beyond the warmth of his body. She wanted to drop the shirt to the ground and melt into him.

  “Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “You’re too tall. Bend a bit.”

  A smile flirted with the corner of his mouth. He released her and obliged, bending at the waist in something of a bow so Zo could drape the shirt over his head. Zo grabbed a leather jerkin from the pile of armor as he threaded his arms into the sleeves of his white shirt.

  She held up the jerkin vest and he slowly slipped his arms inside. The action turned him around. She let her hands slide along his waist a
s he moved back to face her. Zo’s fingers fumbled over the buckles of his vest. Gryphon’s chin found the top of her head. He exhaled deeply and lifted her thick midnight hair, pulling and twisting the thousands of dark strands until his fingertips knotted to her scalp at the base of her neck.

  Zo’s shaking fingers slipped on the buckle again. It took all her focus not to abandon the task. Properly appreciating Gryphon’s touch required almost all her concentration.

  She cupped the back of his knee for support as she fastened greaves to both shins. His hamstrings were pillars of rock, unmoving as she completed the task. His forearm braces came last. Zo fitted the braces into place then tightened the laces on the insides of his arms. She could feel his eyes boring into her, but didn’t trust herself to meet his gaze.

  The Ram horn would soon sound, calling him away. Gryphon had to be ready.

  She brushed away the tears that managed to get past her defenses and stepped back to appreciate her handiwork. Mixed emotions coursed through her at the sight of Gryphon in Ram armor. Too similar to the armor worn by the men who killed her parents so many years ago. It inspired fear and pain. Hopelessness in its most acute form.

  But when Zo looked past the boiled leather and metal, an entirely different feeling swept over her. Peace. Protection. Compassion. Gryphon was the embodiment of goodness.

  The conflicting emotions were a tempestuous tide where hot and cold water collided to form a deadly current.

  Zo belted on his sword, wrapping her arms around his middle. He bent down and pressed her body into his, freezing the task in a most delicious way. “How have we come to this, Gryph?” She spoke into his chest, “It seems impossible. Like a dream.”

  When she pulled back, his expression seemed heavy. “No matter what happens, Zo—”