Fearless

by Jennifer Jenkins

  Barnabas drew his sword. “You, the son of a dead traitor, threaten our lives? Offering mercy as if you were the captain of our fate. How will you enforce your righteous threat? You have no family. No clan. Your pathetic army has failed you. You’re nothing!”

  Gryphon cast his eyes to the ground. It was time to give the signal. His people had had their chance—something he had demanded from the Allied leaders when he first devised this plan. It was time to end this. But Gryphon didn’t move.

  He couldn’t do it.

  Barnabas growled and ran at Gryphon with sword raised. Gryphon deftly blocked the blow and grabbed the chief by the neck. His long fingers squeezed Barnabas’s throat. “This is for my father,” he whispered. He lifted his hand and saluted his old chief, touching two fingers to his brow—the signal his men had been waiting for.

  Hundreds of Raven arrows cut through the concentrated mass of the Ram army. Waves of men fell, unprepared for the attack. Those without an arrow sticking from their chests tried to create a shield hedge for protection. Too many bodies lined the narrow trail that they couldn’t form solid links.

  Barnabas wrenched Gryphon’s arm away from his neck and slammed him against the mountain. Gryphon stumbled and rolled away from Barnabas’s desperate blade.

  “You once told me the Ram would never fall,” Gryphon yelled over the chaos surrounding them. He dodged an attack and almost lost his grip on the blade while blocking another.

  Gryphon whistled his signal and a wave of Wolf warriors rushed past to join in the fight. “You were wrong, Chief.”

  Barnabas fumbled backward as Gryphon advanced, swinging his sword with all the anger in his heart. He sliced an arm, his chest, and then his back as the chief retreated to the side of the mountain.

  Gryphon approached the panting leader slowly, as a cat stalks its prey.

  Barnabas sank to his knees. His sword clattered to the rocky soil as he gulped air. “Mercy.”

  “Mercy?” Rage burned the edges of Gryphon’s vision. Sweat ran into his eyes. “I’m surprised you know the meaning of the word.”

  Barnabas cowered lower, his pleading gaze fixed on Gryphon. “I can still call my men off,” he said.

  Gryphon looked at the ongoing battle. The mess units not inside the pass during the ambush were entering. Strong and certain. Spears flew. Shields locked. The Ram were… regrouping. The advantage shifted. Blood spilled as the Ram pushed farther and farther though the canyon.

  No! Gryphon wanted to cry out.

  Then he heard it. A new kind of thunder filled the pass, so loud and terrifying that it seeped into Gryphon’s bones and rattled his heart.

  “Impossible,” said Barnabas.

  Beyond the battle, flooding into the canyon like a sea of giant devils, the Kodiak army charged into the fray. Murtog, easy to spot at the head, wielded a large staff with ruthless precision. Others fought with axes and some charged forward with only their bare hands. The Wolf lines rallied as the Kodiak advanced, sandwiching the remains of the Ram army.

  Barnabas shifted and Gryphon turned back to him, pressing the tip of his blade into the chieftain’s chest. “Spare their lives,” he panted. “Call surrender.” There was no sense in killing these Ram. The Allies had won. The conflict was over.

  “Surrender!” Gryphon growled. The wails of dying men punctured Gryphon’s very soul. He’d go mad if he had to watch more.

  “I … surrender.” Barnabas dropped his head and fell to his knees. The horn that usually hung at the chief’s side was only a few feet away on the ground. Gryphon bent down and reached for the familiar horn. The Ram horns were sacred to his people. A symbol of power.

  Gryphon pressed the horn to his lips and blew three times—maybe the first time a Ram horn was used to call surrender. It took a few minutes for the fighting to die down. Some Ram simply refused to throw down their weapons. Others knelt on the ground, raising their hands above their heads.

  It was a huge victory that felt more like a rough stone lodged in the pit of Gryphon’s stomach.

  Gryphon sheathed his sword and turned back to the white-faced Ram Chief. “Go join your men until I decide what to do with you.” He turned his back and marched toward the Valley of the Wolves. He had his dagger ready, anticipating an attack, even before Barnabas charged him from behind.

  In one swift movement, Gryphon spun and dragged the blade across Barnabas’s throat. The chief’s eyes doubled in shock, his mouth agape, as he slid down the wall. Butter melting in a hot pan.

  Gryphon didn’t want to celebrate with his men. He took almost no joy from the victory. Lost and numb, he walked toward the Valley of Wolves with no idea where to find Zo and Joshua.

  He took three unbalanced steps out of the pass—out of view from his men—then fell to his knees and wept.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  At the mouth of the canyon, Zo watched the Seer’s face turn reddish purple when Gryphon pulled the Ram horn to his lips and blew the Ram’s call of surrender. The Seer pulled her men back into a small niche tucked against the mountain wall.

  Joshua lay face down in the dirt with hands bound behind his back, his cheek pressed to the ground. Both she and the boy were gagged; the foul smell of cloth in her mouth stirred her stomach in violent waves.

  At least the boy was conscious and alive. For now.

  Gryphon staggered out of the pass with hands bloody and chest rising and falling rapidly—hyperventilating, if Zo wasn’t mistaken.

  Zo tried calling out to him, trying to use her tongue to force the cloth from her mouth.

  Her voice didn’t carry through the gag, and a soldier’s hand clamped over her mouth, further blocking her efforts.

  Move, Gryphon. Run.

  But he didn’t run. Bent over as he was, he didn’t even see the Seer slip out of the niche behind him.

  Zo bucked and fought, but her strength was nothing to the Ram holding her. Please, no. Please, no. Please, no. She tried pulling energy from the man holding her, but with hands bound, she barely grazed his skin with one fingertip. His skin under her finger went cold, the hands holding her shook, but Zo’s little weapon wouldn’t be enough.

  The Seer pulled a dagger from her belt, the sound of her whisper-soft steps lost in the commotion from the pass.

  Slamming down on the foot of her captor, Zo threw her head back in a wild rush of adrenaline. The Ram’s hand slipped from her mouth. She screamed Gryphon’s name just as the Seer sprang forward, driving her Ram blade into Gryphon’s back.

  Gryphon collapsed face first into the ground, the hilt of the blade erect.

  The Ram soldier firmed his grip on her again, but when Stone and a small band of Freeman bolted out of the canyon, he released his hold and ran.

  “Don’t lose him,” Stone ordered.

  The Seer cried out as Stone tackled her to the ground.

  Zo sprinted with hands still bound behind her back toward Gryphon.

  “Help!” she screamed. “Someone, help!” No. Please. Please, no. She dropped next to Gryphon in a slide. “Talk to me, Gryphon.”

  A groan was all he managed. He lay on his stomach with eyes pinched shut in pain. Zo wormed up onto her knees, tugging at the ropes binding her wrists in panic.

  “Hold still,” Chief Naat’s smooth voice sounded at her back. He cut the bindings on her wrists and Zo hissed as circulation flowed back into her arms.

  “Gryphon,” she sobbed. She carefully pulled out the knife and pressed her palm over the wound while trying to listen to his heartbeat through his back. “Please. Please.”

  Blood oozed from the wound, pooling around her palm and through the gaps of her fingers. Without hesitation, she pushed her healing energy into him, holding nothing back. One of her mother’s blessings flowed from her lips, helping the energy along to the beat of her chant.

  Loving Gryphon was as natural and right as breathing, and the energy poured through her with abandon. Her hand heated from the contact
, but the rest of her began to cool as the life force drained from her body.

  Suddenly, a hand lifted one of hers from off of Gryphon’s wound. A gentle, brown hand lined with age and calloused from hardship.

  “Chief Naat?” Zo found she could barely lift her head. Her body crumpled on top of Gryphon’s with one healing hand still pushing energy into Gryphon’s wound.

  “Use me, child.”

  “But—”

  “My days are numbered. The creator beckons me. My ancestors are waiting. It is meant to be.”

  Zo was drowning. Slipping under the surface of consciousness to a place beyond awakening.

  “How do you know I can … ” A broken question, but all Zo could manage.

  “Our shaman can help you. He can help build up the dam of your energy again.”

  “How—”

  “There’s no time. Use me to heal him, child.” The chief held her hand over his heart. The pulse of life beckoned her. Willing. Ready. “Sani would want this.”

  With the little energy she had left, Zo pulled from the chief, filling her soul with warm life and transferring it to Gryphon. Little by little, her energy restored, filling the white places of her body with colorful heat, until she was conscious enough to recognize Gryphon moving beneath her hand. She quickly pulled away from the chief, mortified to see him lying on the ground beside her.

  Still. Gone.

  “Zo?” Gryphon said. He gingerly rolled to sit with legs crossed in front of him, his cheeks a healthy color and the wound at his back sealed over, much like Joshua’s had under the fir tree outside Ram’s Gate.

  Zo crawled into his lap and closed her eyes as his arms settled around her. When she opened her eyes she looked up to find a crowd of soldiers, including Talon, Stone, and Murtog standing around them. Blood covered their hands and clothes, weapons hanging limply in their hands. Talon dropped to his knees by his father and bent his head in prayer.

  Gryphon tugged her closer to him and placed a kiss on top of her head. Though he likely meant to reassure her, Zo could only feel a sense of peace in knowing the sacrifice had been the right thing.

  “When I lost consciousness I dreamed you died,” he said. “That I couldn’t reach you.” He paused, collecting himself. “I saw my father. I saw him for who he really is.”

  One by one, their audience left them.

  “He loved you,” said Gryphon as he kissed the top of her head again. “I only wish he could have seen us together.” Gryphon paused again, running his hand up and down her arm. “He wanted that for us.”

  Lacing her hands through Gryphon’s, Zo let her head sink onto his shoulder and together they sat looking over the Valley of Wolves. “He loved you, too, Gryphon.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “And so do I.”

  Gryphon and Joshua picked their way through the carnage of the canyon while men helped the wounded to a healing site that had been erected just inside the Valley of Wolves. Zo and Tess were assisting the other Wolf healers who’d been summoned to tend to the injured, be they Ram, Wolf, Kodiak, Raven, or Freeman.

  Most of the fallen Gryphon encountered on his way back to the joining of the two rivers were strangers. But every so often, the familiar face of a Ram caused him to pause and drop to the ground in a moment of silent prayer—pleading for mercy from the great creator to ensure the man’s soul made its proper place of rest.

  Joshua didn’t stray more than a few feet from Gryphon’s side the entire way. His left eye was swollen and purple.

  “What will happen to the rest of us?” the boy asked. “Will the Wolves enslave the Ram?”

  Gryphon looked up from where he knelt on the ground. “No, Joshua.” He stood and put an arm around Joshua’s shoulder, surprised by how much the boy had grown over the last year. “But it’s going to be a painful recovery.”

  A drop of rain hit Gryphon’s face. Another, his arm.

  They reached the other end of the narrow pass with heavier steps than they had entering it. Turning the final corner to where the land opened up and the rivers converged, Gryphon halted with jaw hanging open.

  “Who are they?” Joshua asked.

  Women and children gathered around their Kodiak fathers and spouses. Other children with both light and dark skin danced along the banks of the river, kicking up water and laughing. The rain fell harder, washing away the stain of war.

  “It’s the Nameless, kid.”

  Lines of confusion blended the freckles of his face. “They look … different.”

  Gryphon cuffed Joshua’s shoulder. “I don’t think they’ve changed, Joshua. You and I just see them differently now.”

  A giant roar sounded from the far side of the field. Ikatou’s hearty laughter filled all of the hollow places of Gryphon’s heart as the Bear gathered his daughters and wife into his massive embrace.

  More jubilant shouts of reunion. More tears mixed with rain, healing both ground and heart.

  I wish my father could see this.

  Murtog threw open the flap of the hastily erected Healer’s Tent. Rain dripped down his face and hair and onto his already sopping tunic. He scanned the injured men lying on ground until his eyes locked upon Talon sitting beside the small, still form of his sister.

  Zo stepped between Murtog and his goal before the Kodiak could make a scene. The large man’s nostrils flared and the corners of his mouth sank as fury mingled with the pain on his face.

  “She sleeps, Murtog.” Zo set a hand on his arm to send him a dose of serenity. “She took an arrow to the shoulder, but the wound is healing. She’s out of danger.”

  Without peeling his eyes from Raca, Murtog nodded before sidestepping Zo.

  Talon rose to greet him. “Murtog.” Talon offered a subtle bow of the head.

  “Greetings, Raven Chief. I’m sorry to hear about your father,” said Murtog. Again, he didn’t bother pulling his gaze from Raca. It was as though the rest of the room, the rest of the world, didn’t matter.

  “We’re taking him back to the Nest for burial,” said Talon. “My sister will not be strong enough to make the journey.”

  “Talon?” Raca’s eyes fluttered open and Murtog dropped to his knees by her side. As gently as he might pluck a wildflower, he lifted Raca’s hand as he pressed it to his lips.

  Raca’s other hand reached out to him, her fingers trailing the length of his brown jaw. “I was so worried for you,” her voice a whisper.

  “I’m here, little bird.” He cleared his throat, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “When I heard you followed us,” he coughed back emotion, “that you were injured … ” He kissed her hand again, unable to finish.

  Talon glanced at Zo and smiled before walking out of the tent.

  Zo backed away as well, far enough to hear the faint, deep rumblings of Murtog without understanding his words. She turned to find Gabe standing behind her, his left arm bound in a sling. His hair was wet from the rain, turning it a light brown instead of its usual blond. The handsome smile she’d come to expect from him didn’t quite reach his eyes as he navigated the bedrolls on the ground.

  So many wounded. So much loss. But there was something tangible in the air. A mist of collective hope radiating from the injured that made it easier to see happiness in the midst of so much suffering.

  “What is that for?” Zo gestured to the pack slung over Gabe’s good shoulder when he finally reached her.

  “I’m leaving right after the Commander’s burial and wanted to say goodbye. The Alpha is sending me to lead a group of Wolves back to the Allied Camp location. The surviving Ram—mostly women and children—need men to help erect homes. The crops are already planted and will be enough to give them a decent beginning.”

  “You’ve done so much already. Can’t he send someone else?”

  Gabe cleared his throat, and looked away. “I actually volunteered.”

  Zo didn’t know what to say.

  “Gryphon’s a good man, Zo,” he said. �
�You and Tess will be well cared for. I really am happy for you.” He smiled again, this time a hint of his usual mirth filling his features.

  “Thank you, my friend,” said Zo.

  Gabe bent down and kissed Zo’s cheek. “You are the waxing moon, Zo. None of this could have happened without you.”

  “Without us,” she corrected.

  Gabe offered a nod and tapped the end of her nose with his fingertip before leaving her to stare after him.

  Suddenly her hand filled with Tess’s. She smiled up at Zo, looking more like their mother every day, as a subtle stream of peace emanated from the little hand.

  “Thank you, bug.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Dear Gryphon,

  If you are reading this then you have led the Allies to victory. I would have given anything to see you face down such a mighty force.

  By now you know that I was the man who left you and your mother all those years ago. I can only imagine the shame you felt for having such a father.

  I want you to know that leaving you and your mother was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I won’t apologize for my actions, just like you shouldn’t apologize for the circumstances that took you from the Gate.

  There are so many things that reside outside of a man’s control, son. True courage is not measured in battles won. It is in finding the right course of action and following it, no matter the repercussions. You are a leader. It is your destiny. I formed the Allies to protect those who could not protect themselves. Don’t let these people down. Be their advocate, Gryphon. They will need you.

  All my love and respect,

  Your Father

  Gryphon carefully folded the letter after rereading it for the fifth time.

  “They’re ready to start, Gryph.” Zo stood by the door of the tent wearing a long white gown that fell gently over her curves. Half of her midnight hair was braided in a crown atop her head. The rest cascaded freely down her back. Tess stood by her side wearing the same striking white. Each protected the young flame of a candlestick from the evening breeze.