Hand and Talon (World of Kyrni Book 1)

by Melonie Purcell

  With her breath held, Krea pulled the dagger from its sheath. The dragon’s head emerged, its golden-scaled face lying flush along the blade and extending half of a finger’s length down the front and back. Tiny green stones stared down the rune-etched blade. The steel glistened icy and gray against the contrasting gold dragon, and as Dane and Krea leaned closer, they could still make out tiny inscriptions running the length of the steel.

  “What’s it say?” Dane whispered reverently.

  “I don’t know,” Krea breathed, twisting the blade to catch the fading light.

  “You can’t read neither?”

  Krea slid the blade back into its sheath and held it for Dane to touch. He shook his head. “I can read a little, but I’ve never seen letters like those. They sort of looked like the ones I saw at Sorin’s manor, but I’m not sure.”

  Dane sighed as Krea started wrapping the weapon back in its cradle of leather. “You was at Sorin’s manor? You work for him?”

  “No, I don’t work for him, but I was at his manor for a night.”

  “Oh,” Dane said with a knowing nod.

  “No. Not oh. I wasn’t there as a consort. I was there as a…” She paused, trying to figure out what she had been. A prisoner seemed a bit strong since Sorin had never actually locked the door, but she had hardly felt like a guest. Although, she had to admit that her feeling of unwelcomedness had been more her doing than his. “I was there as a student. How come you didn't want to touch the gold?”

  “That knife is magic.”

  Krea dropped the bundled leather on the ground. “It’s magic? You’re telling me it’s cursed? Why did you let me touch it, then?”

  “It ain’t cursed,” he assured her. “I know when things is cursed. They has a dark shadow what hangs over ’em. It ain’t got no shadow, but it’s magic and it ain’t meant for just anyone to be touchin’ it.”

  Krea looked at the boy for a long moment, trying to decide what to believe, and finally gave in. “Do you see a dark shadow hanging over me?”

  Dane laughed. “You ain’t cursed. You just don’t fit your skin the right way.”

  She looked away. “The way my life is going, it sure feels like I’m cursed.” When Dane didn't comment, she picked up the wrapped dagger and climbed to her feet. “We need to get to bed. I think your bedroll is over there with Sorin’s things.”

  “It is. Arie gived it to me, and some clothes, too.” Dane stood and pulled down his tunic to give credence to his words. “See?”

  “Aye, you already showed them to me. They look nice. I like cord at your neck too, but it seems like your burl is a lot smaller than it was last night.” As she spoke, Krea busied herself with her bedding, hoping Dane wouldn’t realize he was being pulled into the conversation he had been avoiding all day. It didn’t work.

  “Don’t you mind my burl, and I ain’t stupid. I know what you is doing.”

  Krea smiled to herself and finished laying out her bed. It was worth a try anyway. Once everything was finally ready, she glanced down at her bloodstained clothes and groaned. What she needed was a bath, but she wasn’t about to go down to the creek now that it was nearly dark. At the same time, she didn’t want to put clean clothes on over dirty skin. In the end, she decided to sleep in just her chemise and steal down to the creek early before the others were awake. A small squeak brought her attention back to Dane.

  Dane was frozen in place, one boot still on, the other clutched in his hand. The mire of dusk that shadowed the small clearing hid his expression, but his fear was obvious enough. His wide eyes gleamed in the falling night. Krea followed his gaze back to Sorin and gasped.

  The man lay as still as death on his bedroll, his chest rising and falling in the same slow, steady rhythm it had been keeping all evening. But now, a nearly transparent figure that looked suspiciously like a very small woman hung suspended just above his head.

  The creature stepped right out of the trunk of the tree like a translucent mushroom. With hands and legs. She had a small head no larger than Krea’s fist with large, round eyes that peered around with alarm and curiosity. Her torso and one bare leg were free of the hawthorn. The rest of her vanished into the bark. With one hand, the woman-creature clung to the tree as if to retreat into its barky depths at the first sign of danger. She wore no clothing, but her hair swirled around her like a shimmering cloak of stars. It whirled and twisted, often disappearing entirely and reappearing the instant Krea stopped trying to follow it.

  Apparently satisfied with Krea’s and Dane’s incapacitation, the creature glided farther down the tree until she hung less than a hand’s span above the still sleeping Sorin. Her huge eyes swept the man’s body, occasionally darting back to check Krea’s and Dane’s status before returning to the caller.

  As Krea watched in wonder, the small creature drifted the rest of the way down the trunk and stretched out her tiny hand. Long, flowing fingers fluttered over Sorin’s head for a moment, before becoming fully solid and finally resting on the man’s brow.

  Sorin’s breathing stopped and so did Krea’s. She wanted to drag Sorin away from the mesmerizing creature, but something warned her away from such an action. Sorin had been very deliberate about choosing that particular tree as his shelter for the night. He had to have known what he was doing. At the same time, she remembered all too well the effects of the faerie-born cobbler. The small spirit could be casting a spell. Just when Krea had resolved to yank Sorin clear of the tree-creature, he took a long, deep breath and fell back into his slow, methodical pattern.

  “What should we do?” Dane whispered.

  Krea shrugged. “I have no idea. Do you see a dark shadow? Are they cursed?”

  “I don’t see nothing.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t see nothing?” Krea demanded, flinching at the sound of Dane’s words coming out of her mouth. “You don’t see that thing climbing out of the tree?”

  “Of course I see the tree faerie. Is you stupid! I just don’t see no curse.”

  Krea glanced over at him. “A tree faerie? Have you seen one before?”

  “No,” Dane said. “I ain’t never seen no faeries at all before yesterday when we seed them pulks.”

  “Then how do you know that’s a tree faerie?”

  Dane glanced over at her. “Well, they is climbing out of that tree, and they is definitely faeries. What else can they be?”

  “What do you mean, they?”

  Dane pointed at the tree. Krea turned back to Sorin. Only one foot now held the faerie to the tree. She was leaning over Sorin’s forehead and staring intently into one closed eye. She hovered so close to his face, her tiny hands resting on either side of his nose, that had Sorin opened his eyes he would have brushed her with his lashes. But the tree faerie was no longer alone. Three other faeries had emerged from the tree and were descending on the sleeping man.

  The second of the three held Krea’s gaze for what felt like an eternity before joining her sisters in solid form. They probed Sorin’s skin with tiny pinches and pulls. The original faerie made her way to the bandages around the caller’s arm, and with surprising dexterity for such a small creature, she untied the knot to reveal the swollen, bloody gash left by the sword. Even from where Krea sat, she could see the puckered flesh and knew it was already infected.

  Once the wound was uncovered, all four faeries converged on it. One pushed at the dried blood while another pulled at the skin around the wound. Fresh blood bubbled over the sticky scab, sending the first faerie darting back to her tree. She melted into the trunk without a trace, but an instant later, she popped back out again. This time, she was far less cautious as she extended herself over Sorin’s prone body until once again only a foot held her to the tree. Once she hovered over the slashed arm, another faerie disappeared back into the tree.

  One after the other, the little faeries slipped back into the tree’s bark only to emerge three heartbeats later to replace one of her sisters. Krea was so mesmerized by the strange disa
ppearing act she didn’t even pay attention to Sorin’s arm until Dane tapped her leg and pointed. Only a tiny line remained of what had been a gaping, seeping wound. Sorin’s breathing came in long, slow pulls that made Krea think of the deep sleep of a small child. Even when the faeries moved their attention to the wound on his ribs, Sorin remained as still as stone; the only sign that he lived at all were his slow, deep breaths.

  As before, the faeries pulled off the bandage and took turns poking it with their tiny hands before disappearing into the tree. Except to occasionally glance over at Dane and Krea, the fae kept to their task until the wound on Sorin’s side mirrored that on his arm. Still, Sorin slept.

  Apparently satisfied with their work, the four faeries dipped back into the tree and disappeared. Krea and Dane stared at each other for a moment before turning their attention back to Sorin. He appeared unharmed. His wounds certainly seemed much improved. He still didn’t move save for the slow rise and fall of his chest, but his face was relaxed and no longer pinched in pain.

  “Is they done?” Dane asked.

  “I don't know. I don't know if they were even real.”

  “They was real. That tree is where they live.”

  “I don't think they mean to hurt us. I guess we can go on to bed.”

  Dane dragged his bedroll closer to the fire. “I guess we can, but I ain't sleeping near that tree.”

  For once, they agreed. Krea dropped her bedroll next to Dane’s, pulled off her boots and tunic, and climbed under the blanket, both her money bag and the dagger tucked in with her. “Goodnight, Dane.”

  “Night.”

  Chapter 16 - Nayli

  Krea woke to a soft crunching that sounded suspiciously familiar. She listened for a second, then opened one eye. Caldir’s giant head loomed inches from her face, a small tuft of grass drooping from the side of his mouth.

  She yelped and tried to jump up, but her bedroll tangled in her feet and all she managed to do was fall, her elbow catching Dane square in the back. This time he yelped and pulled himself out from under her. Krea landed on her face. Caldir’s hoof whizzed across her narrow line of sight.

  When she finally managed to sit up again, spitting dirt, leaves, and what had to have been a small beetle, Dane was swearing at her and Sorin was leaning against a tree, laughing. Krea tried to wipe the dirt from her lips and glared hard at Sorin. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “Shut up, Dane,” she demanded, yanking her bedroll off the ground and giving it a good shake in his general direction. “It’s not like I did it on purpose.” She turned back to Sorin. “Glad to see you’re feeling better,” she said, trying again for an intimidating glare. He was unperturbed by her efforts. Krea didn’t care. She had been in a sound sleep and didn’t see the humor in being violently yanked out of it for his amusement. “Nice of you to warn us about the tree faeries. We thought they were going to eat you.”

  Sorin bit off a piece of the meat roll in his hand and smiled, his expression still far too mocking for her taste. At least he had stopped laughing. “You could have fed them Dane,” he said between bites.

  Dane didn't comment, and neither did she. She just turned back to her bedding and began rolling it up, carefully tucking her moneybag into the bundle. Dane was starting on his roll as well, only with considerably less success. From the look on his face, he wasn’t a morning person.

  With her bedroll wrapped up, Krea pulled one of her new outfits out of Sorin’s pack and ripped the last of her original tunic in half. She offered half to Dane, who stared at it as if he had never seen woven cloth before, and took the other half with her as she headed down toward the river. As an afterthought, she turned back to Sorin. “Is it safe?”

  She half expected him to say no. No river was safe by her standards, but she hoped the only thing she had to worry about was being drowned, not some faerie creature coming along and feeding her to the fish. Sorin nodded and went back to work on his meat roll, so Krea clutched her new clothes to her chest, snatched up the bloody shirt from the day before, and took a deep breath before heading for the water.

  It seemed brighter in the morning light, which was a pleasant surprise. Small dots of light reflected off the surface, where the water swirled around the rocks, ever focused on its journey. With a deep breath, Krea pushed back the familiar fear and walked to the river’s brim. The spot Sorin had gone to last night was moving far too swiftly for Krea’s liking, so she journeyed up the bank a bit looking for a small pool where the water would not pull at her feet quite so hard. She hated that feeling and would wash from the bank if she had to just to keep from having the water yank her around.

  The river’s edge made for rough walking. Thick brush and rocks barred her way, and any stretches of bank she did come across were often broken up by massive willows and twisted oak tree roots that dipped in and out of the soft soil.

  One small swirl of water tucked into the old roots of a long-gone tree looked promising, but as Krea inched out over the fallen log, she ruled the site unacceptable. It was in the shade of the fallen tree, and she knew it would be home to all manner of toe-eating fish and goddess only knew what else. She shivered at the thought and pushed forward. It didn’t matter what Sorin said; she didn’t like running water and never would. As far as she was concerned, a river could not be trusted.

  A little farther down, Krea found just the spot she needed. A large rock jutted out of the water just off the bank, creating a barrier. The river rushed past it in a trail of white and foam, but the water on the near side of the rock was dead calm and deep. In no time Krea was out of her bloody breeches, had washed up, and was pulling on the new ones.

  Washing the caked blood out of yesterday’s clothes turned out to be more work than she had anticipated. She couldn’t help but shudder as the splattered blood turned the water pink and the memory of the day before came flooding back. Without question, that had been the most gruesome thing she had ever seen. Krea shook her head and tried to push the thoughts back. “The most gruesome thing I have ever done,” she reminded herself quietly as she balled up the wet clothes and pulled on her boots. She secured the laces and stood to leave, but had to give her hands one last scrub in the sand. Too bad she could scrub her memory away as easily.

  Balanced across the rocks, she rinsed away the sand and paused to stare at the circles on her arm. They were nearly the color of blood, maybe darker, but alarmingly similar. She brushed her fingers over the marks as she had done at least a hundred other times already. There was no bump or scratch or anything different about the skin—well, except that it was now red. The tiny symbols between the lines were easy enough to make out, but their meaning remained a mystery. She dipped her arm in the stream and scrubbed again. Nothing. Resigned, she pulled down her sleeve and headed back toward the horses.

  Not far up the bank, Krea found Dane leaning over the river on his hands and knees, water dripping from his hair and tunic. His brow furled in concentration as he stared into the river. Cautiously, Krea slipped up next to him and peered into the water. She saw nothing.

  After several long moments, Krea decided to ask. Dane finally turned to her, his expression a mixture of disappointment and irritation. “I was trying to talk to this water till you comed along and messed up my concentration,” he explained, dragging his sopping wet hair back with a quick brush of his hand.

  Krea stared at him for a few seconds trying to decide if he was serious. His face didn’t so much as twitch. He was dead serious. For several more seconds, all Krea could do was stare as she tried to figure out what to say. In the end, she settled on a calm, rational approach. After all, maybe he was still tired or maybe his time with the mage had addled his brain. Whatever it was, he certainly wasn’t making sense.

  “Did it talk back?” she asked, trying to sound sincere despite her complete disbelief.

  Dane frowned and gave his dripping sleeves a good shake. “No.”

  Krea nodded slowly. “Did you think it would?”

  A
fter a few seconds, Dane shrugged. “I thought it might.”

  Krea placed a hand on Dane’s shoulder and bent down so she could see his eyes, and then stated the obvious. “Dane, it’s water. Water can’t talk.”

  The boy flushed scarlet, and jerked his shoulder away from her. “You don’t know everything there is to know,” he said, giving her a hard shove. “You think ya do, but ya don’t. Some things what ain’t s’pose to talk does, but you can’t hear it.”

  His sudden fury confused her, but more than that, Krea saw a raw, bubbling rage in him that she had never seen before. Normally she would have pushed him back and made certain he knew his place, but something in the way he looked at her stayed her hand. It was almost as if it wasn’t Dane standing before her, but one of the angry loireags. Instead, she just brushed her sleeve back in place, gave him what she hoped was a dismissive glance, and strode back up the hill.

  When she reached camp, the horses were saddled and most of the packs were already secured. Sorin leaned against a rock, the leather wrap spread out next to him, and the dagger in his fae-hand, only it wasn't the same dagger. It had the same general size and shape, but it wasn't the same. The beautiful gold was gone. Common steel took its place. Where the dragon had once wrapped its tail around the intricate jeweled handle, now only a plain metal crossbar and hilt topped an unremarkable blade. The only remnant of the former blade was a dull black stone that topped the hilt.

  Sorin held the blade over his head. He didn’t look pleased. On the other hand, he didn’t look angry either. He seemed more confused than anything else.

  “This belonged to that noble back in Ryth?” he asked, twisting the blade in the sun just as she had done the evening before.