Then I was among them. The silver in the knife vibrated, heightening the storm that danced in my body and propelled me. The ewes turned to face me, blocking me from the lamb quivering behind them.
We bared our teeth, even the lamb. Their eyes lacked that disturbing red tinge, but even without the round moon’s influence, they pawed the ground and snapped their jaws.
I closed, slashing with the knife. They edged away and I stumbled, stretched out to scratch one while avoiding a deadly wound from my own weapon. The blade sliced into something without the meaty give I wanted. Matted wool. I growled, hungry for the kill.
The second ewe charged, head lowered to butt. I dodged, swinging the knife back around. This time it bit deep. Blood sprayed, tainting every other scent in the air; my mouth watered, automatic reaction. The cut was deep but not fatal. The ewe shuddered, then dropped to its knees, bleating weakly. I swallowed hard, suddenly hating the blood-reek that filtered in everywhere. Silver was a foul death.
I’d forgotten the other sheep. Tactical error. The lamb tossed its head up, then lowered it to charge over its mother’s body.
The remaining ewe wheeled around at almost the same moment, trying to pin me between them. One knife, two fronts—they might well knock me down if I didn’t take care.
The ewe was the greater danger, the lamb a quicker kill. I lunged toward the lamb, hoping the sudden movement would throw off the ewe’s attack.
Not entirely, but just enough.
Pain snapped everything around me into even sharper detail. The ewe ripped my calf, not deeply enough to cripple me. Not immediately.
I staggered, knife arm still outstretched, straight into the lamb. Another one down. The reek of blood was everywhere, its sticky, iron taste coating me inside and out.
I shook off distraction, whirling to face the ewe. It trembled as it swung its head, seeking an opening. Not from fear: its throat loosed an unpracticed growl and a hint of red glimmered in its eyes. Tasting my blood seemed to wipe out any fear of the silver in my hand.
I leaped, knife first. The ewe charged at the same time, and we crashed with a tearing shock. I stabbed its shoulder while my free arm held its muzzle away from my throat. It thrashed as it died, teeth ripping at my forearm.
Another wound to weaken me, but without the power to kill. I shoved away the carcass and stood panting a moment, shivering with the forces around me—blood, silver, the approaching moon. I lifted my head to howl out my victory and scented men on the wind. Close, too close.
Victory tasted like ash. I willed my hands to remain steady as I shoved the knife back into its case without cleaning it. In either form, man or wolf, I’d gain no friends among shepherds for killing their sheep. Yet even dead, these abominations might present dangers to unprotected men. I had to warn them before they added themselves to my problem.
Feet rustled through grass and scraped against stones. Someone cursed. My skin skittered as if ants crawled all over it, but I straightened to meet them, lining up words of peace and warning. Then, above the sweat, smoke, musky dog and sour wool, I smelled wolfsbane, unmistakable in its sharp danger-cry.
We all learn that smell as pups. I flinched and scrambled away, pushing up the thornbush slope, heedless of scratches. Somehow they knew—but did they know enough?
I reached the top just as they shouted in surprise at their slaughtered sheep. They knew their business, six hard men and women with arrows nocked to their bows sweeping the ravine for threat.
“Stay clear of the blood,” I called down from cover. “I wish you no harm, but I fear it may carry harm to you.”
A great horned owl with a wingspan rivaling my outstretched arms flew between us, settling lower, the same one I’d seen the night before when I came across the butchered dog—or another one like it. Its shape blurred, and I stepped back, reaching out with my Finder’s sense. But it didn’t register as a shifter, and it flew in daylight.
The feathers melted away, the wings drew in, the legs lengthened and the beak transformed to a proud, razor-sharp nose set below too-large eyes. None of the shepherds flinched at the man suddenly standing before them wearing only an amulet on a chain. He was small and wiry, dwarfed even by the three women with him.
“What happened here?” His voice cracked with command. Pack leader, the wolf in me recognized.
Someone handed him clothes and he pulled them on, his golden eyes seeming to see through my skin to my bones and the thoughts in my head. His clothes smelled of sheep, but he didn’t; his scent was warm feathers and something clean, astringent, that reminded me of the high peaks. The dangerous bite of wolfsbane swirled most strongly around him.
I took another step back, my eyes never leaving his. I’d grown up among shifters. The transformation of man into wolf was natural, commonplace. This man unnerved me, and I now understood a little of why ordinary men feared and hunted my kind.
“What are you?” I asked, voice hoarse.
He studied the three dead sheep, then stared back at me with hard eyes. “I’ll ask the questions for now. How did our sheep die?”
Hard and angry, I wanted to say, but didn’t dare, not with wolfsbane in their hands. “They were infected with something deadly, something that’s already spread to more of them out there.”
He nodded, as if he already knew, and the wolfsbane told me he knew too much.
“I told the others I mean you no harm,” I said, “and I meant it.” I held up my empty hands. “I’m unarmed now.”
“You fought some of our sheep last night, I believe.” His eyes glinted with warning. “What about before then? Say, a month ago?”
I lowered my hands, hooking them in my belt to keep from rooting out my knife. “Yesterday was my first time in your lands.” I wondered how this man knew about Terrel, and added, “A kinsman may have been here last month, though. I’m looking for him, and heard about your mysterious dead man. I was told to speak with someone named Nydor.”
“I’m Nydor, Warder for our lands.” He grinned, disconcertingly toothy. “It seems we have much to discuss. Let’s step away from this bloody mess for now.”
My turn to nod. Danger or not, I needed answers. And perhaps I could persuade these suspicious shepherds to join me against their flocks. We were all fighting to protect our own people.
We settled in a semicircle, me facing the others, just far enough outside the ravine that the smell of wolfsbane and their sweat covered all traces of sheep’s blood. I knelt on one knee, ready to leap away. The shepherds clustered behind Nydor, all but one of the men, who stood apart, an arrow nocked and ready.
“What are you?” I asked again, trying to ignore the threat of that arrow. “You’re not like any shifter I know.”
“I suppose you might say I’m a shapeshifter, but it’s a spell locked in the amulet a Warder carries.”
I forced down all reaction, though I’d never heard of a magic that mimicked our ability to show outwardly the animal within us.
“With it I keep watch for my people, bring them swift warning of danger.” Nydor leaned forward, eyes fixed and unblinking like a bird’s. “And we’ve had dangers I’ve never heard of for the past month, ever since I found that stranger’s naked corpse. A kinsman, you say?”
I forced words through a throat tight with Terrel’s memory. “Cousin. I tracked him here. I’m a Finder.” None of them stirred at that revelation. “My name’s Garold. I’m afraid my cousin was not himself when he created this problem in your flocks, but I mean to deal with it and then lay the account to the one who drove him out of his head.”
Nydor touched the amulet around his neck. “Samis, you mean? I’ve heard the rumors. He’s your concern. My duties end at the banks of the Milk, and they call me to stop what’s killing our dogs and our friends.”
I rubbed my calf, where the ewe’s ragged bite was now a red scar-knot. A shifter’s bite was safe for me, but how could I tell them to be grateful their dogs and friends had died? My fingers dug into the scar, forcin
g away echoes of nightmares.
“You’ll have to burn these sheep, and slaughter and burn any others that are infected,” I said. I had no idea what eating tainted meat might do, but I couldn’t risk something lingering in flesh and blood to be passed along in an innocent meal. “You’ll need my help.”
I knew only three ways to kill us. If these sheep shared all our strengths, they likely shared our weaknesses. Nydor ran the right trail with wolfsbane, but I’d sooner face a moonless life than tell him any more than I had to.
“The poison on your arrows doesn’t kill immediately,” I said. “Before they die, your victims will grow stronger, attack without caution in a rage you might not withstand. It takes only one bite to infect you.”
The sentry tensed. I narrowed my eyes at him.
“But how will you find your quarry?” I asked. “They can hide unnoticed among your flocks and your families.”
Behind Nydor, the shepherds shot questioning looks at each other. He rubbed his chin with a thumb and forefinger, never looking away from me. “I take it you have an answer.”
Some reason to keep you alive, I read in his eyes. I dipped my head at him.
“As I said, I’m a Finder. I sense hidden shifters, even at a distance. I can guide you without error, to help you avoid a pile of innocent victims. I can also cut out the infected sheep from your flocks, drive them into range of your arrows.”
Nydor twisted around toward the others. “Mila? Dallard? Your kin and your flocks have borne the toll so far.”
A man whose eyes glinted like polished limestone folded his arms across his chest. “He tells an interesting tale. I’ll follow Mila’s lead. My losses of sheep and a dog can’t match hers.”
My breath caught again, and I wished myself anywhere else as the oldest woman stood. Her face was hard and weathered, twisted now into more severe lines. The other two, I realized, were younger versions of Mila.
“What recompense do you offer for my youngest, torn apart by your shapeshifters a month ago?” Her voice was raw, the only sign that escaped her tight control as she spoke of her loss. One daughter blinked away tears; the other ground her teeth on obvious pain.
I had to shut my eyes, but it didn’t block the heavy grief in the air. Somehow I smelled salt and bitter ash.
My grief for Terrel rose again, unexpectedly strengthening me. I blew out a breath and looked at Mila. “Where will I and the rest of my kin find recompense for our own loss, murdered with a careless cup of monkshood? I grieve with all of you, for my cousin who was as close as a brother, for your child I never met, even for the sheep we must exterminate to end this before more of your people are attacked.”
Nydor’s face gave me no clues, but the sentry was wide-eyed, Dallard chewed his lower lip, and the youngest woman’s mouth gaped in clear shock. Mila’s eyes narrowed and she drew a breath, clearly preparing to speak. I jumped in first: “What more can any of us do but work together to end this threat? We’ll have time to grieve properly after.”
She slumped a little, rounding her shoulders. “Cold words, but true,” she whispered. “I’ll call a truce with you, but once this work is done, never cross our lands again, neither you nor any of your kin.”
Her daughters stroked their bows. Dallard gave me a knowing look. “I said I’d bide by Mila’s decision,” he said. “A truce it is.”
Better than I’d hoped for when I first caught wolfsbane on them. Nor would it be wise for any of the clan to return to Dyerstown or its grazing. “What of Samis?”
Nydor’s unblinking stare made my neck itch. “Our concerns lie within our borders.”
Was that permission to seek justice for Terrel? Shouldn’t he defend a human against a shapeshifter? Did his amulet help him understand us? Or did he have some existing grievance against a neighbor, to launch me against Samis like an arrow?
Nydor showed his teeth in a fierce smile. “Do we have an agreement?”
We clasped hands briefly to seal our bargain. All my senses were too high to stand much contact. His heartbeat pounded through his skin and I almost heard the blood rush through his veins. My nose, already assaulted by the wolfsbane, twitched at the sour smell of suspicion coming from the watching shepherds. I needed my kin, control, a peaceful run with the moon.
That too would have to wait. Dusk and moonrise were rolling closer. I stepped back. “I’ll camp apart if you don’t mind. In the morning I’ll sniff out our trail.”
Nydor pursed his lips, but then he nodded. The sentry eased back on his bowstring, though the arrow pointed still in my direction as I walked away. My body felt tight, on edge, with every step until I was long out of range.
* * *
After I shifted, I spent the night wedged into a crevice in a tumble of rocks, dozing or staring out at the nearby trees where Nydor-the-owl roosted and watched me back. I’d expected it, and I couldn’t quite blame him, but I kept startling awake, certain I smelled wolfsbane.
He was gone when I crawled out of my temporary lair to dress soon after dawn, but he and the other shepherds were waiting nearby, ready for the hunt. I sought the closest of the abominations: two straggling sheep, far behind the main groups. The shepherds spread out in an ambush line when we came close, Nydor directed them from the air, and I swung wide to drive the two ewes to their death. They chose wolfsbane over the silver in my knife. The aversion to silver, it seemed, was instinctive, twined into blood and bone. We had to teach our young to fear wolfsbane.
I wanted to pity the sheep. But they were still grass-eaters.
We burned those two and headed further east, toward the nearer of the two large groups left. One thread among the skein linking us vibrated with tension. I halted, waving on the shepherds to put more distance between me and the wolfsbane that hovered over them like a storm cloud.
Sharpening my focus, I pushed along that humming line. Halfway out, perhaps farther, I bounced off something. Not solid like a wall—more like running headlong into another person. I stood open-mouthed in the middle of the uplands staring east into the horizon. Nothing in my training had prepared me for this.
The thread slackened again. Then that sheep and those around it bolted, north and east, away from us. Away from me, as if one of them somehow had Finder instincts. Untrained instincts, luckily, though that was obstacle enough.
A wolf pack would barrel through these sheep. I whistled the signal to summon Nydor. A howl carried farther and conveyed far more meaning than any whistle, but ordinary men, even with abilities like Nydor’s, couldn’t fathom the layers we built into a single cry. I had only ordinary men to help me. With Nydor’s wings, we might approximate a pack.
The shepherds stopped at my signal, turning questioning looks my way. “Keep moving,” I shouted, and started forward myself. “We need to angle north to catch them now.”
Nydor banked down, shifting as he neared the ground to land on human legs. The change worked up his body, wings shifting to arms last. I forced myself to look, trying to grow accustomed to his ways, but again my mouth dried and my skin chilled.
“What is it?” he asked.
“They’re skittish,” I said. “A fixed ambush line won’t work here. We’ll all need to keep on the move, and we’ll need to stay in closer contact.”
“My task.” He strode after the others, heedless of his bare feet and naked skin. I hurried to keep up. “I’ll teach you the rest of our signals.”
They were easy enough to grasp. Man, owl, and wolf, we shared predator minds. Before long, he was again in the air, circling above us.
The sheep had slowed but continued northeast, closing on the second flock and bringing together all our prey. My heart beat a little faster and my skin itched with the need to run. After tonight the round moon would vanish for another month.
“I’ll leave you here,” I told Dallard and the others. “Stay on this course until Nydor signals otherwise. Be ready with your arrows. This should be the last of them, and they’ll be tricky.”
M
ila’s upper lip curled. “Do your job and leave us to ours. If you fail us....” She reached back to her quiver to stroke the fletching on an arrow.
I smiled without any warmth. “We understand each other perfectly.”
We had a truce until the last feral sheep died, and not beyond. The sooner we killed them all, the sooner we could part ways for good.
Once I left the shepherds behind, my gear stopped dragging at my shoulders. I took deeper breaths now; the air away from them was crisp and clean. The wild thrill of the hunt—and the tingle of the coming moon—filled my veins.
Nydor flew back and forth as we maneuvered into position while the afternoon tumbled away. We stalked them up a barely noticeable rise, where the grass grew thick and spring-green, blanketing rare rocks. Prime pasture.
Here the two groups had met and mingled. Plenty of grazing for all, and they seemed content to fill their bellies.
I hugged the ground, working slowly nearer, ignoring the grass prickling through my clothes. I focused only on scent, sound, and sight, forgoing all thought of Finding now. We were too close, that sheep with Finder instinct and I. Even untrained, at this distance it might still sense me before I was ready. The silver in my hand, chiming waves of danger against shifter flesh, was risk enough.
The sheep milled restlessly, hooves tapping an uneasy beat through the ground that echoed off my bones. I slanted a look at the slice of sky where a hint of plum heralded dusk, searching until I spotted Nydor arcing in wide circles, and signaled my readiness. He snapped his wings twice, acknowledging, and shot away to warn his friends.
The moon sang in my blood, urging me against my grazing prey. It clashed with the shriek of silver and the hum of the nearby abominations. The moon and my duty twined into an even stronger force that pushed me upright, to charge the sheep whose wool looked gray against the bright green grass.
They fled in clumps that merged and split and merged again into a larger mass, heading almost straight north until I veered in to herd them east. They broke into two groups and the larger one jinked south.
Beneath Ceaseless Skies #18 Page 2