Nori didn’t notice. The steel against her gut was an icy fang, not quite cutting her shirt. “Sixty-one,” she answered Ki.
The man’s voice flattened. “How old am I?” he repeated.
The point of the steel pricked skin. The flat of the blade chilled her fingers. It had gone in so fast, like a thought before it was formed. “Three hundred,” she breathed.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Could you take me?”
She could feel the point against the pulse of the small veins in her skin. “Not this time.”
He smiled without humor. She was better than she thought. Six months ago, she wouldn’t have been able to touch that blade before the point had hit her gut. “What about the raider?”
She shook her head.
Ki let her feel the cold steel against her skin for three more eternal seconds. Then he stepped back and sheathed the blade. “He had years on you, as I do. Twenty, maybe thirty years of violence that you will never match unless you live as he does.” He jerked a nod at Payne. “He outweighed your brother by twenty kilos, and you by more than fifty.”
“He was built like an iron dnu,” muttered Payne.
Ki’s voice was dry. “Most men will be, compared to you, at least for the next twenty years. That’s a density that only comes with age. It’s the body’s compensation for the loss of reflex and speed.”
Payne glanced at the slit in Nori’s—or rather, his—shirt. He said sourly, “You’re both older than us by forty years, and there’s nothing wrong with your reflexes.”
Wakje smiled faintly, but the expression didn’t reach his flat, black eyes. He’d lived in his own body long enough that every move was concise and direct and had his full power behind it. Most raiders achieved that, those who survived their first year. He’d lasted more than twenty before following Payne’s father, Ki had fought for fifteen, and neither man was as fast as he had been. It was timing, not speed, that now kept them ahead of others. Even Ki, who had some of the fastest reflexes he’d ever seen, had slowed down with decades of age.
Nori’s voice was low. “I know I should be grateful, but Uncle Ki, I hit him with everything I had, and I barely made him pause. I’ve trained with you all my life, and I still can’t take one raider?”
Ki looked down with his pale brown eyes. She hated herself for failing, and more than that, she blamed herself for taking Payne into that danger. As a raider, he’d learned to recognize those emotions and use them to manipulate his prey. Here, it made him pause. She might be bonding with the wolf, but she had not yet fully turned away from him if she was asking questions like that. It gave him a strange feeling he didn’t recognize, as if there were something wrong with his chest. He had the same feeling sometimes when he looked at his children.
He said slowly, “The jack had a knife, which didn’t cut you. He outweighed you and hit you, but didn’t break you. And you managed to take his prize from him and still get off with your lives. Was there something more you wanted?”
Payne murmured, “It’s a damn sight more than I expected when I saw you tackle the man.”
“You at least threw him into a bush,” she retorted.
“And you got off scot-free,” Ki said sharply.
She looked down. “My apologies, Uncle Ki.”
Ki studied her. She was still tense, still reliving the moment, and he said, “If this had happened eight years ago, what would have happened to you?”
She met his cool gaze. Eight years ago she hadn’t been put through the intensity of training daily with half a dozen ex-raiders. They had handled her in monthly shifts, sending her off to the next Wolven Guard as she went through each town with her parents. She had trained before that, but she’d been a child then, and most of the lessons had been in the martial rings. The ex-raiders’ lessons were different. Where the ring-trainers taught her form and finesse, the ex-raiders taught survival. “Eight years ago, I’d be dead.”
“And four years ago?”
Four years ago, she’d been nearly nineteen. She’d been fast then, but not confident. She’d been afraid of the demon inside her, of letting it out through her hands. A knife looked too much like a claw. “I’d probably be cut,” she admitted. “Perhaps dead.” She forced her hands to relax. “I understand,” she told them flatly. “I’m smaller, less experienced, and I’ll never have your fists—”
“For which we are truly grateful,” Payne put in.
“—I’ve only got speed, training, and a couple of elbows, and that’s got to do for me.”
Payne looked at the blade that was back in his uncle’s sheath. He murmured, “Don’t knock the training, Nori-girl. It kept you alive tonight.”
It shouldn’t have had to, not inside the circle. Nori looked at her uncles. “With tonight and what happened back on the road, we were thinking to leave the wagons. Go the rest of the way on the backroads.”
“No.” Wakje’s voice was flat.
“But if the circle isn’t safe anymore—”
“No.” He cut her off. “There are rumors of raider action up and down the county. If that is what’s going on here, they’ll be ready for you to leave. Cut the prey from the herd, then run it to ground—it’s exactly what they want you to do to make yourself an easier kill.”
She looked down at her hands. Her fingers had clenched again. An easier kill. She’d always been that. She’d never stood up to anyone except when someone else was in danger. She looked at her slender bones for a long moment, then dropped her hands as if she despised them, as if they were wrong for her, and turned to climb into the wagon.
Wakje stopped her. The thickset man didn’t speak for a moment, then finally growled, “You’d never have made a good raider, girl, but I’ve seen worse out on the trails.”
It was as much a compliment as he had ever given, and Nori stared at him. She almost reached out to see if it had been real, but he stepped back. Wolfwalker. The word hung between them. She didn’t try to touch him again. Instead, she simply nodded, then turned and climbed into the wagon.
Ki loosened his braid as he waited for them, then fast-combed it and tightly rebraided the silky curls. As a raider, he’d worn his hair loose. In the counties, he kept it braided. It hadn’t been a conscious choice; he’d simply found himself doing it the day he chose to ride with Noriana’s father.
Wakje scowled as he finished, and Ki glanced at him. “She still turns to us,” he murmured. “Maybe the wolf won’t be as strong in her as it is inside Dione.”
“Did you look in her eyes?” Wakje spat to the side. He braced himself on the gate and toed off his boots so he could pull on his moccasins. He never slept barefoot, not since he was a boy. Old habits. A man never knew when he needed to jump up and fight.
“Aye, I saw her.” Ki said slowly, “But there is something other than wolf in her now.”
Wakje’s voice was flat. “Maybe that will make her stronger.”
“Maybe that’s what is holding her back.”
Wakje gave him a sharp look.
The other man nodded toward the wagon. “She’ll have to face herself, sooner or later. She’ll have to accept what she is.”
As they had. Ki didn’t have to say it out loud. Wakje muttered instead, “Wolfwalker.”
Ki snorted. “If you believe that, you’re an idiot.”
“Aye,” the thickset man agreed shortly. His voice was almost wry.
Nori waited till Wakje, Payne, and their driver were asleep before trying to slip away to Rishte. She needn’t have bothered trying to be quiet. All three men woke when she sat up, their hands going to the weapons under their pillows or slung at the edge of their beds. She murmured “Just a walk,” but Payne muttered “I’ll take care of it” to Wakje before the ex-raider could bite out a command.
Nori sighed as she snagged a cloak from the wagon. Then she buckled on a weapons belt before Wakje’s watchful eyes, and added a tiny trail kit, just in case. Then she and Payne strode
quietly toward the stables.
Payne opened his mouth, but Nori beat him to it. “Don’t say it,” she warned.
“You know the rules,” he returned flatly. “You don’t go off far on your own, not with raiders around, and especially not to the wolves, not when you’ve started to bond.”
“Aye, but I feel safer out there, with Rishte.”
“And that’s a problem, isn’t it?” he retorted.
“Payne—” she started.
He cut her off sharply. “If I can see this much in your face when you think you’re in control, how much are you feeling inside?”
“I—” She broke off. He might be younger, but he had clear eyes, whereas hers were clouded with grey. And he was right. She could smell the rich scent of warm dnu, the thick dust of hay, the heady odor of manure. The camp was like a complex bread baking slowly in the night. Her nostrils flared to catch each scent that Rishte smelled. Her eyes strained to see contrast and movement, and her skin seemed to ripple as if it had fur, not a few hairs to sense the wind. “I feel more,” she finally whispered. “It’s strong, Payne. Like a river that tumbles boulders.”
He said nothing for a moment. “Can you call him to you or does he just respond to the pack-threat?”
He meant the attack on the road, and she hesitated.
“You’d better find out.” He tried to make his voice light. “You go feral on me, and I won’t have to worry about Wakje. Papa will scatter my bones himself.”
She answered slowly, “Rishte can’t come to me here. He’s a yearling. He’s already afraid of the men, of the wagons.”
Payne said softly, “So are you, and not just because of the raiders.” She looked at him then. In the dark, he wasn’t sure if her eyes were focused or not. “Nori-girl, be careful. You can get pulled in too far, too fast, when you first bond. You might never find your own voice or stay . . .”
“Human?”
Her voice had been carefully even, but Payne knew she was feeling fear. The slitted, yellow gaze of the alien that watched over her thoughts—it had influenced her before. With the telepathic aliens so close to the settled counties, it was a wonder they hadn’t all mutated four degrees past human. Worse, the wolves had to be pulling hard on Nori against the taint inside her. The temptation to escape into the grey must be strong as an avalanche. It could make her want them badly enough that she forced the wolf to bond.
“You can’t stay with him,” he said finally. “Not for more than a few hours at a time. He has to come to you,” he said firmly as she tried to speak. “He has to choose by himself.”
As do I. She wasn’t sure she’d spoken out loud, but Payne nodded, apparently satisfied. He motioned for her to lead the way through the hedge.
She didn’t look back as she knelt and scrambled through the hole hidden behind the stables. It had been made by some determined child years ago. After more than a decade of use, it was now big enough for a careful adult.
Payne didn’t question her use of the unconventional path. He spent his time studying the shadows to see if anyone watched while they wormed their way under the hedge.
On the other side, Nori led unerring in the dark. First to the bridle path that circled the camp, then onto a game track that led up the ridge. Twenty minutes later, they were hunkered down on the edge of a small broadleaf meadow. The fuzzy stems were still shedding, and Nori shook, then bent the leaves into a quick shelter before crawling inside. Payne crawled in beside her, closed his eyes, and went back to sleep. Nori grinned faintly. Her brother could sleep almost anywhere, but for all that, he would know the moment the wolf came close.
She closed her own eyes and concentrated. Rishte. Rishte.
The answer was immediate and strong. Wolfwalker.
Her eyes flew open and she smiled. They had learned enough of each other’s languages that, even without the eye contact, the images of each other were almost clear. I am here, she told him in her mind.
Alone, not alone.
She nodded. My brother is with me.
Rishte hesitated, but she could feel him slink closer. She waited. And waited. It took twenty minutes before his nose nudged Payne’s boot.
Payne didn’t bother to open his eyes. “Tell him not to gnaw,” he murmured.
The voice made Rishte leap back and snarl.
“Spooky mutt,” the young man muttered. “I mean it about the boots.”
Nori looked at Rishte and met his eyes, violet into golden. It had been hours since they were together, and their minds hit hard.
Fear, aggression, threat. Threat? Attack. Run. Run away.
Brother, packbrother, she sent urgently. Trust him. Trust me.
Threat. Come, come away.
“It’s alright,” she said out loud. The sound made Rishte flinch back, but he held. Nori continued, murmuring so that he could get used to her voice. “He is my packbrother, Rishte. You must meet him and accept him if you are to bond with me.”
Wolfwalker, Rishte wailed.
She held out her hand. “Stay, Rishte, stay with me. Stay with us.” She waited, but he did not move. Finally, she lay back. She heard the wolf panting, but could not tell if he eased closer. A moment later, she put her arm over her eyes to keep the fuzzy debris of the broadleafs off her nose. There was a frantic jerk back near her feet. “It’s okay,” she soothed. “It’s alright.” She closed her eyes. “Pretty grey, handsome grey. Just put your head down and sleep.”
Payne had almost dozed off when she murmured, “In the oldEarth plays, the scrawny girl always gets to beat up at least half a dozen villains.”
His mutter was dry. “Let me know when you’re in one of those plays.”
She rolled onto her side. She could still hear the slap of steel by her side as the raider’s knife slashed down . . . She clenched her fists, then relaxed them. When she finally dropped off into her dreams, she knew that Rishte’s golden eyes watched over her with unblinking wariness.
XX
Cipher gives you an excellent edge
As long as it’s undiscovered.
—Gentian neKender, Bilocctan teacher
Nori woke on the edge of dawn, when the faint grey began lightening their shelter. Her warm legs were suddenly cold, and she knew Rishte had been curled against her till she shifted. “Payne,” she murmured.
He sighed. “I know.”
She smiled faintly and wormed out of the shelter. She stood for a moment, listening to the tree sprits as they swooped between the trunks, and for gaps in the forest sounds where other birds ought to be. She didn’t see Rishte until he snarled at her back.
Wolfwalker.
Her smile widened. She turned to meet his gaze. Their minds slammed together and meshed almost instantly. He would never be human, and she would never be wolf, but they were learning to hear each other. We are alone? She projected the sense of the words.
His golden gaze was unblinking. No hunters, he agreed. Too close to the stink line.
Barrier hedge, she corrected softly.
Stink line. Hedge.
She filed away the lupine definition as Payne wormed out of the shelter after her. “Moons, Nori-girl,” he muttered. “Traveling with you is like being with an infant. I never get more than two hours’ sleep.” He scratched the sleepsand from his eyes. “That the wolf?”
Rishte’s fangs were bared, his ruff up, and the snarl growing deep in his throat. Payne hid his grin and let his gaze meet the golden eyes soberly. Blurred images blinded him. The yearling’s fear-aggression almost made him stiffen. He held himself still with effort. Grey One. Rishte, he sent carefully. You honor me. He could sense the easiness between his sister and the wolf, and for the first time felt his own voice as the rough one in the grey.
Rishte growled for another second, asserting his bond with Nori. Packmate, he finally acknowleged. Packbrother.
Payne nodded mentally, then broke the contact. “Wow.”
“Aye,” Nori agreed.
“It will be like that for me
,” he said quietly, watching Rishte slink back.
“Yes,” she agreed. “Just not with him.”
He glanced at her. Her words had been almost harsh, and her eyes unfocused. He said sharply, “Nori.”
She stiffened, blinked, and lost the tension in her face. “Sorry.”
“Dik spit, Nori-girl. Don’t let him pull you in that far.” He glanced after the wolf and added more worriedly, “You’re too new in the bond. If Wakje hears you do the possessive thing, he’ll—”
“—tan my hide like an eerin. I know.” Rishte was watching her from the edge of the trees, and he pulled her to run after him.
“We should get back.”
She sighed and shook herself. She looked again at the trees, but Rishte was gone.
They made their way carefully back, not by the same track to the hole in the stable hedge, but by a different path that led around to the access road. Payne didn’t question her caution. They both knew not to repeat a trail when hunters were about.
They were almost back to the circle when Nori snapped up her hand. Payne froze. Rishte was a kay away by then, digging in the moss for woodmice, but his golden eyes seemed to burn into her mind as he caught her sudden tension. Even at that distance, the grey sharpened her senses.
She eased back behind a bulge in the hedge. Payne did the same, ignoring the twigs that stuck in his back and the sharp odor of roroot that released as he pressed in. A moment later, he heard the murmuring. He strained his ears, but could distinguish nothing. He glanced at Nori, but she shook her head. When the sounds faded, they waited a few seconds, then Nori peered through the edge of the bushes. Two men were walking away toward the camp. She froze as one of them looked back over his shoulder, but he didn’t see her. The man did it again a few meters later, and once more before they disappeared around the bend in the access road.
“Two men,” she reported softly.
Payne kept his voice as low. “Talking outside the circle at dawn?”
“They weren’t the dawn guards.”
“They weren’t cozar at all if they were outside the circle,” he returned flatly. “I wish we’d been closer.”
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