by Forthright
Conversation had grown easier with his eager young pupil. For every word Glint taught Waaseyaa, he was given its equivalent in exchange. Glint was learning Reaver’s language, and the man offered gruff gratitude for the consideration.
“Can I stay?” wheedled Waaseyaa.
A dozen tails beat their bedding of summer hay in unanimous approval.
Gerard tugged at his beard, his gaze slanting thoughtfully to Glint. “You are willing?”
He signaled affirmative. “The boy may consider my den his home, and I will consider him a packmate.”
“I cannot say which of you has more courage.” Gerard tousled Waaseyaa’s hair, then gave him a push in Glint’s direction. “But I do know that we are honored.”
That night, Waaseyaa clambered into the midst of the pack, and Glint allowed his children and grandchildren to vie for the boy’s attention. However, once Waaseyaa’s eyes grew heavy, Glint asserted his right. Remaining in speaking form for once, he waded into the mound of fur to pull the drowsing boy against his side.
Waaseyaa stirred and blinked up at him, then smiled and nestled in.
Glint rumbled approval.
Long into the night, he basked in the boy’s trust and wondered if this is what it would have been like if his children could take speaking form. Did Beloor nestle with sons and daughters in this way? Would he be more shocked to learn that his tailless brother had founded a clan of dogs or that his pack now included a human boy?
Crest
Glint hadn’t slept so deeply since the night he and Bel had smuggled star wine into their den to toast their attainment. Jaws closed over his hip, and Path’s voice was a shout in his mind.
“Please, wake! Wake up! Why can’t you hear me, Da?”
He grunted and reached for the offending muzzle. “Calm down. I’m awake.”
Path whined.
“I’m awake,” Glint repeated, though he felt loose and languid. He started to sit up, only to recall the boy currently using his shoulder for a pillow. Nothing else seemed out of place. In low tones, he asked, “What is it?”
“The star is singing.”
Waaseyaa didn’t notice when Glint eased from the pile to follow Path out into the night.
Urgency bade Glint to rush, but even now, years after the command was given, he couldn’t bring himself to disobey. So he walked through the pasture, and he walked the narrow path that led to their property’s high point. He resolutely checked his stride. Every step a choice.
And as he walked, he shed his strange stupor. The night was moon-bright and balmy, with a hint of distant rainstorms on the wind. Tonight’s song carried well, and it lifted Glint’s spirits. Here was a psalm of beginnings and of bonds, a tale of those between and of blessings. But a warning note shivered through every refrain, telling of a people touched by power and the dangers of their allure.
Glint stood his ground and listened until dawn took the sky, humming along until he was sure he would remember every word. Because if the song was right, then Reaver’s people were a danger—not only to him, but to themselves. And Waaseyaa most of all.
“What are you doing?” Waaseyaa hung over Glint’s shoulder. “Can I try?”
“You want to learn to sew?”
“I want to learn … this.” The boy’s finger trailed along the edge of Glint’s threadwork.
Glint had settled on a design for the Starmark crest, which included a sinking moon, half-hidden by the horizon. The ascending star matched the blaze on his forehead. But most important—and most time consuming—was the tracery of protective sigils around the border. Glint hoped to work the wards for a barrier directly into the cloth.
“Sigilcraft interests you?” he asked.
“A new word?”
“Two words in one—sigil and craft.” Touching the circular design, Glint said, “This is a sigil. I am its crafter. I make them.”
Waaseyaa continued to brush the edge, as if testing a boundary. “What is it for?”
“It will protect you. It will protect me.” He held up his hand. “Like a wall.”
The boy gasped. “You are a ward?”
“I am Glint.”
“Our wards are not here yet, but when they come, they will bring the stone wall to life.” He fumbled for a moment, then switched to his own language. “A barrier.”
“When they come? Who is coming … more like Reaver?”
“Many more. And Amaranthine.” Waaseyaa’s hands described circles in the air. “We cleared the center, and we’re building the wall. The rest are coming, and they will share Wardenclave with us—Fullstash and Dimityblest and Duntuffet.”
Glint recognized those clan names—squirrel, moth, and rabbit. “What is Wardenclave?”
“Two words in one.” Waaseyaa leaned forward, eager to share this heretofore unmentioned bit of news. “Ward and enclave. We must build a barrier.”
“What are you keeping out?”
Waaseyaa’s eyes lost their shine. “Everywhere we go, they follow. We are hunted. We are prey.” He hesitated, then quietly added, “They took my family.”
Responding to the fear and sadness in Waaseyaa’s scent, Glint set aside his needlework and tugged him onto his lap. “I didn’t know there was anything that hunted humans.”
“Amaranthine.”
Glint was almost afraid to ask. “Why would Amaranthine hunt humans?”
“To eat.” He looked up into Glint’s face. “They want our souls.”
With the warnings of his star reeling through his mind, he shook his head incredulously. “If Amaranthine predators are your enemies, why weren’t you afraid of me?”
Waaseyaa hesitated.
Glint waited.
Finally, the boy admitted, “Because you only looked surprised.”
“Anyone would be, when a strange child strolls past several decades worth of sigilcraft.” He picked up his handiwork again and scrutinized the delicate balance of its seal. It should work. It would have to. “Give me your shirt.”
With no real need for sleep but an abundant need for clarity, Glint took his stitching outside. Away from Waaseyaa, he was more himself, but having been with the boy, his stitches were more potent, and his sigils shimmered with strength he hadn’t known he possessed.
Path’s description from those earliest days was proving true and truer. Glint whispered, “Gladder. Lighter. Stronger.”
By moonlight, he duplicated his crest, embroidering it directly onto Waaseyaa’s shirt. It was as much a claim as it was a promise of protection. The boy was his now. A fosterling.
Mid-high saw the task finished, so Glint called the Kith into a circle, to bear witness to the boy’s attainment. “Take your shirt back. Wear it well.”
Waaseyaa quickly obeyed, pulling the cloth away from his skin to admire Glint’s addition. “A sigil for me?”
“That’s the mark of my clan, the Starmark crest. Wearing it means you belong to our den.” He dropped to one knee and looked him in the eye. “We are your pack.”
“What kind of pack?”
Glint grinned. “We are dogs.”
“Den is like … house?”
More than a house, not just a building.” Glint offered him new words. “Home. Pack. Mine.”
“I belong to Glint?”
“Do you have a family name? What is your clan called?”
The boy blinked. “Reaver found us and saved us and took us in. He shared his name and keeps us safe until the enclave is ready. I was his, but he gave me to you.” Touching the crest on his shirt, he asked, “What should I be called?”
Glint considered birthnames of great importance, so he pressed. “How did your mother call you?”
“Waaseyaa means ‘first light from the rising sun.’” He shook his head. “I was born among the trees, but I have no roots. I escaped. I ran. I wander.”
Once he learned more words, Glint would talk to Gerard. To one made for dens, endless wandering sounded wretched. He wanted to know the bounds of his ter
ritory and to learn its every whiff and way. To protect it and to find pleasure in its peace. And to share it.
“You are a Reaver, then?” Glint asked. “Or would you like to be called Starmark.”
“Both are good names,” Waaseyaa said tentatively. “But I will have a new name when … when I keep my promise. I should wait.”
The boy’s scent twisted with secrets and fears, and Glint pulled him close. “You do not share my name, but you bear my crest, Waaseyaa the Wanderer. If you have made a promise, then you must keep it, and I will be your support.”
He clung and mumbled, “I can still belong to Glint?”
“Never doubt that, boy.”
Glint was pleased to see that his sigilcraft worked well enough. Waaseyaa’s presence was snug as a nutmeat in its shell. The giddying soul no longer stoked his senses and stirred his appetite. Even better, he was well-hidden from the predators who might still be on the hunt. But with Waaseyaa muffled, it was possible to pick out other points of brightness throughout the village.
Reaver’s men might be a raggle-taggle crew of mismatched humanity, but they gathered at the same circle. Those who worked on the wall, those who cleared the village center, those who minded the flocks, those who scavenged in forest and field—Glint could sense them all.
And that meant they were in danger.
Pact
When Swift, the white-muzzled bitch who’d borne him both a daughter and a son, succumbed to her years, Glint did not seek a new mate.
Path noticed.
“The boy demands too much attention.” Glint wasn’t sure why he felt the need to make excuses. “You have to admit he’s as bad as Dawn’s litter for getting into things.”
He had only ever had to deal with one pup at a time, so three left them feeling rather overrun.
“You will devote yourself to him?” asked Path. “Is he your new mate?”
Glint settled back, needing to explain. “There are different kinds of mates, but all require our loyalty. I took your mothers as mates to sire Kith, and so I am not alone. Denmates share a home. Packmates share blood. Pactmates share a promise. And if I were to choose and pursue an Amaranthine female, a mate who was my equal in every way, we would be bondmates.”
Path’s ears pricked and dipped, ending in cockeyed confusion. “When you take a village bitch, it is for breeding without bonding?”
“Your mother was Generous, and while she remained at my side, I pursued no other. But because she was a creature without words, my promise could not be returned. While I’d never say that made her devotion to me less real, we were unequal.”
“Is Waaseyaa your equal?”
Glint pondered that and finally decided, “We are not the same, but we both have words. I cannot imagine treating him as less that I am, nor would I be tempted to revere him as more than I am. So yes, he is my equal.”
“And me?”
“Are we not reasoning together?” He reached up and tugged his son’s ear. “We are equal.”
“Even though I cannot speak as you do?”
“You have words, and I can hear them. When I speak, you understand me. We are not the same, but what two individuals are?” Glint grinned up at his eldest. “We share the bonds of blood and of home.”
“Packmates. Denmates.”
“Yes.”
Path asked, “Would you share a pact with me?”
Glint stood and wrapped his arms around his son’s thick ruff. “If you yearn for more, I will not refuse. What promise shall we make?”
“I have watched you with Waaseyaa. You want a son.”
“I have you. I have your brothers and sisters.”
“Promise me you will find your equal. Promise me that your next mate can return your promise and become your bondmate.” Path softly added, “You deserve a true son.”
Glint growled. “You are my son. I’m proud of all of my children.”
Path’s head drooped, his ears low, tail tucking.
“Why would the son who so jealously guards his place at my side ask me to pursue another?” Glint was both angry and ashamed that his attentions to Waaseyaa had hurt his son. Path had been with him the longest, knew him best. It made no sense, and he grumbled, “Me, take a bondmate? And this from the stubborn whelp who refuses one.”
Path whimpered.
“I’m not angry.” Glint held on tight and stroked his son’s fur. “I am confused, though. Who put this nonsense in your head?”
“Your star.”
“I hadn’t realized it was singing again.”
“The boy demands much of your attention.”
Glint did not appreciate having his excuses turned against him. He grunted and growled, but only asked, “Well?”
Path hesitated a moment. “Do you have a brother?”
“I have many, but they are far from this place.”
“But … a best-loved brother?”
He didn’t want to speak of the past, but neither could he deny it. “The star has been singing about me?”
Path nodded—a human quirk he’d learned from Waaseyaa.
Glint heaved a sigh. “My twin. I loved him better than any other person in this world. But he was chosen by another, and he liked her pursuit.”
“Pursuit?”
“Like when Dawn came into her own and Soon and Rile noticed, but she showed her preference for Trio.” He looked away. “I made the same promise to my brother that you made to me—to be his and no one else’s. But a female who was his equal made an offer for him. He was her choice, and she became his choice.”
Path was silent for a long time. “Females choose?”
Glint chuckled. “In a bond between equals, each chooses the other. But in Bel’s case, the female chose first. It’s hard to explain. He was a dex, so that’s the way it had to be.”
“Are you a dex?”
“I live as one.”
Path’s tail took on a sway. “I understand. Now will you share my pact?”
“In a pact of this nature, promises are usually exchanged.” Inspiration hit. “How about this. You want me to take a bondmate so you can meet my ‘true son.’ In return, you must take a bondmate someday, so that I can meet your son.”
“I do not want a mate.”
“If you are going to ask the impossible of me, I should be able to ask as much of you.”
“Why impossible?”
“Path, there are no Amaranthine dogs for me to pursue. I am the First of Dogs, and there are no others.”
His son’s eyes narrowed. “You were born without a mother?”
“My mother is a wolf.”
One ear cocked. “How does a wolf become a dog?”
“By listening to stars.” Glint’s smile turned wry. “By walking away.”
“What about your son?”
“Which son? I have many.”
“The son born to your bondmate.”
“What if it’s a daughter?” Glint asked, just to be contrary.
“Would they be a Starmark?” asked Path. “Would they be a dog?”
He allowed himself to imagine such a future. “Yes. A dog.”
Path nosed his father’s forehead, then licked his cheek. “Be my pactmate.”
“I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep.”
“It will be kept.” His son’s voice had a teasing lilt. “Your star said the moon is tracking you, and its radiance will touch your face.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You are chosen,” Path said simply.
Glint didn’t exactly doubt his son or the star. Both were his by the Maker’s design. All he could do was wait and watch and wait some more. And work with Waaseyaa in the meantime. “Yes, Path. I accept your pledge and give mine in return—a son for a son. May they each be a tribute to the Starmark clan.”
Ward
Before their short summer ended, a caravan arrived bringing more of Reaver’s people to Wardenclave. Colonists. Men and women, outcasts and or
phans, and if Pace’s and Soon’s excited descriptions were correct, a small group of Amaranthine.
“What kind?” asked Glint.
Soon sat back on his haunches. “Not like us.”
Perhaps Glint shouldn’t have been so grateful that no wolves had entered his territory. An interested female could have meant the swift fulfillment of his pact with Path.
As if lasting bonds were ever swift or easy.
Propping his hands on his hips, he glared up at the star dancing in the twilit sky. Rather than showing any sign of contrition over Glint’s ever-lengthening wait, it blazed twice as bright as usual, as if celebrating the arrival of so many sparkling souls.
The newcomers were better warded and better armed, but if Glint could taste them on the wind, so could any determined tracker. He hoped the promised barrier wouldn’t be long in rising.
Gerard strode forward with two other men and tried to initiate a proper introduction, but the darker of the two cut across his words to demand, “What have you done with the Twinned Child?”
Glint glanced at Gerard, trying to get a sense of what was happening.
“Waaseyaa,” he explained. “He seems to be missing.”
This was the first Glint had heard of Waaseyaa being a twin. “He has a sibling among you? I thought he was all alone.” Inwardly, he ordered whoever among his Kith had the boy to bring him quickly.
“Coming!”
That was Trio, and Glint turned and smiled at the sight they made. Waaseyaa was riding on Trio’s back, with three pups gamboling around his paws, doing their level best to trip up their father. Waaseyaa beamed as if he’d taught Trio a new trick.
“My pack is fond of the boy,” said Glint in mild reproach. “We watch over him.”
“You warded him?” interrupted the other man, a flaxen-haired fellow with a pointed beard and eyes the hue of a morning sky. “I have never heard of a ward so … personal! But how is it anchored?”
Before Glint could explain, the other one thrust out his hands, gruffly giving his name as Brings the Wind. “Please, forgive me. When I thought him gone, I assumed the worst. His loss would devastate our plans for Wardenclave. But to have found a place among wolves!”