by Forthright
“Dogs,” Glint firmly corrected.
“I have never encountered a dog clan.” Hemet was not a tall man, but he wasn’t lacking in enthusiasm. “You are a ward? We found a warded farm on the edge of town. It must be yours—the warding, not the farm. Or are you a farmer?”
As Gerard did his best to explain a pack’s presence in the middle of their village, Glint contemplated the newcomers, automatically relating them to animals of his acquaintance. Hemet was sturdy as a wild pony and just as prone to prancing. He wheeled and exclaimed and complimented every aspect of their view.
Brings the Wind had the bearing of a falcon and was equally inscrutable.
Both piqued his interest, but not with Waaseyaa’s command. Compared to them, his boy burned like a small sun, and Glint could find no clan comparison. His first impression lingered still. Waaseyaa was an angel, and his presence was becoming increasingly entwined with Glint’s feelings of strength and hope and purpose. If Soriel’s message had sent him here simply so he could meet Waaseyaa, then his solitude and centuries were well spent.
Of the four Amaranthine who arrived with the caravan, the first to seek him out was from one of the moth clans. Linlu Dimityblest was lithe and soft-spoken, with short hair mottled in powdery shades of brown and cream. The irises of his large eyes were nearly the same color as his skin—cool as river clay and glossy with interest. “You are a wolf.”
“I am a son of the packs,” he conceded. “But anything made can be remade. I am a dog. The first of my clan.”
“Do you know of enclaves?”
“Not by that name.” Glint thought back to the discussions at his last few Song Circles. “Alliances between clans have always seemed wise to me, but the cooperatives I heard about formed to hide from human encroachment. You’re building with them.”
“Gerard is on a crusade, and we support his purposes.”
“And what are those purposes?” Glint was glad for this chance of a more thorough explanation than limited vocabularies had previously allowed.
“The ancient groves are gone. The tree-kin are scattered. Our guide calls them a flock without a shepherd.” Linlu’s dainty hands fluttered. “We have gathered them up to give them safe haven. Wardenclave will be their home.”
Glint eyed him with concern. “What safety can moths, rabbits, and squirrels offer?”
“Camouflage.” Linlu reached out to catch Glint’s sleeve. “But you are strong. Do you intend to remain with us here?”
“I’m here by the Maker’s leading, but I’m not privy to His purposes. All I know for certain is that I cannot leave unless my star leads.”
“Then we are similarly guided.” Linlu lifted his face to the spark that could be seen faintly against the blue of the sky. “Gerard chose me because I am sensitive to Impressions.”
Only children believed in lorefolk, the so-called lost clans. Glint might have been more skeptical of Linlu’s claim if he hadn’t been sent out by an angel and trudged across tundras in the wake of a star.
“They’re twins, you know—those stars.”
Glint had thought his star brighter. Perhaps it was, but only because it no longer danced alone.
Linlu said, “You are protecting the boy.”
He grunted an affirmative.
“His soul is especially clear and sweet. The brightest I have seen in three generations.” With a reverent tone, he added, “My people call those like Waaseyaa beacons. He pulls people like us toward him.”
Again, Glint grunted.
“You are patient.”
He frowned. “With the boy? He’s a child.”
“He’s a tempting prospect. Those who pursue us haven’t the patience to cultivate a community like ours and the communion it fosters.” Linlu edged closer, his voice dropping. “Have you noticed a change within yourself since the boy entered your care?”
Glint inclined his head. “I have less difficulty forming sigils, and those I create are more effective.”
“Your reserves will double and redouble, and in truest form, you will gain in both speed and stature.” Linlu’s hands flowed gracefully as he spoke. “Little by little, as you tend to such a child, they tend to you. Strength for protection. And greater protection due to increasing strength.”
“An exchange of sorts,” Glint mused.
“Mutually beneficial,” he agreed. “However, some have no patience. Rather than nurture a potent soul, they snatch at strength, tearing and consuming. So many have been lost already. These humans are growing increasingly rare.”
“So Gerard is collecting them to keep their kind from being hunted out of existence.”
“Yes.”
“Why bring them here?”
Linlu’s laugh was a gentle vibration, like wind through leaves. “The Maker of one path can surely make another.”
Glint remembered Linlu’s mention of a guide and squinted into the sky. “I was visited by an angel called Soriel. Ever heard that name?”
“No.” The moth clansman’s expression softened. “Ours was Auriel.”
Now that was a name Glint knew. “Auriel of the Golden Seed?”
“The very same.” Linlu’s hand drummed lightly over his heart. “I am glad to learn there is so much truth in the old tales. We may all be here to witness a dawning.”
Threat
Even though Glint had come from a different direction and without any intention of founding an enclave, Linlu Dimityblest included his name on the charter, and the other Amaranthine deferred to Glint as if he were their leader.
“You have more years,” reasoned Bram Duntuffet, a fast-talking rabbit who excelled at foraging.
“And you have our support,” added Colt Hannick Alpenglow, a healer whose cart was a rolling herbiary.
Glint’s gaze lifted to the branch where the final Amaranthine member of Reaver’s team lounged. Salali Fullstash pulled a floppy-brimmed hat low over his eyes. Based on the subtle strength Glint could sense lurking behind his lazy exterior, the squirrel clansman might have taken charge. In fact, he probably had over the course of their journey. But now that they’d arrived, Salali was only too happy to yield.
“Lead on, pooch.” The gray-haired Amaranthine only smirked and waved off Glint’s glare. “We’ll call it ‘divine right’ and expect great things of you. No pressure.”
Linlu’s smile was far too pleased. “With your agreement, we will be unanimous.”
Glint considered the moth, whose pen poised over the book he was already writing, a record of Wardenclave’s founding. Maybe this was an honor. He should probably take it seriously. But it didn’t feel like he was making history … just picking up everyone else’s slack. Even so, he mustered a bit of dignity. “I am where I belong. The people of Wardenclave may count on the Starmark clan’s protection.”
With a flourish of his pen, Linlu intoned, “So it has been agreed. So let it be done.”
The attack came without warning—torrents and tremors. A battering began overhead, testing the strength of Hemet’s barrier. Something else was hitting low. Based on the noise of scrabbling and the shift and rattle of stones, Glint could only assume the wall itself was in danger. If their attackers pried away Hemet’s sigil-bearing crystals, Wardenclave’s defenses would fall.
“What are we looking at?” whispered Linlu, who blinked nearsightedly.
“Foxes,” snapped Bram, who shifted a short club from hand to hand. “Same lot that picked up our scent two mountain ranges back.”
“The wards?” asked Hannick.
“Holding,” said Salali. “Barely.”
Glint bit back a growl as Waaseyaa scrambled up the rise and barreled into his side. “I told you to stay with Path.”
“I did. He came with me.” The boy’s gaze darted from wall to sky. “They found us again?”
Just then, Hemet took a stand midway between the center of town and the stone wall. With a chunk of crystal in each hand, he sent a wave of power outward. The initial crack set Glint’s ha
irs on end, and an aftershock singed their tips.
“That smarts,” muttered Bram.
Salali was already throwing up a defensive barrier. “Keep your whiskers on.”
“What exactly did he do?” demanded Glint. He’d never seen a human capable of harnessing any portion of their soul. Admittedly, Reaver’s people were fundamentally different—as different as his Kith were from their mothers.
“Hemet can create barriers, but he’s even better with attacks. The crystals amplify his intent into an act of violence.” Salali flashed a wry smile. “Don’t underestimate these humans.”
“Neither them nor cornered rodents.” Glint braced himself against the backlash of another outburst. “Hasn’t anyone tried refining his attack? If the crystal is his anchor, why not use it as a focus as well. Less waste. More damage.”
Bram shot him an assessing look. “Spoken like a tribute. Were you set apart for war?”
“I’m not sure why I was set apart.”
Salali’s hands flashed, pulling complex patterns seemingly out of nowhere. As their lines snapped into place and gained strength, he drawled, “Is this really the time for a chat about sigilcraft and destiny? Refine later. Survive now.”
Glint scanned the wall, picking out the places where his own sigils held the line. “Waaseyaa, can you do things like that?”
The boy shook his head.
Bram said, “A shame, given his considerable resources.”
“He doesn’t respond to any of Hemet’s crystals, either,” said Salali, his voice tight. “Not to say there aren’t other types we can tune, but remnants are a limited resource. We’re hoping Bram will find more in these parts.”
“Is this really the time for a chat about mountain lore and mining?” The rabbit’s nose wrinkled and twitched. “Ward me, so I can get in there.”
Team
Glint watched the humans rally and rush, using wave after wave of raw power to drive back the three foxes beyond their boundary. From his vantage, it wasn’t hard to spot the weakness in their strategy. Hemet’s attacks had a limited range, so all their opponents needed to do was pull back to a safe distance. Having determined the length of Wardenclave’s tether, they dodged the brunt of every blast.
“He needs to get in closer,” muttered Glint.
“True enough,” conceded Salali. “But we cannot withstand Hemet’s destructive force.”
“Bram’s doing well enough.”
The squirrel offered a thin smile. “My warding only holds up for a little while—five, six blasts at best.”
Glint’s mind was reeling through ways to improve on their system. If Reaver’s men and Amaranthine were to work in tandem, shielding might help, but focusing the attack would be better for everyone. It was an intriguing puzzle.
Pushing those thoughts aside for later, Glint said, “Those foxes are going to drag this out in order to wear Hemet down. We need him and his crystals up under their chins if we’re going to wipe those grins from their faces.”
“I’ll do it!”
Glint turned, startled to find Trio pawing the grass. “Do what?”
“Let me carry the Reaver to the enemy.” He barked for emphasis. “It’s my right. My pups are in danger.”
“As are mine,” Glint gruffly reminded.
Trio’s gaze didn’t waver. “Come with me.”
It wasn’t a bad plan. With a resigned huff, he ordered, “Trio, carry Salali. Salali, be flashy. Create a distraction. Have Bram withdraw, and see if you can lure one of those pests into closer quarters. I’ll carry Hemet.”
“Simple enough. Ward yourself well.” Then Salali was offering his palms to Trio, and they sprang away together.
“Waaseyaa, stay with Path. He’ll protect you.”
“With my life.”
The boy knotted his fingers into Path’s fur and whispered, “I promise.”
Glint knew he could make use of the sigils already embroidered into his tunic. The wards would render him—and Hemet—hard to notice. Mindful of his promise to the Maker, he strolled into battle. Advancing at his ordained pace. Every step a choice.
Glint only looked back once, to make certain Waaseyaa was safe. He needn’t have worried for the boy. Path had stayed back, as promised, but he also rallied his brothers to follow Glint’s lead.
Rile now carried Brings the Wind. Pace and Soon also found partners from among Reaver’s men. Young Edge had even charged in, presenting himself to Gerard.
Glint took the time to ignite several sigils and bolster his sons’ defenses. He didn’t like seeing his pack endangered, but the dogs were far more suited to war with foxes than the frighteningly vulnerable colonists.
“I’ll carry you.”
Hemet rounded on him, his face a mask of confusion.
Glint repeated, “I’ll carry you. On my back. In truest form.”
“Oh!” The man’s grip on his crystals tightened. “Are you sure, Glint? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Keep that thought foremost in your mind, and your soul won’t consider mine a threat.” He clapped the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. I’ve taken measures to protect myself and my dogs.”
Hemet’s gaze hardened. “Together, then!”
Transformation at close quarters left Glint and Hemet momentarily stunned, and for similar reasons. The man clearly hadn’t expected to be facing such a large beast, and Glint hadn’t expected to tower so far over the field. It took a moment to haul himself into tight enough control to maintain a size closer to that of his Kith, making it much easier for Hemet to climb aboard.
The proximity of the man’s crystals and conjurations rattled Glint to the very core of his being. But Hemet’s searing attacks never turned on his mount. A promising sign. Reaver’s men could be taught.
Under the cover of Glint’s sigils, they made their way beyond the quavering barrier, and as soon as they were close enough, Hemet’s power came crashing down on the nearest fox. The lone male dropped, killed outright, and the other two recoiled and retreated.
The dogs of the Starmark pack howled in defiance.
Reaver’s men raised their fists and roared victoriously.
Not a soul lost.
Glint lifted his nose to the twin stars dancing in the evening sky and sang out a promise. To the Maker and his angels, to Reaver and his Amaranthine allies, to Waaseyaa and his packmates. Wardenclave was his to guard, and by the Maker, all its people would be safe.
Back in the safety of his den, Glint reassured himself by checking and brushing each of his children. Now that the brief skirmish was over, his heart lurched, and his hands trembled. As proud as he was of his sons, Glint quailed before the belated realization that any of them could have been hurt.
Worse, that possibility remained if the vixens they’d driven off proved vindictive.
Perhaps he should offer to work with Hemet. And Bram seemed to be a scrapper. Maybe the rabbit could show his Kith how to defend themselves while they defended the mountain.
Not until he’d finished brushing the smallest pup did Glint turn his attention to Waaseyaa. The boy had definitely caught his mood and remained quiet, curled into a tight ball between Path’s forepaws.
“I haven’t forgotten you.” Glint beckoned.
Waaseyaa crawled forward, wide-eyed and wilted.
Gathering him up, Glint teasingly went through the motions, checking for injuries and chuffing the boy under his chin. He even loosened Waaseyaa’s braid in order to brush out his hair, just as he’d done for his own.
The boy made a small noise of protest.
“No?”
Waaseyaa flushed. “I’m too old for this.”
“How old are you supposed to be?”
“Practically grown!”
“Oho?” Glint hid his smile. “Well, I’m not too old for this, and I can boast centuries.”
“How many?”
He paused to ponder. It was harder to keep track without marking every Song Circle. Finally, he g
uessed, “Four, I think.”
“Truly?”
Glint chuckled. “I will go on and on for ages innumerable, but you are young. Be young.”
Waaseyaa’s dark eyes slowly filled with tears, and he curled into Glint. “Promise?”
“What pledge do you need from me?”
“Go on and on?”
“Is that all?” Glint kissed the boy’s forehead. “That’s how I was made. I can share all your years, Waaseyaa. Gladly.”
The boy burst into tears and didn’t stop until he’d cried himself to sleep.
“I don’t understand.” Path’s voice was taut with concern and confusion.
“Strong emotions can lead to tears,” murmured Glint. “Consider them a compliment. He’s found a safe place to let them fall.”
“But I thought tears were a mark of sadness.” Path snuffled lightly. “This scent is different.”
“I know.” Glint brushed hair away from Waaseyaa’s forehead. He’d been close to a similarly complex scent once before—when Bel told him of his suitor. “These were tears of joy.”
Seed
Glint watched Waaseyaa wake, let him wriggle free to attend to his morning needs, and welcomed him back to the warmth of the pack … all without a word. The boy crowded close, and Glint offered the smallest of hums to let him know he was listening.
With a sigh, Waaseyaa began, “I was born in a wood where trees still sang.”
An old grove? Glint had never given much credence to the sagas of storytellers, but lore seemed to be springing to life all around him.
“I was born to be sent.” Waaseyaa’s voice was steady, sure. “I am part of the scattering.”
Having himself been sent away from his home, Glint’s hum held sympathy.
“I was ….” Waaseyaa looked up, searching Glint’s face as he revealed, “I was born with a seed in my hand.”