by H. D. Gordon
“Some of them will die,” Ozias replied, knowing that if they all did indeed fight together, their chances of success were much higher, but at the same time, some loss was inevitable.
“We’re dead or enslaved either way,” Nahari told him.
And then there were other knocks on his mental walls, so many at once that he was helpless to stop at least some of the voices from slipping through.
“Free us! We’ll fight!”
“We can help, so let us.”
“I won’t go back to life as a working lady. I won’t.”
“Open the wagons and let us fight!”
Ozias lowered his head, shutting his eyes, his ears flattening as he pushed back against the telepathic onslaught.
“Okay!” he replied. “I got it, so what’s the plan?”
He didn’t need to look through the trees to know that Nahari was smiling. He could hear it in her voice.
“The Wolves in the front wagon will create a distraction,” she said. “When the Hounds head over to check it out, you unlock our wagon and let us out. Then, we’ll shift, fight, and free the others, who will also fight.”
Ozias cast a glance at the four wagons where they trundled along the pass, at the occupants inside. He had his doubts, but what right did he have to tell these Wolves that they couldn’t fight for their own freedom? And voicing his doubts would do nothing to aid the situation.
So he agreed.
“Ready when you are,” he said.
Moments later, a chorus of snarls and yelps, snaps and growls erupted from the front wagon. The Hound driving it cursed, yanked on the reins of the horses, and barked an order for the captives to quiet down.
When the fighting within the first wagon continued, a few of the Hounds approached, hands at their whips and orders flying from their lips. Despite this, the ruckus continued, and drew more of the Hounds away from the other wagons.
Ozias was already in motion. He moved with the speed and precision that had earned his survival in The Ring more than a few times. He shifted into his mortal form and snuck up on the Hound guarding the last wagon, snapping the male’s neck and catching his body before lowering it quietly to the ground.
The sound of his neck breaking was loud enough, however, because the second Hound assigned to the last wagon whipped around.
But Nahari was ready. “Hey, dumbass,” she said softly, drawing the male’s eyes.
The insult bought the moment of surprise that was needed, and Ozias broke his neck in the same fashion as he had the other’s.
That was all the time they had. The Hound driving the wagon spotted Ozias.
“Ambush!” he called out to his comrades, who were still mostly gathered around the first wagon, where the fighting therein continued, even as the Hounds banged on the bars with their batons.
Ozias was already at the door of the rear wagon, fumbling to fit the key he’d stolen from the body of the Hound into the lock.
Nahari’s eyes widened as she looked over his shoulder at the approach of the others. “Hurry, Ozias!” she said.
“I’m trying,” he gritted out. In seconds, the Hounds would fall upon him.
At last, the key clicked in the lock. He tore off the padlock just as he felt the breath of the Hounds on his neck. The door of the wagon swung open, the Hounds reaching him at the same moment. He braced himself for the impact, turning to engage in the fight.
The Hound that was nearest never got a chance to touch him.
The females in the wagon came flying out, a few of them—including Nahari—shifting into their Wolf forms in mid-air. Nahari, her coat as dark as the night sky above, teeth bared and eyes glowing golden, went right for the throat.
The Hound went down, blood erupting from his neck.
More Wolves poured out of the wagon. The ones who weren’t fighting moved to free the others.
Ozias fought alongside them.
The battle was quicker and more brutal than he had prepared for, the females more formidable than he had given them credit for.
They took down the Hounds as though they’d been waiting an eternity to do so, as though reaping vengeance for all the times they’d been hurt, beaten, raped, and frightened by the males of their world. Not just vengeance for them, but for all their sisters who’d suffered so, across the realms, across the races.
When it was done, the blood and bodies of the Hounds littered the quiet pass through the forest. Ozias could only stare, wondering at how he’d thought so wrongly that he had no help in freeing these females, at how he’d overlooked their strength entirely.
Nahari shifted back into her mortal form and threw her arms around him, blood still marring her chin and hands instead of muzzle and paws. He wrapped her up, breathing in the scent of her, acutely aware of her nakedness, the world dropping away as he realized this was the first time he’d held her in his arms.
He did not want to let go.
But he released her when she pulled back from him.
She looked over her shoulder at the other females, the lot of them having gathered, and were now staring at the two of them.
Nahari’s hair shifted, a silky ebony curtain, and he resisted the urge to sink his fingers into it, to draw her close again. She tilted up her chin, her golden eyes full of fire. “We can’t just leave them,” she said.
When Nahni came forward, breaking the tension between them and reaching up to him, her eyes wide, Ozias scooped up the child and marveled at the protectiveness that overcame him as she rested her little head in the crook of his neck.
“Then we won’t,” he said.
The smile Nahari gave him was more than worth the promise.
15
Aysari & Eryx
The Rite of Oleo.
Invoking it had saved them from immediate execution, but perhaps only prolonged the inevitable. It was not that she didn’t think she and Eryx could survive the trials, it was that they did not have time for this nonsense. So many people were counting on them.
But Tristell the Fae Queen loved theatrics the way the stars loved the night, and there would be no way out of this but through. All Aysari could do was pray that Adriel was strong enough to withstand the poison until they returned. She could not bear to fathom the alternative.
They were led through the trees by an escort of Guardians, weapons fixed upon their every move. Aysari tried not to let her mind stray to her sister, her mother and father, her long forgotten friends. Thinking of them, and whether the ones who’d been left alive were within the trees watching, would do no good at all.
When they came to the place where the Rite would be held, there were so many Fae and Forest creatures present that it was clear Tristell had called in half her kingdom to witness the event.
It was not everyday one got to witness the Rite of Oleo. The three trials would take place at the very center of a massive stone labyrinth known simply as The Warren. The Warren was as old as the Forest itself, having been built by the very first of the Fae Rulers, Aleyah the Kind.
The structure was massive, but the bulk of it was hidden underground, the stone columns choked with vines and the over-arching canopies of the Bur-burra trees thick enough to keep sunlight from penetrating The Warren’s depths.
Cylindrical in shape, The Warren boasted a large open courtyard in the very middle. This courtyard was visible on every tier, creating an underground arena of stone and earth that sat atop the cold labyrinth below. As Aysari and Eryx were shoved forward by the Guardians, she saw the courtyard was full, slanted eyes staring out from every tier.
The sight of all the gathered was enough to twist Aysari’s stomach, but she refused to let her eyes search the crowd for familiar faces. Instead, she fixed her gaze upon Tristell, who sat on the tier nearest the action. Her former friend would be considered beautiful, if not for the coldness of her heart. She sat upon a throne of ivy and Bur-burra, long gown shifting and flowing at her feet, sharp teeth bared in a grin, and slanted eyes gleaming with anticipati
on.
The crown that Aysari’s ancestors had once worn was perched atop her feathered head.
The crowd cooed and clicked, shuffling and ruffling their wings as the Fae Guardians forced Aysari and Eryx to their knees before their Queen.
“Aysari and Eryx,” Tristell began, “you have invoked the Rite of Oleo, and as such, you must complete three trials in order to secure a stay of execution.”
Her shrill voice carried throughout the old arena, as if hurried along by the vines. “To complete the Rite you must tame a beast, break a bond, and give a gift. These things must be done of your own free will, or the Rite will not hold true. Do you enter the Rite of your own free will?”
“We do,” Aysari and Eryx said at the same time.
The Fae Queen gave a shark’s smile. “Very well,” she said, folding her taloned fingers in her lap. “Release the beast.”
The Fae Guardians who’d escorted them here unfolded their wings and settled upon the tiers overlooking the courtyard in which Aysari and her mate stood. The people in the stands did not cheer and jeer, but rather, sat silently at the prospect of what was to take place. Unlike the Wolves and other creatures of the realms who reveled in violence and brutality, the Fae were too reverent of life to behave in such a way.
But they also believed strongly in tradition, and the Rite was among the oldest of their kind. They would bear witness, but that did not mean they had to like it. The Forest children were the ones it would leave the biggest impression on, which Aysari knew from experience. She’d been but a Faeling when she’d witnessed her first Rite. The participant had not made it past the first trial.
The beast had torn the poor bastard to shreds.
That was all the time there was for such musings, because a growl rippled across the arena, rebounding from the rocky columns and walls. It was so deep and menacing that the feathers on Aysari’s neck tickled.
Eryx’s dragonfly-like wings peeled free of his muscular back as her feathered wings did the same. Their gazes were fixed on the dark archway through which the growl had echoed. A heartbeat later, two large amber eyes flickered in the darkness.
A beast more massive than any Aysari had ever seen stepped out of the shadows. Though she had only ever seen one in real life, and many years ago at that, she knew that it was a Great Beast, likely from the magical plains of the Sorcerer realm.
The Great Cat stepped into the light of the flickering emerald torches surrounding the arena, and there was a collective intake of breath from the crowd. There was a chain around its massive neck, so tight that the scarred skin had grown around the metal. The cat was large enough that it stood as tall on four legs as Aysari did on two. Its paws were the size of Burra melons at the height of summer. In its eyes was the hopeless craze of an animal never meant to be held captive.
Though the sight of the beast made fear spiral within her, Aysari’s heart hurt for the lioness. How long had Tristell held her captive? Aysari knew that the Great Cats liked to belong to prides, so where were the loved ones of this captive cat? How had Tristell managed to capture such a majestic creature?
During the Rite Aysari had witnessed as a child, a Great Primate had been the beast to be tamed. The giant silverback male had smashed the Fae to a pulp under heavy black fists.
Staring into the glowing golden gaze of the lioness, Aysari wasn’t sure which was worse.
The Rite had been created to be nearly impossible, as no one had ever heard of a Great Beast that had been tamed.
Below the rumbling purr of the cat stalking toward them with hunger in its eyes, Eryx said, “I love you, Aysari. I always have.”
To Aysari, it sounded like a goodbye.
Fae were not like most of the other creatures wandering the realms; they had a specific connection to life as a whole, or more precisely, they were more aware of the connection between life as a whole.
As children, the Fae learned that all life had value, and that beneath the illusions of the senses, all life was one. They learned the language of the trees, which was the oldest in all the realms, and listened to the whisperings of the earth. This was part of the reason why Tristell the Fae Queen had been such an anomaly during her dark reign; she did not respect life, but rather, seemed to rejoice in the reaping of it.
Aysari could not have been more the opposite, and if things had gone differently on that day so long ago, she would be the one wearing the crown and the world of the Fae would be very different for it.
Eryx adopted a fighter’s stance beside her, dodging a lunge from the lioness and clearly trying to lead the beast away in an attempt to spare her. But Aysari had glimpsed the pain and anguish in the animal’s eyes, and she did not want to fight it.
She lowered herself to her knees, then slowly lowered her forehead to the floor of the Forest, as if she were praying.
The crowd was dead silent as Aysari’s kneeling caught the attention of the cat. Eryx opened his mouth to protest, but Aysari held up a hand to stop him. Then she opened herself fully to the beast.
A feral feeling swept over her in a wave, but beneath it, Aysari found what she’d hoped to; emotions and memories as complex as any creature walking upon two legs.
The cat stalked closer, its body preparing to pounce, to tear into Aysari, where she remained bowed before it. Aysari reached out with her spirit, and the cat paused in its tracks.
There was a gasp from the crowd, but Aysari hardly heard it.
“I am sorry,” Aysari told the beast, “you don’t belong in a place like this.”
Aysari did not know if the cat understood her, though she’d used the common tongue that was employed across the realms. She knew only that she had not yet been eaten, so that was a good thing.
“Then tell your Queen to remove this collar from my neck and return me to my homelands,” purred a voice as smooth as Burra butter.
Though the words were clear and audible in her head, Aysari almost could not believe it. There were rumors that the Great Beasts could speak with those whom they wished, but no one had ever confirmed it.
“Let us go,” Aysari said. “And I will return and free you.”
The lioness responded in a low growl. “Two-Legs are liars. The whole lot of you.”
“You can kill me and my mate, but then you’ll still be trapped here. If you let us live, there is the chance I will return and do as I say, don’t you agree?”
The cat said nothing.
The crowd perched on the edges of their seats. Aysari’s heart thudded heavily in her chest.
“She keeps me locked in the labyrinth below this place,” the cat replied at last. “How would you get me free?”
“I have friends,” Aysari replied. “Friends with magic in their blood. One of them is dying as we speak. He’s why I must hurry. If you stand down, I will return for you. You have my word.”
“But I am hungry,” the cat purred, taking a couple slow and terrifying steps toward her, massive head still lowered between her muscular shoulders. “So very hungry. Your queen does not feed me often.”
Two more steps forward, power coiling in the cat’s hindquarters. Aysari remained in her submissive and vulnerable position, forcing all of her Fae persuasive magic onto the Great Cat. She could feel the closeness of her demise, carried on the hot breeze of the feline’s breath.
An eternity seemed to pass in the space of a few seconds. Then, the cat said, “Rise child of the Forest. I will not kill you on this day.”
Slowly, hardly believing it, Aysari climbed to her feet, blinking at the giant lioness with wide eyes. “Thank you,” she said.
The crowd, not even the overly dramatic Fae Queen herself, uttered not a sound. Aysari and Eryx should be dead already.
“Don’t thank me,” replied the cat as she turned in a lazy manner, heading back into the hole in the earth to which the chain around her neck linked her, long tail swishing slowly behind her. “Just keep your promise. Save your friend, and then come set me free.”
Once t
he lioness was out of sight, Aysari nearly collapsed with relief. Her heart was pounding hard enough that she could feel her pulse in her throat.
Eryx took her hand, and the two Fae stood side-by-side as they met the gaze of the Fae Queen.
Tristell did not look pleased.
“Congratulations,” the Fae Queen cooed through clenched teeth. “You passed the first trial. Two more to go, and you’ll be on your way home.”
The way the Fae Queen said this left no doubt that she had no intention of losing today. Even if Aysari and Eryx won, Tristell would make sure that she was paid her due.
They passed the second trial. This time, because Eryx sacrificed a blood right that was the last connection to his family. The tattoo he’d received in this very Forest as a child disappeared from his skin as though it had never been, and Aysari felt the loss of it as if it were her own.
Tristell’s grin during this was enough to bring murder to Aysari’s marrow.
Then, the third trial came, and a gift would need to be offered.
“What do you want?” Aysari asked the Queen, eager to be done with this and back to Adriel.
Every razor sharp tooth in the Fae Queen’s mouth was visible when she said, “An acceptable gift for the final trial of the Rite of Oleo must be generous and highly valuable.”
Aysari and Eryx held their breath. They would not forfeit each other. They’d rather die together.
But the Fae Queen did not ask for one of their lives.
She asked for their wings.
16
Rook
Wolves were flooding into Dogshead in droves.
There was so much to be done, so much to prepare for.
And all I could think about was Adriel. Was he okay? Had Aysari and Eryx succeeded in getting the water from the Silver River? Had it healed him? I’d asked Asha if there was any word from Mina so many times that she’d finally just told me to go sit my ass down somewhere, because when she knew, I would know.