Haven Lost

by Josh de Lioncourt

  After another hour, they came to a small brook that cut across the path. Corbbmacc halted at last, slid off his saddle and, in the same movement, stretched his stiff limbs.

  Michael followed his lead, dismounting with a fluid motion that would’ve been the envy of any cowboy on the great frontier. He took a few steps to the edge of the water, knelt, and dunked his head beneath the running water.

  Emily guided Storm to a stop beside Corbbmacc, and she and Celine got down, grimacing. She stretched, wincing as her spine crackled. She felt sore and exhausted. Gentle as Storm may have been, riding was still hard work.

  Wordlessly, the three of them followed Michael’s lead and were soon kneeling on the bank, splashing the cool, clean water on their hot faces and gulping great mouthfuls. It was bliss. The horses contemplated their masters, then joined them.

  After a time, Corbbmacc left the water’s edge and threw himself on the soft grass beside the path, crossing his arms behind his head and looking up into the trees.

  “So you want to know where we’re going,” he said, almost too low to be heard over the splashes and babble of the running water. Emily turned to face him, water running down her face and inside her collar. It felt divine. She wanted to bathe almost as badly as she wanted a cup of coffee, but she didn’t like the idea of separating from the others for the privacy—certainly not while surrounded by all these trees. The image of the single blue eye staring at her from the trunk of the tree at Seven Skies kept forcing its way to the forefront of her mind, and it made her feel as though they were being watched. She kept telling herself that was ridiculous, but was it really?

  Wiping the water from her face, she went to join Corbbmacc. She lay down beside him and studied his expression in the patterns of light and shadow. He didn’t look at her but only continued to stare up into the branches. Sunlight dappled his face, emphasizing the looks that were at such odds with his demeanor. He closed his eyes, pretending not to notice her looking, and went on.

  “To start with, I’m taking you to Paige in Hellsgate. We were supposed to bring the kid to her, and by now she should have instructions as to what to do with him.”

  “His name is Michael,” she said, looking up into the branches herself. They moved gently in the breeze, and she had to fight the urge to leap to her feet and make a run for it.

  “Is it? He’s just some kid as far as I’m concerned. I don’t know why Paige is bothering with him. It’s a waste of time and…” He broke off.

  Emily waited for him to go on, but he didn’t.

  “And?” she prompted at last.

  “And lives.” He sighed. “Jacob…he was a friend of mine…and a good man.”

  “Jacob?”

  “Yeah. The man Marianne slaughtered in the square yesterday.” His tone was bitter, and his voice cracked on the last word. “He had nothing to do with the attack on the inn. None of us did.”

  “Then who…”

  “I don’t know,” he spat, sitting up and glowering down at her. “Paige thinks there are members who aren’t happy with the way things are going and have taken matters into their own hands. God knows, that wouldn’t surprise me.”

  Emily sat up, too. She watched Celine as she used handfuls of water to wash the rest of the blood from Michael’s hair and face. The dark shadow of stubble was beginning to appear on his chin and cheeks, and for the first time, Emily wondered how it was that he’d been locked up down in that dungeon, and yet had been clean shaven. What was that quote by Winston Churchill that her history teacher had highlighted? “A riddle, wrapped up in a mystery, inside an enigma…”, or something like that. He’d been trying to draw some parallel between the uncertainty of Russia’s position at the start of World War II and the war in Afghanistan after September eleventh. It hadn’t made much sense to her then, but the phrase had stuck in her mind. It had been a perfect description of how she felt about the knowing. That seemed laughable to her now. The knowing was absolutely mundane compared to what she’d been through these last two weeks.

  She looked back at Corbbmacc. He, too, was watching Celine as she tended to Michael.

  “Who is this Paige person, anyway?” she asked.

  “She’s the head of the Dragon’s Brood in Hellsgate.”

  “And what does she want with Michael?”

  “Jesus!” He looked back at her, thoroughly exasperated. “Do you ever stop asking questions?”

  “Yeah, once I get all the answers I want.”

  She could have sworn she saw his lips twitch, but he quickly hid it behind a scowl.

  “I don’t think she wants anything with Michael. It’s the wizard who wants him.”

  Now it was Emily’s turn to huff in exasperation. She was sick to death of sorceresses and wizards and trees that tried to rip her to pieces. She wanted a gingerbread latte, a hot shower, and to feel a good, stiff, illegal body check that laid her flat out on the ice. Anything, so long as it was normal, sensible, and didn’t involve some kind of insane magic shit.

  “Okay,” she said slowly, forcing herself to be calm. “And who is that?”

  Corbbmacc snorted. “Ask Paige. I really have no idea. He calls the shots. That’s about all I can tell you.”

  Corbbmacc got to his feet, brushing bits of grass off his arms.

  “Come on,” he said. “Time to get moving again.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Emily wasn’t sure what had wakened her. A sound, perhaps, of some creature making its way through the forest. She lay still, listening to the crickets. Wind rustled through the leaves above her, an owl hooted mournfully.

  Beside her, the slow, familiar rhythm of Celine’s breathing mingled and blended with the sounds of the night. Further away, she could hear Michael’s gentle snores.

  Her body ached from the hard riding they’d done that day, only stopping a couple of times to rest and water the horses. When they’d finally camped for the night, she’d thought that nothing in the world would be able to wake her before dawn. Apparently, she’d been wrong about that.

  …Scratch…scratch…

  The sound was only a few inches away from her face. She tensed, listened, and waited. Maybe it would just go away. Please go away? All she wanted to do was go back to sleep.

  …Scratch…

  She opened her eyes. The darkness was nearly total. She could just make out the vague shapes of branches above her. Starlight winked down at her from between them, and the world was drawn in layers of black upon black.

  Slowly, she turned her head in the direction of the sound, straining to see. The memory of the bird that had roused her from the window sill at Seven Skies was far too clear in her mind. She could still see its eyes peering at her from the ends of long, quivering pink stalks. She shuddered.

  …Scratch…scratch scratch scratch…

  A pair of enormous silver-gray eyes appeared in the dark. They stared into hers, exuding their own unearthly luminescence. Emily sucked in a breath, and, with a jolt, her heart missed a beat.

  Stay calm, she told herself. Grotesque as they may have been, she’d had more trouble with the plant life than the beasts of the forest. She needed to stay calm and think rationally. What was it they always told you about wild animals? They are always more afraid of you than you are of them. That was all fine and well back in Minnesota, but she thought that it might be bullshit in this lunatic land of cyclopian donkeys and two-headed crows. All the same, she willed her heart to slow down.

  She slowly shifted her position, reaching for her sword where it lay between her and Celine. The eyes blinked at her but did not back away.

  …Scratch…

  It was trying to get into her saddlebag where she’d stuffed the jerky earlier. It was hungry, that was all. Her fingers closed on the handle of her sword.

  She was about to swing it around to shield herself as she sat up, when the eyes blinked again.

  “Meow.”

  Emily relaxed, smiling a little into the darkness and laughing at herse
lf. It was just a cat! Thank God…just a cat.

  She let go of her sword, sat up slowly, and turned to face her visitor. The cat backed away a few feet. In the dark, it was hard to see much of anything beyond a vague shadow and those huge silvery eyes.

  She reached out, quietly opened the saddlebag, and fished out the little drawstring pouch. She shook a piece of jerky into her hand, then tossed it gently across the distance between them.

  The cat flinched back, then pounced on the jerky, closing its teeth on it and devouring it ravenously.

  “Meow.”

  “What is it?” Celine whispered, yawning and scooting over beside Emily.

  “Just a cat,” Emily whispered back, fishing out and tossing another piece of jerky to it. This time, the cat didn’t recoil, but instead snatched the food right out of the air.

  Celine rubbed her face, then focussed on the silvery eyes that seemed to hang in the darkness.

  “No it ain’t!” she said with a laugh. “That’s a kitsper.”

  Emily held out another piece of jerky to the creature, wanting to see if it would take it from her palm.

  “No, I heard it meow. What’s a kitsper, anyway?”

  Celine yawned again. Behind them, Michael snored on.

  “Trust me, that’s a kitsper. Ain’t no cats I ever seen with eyes like them ones. Don’t they ’ave kitspers where yeh’re from?”

  Cautiously, the cat moved closer to the offered Jerky. It sniffed the air. Emily sat very still.

  “If we do,” she whispered, “we don’t call them that.”

  The girls watched as the eyes edged nearer in the darkness.

  “They’re kinda like cats,” Celine said. “Only they ’ave stings on their tails and wings a bit like bats.”

  Emily dropped the jerky and scrambled backward as if she’d suddenly discovered she’d set herself on fire. Celine burst out laughing.

  The kitsper, sensing its opportunity, leapt forward, pounced on the dropped morsel, and seemed to swallow it whole.

  “Meow.”

  Celine clicked her tongue at the creature. “C’mere, li’l one. C’mon…”

  The kitsper eyed her warily.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Corbbmacc growled from the darkness. The creature’s eyes flicked in his direction, then returned to Celine, wide and curious.

  The sound of Corbbmacc’s rummaging through his own saddlebag came to them through the dark.

  Celine picked up the bag of jerky Emily had dropped in her haste and pulled out another piece. She held it out, cupped in the palm of her hand.

  “C’mon, yeh li’l rascal. ’Ave a bite.”

  “Cel,” Emily moaned. “What are you doing? It’s got a sting!”

  The kitsper came forward. It sniffed her outstretched hand warily, sneezed, then snatched the jerky away and sat back on its haunches, munching it and apparently quite contented.

  A light flared in the dark, and Corbbmacc edged his way past Michael’s sleeping form to join them, holding a candle.

  The kitsper watched him nervously, then looked at Celine.

  “C’mere,” she said again and patted her thigh.

  “Celine!” Emily cried, but the kitsper came forward and crawled into Celine’s lap, never taking its gaze from Corbbmacc. Celine stroked its fur.

  Corbbmacc leaned close and let the light from his candle fall on the creature. Though she desperately did not want to see, Emily found herself looking anyway with what she supposed was the same sick fascination that drew people to road accidents.

  It wasn’t as bad as it might’ve been. For the most part, it looked like an ordinary cat, at least until you took in the bat-like wings and the bony protrusion that extended from the end of its tail. The stinger reminded her of that of a stingray. The candlelight gleamed off its thick black fur as if it were silk.

  “Meow,” it said again.

  Now Corbbmacc was laughing, too. Emily thought it was the first time she’d heard him do it. She looked at him, surprised. The grin on his face stripped years from his countenance.

  Just a boy, she marveled. Of course, she’d known that, but his brusque attitude and easy way of issuing orders made him seem so much older.

  “It’s just a kitsper,” he said. He leaned forward and reached out slowly to scratch between its ears. The kitsper stiffened for a moment before relaxing into Celine’s arms. It started to make a strange warbling sound that was not quite a purr.

  “I don’t like it,” Emily muttered. “It’s creepy.”

  “Aww, that’s not very nice, Em,” Celine said, continuing to run her fingers through its fur. “They’re sweet things, really. Not much to look at…but sweet.”

  “It’s a cat with wings! And a stinger! That is not sweet!”

  Corbbmacc laughed harder.

  “Yeh can face bleedin’ ghosts that follow yeh around in the dark and murderin’ trees that wanna rip yer ’ead off, and yeh don’t like a cute li’l kitten like this?”

  Emily shuddered and turned away.

  “No, I really, really don’t.”

  “She looks hungry,” Corbbmacc said. “That jerky’s probably the best meal she’s had in a while, I’d guess.”

  “He,” Celine said.

  “What?”

  “He’s a he.”

  “How can you tell in the dark?”

  “Just can. He’s a boy.”

  Corbbmacc shrugged, blew out his candle, and went back to his spot beside Michael.

  “We should get some more sleep before dawn. If we make good time, we can be in Hellsgate by tonight.”

  Emily heard Celine urge the thing off her lap, and watched as her dim form stretched out on the ground again.

  “Is it gone?” she asked.

  Celine snorted. “Go to sleep, Em,” she said, but there was a hint of a smile in her voice.

  Emily scanned the darkness, searching for a glimmer of those silver-gray eyes. There was nothing. With a sigh of relief, she settled down beside Celine, but it was a long while before she could sleep again.

  * * *

  A gentle thud at the center of her chest brought Emily suddenly and completely from sleep. She opened her eyes to find herself staring into the large silver-gray eyes of the kitsper. Celine was sitting at her side, her legs folded beneath her. She was in the midst of hastily crossing her arms, and she smirked down at Emily with a thoroughly unconvincing look of innocence on her face.

  Emily’s gaze flicked back and forth between the creature crouched on top of her and the mischievous glint in Celine’s eyes.

  “Not funny,” she said, her voice raspy from sleep. Celine giggled.

  “Pretty funny, actually,” she said, laughing harder.

  Emily glared at her.

  The kitsper licked his paws and stared at her. His leathery wings were folded primly on his back. She couldn’t see his sting, and that made her distinctly nervous.

  “Get it off,” she said.

  “But he’s such a sweet, ’armless li’l thing. He’s kinda cute, too.”

  “Get it off me!”

  Still grinning, Celine scooped up the creature and gathered him into her lap, stroking his fur. Emily sat up. The sun was just rising in the east, its rays a rich gold between the branches of the trees. Corbbmacc’s spot was deserted, but Michael slept on. He lay on his side, one hand beneath his cheek and his knees pulled up to his chest.

  “Where’s Corbbmacc?” she asked, yawning and wishing for the ten thousandth time that they had some coffee with them.

  “Dunno,” Celine said. “He was gone when I woke up.”

  Emily looked back at her friend, then down at the grotesque thing in her lap. “What are you doing with that thing?”

  “Pettin’ ’im, ain’t I?”

  “We’ll be leaving soon,” Emily stretched. She still felt sore from riding for so many hours the day before. “You shouldn’t get too friendly with it.”

  “Yeh were the one feedin’ ’im last night.”

 
“That’s when I thought it was a cat.”

  “He’s a he, not an it. And he’s a kitsper. Better than a cat.”

  “It’s creepy.”

  Celine only shook her head and went on running her fingers through the thick fur.

  Corbbmacc came stomping back into camp then, one of the saddle bags slung over his shoulder.

  “Where’ve you been?” Emily asked.

  “And good morning to you,” he said with a sardonic smile, dropping the pack beside the sleeping boy. “Do you know how to start a conversation without asking a question?”

  “Good mornin’ Corbbmacc,” Celine said sweetly. “Where yeh been?”

  He gave Celine a disgusted look, then sank down beside his bag and pulled out his own ration of jerky.

  “Scouting ahead a bit. I wanted to make sure the way was clear.”

  He chewed his jerky thoughtfully, studying the kitsper in Celine’s lap.

  “Was it?” Emily asked.

  Corbbmacc rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He tossed a piece of jerky in Celine’s general direction. The kitsper sprang out of her lap, spreading his wings and smacking the side of her face as he snatched the scrap out of the air.

  He landed on all fours, munched for a moment, then spun around and walked sedately back to Celine, looking a trifle sheepish.

  “Ah, I see ’ow ’tis,” Celine cooed. “’It me in the face an’ come back lookin’ all cute to get back in me good graces, eh?”

  He stopped in front of her, bowed his head, and sat, looking up at her with what Emily would have called puppy dog eyes if it hadn’t been for the wicked-looking stinger that was poised over his back as his tail arched.

  “He’s been around humans before,” Corbbmacc observed. “Only way he could’ve perfected that look.”

  The kitsper shot Corbbmacc a look of disdain, then turned his attention back to Celine. His ears drooped, and he lay down, resting his head on his paws and staring up at her with a forlorn expression on his furry face.

  Celine laughed. “A’right. C’mon, yeh li’l rascal.” She patted her lap, and he crawled back into it once more.

  Corbbmacc nudged Michael with his foot until the boy sat up sleepily, and the four of them began eating another meal of jerky and water.