Song of Leira

by Gillian Bronte Adams

  “You do not appear well.” Gundhrold narrowed one huge golden eye at her and leaned in for a closer inspection, causing her to shrink back against the rock. The griffin had little regard for human concepts of personal space. “Hmm.” He pulled back, evidently deciding whatever danger she faced was not pressing, and a tinge of humor quirked his voice. “You bear a remarkable resemblance to a dune rabbit that has been hounded by wolves beneath the dark of the moon only to escape into morning by the skin of its teeth.”

  Birdie gave a shaky laugh. “That bad?”

  In truth, it seemed a fair description for how she felt, if a bit colorful. The red desert tunic clung damp with sweat to her body, and her hair stuck to her scalp. With so many runners packed in the cave, the air had been so close and smothering that it had taken her hours to fall asleep. And when at last she had drifted off upon a strand of the Song, her sleep had been troubled by currents of melody that summoned memories of the Pit, Amos’s echoing cry, and the constant whisper of the Takhran’s soft, dangerous voice calling her by name.

  Little Songkeeper . . .

  She shivered.

  “Indeed.” Gundhrold nodded, still regarding her shrewdly. “You bear the look of the hunted, little one, though your enemies are miles away. Take care. I have seen rabbits run until their hearts give out or their lungs tear through their rib cages, though the wolves had long since given up the chase and fallen far behind.”

  “Lungs through their rib cages?” Ky elbowed past, arms full of empty supply sacks. “Sounds painful. Is that what happens when you do the chasing? Because then we’ll get to see that a lot, right?”

  “Wrong.” The griffin cast a baleful eye at him. “I agreed to aid the Songkeeper this once, but you must learn to hunt for yourself if you hope to survive the wild, youngling.”

  “Oh, I intend to survive.” Ky dumped the sacks in the middle of the clearing and dusted his hands off on his trousers. Tousled strands of hair stuck out every which way around his head, and dark circles still shadowed his eyes. From the looks of it, he hadn’t gotten much more sleep than she had. “And more than. I intend to see my people safe and far from the reach of the Khelari. Whatever it takes.”

  “A fine pair the two of you make. Rabbits and wolves, younglings. Rabbits and wolves.”

  Birdie ran her fingers across her scalp, loosening the plastered hair and easing the ache that pounded within her skull. “Please, Gundhrold, what does that mean?”

  “It means, little one, that those who run most often wind up dead.”

  So that was what this was about. His pointed tone left no room for question. He wanted her answer to his plan to sneak through the Khelari and join the Caran’s forces in besieged Cadel-Gidhar. But she had no answer. Not yet.

  She just shrugged.

  “Well . . .” Ky cracked a grin at her. “He’s just all sorts of cheerful this morning. Is he always this pleasant?”

  “No.” The griffin’s eyes crinkled, and the corners of his beak curled up into a grin as well—which wasn’t an expression Birdie had ever expected to see in the stern lines of his face. “He generally reserves pleasantness for days when his stomach is full and the scent of cheeky younglings isn’t a constant reminder that it has been three days since his last good meal.” His voice deepened to a growl. “Today is not such a day.”

  “Right.” Ky backed up a step.

  The griffin fixed Birdie in his gaze. “Be wary, little Songkeeper. Avoid the north- and west-facing slopes on your gathering missions, and stay clear of the eastward valleys as well so you do not frighten off the game.” He shook out his wings and launched into the air with a croaking call. “I hunt today!”

  “He . . . didn’t mean that bit about . . . Oh, never mind. Doesn’t matter.” Ky waved it aside and squinted sympathetically in her direction instead. “Bad night?”

  “You too?”

  He shrugged. “Could’ve been worse. What do you think? Time we got everyone up?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he ducked back into the cave, and a moment later sleepy runners started trickling out in groups of two and three, pulling on discarded layers of ragged clothing and strapping on all manner of weapons. Shouting broke out within, and then Slack stormed out of the cave, her face flushed crimson. Ramming her hatchet into her belt with one hand, she seized a sack from the pile with the other and then forged on into the woods.

  Ky emerged a moment later, all traces of good humor gone from his face. “Right, Underground, let’s move. There’s work to be done and no food to be had until we’ve finished.”

  “We goin’ huntin’?” one of the boys piped up. He squatted at the front of the crowd, long, thin arms draped across his knees. Everything about him seemed gray, from the grayish cast to his skin to the blue-gray tints in his hair and the deep-sea gray of his eyes. Even his melody had a grayish tone to it.

  “No, not hunting. The griffin’s managing that today, but we can’t count on him forever. We got to be able to fend for ourselves. Today we’re just gathering what we can from—”

  “Gatherin’? That like harvestin’?” Chuckling, the boy slung an arm over the shoulders of the runner next to him. “’Cause we’re right good at harvestin’, ain’t we, Syd?”

  Syd just stared solemnly up at him.

  “See? He agrees!”

  That brought a scowl to Ky’s face. “That’s enough, Gull. Leave him be.”

  “What for?” Gull’s brow crinkled, but there were still smile lines around his eyes. “Ain’t like I’m makin’ fun or nothin’. Tell him, Syd—I mean, smile an’ nod so he knows you an’ me are all right.”

  The boy smiled.

  But Ky’s scowl remained. “See that you keep it that way.”

  In a matter of minutes he had the runners divided into two crews. One to head out into the woods under his leadership and the other to post sentries and tend the camp. To Birdie’s relief, she was assigned to the gathering crew. The thought of spending the whole day working in and around the cave was enough to bring a cold sweat to her brow.

  Armed with her axe and a sack, she set off along the wooded slope at Ky’s heels. A half dozen other runners formed the rest of the crew. At first Ky set a cautious pace, hand lingering near his sling as he crept from tree to tree, and the others followed in his footsteps, scanning for enemies as much as for edibles. Karnoth birds chittered in the trees above, their song forming a cheerful background to the dozens of melodies that filled this place. Birdie homed in on the music, searching for any sign of the dark melody. But as the morning wore on without any sign of danger, the tension eased, and the runners ranged farther and farther afield in their search, calling out good-natured jabs to one another.

  “Watch where you’re going! What are you doing, sleepwalking?”

  “After listening to Gull snoring fit to wake the dead half the night, can you blame me?”

  “Me, snorin’? Oi! Dor, everyone knows you’re the loudest snorer.”

  “That’s a dirty lie!”

  A soft laugh drew Birdie’s gaze to Ky. He halted midstride, allowing her to come up alongside him, and looked back over his shoulder. There was a trace of longing in his voice. “Can’t recollect the last time I heard them like this.”

  Birdie glanced in the direction he was looking but saw only the huddles of runners scattered beneath the trees. Closer to hand, Syd and a little girl with stringy brown hair poked about among the roots.

  “Like what? Bickering?”

  “Carefree.”

  There was no mistaking the longing now.

  Birdie ventured a question. “What was that bit with Slack earlier?”

  “Nothing.” His hand fidgeted, drawing Birdie’s gaze to the glint of metal between his fingers. “And everything. All this time she’s been hounding me for the leadership of the Underground. Thought asking her to take charge of the camp would ease things between us. But no, there’s no understanding that girl.” His voice hardened. “I’m done with her.”

&
nbsp; With a shrug, he strode off and disappeared around the trunk of the next tree.

  “So angry.”

  Birdie glanced down at the small voice. The young, stringy-haired girl stood at her elbow, gazing after Ky with a sorrowful expression on her face. Stick-thin arms and legs poked out from her sleeves and beneath her ragged dress, but she seemed a wiry thin rather than weak.

  The girl shook her head. “He didn’t used to be angry.”

  Her concern struck a chord within Birdie, bringing to mind long ago conversations in the hold of the pirate ship and Ky’s determination to get back to the Underground to fulfill his promise. A promise made to—

  “Meli?”

  A gap-toothed grin shot across the girl’s face. “Yep. That’s me!” She skipped off a few steps and then circled back to seize Birdie by the hand. “You ain’t got much in your sack yet. Want to look for rustshrooms with me?”

  Birdie yielded to her leading, drawn by a melody that somehow blossomed bright and cheerful like a fireflower, even in the midst of all this gloom.

  Meli skipped about, followed closely by Syd. Rustshrooms, it turned out, were clusters of rust-red fungi that grew in scalloped ridges up the trunks of aged hallorm trees. These wild mountain plants were a far cry from those that had carpeted the soft Midland hills, but there were a few that Birdie recognized. One was cobblehead moss, a deep purple ground cover that grew thick around the base of the trees and could be boiled into soup, along with wild onion stalks and slickweed roots.

  With the three of them at work, the sacks soon began to fill. All the while Meli chattered away nonstop, and Birdie was so engrossed in the pleasant sound of her talk that she didn’t hear the dark melody until it burst upon her like an ocean wave, drowning all else.

  She staggered beneath the weight.

  Time seemed to slow. Both Meli and Syd reached for a rustshroom at the same time. Meli snatched it first and fled, shrieking, and Syd chased after her, mouth wide in a soundless laugh. The sack fell from Birdie’s hand, and she started after them, bringing the axe up into both hands.

  Wait . . .

  The word died before it could reach her tongue.

  A man lurched out from behind a tree directly into their path. Meli came to a halt and Syd stumbled into her, tumbling both of them to the ground at the stranger’s feet. He looked a wild man, hair hanging in mats and clumped with leaves and twigs, bright-blue eyes opened wide, standing in stark contrast to his dark skin. Breath came in wheezing gasps from his lungs.

  “Stay back!” Birdie leapt in front of Meli and Syd, giving them time to scramble to their feet and get away. Her gaze fell from the haunted look on the man’s face to the dark splotches seeping through the rents in his tattered vest and breeches.

  “Deh meh.” The man dropped to his knees and then crumpled flat on his face.

  The dark melody thudded on. It wasn’t coming from him. Birdie scanned the woods. On all sides the runners had dropped their sacks and were reaching for their weapons, but they were scattered from their gathering. Too far away to help. Bushes rustled to her left, and a low growl came from somewhere within. Birdie spun toward it, swinging the axe, as a hound launched from the bush straight into the path of her swing. The axe slammed into its chest, and the beast collapsed, the sudden weight pulling her off balance. She yanked it free.

  The beast’s melody petered out, fading with each throb of its dying heart.

  Only to be replaced by another voice. Still clutching the axe in both hands, Birdie retreated, keeping Meli and Syd behind her. With a ringing bark, a second hound tore out from beneath the bush. It skidded to a halt beside the first hound, snuffling at the still form. Through the trees behind it, she caught a glimpse of armored shapes approaching at a run. The dark melody multiplied, sung by two voices, then four.

  “Songkeeper.” The word fairly dripped with hate.

  White, soulless eyes settled on her, sending a shiver down her spine. The hound lurched forward. Meli’s hand seized her elbow, and she stumbled back, almost tripping over the two young ones. Something zipped past her ear and struck the beast in the eye. It shook its head, shedding droplets of blood, and its growl deepened.

  Ky dashed up alongside just as two Khelari broke through the trees. He slung, knocking the first Khelari back a step with a dent in his breastplate. The other rushed Ky with a club in one hand and a whip in the other.

  Birdie started to his aid, but a growl from the hound drew her back. It stalked forward, and Meli’s grip on her elbow tightened. She pulled free and lunged with the axe, but the beast was too fast; the blade only struck a glancing blow on its shoulder before it was upon her. Its weight bore her to ground. Blunt claws scrabbled at her shoulders and stomach, teeth flashed near her neck, and she instinctively curled in on herself, trying to fend the beast off with the haft of the axe.

  “Get off her!”

  A loud thwap and a ripping sound. Bits of rustshrooms and cobblehead moss tumbled down around Birdie. The beast lifted its head to growl. From the corner of her eye, Birdie saw Meli and Syd scampering back, clutching a torn sack between them. She jammed the butt of the axe into the hound’s ribs and tried to scramble free, but the beast settled on her, crushing her to the ground. The axe slipped from her hands.

  Slobbering jaws came for her throat again. She flung up a hand, and the teeth closed around her wrist instead. A scream ripped from her throat. Red flashed in front of her eyes, and the world devolved into a wild, tumbling chaos of bristling fur, musty forest loam, and rank hound breath. Her gaze locked on the red. A crystal. On the hound’s collar.

  A talav.

  She seized the collar with her free hand and yanked, trying to snap it free from the beast. But it would not break. Instead, the teeth tightened on her wrist, sending jolts of pain shivering up into her shoulder. Releasing the collar, she fell back, and her outstretched hand struck something cool. Hard. Metal. The blade of her axe. She gripped it by the head and brought it up against the hound’s neck with all her strength. The first blow glanced aside, but the second bit deep. Yelping, the hound lurched back, freeing her to scramble to her feet. She swung the axe up into her uninjured hand and lunged after the beast. But within the dark melody she caught a thread of the hound’s voice. The sound brought her up short, stirred something within her.

  The axe fell from her grip.

  She whispered the melody back to the hound, soft and sad, cleansed of the dissonance. The beast stilled. Blood streamed down its chest and pattered on the leaves around its feet. It cocked its head, listening.

  Movement blurred behind. A bowstring twanged. The beast collapsed with a stone-tipped arrow in its neck, revealing Gull standing behind, bow in hand. Cut off midsong, Birdie could only stand and watch in stunned horror as Gull dashed forward and yanked the arrow from the limp form, spinning and firing it immediately at a Khelari attacking three runners. The arrow stuck in the man’s leg, and he howled. Nearer, the other Khelari lashed out with his whip, catching Ky by the arm and tugging him forward. Ky managed to duck beneath a sweep of the man’s club and rammed into him, hammering his face with the loaded sling.

  They both went down.

  Ky got up again. The soldier didn’t move.

  “Birdie?” Meli’s voice quivered.

  She lurched around, ignoring the pain that shot through her injured wrist. Meli and Syd were huddled over the stranger, solemn faces wrinkled in identical expressions of concern. Meli stuck out a finger and poked him. “Think he’s hurt bad.”

  Behind, a shout rang out, followed by the thud of a falling body. The dark melody lessened and then drifted away into silence. The last Khelari was down.

  Birdie dropped to her knees beside the stranger. Now that the dark music no longer clouded her senses, she could hear the faint beat of his song, stuttering through the five-noted melody. She took in his fringed leggings and vest—a man of the desert? Crosshatched whip marks had torn through the back of his vest and the skin beneath. Dirt and leaves clung t
o the wounds, and his body trembled and sweated in the throes of fever.

  Beneath his tangle of matted hair, something gleamed around his neck. She bent for a closer look and then jerked back.

  “What is it?” Ky gripped her elbow, steadying her.

  Intent upon the stranger, she had not heard him approaching. It took a moment for her heart to cease its hammering enough for her to speak. “His collar . . .”

  “A slave’s collar. He must have been taken in one of the desert raids.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Look at them.” Ky jerked his chin toward the downed Khelari. She studied them. Now that the danger had eased, the difference was not difficult to identify. They were less heavily armored than the other Khelari she had seen, garbed only in quilted leather jerkins studded with patches of mail and a breastplate. No helms. Armed only with clubs and whips.

  “Slavekeepers.” Ky’s lip curled with disgust. “This fellow here must have escaped. Lucky for him. Not so much for them.” His voice carried an element of heartless satisfaction that Birdie could understand, even as it unnerved her.

  She bent over the stranger and ran a finger across the rough metal of his collar, just to be sure. No sign of the red crystals of a talav. He was not a Shantren.

  At the back of the collar sat a loop that could be fastened to a running chain. Oozing sores had formed on the man’s neck where the collar chafed his skin, but that was less concerning than the lacerated flesh of his back.

  She spared a glance at the downed Khelari. “What of them?”

  “Dead.” Ky grunted. “Nobody’s going to know we were here.”

  Still, where there were some Khelari, there could be more, and her ability to discern the enemy had proven spotty at best. She had not noticed the dark melody until the Khelari were already upon them. And if there Shantren in the woods who had been gifted with silence, she would not be able to hear them at all.