“Here,” the sentry handed her a large leather pouch, “the Chief Scribe left this. Said directions are inside.”
“My thanks.” She took the pouch, and turned to the mechanic, who was shifting from foot to foot, scowling. “Good evening.”
“Well,” he grunted, and turned to the vehicle, rattling off a description of the vehicle’s make, model and mileage that Arrow did not understand. She could drive, thanks to the mechanic’s impatient tuition, but had no comprehension of how the thing worked. Following him around the vehicle, she tried to memorise his words in case she would need them later as he pointed out various features that seemed important to him, nodding as he glared back at her from time to time.
“Fuel tank is full. Wards renewed last week.” The mechanic held out the keys to her, knuckles gleaming white in the gloom. “Return her in one piece.”
Interesting. He had decided the vehicle was female. She was tempted to ask him if the vehicle had a name, but simply took the keys, making a mental note to stop as soon as she could and renew the vehicle’s wards herself. The mechanics were as weak in magic as they were strong in their love for human technology.
She gave the mechanic appropriate thanks and was about to offer to take him back to the warehouse when she saw that there was another vehicle, further away from the gates, waiting to do just that.
Under the watchful eye of the White Guard sentries and the disapproving glare of the mechanic she managed to get into the driver’s seat, start the vehicle and pull away from the Taellaneth without embarrassing herself. It was only while she was driving along the one available road, heading towards the faint lights of the nearest human city, Lix, that she realised she had forgotten to turn on the headlights.
She muttered a curse in the private space of the car’s interior, found the appropriate switch, lighting the road in front of her, fingers tightening on the wheel for a moment. Such a basic thing to forget. Sent by the Taellan to the shifkin, the weight of the elder’s command pressing her into the seat, there was no option to fail in her task or return without answers. The oaths would not let her. She could not afford mistakes.
CHAPTER 3
Go to Farraway Township and offer aid to the shifkin.
The single line of directions, written in the Chief Scribe’s hand with none of his usual precision, was all the visible authority she had. As well as the haste of the note, the packet from the Chief Scribe had been far less than the comprehensive information she normally received when sent outside the Taellaneth, containing little more than that one line note and funds for her journey. The lack might be due to speed. Perhaps.
But she was often sent on tasks for the Taellan at short notice, sometimes returning from one errand to find another waiting for her, and Eshan had never provided anything less than three fingers’ width of paper for her to review, and for much simpler tasks than she faced just now. On one memorable occasion he had provided her with a hand’s width of paper simply to purchase a new telephone for the Erith’s administration complex, tucked in the shadows of the mechanic’s warehouse.
This last year alone she had been given a dozen tasks outside the Taellaneth grounds, each coming with a heavy packet of information and funds. Now she had been sent on perhaps the most important task and had nothing more than one sheet of paper. It was deeply worrying.
There were no map directions, but Arrow did not need them as, like the Taellaneth, there was only one road. Farraway Township was where the shifkin Prime, Zachary Farraway, made his home and the only settlement on Farraway Mountain. Ruler absolute of all shifkin, the Prime’s own lands stretched beyond the actual mountain to the foothills and farmland beyond, the Prime as personally wealthy in land as only a few Erith Houses. And, like the Erith lands, somewhere she had never thought she would get to visit.
The ‘kin were as intolerant of visitors to their lands as the Erith, and she could imagine that the recent death of so prominent a figure as the Prime’s mate would not have improved matters. Apprehension coiled through her. She had met a few ‘kin. The Erith traded with all races, even those they despised, and found her useful for business they disliked. She had dealt mostly with lower-ranked ‘kin sent to transact and, rarely, where the occasion warranted it, more powerful ‘kin who had an aura about them which made her want to keep her back to a solid object and some magic to hand.
She spent a good part of the journey frowning, turning possibilities over in her mind. There was nothing to indicate that the shifkin knew she was on her way, or why the Erith’s assistance had been requested. The shape-shifters were more than competent with human technologies that might aid their investigation and disliked the Erith as much as the Erith disliked them. Their joint history was centuries of regarding each other as natural enemies and brutal conflict with high losses on either side. The Erith Queen might have insisted that there would be peace. The peace was mere decades in place, set against hundreds of years of open hostility, and among the Erith that Arrow knew, many still openly sneered when the shifkin were mentioned, regarding them as little more than upright beasts. Arrow did not know enough shifkin to understand how they felt about the Erith, judging that they must find some benefit to the peace as it continued to hold.
A knot tightened in her stomach as she realised that the elder had not actually said that the shifkin had requested Erith assistance. It was entirely possible that the Erith were simply sending her to find out what she could, or for some other reason that she could not work out. She had lived among the Erith her entire life and they still surprised her in their actions and motives. She had long since learned that the only way to survive was to be as quiet and efficient as she could. Just not too efficient. She was already marked by the silver power she wielded and her seemingly human features. Standing out more would draw too much attention.
Having driven through the night, fuelled by human fast food and the oath spells that would not let her rest, Arrow thought she was refreshed and ready when she turned off the main, human-made, highway, only to discover that the mountain road, the only access to Farraway Township, was not smooth or well-maintained. A mass of churned up snow met her eyes in place of the clear, smooth road surface she had been travelling on. The vehicle slid sideways the moment its wheels touched the snow and it took all her limited driving skill to bring it to a halt, her palms sweating on the steering wheel, heart going too fast. Recalling some of the mechanic’s more obscure words, she had eventually worked out how to fit snow chains to the vehicle’s tyres and was glad she had done so as the vehicle crawled, slowly, up the mountain.
The leather of the steering wheel was indented with finger impressions by the time she completed the hazardous, narrow, series of hairpin turns that wound up the mountain side and arrived at the township, set in a shallow, wide basin amid the Farraway Mountain range, higher hills and peaks rising all about.
Her first impression was wonder. The entire area she could see in the slightly pink early morning light was covered in snow. She had never seen so much snow. Would not have believed it possible. The snow lay as a great blanket across the entire township. Some paths had been cut through it, but most of it was untouched. This thick layer of white was a version of winter she had never encountered, with the Taellaneth gardeners managing the seasons with the same care they tended their plants, and the only other place she had seen in winter was Lix where there was never this much snow, what snow there was churned to grubby slush on city streets.
Her next impressions of the shifkin heartland were conflicting. Chaos and silence. There was no ordered design. Buildings were set randomly across the basin, coated in snow, no harmony with their neighbours, different designs competing for attention, tall trees here and there adding to the disorder. A red house there, the end she could see a giant triangle poking up to the sky, the colour cheerful and vibrant under a snow-covered roof. A turquoise blue house nearby, a blocky construction, its peaked roof shallower, colour clashing with the red, next to a yellow house whose sha
pe made no sense to her eyes, a seemingly hexagonal construction with what looked like purple stripes. Mixed in with the bright colours were plain wooden houses, simple box shapes with pitched roofs and no decoration, easier on her eyes among their gaudy neighbours. A little over two dozen buildings, perhaps, though the snow was heavy enough in places to make it hard to count. Despite the evidence of life, the place appeared deserted. Even through the vehicle’s protective wards the township was still and too quiet.
Looking around, wondering where she should go, she spotted one building much larger than the others, with a tall radio mast on its roof, high above the trees and snow, and followed the road towards it, ending up at an open space in front of the building, snow cleared enough that the tarmac was visible.
The space was dominated by a wrecked vehicle, tilted on its side, underside exposed, one wheel entirely missing, another twisted, the metal frame holding the tyre bent at an odd angle. Driving around the wreck she could see that the front end had been mangled, the metal plates ripped and torn with deep, gouging marks that looked like they were made by claws along the shiny red surface, top ripped up exposing a cream interior that showed no sign of blood or battle. She swallowed. Left in the open, the space carefully cleared around it, the wreck was a clear warning. One she had to ignore.
Stopping her own vehicle, she dragged her attention away from the wreck to the sign attached to the building, near the double doors: “Farraway Township municipal offices”. In smaller writing underneath was a list of services the offices provided, including hunting permits. There were lights on in the building, and a shadow moved past one of the windows, the first sign of life she had seen.
~
Even prepared for winter, the biting cold shocked her when she got out of the car. The vehicle pinged as metal cooled in the frigid air, breath clouding in front of her as she hastily fastened her coat and put on her hat, gloves, and scarf. The Taellaneth was never this cold.
As ready as she would ever be, she gave the wreck, somehow much larger now that she was outside, another quick glance before moving away from the car. A bare few steps and she stopped. She was no longer alone. In between heartbeats several shapes had gathered at the edges of her sight. Keeping otherwise still she moved her head slightly, finding perhaps a half dozen shifkin surrounding her. Two were in animal forms, the wolf-like shape that all ‘kin could adopt. The ones in human form were clearly not human. They were under-dressed for the weather in a variety of casual outfits, jeans, T-shirts, and sweatshirts, not affected by the cold, and moved with the smooth, casual grace of the master predators that they were.
“Come to play, little girl?” The voice, speaking the common tongue, was too close to her ear.
Arrow bit her lip against an undignified squeak. Her limited dealings with the ‘kin before had been in neutral, human-managed territory, calm and controlled. Out here, deep within their borders, her senses were filled with shifkin. The hint of wild in the air, the trace of unfamiliar power against her skin and her personal wards, the bite of winter, savage and untamed.
“I am sent -” she began.
The ‘kin just behind her made a low sound, a growl from a seemingly human throat.
“Not interested.”
“I -”
“You stink,” he told her.
She wondered if she really did smell bad after a night’s journey, opened her mouth to try and speak again.
“Not interested. Not welcome. Get back in your little toy car and get off the mountain.”
He tracked round to stand in front of her, lips slightly raised to show white teeth, eyes full of hate and anger as he stared directly at her. A challenge, among the ‘kin. Often self-preservation, among the Erith. She held his eyes. A deep blue, a colour rarely found among the Erith, in a face that looked entirely human, tanned from outdoors. The oaths she carried, binding her to service to the Erith, would not allow her to leave with her task unfilled. She had tried to escape before. More than once. The oath spells would lock her body in place if she tried to run, bring her to her knees in pain if she disobeyed an order. So, despite her racing pulse and the flare of her wards, sensing danger, she held her ground.
“I am sent to lend aid.” She managed a full sentence, common tongue strange to her mouth after so long within the Taellaneth.
“Aid?” He sneered, lifted a finger, and poked her on the arm. A casual gesture but it sent her stumbling back against the car. Shifkin were strong. Strong enough to tear her apart like the mangled wreck she could see past his shoulder.
“We’re closed.” Another ‘kin was close by, the two of them crowding her against cooling metal and glass. “Go away.”
“I cannot,” she said, lips stiff with cold and fright.
“Go. Away.” The second ‘kin was more powerful than the first, wash of his anger and power making her skin and feet twitch with the urge to move. But she could not. The oath spells stirred, sensing denial of her purpose and she suppressed a shudder at the loathed sensation of the spells’ magic waking in her body.
“I wish to speak with Matthias Farraway.” She achieved a calm tone between the spells and the danger from the ‘kin. The Prime’s son and, if her guess was correct, second in command, far more powerful than the ‘kin gathered around her. They had met before, and he had not harmed her.
“Got an appointment?”
“Please tell him that Arrow is here.” She ducked the obvious verbal trap.
“Con.” The first ‘kin did not raise his voice. One of the others in human form ducked his head, turned, and jogged into the building.
Arrow did not move, barely breathed, as they waited. The two in front of her were motionless, a hunter’s trick, eyes unblinking on her.
“He’ll be along in a while.” The ‘kin reappeared at the door, voice pitched loud enough Arrow could hear.
“A while.” The first smiled, showing too many white teeth. “Well, let’s see.” Before she could react, his hand shot out, curled around her upper arm, and dragged her away from her vehicle, spinning her about into open space. She stumbled, righted herself, and stilled as soon as she could. Surrounded.
The ‘kin who had grabbed her was shaking his hand, brows drawn together in confusion for a moment before his jaw tightened in annoyance. Stung by her wards. Not enough to truly hurt.
“Magic bitch,” he sneered, and the others copied the gesture, a barricade of teeth and fangs. Bitch was not as foul a word among the ‘kin as among humans. Arrow had borne worse.
“I have magic, yes,” she confirmed. And dared not use it. If she used magic and harmed the ‘kin, then she was dead. The ‘kin would kill her before she could leave the mountain, and if by some miracle she escaped them, the Erith would execute her for disobeying them.
“This should be fun.” A voice behind her.
A hard shove in the small of her back sent her stumbling forward against another shove that spun her sideways.
They were playing. Far more gently than many of the Erith had played with her. Hands only. No teeth. No claws. No steel. She was not bleeding, and no bones were broken. There would be bruises, surface only. That did not count as real damage as far as she was concerned. And despite the anger, there was a grin on more than one face as they passed her around the circle, a lifting of tension, the ‘kin laughing as she tripped on her own feet.
~
“Stop.”
Power rippled in the air, unfamiliar magic with the scent of earth and freshly cut pine trees. Shifkin’s natural magic.
Everything stopped, apart from Arrow, mid-flight from a hard shove. She tumbled to her knees, wincing at another bruise, then got to her feet, dizzy from the circles, and turned to look at the speaker, opening her senses a fraction to better understand him.
Matthias Farraway. With his inherent magic unleashed he appeared larger for a moment until her eyes adjusted. Compact, solid with muscle, he was mid-sized among the ‘kin and would be short among the Erith. Dressed in close-fitting, black
, combat clothing, arms crossed over his chest, there was no softness from the close-cropped auburn hair to his serviceable boots. He glared at her with green eyes that held no welcome, jaw tight.
“Leave.” He tipped his head and the other ‘kin vanished as abruptly as they had arrived. “Arrow.” It could have been a greeting.
“Matthias Farraway. Greetings.”
“What in hell are you doing here?”
“The Erith sent me. They told me that …” she stumbled as his eyes flared, bright green with ‘kin power, swallowed, then went on, voice weaker, “… that Marianne Stillwater was dead. And asked me to lend aid to investigate.”
Matthias growled. The sound raised hairs all over her body, picked up her heart rate, and made her wish, very much, to be elsewhere.
“The Erith killed her.” His voice had dropped, fury clipping each word.
“What? No. No, that is …” She paused as he growled again. “They sent me to lend aid,” she repeated, heart hammering in her chest. The Erith would not have killed someone and sent her to investigate. That certainty held for a heartbeat, then slid away. Maybe. It was the sort of double-thinking the Chief Scribe and elder might well use, to be rid of her. Send her on an impossible task. She closed her eyes a moment, hiding the hurt.
“Even so. Erith killed her.”
“I …” Arrow ran out of breath and words, bowing her head. He was certain. There was not a trace of doubt. The second of the ‘kin nation believed that the Erith had killed the Prime’s mate. It was a prelude to war.
A harsh snarl drew her eyes back up. He was several steps closer, just as angry.
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