Strayborn

by E E Rawls

  It was a typical spring evening, too light for the streetlamps to be on. A lady in a frilly dress walked arm-in-arm with her man, who smoothed a thick mustache and whispered something in her ear. An elderly woman in mix-match garments hobbled across to a produce shop, while a young girl—a faeryn slave with drooping wings—rushed past in a hurry to get last minute errands done.

  The air was quiet and sweet, lacking the daytime bustle and musty scent of oilpowder engines. He strummed a hand along the decorative bars of a window guard as he passed.

  A crew on ladders were out hanging up décor and banners for the Swan Festival, depicting white feathers against lush red backgrounds.

  A chorus of children’s laughter nearby made him pause on the cobbled path. At the crossroads corner, children were grouped in a semicircle around a boy in ripped black tank shirt and multi-pocket capris.

  Mamoru moved the strings of dolls and puppets, dancing and twirling them about before the fascinated boys and girls.

  Aken crossed his arms and observed for a while. These kids were lucky not to be stuck in the Outskirts beyond the city walls. Out there, if you became an orphan, you were on your own. Orphanages inside the city didn’t go looking beyond the walls for more.

  “Her name is Isabelle.” Mamoru gave a doll to a bedraggled little girl with big green eyes. “Can you give her a good home?”

  The child’s smudged face lit up, reaching to hold the doll like a treasure in her arms.

  Aken’s chest tightened.

  Once Mamoru emptied one box, he hefted a second and moved up the street to a new gathered group of children, close to where Aken was leaning against a streetlamp. Maru nodded his way, “Did you make any of those clay sculptures you mentioned?”

  “Uh...” He’d forgotten about that. His vision took in the stained, tattered clothes and dirty elbows and fingers of the curious youngsters, who now shuffled about them expectantly. Their thoughts were not for the future—they didn’t have much of a future to hope for. Their thoughts were for today and tomorrow, surviving however decently they could, whether they were orphans or had rotten families.

  Having a special toy was a respite from that, an escape from reality’s cold grip. They could be normal children whenever they played with it; a treasure for those rainy days in life. That’s what his clay art had been for him—a respite, an escape.

  Aken lowered his chin to his chest. Mamoru set the box down, shifting to take a seat on the curb beside him while organizing the toys. They watched the children skip and chat animatedly at each other.

  “You’re a better person than I am,” Aken admitted at last. His side bangs fell forward, veiling his vision.

  Mamoru watched him for a moment, then pushed up off the curb. “Better? What makes you say that?”

  “Because,” Aken stiffened and looked away, “Everybody likes you. No one judges you, or calls you names.”

  Maru tilted his head. “Well, Aken, the only person who can make people stop judging you and stop believing you’re a monster is you yourself. It’s hard to gain people’s trust, but nothing ever comes easy.”

  “A Scourgeblood can gain people’s trust?” Aken scoffed. “I won the Duel Trials, but they’re talking about me like I’m a pile of crud, as if nothing I do matters.”

  Mamoru clasped his shoulder. “You still have Harlow on your side.”

  He shrugged the hand off. “On my side? Since when? I know you guys never wanted me on your Floor.”

  Maru glanced skyward. “You’re a real pain in the backside sometimes, Aken. But even so, I wouldn’t trade you for anyone.”

  Aken’s breath hitched.

  The children quieted, wondering what was going on. Aken turned aside, letting his hair hide the tears. When his shoulders stopped shaking, and the tension and anger left his muscles, he wiped his face with a shirtsleeve.

  Mamoru lifted an armful of toys out of the second box. “Here,” he pushed them at Aken. Aken stared blankly for a moment, but Maru simply asked, “Would you like to help hand these out?”

  He blinked until his vision cleared. “Sure.” Aken took the armful awkwardly, leaning this way and that not to drop anything. Children began crowding around him expectantly, all hopeful smiles. He could almost see his young reflection in them.

  “No one is better than anyone else, Aken,” said Mamoru. “Our lives and the trials we face are too different for us to compare ourselves to one another.” He grabbed more toys. “Don’t beat yourself up, but don’t go slacking either. You want your dream to come true, right?”

  His dream, right. He had to stay focused if he wanted to become the greatest Draev Guardian.

  Aken handed out a toy dragon, his thoughts shifting to how he should prepare for the Festival Duel.

  Chapter 30

  Fluffing her wavy hair about her ears, Cyrus closed the iron gate of the school behind her with a metallic clack, ignoring the yapping pixit and the winged lion statues who seemed to watch her with contempt.

  Master Nephryte’s warning that she never go beyond school grounds alone pricked the back of her mind, but she had to see if Huntter had left or if he still waited in the woods for her. If he was still around, she needed to apologize for sending him away so coldly the other day, and...maybe take him up on his offer to move to the Human Republic’s capital, if Aken lost tomorrow’s Duel.

  Much as she wanted to stay here, the Trials had proven just how incapable she really was. How useless she was.

  Just as she left the gate, someone called out. She was tempted to ignore them, then saw Cherish rolling her way alongside a woman: the lady Master.

  “Cyrus, I wanted to tell you how well you did in the first trial,” said Cherish. “You’re new and yet you really put up a fight.”

  “Ah, thanks. I don’t feel like I accomplished anything by losing, though.” Cyrus averted her gaze.

  The attractive lady Master nodded to her, “I’m Master Seren-Rose, of Floor Tathom. Nice to meet you, Cyrus.”

  “And you, Master.” Cyrus dipped her head.

  “Cyrus, just because you lost once, doesn’t mean you didn’t accomplish anything,” Cherish stressed. “I couldn’t take the Trials. I may not be able to become the same kind of Draev as everybody else in the future, but I don’t let that stop me. Instead, I look for the things I can do, and the different kind of Draev I can become.”

  Cyrus half-smiled. “Your heart is like a Draev.”

  “As is yours.”

  Cyrus lowered her head. “I have to go. See you later.” She trotted down the street. Sinking back into the hood of her brown cloak, she boarded a tram, heading southward.

  White feather banners were everywhere, and the shops displayed swan merchandise—all of it a reminder of her failure.

  Shadows stretched across the decorated streets as she hopped off near enough to the southern gate. People went about their business, jackets and frocks brushing past. It felt different being out in the city’s maze of streets alone. The air felt clammy and foreboding; and every vempar’s gaze seemed to flick her way, from the youngest child holding her mother’s hand, to an old man twirling a cane, their glowing irises following her steps, as if they could read her secrets—knew what she was—and wanted a taste...

  She turned onto Main Street, heading south, and rubbed at her forehead. Paranoia, that’s all it was. Maybe they stared because of the red hair peeking from under her hood. Not many vempars had red hair, though many humans did.

  Twin boys slouching against a bakery window regarded her, and she quickened her pace. Soon the city’s encircling wall rose above the rooftops, and the southern city gate came into view. Ignoring the prickly feel of eyes on her back, she rushed forward to mingle with the sparse traffic going in and out. Most were entering, and for the first time in her life she was thankful for being short—able to duck from sight under an empty wagon and follow its roll out into the grasslands and the dirt road that cut through.

  The scenery brought back memories of Gandi
f. She wondered absently what he was up to as she trotted briskly toward the treeline, finding the tree where she’d practiced Landing the other day.

  Twilight’s first stars winked awake. The western horizon clung to the dying rose hue left from a departed sun. Stepping into the woods, she was about to call Huntter’s name, when a stand of ferns and fire bushes was roughly shoved aside.

  She froze as a pale body came stumbling out onto the open grass.

  It panted, its head like a mop of pearl gray, tinted rose by the dying sky.

  Her throat held in a scream, until with a start, she realized it was Hercule.

  What on eartha was the nobleson doing out here, at this hour? His ragged appearance made her step back. Long slashes tore through his fine pants, his dress-shirt barely held together in tatters around his torso, the silk vest nowhere to be seen, and his shoes looked shredded by claws. Twigs and leaves made a mess of his hair, and dirt and scrapes marred his skin from head to toe.

  Hercule’s breathing came hard, as if calming down from a mile run.

  “Her...cule?” she asked faintly.

  His head jerked toward her, just now aware of her presence, golden eyes wide for a second before narrowing to glowing slits in the dim light. His thumb and forefinger nails clicked together. She had the feeling she’d found him in a place he clearly did not want to be found.

  Cyrus moved back another step, slowly, trying to maintain a mask of calm. “I...had...” She searched for words to distract him. “Are you good at Landing? I was trying to learn here, earlier. Mamoru taught me.”

  The intensity of Hercule’s gaze diminished a fraction, and he turned aside, striding stiffly past as if she weren’t there. Cyrus didn’t move until he was several yards away, then she released the breath she’d been holding.

  She was a fool for coming out here alone. She should’ve listened to Master Nephryte. Huntter clearly wasn’t here, and hopefully never would be again. Despite herself, a part of her wished he had hung around, at least to properly say goodbye.

  She began to leave, thoughts shifting to Hercule and what he could’ve been up to out here.

  The underbrush rustled. She stilled, listening. It was getting too dark to see more than shapes, but one of those shapes seemed to be inching closer through the leaves.

  She walked several steps before breaking into a run.

  Something burst out of the foliage; the dark shape came after her.

  Cyrus screamed as she ran. Hercule was ahead, and she raced to catch up, shouting, “Something’s after us!”

  He whirled around, eyes glowing in the dark.

  She reached his side and turned to face the creature.

  It came, a black blur through the tall grass. Hercule sucked in a deep breath and released a roaring exhale of fire. Gold flames shot from his mouth at the creature circling them.

  The firelight made visible dark gray skin, bones and metal. Hercule rotated with its movements and released a second blast of flames, this time catching the creature’s cloak on fire. It swatted at the burns, and lunged for them.

  Cyrus channeled the metal of her bracelets into two blades and flung them, forcing the creature to halt and draw back. Bone peeked from under the creature’s hood. A Corpsed, just like the one Aken had fought. Her knees weakened. Fear threatened to break her focus.

  The creature crouched, ready for another attack. Then a strange bird call sounded.

  The Corpsed lifted its head. With a chilling hiss, it retreated into the woods, and all fell silent.

  “What the heck?” Hercule stared after it, the air steaming around his mouth.

  “It’s that same Corpsed—what me and Aken saw during the thunderstorm,” she said, shuddering, retrieving her bracelets. She’d almost failed again, letting fear get the better of her; she really wasn’t cut out to be a Draev.

  Hercule’s brow crinkled. “Aken wasn’t just making that up?” She shook her head. His lips pursed in thought, and then he was marching off again. She wasn’t sure if she should give him space, but there was no way she was walking alone.

  “What’s going on out here?”

  A vempar in blue-and-white Draev uniform landed nearby. He shined a lampstick on them. “Draevensett students? Ha! Up to mischief, are you? I remember those days,” he mused.

  “Some creature attacked us,” Cyrus blurted out and pointed back at the woods. She was about to call it a Corpsed, then thought better of it, considering the school’s previous reaction.

  “Creature, eh? Well, the beasts of the land have to eat too, you know.” The Draev chuckled.

  She frowned, and Hercule turned his nose up and continued on ahead of them toward the city gate.

  “Get going, kid. I won’t let the boogie man come after you.”

  Cyrus’s frown became a pout. Some adults just didn’t take things seriously.

  HERCULE’S FIST SQUEEZED the ripped fabric clinging at his sides. What was Cyrus doing out here? He snorted in disgust. Humans were such a deceitful race; he doubted Cyrus was even from a farming community, the little liar!

  He picked up the long coat where he’d left it on the grass, shrugging it on over his battered physique. Worry nagged at him. The half-human had found him in such a suspicious state.

  Cyrus would talk. Rumors would spread. Master Nephryte would ask questions, and someone would be sent to trail Hercule’s every move. Then people would find out about his secret, and they’d—

  He stopped that train of thought and took deep breaths to calm his temper. Anger had gotten the better of him once today; he didn’t want to have to turn around and hide in the woods for a second time.

  He rolled his shoulders back. There was only one thing he could do before Cyrus had a chance to gossip. The best way to stop a rumor was to start an even bigger rumor.

  “Hmph, let’s see how well you like people learning your secret, liar-human.” His bruised lips curled.

  Chapter 31

  “Cy, where on eartha have you been?”

  Having used Draevensett’s coat-of-arms on the back of her shirt to be let back inside the gate, Cyrus wasn’t far up Main Street when she heard Aken’s shout and saw him coming out from a narrow side street.

  He screeched to a halt, anxiety written all over his features. “You’re not supposed to wander off alone! Plus, it’s dark out. What were you thinking?” Aken rebuked like a parent. “I was worried that— What I mean is, Mentor Nephryte told you not to wander off alone, didn’t he?”

  She tilted her head, a small smile creeping up. It was an odd feeling to have someone worry where she was and how late she stayed out. “I wasn’t gone that long. And since when do you care what Master Nephryte says?”

  He rubbed worry creases from his brow. “I just want you to be careful.”

  She punched his shoulder lightly. “I’m not some fragile butterfly. Are you over whatever was bothering you today?”

  He glanced at the river on their left, as they walked back through Downtown. “Yeah...un po’ triste.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Since when did you learn Fluire phrases? Isn’t that what faeryn speak?”

  He shrugged, “My brain remembers odd things.”

  They caught a late tram ride, then walked the rest of the way to Draevensett. The city was beautiful at night, with every lamp post and hanging lantern lit, painting the masonry and polished doors in soft yellow pools against the darkness.

  A fountain bubbled in the center of a street they passed; lamplight played off the Moon Maiden statue and the water that poured from the vase she held.

  With almost no one on the streets, Aken began a song:

  “SHE STOLE MY HEART

  The lady did

  Standing upon the bank,

  And though I said hello to her

  Her willow branch she did not shake.

  THE TOWNSMEN LAUGHED

  They jeered at me

  For falling in love with a willow tree,

  But alas, I know she’s in disg
uise

  And the willow will again become a lady.

  A LADY-EE

  A lady-ee

  Oh I know my willow is a fair lady.

  Just you wait

  When the early dawn breaks

  I’ll catch her and make her my lady-ee.”

  A SHOE FLEW OUT A THIRD-story window as they passed by, hitting Aken square in the back of the head.

  It was followed by a loud “Shut up!”

  AKEN STRETCHED ALL fours out on a sofa, and Cy took the armchair beside Nephryte as he had them gather after dinner in the study.

  “Is story time normal for kids our age? Not that Harlow’s ever been normal,” Aken mumbled, then yawned, eyelids drooping. It was one of Nephryte’s ordinances to have story time twice a week. It “strengthened Harlow’s bond” and “encouraged love of reading,” supposedly.

  Hercule looked to be in a fine mood, as cheerful as a badger with a toothache, sitting as far away from everybody as possible, back propped against the farthest end of the opposite sofa—arms crossed and shoulders sulking.

  ‘He changed clothes,’ Aken noted. The nobleson changed clothes more than a dog shed fur. Showing off his fancy wardrobe, maybe?

  Bak and Zartin plopped on the rug before the empty fireplace. Bak rocked back and forth, knees bent in a butterfly-pose, and holding his feet. Zartin sat quietly, arms wrapped around shins, bladeer hat on the floor, his small antlers visible.

  Mamoru took up the second sofa, head propped against an armrest. Lykale leaned against the sofa back, content to stand while thumbing through a botany textbook, the choker padlock still around his neck—Aken had yet to see him take it off.

  “What’s the story?” Cyrus had both elbows on the chair arm, chin cupped in hands, feet drawn up and tucked.

  Nephryte flipped the pages of an old red book. “The Last Princess, a fairytale that was written several centuries ago,” he began.