She wore the obfuscation geas Raymond had given her as part of her gift most days, with the couture and the attitude. Like the one impressed on her daishō, the low-level shielding kept people from seeing her when she wanted to move among mortals more easily. That morning she just hadn’t bothered. She liked the way Gregor fought her, the way he treated her—with the doors and the deference. After a hundred years of blending in, being overlooked and underestimated, maybe she liked feeling seen.
They watched the gulls surf the air beside the ferry in silence. After a long moment she pointed a finger at the distant whitecaps. “There.”
One hundred yards off the side, the sleek black dorsal fin of a male orca broke the surface, the saddle of white visible at its base. A plume of spray rose above the waves. Two others surfaced behind, smaller dorsals but similar saddle markings. Sunlight shone off their obsidian skin before it slipped between the waves again. A flick of a broad, black tail sent water spraying in all directions.
She couldn’t help the delight rising in her, childlike and unbidden, at the sight of the unearthly beauty. The male with the tall dorsal disappeared for a long moment, and she thought he’d gone. Then he broke the surface closer to the boat. He rolled onto his side for a moment, his great dark eye staring back at her. She grinned in spite of herself. She could not take her eyes off the small family, and when they parted from the ferry, she turned to see Gregor watching, not the waves but her face.
“I see you, Ana Gozen.”
Chapter Eighteen
Bainbridge Island was a quaint town, full of tiny boutiques and shops. Most seemed aimed at tourists. Gregor recognized the bold colors and stylized, arching designs of orcas and ravens on store signs and sandwich boards, indicating places where tourists might acquire “authentic Native art.” Ana drove through without stopping. Beyond the town, houses clung to the water’s edge along the sound, and the bobbing sailboat masts in the harbor below gave the whole view a timeless appearance.
Ana drove inland, and the wall of trees rose around the road on either side. They passed a casino before reaching a guardhouse beside the gated road. Two armed and uniformed men approached the car. One wore his shoulder-length hair loose, the other in a ponytail at the base of his skull. As the tinted window slid down, revealing Ana’s face, the nearest one broke into a smile. Gregor inclined his head, listening to the music of the language the guard greeted Ana in. She returned the greeting, switching to English for his benefit.
“This is Gregor Schwarz,” she said. “He is here to assist me in my hunt.”
“You’re joking, right?” The young man looked incredulous, his round face and cheery eyes full of humor and, Gregor noted, a distinct lack of fear. Ana’s stern expression made him clear his throat. He leaned in the window, offered his hand. “Welcome to the Federation of the Northwest People, Mr. Schwarz. I’m Jamie. This is my brother Atlas. Any friend of Ana’s is a friend of the Kwih-dich-chuh-ahtx.”
Gregor took the offered hand. The man had a good grip. Jamie rested his elbows on the open window, cocking one hip with a grin at Ana. Gregor fought the urge to sigh. They didn’t have time for a palaver. Ana put the car in park for an update on the school performance of Jamie’s youngest sibling and the progress of his suit for his girlfriend’s hand. From the sound of things, he was optimistic.
“Her family, man.” Jamie shook his head. “They’re so old school.”
“She is an Elwha woman.” Ana shrugged. “One of the Strong People. You aim high, Shoestring. Good thing you’re so handsome.”
Atl crowed laughter from the other side of the car as Jamie’s fair skin flushed with embarrassment.
“Good thing, yeah.” Jamie grinned, then his voice lowered. “What brings you up north? I heard you got a meeting with Grandma.”
“Raymond’s business,” she said, chiding him a little. “You know I’m not always at liberty—”
“I know,” he said, still laughing as he pulled away from the car and tapped the roof. “Will you stay for a couple of days?”
Ana’s smile slid a little. “Not this trip. Be good, Shoestring.”
“Good hunting, Auntie.”
The gate rose and Ana put the car in gear. Her smile came easy here and didn’t fade as she eased the car to speed.
“When Jamie was little, the other kids teased him they could use him to tie their shoes.”
“You turned it into a cherished nickname.”
“That’s what aunties do.” She shrugged. “I also taught him a few moves that would help a little guy get the better of bigger guys.”
“Of course you did.”
Her gaze settled on him. “Wow, I thought you’d filled your quota of smiles for the day.”
By the time he looked over, her eyes were on the road again.
Oddly content, he returned his attention to the path ahead. The forest beyond covered the land on either side of the continuing road in green. The canopies cast the trunks and brush below in textured shadow. The light changed, diffusing and softening contrasts between the clusters of green and the break in the trees carved by the road. The air grew heavy enough with moisture to leave damp streaks on the windshield.
The wipers came on. She didn’t slow.
He leaned forward against the seat belt, peering up through the verdant canopy. This was nothing like he remembered from his time in the colonies. He stared, aware of Ana’s eyes tracking him in regular glances away from the road.
“It’s the largest temperate rainforest in North America.” She waved her hand at the haze. “The trees hold in the water and keep it circulating. And with so many of them, they’re able to create their own rain.”
If anything, it brought to mind the brief summer he’d spent near Hornisgrinde Mountain as a child. Even in June the rain had been heavy and constant, leaving the air in a shrouded haze between bursts of precipitation. He’d spent afternoons roaming the edges of the tree line, half expecting to see creatures from his nurse’s Schwarzwald tales step out to take him on a terrifying adventure.
In hindsight, he’d always been looking for the gateway into somewhere else. Perhaps that’s why he’d embraced Azrael’s world.
“There are some parts of the forest in the mountains so thick you can hardly tell day from night.” Her voice drifted to him.
“It’s magnificent.”
“Yes,” Ana said, the softness in her voice filling the car. “It is.”
He’d forgotten wonder. How each new turn this life among necromancers took, each new creature he’d once thought a myth or legend, filled him with awe. Before the godswar had left a bitter taste in his mouth, he’d lived in a world of wonder and discovery. She was right. They were always meant for this life. But not because they were born to fight. Because they felt wonder where others knew fear.
He brought himself back to the present to keep the memories from filling up his chest and leaving him senseless. He couldn’t afford to lose himself at the moment he needed to be in control the most. “All of it belongs to the federation now?”
“Raymond assembled the federations after the war.” She flipped on the headlights. “Part of the bargain he struck was that they must steward the land, bring it back to its natural state, or as close as possible.”
“Kills two birds with one stone,” Gregor said.
Her mouth quirked. “You understand him better than I did.”
“I’ve known a lot of necromancers,” he said, as much a reminder for himself as an explanation. “They are nothing if not efficient. And they’re not afraid to use whatever fulcrum and lever is at hand.”
“It’s a nice bit of symmetry anyway.”
“Most of the population lives on the coast, but the nine nations manage the entire peninsula, from Neah Bay to the harbor, and the nearby islands. And they’re loyal to Raymond. He’s closer to this federation than any of the others.”
“They’re his own people?”
“I suspect as much. Klallam maybe, from what I’ve be
en able to pick up of the language. But he’s never said.”
It no longer surprised him how much Raymond kept from her. But it didn’t bother him any less.
“We spent a lot of time up here,” she said. “Before the Allegiance. I knew Atl and Jamie’s grandparents when they were small. After, I got up here as much as I could, as much for myself as for him.”
“They knew about us, before the Allegiance,” he said, surprised.
“I think they’ll know something about what we’re hunting,” she agreed. The knowledge didn’t seem to give her pleasure. “Raymond has never hidden what we are from them.”
“They keep his secrets—ones he’s hidden even from you. And you think this elder will reveal them to us.”
“Me,” she said. “I think she’ll tell me what she can. And I hope it will be enough.”
She gave a half smile, and he wondered at her secrets. The rote recitation of her past on the boat had been designed to shock him out of asking more questions, the delivery meant to convince him of her indifference. It covered all the salient points, to be sure. His thoughts kept returning to the gaps. What must it have been like to undertake the journey to find her sister, only to arrive too late?
He admired the single-minded focus of a girl who had been no older than the mortals clamoring for an autograph on the ferry. In a strange new country, without a friend or an ally, she’d carved out a life. He’d been not much older when he arrived on the continent the first time. And though his start had been rocky, he’d had Iain and Talking House, Gray Rabbit and Lark. They’d given him a home and a purpose, forgiven his faults and his arrogance. They kept him human enough that when he’d met the wretched, dirty prisoner held in the hold of a pirate ship, his first instinct was to make an ally, a friend.
Different roads, same destination.
The road wound out of the impenetrable forest to thinner trees before a long coast. Sunlight and cloud shadow broke together on the choppy waves. The water stretched out for what seemed like an eternity, curving into the horizon.
“To the Makah, this is the place where the world began,” she said.
He slid his sunglasses on. The road descended into a series of small coastal towns. Each tidy, neat row of modern buildings painted bright colors looked like something out of a touring magazine. People bustled in and out of buildings, some in jeans and canvas workmanlike jackets, others with traditional blankets thrown over their shoulders. For a moment he saw another village two hundred years ago.
Lark took him on the next hunting trip.
It felt good to have his rifle in hand again. The nerves were something else entirely. He had something he wanted to prove, even if he couldn’t name it yet. He fell in behind Talking House and Gray Rabbit. Jocular Iain joined them. Lark rounded out the party, her stride long and able.
They spotted a flock of geese taking refuge in a shaded spring. Iain gave him a nudge, letting him set up for a shot. At the last moment, a sound startled the flock and they took flight. Gregor had already sighted his prey, anticipating its motion, and the bird fell like a stone. The others clapped him on the back. Envious looks at the rifle made him proud.
It was easy, returning to this role. He was pleased he could keep the pace, even on the new terrain. His regiment had been mostly scouts and sharpshooters. But the thought of sighting down the long barrel to human form had not sat easy on him. He had not seen much of the battlefield. To hunt, to kill, was done for many reasons. He had not yet been able to reconcile war as one of them.
Gregor noted they weren’t headed back the way they came as the day lengthened into sunset. He fell in stride with Lark. She read the question on his face.
“We’ll overnight with some friends, the Ye Iswa,” she said, jerking her chin toward Talking House’s stout back. “Hunt our way back to Haven in the morning.” She lifted the brace of ptarmigan off her shoulder. “Do a bit of trade.”
A small, prosperous band greeted the hunting party with cries of welcome, a few of the young women eyeing him with unconcealed interest. Gray Rabbit nudged him with a big grin in case he hadn’t noticed.
Lark matched his stride as they made their way to the meal. She pitched her voice low for his ear. “Only engage with the ones who come to you first.”
She quickened her step, meeting their hosts. Gregor’s eyes followed Lark, the way she greeted a distinguished older member of the band with both hands and her rare unchecked smile. He returned the gesture, and they conversed as he led her to a seat close to his at the fire.
The birds made a fine meal, though Gregor spent most of it avoiding the attentions of the female members of their host. Mumbling what little of the common trade tongue he knew, he retired early, going to the shelter set aside for the guests and curling up in the bed he’d been provided. The others returned in various states of drunkenness. Lark’s pallet lay empty. A spark of jealousy raged in him before he forced it down. He drifted into an uneasy sleep.
When he woke, Lark and the others slept in their blankets. After goodbyes were said and they had shouldered their packs and set off, Gregor found himself at the back of the party. Lark dropped behind to keep pace with him after a while.
“You’re too serious, soldier. I hear that’s a fatal flaw in your people.”
He fixed his gaze on the ground to hide his glare. She hooked his bicep in her hand.
“Don’t judge what you don’t understand. Things are different here: the women choose their own partners and relations are flexible. Their affections are given freely. No one expects you to be a monk.”
“Just them?” he muttered, unable to keep the accusation out of his voice.
“You wait one blasted minute,” she said, jerking back hard on his arm and drawing him up fast.
The others paused. At the look on Lark’s face, they dropped their gazes and trudged ahead.
“Is that what you meant by trade,” Gregor hissed, glancing at the pack on her back.
Her hand snaked out so fast it took him by surprise. The shock of it—the slap, the pain—brought ringing clarity to his head.
“You spoiled, arrogant prick.”
He took a step back, surprised at his own jealousy. Lark had made her position known. He’d never been one to sulk. But the feeling in his chest blinded him. He’d lost her and he’d never had a chance to try.
“Henry told me about you,” she went on, fixing him with a withering look. “Little German prince, running away from home to have an adventure in the colonies. Looking down your nose at us savages the whole time.”
“I’m not a prince,” he said, surly now.
She guffawed, stamping a few feet away before turning to him. “I should have left you to bleed out.”
He gritted his teeth and stared back at her. “Why didn’t you? The rifle and whatever else you picked from my pockets would have been yours.”
She flushed a deep crimson, her mouth set in a tight line. “I don’t scavenge corpses.”
“Your boys do. You taught them everything else they know. Scavenging and God knows what else.” He scoffed. “Witch woman.”
Rage transformed her face. She closed the distance between them, and for the sheerest instant he knew she would strike him again. And not a slap this time either. “Is this the first time a woman hasn’t fallen at your feet because you’ve taken to mooning after her like a lovestruck yearling?”
The air left his lungs along with any pseudo-righteous reply he might have made.
“My bed is my business,” she said. “If you return with us, you’ll remember that. If you can’t, you can walk out of this valley now. Turn your back to the sun and keep walking. You’ll find a trail in half a day. A road, tomorrow.”
She spun, stalking into the bush after the others. He walked the opposite direction until the heat had burned out of his chest. Shame and recrimination remained. The words he’d spoken, the insinuation he’d made, had been unforgivable. He’d deserved the slap, and more.
He swore in
three languages. Then he turned back and started walking. He could track them, he hoped. They would be hunting during the day, slowing them down some. All he had to do was keep a steady pace.
He picked up a jog, feeling the comfortable burn of effort in his lungs. The rifle weighed nothing. Muscles rebuilt in simple tasks of labor warmed to work. It wasn’t long before he found the place where she’d left him. Following the trail tested his skill, but months in the wild had strengthened it. He paused to feel the raw edge of a broken twig, explore the divot of mud turned up against rock. Boot, not hoof or paw. Content, he kept moving. They were following a deer trail, making their tracks easier to follow. Hopeful, he climbed the ridge above the track for a better vantage. When he got to the top he paused, scanning the gully below. At the flash of buckskin and a bit of red from Iain’s neckerchief, he whooped. The movement paused. Eager, he quickened his step, jog sliding down the slope to rejoin the trail.
He almost ran into the bearded stranger on the trail leading a mule loaded with skins. A second man on horseback rode behind him. Even in his flat moccasins, the man with the mule towered over Gregor. His beard was long and unkempt, thick with gray and tangled with greasy bits of his previous meals.
Gregor took a step back.
“Have a look, Davy,” the man said, appraising Gregor with an eye sharp enough to make him tense.
The second man nudged his horse around. Gregor was flanked. The man took him in. A bit cleaner than the first, his face bore the crags of pox scars under lines of a life lived outdoors. Watery eyes lingered a bit too long on the rifle before returning to Gregor’s face.
“Big one, he is,” the blond said, “for a Hessian.”
“Look familiar to you?”
Davy leaned his forearm on the pommel of his saddle as he pinned Gregor with his eyes. “I never forgets me a face.”
“You must have me mistaken for another,” Gregor said.
“Nope.” The bearded man shook his head. “Don’t suppose we do. I don’t forget a face either, especially when it’s attached to a reward for murder and desertion.”
The Talon & the Blade Page 16