Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel

by E. A. Burnett

  Arundel had walked away. She never had enlightened Finn because she loved him too much the way he was. He didn't care about politics and secrets; he had no use for them in his happy-go-lucky world. She never wished to taint his dream, and avoided what would certainly drive a wedge between them.

  Masses of oaks and ash trees stretched their budding arms up to her, taunting her to stay and watch for rabbits that ventured from the warmth of the undergrowth. She skimmed above them, the stench of burned things stinging her nostrils. She came around to the northern slope of the mountain. Black smoke billowed from a crag near the slope’s base, where the trees thinned to make way for a meandering gully.

  Ember circled above the spot, giving the column of reeking smoke a wide berth.

  Old hovels lay half-hidden beneath the trees, their low, mounded thatch roofs scorched and collapsed, falling like fragile black lace into the earthen pits. A cracked wooden bowl lay sideways outside one hovel, and an overturned basket of berries stained a boulder satin red. She passed over the gully, whose water gushed through a narrow channel, wetting the rocks with its turbulence. The skeleton of a sycamore lay like a bridge across it, and on one bony twig hung a tiny leather boot, swaying gently over the force of the river.

  Reluctantly, she closed in on the burning pile. Through the smoldering haze the pile first appeared to be blackened furniture—a stool here, a table-top there—but in between the wood were softer things. Furs, cushions stuffed with animal hair, bundles of hide wrapped around—

  An arm. Slender and dark like a tree branch. The fingers gave it away.

  Ember wheeled upward, her wings trembling with effort. She needed to find a safe refuge, away from any clans. She had no intention of getting involved in their hostile affairs—

  A light whistle, and pain ripped into her side. The force of an arrow sent her spinning.

  Sky and rocks reeled as she careened toward a great golden spruce. The bristly limbs flexed as she hit them, slowing her fall enough for her to pull her wings in close. The arrow twisted in her side as it caught on branches.

  She strained to stay in hawk-form, but when the final, dizzying thud of the ground hit her, she couldn't hold it any longer. Her side screamed with pain as she returned to human form.

  Tall and straight like a tree, the arrow rose up out of her, wavering with every breath she took. The fletching was iron-gray against the sky, neat and familiar.

  Something rustled nearby, and she tried to sit up.

  I have to get out of here—

  Her vision darkened with pain.

  Rough hands grabbed her. She could shift—if only her body would listen—into a bear, or a cougar, but her body wasn't working. Too tired, too worn.

  She opened her mouth to scream but a hand clamped down over it, and they dragged her away, heedless of the blood running down her side.

  chapter fifteen

  They dragged her to a rocky outcrop and lifted her under a long stone ledge that nearly hugged the ground. Dim light washed through the crevice, and she was sure no one would find them unless she made noise.

  She bit the hand that clamped against her mouth.

  "Damn it!" A furious whisper, and instead of moving away, the hand grabbed her jaw.

  An angry face of stubble filled her vision.

  "If you say one word," he whispered, "we're all dead. So shut your mouth."

  There was something familiar about the man, a warm, earthy scent that she recognized. But his fingers dug into her, and the residues of hawk and owl inside her made her want to lash out at his big face with a taloned claw.

  "Easy Kitt," said another voice, much calmer. "Let's lay her down. Right here."

  Ember felt softness beneath her head, but she couldn't relax into it. The man who had grabbed her face released her, and she saw that his chest and legs were bare but for a skirt of leather tied low on his hips. The other man, the calmer one, squatted next to her. He was dressed like a Lachian—cotton shirt, leather jerkin and pants—but strange leather pouches hung all over him.

  Ember reached to cover herself, gritting her teeth against the pain as she did so.

  The Lachian didn’t seem to notice, and gave her a wide, easy grin. "Kitt recognized you were a shifter," he said. "Though it did take some convincing for him to believe you might still be alive after that arrow."

  "Just hurry up," the angry man, Kitt, replied, and moved away toward the entrance of the crevice.

  The Lachian opened a wood box, and she glimpsed the hilt of a knife.

  Quick as a snake.

  Her arm flashed out and her fingers curled around the hilt before the man had time to think. She clutched the handle and pointed the long, curved blade at the stunned Lachian, willing her remaining strength to overcome the sudden trembling that hit her. Blood trickled down her side.

  "Who are you?" she demanded.

  The Lachian held up his hands, his round, hazel eyes no longer laughing.

  "I'm Riggs," he replied. "Riggs Pitkin. And that is Kitt—"

  Kitt seemed to realize that Ember held a knife, and swore, moving back toward them. Riggs stopped him with a wave.

  "If I don't get that arrow out of you," Riggs continued, "you aren't going to last much longer."

  Ember resisted the urge to look at the wound, too aware of the blood seeping down her bare side. "Who shot me?"

  "Some bastard wizard," Kitt muttered. "If you both don't shut up, we'll all be target practice." He rubbed a hand over his stubble and crouched to peer through the crevice opening.

  The pain was making Ember pant, and she fought off the nausea that swam over her.

  Riggs pried the knife from her hand. She closed her eyes and opened them when she heard a metallic ting. He moved through his box of tools—knives, scissors, needles, glass jars—touching each one delicately.

  "The arrow-puller," he whispered to himself. "I need that, and the ebon tincture, and of course, Norman—"

  His ears splayed as wide as honeyed pastries, sticking out from his round face so much that when they twitched, they nearly flapped. He looked up and grinned at something behind her.

  "Lady, meet Norman. He's a special friend of mine."

  Something soft tickled her ear, and warmth washed over her cheek. She tilted her head, and found a great beak surrounded by plumes of orange and red. A large golden eye met hers.

  I'm dreaming. Or I'm dead.

  But she could see each feather on his face, each fiber of scarlet and gold and orange that clung and melded together. The bird strutted forward, bending his head to peer at her. His tall scarlet crest rose in curiosity. It was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.

  "A firebird," she whispered, grimacing as Riggs poured a yellow liquid over her wound. "I thought they were all dead."

  "In Lach, maybe. Here, bite this." He placed a strip of leather inside her mouth. "I'm going to remove the arrow, and you need to hold still." He glanced toward Kitt. "And try not to make any noise. We want to make it out of here alive, okay?"

  Without waiting for a reply, he picked up an odd spoon-like device and pushed it into the wound.

  She took full advantage of the strip of leather, biting it so hard her jaw ached. If she slackened her jaw, she knew she wouldn't be able to keep down the sickening onslaught of pain. The arrow stuck deep in her side, though it hadn't come out the other end, and Riggs had a long way to go to reach the tip.

  Moments, it had to have been only moments later, yet somehow it seemed like hours, he had the arrow out.

  She watched through slit eyes as he doused the hole in her side with more yellow liquid. Even with the arrow out of her, she could feel the damage burning inside her, could see it bubbling up from the opening. Too much damage.

  The firebird peered at the wound, and Riggs backed away, wiping the blood off his hands with a towel as if it were no more than dirt.

  The bird's crest rose to its fullest, a foot high and tapering at the top, and as he stretched his head up, the word
s of a children's rhyme went through Ember's head.

  Silent song

  Wishing dust

  From the firebird

  Life is thrust

  Flaming breath

  And feathers, too

  The fire shifts

  Old to new...

  He beat his wings once, twice, three times, and the air that rippled over her went from warm to hot as the firebird expanded his chest. His beak crackled open and flames darted out and down into her.

  She clamped her fists against her mouth as her wound filled with fire, a horrible heat that tore through her insides and swept up her veins. Amber, ocher, and white gold blinded her, and the scream of cobalt heat deafened her mind.

  She wouldn’t cry out.

  She wouldn’t make noise.

  She fainted.

  chapter sixteen

  Ember awoke thirsty and ravenous. She bolted upright. Bright midday light flooded through the long narrow crevice that ran beneath the lip of the stone ledge, warming the chill air inside the cave-like nook.

  She was alone.

  Her side felt sore, and when she pulled away the hide blanket that covered her, she was surprised to see the tender circle of flesh where the wound had been. How long had she slept for? It felt like days, at least.

  There was no sign of the two men who had saved her, nor of their firebird, though they had left the bloodied arrow beside her. She studied the gray fletching without touching it.

  No spells. The arrow had been shot for fun, then. The wizards likely didn't suspect what she was. She could only hope that they hadn't seen her as a human, and that they wouldn't find her here.

  She used the sharp edge of the arrowhead to slice the sheet in half. She wound one half tightly around her upper torso, wedging the ends under the wrappings to make a snug fit. She did the same with the other half, knotting the ends tightly around her hips to form a very short skirt, almost like an under-garment, except that she had nothing to go over it. It reminded her of the hide skirt that the man, Kitt, wore.

  Even the Zarian dancers wear more than this, she thought as she studied her pale limbs. But anything was better than being naked.

  Gripping the shaft of the arrow like the haft of a knife, Ember stalked to the entrance of the crevice. The air had warmed considerably, thickening the stench of burnt flesh. The forest was well-lit, the breeze singing through tree-boughs and mingling with the endless chatter of songbirds, as if death didn't linger thirty paces away.

  She had no intention of going back into the village. She would look for Riggs and Kitt, or find their trails to wherever they were going. They had to have come from somewhere. Perhaps they knew other people in the mountains, people she could stay with.

  She turned sideways to face the village as she slid beneath the far side of the ledge, half-squatting to duck under the widest space that the thick milky stone allowed. She could still make out the remains of the hovel roofs and the black smoke that hung like mist between the trees. The fire will burn for days yet.

  She turned to go, and bumped into a muscled chest covered with fine brown hairs.

  Ember leapt back and wielded the arrow. A flush burned up her cheeks.

  Kitt lifted a thick brow at her arrow and crossed his arms.

  "You are a shifter, correct?" he asked.

  "I know that you are a shifter," she replied. A wild guess, but it would explain his scent. Different, yet familiar.

  "Well that's not too difficult to figure out," he replied.

  Ember tried not to scowl.

  Riggs came up behind him, sweat pearling on his forehead and upper lip. Small leather-bound bundles hung from his belt and bandolier, and he carried a bulky satchel from where he produced a copper flask.

  "Here," he said, proffering it. "You must be thirsty."

  She was, desperately so, but she took the flask slowly and drank little.

  "How long was I asleep?" Ember asked, handing the flask back.

  "A few hours," Riggs said. He stuffed the flask back in the satchel. "Do you feel better?"

  "Like I've slept for days." Firebird magic. She eyed the canopy, but saw no flash of orange. "Are the wizards gone?"

  Kitt's eyes narrowed. "How did you know there was more than one?"

  Wizards never travel alone. Always as a patrol or with an Escort.

  "A guess. The damage done to the village seems to be the work of more than one."

  Riggs nodded. "We didn't find any survivors."

  "The wizards headed southeast," Kitt said, nodding his head in that direction. A silver streak of hair along his temple flashed in the sunlight, seeming out-of-place among the rest of his brown hair and so near his youthful face.

  "Any idea as to why they would've burned down a clan village?" Ember asked, though she could think of some possibilities. A bad trade, a wrong word said, a threatening move.

  Reluctance to give up their claim on valuable land—

  "We aren't as concerned about why as much as we are about who," Kitt replied, rubbing a hand over his face. "Though I think we already have an idea."

  Ember remembered the gray fletching and said nothing.

  "Where were you off to, anyways?" Riggs asked, taking off his satchel and sitting on a small boulder.

  "To find you. I'd like to go with you," she said, raising her chin.

  Kitt's sharp white teeth bared as he smiled. "Perhaps you should tell us your name first."

  "Ember."

  "Ember," Kitt repeated, glancing at Riggs. "Ember who?"

  "Ember Nobody," she replied. Arundel Thackeray wasn't her real father, which meant his name wasn't hers either. "I'm looking for my father. He was a shifter, and rumors say there are shifters here."

  Kitt frowned and his lips became a grim line.

  It was only half-true, what she said about the rumors. She had heard just as many rumors about shifters in Ekesia, and even as far south as Zari. Ember had always been careful to give Salena bits and pieces. She might even suggest a different city than the rumors had told her, and by the time they reached Arundel's ears, the rumors would be fairly distorted. Normally, the arrival of the proud, violet-clothed patrols would have been easy to spot, and shifters would have had time to flee if they were smart. The problems arose when Arundel had the patrols travel in disguise, giving them time to search the cities and set their traps without being recognized.

  Kitt's gaze flicked around the village. "We should go. Riggs?"

  Riggs stood and pulled his satchel over his shoulder. "I say yes."

  Kitt nodded. "We're going to our main camp," he told Ember. "If you want to come, you'll have to keep up and watch for wizards. If we run into any and they threaten us, we shift and fight. Got it?"

  Ember gripped her arrow shaft and straightened her back. "Of course."

  As soon as the words left her mouth, Kitt's arms burst upward and in half a moment his form whirled dark and his skin prickled to feathers. Wings beat the air rather than arms and a small hawk rose to the canopy.

  Ember stared as the hawk swiveled through the trees. Her fingers tingled and her heart beat her chest like a Zarian drum. So that is what it looks like. What would it be like to fly with another shifter?

  "Sorry about that," Riggs said, startling Ember. She had forgotten he stood there. "He can be rather abrupt sometimes." He bent to pick up the hide skirt that had dropped from Kitt’s new form.

  "I've never seen someone shift before."

  Riggs eyed her. "You've never seen another shifter?"

  "There aren't any left where I come from."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," Riggs said with a frown.

  They began walking the way Kitt had gone, northwest along the river gorge. Ember grimaced whenever her bare feet landed on a pine needle the wrong way, or whenever her toe jammed against a jutting stone.

  "So you are a healer?" Ember asked, partly out of curiosity and partly to distract herself from her throbbing feet.

  "Yes," Riggs said, pulling himse
lf over a thick fallen tree, carefully minding that the pouches and satchel didn't get caught on the rough bark. "My father taught me. He was a great healer once, in Kingsbury. Do you know of the city?"

  "I lived near there," Ember said. Not entirely a lie.

  "He was a far better healer than I, and a shifter."

  "A shifter?" Ember twirled the arrow shaft. "Was he found out?"

  "No. He escaped the city during the rebellion, with me in tow. We lived in Orion for a long time."

  "So you're a shifter, too?"

  He laughed, and it was a warm, comforting sound that danced against the hushed roaring of the river.

  "I can do this," he said, and his hand jutted toward her. Coarse black hair sprang up over his tanned, thick arm and spread over the top of his hand, forming patchy thickets of fur. Riggs grinned and twitched his ears at her.

  A giggle bubbled up her throat.

  "Kitt has tried to teach me to do more," he continued, "but it's useless. I will forever be a half-shifter."

  And I forever a half-wizard, she thought.

  Riggs stooped to pull a clump of wild onions hidden beneath a cluster of broad-leaved mayapples.

  "But you're fully a healer, are you not?" Ember asked as he tapped the dirt off the small bulbs and tucked them in his satchel.

  "Through and through," he said with another grin.

  Ember smiled and clambered onto a small boulder, the arrow shaft clamped between her teeth. The skirt and top she wore made the climb relatively easy, though she still felt too exposed and preferred her own canvas shirt and trousers that she wore back at home.

  Silverglen.

  Thoughts of Gregory flitted back, and Fletch, and the bear she had failed to release.

  I won't go back there. She pulled herself up onto the flattened top of the boulder. I can't go back. Not with Fletch knowing the truth. She wouldn’t see her mother again.

  Or Finn.

  Even though Finn didn’t know who she really was, she missed their late-night talks, his silly jokes and teasing that always made her feel better about her difficult time at the Academy or about being picked on by Devondra. He had made her childhood bearable, and she loved and respected him because of it. The idea of never seeing him again made her heart pinch.