Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel

by E. A. Burnett

  She stood and inhaled the cool, clean air of the mountains. Dense conifers surrounding the boulder. Riggs' head bobbed below her, half a dozen feet down, as he made his way around the base of the rock. On either side of her, the mountain's forests sprawled up to the blue-tinted sky, some slopes steeper and rockier than others. The gorge had shrunk, and was now a shallow stream, perhaps twenty paces wide. Oaks speckled with leaf-buds, alders, maples, and white-barked sycamore trees clung to the banks like ancient sentinels. Their twisted branches gathering above the stream were far prettier than Arundel's arcade of twisted iron.

  A perfect spot for spying, Ember observed.

  A flash of pale feathers caught her eye. A small hawk, perched in the heavy limb of a sycamore, tore at a tiny bundle of fur grasped in its talons.

  Or for hunting.

  Disgust and hunger simultaneously churned in her stomach.

  "Riggs?" she called down from her rock.

  Riggs looked up, his face pink and sweaty, from where he clung to the south side of the boulder. It must be frustrating to always be in human form, she thought. "Do you have food with you?"

  His sheening brows drew together. "Food?" Perplexed, he fumbled around for his satchel with a free hand.

  "On the other side," Ember said, motioning her head toward the north side of the boulder. Without waiting for a response, she scrambled down the northern slope of the boulder, realizing how easy it would be to climb down in the form of a squirrel or a goat, and that it would be easiest of all to fly.

  A shadow passed over her as she reached the base of the boulder. The small hawk—Kitt—flew in front of the sun and dove through an opening in the trees ahead. He landed on the ground at the edge of the opening, his pale feathery body disappearing for a moment among fern fronds. The ferns stirred, and the sun fell across Kitt's bare shoulders and back as he stood.

  Ember stared at his form, mesmerized by the way the light played along his slender muscles as he moved, curling around the ridges and swaying, dipping into half-hidden curves of darkness. He stalked into the clearing, his step determined, his thick thighs strung with tension.

  Coldness kissed Ember's mind. The source of it was buried deep in the grasses that Kitt trudged through.

  "Kitt, no!"

  Without thinking, she sprinted towards him, like a rabbit diving through undergrowth, like a horse leaping over fallen logs, her mind probing the spell, her eyes tracking Kitt's every move like she was the hunter, only she didn't want him to get caught in the trap she knew awaited him.

  He didn't seem to hear her. She would be too late, she realized, and watched in dismay as he bent down, right down into the spell whose metallic chill shivered up her spine.

  SNAP!

  The unmistakable sound of a jaw-trap biting something solid cracked through her nerves as she emerged into the clearing.

  But Kitt stood with his arms intact, and turned toward her, his face hard and his eyes narrowed.

  "It's a trap," Ember gasped, half-kneeling and half-falling next to the large iron contraption. In its teeth was a stick, only a stick, and the force of the jaw had caused it to break in half. Ember breathed over it, unable to stop her body from trembling.

  "I saw it while I was flying," Kitt said in a tight voice.

  "I saw it, too," she said. The spell—a Freeze—was faded, likely from exposure to rain, and weakened enough that she might be able to undo it—

  Kitt reached down to pick it up.

  "No!" She lashed out, grabbing his wrist before he could touch it, and she found herself too close to his nudity. She met his gaze, her face flaming, but he seemed unaware or uncaring of the effect of his nakedness on her.

  His hand curled into a fist, and the tendons in his wrist corded beneath her fingers.

  She snatched her hand away and licked her lips. "There is a spell," she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. Her hands felt empty suddenly, and she searched the ground for a sharp stick. Where had she put her arrow?

  "You're a wizard," he growled.

  Something in his voice made her meet his gaze, and for a fleeting moment she was looking into Arundel's eyes—the hatred he held while riding a horse into the ground, the anger that pinched his lips as he set a spelled snare, the wild violence as he swung an ax into the head of a struggling boar.

  In the next moment her heart beat and she spun away, her mind already forming the image of a wolf, or a rabbit, and her body soaking into the nauseating swirl of—

  Someone shouted and a force slammed into Ember's back.

  Huge paws smashed her arms into the ground. Their curved, needle-sharp claws pricked her skin, a minute pain compared to the massive strength bearing down on her back, smothering her into the ground. The rumble of the cougar's growl shuddered between her shoulder blades and the heat of his breath twined around her throat. Out of the corner of her eye, long teeth bared in a snarl, inches away.

  Vaguely, Ember heard Riggs shouting Kitt's name.

  The weight on her shifted, lightened, but the heat and strength stayed steady, like a barely-contained fire.

  "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you," Kitt snarled into her ear.

  Because I'm a shifter, just like you, she wanted to say. But it wasn't entirely true, and he would know it.

  "Not all wizards are the same," she said instead. "You don't know me. I'm not like the others."

  "Prove it," he spat, and pushed away from her.

  Dazed, she tried to sit up. In a moment, Riggs was at her side, gently grasping her lower arms to help her and wiping the pricks of blood with a cloth.

  "You're shaking," he said. "It's alright now. He won't hurt you."

  Ember only half-heard him. She rubbed her hands over her neck and watched as Kitt grabbed his skirt from Riggs' pack and tied it back on with quick, steady movements.

  Do all shifters hate wizards? Perhaps she should've stayed in Silverglen; she might have been safer. She ran a hand over her cheek, where sticks had dug a pattern into her skin. She didn't know these people, and she certainly had no idea what this Kitt was really capable of.

  Murder. I saw murder in his eyes.

  "Riggs, you go to main camp," said Kitt, tightening the last knot with a snap of the leather strips. "We can't trust this one. Seabird can decide what to do with her."

  Riggs snorted. "You want me to leave her with you, after what you just did? You're mad."

  "You'll be safer on your own, without a shifter around. No one will suspect who you are, if you play it off well. You can use your story about collecting rare medicinal plants to bring back to Lach. Even better if you're found with Seabird."

  "Unless they recognize him," Riggs said dryly. He proffered a piece of bread to Ember.

  Her stomach felt knotted, but she forced herself to take the bread because she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten.

  "We'll wait here," Kitt continued. "It's not much further, but I don't want to risk taking her there."

  "Alright," Riggs said. "But there's one thing you have to promise me." He stood and pressed his face close to Kitt's, seemingly untroubled by the fact that he stood a full three inches shorter. "No more threats. You don't touch her."

  They glared at each other for a moment before Kitt let out a slow breath. Ember took the opportunity to reach into Riggs' pack, quick and careful as a mouse. No, he won't touch me again.

  "I won't touch her unless she tries to hurt me," Kitt promised. His eyes glided to Ember, scowling in suspicion. "What is she—?"

  Slow and steady. She pulled out a piece of dried meat and a couple of small apples, ignoring Kitt's look of shocked confusion. There was plenty of food left at the bottom of the bag to last Riggs days, and she needed more sustenance. She tugged at the strip of meat with her teeth, suddenly too hungry to think about where it came from or what it was. The sweet juice of the apple washed over the meat's saltiness.

  "Can she not hunt?" Kitt asked Riggs in a lowered voice.

  Ember pretended n
ot to hear, though she couldn't stop a flare of anger heating her cheeks. Why not just ask me yourself? And they watched her like she was some strange animal they had never seen before. Ember straightened and took another bite of the apple, making sure no juice spilled.

  "I don't know," Riggs replied, watching Ember with equal perplexity. "There are some few like that at camp, you know. Besides myself, of course," he added with a wry smile.

  "Sorry, Pitkin. I don't count you among other shifters anymore."

  "Ouch," Riggs said, mocking pain as he rubbed a hand over his chest. "Doesn't my scrubby fur count for anything?"

  "It might, if it covered more than your arse. You should get going. You'll have a full moon tonight."

  "I suppose that means you want me to travel all night without getting a wink of sleep?" Riggs stalked to his satchel and hauled it over his shoulder, tossing Kitt a hide blanket roll. "I'll just have to find some of those wide-eyed berries." He winked at Ember, his ears twitching as he grinned, and set off north.

  Ember finished eating and watched him go. The knife she had stolen from his pack pressed against the small of her back as she leaned against an oak tree.

  "Who is Seabird?" she asked.

  Kitt didn't turn from where he stood, watching as Riggs disappeared into a dense thicket.

  "How big is your main camp?" she tried again.

  Kitt's back was rigid. His arms didn't hang at his sides, but seemed poised there, on the verge of movement.

  "What's to stop me from trying to find your camp on my own?" she prodded.

  "I hope you aren't that stupid," he replied shortly, turning his head so that she could see his profile. A silver streak of hair started at his temple and ended just past his ear, a mark of age that belied the youth of his face.

  He doesn't look to be many years older than myself.

  "You promised you wouldn't touch me unless I tried to hurt you," said Ember.

  "The safety of the camp is a much higher promise. No one would have issue with me attacking a stranger who posed a threat to camp."

  "And how am I a threat?" she asked.

  He turned his face away.

  Ember sighed and leaned her head back against the oak's rough trunk. She wished he would say something, even a lie. She would at least have words to pick through, then.

  A vermin hawk landed on a branch above her and glared down with red eyes.

  He's quick and quiet.

  She scowled back at the hawk until he took off and flew the short distance to the river, no doubt to hunt again. Where Kitt had stood, there was now only a crumpled deerskin skirt and the blanket roll from Riggs.

  Ember grabbed the hide blanket and found a spot to rest beneath a soft pine, where the long needles formed a thick, springy bed at the base of the trunk. She stretched the blanket over her and took out Riggs' knife. She pulled at the air along the blade with her fingers, crisscrossing and looping it around in a simple, one-handed Freeze pattern, and as the air recognized her motions and intent, it seemed to condense, forming silvery, thread-like strands wherever her fingers went. She tapped the surface of the blade to bind the Freeze to it.

  "Done," she whispered, sinking the blade into the ground next to her. She let loose a sigh and tightened the blanket around her. A vermin hawk called nearby with short, nasal whistles. She kept her eyes toward the sound, watching for movement in the great trees that loomed over the river.

  The sun sank in the west.

  chapter seventeen

  Ember jerked awake, intuitively grabbing the handle of Riggs' knife as she did so. She had slept far too long.

  A dense, moon-lit fog hung like a curtain around her, hiding everything but the scaly trunk next to her. She tugged the blanket off, her skin prickling in the chill, damp air.

  As she stood, a low growl rumbled through the fog.

  Kitt.

  She stumbled toward the noise, tripping over sticks and jutting rocks, straining to see movement.

  There. As she saw him, in the form of a lithe cougar, his growling turned to screaming, and he thrashed at something that she couldn't make out, his hind foot caught—

  A spear materialized out of the fog and jabbed his hind leg.

  Without thinking, Ember hefted Riggs' knife like a throwing dagger and loosed it at the dark form, willing it to strike anything solid. But it wasn't a throwing knife and didn't have the balanced weight of one, so it could go sidelong—

  The fog muffled a shout. The sound was enough.

  Ember leapt to the snare around Kitt's foot.

  Blood seeped over his fur as he slumped against the ground, growling at the form Ember couldn't quite make out. When she bent over the snare, he flinched and snapped toward her hand.

  "Kitt!" she said, looking into two large golden eyes. She loosened the snare loop over his hind paw. "We need to go."

  A low chuckle slithered past her ears. The hair on her neck stood on end.

  It can't be him. She peered through the dense fog at the wizard's form. Tall and skinny. Spindly hands grasped the haft of his spear, unmoving and locked into her knife’s Freeze. Oddly, both the spear and the snare were unspelled. Had he simply been hunting for food? There's no such thing as simple with a wizard. Especially with a wizard traveling through Orion. He wouldn't be alone.

  She could see the hilt of Riggs' knife sticking out from the wizard's calf, but she couldn't make out the detail of his face, where the fog seemed to thicken.

  "Kill him," Kitt said through gritted teeth, in human form now. He was trying to stand, but he couldn't lean on his wounded leg.

  Ember pretended not to hear and rushed to tuck herself under his arm like a crutch.

  "No, I'm fine," he continued. "You still have a chance. Kill him, or he'll come after us."

  Killing might be an option for someone like Kitt. Like Arundel. It wasn’t an option for her. Couldn’t be. Still, something tugged against her. The yearning to stop the wizard, to control the situation. Knowing she could kill him, and that she would be stronger because of it. Ember shoved the feeling away. "We need to go. The spell won't last much longer." Ember strained against Kitt's weight as she helped him up. "We need to move as quickly as you can." She forced her feet one in front of the other, willing her strength to lend speed to Kitt's movements.

  Another chuckle rose behind her and ascended into a short, raspy laugh. She could never mistake that sound.

  Fletch.

  She pushed Kitt forward and squinted through the fog. They wouldn't be able to get very far away before he broke the spell. Her magic wasn't strong enough, and Fletch was persistent.

  "We need to find a place to hide," she said, looking around.

  "Up there," Kitt replied, pointing upslope. "An old tree."

  She tugged him in that direction, listening for any footfalls behind them. She heard nothing, and sensed no cold beyond that of the fog.

  "Wait," Kitt panted. He reached down and pulled a clump of reddish moss from a rock. "Blood-moss. For the wound."

  Sweat shone on his forehead, and his face was paler than the moonlight. She helped him stand straight, wishing she could see better in the fog.

  A dozen more steps and they arrived at the foot of an elm tree. The trunk spread nearly as wide around as the hovels in the burned village, and the roots looked to be trunks of their own, hunched and twisted over the sunken ground. Beneath the roots lay darkness.

  Kitt slumped to the ground and pulled himself through a gap in the roots. Ember smoothed the leaves he had disturbed on his way down, and lowered herself after him, being sure she left not even a twig standing out of place.

  No moonlight came into the hole. What light the fog hadn't obscured, the roots took the rest of. A few feet down from the roots, the cool ground formed a bowl framed by soil and the rough, furrowed wood of the semi-hollowed trunk.

  She touched hot skin and withdrew her hand.

  "You're shivering," Ember whispered. Her stomach tightened.

  "Shock." Kitt p
ressed the blood-moss into her hand. "I need you to bind the wound. Tightly."

  He guided her hand to his wound, and winced as she pressed the moss there. Quickly, she pulled at the knot of her upper garment and unwound it. She bound the fabric firmly over the moss, and Kitt's blood stuck to her fingers like syrup.

  "Thank you," Kitt said when she was done.

  Ember peered out of the roots. The fog had thickened. She could see nothing beyond the great elm roots. She thought of casting a Glamour over the roots so that only ground would appear beneath the roots rather than their hiding place, but dismissed the idea. All wizards had some sense of spells, not the way that she did, but Fletch's senses seemed eerily amplified compared to other wizards. She couldn't risk drawing his attention.

  He must've followed me here, but how? She had flown away from Silverglen; no tracks had been left behind. Perhaps he was on some other mission for Arundel, then.

  Her heart banged.

  Looking for me? Arundel would've eventually noticed her absence. And Salena, of course. They might have sent out patrols to bring her home. Had Fletch been with the patrol at the burned village? Had he suspected it was her they shot down? Most likely, the burning village had nothing to do with her.

  She listened to Kitt's ragged breathing and rubbed the goose-pimples from her arms.

  What would Kitt do if he knew who she was? What would other shifters do? A daughter of Lord Arundel, the man who suffocated the rebellion and murdered thousands of shifters. The man who saved Lach by killing a piece of its soul. A sick man. A monster.

  Even some commoners of Merewood held a deep hatred toward him. Ember could only imagine the hatred other shifters had for him. If they were anything like Kitt...

  Ember shook her head to dislodge the thought.

  I am not Arundel's daughter. I'm nothing like him. Hadn’t she proven that by not killing Fletch?