Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel

by E. A. Burnett

  Her real father might be out there somewhere. She would focus on finding him, and on finding other shifters.

  Resolute, she formed the image of a cougar and shifted, filling most of the empty space with her fur. Gingerly, she lay with her side along Kitt's, her feline warmth permeating the small space.

  Sounds outside the hideout amplified. A mouse burrowed through the duff, an owl hooted in a three-beat rhythm, a snake slid out of a log nearby.

  She listened and watched for the wizard.

  Kitt's breathing steadied.

  chapter eighteen

  Ember awoke to the touch of the sun on her bare-skinned shoulder. She stretched the stiffness from her human limbs and rubbed the warmth back into them as she peeked through the tree roots above.

  No sign of a human. No spells that she could sense.

  She breathed relief.

  "Why didn't you kill him?"

  Ember twisted in the small space. Kitt sagged against the decaying wall of the tree hollow, his head resting against the wood as though he was too tired to hold it up. His leg wrappings were soaked a rusty red. The wound would need to be cleaned, Ember figured, though she had no water to clean it with. She would have to go to the river.

  And he needs to drink. Kitt's green eyes shone against sallow skin pricked with sweat. He covered himself with his hands, casually, waiting for her answer.

  She kept her eyes carefully trained on his face, just as he was doing to her, and pulled her knees up to her chest.

  The idea of killing Fletch made her insides pinch. Would she enjoy killing a man she hated? Would she grin, like Arundel always did after a hunt, because she would be the one in control? Arundel had always said power through knowledge, but he lived his life gaining power through killing. He had enjoyed killing, but it was more than that. She had felt the tug of it before, and had resisted. The idea of gaining control, of feeling strong by inflicting harm on others made her sick. "I don't believe in killing," she said.

  "He would've killed you. For being a shifter."

  "You don't know that."

  Kitt smirked, though it looked more like a weak grimace. "I've seen enough to know. He smelled of madness. And blood."

  Ember repressed a shiver. "I'm going to fetch water," she said. "And then we should head out for your camp."

  "No."

  "You won't last much longer out here, not without water. Maybe Riggs could take care of your wound, but without care it will get infected. Who knows when he'll be back? With the fog last night, he might not have traveled. And you look feverish."

  "I'm not taking you to camp. You aren't to be trusted."

  Anger flamed through her.

  "Why? Because I didn't kill someone? How exactly would me being a murderer make me more trustworthy?"

  Kitt clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. A drop of sweat rolled past the silver streak of hair along his temple.

  "Fine," Ember said. "I'm going to get water and scout. Don't move."

  She shifted to a cougar, ignoring the wash of biliousness and the uncomfortable shifting of senses, muscle, and bones, and leapt out of the hole.

  The sun rose to a late-morning poise. No deep shadows, but warm air and bright, dancing flashes of light played in the trees and along the forest floor. Hundreds of twigs snapped above as the elm boughs swayed in a breeze. She counted two robins, five chick-sparrows, a dozen or so tree-peckers, and at least six fat brown squirrels scrabbling to find what remained of their winter caches.

  The forest floor revealed smaller noises. Mice. Voles. Perhaps even a ground-chuck. A game of cat-and-mouse might be a welcome pleasure—

  No. She had gone her entire life without hunting, and she had no intentions of engaging in Arundel’s sport, even if her stomach was a bit hollow. I need to find water.

  The river they had followed the day before was back where she had left Fletch. And Riggs' knife. There was a good chance Fletch was there with other wizards, or perhaps even patrolling the river for the escaped shifters. But how far up the river would they go?

  She decided to head northeast along a steep, west-facing slope until she had traveled a fair amount of distance north, then cut directly west to meet the river.

  A rocky outcrop protruded over the river below, creating a high bank on either side. Too much exposure. If Fletch or other wizards were waiting along the river, the small ravine would be a perfect trap for any animal. She crept north, padding around large trees and winding through clumps of saplings that struggled to fill gaps in the canopy. Up ahead, the river split into two shallower streams, one heading up-river northwest, the other northeast.

  She was panting by the time she reached the edge of the river just south of the split. Ember slid along the wet, cool ground on her belly, burrowing through thick emerald-green ferns and bobbing mayapples until she reached the river's edge. The river's width was half again as long as her cat-body, deep enough that she couldn't see the bottom, and fast enough that the noise of rushing water prevented her from hearing as well as she wished to. She crouched and drank the icy water.

  Now, she would just need to figure out a way to get water to Kitt—

  A metallic scent trickled downstream.

  Not Arundel's metal, but the metallic whiff of a spell. Ember darted away from the river, low in the ferns and her paws sinking into the forest floor. Feline instinct brought her to an old ash tree that had fallen on a great oak, a perfect ladder into the canopy.

  She would be safer shifting to a bird and flying back to Kitt. She could avoid being seen, possibly captured, or even killed—

  Her claws dug into the slippery trunk of the ash tree. Driven more by the cougar's curiosity than her human fear, she lay in the crotch where the trees met, and waited.

  Four wizards. One heavier than the others. All men.

  A more distinct tread reached her ears. Her spine grew as rigid as the trunk beneath her. Riggs.

  The patrol came into view along the opposite bank of the river, just north of the split. Three wizards, then. Two fair-skinned and one—the biggest—as dark as a shadow. Riggs trudged behind them.

  No rope or ties. Perhaps they weren't afraid of him running away. But what would they want from a non-shifter, unless they believed he knew where to find shifters?

  They crossed the two smaller streams and headed south along the bank, stepping with care to avoid crushing vegetation.

  Ember flicked her tail in amusement. There's no hiding your trail from shifters. Even if they didn't leave a visible trace, the pungent smell of them would linger in the forest for days. Sweat and fear. And a female. Ember looked more closely at them as they approached beneath her. A Glamour. Of course. The faint silvery threads of the woman's Glamour shimmered when she tilted her head to the sun. Beneath it, she was finer-boned, lighter-skinned, her hair bound in tight braids rather than the loose, cropped hair of the illusion. Ember wondered if the other patrol members knew the wizard was a woman, as wizards couldn’t see the spells the way she had always been able to.

  "How much further?" the dark-skinned man asked.

  "Not much," said Riggs. His voice was steeped in weariness, and he sank onto a fallen log as the dark man paused to swig water from his canteen.

  The two light-skinned wizards stepped away from them and scanned the surroundings. Each carried an arm-length sword, and Ember sensed a Freeze bound along the blades.

  The tall dark wizard wore a sword strapped to his back, over a leather jerkin. Along the hem of the jerkin hung bits of gray fox fur that seemed to dance as he moved. He was Zarian, then, though he spoke like a Lachian.

  "You said you found the girl at the burned village," the Zarian said now. "Do you have reason to trust her?"

  Riggs frowned and his hand glided protectively over his satchel. He noticed the missing knife.

  "She warned Kitt of a trap. The patrol at the village shot her down. I don't think she is working with them."

  "But you said she threatened you?"

 
Riggs sighed. "She was injured and didn't know who we were. It's only natural to be defensive—"

  "Seabird! Up above!" A shout from one of the wizards.

  In one liquid motion the Zarian whirled toward Ember, his sword slithering from scabbard to hand. The tip gleamed in the sun as he pointed it at her.

  Steady as stone.

  She gazed down at Seabird's broad face, smooth but for the thick scar that ran from temple to chin. A fighter, then. And a leader. He was older than Arundel, his bristly hair shaded like salt and Ekesian pepper.

  An oddity of a wizard, if only because he wasn’t working for Arundel.

  Riggs jumped up, and his satchel thudded to the ground. "That must be her. She's bigger than Kitt. As a cougar, I mean," he added sheepishly, half-stumbling to reach Seabird's side.

  Seabird lowered his sword. "You are Ember?"

  Ember flicked her tail in response.

  Seabird turned toward the other two wizards and made a motion for them to lower their swords. He tucked his own back into its scabbard.

  "Where is Kitt?" Riggs asked her.

  As much as Ember enjoyed watching them safely from above, she forced herself to climb down. If the man was truly Seabird, the leader of the camp that Kitt had mentioned, she would need to gain his trust.

  She pawed her way down the fallen ash and leapt to the ground, landing only feet from where the woman wizard stood. Her sword pointed down at an angle in front of her, her arm tense and ready to sweep up in a defensive blow.

  Ember twitched her tail and turned away, retracing her steps to the old elm.

  The wizards pulled Kitt out of the hollow. Ember sat at a distance, watching as Riggs bent over Kitt's limpid form.

  "I need a litter," Riggs told the wizards. He opened his wood box and he fingered a small row of tiny flasks. He pulled one out and tipped the clear liquid into Kitt's mouth. "It's an ellium tincture," Riggs explained as Kitt sputtered and pushed his hand away. "Just drink the damn stuff. You'll feel better for it."

  Seabird dropped a bundle of cloth in front of Ember.

  "We need to talk," he said, and walked away to help with the litter.

  Ember grabbed the musty bundle and went behind a tree. She shifted back to human form, her skin at once pimpling at its sudden bareness. She would miss the better hearing and smell of the cat, but she could think clearer as a human. She could smell her own ripeness, and had the urge to lick herself clean.

  I am human. Rational thinking. Logic. And hot baths.

  Not to mention food. Her stomach twinged.

  The bundle turned out to be a worn, scratchy commoner's tunic, sized a bit large in the waist.

  "Ember, help me, will you?" Riggs asked when he saw her. "His leg can't move while I do this."

  Even with the ellium tincture, Kitt twitched in a feverish sleep. Ignoring the heat that fanned up her face, Ember placed her hands on either side of Kitt's wound. The bandage had been removed and the gaping hole flushed clean—or as clean as it could get. Riggs sewed the skin shut with deft fingers and rinsed the spot again.

  "Where is Norman?" Ember asked. Surely the bird could heal his wound quickly.

  Riggs shook his head. "I don't know. He's not at my command. And anyways," he added, throwing a clump of blood-moss into a small mortar and grinding it efficiently, "Norman only gifts a person once. Kitt was given his a long time ago."

  He spread the poultice over the wound.

  Ember couldn't stop a jolt of curiosity about Kitt's previous injury, nor the way the curiosity twisted with inexplicable guilt. "I didn't do it," she said.

  Without taking his eyes off the wound, Riggs gave a weak smile.

  "I imagine that if you did, he deserved it."

  "A snare caught him while I slept. The fog made it hard for me to find him, and by the time I did..."

  Ember left the rest unsaid. No reason for them to question her about the wizard. And why she hadn't killed him.

  "A patrol?" Seabird asked, lowering himself in a crouch across from her. "Did you see any of them?"

  He had steel eyes, she noted, black as a raven's feather.

  Ember shook her head. "There was too much fog. We were able to hide until morning."

  Riggs frowned and tightened his jaw, but didn't look at her as he finished securing the bandage around Kitt's leg. He didn't believe her, no doubt because she hadn't produced his missing knife. Seabird, too, looked too perceptive to be deceived so easily.

  "I hear you are a wizard," Seabird said casually. His deep voice was one of command, but it held a rolling softness that reminded her of velvet. "It's been a long time since I've met a wizard-shifter. They were never so common, in Lach, and never highly regarded by the people."

  Ember rubbed her hands over her tunic-covered thighs as Riggs finished wrapping Kitt's wound. "Are you the leader of the camp?" she asked.

  "I am."

  "Are more shifters there?"

  "The camp has many people," he said, emphasizing the last word.

  Riggs packed up his wooden box and wrapped it in deer-hide.

  "I'm looking for my father," Ember said. "He was a shifter."

  Seabird gave a slight nod, and a tiny red jewel hanging from his left earlobe flashed in the morning sun. "Does he have a name?"

  Ember stood. "Of course he has a name. But my mother never told me what it was."

  "What was your mother's name?"

  "It doesn't matter. They never married. She's dead now." Ember was getting tired of lying. But then again, she had been lying her entire life, hadn't she? "I would like to join your camp."

  Seabird raised his dark brows and stood, crossing his arms one over the other in a comfortable stance. His steady gaze held her still, though her heart hammered her chest.

  "Where are you from?" he asked.

  "Near Kingsbury," Ember replied.

  Seabird's face remained motionless. "What street did you live on?"

  Ember hesitated, trying to recall the street names from the few times she had been around Kingsbury. Would Seabird know every one? "We moved around a few times. The last was Licking Lane."

  Seabird's mouth twitched. "How did you get by?"

  Easy. "We washed linens, for those who could afford it."

  Seabird took a long breath, and his nostrils pinched.

  Ember lifted her head a notch, trying to calm her quickening pulse.

  "You're a decent liar," Seabird finally said. Before Ember could open her mouth, he went on. "I've worked with a lot of spies in my days. Who do you work for?"

  Heat flushed up Ember's neck. Far too perceptive. Ember might not be a spy now, but Salena had raised her to be one. "I work for no one. I told you, I'm here to find my father."

  "A convenient excuse," Seabird rumbled. "Now, tell me the truth about what happened with Kitt."

  Ember swallowed, glancing down at Kitt's prostrate form. "I did see the wizard who attacked him."

  "And?" Seabird prodded.

  "I threw a knife at the wizard. Spelled with a Freeze." Ember met Riggs' annoyed glance. "I took the knife from Riggs' pack for protection before he left."

  Heavy silence fell between them, broken only by Kitt's deep breathing.

  I sound ludicrous, Ember thought wildly. They'll never let me join them, now.

  "And after you stabbed the wizard?"

  Ember let out a huff. "I didn't kill him. Is that what you wish to hear? I left the wizard behind and hid until this morning. We don't kill people where I come from."

  "Even if they wish to kill you?"

  Ember shot a glare at Seabird. Why did these people assume the worst about wizards? "I don't know that the wizard would've killed either of us."

  "But the wizard stabbed Kitt. It could prove a lethal wound, could it not?"

  Ember sought Riggs' reassurance, but he was busy checking Kitt’s wrappings.

  "It's not my place to decide who dies," Ember muttered. She was no patrol member or Escort.

  "No?" Seabird said. "One d
ay, that may be the only decision you have left to make."

  Ember crossed her arms and jutted her chin forward. She wouldn't sit there and argue with the man. Either he would accept her or he wouldn't.

  Seabird acknowledged her stony silence with a brief nod. "Our group only accepts those who have something to offer in abilities. Each of us has a role to fulfill. What can you give us?"

  Ember let out a breath, straightening her back against the urge to sag in relief. "I can start a fire," she stated.

  Riggs gave an audible snort as he tucked his box into his satchel.

  "I can wash linens and cook," she added.

  From the look Seabird gave her, he wasn't impressed.

  Ember scrambled to think of something else. She had spent so much time eavesdropping in the kitchens; surely she could make something nice. Something spectacular.

  "I can make stuffed lamb chops," she said. "Sweet-meat pies, bread pudding—"

  Seabird's deep, rolling laughter cut her off. She stared at him, unsure of what to say.

  "If you can cook like that," he said, "we'll be eating like a lord."

  Ember smiled with a confidence she didn't feel, and helped hoist sleeping Kitt onto the newly formed litter.

  chapter nineteen

  Ember discovered the camp when she realized it was hidden. To others, even wizards, there was no sign of life beyond that of the trees and plants, the rocks and the meandering stream.

  To Ember, the camp appeared as a web of spells.

  She sensed them with her mind at first, a vast ring of coldness, a thousand or more spells strung between trees in complex, two-handed formations. As they neared, Ember saw that a translucent curtain of Glamour and Silencing spells formed a type of perimeter whose ends met at the base of an escarpment. The fine spell strands only appeared at certain angles, gilded by the dusk light in a way that only Ember could see. Walking through them felt like walking through cobwebs.

  "There's an entrance, over here," Riggs said, too late.

  Inside the perimeter now, Ember watched as Riggs stepped between two great stones. No spells there, she sensed, wiping the tickling sensation off her arms. She had created somewhat of an open patch, and did what she could to fill it. The problem with the longer strands of spells was that they were weak. Shorter strands held up better to physical pressure—either by bending with it or moving around it. The longer strands, like those she had walked through, simply broke apart.