Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel

by E. A. Burnett

  They raced as falcons, climbing as high as they could go before diving down, falling like a heavy rock toward the sea of leaves. Ember arced up at the last minute, swinging horizontal to the tree-line, and she spotted Kitt alongside her.

  He flashed in and out of her line of sight, dipping occasionally into the trees with a deft roll, curling around branches like water, and doing who-knew-what else among the tree limbs. At some point, he came out ahead of her and didn't look back.

  Self-competition, indeed. Still a falcon, he streaked skyward, rising like a shooting star against the ocean of deep azure.

  No longer trying to compete with him, Ember rose into the air as well, basking in the sun and cherishing the wind under her wings. She observed Kitt for a while, noting subtle movements, slight tilts of the wing and tail that grabbed the air, allowing him to slow, or rise, or gain speed.

  The wind steadied just above the rounded mountain peaks. She soared as a vulture, and the shadow from her wingspan flooded the gorge that threaded between the feet of the mountains. The landscape below neared the heightened buzz of summer. Oaks, maples, and sycamores flushed in shades of viridian, ferns unfurled their feathery foliage, and the orange buds of sunberry shrubs studded forest openings. Pinks and sedges climbed the edge of the gorge while moss and lichens softened exposed rock. Crystalline water dashed between boulders and churned into caves and caverns.

  Where the river calmed and pooled, otters swam and slinked along the forested banks, and kingfishers perched overhead to wait for fish. A black bear lumbered down a mountain slope while a nearby litter of fox kittens played on a fallen log. Further north she spotted grazing deer, porcupines tediously denuding trees of their bark, and dozens upon dozens of songbirds trilling, pecking, and swooping in the forests.

  And a small flock of ducks.

  Ember's vulture eyes sharpened on them as they flew beneath her. Well, not quite beneath, but they would be, flying south as they were. Eight in total. They flew too high to flee for cover, and pronounced themselves with repeating quacks. An open invitation.

  Ember swirled into falcon-form, heart thrumming in her chest.

  She let go.

  Wings snapping to her sides, she dove head-first toward the flock, gaining speed the further she fell. Wind lashed at her but she dropped straight as an arrow, thrusting like a sword and trusting her falcon's senses as she never had before. She trained her eyes on her target duck.

  They seemed to sense her and exploded in a panic. Her target shifted, and Ember struck its side, missing by a finger's width.

  The duck wobbled off-course but strove to keep close to the re-forming flock.

  Without losing a minute, Ember raced back up above the flock, this time using the sun as a cover for her approach.

  Panicked, the flock tightened and drove forward.

  Ember picked out a new target—the duck in the center of the flock. A comfortable position to be in, with others surrounding the edge; the duck might feel a bit more secure than the others. A bit less ready to flee.

  She dove.

  The flock didn't see her. She struck her target with force, and the impact of the duck against her talons and chest stole her breath. The duck didn't move in her grip, but she broke its neck to be sure, snapping her wings open in the same instant.

  She called out to Kitt, smiling inwardly when he emerged instantly from the gorge, a snake dangling from his hawk talons. He shrieked when he saw her, and she responded. They headed south toward camp, flying close and steady beneath the sun.

  chapter thirty-two

  "Are you planning on sharing that with anyone?" Riggs asked later, approaching the fire that Ember and Kitt had set up near the river. Children played in the water, shrieking and splashing in shallow pools while the mutt, Jasper, leapt around them.

  Sore from turning the spit and famished from watching the golden, sizzling duck, Ember raised a sweaty brow at Riggs. "Did you help cook?"

  Riggs mocked hurt and grinned as he sat on an overturned log. "As I recall, I saved your life once."

  Kitt snorted and pulled his snake away from the flames to cool.

  "Do you always take credit for Norman's work?" Ember teased. She smiled at Riggs' baffled look, then turned her eyes back to the duck. She would give it a few more turns until the skin grew crisp.

  "Where is that bird, anyways?" Kitt asked. "I haven't seen him all day."

  Riggs shrugged. "I'm sure he's flying around somewhere. He'll come back, just like he always does."

  Kitt cut off a steaming chunk of snake and tossed it to Riggs, who popped it from one hand to the other to cool it off.

  "Ember?" Kitt offered her some, but she shook her head.

  "I'll just have a bit of duck," she said, but in her mind she imagined hoarding the duck and gobbling the entire thing in minutes. When was the last time she had eaten?

  She moved the spit away from the fire and restrained herself from tearing into it. As it cooled, she watched Loria splash little Vinn and chase him along the bank, Jasper galloping beside them and making them shriek as he shook water from his sodden coat.

  Had they decided about whether to move the camp? She glanced at Kitt, who dug into his meat with hands and teeth, and decided to ask him later. She wondered if she should mention the boy with the dagger in the Lachian village. The oddity bothered her, but she was afraid Kitt would overreact. No, she would look into the matter herself, just as she always did.

  Ember tore off a piece of breast meat and placed it on her tongue. The meat was tough, a bit crispy, but the smoky, savory flavor melted in her mouth. A moan escaped her and she rolled her eyes, ignoring Kitt and Riggs' laughter.

  "This is better than—" Ember started, but stopped herself. Better than any of the dishes at Silverglen. "Than anything I've had before."

  Kitt smiled, a look of ruddy pleasure tinging his cheeks. "Food always seems to taste better when you work hard for it."

  Ember stuffed more meat into her mouth. Hunger drove away the rules of propriety that had been ingrained into her as the daughter of a lord. The meat didn't just taste better; she found herself appreciating every bite as though it was gold. "And," she said through mouthfuls, "this is the first meal I haven't burned, or dropped, or ruined..."

  She waved at Loria, who came over with Vinn in hand. The two were sodden, but grinning and breathless as they approached.

  "Are you hungry?" Ember asked.

  They nodded, and Ember offered each of them a duck leg. Vinn grabbed one and trotted back to the river, his hair bouncing with every stuttering stride of a three-year-old as he waved his prize overhead.

  Ember laughed and clasped her hands over her heart. The image was like a gift. A gift from the hunt. Thank you, duck. This is how I will remember you.

  Loria ate her duck leg and showed Riggs her scraped knee. He examined it and decided it needed to be cleaned and dressed. They left, and Kitt eased down beside Ember against a log. The bare skin of his leg touched hers, and his arm brushed against her, warm and solid.

  He motioned to the duck. "Do you mind if I have a bite? The snake was a bit lean."

  "Go ahead," Ember said, feeling heat creep up her cheeks. Even after today, she still felt the tension of yesterday's argument. How could she even begin to apologize for her reaction? "I'm sorry about yesterday," she blurted. She didn't dare look at Kitt, but was comforted by the sound of his chewing. "I had no right to judge what you've been through. And I appreciate your honesty."

  Kitt stopped eating and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. "It's what I expect when I give a blunt truth. Maybe I was a bit too blunt."

  But do you expect my truth in return? She studied the silvery hair along his temple, yearning to tell him about Arundel, about the cruelty she witnessed, though she was sure her own experiences were nothing compared to his. But she couldn't be honest with him, not completely, and knowing that hurt.

  Kitt tossed a bone into the fire and sank back against the log. "You haven't asked ab
out my parents yet."

  Surprised, Ember stared down at her greasy hands. Hadn't Riggs said he was an orphan? The sensation struck her again that Kitt had had a life—perhaps a very good one—in Lach before fleeing to Orion. Had his parents come with him?

  She turned her gaze to the fire and clenched her jaw. "You don't have to tell me."

  Kitt grunted. "I know you want to know."

  Ember scowled at Kitt in accusation. "I don't want you to tell me just because I want to know. I—" She lost the words.

  Gently, Kitt said, "I want to tell you anyways."

  Ember dug her hands into the soil, trying to quiet her pulse of anger.

  "We were hiding out in the foothills," Kitt explained. "My parents, and my sister. A patrol found us out one night, and attacked my father, who was on watch. They found my mother and sister, and..." A leaden pause. "I just sat there, clinging to a tree branch, unable to move. I remember their screams, and how the blood looked against the firelight."

  Ember pressed her lips together. Why did he tell her this? Was he so open with others from the camp? She wouldn't offer him condolences, or her pity. It was too late for those things.

  "Not a day goes by that I don't think about how they died and how I could have stopped it. When I saw that wizard during the attack on our camp, what he did to the mother and her babe... I couldn't stop. I've never been so angry in my life."

  Odd that his story made her think of Arundel. Had he felt a similar anger while killing shifters, since they had murdered his own parents?

  If she had seen Arundel killing shifters, what would she have done? Sure, she had stopped Arundel from hurting Finn once, but that was nothing compared to what Kitt described...

  Ember shook her head. "Is that why you teach the children to hide and fight?"

  Kitt bobbed his head once. "They need to be ready."

  The ensuing silence gnawed at her, but she stayed and held on, enduring Kitt's warmth and the heat of the fire.

  Who else knows about your parents? She longed to ask. And why did he tell her?

  Unable to stop herself, she glanced at Kitt and met his gaze. An assessing gaze that seemed to hold as much curiosity as she was feeling.

  For a moment, she was afraid that the whole thing was a lie, a manipulation to see how she reacted. But there was honesty in Kitt's face, and a note of openness that she didn't wish to disturb. He needed this, somehow, just as much as she did.

  Ember looked back to the fire.

  The silence deepened.

  chapter thirty-three

  The early morning met Ember with a thick ceiling of gray that rose over the mountains and loomed close to their rounded peaks. The air roved like a temperamental cat. It thrashed the sunberry shrubs below, tickled the tops of the trees, and left her in occasional pockets of emptiness, only to be buffeted by a sudden slap that made her tip and lose balance.

  A heavy, wide-winged eagle form seemed to be the best she could do to handle the wind's variability. She kept above the mountain peaks, riding south along whatever steady streams she could find, and passed the half-dozen mountains that hunched between the shifter camp and the Lachian border.

  The village appeared the same as before. Mud and daub homes huddled close along the river, and a few extended north to surround a small pasture where a single cow grazed.

  Ember swirled into a crow and veered to approach the village from the east. One never knew who watched, and if they suspected anything, she didn't want them to see that she came from the north.

  Sensing the familiar dagger spell, she landed gently on the roof of one hovel by the river and caught a whiff of rotting carcass. Her crow-side searched for the smell, but her human-side tuned in to the only sound she could hear in the small village.

  A sniffle, followed by a hiccup.

  The sounds came through the open window below. Ember bent toward it, clutching to the edge of the straw roof.

  "Cheer up, lad," a voice boomed, causing Ember's wings to twitch. A chair scuffed along a wooden floor. "You're a man now. This is what men do. You did good. You're helping keep this country safe."

  His father? Or a wizard?

  A third pair of footsteps walked the floor. Methodical, rhythmic. That was a wizard. More precisely, an Escort. Ember could never mistake the noise of their feet, trained into submission by years of stepping into synchrony with other Escort members. But why an Escort? Fletch didn't have an Escort, or at least he never had before. Was he here now? Was Arundel?

  The Escort carried his own heavily spelled weapon. She reached out with her mind, probing for other spells. Nothing.

  "...the plan?" someone muttered below.

  "These bitches are the plan," said the man with the loud voice. "Best sniffers this side of Lach."

  Claws scratched the wood floor in a sudden rush, as though dogs—three of them?—chased something. The curiosity of the crow urged her to fly to the window or to the roof across the road. She stayed, listening to the wet sound of dogs chewing a piece of meat.

  The Escort muttered something inaudible. Perhaps she should shift to a mouse—

  The loud man guffawed. "Do they not tell you anything, Bram?"

  "...why I'm asking you."

  "Alright. They'll be back this morning. We'll see if they have anything—"

  "...don't?"

  "Then we'll put these hounds to good use. They'll track 'em down, no matter how long it takes. They'll find 'em."

  "What about..."

  "There's no telling if the shifters will come back here. That's why you're to stay—"

  "I know why..." The Escort, though still partly inaudible, was growing impatient. "...expect me...fend them off myself?"

  "We'll leave another with you, then. But the lord's come up with something that might help you—"

  WHACK!

  Ember lost her grip of the straw roof, one claw throbbing from what could only be a thrown stone. But where—?

  Another stone flung at her, this time hitting her wing. Off-balance, she toppled from the roof, flapping violently to gain balance.

  "Shifter!" a voice shouted. The boy. How had he gotten out of the house without her noticing?

  The sound of footsteps pounded the wooden floor. Ember rose up, cawing, desperately flapping her inefficient crow's wings. She must not let them think she was a shifter. She followed the scent of the carcass, allowing her crow's mind to take hold. A plausible cover, but was it enough?

  She heard the men running to catch up, and the cold of the spelled weapons pulsed closer. She rounded the corner, drawn to the scent that came from the last house of the row, the house that they had traded goods with—

  Ember dropped like a stone. The carcass, the smell...

  A woman swung by a noose in the door. Matted hair framed a wrinkled, puckered face. Thin legs and bare feet dangled beneath the burlap sack she wore, and around her neck hung a wooden sign reading 'TRAITOR.'

  Half a moment later, the sound of footsteps rounded the corner behind her. With all her might, Ember repressed herself and willed the crow to take over completely. She blinded herself to the dead woman's gray skin, the heavy stench that twisted to savory in the crow's mind, the way the woman's body jerked when she landed on it. Her beak sank into the flesh. She cawed again, hoping to rouse other crows to join her.

  The two men and the boy halted a few paces away and gaped.

  "Are you sure that's a shifter?" the loud man asked.

  The boy gulped. "It was by the window. Why would a crow want to be by a window?"

  "Maybe it smelled the mutton," the loud man suggested. "Would shifters eat a carcass?"

  "I've seen worse," the Escort muttered. "There's only one way to find out..."

  The man stepped close and reached for her. Ember burst into flight and cawed like an angered crow. She headed east and didn't dare look back. Past the nearest mountain peak, and down into the canopy before tracking north.

  She focused on rowing her wings as quickly as possib
le. Focused on remembering what the wizards had spoken of. Their plan. Their hounds. Thought of the clouds and wished for rain. Anything to wash the taste from her beak.

  chapter thirty-four

  The camp was in an uproar. People milled about, as wolves, dogs, or humans, searching through hovels, weaving in and out of the camp boundaries and sniffing the air.

  Ember shifted to human form and threw on her deer-hide dress, then grabbed her makeshift spear and searched for sign of Seabird.

  "...in a calm way!" Seabird's voice rang over the din of panicked voices and overturning furniture.

  He stood in the center of the clearing next to Asenath, who stared stolidly at the hustle around her. A circle of shifters had begun to form around the leader, their expressions grim and fearful.

  "What happened?" Ember asked a shifter as she made her way to the clearing. The man only shook his head. "What's wrong?" she asked another, stopping her as she shook out a blanket.

  The woman jerked away and scowled. "You help find her."

  "Find who?" Ember asked, but the woman was already striding away.

  Cursing, Ember jogged into the clearing. Riggs saw her first.

  "It's Loria," he muttered, "No one has seen her since last night." He was about to say more when Seabird spoke again.

  "We can't have people crawling over the hills shouting. We have too many enemies and too much to risk. Kitt is leading a small search team, and the others must stay here."

  Muttering broke out in the small crowd and some wandered off, giving up their search. Kitt motioned to the others to head off.

  Ember pushed through the crowd. "I'm coming with you," she demanded.

  Kitt stopped mid-stride and turned, his brow furrowed. Jinni and the other shifters who followed him turned as well, and for once she thought Jinni's glare wasn't quite as hateful as it usually was.