Hunter and Fox (29 page)

“How did you call it to you just now, it must have been with a name!”

Finn worked his mouth several times before managing to get out, “Wahirangi CloudLord.”

It was not the name a Vaerli would have chosen, but it was apt from a talespinner. It appeared the newly made dragon was not displeased—for it didn't kill them on the spot. He sighed, a sound like many distant bells, and settled down in front of them.

“Talyn the Dark,” said the creature in a voice so warm and deep that she wanted to run immediately to it and be loved. “Only now do you really begin to see why this little one was so important.”

“You, too, have risen in importance, since you were in my head,” she replied as evenly as possible, while trying to keep her tone deferential. She might be a Vaerli, but they were a penny a dozen compared to dragons.

Wahirangi's chuckle was like warm treacle. “I will confess that my change in circumstance is a surprise to me as well. Perhaps almost as much as to Finn himself…”

“You…” Finn paused and ran his eyes up and down the great length of gleaming dragon. “I can't be responsible for you!”

“So say you, but it doesn't negate the fact that you did indeed give me a Name; something that I never expected to have. The change is,” the dragon gave a shake of its head, sending salt flying, “invigorating.”

“But I don't know Kindred magic,” Finn protested. “How could I do this, when I have no idea how?”

“This may be revealed—with time.” Wahirangi raised one golden curved claw. “There are layers of secrets on you, Finnbarr. I could sense their depths from my moment within you.”

“Yes, yes,” Talyn said impatiently, “he is a mystery on a mystery. So now you can save him by getting us off the Salt.”

“I agree.” The dragon lifted his head, smelling the wind. “Things have woken here, more than just I. It is best I take you from this place immediately.”

He held out one iridescent front leg, and they clambered cautiously up to sit in front of his shoulder blades. Beneath Talyn's hands, Wahirangi's skin was not at all a scaly reptile's. Instead, it was very warm and smooth like the most beautifully well-oiled and supple leather. Despite herself, Talyn stroked the hide. No, she corrected herself, it was even finer than that, more like the strongest silk covering steel.

Finn positioned himself behind her and, as when he'd ridden Syris, struggled to find a place to put his hands.

She guided them to her waist. “You best hang on. This Kindred may not yet have learned to be a dragon.”

“I would not let you fall!” Wahirangi tossed his head and let out a snort.

Talyn had to remind herself that their lives were now in his hands, and it was not the best time to argue. With a surge of muscle the dragon leapt into the air, the great wings snapped open, and suddenly they were flying. It was a moment of amazement and beauty.

Talyn found herself grinning even as the wind battered her face and her stomach lurched. From here they could see everything, even if at this precise moment “everything” was the vast white of the Salt.

“Truly incredible,” Finn shouted into her ear. “I must tell this tale. No one can have seen such a sight.”

“None but Ellyria herself and the Swoop,” she replied, “but if you tell it do you think anyone would believe you?” Behind her he was blissfully silent.

“Where shall we go?” Wahirangi's query rumbled through them as he circled higher.

Talyn had forgotten all about her mission for a brief time. Thinking on it now made her realize some difficult truths. It was unlikely that Wahirangi would surrender Finn to the Caisah. It made collecting her bounty all the more problematic.

Ellyria's dragon had been, in legend, both clever and resolute. He'd been a mighty adversary, so there was no reason not to imagine that this one was any different. Even with Syris at her side she would be no match for a dragon. It would require cunning and daring to collect her bounty now. Still there was a little time until she would have to make that decision.

“We need to find the Bastion entrance,” she yelled to Wahirangi. It was galling when the dragon curled his head back to look to Finn for confirmation. She felt his nod against her shoulder blade and her teeth clenched.

The dragon climbed higher, making her ears pop and her stomach lurch, but from this greater height they had a better chance to spot the doorway. It should be a slight mound in the expanse of the Salt.

“It will take me a little time to find it,” Wahirangi roared. “I have yet to get used to these new senses.”

“No hurry,” Finn yelled back, “I could fly all day.” He gave an almighty whoop of delight as if he was a child.

Still, Talyn knew what he meant. It was beautiful: nothing but the brilliant blue sky and the wind. Up here not even the Caisah could reach her.

As Wahirangi circled the Salt, Finn put his mouth close to her ear. “It has been bothering me for days, Talyn, but you really don't remember me, do you?”

“Should I?”

“It wasn't that long ago, even for me…” His voice was muffled, but she couldn't ignore the melancholy in it.

“Time is a funny thing,” Talyn murmured, not about to explain the constraints of immortality to him.

“We have met before. More than met,” his fingers brushed the top of her ear, gently pushing her hair behind its curve. It was an intimate gesture.

“I do love you, Talyn the Dark.” He held her face and looked right into her eyes. “Reject it if you want. It won't change.”

How could she stand against such honesty? He was not lying. He knew full well what she was and had done. She thought for a moment of the little girl with the golden voice, and what sort of woman she would she have become. Would he have loved her if she was that person? Or did he only love her for her shadows?

Looking into the eyes of her love, Talyn realized he accepted all of her: dark and light, past and present. It was something she had not expected, to be loved in such a way.

It should not be. Vaerli should love only Vaerli. Manesto only Manesto. It was the way she had been raised, and by keeping to brief sexual encounters she had managed to avoid moments like these.

Finn had been a mistake, and falling in love with him was certainly not in her plans. That didn't change a thing. Her blood rushed at his touch and all reason seemed to flee before him.

With a long-held-in sigh, Talyn launched herself forward, banging against his mouth. Tasting iron, she flinched back. Finn was laughing and grinning through a cut lip.

“I'm so sorry!” Talyn stroked his face. “I am new to this. I just…”

“It's all right.” He took her hand gently in his own. “It is only a little blood, and I have plenty to spare.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, gently this time, showing her how. He tasted of blood and sweat, and she thought irreverently of the Phaerkorn and their rites.

“Shall you be my
gewalt?”
Talyn asked lightly.

“That would not be such a bad fate.” Finn's fingers traced the edge of her face before running gently through her hair.

Lights flashed in front of Talyn's eyes. It was impossible. She was
nemohira
, yet Finn had somehow managed to bring back a memory she had chosen to forget. He had broken the discipline. He was more dangerous than she'd thought.

The foolish thing was he didn't even know he had done it. He was still talking—unaware of the confusion he had caused. “I thought you would never forget me or those weeks by the sea.”

If Talyn was not careful, he could drive more up from the depths of memory, and such recollection could well bring on madness.

So she had to stop him. “I did not forget by chance. I chose to forget. I am
nemohira
, which means I select those memories that are important. The rest I discard.” Her voice was chill even to her own ear.

“You chose to forget me?” She didn't need to turn to know Finn's face would be full of hurt. “I thought perhaps you were playing a game with me at the masque…even later…”

“Well, I was not,” Talyn said shortly. “If I had needed to remember those things, then I would have. They were obviously not important enough.”

She did not voice the other choice—the one she realized immediately. Her forgotten self could have discarded those times with Finn to forget love and to be able to go on with her mission. It was what she would do. It was what she had done.

He was wounded by that, for his body stiffened against her, and his hands that had lain with such surety on her waist were now held clumsily. It explained much. Her past self had loved Finn enough to drive out his fear of her. It was why he had dared to meet her eye and why he had been unafraid even when she bound his eyes.

It would have been nice to remember making love to him, to recall the feeling of his skin against hers, but obviously that memory would have been linked to all the others. She'd been wise enough to discard them all.

“Memory is illusion,” she reminded herself, “and my cause the only reality.”

“That isn't why you forgot. You thought I was a weakness. You think of me as soft, but there are many ways to be both good and strong in this world. You rely too much on just strength.”

Talyn said nothing. What was there to say to the truth?

Wahirangi began to spiral down, his sharp eyes having finally spotted the faintest circle of white against white.

The last time Talyn had been this close to the Bastion, there had been much more color on the Salt.

All the Vaerli came to the gathering, where leaders were chosen and sacred rituals performed. It was a duty to meet at the Bastion every tenth year. The place had been full of children. Talyn recalled laughing and chasing Byre around the camp, breathless with excitement and full of sugared treats the adults gave away easily. Practitioners of all the Vaerli arts made the air alive with the beauty of stories, song, and dance.

These memories Talyn had kept. They maintained her determination and kept her vengeance hot. “Take us down there,” she commanded.

Wahirangi did not drop immediately. Only when Finn leaned forward and asked did the dragon fold his wings and dive. They landed as lightly as a cat on the Salt, and the dragon made no more noise than a feline.

Slipping quickly off his back, Talyn took a look around the spot where she had last seen her tribe. It couldn't have been quieter. It was exactly the thing it had become—a graveyard.

However, they were not the only ones here. Talyn's heart raced faster as she bent to the Salt.

“Not alone, then.” Finn was at her side and apparently he knew tracks also. “The steps of a small woman.” They shared a knowing look.

That was another problem. She suddenly realized past-Talyn would have known these things about him. Finn had the advantage over her. What had she shared with him in the night? What secrets and plans?

The world had certainly turned upside down in the last few weeks, and people being at the Bastion was the least of it.

“Probably grave robbers.” Talyn got up and brushed salt from her knee. “Let's see how they like a live Vaerli.”

He smiled faintly at that. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Talyn eyed Wahirangi, who was watching all this with a dragon-sized interest. It would indeed be better to get Finn away from the creature. She sighed and pretended annoyance. “Very well, since you won't be the first.”

She led the way down the steps and into the depths of the Bastion. Finn trailed behind. It was not as if there were statues to loom over him or doors of knotted gold to blind his eyes, but there was the aura of the place. The Harrowing had not changed it. It was cooler below, but still the air seemed close. The mind somehow heard sounds even if the ear did not.

Finn dropped back so that Talyn was forced to retrace her steps. He was standing before the Promise Stone, the oldest piece of
pae atuae
the Vaerli had ever written, the very first.

“I understand this,” Finn said, his fingers hovering over the ancient words.

Talyn had ceased to be surprised by the talespinner—that he should know a language reserved for her people was the least of his miracles this day. She was surprised when he actually spoke the words of the Pact in the Vaerli tongue, as faultlessly as if born to it. Emotion choked Talyn, and for a minute she feared she might cry right there in front of him. She hadn't heard the Pact words spoken in her native language for three hundred years.

Finn turned to her. “They forgot the last two stanzas.”

She wouldn't tell him that they hadn't wanted to recall those terrible warnings; they only wanted to remember how great they were. “Come, it is not far now,” she said softly.

T
he Swoop dropped out of the clouds like a long-lost god's revenge. Equo looked up at the cloud of eagles, falcons, and buzzards spinning above their heads, and wondered at how death could come in such a magnificent shape.

“Crone's whiskers,” Varlesh hissed, dragging Si by his elbow, “we need a Song, and now!”

Si pulled his arm free, suddenly very determined. “The wings are not ours to touch.”

Equo glanced across at Baraca. For a rebel leader, he was showing no signs of fear as the Caisah's enforcers swooped closer, merely watching out of his one good eye the dance of the birds above.

His Portree compatriots did not run or scatter. A few muttered and clutched tighter to their pikes, but there was no sign of fear on their faces. They were not surprised, Equo realized with a start.

“You expected them,” Equo blurted out. “You knew they were coming.”

Baraca did not answer him immediately, but the corners of his stern lips lifted just a little. Something was, as Nyree had already suggested, different about the rebel, and it was not merely age or the loss of his eye. Equo couldn't put it down to anything physical. The man had always been brusque and sure of himself, but he still should have been worried by the sudden appearance of the Swoop.

In the cage the White Eagle screamed again, but it was not as loud or demanding as it had been. In fact, it sounded almost mournful.

Sheathing the sword he'd drawn at the approach of the newcomers, Baraca strode over to the nervously shifting donkey. Before anyone could cry out, he'd wrenched open the cage door. Equo's shout of dismay dried to nothing on his lips; the eagle, instead of leaping skyward to her Swoop, clenched her talons around the rebel's muscular forearm. She drew blood, but did not sink them as deep as she might.

It wasn't his vision; there was a faint aura of light around the rebel. Equo blinked.

“I don't believe it,” Nyree gasped, taking an involuntary step back. “That cannot be!”

The fear in her voice chilled Equo, but he didn't have the opportunity to ask what she meant, for the birds dived at them.

Materializing as the woman warriors in their azure armor, he fully expected them to begin lying about with their swords. However, their stern faces were softened by confusion; some cocked their heads and looked about as if sensing something on the wind they recognized but did not believe.

Baraca turned to Varlesh, Equo, and Si. “I think it is time you returned this young lady's form to her.”

“By the Maid's backside, we will not!” Varlesh's face was flushed red under his beard.

“Do as he says,” Nyree whispered. Her tattooed hand was pressed to her head in pain, shielding her eyes as if the light was too bright. Something in Baraca's look promised everything would be all right. It didn't seem foolish to believe that, even though it had been a long time since Equo really felt it.

“Yes!” Si's hands were clenched at his side. “As he says.”

Varlesh shook his head but began to sing. The low rumble echoed through his chest, Equo easily gave it form, and then their third opened his throat and formed words from their song, words that unbound what they had tied.

The eagle keened, raising its great wings to the sky before tumbling into the shape of the leader of the Swoop. Everyone seemed to hold their breath as she got to her feet. Azrul, still in her armor, unfolded herself and released a great sigh. Her breastplate was dented, and when she removed her helmet, shaking out her hair, her face was drawn and tired. Equo noticed again how young she was—very young indeed to be the cat's-paw of the Caisah.

She turned and looked at Baraca. For an instant they all expected combat, then with a creak of armor she bent her knee to the ground and dropped her head to her chest in front of the rebel leader. The gasp of shock that passed through her Swoop compatriots was loud and shocked. Equo stared in just as much disbelief at the cascade of Azrul's honey-colored hair that obscured her face.

Her voice, when it came from under it, was youthful but determined. “I surrender into your care the Swoop of the Lady of Wings, and ask for absolution for its deeds.”

“Azrul!” One of the women, tall with an intricately braided head of copper hair, stepped from their ranks. “What are you doing? We are sworn to the Caisah.”

Their leader looked up for a second at the stone-faced Baraca before shooting her reply back over her shoulder. “No, not sworn: shackled. Nephai, you forget that we owe allegiance only to the Lady herself.”

Before the other woman could reply, Azrul had spun about and got to her feet in one smooth movement. “If you disagree then it is within your rights to challenge for the right to lead the Swoop.”

Equo waited for the two warriors to begin combat. The tense moment ticked on, but the red-haired woman could not hold her commander's gaze for long. With a slight bow of her head she stepped back, but the rows of her fellows shook like birds rearranging their feathers.

Azrul, tall with the confidence of youth, turned to Baraca. “Do as you promised, then.”

Nyree was suddenly at Equo's side. She burrowed in against him, and in surprise he wrapped his arm around her shuddering form. “I knew this would happen,” she whispered mournfully, an apology for something he didn't yet understand.

The suggestion of light around the rebel leader grew stronger, as if a thousand pieces of multicolored glass were directing their beams at him. Abruptly, Baraca lifted his eye patch and the essence of the Void captured there burned out of the hole: it was unmistakable.

The world was outlined by the white light of the Void. It poured forth from the place where Baraca's eye had once been. It streamed through the air of Conhaero with a scream that hovered on the edge of what the ear could make out. Standing in its path, only Azrul remained upright. Everyone else, the Portree and the Swoop, staggered back. The Void was unbearably close.

Equo thought of the Trifold Spirit in that light, the person who'd been swallowed up by something indefinably “other” so that his people could reach Conhaero. It was the color of madness and Equo understood that the friend they'd once known was gone. Baraca had become more than human. He was now a scion, the first to arise in many, many centuries.

Above the howling Void, the rebel leader's voice called out in a language Equo did not recognize. Then the light snapped away and the world let out its held breath.

Azrul was wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. Baraca was standing as he had before, but now that light which he'd kept hidden flickered around his shoulders, a reminder of the power he commanded. His eye patch was still closed and its power shuttered.

“A scion,” Varlesh's voice was cracked and hoarse. “A real scion like the old days. Baraca…”

“What is your real name?” Nyree asked, and her tone was somewhat sharp.

“One-eyed Baraca will serve well enough for now,” he said simply.

Equo had always wondered about the scions. They had been long gone from Conhaero when he'd been born into it, but people's passion for them had not waned. They were not the old gods of the places before Conhaero, but some part of the mortal soul needed divinity.

Yet their old friend's shoulders were bowed and his expression weary. He might carry the spark of something greater, but it looked a burden and not part of his nature.

“So what have you done, One-eyed Baraca?” Nyree took a step forward while everyone was, in fact, taking one back. “I know, even if they do not. These fools will think you offer hope, but all you are is the beginning of the end.”

Azrul tucked her helmet under her arm and stared as the Vaerli Seer became visibly irate. “He has freed us from the Caisah, and my Swoop is indebted to him.”

Nyree rounded on her, now. “Foolish Manesto-child, as always your people tread on matters that they do not understand. Did you not think there was a reason that the scions left Conhaero?”

She shrugged. “They just did, no one knows why.”

“That is a lie!” Nyree's
pae atuae
were beginning to shift on her skin. “They told their followers they could not risk staying. The first sign that Putorae saw of the next Conflagration was the presence of the scions.”

“What do you mean, Nyree?” Varlesh's frown of confusion was deep indeed.

The Seer took Equo's hands. “The return of the scions is the sign that the end is near. The burning my people have feared, the disaster that they risked damnation to prevent, cannot be far behind.”

“Vaerli superstition,” Baraca rumbled. “I am here to free Conhaero of its oppressor. The world needs the scions again.”

The
pae atuae
began to glow, slithering on her arms and face, but when she turned to Equo he saw with horror that she was crying through black eyes: those Vaerli eyes which were full of stars. “It is all coming true, dear one. Everything I saw, everything that Putorae feared is happening. Now I understand what it really means to be a Seer; to see everything and be able to stop nothing.”

“You're not saying Baraca is doing something wrong, are you?” Varlesh asked softly.

“Not by himself, no, but the return of the scion is the first sign,” Nyree said with a ragged sigh, “the first sign of the new Conflagration. Our problems are so much more than merely the Caisah.”

“Rebellion and now flame,” Varlesh rumbled, casting a look at the other parts of his being. “Can nothing ever be just simple?”

It was an eerie place—this city under the earth—and the hovering presence of his inherited Blood Witch did not make Byre feel any better. So he passed two nights in the home of his father's woman as on-edge as he had ever been. Moyan avoided him, though he could feel her simmering concern with every gesture and glance. She tried to be kind to him but was obviously still very angry with his father.

However, he was aware that it was not just the three of them in the small house. His suspicions were confirmed when, in the still dark of the second night, Pelanor materialized at the foot of his bed. Byre gave no sign he'd woken but opened his eyes just wide enough to see her. A Manesto couldn't have distinguished her ebony skin in the shadows, but he could. Watching her, keeping his breathing regular, he admired the strong line of her face and the thick curl of her hair at the nape of her neck. Vaerli were supposed to be uninterested sexually in other races—part of being unable to breed with them, he supposed. Yet those heightened senses, as far as he was concerned, made that very difficult.

Perhaps it was also the danger. The Phaerkorn had almost as many dark legends attached to them as his people.

“Brother of Talyn,” Pelanor whispered, fixing him with her dark eyes, “you are no good at keeping still.” The smallest tips of her canine teeth pressed against her lips. Byre did indeed twitch.

He coughed uncomfortably. “I can't sleep.”

“That I can see…” She cast an arch look at his rumpled sheets. “Are you perhaps worried about this task your father has set you?”

Women of all races made Byre terribly uncomfortable if he found them attractive—so now he knew he was blushing. Pulling himself up in the bed got him a little away from her. “Not at all.”

Pelanor cocked her head and smoothed the edge of the bed. “It is more than likely a path to your death, and since I am sworn to protect you, I should stop you going.”

It would have been easy to take that opportunity, to nod and say that was just fine. He could have pretended that he didn't have a choice, but life as a Vaerli had taught him to take the hard road. Instead, he leaned across and grabbed her arm. It was warm, and that had to be from his sister's blood.

This closeness brought the room to life. Even secondhand, touching another Vaerli was a joy he had never expected to feel again. The vague tickle of empathy alerted his senses, but he ignored it. “You agreed to keep me safe—not to prevent me from doing anything.”

Pelanor frowned. “How did you know…”

“Like my sister, I am not without some tricks. Do you think you could really stop me if it came to it?”