Cyrion Page 2

  Jon was thinking about the missing grumps, pitying himself for his rumbling stomach and his muddied leggings were chaffing when he heard a low, menacing growl underscore the unnatural silence of the night.

  A pack of wolves blocked their path. The moonlight glinted gold in their eyes as they moved to flank the boys. Jon unslung his bow and nocked an arrow with sweaty hands, wondering how useful his weapon would be in such close quarters. Saul waved his axe to and fro as he assumed the fighter’s stance. The boys stood back to back along the path so they could watch each other’s blind spots, as their fathers taught them.

  “Jon, I think we’re seriously outnumbered here. I see five of them.”

  “Really?” Jon detected the faintest note of fear in Saul’s voice. “I see seven. You missed those two in the bushes.”

  Jon flicked his attention over the shadowy forest, exhaustion falling away like a discarded cloak as adrenaline surged, refreshing his limbs. A familiar coldness washed over his mind, while the sound of his heartbeat echoed in his ears. Stay calm. Panic will kill us. He was weighing the relative benefits of fighting or running away when he caught a slight movement in from the corner of his eyes.

  “Actually, there are nine of us,” a high, piping voice said from the darkness. “You both miscounted.” The stranger snorted. “I thought boys are supposed to be good hunters.”

  Saul jumped. “Who’re you?”

  “Since I’m with the pack of ferocious wolves, I think I should ask the questions.” A slight, hooded figure, no taller than they were, stepped out of the shadows and into a pool of moonlight. Jon’s eyes narrowed as he calculated their odds. Fight or flight?

  “You’re outnumbered,” the stranger said.

  Her voice sounds like a girl’s.

  “And my friends will hurt you if you try to fight. Don’t bother to run. You can’t outrun a pack of wolves. Especially a pack of wolves guided by me. Answer my question. Do you mean to hurt us?”

  She’s got us surrounded, and she wants to know if we plan to hurt her?

  “Umm,” Saul said. “We don’t mean anyone any harm.”

  Jon nodded down the trail. “We left our kill when we spotted the smoke at the Outpost.”

  “You mean the goat back up the path? I’m sorry. The pack already ate most of it.”

  “What? We took two days to track down that goat,” Saul said.

  “Well, it was just lying there! It’s not like you put your names on it.”

  “The goat could’ve fed us for a week, at least,” Saul said.

  “So, to be clear,” her treble voice shook. “You aren’t with the band of goblins who burned down the Outpost?”

  “No,” Jon said. We can’t agitate her. He took deep breath to calm his racing heart. Her shoulders were tense and hunched close to her face; her fists clenched at her side. Who is she? What is she? I should keep her talking. Maybe we’ll learn something.

  “A band of goblins?” Saul smacked Jon’s arm with his hand. “I told you those tracks were weird.” He turned to the cloaked figure. “But I thought they were extinct. Or mythical. Or…what was it Master Bobbits said about goblins in class?”

  Jon ground his teeth at Saul’s babble. He’s starting to panic. Even more reason for me to keep cool. Keeping his eyes trained on the hooded figure, Jon returned his arrow to his quiver with slow deliberation, before putting a reassuring hand on Saul’s arm.

  A snow-white wolf emerged from the shadows and padded boldly up to the boys. The moonlight turned its luxurious coat into molten silver. Both he and Saul froze in place as it sniffed them and then returned to the side of the cloaked figure. It lifted its head, showing the characteristic pink eyes of an albino.

  The stranger reached down to pet the wolf, her hand small with slender, ringless, nail-bitten fingers.

  A child, then? But what kind of kid hangs out with wolves?

  One of the wolves growled. Saul jumped back in alarm. Jon tightened his grip. Saul needed to stay calm.

  “My friend says you smell like you’re telling the truth.” She cocked her head. “You really mean us no harm.” She unclenched her fists. The stiff set of her shoulders relaxed. “I was being rude, wasn’t I? Mother said I mustn’t be rude. I’m sorry. My name is Anya, what are—”

  Saul adjusted his grip on his axe. “Did you see what happened to any of the villagers? The Outpost was completely deserted.”

  “The goblins took them along as prisoners.”

  Saul shook Jon’s hand off his arm. “Which way did they go? How long ago? Was everyone all right? Did anyone get hurt?” Saul turned to Jon. “We have to hurry and rescue them before their trail gets cold!”

  “Wait, you guys look dead on your feet. How about we rest for the night? I can ask my friends to hunt you some dinner, and we can start fresh tomorrow.” Anya nodded to the pack. One of the wolves padded into the darkness.

  “But the trail—” Saul said.

  Her tone grew sharp. “How won-der-ful a tracker do you think you’d be when you faint from exhaustion?” Anya waved her hand in dismissal. “Anyway, a few of us followed the goblins after they left your Outpost. They don’t seem to be in much of a hurry, at least according to the Howl. So we should have no problems catching up to them in a day or two.”

  She paused and tilted her head Saul. “That is unless somebody insists on playing the hero and falls sick or something, and slows everybody down.” Anya spun away from them both and walked into the darkness. “Come on, then. We can’t stay gabbing here all night.”

  The wolves herded the reluctant boys along, with Anya and the albino wolf in the lead. She led them to an animal trail hidden from the main path by a small copse of trees.

  “The Howl?” Jon said.

  “It’s how we talk when we have to split up.”

  “We?” Saul said. He looked at the wolves, before tightening his grip on his axe.

  Anya’s small frame, only erratically limned in moonlight, weaved, ducked, and bobbed as she charged on ahead. Jon cussed the night air blue whenever he walked into blackberry bushes, stumbled over various exposed tree roots, and found his face whipped by errant birch branches, teeming with insect life. Suppressed giggles occasionally floated back to his ears at each utterance of a particularly colorful oath.

  “You know you live in some really weird buildings?” Anya’s small frame bobbed.

  “Huh? Aaah, scat,” Jon said. His foot landed in yet another hole.

  “Was there scat in that hole too?” Anya asked, innocence personified.

  Jon glowered in furious silence, albeit uselessly since Anya hadn’t even bothered to turn around. He imagined shooting tiny little pinpricks in her direction. That never worked before, but this time, given the strength of his current resentment, it just might. Girls are so annoying! Wait, I mustn’t lose my temper. Jon smoothed his brows. He ran his fingers over his abused shin, to make sure he wasn’t scrapped too badly, before continuing on his way.

  “That last building? Wouldn’t have burned down,” Anya said, her vague form ducking.

  Having learned his lesson, Jon bent his knees as far down as they would go. He stretched his arms out directly in front of him for balance, and then waddled on in a half-squat. Might look a bit silly, but he thought it was much too dark for anyone to notice anything anyway. Especially under all these trees.

  A familiar giggle floated from in front of him.

  “Why not? Pthwah—” Saul said as he spat out leaves, twigs, and various insects that a birch branch stuffed into his mouth.

  Jon straightened from his crouch in the darkness, grinning. His grin faded when he realized Anya did that on purpose. He knew she did. She could’ve really hurt them, but all she did was let them walk into a few holes and bushes, and let branches hit their faces. Just because she obviously thought it was be funny. Whatever she might be, Jon started to think she might not be so dangerous. Irritating? Yes. Like all the girls at the Outpost. But dangerous? Maybe not.

  “Well
,” Anya said. “The inn’s protected by magic wards against fire, even magical fire. Also against floods and earthquakes. Quite a nifty bit of magic. Expensive. The combination is tricky to get right.”

  Jon increased his pace, making sure to stay out of range as he listened to Saul spit what he guessed was local vegetation and insect life out of his mouth. “What?”

  “I know,” Anya said. “I thought the wards were a bit paranoid too. This isn’t flood or earthquake country. Surprised the inn wasn’t dragon-proofed though.”

  “Dragon-proofed?” Jon said, a note of disbelief in his voice. Okay, first goblins, now dragons? What have we gotten ourselves into?

  “Ah! Here we are,” Anya said.

  They reached a small clearing at the end of the trail. She walked with perfect confidence across the clearing to the pile of firewood, neatly ringed by stones, and knelt down to start a fire. The boys stopped at the very edge of the campsite. A wolf padded toward them from the opposite side, dropped a few dead rabbits at their feet, went over to Anya, and laid down next to her. Anya scratched the wolf’s head. The animal licked her hand and then settled down to doze in front of the campfire.

  “Sorry, boys. My friends can help with the hunting, but not with the cleaning or the skinning. At least, not unless you don’t mind lupine drool all over your dinner. And they definitely don’t cook. They lack opposable thumbs, among other things. But hey, I started the fire for you.” Anya smiled.

  Her eyeteeth glinted in the firelight as she shrugged, spread her cloak over the ground, and sat down. Anya seemed no older than he was. Her blank eyes shimmered silver by the reddish-golden light of the campfire.

  Anya was blind.

  CHAPTER THREE

  PLAYING WITH GYPSIES IN THE WOOD

  Saul grabbed Jon’s shoulder and, turning both their backs on Anya, scooted as far away from the fire as the wolf pack allowed. “Grandma, what big teeth you have.”

  “So a werewolf, you think?” Jon pulled his lower lip with his fingers. “Makes sense. She said ‘we’. Those wolves seem awfully tame around her, and far too comfortable this close to a fire. Definitely not normal wolf behavior.” He scanned the clearing. She’s right. The odds are stacked too high against us. We can’t fight them all and hope to win. Should we run? He pulled his lip again.

  “Maybe a witch, with those eyes. Or a vampire.”

  “Who’s ever heard of a blind vampire?” Jon said, snapped out of his reverie by Saul’s last comment.

  Saul shrugged. “Aren’t bats blind? Don’t vampires turn into bats? And what about the dragon proofing? Also, did you notice her eyes?” He shook Jon’s arm. “How come she knows where to go if she is blind? Actually, how come she sees even better than we do when she is blind? And why are you so calm? And quiet?”

  “Saul, you’re babbling.” Jon worried his lip again. No, too dark. And they can see better than we can. So now what?

  “You know,” Anya said, her eyebrow arched, “aside from the eyes and teeth, I also happen to not be deaf. Did your mothers never teach you that in polite society, it’s considered rude to stare? And to gossip about your hostess?” She shook her head in seeming disbelief. “Now, how about you put down those weapons and fix your dinner? Then we can sit and talk like civilized people. I can even offer you some salt.” A smile lit her face.

  Jon hesitated for a moment. What does she want? Perhaps if we can get her to relax, she’ll talk. He sighed, bent to pick up the rabbits, and walked toward the campfire.

  “What’re you doing?” Saul said, running to catch up.

  What can I safely say aloud?

  “Well, what’re our options?” Jon said. “Might be different for you, but I’m tired and hungry. And you heard her. We can’t fight or outrun them.” Jon unslung his pack and began rooting around. “So we might as well eat. Even if she does decide to kill us later, at least our bellies will be full.”

  “And you believe what she said? You think we can trust her?”

  “Actually,” Jon said after a moment’s pause. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  If she wanted to, she’d have killed us by now.

  “Trust me,” Jon said looking straight into Saul’s blue-grey eyes. Saul took a deep breath and then nodded, absolute trust on every line of his face.

  It had been that way between them for as long as Jon could remember.

  “Wonderful. So glad you’ve decided to stop talking about me as if I’m not here.” There was an odd, flat note in her voice.

  Jon’s face warmed with shame, and he caught Saul also flushing with embarrassment. She was right. Their parents had taught them better manners. He sat and took a small dagger out of his pack. The dagger and his bow were his pride and joy. Jon received them as presents from his parents on his last Nameday. While he couldn’t think of a name for his bow, he christened his blade The Annihilator. His father dubbed it The Squirrel Slayer. After his howls of protest, they compromised by calling it The Slayer. His smile at the fond memory faded. What did the goblins want with Dad? Or with the rest of the villagers, for that matter?

  “You know,” Anya’s voice derailed his train of thought, “your dagger stinks of magic.”

  “Huh?” Jon looked up from the rabbits, confused.

  She was picking twigs out of her frizzy dark hair. The albino wolf looked up at her with its pink eyes in adoration. Or at least, Jon thought so. “Your axe too, by the way.” Anya paused and looked at them in turn. “Your people are not spell casters, are they? Or Watchers?”

  “No. What’re Watchers? My dad runs the tavern and the inn.”

  “And my dad is the blacksmith,” Saul said, studying his axe intently by the light of the campfire.

  “Maybe your mothers are Watchers? Or spell casters?”

  “My mum cooks for my Dad’s inn,” Jon said.

  “My mum knits. What are Watchers?”

  “Even in summer?” Anya said, a note of disbelief in her piping voice.

  “She likes to knit,” Saul said, finally sitting down next to Jon by the fire. “And what are Watchers?”

  “Huh. Anyway, as long as you keep those weapons close, they’ll tell somebody if you’ve been hurt.”

  The boys looked at the multitude of minor scratches and bruises decorating their arms and legs.

  “Well, if you’re seriously hurt.”

  “Tell who?” Jon said.

  “How should I know?”

  “And what are Watchers?” Saul said, a mulish cast on his face.

  “If you don’t know,” Anya shrugged, “then you don’t need to know.” She returned to grooming her hair.

  Jon rolled his eyes, sighed, and proceeded to skin and clean the rabbits.

  “You’re cooking?” Saul said. “Have you ever cooked anything before?”

  “Nope. But the last time you decided to cook, the eggs exploded and we were grounded for a month,” Jon said. “So yes, I am cooking.”

  “Eggs exploding?” Anya’s blank eyes widened in bewilderment. “How?”

  “Look,” Saul said. “Like I tried to explain to the grumps, it wasn’t entirely my fault. I was conducting an experiment.”

  Anya’s lips twitched into an expectant smile. “Grumps?”

  “Grown-ups,” Jon answered in unison with Saul.

  “We were supposed to cook lunch for all the fathers in the Outpost.” He turned to Saul. “You remember? Our mums wanted no part of the lunch we fixed. I wonder if they had an inkling of how things would turn out.” He shook his head as he skewered the cleaned rabbits before putting them on the fire.

  Anya leaned back on her elbows, legs outstretched. “Well?” She canted her head to a side as the smile on her lips widened. “Don’t tease. Tell the story. Please?”

  Jon concentrated on the roasting rabbits. Good, she’s relaxing.

  “We were running late,” Saul said, “so I came up with an idea to cook and serve as many eggs as possible in a very short time.”

  Jon smiled. “His idea was to stick all
two dozen eggs, shells and all, into his father’s forge. We pulled them out when we thought they were done. Then, before you know it… Ka-blooey! Molten egg goo and shell shrapnel everywhere.”

  “It took us all week to scrub everything down,” Saul said. “And how we stank! Ooh…The stench lingered for days and days and days. Sleeping in the shed was not fun.”

  “So, now that dinner is cooking and you probably know more about us than you really want to, let’s be properly introduced. My name is Jon, and this is Saul.” He gave Anya an expectant look. “We are humans.”

  “I suppose that’s my cue.” Anya sat up. “I am Anya, and these are my friends.” She nodded at the wolves lounging in the clearing, basking in the warmth of the campfire. She hesitated for a moment, chewing on her lower lip. “I am a cyrion.”

  “Huh?” Saul said, leaning forward, confusion on his face, and his hands, nowhere close to his axe.

  Oh no! Saul’s letting his guard down. Jon’s eyes widened in alarm. The aroma of roasting meat filled the night air. He poked at the rabbits while racking his brain on how to get Saul attention without attracting Anya’s.

  She heaved a sigh and lolled her head back. “A cyrion, a wai ren? A shapeshifter? A forastero? Just stop me when something sounds familiar.”

  “Anya,” Saul said, “in plain Common Tongue. Please.” Jon tried to give Saul a warning glance, which he failed to notice.

  “Do you guys learn history in school? You do go to school, right?” Anya said.

  “Yes, we go to school! We learn reading and writing and math,” Saul said.

  “Also hunting, brewing, fishing, and smithing, but not cooking,” Jon said while turning the rabbits on their spits. He arched his eyebrows and shot a warning glance at his friend.

  Saul finally noticed. He pressed his lips together and then stared at the ground, an almost imperceptible frown on his face.

  Anya nodded her head. “And not history. Okay, I understand.”

  “We just want to ask,” Saul said, still studying the ground, “if you are likely to perhaps…drink our blood later tonight? Or snack on us, or turn us into frogs, even. I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we…we like our current shape and…and species. I’m not a fan of reptiles or amphibians or insects, unless I eat them, not that I eat insects. I mean I did eat some earlier. But you know, not intentionally or…err… Anyway, you know what? I’m a big fan of being human and—”