Pack of Wolves, page 15
“I covered many miles to bring you here. Aside from following my Cadogan, these are the reasons I fight for this land.” Suryc smiles, carefully lifting his claws so that Wren can sit up. “These are the youngest born in our den. I’ve brought you close enough to their nest without putting them in danger.” A tiny green and black one crawls over to Wren, fidgeting as it inspects the newcomer. “Siri didn’t even tell Iris about this place, all in an effort to keep it secret and safe. These young ones are completely defenseless on their own.”
“So why bring me here?” Wren whispers, running his fingers along the baby’s scales. Their colors mesmerize him, pulsing and shifting with every step the baby makes as he waddles closer to Suryc. “Why take such a risk?”
“To show you one of many reasons why the Ddraigs cannot act as you do. If I just choose sides according to whatever saves me, who will protect these young ones? If we have no loyalty, who ensures their safety?” Suryc lowers his giant head until his eyes are on Wren’s level. “Cyrus has spent the last few weeks depending on you. But how long can he trust that you will remain loyal to him? Can you understand what I mean?”
For a long time, Wren is silent, pondering Suryc’s words while he plays with the young ones that quickly swarm him. “I get it, I do. I just cannot afford to think as you do,” he admits as he brushes the ridged back of a young one the color of ripe eggplants at harvest. “My former housemates stayed loyal to me because of the threat that I posed. The information I gathered, the disguises I could wear, the intrigue that comes so naturally to me—that’s all that’s ever kept me alive. Playing the odds and remaining faithful only to myself has worked so far. These young Ddraigs—I feel for you, I really do, but this is not my fight.”
“That’s not good enough!” Suryc bellows, causing the young Ddraigs around him to scuttle away in fright. “The fight, as you call it, will claim you eventually. Either you’ll be on the side of the Ddraigs, or you’ll be siding with the Wolf.”
“Then I will do what I must. It’s the only rule that keeps you alive in this damned place,” Wren barks, his hackles rising as his temper flares. He quickly dampens his emotional reaction, squelching all feeling from his voice as though he could douse his fury with a wet blanket and extinguish its effects. It does no good to show what I feel, he reminds himself, growing still and quiet as he watches Suryc pace.
“Forgive me,” Suryc growls, his voice fading to a thin whisper. “But you still don’t understand; it’s not just these babes that are in jeopardy. Every Ddraig only hatches when their Cadogan is born. That means—”
“All the warriors for these Ddraigs are children,” Wren interrupts, a hollow ache forming in his stomach. As the seconds pass by, the babies grow curious once more. Another Ddraig, this one with scales that shift between the deepest sapphire to the brightest magenta, approaches Wren’s side. Leaning over to scratch underneath the creature’s chin, Wren smiles despite himself. Children. All these newborn babes caught up in a battle they cannot even begin to understand. I…. Wren stops himself from thinking on the matter any further, tightly pulling on the reins that keep his emotions in check. “Look, I will promise not to do anything that blatantly puts you and your kind in danger. On that, I will give you my word; not just for your Ddraigs, but for the children in my lands.”
Suryc sighs, unhappy with Wren’s vow. “I do not trust your word, Wren.”
“What do you want me to do? Offer myself as a Cadogan? Vow to stay and watch over these babies? Throw myself into this fight, damn the consequences?” Wren snarls in frustration, glaring at Suryc’s silhouette. “I’m sorry, but my promise to do no harm is the best that I can offer.” The sapphire and magenta Ddraig sidles up to him, turning its limpid green eyes on the dark figure as it trustingly crawls into his lap. Wren pets the creature like he would a beloved dog, fighting the tug on his heartstrings.
“Then I will hold you to this promise. I have no time left to argue. Put that baby back on the ground and sit still while I pick you up. We must catch up to my Cadogan,” Suryc commands, his claws wrapping around Wren like the iron bars of a prison as the Ddraig takes to the skies once more. “Wolf is moving him tonight!”
Chapter 11
A rough rocking motion jolts Cyrus awake, his head banging hard against a board overhead. “What? Where am I?” he mumbles, reaching for his face to assess the damages done. The same board that cracked his head now blocks his hand’s upward path. Cyrus pats his clumsy fingers along the barricade that holds him, his breathing growing shallow. A pine box prison. Did he bury me alive? He had to have drugged me. Surely I would have roused up when the nails were set in the wood!
“Help!” Cyrus screams, beating against the coffin’s lid until bits of splinters bite into his clenched fists. “Somebody, help!”
“Shut it!” a stranger’s voice cries as a boot clacks against the coffin’s side. Cyrus’s muffled, fear-ridden shout reverberates in the cramped space as the booted foot lashes out again. “Keep your mouth shut, you rotten bastard!”
I’m not in the dirt anyway, Cyrus realizes, numbing relief spreading through his limbs. Another hard jolt rattles him. We’re moving. I’m in a wagon or something like it. Wolf’s already traveling to the House of Piranhas.
In the coffin’s darkness that shrouds his eyes, faces lurk and sneer. Wolf’s Vibría appears first, his dark eyes gleaming and his mouth dripping blood. “Am I dead, Cyrus? Or am I here, forever a part of you? Will you ever shut your eyes and stop seeing me?”
The face blurs to become Iris once more, a fiendish turn in her smile as she leers. “Finally getting what you deserve, hmm?” As she speaks, her eyes slowly shrink from her face, blood tearing down her cheeks. Her shrieking laughter radiates through the coffin as her face slowly shifts to Falcon’s broken sneer. She does not speak, but her gruesome mask of decay is enough to send Cyrus over the edge.
“Please! Help me! They’re here with me! Make it all go away,” He pounds against the boards until the wood begins to groan and crack. A tiny ray of light bursts through the slats, though it offers little comfort to Cyrus’s terrorized mind. The shouts from the guards above him cannot quell the fear raging through his veins.
“Scream! Scream,” the Vibría’s ghost taunts. “No one cares, do they? How does it feel to be forgotten?”
Not real, not real. Cyrus clenches his eyes tight, but the haunting faces remain in his mind’s eye. Iris, Suryc, Siri, Warbler…. He chants their name like a pagan rite, a talisman against these creatures that might keep them from overpowering him.
“Why didn’t you help me?” Warbler’s voice echoes, her broken face joining the other specters that parade before Cyrus’s eyes. “Why didn’t you see that Creeper was a monster?” Cyrus jolts as her mangled fingers claw at him, and he is almost certain he feels her icy grip on his wrists. “You are useless! You are just as bad as Creeper!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Cyrus bellows, pounding his head against the coffin. “Please! Someone help me!”
“Strange, isn’t it?” Hawk’s wistful voice echoes through the coffin. “Despite all our play acting in life, we find equality in death. You will join us soon, my son, and we all will know what your truest intentions were.”
Cyrus only ceases his screams when his vocal cords feel brittle in his throat. Exhaustion seeps into his bloody hands, and his head throbs with a pounding ache. The only comfort he finds is that in his fatigue, the faces and voices of the wronged ones disappear. Yet their silence soon brings a new torture to his mind.
Every second is an hour. Every heartbeat is a flood, and I will surely drown in my own juices before I reach the shore. The walls are too close, the airspace too cramped, and my lungs are tightening shut. One shuddering, rapid breath after another, Cyrus slips into a state of complete irrationality. Hyperventilating doesn’t help. I cannot stop. The walls…the walls. I’m trapped. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. Just get out. Get out. Get—
A crowbar jams into the wood near Cyrus’s eye. The nails squeal as they are wrenched from their pine beds, and full, blessed daylight burns away the shadows. Cyrus pushes weakly against the lid, hoping to rip it off completely.
“Not so fast.” Wolf’s eyes search through the large crack, wrinkling at the corners with delight when he sees his terrorized brother’s face. He presses against the coffin lid, holding it in place so that only the tiniest sliver of light can bleed through. “My men have informed me that you are causing a disruption. If you continue to shout, I will cut out your tongue.” Wolf flashes a sharp dagger through the opening, slicing Cyrus’s cheek.
“Please,” Cyrus begs, hating himself for groveling. “I’ll be good. Just leave the lid off.”
“Oh, I see! You’re claustrophobic,” Wolf muses, slamming the lid closed once more. Using the hilt of his dagger, he hammers the nails back snugly into place.
“Please,” Cyrus whimpers as the looming darkness threatens to slide down into his throat and strangle him from the inside out. “Wolf, please—”
“Who knew that a little box would be enough to terrorize you? It’s almost too simple to be true.” Wolf cackles as he slams his fists on either side of the box. He beats on the coffin in irregular intervals, relishing the sounds of his brother’s cries.
Her name is…Iris. She is the first…Cadogan. But I…I knew her as…the Child of the Moon. Cyrus recites a litany in his mind in an attempt to break his anxiety. She is not some mythical creature. She is not a goddess. But to me…she is something far more precious. “Iris.” Cyrus’s voice is gentle as he caresses the name. It is a prayer, a charm to stave off the impending darkness, a lifeline in the tormenting storm.
The mention of her name stops Wolf’s immediate attack. He hears the love in his brother’s voice, and his own jealous obsession flares. Leaning over the coffin, Wolf exclaims, “You pray to her like a deity? You think that your words will somehow change your circumstances? She sent you here to me! She’s the reason you’re in this box, you fool! Iris doesn’t love you! When will you see this? She hates the fact that you’re even breathing!” Wolf hops on top of the coffin, laying down across it as he spills his poisonous words into Cyrus’s mind. “You know, she told me as much once. When you beat her and sent her to my pack, you cemented her love for me. I was her savior! After that day, she sought me for comfort. She yearned for my touch, my kiss,” Wolf waits for a response from Cyrus. “She never thought of you as anything more than a bitter taste in her mouth. Sending you here was just her way of spitting you out!”
“Most of your words are truth,” Cyrus groans in defeat as his newly discovered abilities judge the truth of his brother’s claims. Tears replace his tormented breaths, and his voice crackles as he whispers, “And what you’ve said that is a lie is too immaterial to matter.” So why am I still allowing myself to be locked in the coffin? Why do I let Wolf torment me? Was Wren right, and all of my actions have just been to make amends for my shortcomings? The eyes of the wronged ones gleam with the sliver of sunlight. Broken, crescent moon smiles illuminate the shadows, lines of teeth separating into open maws that threaten to devour Cyrus’s sanity. They’re not really there, Cyrus reminds himself, praying he is telling the truth. But I have to get out of here. “Brother, what would it take for you to let me—?”
Before the thought is completed aloud, a scream at the front of the caravan rouses everyone’s attention. “Nameless! Prepare for an attack! They are coming!”
Cyrus hears the rustle of activity around him. Boots pound on his wagon’s floor, rattling all around his coffin. The soft plunking of arrows hitting their marks is punctuated by shrieks and moans of the dying. “I don’t know what’s worse: fighting a battle such as this or being stuck, forced to hide and listen to its ravages,” Cyrus mumbles as he rocks his body, hoping to roll the coffin to the ground.
“Take no prisoners!” Wolf commands as he races through the ranks. “Let none of the nameless survive! We keep to the laws of the land, boys!” His sword in hand, he mows through the few nameless unchosen that meet him. Most are too skinny or exhausted to even put up a fight. For them, a swift death is a mercy, and Wolf is eager to deliver.
The coffin hits the ground and shatters immediately. Shards of splintered wood raise their thorny fingers, clawing and scratching at Cyrus’s limbs. One large plank gives way and leaves its pieces wedged in Cyrus’s leg. A short dagger grazes the skin under his chin before Cyrus can even attempt to escape.
“You were trapped in that coffin?” a stranger’s voice inquires as the dagger pushes Cyrus’s head higher. The weapon’s wielder is a boy, barely thirteen by the looks of him. Despite his young age, his body wears a map of scars, burns, and other signs of hardships. “You were Wolf’s prisoner then?”
“Something like that,” Cyrus replies softly, laying his head back to expose his neck. “Kill me or get out of sight, child. Wolf will not spare you simply because you are young.”
“I know you,” the child whispers, leaning over to inspect Cyrus’s eyes. “You wore a mask before, but I am sure that I recognize you. My father traded with you down at the last village near the river. He took any business, even from the major houses. I used to sit under his counter where no one could see. I know your voice.”
“Please,” Cyrus begs the child, using his feet to try and kick him back into the forest’s safety. “Hide yourself! Get away from this place before they kill you!”
“Come with me,” the boy demands, pulling at Cyrus’s arm. “You’ll be safe among the nameless! My father never turns anyone away.”
“Run ahead of me and hide! I will follow,” Cyrus shouts as he drags his injured leg behind him, attempting to fulfill his words. The boy pauses, extending a rail thin hand to Cyrus in assistance. Cyrus bats him away, crying, “Don’t look back, just go!”
“My, my.” Cyrus hears the smile in his brother’s voice as he stalks closer, “You’re still as soft-hearted as I remember. Is that why Falcon always did the dirty work? You were too weak!” Wolf stands in line with the child, a bow and arrow aimed at his heart. The boy, sensing the threat, turns to face it head on.
“Don’t do it,” Cyrus pleads, forcing his body to rise. Standing on his gouged leg is torture. Pain jolts down to his toes with every movement. I will defend this child. My life means little enough, but I will gladly give it up to save another. “What have any of the nameless unchosen done to you, Wolf?” Cyrus inquires, hoping to stall as he inches closer to the child.
“You know the laws,” Wolf replies dispassionately, his arm drawing back the arrow. “Nameless unchosen are considered a scourge on this land. They already carry death sentences; I’m just a law-abiding citizen.” Wolf lowers his weapon briefly, adding a second arrow. When he draws back this time, two shining metal tips gleam in the sunlight. “A child, even a nameless one, should not suffer. I will make its death quick, just to prove I am not without mercy.”
“Mercy would be to let him live,” Cyrus argues, hands raised toward his brother.
“That I cannot allow.” Wolf grins as he fires, the arrows plunging toward the child’s heart.
Cyrus strains his leg as he lunges, throwing his body in front of the boy. “For gods’ sake, get away!” Cyrus pleads as the arrows find their marks. Cyrus feels the first one burst through his chest, biting its way into his left lung. It deflates almost immediately, and Cyrus’s breathing becomes a bloody, racking cough. The second arrow slams into his right side near his collarbone. This one’s metal tip lodges deep in his bone, chewing through muscles and tendons until his arm feels numb. Yet perhaps the worst part of the pain is the burning, icy sensation of the metal in his blood. The metal’s fire scorches through his veins, scalding everything it touches. Cyrus shrieks as he attempts to pull the arrows out with his left hand, his right one unresponsive to his commands. His knees buckle and he falls, landing hard on the plank of wood in his leg. The impact only succeeds in driving it deeper.
“Fool,” Wolf sneers as he stands over Cyrus. “What good did you do? I’ll just hunt down the boy and the rest of his family later. You prolonged its life by a margin of a few hours.”
“Leave…me.” Cyrus’s voice is raspy as his eyes flutter shut. White hot agony lances through his toes. In its wake, Cyrus can feel his body dying.
“The iron is already killing you.” Wolf kneels over his brother, mercilessly ripping the first arrow out of his wounds, ignoring his brother’s groaning. A sick, sucking sound fills the air as the shaft of the arrow in Cyrus’s lungs lifts clear of the tissue. It creates a vacuum, popping audibly when the tip is pulled out. Blood gushes down his side, and Cyrus gurgles in an attempt to breathe. Wordlessly, Wolf moves up to the second arrow, tugging it sharply out of Cyrus’s shoulder. Once it is lifted clear, Wolf inspects the tip in the light. “A piece of this one is stuck in your bone. You cannot heal through another’s powers, not with the metal’s poison still raging in your blood.” Carefully wrapping his fist around the tip, Wolf sneers as he reveals his hand to be unaffected by the iron. “The aversion to metal only affects your kind, I see. Just another sign that I don’t belong with you!”
“Perfect. Let me…die.” Cyrus whimpers, blood pooling around his mouth. “Please.” His voice is hardly a whisper over the rustling air escaping from his lung.
“Fox! I need you,” Wolf demands, and within seconds, his faithful friend appears.
“Holy hell! What did you do to him?” Fox drops to his knees to examine Cyrus’s wounds as his body begins to buck. “He’s seizing! Put pressure on the shoulder. We need something to stop this blood and re-inflate the lung.”
“His shoulder will require surgery to extract the arrow’s tip,” Wolf explains grimly as he clamps a rag over the wound. By now, mercifully, Cyrus is too far gone to feel the agony.
