Pack of Wolves, page 17
“I’m sorry, but you need to stay here until we can safely hide you,” Bittern urgently whispers, pity filling her as she watches Cyrus sit up. His hands tangle into his hair immediately, his body rocking back and forth. “You really want to remain in this camp, Goldeneye?” Bittern questions, her tone incredulous. “Surely a few good people are not worth risking the rest of us! I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but it needs to be said!”
“If we can help even one, then our presence will be useful. If not, then we can use their attack on the House of Piranhas as cover for an escape,” Goldeneye shoots back harshly. “I’m surprised at you, Bittern! Of all people, I would have expected you to be the first one to vote against running away.”
Bittern scowls, Goldeneye’s words piercing her heart deeply.
“What about Cyrus? He’s not fit to fight or run,” Grouse wonders as she creeps closer to her former leader to check his wounds. “And we can’t carry him out of this place fast enough to escape unnoticed. What are we going to do?”
Cyrus’s voice is emotionless and flat as he whispers, “I have a feeling that my brother will incapacitate me long before he takes on the Piranhas. Goldeneye, you and the girls do what you can. If the opportunity arises when you can safely get away, leave me behind.”
“You can’t be serious!” Goldeneye exclaims indignantly. “We won’t leave anyone who truly wishes to escape!” The girls nod, adding their own vehement agreements.
Despite the protests rising around him, Cyrus barks, “No! I’ve done enough damage to you all. I will not be the reason you cannot find freedom. Get out of here while you can; leave me to my fate.”
***
A lump grows in my throat, threatening to choke the air out of my lungs as we approach the dilapidated House of Vultures. The second story is completely wiped away, and most of the first floor’s charred, broken walls are holey. The house looks like it could blow over if I breathed a single breath over the right support beam. And despite all the horrors I faced in this place, sorrow wells in my heart to see my old home in such disrepair.
“It’s not home, Iris. It’s a house. Don’t romanticize it,” Siri grumbles, circling overhead as she scans the ground for any signs of danger.
“I know,” I choke, wiping a tear off my cheek. “But this awful house is also the last place where Warbler and Hawk’s footsteps echoed through the halls. I can still smell her cooking deer stew, and if I close my eyes, I almost can make out the details of the pheasant feather arrangement she placed over the kitchen door. The tune she’d hum while she worked still haunts my ears, Siri. And Hawk…. Oh…!” My words die as grief rips through my insides so strongly I fear I will vomit. “How do I move on from their memories, Siri?”
“By focusing on the task at hand. We’re here for Cyrus; that’s all,” Suryc demands, slamming hard into the ground as if the jerking motion can somehow knock reason back into my mind. “But we’re too late.”
“What do you mean?” I demand, startled to find myself apprehensive as I await her response. “Cyrus? Is he dead?” Shouldn’t I feel relief? Why does the thought of his demise fill me with regret?
“No, they’ve just moved on,” Siri replies, sniffing the ground in a manner that reminds me of an old bloodhound that used to come begging at our door. He’d pawed a hole in the screen one evening when his hunger had overpowered his fears. Hawk took pity on the poor beast and fed him every evening until he stopped showing up. I never realized how much I missed that dog until now, I admit, trying to keep my chin from wobbling and betraying my weakness to my Ddraig. Judging by her brusque behavior toward me, Siri would not handle more of my tears well.
“Been a while since the pack left, I think.” Siri straightens once more, one claw extended toward the door. If she saw glimpses of the ghosts that haunt me through our mental connection, she does not comment about it. “Go into the living room in there and tell me what you see.”
“Why?” I wonder, hesitating to move until Siri explains. “If they’re not here, shouldn’t we get going and try to find them as soon as possible? If Cyrus is in as much trouble as you say, then—”
“You need to see what Cyrus has endured in his efforts to follow your orders. And you need to realize that your Wolf allowed it all to happen.” Siri pauses, leaning down to my eye level. “I’m sorry. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s necessary. You’ve got to understand that Wolf is not your ally anymore, and you’ve got to prepare yourself for what you’ll find when we reach Cyrus.”
“What do you mean? What’s wrong with Cyrus?” I demand, fear freezing my feet in place as I wait for a response.
“He…he’s losing himself,” Siri confesses, turning her reproachful, judgmental eyes on me. “His mind is breaking under the tortures he’s faced. You need to understand that the Cyrus you remember is fading away.”
“And you want me to take responsibility for that too, right? I mean, it’s all my fault. That’s what you’re really saying, isn’t it?” My throat dries up with Siri’s silence, and I know my words were truth.
My feet are filled with lead as I trudge up the broken staircase, dodging splintered, rotten boards that are barely able to hold my weight. They creak and screech with every step I take, the sounds almost like groans of delight. An original, elite member of the House of Vultures has returned, the place seems to whisper. A chill raises gooseflesh on my arms as I step inside.
There is blood everywhere, splattering the walls and what’s left of the ceiling, staining the floors, and pooling on the exposed fluff in the couch cushions. “All of this cannot have come from Cyrus; he’d be dead ten times over by now,” I exclaim, feeling my stomach gurgling in revulsion. A dark, viscous puddle oozes on the floor, and I swear I almost can see it shivering, like it’s unsuccessfully trying to take a solid shape. “The whole place smells of death.”
“The Vibría took many shapes. Some of this blood is from that monster’s magic, and some is indeed Cyrus’s. He was forced to watch you, Hawk, and many others he cares about die over and over again, in addition to the torture his own body faced,” Siri explains gently from her place outside. “Suryc kept me appraised of his situation, and I’ve tried to shelter you from it as much as I can.”
His mind must be tattered to ribbons. I’ll be amazed if there is anything recognizable in his spirit and soul at all. Regret paws its way into my heart, clawing and gouging my feelings like a dog relentlessly digging up an old bone. I caused him this pain. I’m the one who sent him here. It’s all my fault! “How did he survive this?” I wonder, my blood chilling in my veins.
“He thought of you,” Siri replies, her voice soft and small to my ears. “Only you.”
Siri’s words shatter the few remaining shreds of my resolve as she pours a few of her shared memories with Suryc into my mind. I hear Cyrus’s exhausted voice whispering my name. She is something far more precious, he wheezed as a whip cut into his body. Every memory burdens my shoulders with agonizing guilt until I fear the weight of it all will suffocate me.
I’ve known all along what the Carreglas had shared with me, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe that Cyrus was truly the boy of my childhood. Nor could I reconcile Cane with the tyrant he’d become. Yet now, faced with the undeniable proof right in front of my eyes, I cannot live in denial any longer. I sink to my knees beside the bloody remnants of the wooden chair, and I add my tears to the House of Vultures’ already ruined floor.
It feels like hours have passed when I finally step out into the sunlight once more. “Where are they, Siri?” I croak, my eyes barely able to open from their puffiness.
“Headed to the House of Piranhas,” Siri replies wearily; no doubt listening to my pain has grieved her spirit too. “Suryc has your old ally, Wren; they are trying to catch up to the rest of them.”
“Then take us there,” I demand, struggling to move away from the charred stoop. My bones feel brittle with the depth of my sorrows. “I don’t want to stay here another minute.” I want to find Cyrus and get him out of the clutches of his abomination of a brother. Without another word, I claw my way onto Siri’s back and we take to the skies.
And if I have my way, I’ll never return to the House of Vultures again.
***
The next morning, the sounds of footsteps slipping in the mud and the soft grumbling whinnies of horses unaccustomed to early hours pull Cyrus from his nightmares.
“They’re moving,” Bittern announces from the tent’s canvas entry, her eyes scanning the soldiers as they pass.
“Did they wake you too?” Cyrus whispers through a stifled yawn, hindered by the soreness in his jaw. Every part of his body aches, especially his shoulder. He turns to inspect the wound, certain he’ll find the gleaming metal shard still lodged in his skin, laughing at him as it grinds into his bones. It still feels like it’s there, and Cyrus wonders if the wound will ever fully heal.
“I don’t ever sleep through the night anymore. I’ve been awake for hours.” The ghosts that skulk in Bittern’s slumbers still shine in her fatigued eyes.
“You loved him very much,” Cyrus deducts, as a spectral face of death looms in the shadows right beside her head. When he blinks, the visage is gone, but the stain of its image mars what little peace remains in Cyrus’s mind. Panic claws its way up his throat, its vicelike hands clenching his vocal cords. He endures his silent scream, the voice of the Vibría creature humming its laughter into his ear. Is this real? Or am I still in the House of Vultures? Have I not escaped? His mind races, trying to discern some tangible reminder that will make the events of the last few days real to him. The scars, he decides, his eyes returning to his shoulder. The arrow’s wound is real. My time in the coffin was real. I’m no longer in the Vibria’s thrall. When he finally regains control over his thoughts, he croaks, “Tell…tell me about your family, Bittern,” praying she will indulge his request if only to help him keep his mind focused on reality.
“I cherished them just as much as I despise my own heartbeat now. I should have died with them the day our world fell apart. In some ways, I think I did. My body hasn’t realized it yet, but I did.” Bittern’s last words fade on her lips. Standing abruptly, she scurries to her makeshift cot at the farthest corner of the room. “Wolf comes. Pretend to sleep!”
No sooner has Cyrus’s head dropped back onto his rolled shirt pillow than Wolf yanks the canvas flaps wide to let in the morning’s first sunbeams. “Get up! You’re coming with me.”
“What? Where?” Cyrus cries, attempting to seem startled by the sudden appearance of his brother. He fumbles his way into a sitting position, hissing when Wolf clamps heavy iron shackles onto his wrists.
“I’m going up to the Piranhas, and I want you there,” Wolf explains, smirking when the smell of scalded flesh and hair assaults his nose. “How’s that iron feel, brother?”
“Still trying to break me?” Cyrus sneers, failing to appear unscathed as his skin bleeds around the shackles. It’s worked, he almost cries, crushing his tongue between his teeth to keep that confession from pouring out of his mouth. “Have you finally decided to let me die by allowing the metal to poison me?” He croaks, trying to keep still so the metal does not bite into any more skin on his arms.
A backhanded slap rattles Cyrus’s aching jaw, nearly knocking him off his bed. The sound of the strike is enough to wake Grouse.
“What happened? Wolf, what—?” She mutters, her words sleepy and confused.
“Shut up or you’ll get the same,” Wolf barks at the tousled woman, jerking the chain that connects to Cyrus’s bonds. Cyrus feels his body drag off the bed and move closer to his brother, his knees sticking in the mud under his cot. “Stand or I drag you out.”
Cyrus’s bones creak, his muscles crying with pain as he hauls himself upright. His feet are unsteady and he sways in place, but his words are clear and filled with quiet rage as he demands, “Leave Grouse and Bittern alone.” A sharp kick threatens to knock his knees back out from under him. “They’ve done nothing wrong, Wolf. Please! Don’t punish them for the hate you harbor for me.”
Wolf yanks Cyrus’s binds until he is nose to nose with his brother, spitting his hateful commands directly into his brother’s mouth. “You do not give the orders. Now walk!”
Cyrus weaves a crooked path through the mud as he exits the tent. Some of the soldiers that wait on their mounts snicker as he struggles. “Pathetic,” they whisper to each other, barking with laughter when Cyrus slips and rolls in the muddy path. He lays there unmoving, staring up into the cloudless sky. Clear and clean, he declares, wishing he could say the same thing about himself. When was the last time I felt those things?
Suddenly, muddy fingers writhe to life around him, clenching his hands and feet, pinning him in place. Falcon’s laughter slices through the air as more and more hands grip his body, dragging him deeper into the mud. “Did you really think you were free?” Hawk’s voice booms in his ear as his father’s arm wraps around his neck.
Cyrus bucks in the mud, fighting helplessly against his attackers. “No! Please!” He wails, struggling to rip his arms out of the hands that hold him, uncaring if their jagged nails bite into his skin. “Let me go!” He howls as one of those muddy hands wraps around his throat, cutting off all hope of fresh air rushing into his lungs.
“Go up to my horse,” Wolf orders, jerking the chain sharply in the direction Cyrus should go. Immediately Cyrus bolts upright, all traces of hands and familiar ghosts fading away. He runs a quaking hand over his face as he coughs, failing in his efforts to calm himself. Wolf slaps the end of the chain across Cyrus’s calves when he does not move. “Go stand beside my horse, Cyrus. Now! And do not touch him. He’s just been cleaned, and does not need to be tainted by your filth.”
It wasn’t real, Cyrus decides, a hysterical laugh erupting from his throat as he hurries to obey his brother’s demands. Cyrus lowers his gaze to stare at the horse’s gleaming hoofs, carefully inspecting the mud for any more monsters. When no other hands appear, he breathes a small sigh of relief while he wonders if this will be his reality forevermore. Will I always be chased by phantoms? Will I ever be free of that Vibría monster?
Cyrus’s respectful obedience does nothing to stop Wolf from doling out a few well-placed punches that leave him gasping. “The men are ready,” Jackal declares, walking his horse up to Wolf’s right side. “They’re broken up into three squadrons run by me, Hyena, and Coyote. They are clear on the plan, and they will make sure their warriors obey your orders on pain of death. Say the word and we travel.”
“Good,” Wolf declares with a dismissive wave. He mounts his horse immediately, looking down his nose at his brother as he explains. “You are to run alongside me. Keep up on your own or get the whip. Or maybe I’ll let my horse trample you and be done with it. That would be a terrible way to die, don’t you think?”
Cyrus needs no further encouragement. Wolf walks his horse at an ambling pace, but the speed still forces his exhausted, broken brother to jog. Unable to speak or protest, Cyrus endures the torture, not even noticing the moments when blisters pop on his heels and bleed. Suryc? Are you here? He questions, searching through his mind for any foreign awareness that might be his Ddraig. Did you abandon me too? The silence in Cyrus’s thoughts engulfs him. All the aches in his muscles and grinding pains in his bones seem amplified by the knowledge that he is truly alone. How can I survive this madness? Suryc?
When the House of Piranhas becomes visible, Cyrus is barely lifting his feet. Wolf drops from his horse, still dragging his brother’s chains along behind him. Cyrus stumbles forward, falling to the ground when his legs finally give way. “Jackal, tie him to the nearest tree. Bind his head to it as well. Force him to face forward. I want him to witness everything that transpires here today.”
“I’ll do it,” Fox offers, slipping off his horse’s back with his field medical kit secured at his hip. Grouse and Bittern are right behind him, cowering on the backs of two other horses that were not needed by the soldiers. Sensing Wolf’s fury, Fox growls out an explanation. “I needed help for the battlefield infirmary, didn’t I? These two have learned quickly, and they are stronger than Bob and Cheetah. Now, let me see to Cyrus, then—”
A steel blade catches Fox under his chin, slowing his progress forward. “So you can leave the bindings loose and let him escape? I think not!” Wolf’s eyes grow wild as he watches his healer’s breathing still, his throat bobbing with unvoiced fear. Wolf slides the edge of the blade carefully up and down Fox’s skin, relishing the powerful feeling coursing through his veins. “I could do it, you know. Then how would your wretched little substitutes from the House of Vultures ever survive without you? I know you’re plotting something. You seek to overthrow my rule! Admit it!”
As Jackal stalks over to bind Cyrus, Fox whispers his challenge in a nervous rasp. “You think I’m trying to take over your pack? Have you truly lost your senses?” Fox throws his hands up over his head, knocking Wolf’s sword away from his neck. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you anymore, Wolf. I keep hoping I’ll understand how you could deteriorate so quickly into this paranoid, fiendish brute that you’ve become.” He storms up to Wolf’s side, uncaring whether or not his leader will slice him to ribbons before he finishes saying his piece. “The Wolf that I knew all these years would never put his people in danger for greed.”
“I’m doing this for Iris!” Wolf snarls, raising his blade once more.
“You’re doing this for yourself!” Fox insists, uncaring what the consequences of his words might be. “You’ve let the idea of becoming king poison your mind. It’s no wonder that I’m siding with another hous—”
“Mind your words, or they may well be your last,” Wolf replies, shoving Fox away harshly. Too close, he whimpers as his head begins to throb. The sun’s brightness makes everything in his vision glow and pulse with its own aura. His sight flickers in time with the agonizing hammer in his head, a terrible voice chanting one word. Iris. Iris. Iris. Wolf gulps as he struggles against a faintness growing in his limbs, threatening to plunge him into darkness. Where is she? Will she come here? He rages, fighting against the naming bond that feels like it’s physically driving a knife into his brain. “I’ve got to find her!” He mutters under his breath, clenching his eyes closed as a trickle of blood streams down from his nose.
