Pack of Wolves, page 3
“Search me,” Cyrus cackles madly at Jackal. “Falcon must have walked away while I was sleeping.”
“But she was dead,” someone shouts over the hasty murmurs of the onlookers.
“Well, she and I ran the House of Vultures together for many years. Maybe our bond was strong enough to revive her,” Cyrus mocks, staring at the mumbling horde as they shy away from him. None are willing to look him in the eye. Sensing their superstitious natures, Cyrus preys upon their worries. “Maybe I used Ddraig magic! Maybe I am such a powerful leader that I can raise the dead that are loyal to me! Maybe—”
“Enough,” Wolf snaps from behind the fence. “I don’t know how you did this, little brother, but it solves nothing. What were you trying to prove?”
Cyrus howls with maniacal laughter, thrashing against his bonds just to show the rest of the pack that he is still tightly bound to the fence. If they think that I have supernatural powers, maybe they will heed my commands about Iris and the Ddraigs. Wren truly is a genius! Rather than answer his brother, Cyrus shouts, “Be ready! Soon the skies will be filled with Ddraigs! They seek their warriors from among this pack. When they appear, remove your masks! Tell them your true names when they ask. Join them before the war reaches Cassé—”
Wolf sneaks close so quietly that Cyrus never sees him coming. Wrapping his clawed fingers around his brother’s throat, Wolf hisses, “Shut up, or I will tear your vocal cords right out of your neck!”
Cyrus’s does not finish his herald to the people, but smiles wildly as he declares, “I don’t care what happens now. Iris wanted the people to hear that she was coming with the Ddraigs. I’ve delivered the message. What will you do, Brother Mine? Will you let your pack be claimed by the Ddraigs? Or will you force them to remain at your side? Just because you didn’t get a Ddraig doesn’t mean someone else—”
Wolf’s claws dig into the side of Cyrus’s throat, dangerously close to the arteries. Cyrus feels his blood’s sticky warmth oozing under his tattered shirt collar as Wolf leans close and whispers, “Do you have a death wish? Are you trying to provoke me into killing you?”
“Maybe I just like carrying your scars,” Cyrus quips, trying not to shiver and show his fear. “Or maybe I want to get away from her.” Maybe the only way I can ever be free of her is in death, he laments to himself, clenching his eyes shut as his heart burns in his chest.
“It must kill you to know that she chose me,” Wolf snarls, pushing Cyrus’s head back against the fence. The hard metal points bite into the base of Cyrus’s skull. “Does it keep you up at night? Do you spend your days wondering just how far I got with your long-lost love?” Despite his best efforts, Cyrus cannot hold back the groan that rumbles through his chest. Wolf laughs when he hears it, knowing he’s under his brother’s skin. “I have to give you credit, brother; you do have good taste in women. Iris is a wildfire. Her kisses are as soft and supple as a rose’s petals. And when she touches your skin, it’s like a furnace boils to life in your blood.”
“It must kill you to know that she is meant to be with me.” Cyrus clenches his eyes tight as he speaks, trying to push away the images Wolf’s words have evoked in his mind’s eye. “She will be mine, Wolf.”
“Ah, but she loves me,” Wolf taunts, chuckling as Cyrus’s frown grows more severe. “The first time she showed me her face was after the last beating you and Falcon gave her. I suppose I should thank you. After all, it was your mistakes that drove Iris straight to me. Every beating, every fight you had with her, everything you ever did made me look like a saint by comparison.”
“But we know that isn’t the case, don’t we?” Cyrus accuses, watching his brother’s eyes carefully for any signs of anxiety.
“What do you mean?” Wolf grows very still, suspiciously waiting for his brother’s next words.
“I know,” Cyrus bluffs, hoping Wren’s observations about Wolf’s underhanded activities are true. “I know about everything you’ve been doing. The real question is whether or not Iris is aware of it too.”
“You know nothing,” Wolf exclaims, but his words fall flat. Cyrus can see the way blood drains down his lower cheeks. Wolf’s eyes dart down the road that leads away from the House of Vultures, searching for an unknown informant.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Cyrus whispers smugly, knowing that at least for now, he’s won. “I guess we’ll have to let Iris be the judge. If she can look past it, then I’ll have no option but to accept that I’ve lost her. But I have a feeling she’ll be as disgusted with you as I am!”
Wolf stumbles away from Cyrus’s side, calculating his options. He says nothing else to his brother, leaving Cyrus to bake once more under the warmth of the sun on a cloudless day. However, Cyrus does not mind this fate, for he is too preoccupied with his wonderings. What is my brother up to? How can Wren find out about Wolf’s schemes? The sooner I know what leverage I can use against him, the better!
***
“What do we do now, Siri?” I shout as we reach the boundaries of the Pith. The River Sangre flows mightily on its path to the ocean, but from this height it appears to be little more than a tiny trickling stream. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to flying, I worry as vertigo threatens to overpower my sense of self-preservation. The dizzying, spiraling motions of the water’s rushing waves beckon me, and I long to heed their call, plunging head first into their icy cool bed.
“Iris! Focus! We need to get close to the people,” Siri warns, curling her long neck in my direction, her wings never missing a flap. “The Ddraigs need to be near the people to determine if their Cadogans are there.” And I need you to get control over yourself! She adds through our mental connection.
Everything still seems so foreign to me. Ddraigs, Cadogans, Carreglas, leadership—I don’t know how I can manage to juggle all these new parts of my life. Even the feel of the wind against my unmasked face jars my senses. I feel like shards of glass are ripping into my cheeks with the passing breezes. How am I supposed to adjust to all these changes so quickly?
“Sorry, Siri,” I mutter under my breath, my fingers tracing sparkles of light that glitter over my Ddraig’s scales.
What plagues me the most is the new information that I learned from the Carreglas about Cyrus and Cane. Cane, the wolfish protector I thought I knew so well, is nothing more than a jealous bully that nearly killed his own brother. And Cyrus, the very man that used to haunt my dreams in the role of enemy, was once my dearest friend and confidant. I can hardly believe that the man I hated in a condor mask could possibly be the same little boy whose conversations were once the highlight of my girlish days. Is the Carreglas ever wrong? Does it ever misrepresent the past?
“Iris?” Siri interrupts my swirling thoughts, and I can detect a measure of annoyance in her voice. “Where do you want us to go from here? We can’t keep flying without a destination!”
“Well, we’re close to the minor house markets,” I suggest, pushing away the faces of my friend and my foe, now uncertain as to which young man fulfills each title.
The thought of returning to masked life in Cassé fills me with a more pressing dread. Everything’s changed for me, but the world I live in is still the same. How do I explain all that I’ve learned to people who are practically blind? It’s like we’re speaking two different languages, and our topic of conversation is an earth-shattering crisis. Siri, it’s impossible!
“We can do this, Iris. Now show me where the markets are located!” Siri demands as she reads my thoughts.
I’ve only visited this marketplace twice in my lifetime. The first time was right before I joined the House of Vultures, and to my bone-weary seven-year-old eyes, the marketplace was far more precious than piles of shiny treasure. The woodsy scent of a fire drew me to the place. I slunk into their camps like a half-wild animal, searching for scraps of food to fill my starving belly. I had just stolen a half-eaten chicken breast when an elderly woman spotted me.
“Come here, child,” she beckoned, and in my terror, I was frozen in place. “I won’t harm you,” she cooed, but I was not convinced. It wasn’t until she held out another morsel of food that I inched to her side. To this day, I have no idea what kind of meat she handed me, but it was delicious.
“Thanks,” I sniffed as I wiped my chin, savoring the juices that dribbled down my fingers.
“Come with me,” she whispered, carefully guiding me into the heart of the marketplace.
The image of the vending stalls appears immediately in my conscious mind. The minor markets never have as much of a selection; most of their trade involves meager animal skins and bits of marginally useful rubbish found on the river banks. But in that moment, I felt like I had struck gold. The lady said nothing to me as she directed me to her stall. She filled my knapsack and pockets with what little food she had before handing me a soft wool blanket. Then she handed me a knife. “Go straight into the forest and get yourself a piece of bark. Make a mask, whatever kind you like. Then go up to the lands around Omphalos. The major houses are setting up; go try to earn a place within one of them. It’s the best chance for survival that you’ll have.”
“But, what about you?” I wondered, unwilling to turn away from my unexpected savior and mentor. “Won’t you come?”
The woman shook her head, her long tresses covering her face. “Those of us that are here have already been rejected by the major houses. We’re setting up our own place here in the shadows of the Pith. We should be safe enough.” Suddenly, the woman’s calloused fingers lashed out, gripping my tiny arm as she pinched the muscles. “But you—you’re tough. A half-wild hellcat like you will surely be chosen by one of the houses. You’ve got what it takes to survive what is coming.”
I never knew the woman’s name. It had always been a nagging regret for me. If she hadn’t filled my hungry belly and guided me to Omphalos, I would never have joined the House of Vultures. I owe her everything, and I never even thanked her, I berate myself, wondering how long she’d managed to live on her own.
I returned to the minor house markets only once after that day. The eyes of a child are far kinder than those of the adult. I’d viewed those stalls as a lifeline. It tore my heart to see how small the place truly was. These minor markets people live more like feral dogs than human beings. I’ve pitied them ever since.
My vision dulls as my recollection of this place grows stronger. It’s like I have no control over my thoughts. My mind focuses on the memory of the River Sangre, and I feel myself drawn to its bank, coldly observing the way the water’s channel turns sharply to the left. Pain bursts to life in my forehead, pounding with my heartbeat as I become hypersensitive to the light glistening off the water’s foamy waves.
“By the last major bend in River Sangre! That’s where we’ll find them!” Siri roars her commands to the other Ddraigs that follow behind us. Answering howls thunder through the sky, affirming that the other Ddraigs will continue to join us on the quest to find their warriors.
“You…manipulated my memory,” I accuse with a stutter, wondering if my Ddraig has used this tactic on me earlier. The pain in my head dulls to a slight throb, like the afterglow of a severe migraine, a token to remind me of the agony I’ve endured. The idea that Siri can somehow alter my mind brings a scream of terror to my throat. “How? How can you do such a thing?
“I didn’t change your recollection of the minor markets, Iris.” Siri snorts in exasperation as she angles her wings in the direction of the last bend in the river. “Everything we needed to find the marketplace was all in your feeble memory. I simply helped you focus on the important parts.”
“But at what cost, Siri?” I accuse, brushing my hand to my forehead as if I could wipe away the painful sensation that just ripped through my skull.
“Sorry,” she mutters, but her tone sounds unapologetic. “If you spent less time reminiscing over your childhood days, and more time on the information I needed, I would not have had to use such drastic measures.”
The idea that my Ddraig can affect the thoughts in a memory makes my blood run cold. I say nothing else to Siri, and I try in vain to throw a mental shield around my suspicions. What do I do when even my thoughts aren’t trustworthy? How can I be sure that what I am thinking is really just my opinion, untarnished by Siri?
“Have I given you any reason not to trust me?” Siri barks, turning a furious silver eye on me as her patience wears thin. Yet before I can answer, Siri sighs, filling the air around me with smoke. “I’m sorry; I forget that in your finite mind we’ve only known each other for a short time.”
“I…I’m sorry too,” I whisper, truly meaning my words. “Trust has never been my strongest attribute, Siri. You’ve been completely honest with me as far as I can tell. I’m just feeling overwhelmed.” We fall into an awkward silence, and I try in vain to regain my composure. Panic threatens to choke me; I can feel its fickle claws grasping at my vocal cords, crushing the air out of my lungs. It is a wild animal inside me, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to cage it.
If I had been walking from the Pith to the minor markets, the journey would have taken at least a week. However, in flight it will be only a matter of minutes. “Siri, how do we get the people to listen?” I wonder, a shiver of fear threatening to rattle my vertebrae out of alignment. I can feel my terror creeping across my skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake as it travels toward my heart. “They will take one look at us coming at them from the sky, and they—”
“Tell the truth.” Siri offers her suggestion as she spots the thatched awnings of the permanent buildings in the minor markets. “That’s all you can do, Iris. The truth is your only weapon.”
Before I have time to plan a speech, Siri begins her circling descent toward the minor house markets. The other Ddraigs follow suit, spiraling their brightly colored bodies until we resemble a glittering, multi-hued cyclone. Briefly I imagine what it must look like from the ground. Pretending to be a trader in the market, I see myself in a simple mask, bringing small game or skins to trade for the supplies I need to survive in the harsh environment near the river. Suddenly, a flash of color catches my eye. Turning my face to the heavens, I witness hundreds of strange creatures circling overhead. Immediately my mind turns to only one possible explanation: Déchets is attacking—the people from the land over the Devil’s Spine are planning to annihilate Cassè.
“Fantastic,” I mumble as I clench my knees into Siri’s sides to keep from slipping off her ridged back. My hair stands straight out behind me with the force of the wind whipping around us. “We should have tried a subtler approach!”
“No time!” Siri roars, causing the rest of the Ddraigs to do the same. The wind tunnel we’ve created in this strange flight pattern amplifies their cries. My eardrums feel like they could burst under the pressure, and I have no doubt that a sound as loud as this could even be heard over the River Sangre.
“Way to make an entrance,” I sarcastically mutter as the wind whips my hair into my face. A ripple of laughter reverberates through my Ddraig’s back as she continues her downward spiral toward the minor markets.
Screams rise up from the shopping stalls as men and women run for their weapons. Piles of skin and meat fall to the ground in their haste, and handmade pottery shatters as tables are overturned in the melee. Those few that still stand are quickly set up as shelters for anyone who cannot fight the incoming threat. Children wail while their parents race to form a perimeter to protect them, holding their swords and spears high over their heads.
“Siri, pull up!” I cry in dismay as the flash of silver steel catches my eye. “We’re going to run right into them!”
Siri opens her wings widely, and our near freefalling descent comes to a jarring end. We hover in the light of the sun. The rest of the Ddraigs follow, staying above and behind us. Looking down at Siri’s scales, I am astonished to see them glittering as though she has captured firelight dancing through her hide. Sparkles of gold, blue, and pure ivory dazzle my eyes. Only Siri’s gentle reminder of our purpose helps me overcome my stunned silence. Speak to them, Iris. Let them know that we are not here for trouble.
“Friends! Please listen to what I have to say!” I attempt, crawling closer to Siri’s head so that I can be seen. “We are not here to make trouble!’
“There’s a woman up there!” Someone shouts from below. “Don’t worry! We’ll get you free of those monsters!”
“Monsters!” Siri snorts indignantly, sending sparks of flames raining down on the stalls, burning holes in thatched roofs and igniting small fires on tent coverings. “She’s not trapped with us! She’s our leader.”
Not the best way to make friends, I chide my Ddraig, hoping she doesn’t spew more fire upon the frightened faces below us. “We’re not here to hurt you,” I interrupt before Siri can admonish the people anymore. “Please, the Ddraigs and I are here to seek your assistance. If you will let us land nearby, I will come down and speak to you myself, to show you that I am not hurt. We mean no harm to you.”
“Then why did that one try to set us all on fire?” one of the braver men cries angrily, his sword waving toward us. Some of the people have abandoned their weapons, attempting to put out the blazes started by my Ddraig. A pang of guilt settles in my stomach with every bucket of water they throw.
“She didn’t—” I halt my foolish words before I can complete the untrue statement. “Look, I’m sure you have lots of questions. Please let me come down to you.”
The oldest woman of the minor houses steps forward, holding her hand up to catch my attention. The rest of the cowering crowd falls silent as she begins to speak. “We will allow you and your…uh, creature, to meet with us. The rest are to stay in the air overhead so that we can keep an eye on them. Our men will shoot if they try to drop closer. Do you agree to my terms?”
