Pack of Wolves, page 6
Chapter 4
How long have I been sleeping? Sometime during the latest beating, I must have passed out, Cyrus concludes when he wakes up on the table with the setting sun blazing through the broken windows. Slowly assessing his wounds, Cyrus manages to lift his head high enough to peer down his body. Whip lashes crisscross down the fronts of his legs, and the texture of his chest’s skin reminds him of ground meat. The sight pulls a groan out of his mouth as swiftly as it causes his stomach to lurch. Suryc—he pleads to any gods listening that his Ddraig can hear his cries—I need your strength to heal these wounds.
Although Suryc does not speak, Cyrus can feel the heartsick begging of his Ddraig. His body itches as scarred skin knits together. The torture of not being able to scratch is almost worse than what Wolf had done hours earlier. Thank you, Cyrus weeps with relief as the Ddraig’s power fades in his blood. When the door opens, Cyrus instinctively cringes as he waits for the attack.
“You look better than I was expecting,” Wren whispers as he sidles up to the bed. He holds strips of dried meat up to Cyrus’s ravenous mouth. “From all the screaming that’s been going on, I was prepared to walk in here and find you dead.”
“Where is Wolf?” Cyrus asks between chews, sobbing with delight when Wren opens a water skin.
Over Cyrus’s greedy slurps, Wren explains. “He came out of this room in a flurry. Then he disappeared into the forest. I tried to follow him a while, but he evaded my pursuit. I’m not used to such challenging prey.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“A few hours. He’ll probably be away for at least a day or so, if he sticks to his usual mysterious routine,” Wren answers, inspecting the now reddened scars along Cyrus’s thighs. “Either your brother is weak and you can’t handle pain, or there has been some power here to heal you.”
“My Ddraig is near enough to give me aid when I need it,” Cyrus croaks, jerking his knee when Wren traces the puckered skin. “Where do you think Wolf goes?”
“I don’t have a clue, but I can figure that out later. Right now, there are much more pressing issues. Are you finally ready to get out of here? If you stay, he will surely kill you when he returns.” Wren moves to undo the ropes holding Cyrus in place against the bed frame. His fingers deftly loosen the knots before he even hears what Cyrus has to say.
“No. I want you to go out into the woods and try to pick up Wolf’s trail. Just take care that he does not see you on his return trip. Whatever he’s doing, we need to know about it,” Cyrus whispers, even as a sliver of fear wraps around his spine. “You didn’t see his face when he thought that I knew what he was up to—I’m sure it’s evil, Wren. We have to find out and stop him as soon as possible. I’ll take whatever pain he deals to me without complaint if I can just figure out a way to strip Wolf of his power.” Maybe then, I will finally repay my debts to Iris.
“You know, despite everything that has occurred, you don’t deserve this kind of punishment, right?” Wren whispers, his voice sounding small. “What you’re enduring now is not some kind of atonement—”
“Just do what I ask,” Cyrus interrupts sharply, his hands clenching into fists as though he can somehow physically fight the memories that plague his mind. “Retie the binds and leave me alone with my failures.”
“Fine,” Wren mumbles, hurrying toward the door.
Cyrus immediately regrets his harshness. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, recognizing how ungrateful he must have sounded. Either Wren has already left the room or he does not accept the apology, for no response comes.
Well, add that to the ever-lengthening list of my mistakes, Cyrus muses as boredom immediately creeps into his head. Struggling to find something to do, Cyrus counts holes in the ceiling. He tries to examine the walls around him, recalling how every fist shaped gap was made. Every shortcoming, every past error in judgment parades through his thoughts. I was such a fool, Cyrus laments, clenching his eyes closed as Iris’s beautiful, terrible face haunts him.
Cyrus, you’ve got to get a hold of yourself! Suryc demands, concern evident in his tone. You cannot let your mind dwell on things you cannot change.
If the torture doesn’t kill me, the waiting will drive me crazy. Every sound outside seems amplified to Cyrus’s ears. Time drags when you’re captive, Suryc. I can’t stand the silence.
Raising up to check the darkening sky, Cyrus ticks away every major event that has occurred since he discovered he was bound to a Ddraig. The process only takes a few minutes, then the stagnant waiting begins again.
You can always talk to me, Suryc reminds his Cadogan, hurt coloring his morose tone. Or are we not even allowed to converse now?
You’re angry at my choice to stay here, I realize that. But what better way to keep tabs on Wolf’s movements? I know my brother, Suryc. He’s careful, but when it comes to our relationship, he likes to brag about his superiority. I can use his arrogance against him. He’ll slip up, and I’ll find out everything about his intentions.
Is that your plan then? To undermine Wolf so that Iris finally comes to love you? Suryc’s voice rumbles with rueful amusement when Cyrus does not respond. You should know that Iris has already learned many things about your childhood. She knows how you were scarred.
“How?!” Cyrus barks out loud, embarrassment clouding his mind in vulnerable shame.
The Carreglas, Suryc answers, sending a surge of pity through their mental bonds. Siri took her into the caverns to see what it is we must protect. The things Iris learned there have made her begin to doubt Wolf’s motives.
How do you know all…? Siri, Cyrus realizes as a traitorous part of his heart flares to life with a renewed hope. He struggles to quell the emotion before it overtakes him. Hope is a luxury he cannot afford; to give in to its fantasy would only make disappointment that much harder to bear. His words are grim as he laments, I wish she hadn’t found out about our past. It will only deepen the wound when she still does not choose me, Suryc.
You don’t know—
“Tell me about her,” Cyrus demands as his heart flutters. The effect of the unquenchable hope already radiating through his blood sends a pulsing warmth down to his toes. “Show me everything that Siri has shared with you.” He closes his eyes and waits for Suryc to comply.
Are you sure this is wise? Suryc inquires rather than immediately following Cyrus’s wishes. Iris holds her secrets tightly to her heart.
“And I don’t?” Cyrus snarls aloud, wishing his binds were loose enough to scratch the new skin at his ankles. Why did I demand Wren retie these knots?! “If Iris can learn all my family’s dark history through your precious Carreglas, then I can damned well hear her secrets through you!” Cyrus sighs in his bitter frustration, breathing deep despite a lingering ache in his ribs. I need this, Suryc. I need something to keep my mind from going insane. She can’t hate me any more than she already does.
Just don’t tell her you saw her memories too. I’ve learned enough about this girl to know that if you try to force her trust in you, she will fight you all the way. If you let her learn to love you, then she will tell you everything in her time.
“She’ll never learn to love me, Suryc,” Cyrus whispers, wishing he could stop the tear that threatens to trace the Dadeni lines under his left eye. A bright light bursts awake in Cyrus’s mind as Suryc obeys his wishes, showering bits of color until a bright image appears in middle of the darkness.
A small babe waddles along the porch of a battered house. “Come here, my darling,” a man’s voice whispers, love pouring out of his proud smile as he holds his arms wide. The only resemblance he bears to his daughter is the shape of her dainty nose and the faintest coloring in her eyes. This man’s eyes are as gray as a storm cloud in the spring, but it seems he only gifted his daughter with the tiniest of raindrop hues to color her own irises.
“Her first steps,” Iris’s mother coos from her obscure hiding place at the doorway even as her eyes scan the grassland horizon. “We need to go back inside. This isn’t safe—”
“We can stay out here for a few moments,” Iris’s father protests, smiling as his daughter’s tiny fingers curl around his pinky.
“You heard about the near miss with our neighbors, didn’t you?” Iris’s mother questions, her voice fading out with her worry. “Weren’t you the one who came inside yesterday and announced that our neighbor’s little girl was almost snatched away by the border guards? I won’t have that happen to our daughter!”
Iris’s father has no answer. He gives his daughter a tight hug and a wistful smile as the image fades away.
A weathered door flies open, the burnished handle swinging back until it smashes into a tiny impression in the wall. “Daddy’s home!” calls the man as he slips inside the door. Signs of age subtly show up in the lighter hair around his temples and a few deeper wrinkles around the corners of his eyes.
Iris, now at least four years old, scurries over to him with open arms, her shining white hair glistening like a streak of lightning behind her. “Daddy!” She cries, and the sound of her voice tightens Cyrus’s throat automatically. “You were gone so long!” She giggles wildly as her father swings her around the room in celebration of his return.
“I know, love, but I brought presents,” Iris’s dad announces as he sets her down and drops a book into his child’s hands. “Happy birthday, my beautiful girl!”
“But, why can’t I see the animals?” Iris whispers, her voice turning grave even as her tiny fingers trace the faces of a lion and a scarecrow on her new book.
“I’m sorry, love,” her dad answers, picking her up once more and carrying her toward a battered green chair in the living room. “I know you wanted to go to the zoo; and believe me, your mother and I want to take you there. Maybe in a few years, when you’re older.”
“Why?” the tiny Iris wails, settling on her father’s lap and opening her book. “Why not now?”
“It’s not safe for us in the city right now,” the man answers as he gently lifts the gift from Iris’s fingers. “Maybe one day, I promise,” he replies, turning to the first page of the story. “Now, let me read to you about another special little girl and her travels into a strange new land….”
The image blurs until Cyrus becomes a silent guest at a dinner with a stranger. His fiery hair and piercing blue eyes enrapture Iris, who only appears to have aged a few months. Her hair has grown a few inches, and she is marginally taller than she was moments ago. Iris hustles up to this man’s side, crawling into his lap immediately after he drops into an open chair at the table. She wraps her arms around his neck, tugging his hair lightly. The red-orange hue mesmerizes the young girl, and she twirls her fingers into the strands as though she’s dancing through the flames. Her actions bring a boisterous laugh from the man. “My Little Bird….” His rough voice hums with amusement. “What story shall I tell you today?”
She loved him, Cyrus thinks with envy. A fire burns in Cyrus’s heart, a fierce longing that he cannot quell as the scene plays out in his mind’s eye. What I wouldn’t give for her to wrap her arms around my neck like that! Or to just sit beside me and hold my hand as we watch the sunset on the porch of our own home. Just to be alone with her, no quarrels, no anger, nothing but love. The fever burns hotter with every laugh that Iris gifts this stranger. His skin boils with sweat every time she smiles brightly at this man’s loving face. Who is he? What does he mean to my Iris? I know she’s a child in this memory, but still—
Cyrus, relax. Suryc lets the memory fade from his mind. The man was her family, and he is now dead to this world. There is no need to feel jealousy over him. This news brings immediate regret to Cyrus, the fire in his veins dousing with his worry that Iris must now be left to grieve his loss.
Suryc begins his memory sharing once more, and this time there is palpable tension between Iris and her mom. “Why is it always like this, Mother? I don’t understand!” The Iris of this memory is very close to Cyrus’s heart. This must have been around the time that I started coming to see her.
It’s the first night you appeared at her window, Cyrus, Suryc explains, his voice gentle as he whispers, she holds this memory very dear.
“I know you’re angry, sweetheart, and I am sorry, but you are not going outside!” Iris’s mother replies, her voice soft, but firm. She was a beautiful woman, completely different from her daughter in looks. Where Iris’s hair is pale as the harvest moon, this woman’s is as dark as the midnight sky. Where Iris’s eyes are now the blue-gray of dawn, her mother’s are deep mahogany.
“What is so scary about the yard? Or the tree line? I mean, I’d still be within sight of the house, and I’m a fast runner,” Iris pleads, her hands on her hips as if she already knows what her mother is going to say.
“No, darling,” her mother replies, an edge of irritation in her voice. “We cannot be outside that long.”
“But why?” Iris shouts, her hands flying over her head with the depth of her annoyance. “I see people outside all the time! What are you not telling me? Why can’t I be—?”
“Enough! Go upstairs to your room right now!” Iris’s mother bellows, pointing to the stairway. “I don’t have to explain anything! You follow my rules because I tell you to! Now go!”
Why did they never let her venture out alone? Cyrus wonders as he watches Iris run up the stairs and flop onto her drab bedspread, sobbing into her pillow. I mean, I understand being protective, but this seems extreme. What was her mother afraid of?
Iris never said outright, so Siri is not sure. She doesn’t think that Iris was ever given a reason, but Siri has her suspicions. Iris’s mother is a Windwalker, and Siri thinks that Iris’s parents were afraid that she had inherited her powers. If she did, she could very easily have been discovered. An untrained Windwalker child can get lost in their strange magic and create such a storm that it damages everything in its path. News of such a story would travel fast. They lived close to the Devil’s Spine, and Iris’s mother feared nothing more than being found in Cassè. It seems that all of this worry was wise, for Iris has indeed inherited her mother’s gift.
The vision speeds up the passing of the hours, and Cyrus watches the sun fade through Iris’s window until the first stars flash to life in the heavens. Iris sniffles as she rises from her bed, moving to sit by her window, staring off into the horizon. Two young boys rush through the field, racing toward the tree line at a breakneck pace. Iris brushes the windowpane forlornly, longing to be running through the tall grasses herself.
Suddenly, the smaller of the two boys turns back and stares directly at her. A tremble of fear melds with excitement in her veins. How desperately she longs for this boy to come closer. She gasps and claws at the window’s lock when she sees him step towards her house. You were a lifeline to Iris when she felt completely alone, Suryc observes as he lets the images fade once more. She will remember how much you meant to her as time passes. Do not lose hope.
This time, the memories that dance in Cyrus’s mind bring more sorrow than comfort. Iris waits by the window for her forest friend to appear. It has been a few weeks now since he’d last appeared in her tree, and apprehension tears her tender heart in two. “Did I do something wrong?” She whimpers as she shares her sorrows with the moon, for its cold, faceless image is the only companion that will listen to her now. Tears well in Cyrus’s eyes when she presses her hand to the glass and whispers, “Why didn’t he come back? Where is my boy from the woods?”
“How long did she watch for me?” Cyrus sniffs, his hands straining in their binds, lifting off the table as if to brush the phantom Iris’s face. “I should have returned, if only once, to explain why I was gone. But I was so afraid that she would hate me because of my scars. I was sure I would frighten her away.”
If you had returned, your brother would have found you. Every night after your supposed death, he hid near Iris’s window, watching over her from afar. Suryc manipulates the shared image in their minds, pointing out Wolf’s lithe form hiding in the tall grasses near the forest’s edge.
Did he hurt her? Cyrus demands, fury simmering to the surface once more as he waits for Suryc’s answer. If he touched her, if he wronged her in any way, I will kill him!
He did nothing, just observed her from a distance. I think her sorrow at your loss shamed him into some measure of regret. He never worked up the nerve to go to her, Suryc explains, his voice soft with his pity.
No more, Cyrus croaks as Iris’s tear-stained eyes burn into his memory. I can bear to see no more of this, Suryc. At least, not right now. But when my brother returns, when he tortures me again—and I am certain he will—remind me of her. Show me more of Iris’s memories; maybe that will keep me focused in spite of the pain. Cyrus does not hear a response before exhaustion beckons him once more into a fitful, nightmarish sleep.
***
“Why have you come back so soon?” whispers the voice of a shrouded figure at the base of a huge oak tree at the edge of the forest close to the Devil’s Spine. “I saw you here only a few days ago. What news could you possibly have learned since then?”
“There is much to share,” Wolf answers triumphantly, even as he shifts from his hiding place at the base of a ragged looking elm, unnerved to be so close to the meadow that leads to the border guards’ lands. It feels strange to be in the shadow of the mountains, Wolf declares to himself as he removes his carcass mask. It’s like they are watching me, turning their disapproving eyes to my business. Absurd as it may sound, Wolf cannot shake the feeling from his bones.
“I’m waiting,” the stranger yawns, picking at his dirty fingernails in feigned disinterest.
“There’s a price, as always.” Wolf replies as he lithely moves to stand before the hooded man, making sure to keep out of arms reach. Even though he’s done business with him for many years, Wolf knows not to over-trust certain alliances beyond a handshake and a carefully concealed knife.
