Unfinished Song(Book 4): Root Page 5

  “The Raptor Riders are on the wing,” said Umbral. “We best have wings of our own if we wish to follow.”

  “I’m not getting on that abomination,” said Mad Eye.

  “The magic won’t hold together forever, Umbral,” said Ash. “What if it falls apart while we’re in the air?”

  “Then we fall and die,” said Umbral coolly. “But I will kill anyone who refuses to ride.”

  He strode to one of the bats and leaped on.

  After a moment, Owlhawker shrugged and mounted another.

  Ash snapped at the others, “What are you waiting for? You heard the leader.” She added softly for his ears alone, “This madness better help us find the Vaedi, Umbral. You might be able to knock heads, but Obsidian Mountain won’t be so easy to bully if they do not like your new plan.”

  “We will find the Vaedi,” Umbral said, “and then we will kill her.”

  Vessia

  The skies betrayed them on the third day of flight.

  Finnadro spotted the birds first. When Vessia landed by a stream to allow them both to drink and rest, he cocked his head at the distant V shapes on the horizon.

  “Raptors,” he remarked laconically. “Tracking us.”

  “Your sight is keener than mine,” Vessia admitted. It would not have been true in her youth, but as much as she hated it, her eyes weren’t what they used to be. She squinted upward until she saw them. “They are Raptors.”

  His fists clenched. “I fear travelling with me has been no boon to you, my Lady. My tribe’s ancient enemies have grown more bold of late.”

  She shook her head. “They aren’t after you, but me. Zumo has asked his sister for help.”

  Finnadro looked dubious.

  “She’s a Rider,” Vessia said.

  He raised both brows.

  Raptors were humans who could take the shape of birds. They were a caste of mariahs, slaves captured from the wild by Riders. Riders were the most honored and feared Tavaedies of the Orange Canyon.

  “Can you outfly them?”

  “Normally…yes. But I am not used to carrying a passenger. They are.”

  “And they outnumber you.”

  “So it would seem.”

  Finnadro pressed his lips together. “My lady, if I may suggest, it might be better to travel on foot from now on. We can hide under the tree cover, and I can cover our tracks.”

  Vessia tried not to nod too quickly. In truth, the flight had begun to exhaust her. Not that walking through unbroken wilderness would be much easier.

  As if he read her mind, Finnadro said, “We are not entirely without friends of our own, my Lady. I have hesitated to mention it before, but I did not set out on this venture without allies. They do not fly, but they have been doing their best to keep up with our flight in their own way.”

  Finnadro put two fingers to his mouth and let loose a piercing whistle.

  In the distance, from deep behind in the territory they had covered the previous day, wolves howled back.

  “My friends can change their shape too,” said Finnadro with a feral smile. “They are no man’s slaves, but they will answer the call of one they trust.”

  “Should we wait for them to catch up?” asked Vessia.

  “They are much swifter than we are likely to be,” said Finnadro. “And with Raptors and their masters hunting us, I do not like the idea of staying still. We should keep moving.”

  Vessia sighed. Her joints ached. She would have preferred a seat by a fire with a warm cup of herb tea. But without a word, she set a brisk pace through the tangled underbrush of the forest.

  Tamio

  On the day Tamio made his move, he gathered his fellow quail hunters, all young men from Broken Basket clan who had gone through Initiation with him.

  “Where’s Hadi?” asked Yodigo, Tamio’s cousin.

  “He won’t be included on this hunt,” Tamio said. Not when the prey came from Hadi’s clan.

  The men grinned, except Yodigo, who crossed his arms. “Not Jensi. I’ve already shared bread with her family.”

  “Not Jensi.”

  “Who else is there in Lost Swan clan? We already did Olibi, and Tibi is too young—”

  “Dindi.”

  He watched the why-didn’t-we-think-of-that-before looks spread over their faces.

  “Exactly,” he said. “This little quail has been ruffling her feathers in front of us for months now, and somehow we overlooked her. I’m going to stake my claim first, but don’t be surprised if she agrees to notch more staves after I’ve done her. If she’s opened her thighs once, what’s to stop her from allowing a few more licks from the jar?”

  They elbowed one another. The insatiable widow Huldea came to mind.

  “I want this hunt to move swiftly,” Tamio continued. “We’re going pull a Danger and Rescue routine.”

  “Strong arrow for a little bird,” said Yodigo. “I thought you were saving that trick for Kemla.”

  “Fa, it wouldn’t work on Kemla. She doesn’t know the meaning of gratitude.”

  The men laughed.

  They took up bows, loaded full quivers, and told the clan elders they were going hunting—true enough—though not what prey. Possibly the elders suspected, because Tamio’s mother shook her fist at him. She sat under a shady oak with the other women, kneading snakes of clay for new pots. Her withered arms were stained reddish brown past the elbows.

  “You wolf!” she shouted. “Stay away from the mares of Full Basket clan! I won’t have this clan go to war because you can’t keep your hands on your own drum!”

  He blew her a kiss. “Ma, I promise!”

  True enough.

  Ma and the other women shook their heads and clucked their tongues, but they were laughing, secretly proud of their wolves. They had already paid several baskets of meat and corn to the parents of a low-status girl from Full Basket. No one had even suggested Tamio marry her. Not his own kin, not even the elders of Full Basket. Both clans expected him to marry a woman with land and prestige.

  The men began as they would a real hunt. Any dangerous animal would have worked, but a wild boar had been trampling the corn recently, which suited Tamio’s plans perfectly. They would spend a few hours building a boar run, tracking the boar, and driving it toward the run.

  “You’re about to see how a master hunter nabs a quail, men,” Tamio declared. He pictured the whole thing as he described it. “The wild beast will rush at her, causing her heart to race. She will probably scream, but she might be too frozen with terror to even make a sound. In the last minute, I will dart in between her and the boar, frightening it with a blast of magic and an arrow to the eye. If it’s still kicking, I will drive it back with my spear into the pit, where it will be impaled on the stakes. Blood will spurt up like a geyser. She will still be shaking when I turn around to comfort her. I will insist on walking her home.”

  “What if she refuses?” asked Yodigo.

  “She will refuse, at first. Everyone knows I’m a scoundrel.” Tamio grinned. “I’ll tell her that’s because she’s probably just like everyone else, ready to judge me based on nothing but rumors. I don’t expect her to believe the truth any more than they do. I’ll hint that I was really the wounded party, but I’m too tough to let on. Girls can’t resist a hook like that. She won’t like to feel that she’s just as insensitive as those other oafs. She’ll want to rescue me from being misunderstood and heart broken, just as I rescued her from the boar. Then I’ll turn the tables and tell her I just remembered I need to skin the boar in the hunter’s shed before nightfall, so she should go on without me. She’ll insist on accompanying me.

  “But the coup is yet to come.” He rocked back on his heels. “That’s why we have to move today. By this evening, those gray clouds will break and we’ll have the first snow of the year. The Blue fae have as much as promised me. Dindi will never make it home to her own clanhold. She’ll have to take shelter in the hunter’s shed. With me. The two of us, trapped in the snows
torm, with just a fire to keep us warm. By morning, she will be mine.”

  And soon, so will Kemla.

  Kemla

  Full Basket clanhold was the largest of the three clans in the Corn Hills clanklatch. Many dozens of huts and three kraals sprawled over several slopes, surrounded by terraced cornfields. Although Kemla was not yet married, she already had her own house, a staunchly built three room adobe cottage painted white with decorations of fiery red, orange and yellow. In deference to her skills, people gave her gifts, and this wealth adorned the inside of her home: rugs, jugs, baskets, beaver furs and shells.

  At first she had been happy with such gifts, but now, as she sifted the crude lumpy weave between her fingers from the latest blanket someone had given her, she felt annoyed.

  “The Tavaedies in Yellow Bear received much better gifts,” Smokey Toes, a nasty Red flame fae hissed, from his spot in the hearth fire.

  “What do you expect from a piss hole like the Corn Hills?” said Kemla. “But I won’t be stuck here forever. I am destined for better things.”

  The fire fae danced in excitement. “Burn it! Burn it!”

  Kemla almost threw the rug into the fire. At the last minute, she tossed it into a corner of the room instead. What use was another stupid, scratchy blanket? She wanted real wealth. Gold, aurochsen, land, slaves. Not goats and blankets. On the other hand, she couldn’t stand to throw away anything, even things she hated.

  She was sick of being inside. She needed fresh air, away from the Red fae. She did not bother with a fur cape, despite the threat of snow, but she did take her bow. Pity the rabbit that crossed her path when she was in one of her moods!

  Once outside the house, away from the smoke and the taunts of the hearth fae, she felt better. She would make a point to thank the auntie who gave her the blanket. It never hurt to lavish butter on one’s elders, even if secretly she despised their rustic ways.

  A Red pixie flew by her ear, hissing, “Outtribers! Beware!”

  Kemla pulled the bow from her back and notched an arrow.

  “Show yourselves, Outtribers!” she shouted.

  Bushes rustled. She heard quiet voices before she saw anyone. Then two people stepped from out behind the trees, an old woman and a scruffy young warrior.

  A beggar and a Rover, Kemla pegged them at once. Probably fleeing the plague, which was reputed to have hit clans to the east of the Corn Hills.

  “Niece, do not be afraid,” said the old woman. (As if I would fear a pair of beggars, Kemla snorted silently.) “We are travelers who only ask leave to sit by your fire one night, before we continue on our way.”

  “Vagrants aren’t welcome here,” Kemla said without lowering her bow. “Nor have you leave to trespass our lands. Keep moving, and stay outside the trees marked with our clan sign.”

  The scruffy warrior stepped in front of the old woman protectively. “Does your clan know nothing of hospitality?”

  Kemla heard a low-pitched growl.

  Two or three dogs padded out of the bushes to flank the warrior. The dogs were as big as wild wolves, and their hackles were raised.

  Wonderful, they wanted to bring fleabags into her home as well. Never going to happen, goat turds.

  “We owe nothing to outtribers,” Kemla said flatly. “Now get out of here before I make you go.”

  Just in case the beggars doubted her sincerity, Kemla focused her power, and the head of the arrow burst into flame.

  The dogs started yapping. The warrior put his hand on his own bow.

  Before he could draw it—not that Kemla would have let him get that far—the old woman put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Let it go, Finnadro,” she said. “We’ve camped in the woods before, we can do it again.”

  Dindi

  A Green pixie alighted on the rock in front of Dindi. She shifted the heavy, beaded cape in her lap. Without looking at the pixie, she asked, “Is he still there?”

  “No,” said the pixie. “He left. He’s hunting.”

  “Finally!” Dindi shoved aside the cape. She was so tired of Tamio spying on her. What did he want? What did he suspect?

  Well, she had more important things to worry about…like staying alive. To ensure her own survival, she needed to break an age-old curse, and to do that, she needed to use magic, and to do that she needed to know why the Aelfae had hidden her magic from everyone, even from herself.

  Dindi took out the corncob doll. She did not need it to find strands of magical memories, as she had once thought, but it still helped her focus and amplify the memory strands she worked with. She held it and began to dance.

  Mayara

  The humans called their settlement Full Basket clanhold. The man and woman who had adopted Mayara called themselves Bobbo and Umka. They had six other children already, strapping boys who hunted and plump daughters who farmed. Umka missed having a baby on her hip, so she babied Mayara. Though Mayara wasn’t a baby, compared to the human children, she was slight for her age, and this brought out Umka’s protective streak. She made Mayara sit next to her all day in the kitchen, or in the garden, where, in between hugs and snacks, she imparted a constant stream of advice, always couched in Don’ts.

  “Don’t slouch. Don’t stare. Don’t point. Don’t say that. Don’t eat this. Don’t skip. Don’t run. Don’t touch that. Don’t cry. Don’t laugh. And don’t you sass me back, young lady!”

  Mayara seized her first chance to run away. By now, months after the massacre of the Aelfae, nothing remained of the dead but scattered bones. Wolves—real wolves, not the human beasts—had moved into the cave, perhaps drawn by the feast of carrion. The wolves weren’t fooled by her lack of wings. They sniffed her with wagging tails, then left her alone while she dug under the rock.

  Bobbo and Umka found her before she could dig deep enough under the boulder to find her buried wings. Bobbo scared away the wolves with his spear. Umka grabbed Mayara by the ear.

  “Don’t frighten me like that! What if you had been killed? The woods aren’t safe. Did you see those wolves? Don’t ever run off like that again!”

  Mayara thought, Wolves wouldn’t attack me. Wild things know me as one of their own.

  However, the humans thought she was one of their own too, and she didn’t dare contradict them. Umka lectured her the whole way home. Mayara stayed sullen, silent, under the barrage. The more Umka yelled, the more determined Mayara was to try to escape her prison again, as soon as she could.

  That evening, Umka fed her all her favorite foods. Mayara pecked at the dishes. Suddenly, Umka burst into tears and grabbed Mayara into a fierce hug.

  “I love you like my own daughter! Don’t you know that?”

  Mayara wanted to pull back, to retort, You’re not my mother! You don’t even know who I really am. If you did, you wouldn’t love me. You’d kill me. Instead, to her horror, she began to cry. Umka held her close and rocked her.

  Dindi

  A scream tore through the woods, dissolving the Vision. Dindi shook off her dizziness and darted toward the sound. She saw an old woman, wrapped in a ragged white cloak, standing in the path of a charging boar.

  Dindi had no weapons, but she grabbed a fallen branch and waved it at the boar. The beast grunted and changed trajectory.

  Now it bore down straight at Dindi.

  She took off running, with the huge boar stomping right on her heels.

  “Dindi, watch out!” cried a sprite, pointing to a pile of leaves and branches in front of her. Dindi realized it was a covered pit. She leaped into the air, grabbed a branch overhead and swung herself to the far side. She landed in a roll.

  Behind her, the boar charged right into the pit. Dindi did not see its fate, but she guessed. The wail from inside the pit reverberated through the woods. She peered over the edge and saw the boar impaled on a number of spikes.

  It wasn’t her hunt, but by the law of light and shadow, since she’d made the kill she must claim a piece of the meat. She climbed down, slit the throat and dr
ained the blood, then patiently sawed off a hock. She drew the clan symbol of a swan in blood on the remaining carcass so the hunter would know who had claimed a portion of the kill.

  As soon as the bloody work was done, she left the pig and hurried to check on the old woman. At the same time, an unshaven warrior jogged toward her, crying, “My lady!” just as Dindi asked her, “Are you all right?”

  The warrior had the gut-cord lean look of a wolf after too hard a winter. When he moved, Dindi almost fancied she could see a green glare whipping around him, and she although she could not say why, it seemed to goad him and bind him at the same time. It reflected the driven look in his eye and the sleepless energy in his hands.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” said the old woman in white. She stuck out her chin belligerently. “I am perfectly capable of defending myself.”

  “Of course, auntie,” Dindi said. She tried not to smile. The poor old lady looked as though a drift of wind might bowl her over.

  The warrior shared a significant look with Dindi. He spoke gravely. “Thank you for your act of bravery, niece. We have had scant hospitality in these parts until now.”

  “Are you travelers?” Dindi asked. She took in their rough attire and dusty feet, though they carried no large packs. Perhaps all they owned were their weapons and the clothes on their backs. “Do you need shelter? I have a roof I can share with you, although it is not large.”

  For a moment, Dindi thought the proud old woman would refuse, but then she inclined her head. “A roof would be welcome on this night, I confess.”

  The warrior bowed. “I will hunt for your larder. We will not come to you as beggars, I promise.”

  “That isn’t necessary,” said Dindi. “At the very least, worry about that tomorrow. The wind is biting and I fear it might snow tonight. It is a bit of a walk to my clanhold, so we should set out at once.”