Chapter Two

The cypress woods were rarely silent. They had their own endless song of droning insects and chirping tree frogs, bird calls, squirrel chatter among the whispering ghostlace.

Not that Rima would have heard any of it now, the way Saya kept on.

“So wait—you live with the Nahrzai, Atra Mirei?”

Mirei, still leaning one arm over Saya’s shoulders, drew her brows together. “Yes, and… I’m sorry, why do you keep calling me that?”

“It’s polite!” Saya looked as bemused as Mirei. “It’s like, erm…” She glanced around as they walked, as if looking for inspiration. “Like ‘Lady,’ I guess?”

Rima snorted and shifted the man she carried. “You wouldn’t call her a lady if you saw how she eats crab legs.”

Mirei shot her a glare.

The man in Rima’s arms groaned. “If he wakes up now,” Rima growled, “I’m dumping him in the marsh.”

Mirei’s glare deepened. “Don’t you dare!”

“Oh no!” Saya stopped short, jolting Mirei. Rima paused. The older man behind her bumped into her tail. She gave him an acid glance over her shoulder. At least he hadn’t said much.

It occurred to her that he hadn’t given his name. Saya kept addressing him with some babble, but it meant nothing to her.

On the heels of this: I don’t care.

“What is it?” Mirei asked.

“Soru’s sword!” Saya turned a panicky look to Mirei, then to the older man. “We didn’t find it, Atren!”

“Oh, well.” Rima moved as if to put the unconscious man down. “Let me just go back and hunt around in the grass and—”

“Stop it.”

The three of them turned to the older man. His lips were pursed, his brow furrowed; a line down each side of his face had deepened. Rima tensed at the shift in his scent—the red anger was back. Fear, sharp and yellow, laced beneath it. And under both, a deep blue grief.

“Saya.” The man took a deep breath before he continued, his voice lower. “We can go back and find the sword later. After Soru is resting.”

Saya looked even smaller, somehow. “Yes, Atren Kagren. Sorry.”

They resumed walking.

“Maybe we can go back for the thavok horns, too,” Saya said. She was like one of the squirrels, Rima decided. She could not shut up. At least her voice was softer now. “And the tusks. Maybe the hide… maybe.”

Rima almost pointed out that the Scrithe would be all over the carcass by nightfall, but she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. That would likely send the little Velka into a lightning-yellow panic, and Rima was in no mood to deal with that.

Don’t say anything, she silently begged Mirei. Don’t say anything about Scrithe, for the love of the Star-lady…

But Mirei said nothing, and Saya was chattering on again as though she had never been scolded.

“That thavok was bigger than any of us thought. Way meaner. Crazy, even.” She frowned at the unconscious man in Rima’s arms. “I guess we were all in over our heads. It was lucky you came along!”

Rima took a breath to tell her exactly what she thought of that, but Mirei spoke before she could.

“Why were you after it to begin with?”

“It was attacking trade caravans,” Saya said. “We were told it was big, just… not that big.”

“The whole thing was a mess from the start,” the older man muttered. He raised his head as the trees began to thin. “We almost there?”

“Yeah,” Rima grunted, and shifted the unconscious man again. She raised her head as the smells of home drifted to her—smoke, damp wood, fish, salt. A spectrum of warm orange and gold—comfort, warmth. Same. Safe.

A few more steps, and she could see it: long, low structures, open to the sea air, posts of carved driftwood and bone supporting reed-and-frond roofs, raised porches on stilts. The breeze carried the familiar clack-clack of hanging charms and the rustle and cooing of roosting birds.

As the trees and spongy ground gave way to sand, Rima spotted a number of Nahrzai children stacking shells by a tide pool. One of them—red like her, like Mother, but with Father’s darker stripes—looked up and dropped a clam shell. “Rima!”

“Liri,” Mirei said, giving a tired smile. She glanced at Saya. “Our little sister.”

Saya opened her mouth, but then pursed her lips closed.

The other children stood up with Liri, all short tails and stumpy legs. Wide-eyed, flushed with orange-pink curiosity, they stared as Rima approached with her blood-stained Velka burden.

Rima kept her voice gentle. “We’re gonna need—”

But Liri was already running, kicking up sand as she dashed off toward the houses. “Mother! Mother! Come quick!”

Other Nahrzai were drawn by the commotion. Thick-set elders, lanky adolescents, larger females, smaller males—a crowd of red scales mottled with gray, light blue spines, amber eyes, flicking tails—all watched as the strange party marched on. Through the rose-orange of their unspoken questions, a faint yellow alarm flashed through some as they looked at Rima. She knew it was because of her own lingering killer's scent and lowered her head a fraction.

A big male Nahrzai—gray, darker stripes, streaks of red on his tail—hurried up to them. “Rima, what—Mirei!” In one motion, he scooped Mirei away from Saya and off her feet.

Mirei hugged the scaly neck. “I’m fine, Father.”

“She did it again,” Rima growled with a pointed look down at the man in her arms.

“I’m fine,” Mirei repeated. She caressed the bony protrusions over the big male’s eyes.

Before she could say more, the crowd stilled. Even the clacking charms seemed to go quiet as Taru stepped forward, her scent ever warm and steady, a sun-bathed rock. The matriarch stood taller than her mate, taller than Rima, red scales gleaming over her imposing frame, blue spines swaying as she bowed her head to peer at the man in Rima’s arms.

Taru’s eyes were embers, like a fire burned low over time. She said nothing as she looked at the man, then at Mirei, and finally at the two Velka still standing. “Bring him,” she said to Rima, and headed for the Healing House.

While Rima followed Taru, the big male carried Mirei toward a bower of palm fronds shading a number of driftwood benches. He set her down and turned to the other Velka. “Come, sit.”

The man glanced at the Healing House as the tip of Rima’s tail disappeared through the curtain draped over the entrance. It was one of the few buildings with solid walls on all sides.

“He will be all right,” the Nahrzai said. “There was no smell of death on him. I would tell you if there were.”

“This is my father—Orsec,” Mirei said.

Orsec raised a clawed hand, looked down at it as if uncertain, then offered it to the newcomers.

Saya bounced forward and grasped his claws in both hands. “I’m Saya!” She let go and gestured to the older man. “And this is Atren Kagren, Lord of the Great Canyon of Tharneth!”

The man made a noise deep in his throat—half a growl, half a groan. “Just Kagren.” With a long sigh, he settled onto the bench across from Mirei. His joints popped.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

Mirei squared her shoulders and blinked. “I wasn’t looking at you.”

Saya shrugged off her bow and quiver and sat next to Kagren. “Yes you were. And I don’t blame you! How often does anyone out here get to meet Tharneth’s greatest lord in a hundred years?”

“Saya.” Kagren dragged his palms down his face. “Enough.”

Liri reappeared, balancing a polished wooden tray nearly as big as herself. There were three carved cups on it. “Redshell tea!” she announced. She ducked her head under the tray to look at Mirei. “It’s from your stores. Is that all right?”

“Of course it is.” Mirei took one of the cups, then nodded to Saya. “Go on. It’s good.”

Saya took a cup and sniffed. “What kind of red shells?” she asked.

Mirei laughed. “It’s all dried flowers and berries.”

“And some salt,” Liri added.

“Then why do you call it…?” Saya sipped. Her eyes widened, and she took a longer drink. “Never mind!”

Kagren drained half his cup in a gulp. He gazed down at the deep red liquid. “So… Mirei, is it?”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t thank you before.” He looked up at her. His eyes were dark, piercing. “So I’m thanking you now.” He jerked his chin toward the Healing House. “Soru. My personal guard. He’d be dead if not for you.”

Orsec settled himself onto the sand. His tail curled around all four posts of the bower as he rested his chin next to Mirei. “You overextended yourself again, hmm?”

Liri scrambled onto the bench and draped herself over Mirei’s lap. “Sister, what did Mother say the last time?”

Mirei rubbed Orsec between his eyes with one hand and scratched under Liri’s chin with the other. “What was I supposed to do, just let Velec have a broken leg?”

“Mother said it would have taught him greater care on the rocks.” Liri enunciated as if reciting.

“Your gift is not to be used lightly,” Orsec added. “Not if it endangers you.”

“I didn’t use it lightly.” Mirei frowned and sipped from her cup. “That man. Soru. You didn’t see him before, Father.”

“Okay, I can’t stand it anymore!” Saya leaned forward, sloshing her drink. “How did you do that? What did you do? And you’re Velka! What are you doing here?” She noticed Kagren frowning at her. “Atren… don’t scold me. You’re curious, too. I know you are!”

“Perhaps questions and answers can wait,” Orsec said. He raised his head at Rima’s approach.

The bower shook as Rima leaned one hand on a post. “He’ll live. Mother’s getting him cleaned up, wounds dressed. She gave him something to speed the healing. He would have been fine on his own, I might add.”

Orsec made a low growl.

Rima huffed but bowed her head. “She wants to see you,” she said to Kagren. “In the Healing House.” She gestured to the enclosed structure.

Kagren got up with another sigh and more cracking joints. He finished his drink and set the cup on the bench. “Thanks,” he said to Liri. Her tail wagged.

Saya stood, as well. “What about me?”

“Mother didn’t say.” Rima narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure anyone knows what to do with you.”

Saya stiffened, incensed, but then blinked in surprise when Kagren chuckled.

“Stay here, Saya,” he said. His tone was easier now. “Rest up.” He glanced at Orsec as he left the bower. “If she pesters you too much, feel free to put her to work.”

“Noted,” Orsec said, and rested his chin on the bench once again.

Saya puffed her cheeks and sat back down. “I don’t pester anyone. I just wanna know stuff.”

“Moon and tides.” Rima flopped onto her belly next to Orsec. “What are you, a hatchling?”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Pssh. Hatchling. Liri’s older than that.”

Saya squinted and tilted her head.

“Twenty and a half!” Liri said, grinning with all her sharp little teeth. “Almost as old as Big Sister!”

Saya looked at Rima, who huffed again. “She means Mirei. I’m Bigger Sister. Forty-six summers, if you must know.”

“One hundred and ninety-seven,” Orsec said. “I am aware that no one asked.”

Saya pressed her lips together and looked at Mirei, eyebrows raised.

Mirei studied the grass stains on her skirt. “I’m twenty-one,” she mumbled.

“I always heard Nahrzai live a long time,” Saya said. “Ragri—the Nahrzai who was with us, from Shurgan's Hold—she said she was eighty-three.”

A quiet chuckle bubbled in Orsec's throat. “Nearly ready to marry.”

The Healing House was cool and dim, the air inside fragrant with herbs and tree resin. It almost covered the iron tang of blood.

Against one wall, Soru lay on a thick mat of woven reeds. He was naked, his torso wrapped in strips of cloth. Taru crouched by his head, her tail coiled around her feet. She looked up at the shaft of sunlight when Kagren entered.

The curtain over the doorway fell back into place behind him. His steps were soft as he approached and settled down on the floor next to Soru, legs crossed.

Soru’s long, black hair had been unbraided, washed of dirt and blood like the rest of him. Someone—Taru, no doubt—had parted it and arranged it over his shoulders. His face was peaceful, thick eyebrows relaxed, full lips slightly parted. For a moment, Kagren saw the boy he had coaxed from the smoking ruins. He covered his mouth with one hand and took a deep breath through his nose.

“Your son?” Taru asked.

Kagren hesitated, then shook his head. “Not mine. The Kreth destroyed his village. I found him. Raised him. Now he goes where I go.”

“Your son.”

Kagren said nothing.

“I gave him a draught to deepen his sleep,” Taru continued. “His body is wise. It will do the rest.”

She stood with unhurried grace that belied her size. The ceiling was high enough that even her spines didn’t brush the rafters. She stepped over to a row of shelves against another wall and returned with a blanket, which she spread over Soru.

“He will live, Lord of the West.”

Kagren looked up at her, one eyebrow raised.

The corners of Taru’s mouth twitched up. “You have the scent of one who speaks, and his words are heeded. You mention the Kreth—they only live far west of here.” She tilted her head. “Am I mistaken?”

Kagren’s own features lapsed into a tired smile.

Taru tilted her head to look at him from one eye. “Have I said something amusing?”

He shook his head. “I should be used to it by now—the way Nahrzai smell the world as much as they see and hear it.” After a pause, he added: “You’re not wrong. About me, or the West. Tharneth. Ever been?”

“I am not among the Nahrzai who ever traveled so far up the Ruvan. My place is here.”

Kagren smoothed back his hair and released another long breath. “Yeah. I think I’d have remembered you.”

Taru sat back down. “Rima tells me it was a thavok that did this.”

“Big one. Biggest I’ve ever seen. Reports were coming in from all over—wrecked caravans, ruined shipments.” He gave a wry chuckle. “Once Myrnethi traders started losing goods, it became everyone’s problem. Saya, Soru and me—we were a couple of weeks out from Tharneth anyway…” He pursed his lips. “I won’t bore you with why. Anyway, next thing I knew, there we were. Just one part of a great big hunting party. We happened to be the ones to find the thing. Lucky us.”

Taru made a noncommittal hum deep in her throat.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The herb-and-resin air was making Kagren muzzy. He blinked and rubbed his eyes.

“That girl,” he said at last.

“Mirei?”

“Yeah. Mirei. You know I have to ask. What is she doing here?”

The hum vibrated in Taru’s throat again. “She is my daughter, as this one is your son.”

“Kreth destroyed her village, too?” Kagren scratched his beard. “Or whatever it is you have here. Those little frog-things… Scrithe? Or do you say Scrithen? I can’t keep track.”

Taru’s mouth quirked up once more. “Scrithe are rarely so vicious. But no. How she came to us was quite different.”

Kagren waited. After a full minute, he said, “You’re not going to tell me.”

Taru lowered her head. “You may share our food and our shelter, Lord Kagren. You may come and go as you please until this son of yours is well. But this matter, for now, is one too close to my heart.”

It was Kagren’s turn to hum. “Fair enough.”

His brows knitted as he gazed at Soru’s midsection. “She healed him. Not all the way, but enough to save his life. I saw it myself.”

“A gift she has displayed since she was very small. Not thoroughly unheard-of.”

“No, but…” Kagren shook his head. “It was different with her. No talismans, no prayers that I could hear. If she drew any symbols in the dirt, I didn’t see them.”

“You are correct. Mirei uses none of those methods.”

“Then how?”

“She has honed it over time. I’ve taught her ways to focus her mind. As to how… that is shamirei.”

If Kagren had been at his full strength, this might have angered him. He had long since reached the opinion that shamirei was nothing more than a Nahrzai deflection.

Then again… he reminded himself that Taru owed him no answers. He gave a nod.

“We have accepted it. As we accepted her.” Taru’s voice, already soft, settled into a thrum that soothed Kagren’s nerves, in spite of himself. It occurred to him that she had detected his brush with anger, however brief.

When he spoke again, his tone was quieter. “She almost knocked herself out doing it.”

Again, Taru inclined her head. “It is not without cost. I have taught her other ways of healing, of plants and how to extract their properties, of binding wounds and drawing out poison. However, in dire circumstances…” The coals of her eyes turned to Soru.

Kagren nodded. Another silence stretched.

Finally, he asked, “How long before Soru can travel again?”

“That depends on how he responds to our treatment. On how fast his body repairs itself. On how eager you are to return to Tharneth.”

Kagren waved a dismissive hand. “They can do without me for a while. Nerra—someone I trust. She’s in charge.”

“Then, as I said, you are welcome to share in what we have. I ask only for your patience with us here in Teyaka. Not many of us come into regular contact with Velka. If they avoid you, do not think them inhospitable. They may only be overwhelmed.”

“I get it.” In spite of everything, Kagren couldn’t help a small chuckle. “I’ve been around enough Nahrzai to know that Velka can be a real headache.”

Taru thrummed. Kagren thought it might be a chuckle of her own this time.

“I’ll tell Saya to try and keep it down,” he said.

“It is more the ones who keep themselves closed off who can distress a Nahrzai.”

Kagren’s laugh came more easily now. “You’re really not gonna like being around Soru, in that case. No wonder Ragri kept looking at him funny.”

A scream outside made them both bolt upright. Another scream followed, but this time with laughter. Taru and Kagren looked at each other, then at Soru.

“Let him sleep?” Kagren asked.

Taru gave a nod and headed for the curtained doorway.

The shrieks and giggles continued as they emerged into the afternoon sun. Rima and Mirei were both wallowing in the surf. Rima’s tail was wrapped around Mirei’s legs as Mirei shoved against Rima’s chest and jaw.

“Make me carry a bloody slab of meat like that, will you!” Rima arched her neck, opened her huge jaws, and closed them over Mirei’s shoulder—though her teeth barely grazed the girl’s tanned skin.

Mirei let out another laugh and thumped the Nahrzai’s chest with the heel of one hand. “Let go, you brute!” She tried to work her hands under Rima’s arms.

“You know I’m not ticklish, hairball! But you are.” Rima fluttered her claws over Mirei’s ribs, sending her into another gale of screaming laughter as the water rushed over her loosening braid.

Saya, standing just out of reach of the tide, hopped from one foot to the other, her hands over her cheeks. “You two stop it! You’re gonna hurt Atra Mirei, you… you… Nahrzai, you!”

Taru stood with her arms folded, face unreadable as she watched.

“I see she recovers fast,” Kagren said.

“Indeed.”

Saya gave another yelp as Liri vaulted into the fray and disappeared between her sisters for a moment. She popped up with something in her mouth—a length of blue-green cloth.

“Hey!” Mirei sat up and looked down at herself. She lunged after Liri, who took off on all fours, splashing through the shallows with Mirei’s top trailing from her jaws.

Saya froze, arms at her sides as Mirei, wearing only her skirt, scrambled to her feet and tore off after the tiny Nahrzai. Rima rolled back in the waves and howled with laughter. A moment later, Saya dashed after Mirei, pulling off her black jacket as she went. “Atra Mirei, take this!”

Kagren drew a long, slow breath through his nose. “Is it always like this around here?” he asked Taru.

“Worse.”