Serafina and the Twisted Staff (The Serafina Series) (18 page)

And pointless.

There was water everywhere. She looked at the clouds. There was even water up there. Water started out in a cloud, and then fell as rain, and then flowed across the earth into the rivers. She
thought about rivers.

When is a river a wall?

Walls are vertical.

Then it came to her.

‘A waterfall,’ she said with satisfaction. A wall of water, a wall of rain.

There were no lakes or ponds in these mountains, but there were plenty of waterfalls. The mountains were alive with moving water. The mountains had been
carved
by moving water, in all its
forms and spirits: great rivers that roared headlong over cliffs and tiny streamlets that trickled through the deepest woods. There were triple-tiered falls that slipped across cascading stone, and
falls that poured over sliding rocks to icy-cold pools below. There were tall, narrow falls that plummeted from jagged heights and low, quiet falls that smoothed their boulders round.

But what she needed was a waterfall with a cave. She knew of several. But one was far too wet. The other far too easy to find. Her mind settled on a waterfall she knew of that was hidden in a
small, protected cove. Is that where her mother had gone?

There was only one way to find out, so she headed for it.

‘
What you climb is floor and rain is wall
,’ she said as she walked. It made sense. It made perfect sense. And it felt good that something in the world finally did.

When she arrived at the waterfall several hours later, late in the morning, she studied it from a distance, wary of the danger it might contain. The water flowed smooth and straight over the
edge of rock. She could smell the crash of the clear blue water into the pool below, and feel the droplets floating on the breeze as the mist touched her cheeks.

She didn’t want to go right inside the cave, because she wasn’t sure what was in there, but she crept slowly, carefully, towards the entrance, staying low to the ground and very
quiet.

‘I was hoping you’d come,’ said a loud male voice immediately behind her.

Startled beyond her wits, she arched her back and jumped straight up, hissing and spinning round to defend herself.

S
erafina landed on all fours on a tree limb and looked down at her attacker.

She stared for a moment and then blinked, unsure of what she was seeing.

The feral boy was sitting casually on the ground just a few feet behind where she had been.

‘Do you want to climb trees?’ he asked, smiling. ‘Or are you hungry?’

Still feeling the jolt of fear tingling through her body, she studied the boy. He had an uncanny stealth to him. She had not heard him or sensed him in any way.

He was a thin, well-muscled boy with light brown skin and dark shaggy hair just the way she remembered him. His chest was bare, as were his feet; he wore nothing but a simple pair of worn
trousers.

‘Come on, let’s eat,’ he said matter-of-factly, standing up and walking along a barely discernible path towards the waterfall. She noticed the taut muscles of his back as he
moved.

‘Wait,’ she said.

The boy stopped and looked at her. His eyes were chestnut brown with traces of gold. ‘I’m Waysa,’ he said. ‘And you’re Serafina.’

‘How do you –’ she began to ask in confusion.

‘We’ll be safe here, at least for now,’ he said. ‘We’re pretty sure he doesn’t know about this spot.’

She looked at him in amazement. How did he know so much about her and her situation? And who was the ‘we’?

Her brow furrowed. ‘So you were the one who left the message for me?’

‘Of course,’ he said with the slightest hint of a shrug.

‘And you were the one who saved my life against the wolfhounds . . .’

‘You weren’t doing too bad yourself,’ he said, smiling. ‘You’re very bold. You might have made it.’

‘Thank you kindly for what you did,’ she said seriously, remembering his bravery and how close she had come to death.

‘You’re more than welcome,’ he said. ‘Come on, we have to get out of sight.’

Although she knew she should be cautious, she felt comfortable and at home with this boy in a way that she had never felt at home with anyone in her life.

She climbed down onto the ground, looked around her and then followed him into the cave behind the waterfall.

She’d seen such caves where the river came down in a deafening roar of churning whitewater, but here the water poured down in a smooth, even flow, with sunlight passing through it,
creating a shimmering silver wall.

Sometimes it seemed to her as if the whole world was made of light: the shine of moonlight through the clouds, the green glow of luna moths, the silver light of midnight on a river, the blue
light of dawn – and now the blaze of a sunlit wall made of rain. And, of course, there could be no light without darkness, no waterfall without stone.

As she stepped further into the cave, she saw that the back wall was encrusted with dark purple amethysts. When she turned in the direction she had come, and looked out through the opening
beneath the waterfall, she saw a most magnificent phenomenon. The sunlight shining through the mist rising from the falls cast a collage of rainbows across the opening. She couldn’t help but
smile.

‘You don’t see that every day,’ she said in awe.

Her mind was bursting with a hundred questions for this boy, but there was a part of her that felt a gentle calmness to be here, to be someplace that felt safe and protected, and finally rest
for a moment.

As she turned back round and cast her gaze across the sandy rock floor, she saw that there wasn’t much inside the cave, but it looked dry and comfortable, and the boy did have several
blankets, some food and a small campfire.

‘You want your meat cooked?’ he asked, glancing towards her as he squatted near the fire.

‘Yes, please,’ she said. She hadn’t answered him earlier, but the truth was that she was as hungry as a spring bear, and very tired.

As Waysa cupped his hands round his mouth and blew into the fire, the embers came to life with his breath, then he added a few more sticks.

Once he had the fire going strong, he lifted up two choices from the night’s hunting. ‘I’ve got a rabbit and a drummer.’

The brownish chicken-like bird he was calling a drummer looked like what the folks at Biltmore called a grouse, a game bird known for thumping its chest with its wings. ‘The drummer looks
good,’ she said.

‘Good choice,’ he agreed. ‘Tastes even better than chicken.’

She looked around the cave and wondered exactly where and how this boy lived. Was he one of the mountain folk or was he wild?

‘So you’ve eaten chicken, then . . .’ she said.

‘I tend to stay clear of cabins, but I’m not above the occasional snatch, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘And this is your home?’ she asked.

‘No. Your mother wouldn’t let me live here even if I wanted to. This isn’t my territory. It’s hers, or at least it was. I’m in between.’

‘My mother?’ she asked, turning towards him.

‘She’s all right. Don’t worry. We all survived.’

A wave of relief passed through her, and she could feel herself relaxing.

‘Your mother is scouting ahead, looking for new territory,’ Waysa said.

He pulled his lips back from his teeth and uttered three guttural sounds.

Something rustled behind her. When she turned, she noticed for the first time a small, jagged hole in the rock at the back of the cave. And something was crawling out of it.

T
he small, spotted, furry head of Serafina’s half-brother popped from the hole and meowed. He pushed his way out, and his whole body emerged.
He came trundling towards her, all proud of himself and happy to see her, purring and meowing. She knelt down and pulled him into her chest and purred with him as he rubbed his body against
her.

When Waysa gave another call, Serafina’s half-sister came running out at full blast and crashed into Serafina with joy. Serafina laughed, swept her half-sister up into her arms, rolled
onto the rock floor of the cave and let the cubs leap upon her.

‘You’re here! You’re all right!’ she said, her chest filling with happiness.

The cubs swatted her with their soft paws, tackled her, pretended to bite her arms and wrestled with her. Then they turned on each other, and a whole new mock battle began.

Waysa soon had the grouse cooked, and the two of them ate it round the campfire. The food was delicious, and she enjoyed sharing pieces with the cubs.

‘You’re a fine cook,’ she said, looking at Waysa. He was at home in the forest, hunting his food, living in a cave. She remembered how fiercely he had fought, how brave he had
been, how silently he had moved through the forest when he’d snuck up behind her. She had sensed it all along, but she hadn’t been allowing herself to hope – Waysa wasn’t
just the feral boy who had saved her from the wolfhounds. He didn’t just disappear. He had gone to get her mother. He had come back for her, found her lying at the edge of the river, nudged
her onto her mother’s back and run with her through the forest. He was the dark lion! He was the one her mother had warned to leave her alone. This meant that her mother wasn’t the only
catamount in the world. There were others!

‘You said that you’re in between, that you’re just passing through,’ she said. ‘So where do you come from?’

‘Cherokee, south-west of here.’

‘Are your kinfolk from there?’

‘Originally, but not any more,’ he said bitterly. He rose and turned his back to her, and for a moment she was frightened that he was going to leave the cave completely.

‘I’m right sorry,’ she said, realising that something terrible must have happened. Waysa had been so casual, so bold, so full of life, but now a darkness clouded his
spirit.

He paused and shook his head, unable to continue for a moment. Then he began to speak in a slow and serious tone. ‘It was three weeks ago. We had just completed a hunt together. We were
happy and safe, and soon my brothers and sister and I would be going out to find territories of our own. But then the conjurer came upon us. He killed my older brother first, before any of us even
knew he was attacking. My father fought him with every muscle in his body, but finally fell. My mother was killed as well, and then my two younger brothers. I was almost able to save my young
sister.’ Waysa stopped, his hand covering his face as he shook his head and turned away. ‘We all fought him,’ he said, his voice ragged with emotion. ‘But his spells were
far too strong.’

‘I’m sorry, Waysa,’ Serafina said softly, tears brimming in her eyes. She tried to stay fierce and strong, for his benefit if not her own, but seeing Waysa’s pain cleaved
a fissure in her heart as deep as wounds of old.

‘I fled,’ he said, his voice quivering with shame. ‘When I saw my sister die, I didn’t know what else to do. There was no one left. There was no one else to fight for. I
felt like I just wanted to die. I ran and kept running and didn’t stop for days. Then I entered your mother’s territory, and she nearly killed me.’

Serafina nodded, remembering how her mother had attacked her the first time she met her. ‘She’s like that,’ she said. ‘She defends her territory somethin’
fierce.’

He nodded. ‘As it should be. My mother had her own territory, and my father his. And soon my brothers and sister would have had theirs too. My sister was . . .’

Waysa’s words drifted off. He didn’t want to continue whatever he was going to say.

‘So my mother ran you off the first time you came into her territory,’ Serafina said, standing and trying to change the subject. ‘But now you’re looking after her
cubs.’

‘She saw that I helped you against the conjurer’s dogs. And when he attacked the cubs last night, I fought at her side to defend them. We’ve decided to work together now, come
what may. This is the safest place we know, so I agreed to hide here and protect the cubs while she scouts ahead. She hated to leave them, but she can travel so much faster without them, and she
wasn’t sure what she’d find where she’s going.’

As more questions flooded Serafina’s mind, she looked over at her half-brother and half-sister. They were her family, so close to her in so many ways, and yet so different from her as
well. They were forever mountain lions. And she was forever human. They shared the same affliction: to always be what they were born.