The Reawakened (4 page)

The gelding snorted again and shook his head. She let a few more inches of reins slip through her hands, hoping the slack would appease him. He quieted, but his ears continued to twitch and swivel. Worried that he sensed danger, Sura scanned their surroundings for bears and cougars, seeing nothing but birds and a few squirrels. The fat, gray rodents ignored her in their haste to bury nuts under the thick carpet of needles and leaves. It made her realize how far north and how high she’d traveled: Kalindos was already edging into autumn.

She returned her focus to the ground. Left foot, right foot, she recited to herself. Left foot, right foot. Maybe the rhythm would help her forget the sensation of daggers jabbing into her soles.

The horse suddenly jerked up his chin and whinnied. She cursed—now her arm and shoulder would be sore, too.

“What is it now?” she said. “Spirits, you’re a complete—”

The next word faded in her throat as she saw what stood before her on the trail.

Or rather,
who.
Three humans, the middle one tall and male with long red hair. He appeared unarmed but was flanked by two women holding taut bows with nocked arrows. All three wore trousers, vests and long-sleeved shirts that blended with the forest. Dark green paint slathered their faces.

“Who are you?” the man’s voice boomed. “Stand still and answer fast. Only takes a second for them to aim and fire.”

“Half a second,” growled the tall blonde on his left.

Sura raised both hands, palms forward. “Don’t shoot. I come from Asermos. I’m one of you.”

The women snickered. “Those two statements don’t match,” said the shorter one. A dark brown curl flopped over her eye, and she gave an irritated jerk of her head. “We don’t take refugees unless they’re kin to a Kalindon.”

“My stepgrandfather is Tereus the Swan.”

“He’s not a real Kalindon,” the short woman said, “he only married one.”

Sura swallowed. Her next answer could get her welcomed or killed. “My blood grandfather is—was—Razvin the Fox.”

The women hissed and raised their bows to aim for her heart. “That traitor’s name is poison here,” said the blonde.

“Wait.” The man held up his hand, and they reluctantly changed the angle of their bows, but kept them taut. “If Razvin’s your grandfather,” he asked Sura, “whose daughter are you?”

Sura forced the name out of her mouth. “Lycas.”

Their jaws dropped, and so did the blond woman’s bow.

“Lycas the Wolverine?” she said with awe. “Lycas the liberator?”

“He hasn’t liberated much of anything yet,” Sura muttered.

“Why should we believe you?” said the brunette. “Anyone could claim to be his child.” The haughty look in her blue eyes turned Sura’s mouth sour.

“I have proof.” She reached for her saddlebag.

“Hold on, hold on.” The man sauntered over. “Let me get it.” He gave her a wink as he passed. “These two are a little jumpy today,” he whispered.

“Careful, Etarek,” the unpleasant one said. “She’s probably lying.”

“She’s not lying, Daria. And
you
be careful. Stop pointing that thing at us.” He glared at her, then opened the flap on the saddlebag. “What am I looking for?” he asked Sura.

“A letter from Bolan the Horse. My mother said you would trust his word.” She glanced over her shoulder at the women—at their weapons in particular.

Etarek pulled out a folded piece of parchment, held shut by a dab of blue wax shaped like a horse’s head. “That’s his seal.” He tucked the letter into an inside vest pocket. “Come with us.”

“Aren’t you going to read it?”

“We don’t read.” He took the reins of her horse. Sura stepped to the other side so he could lead from the left. The blond woman moved off the trail out of the way. The other, Daria, merely folded her arms and stood in Sura’s path.

“Care to share your name?” she said.

“Sura.” She brushed past Daria, bumping her shoulder.

“Sura the what?” Daria bounced alongside her. “What Animal are you, or is that against occupation law?”

“It is against the law, but I have one, anyway.” She didn’t feel inclined to share it on demand—not with this woman, at least.

“Let me guess.” Daria circled around to examine her from behind. Sura turned to watch her, and promptly tripped over a root. Daria cackled. “Not a Cougar, that’s for sure, unless you can do this.” She ran behind the horse and leaped over him lengthwise, performing a perfect somersault in the air before landing on her feet on the path in front of them. The gelding balked and pinned back his ears.

“Show-off,” said the other woman, who turned a friendly smile on Sura. “I’m Kara the Wolf. Etarek’s a Deer.” She turned to pat his cheek. “A dear, dear boy.”

“I’ve never met a Deer,” Sura said. “What’s your magic?”

Etarek shrugged. “I hear things.”

“Modest.” Kara gave his shoulder a playful slap. “He hears what isn’t said. Not as words, though, not until his second phase. But he can read people’s feelings from their voices. For detecting lies, he’s the next best thing to an Owl.”

“But a slightly better dancer.” Daria smirked at him, then turned to walk backward, examining Sura head to foot. “You’re a Badger. Or a Bobcat. No, too clumsy. But definitely an Animal that can be mean. I sense that in you.”

“Sense what?” Sura said. “A kindred spirit?”

Kara chortled. “Ouch. Daria, you’ve met your match.”

Sura added, “Some of us only bite when provoked.” Kara and Etarek shared a hearty laugh, while Daria just scowled at them and turned away with a
Hmmph!

“Don’t mind her,” Etarek said to Sura with a smile that warmed the back of her neck. “She just doesn’t like to be outnastied.”

Just then the trail curved up and to the left, rounding a boulder half the size of Sura’s house. About fifty paces ahead, the trees ended suddenly in front of a long, high structure.

Sura gasped. “What’s that?”

“Fire ring,” Etarek said. “Keeps out intruders and stops forest fires from destroying the village.”

“It goes all the way around Kalindos?”

“Wouldn’t be much point if it didn’t,” Daria said.

The ring—which stretched as far as she could see in both directions—stood at least twice her height, made of interlocking wooden slats to form a thick wall.

She looked for an opening. “How do we get through with the horse?”

Daria sighed as she withdrew a pair of thick leather gloves from her back pocket. “We have to take it apart. The boards have to be pulled out in a certain order that only we guards know.”

Etarek handed the reins to Sura. “Daria’s brother, Dravek, will put it back together. He’s our Snake, the fire expert.”

Sura sighed with relief at the thought of a possible mentor. “I’ll help him.”

“Please don’t.” Daria pulled a pair of boards from the wall and tossed them to Etarek. “I can’t bear the thought of anyone making his life easier.”

“No, I mean, I’ll help him because I’m a Snake.”

They all stared at her, especially Etarek, who fumbled the boards in his arms. They spilled onto the ground with a clatter. Kara covered her mouth and giggled.

Daria turned to Etarek. “For your sake, I hope she’s nothing like Dravek.”

“Hey,” Kara said, “watch what you say about him around me.”

“No accounting for taste.” Daria tossed a slat to her.

Sura noticed an intricate pattern forming as the wood was withdrawn from the wall. The boards and limbs were notched so that it required a unique sequence of moves to dismantle it.

“How do you keep the ring from burning Kalindos?” she asked.

“There’s a firebreak on the other side,” Kara said, “plus a stone trench.” She tossed the boards into a pile. “When the ring burns, it heats the stones, which’ll stay hot long after the wood has smoldered, and singe anyone who makes it through. Not enough to kill them, but to wound, at least, and maybe make their horses balk.”

“Clever.”

Etarek nodded to her. “It was an Asermon Snake who thought of it. Do you know Vara?”

“I did, but she moved to Tiros before I knew I was a Snake, so I’ve never had a mentor.”

“You’ve had your Bestowing, though, right?” Kara asked.

“No. It’s forbidden.”

“Then how do you know you’re a Snake?” Etarek said.

Sura met his gaze. “I just know.”

He raised his eyebrows and smiled as he turned back to the wall. Through the remaining slats, Sura saw a wide trench made of thousands of pale, fist-size stones. She wondered how her horse could maneuver over such an unstable surface.

Etarek slipped through a gap in the wall, strode several paces to their left and bent down next to a brush pile. He withdrew a wide wooden panel, which he dragged toward them, then laid across the trench as a bridge.

These Kalindons were smarter than their reputations.

Sura led the horse across the makeshift wooden bridge, which was just wide enough for the animal. “Can anyone—I mean, does anyone in Kalindos read?” she asked them.

“A few,” Kara said.

“We’re not stupid,” Daria added. “We just have more important things to do than act like Descendants.”

Sura turned to her, taking care not to twist her ankles on the rocks. “Knowing how to read and write isn’t acting like a Descendant. It helps us fight them.”

Daria uttered a skeptical grunt.

“You two keep patrolling,” Etarek said. “I’ll take her from here.”

“I’m sure you will.” Daria gave him a sly grin. “And get my brother out of bed so he can fix this wall.”

Etarek took back the reins, and Sura let her pace lag so she could walk slightly behind him—to examine him for menace, of course. As they passed through the treeless firebreak, the late-morning sunlight glinted off his long, red ponytail. His face was obscured by the green camouflage paint, but his smile seemed genuine and a quickness sparked within his bright blue eyes.

What she noticed most was the way he walked, with his shoulders back and chin high. In the streets of Asermos, such a posture would get him beaten. The Descendants preferred Sura’s people to slink.

They entered the cover of deep forest again, and her eyes strained to adjust in the shadows.

“What did Daria mean,” Sura asked, “you should hope I’m nothing like Dravek?”

Etarek laughed. “You know what Snakes are known for.”

Her face heated. “It’s not true. I mean—not always.”

“Which part, setting fires or having an unnaturally high sex drive?”

“Uh…” She pushed down her embarrassment, remembering that Kalindons were more open about these matters than Asermons.

“Just remember, it’s a small village.” They rounded another large boulder. “Speaking of which.”

Sura had heard many tales of Kalindos, but the sight of it made her feet stop fast, her right toe clipping her left heel. She pitched forward, and Etarek grabbed her elbow to keep her from falling.

“Don’t worry.” He patted her shoulder. “It happens to every newcomer.”

She wiped her rapidly warming cheeks and looked up. Far above her head lay a network of wooden homes, built against and even around the tree trunks. Some stood alone and some were connected by wooden bridges to other houses. Most were half the size of the home she’d lived in with her mother, but a few looked like they held several rooms. Above and to her right, a man and a woman stood together on a porch watching a young boy climb the rope ladder to their home.

Sura’s neck grew stiff from looking up. She rubbed it and squinted down the main path. “Where can I find Tereus?”

“He’s at the weekly Council meeting. His wife Elora’s the Council leader.” He handed her Bolan’s letter. “I’ll stable your horse, and you go to the meeting.” He pointed through the trees at a small group of people gathered in a distant clearing. “Good luck.”

She gave him a grateful nod and hurried off. By the time she reached the clearing, some of the people had seated themselves in a ring formed by seven flat stones. A few dozen stood on the outskirts, leaning against trees with their arms crossed, as though prepared to wait a long time.

Sura wasn’t prepared to wait at all. She pushed through the crowd, ignoring their surprised gasps. Certainly she made a ragged appearance, with her disheveled clothes and mud-streaked face and hair.

When Sura reached the edge of the circle, a woman with blond-gray hair—Elora, she assumed—was standing in the center, addressing the Council. Sura stepped between two stones to enter the circle.

The woman merely blinked. “Hello. Please introduce yourself and state your business.”

“My name is Sura.” She heard a man behind her gasp. “My father is Lycas the Wolverine and my mother is Mali the Wasp.”