Chapter 7
FEYRA
“I can’t believe him,” Agatha muttered. “A typical man.” She scoffed.
“It wasn’t too bad,” I said. Thinking about how his eyes had watched me, seen into me. The way his body tensed, realizing that I knew he was staring at me too. The look of want on his face… I felt hot.
“Oh yes, a man can ogle you all he wants and it’s not a problem. But for us women, if we did that…” Agatha rolled her eyes, arms still folded from when I’d come back into the stable soaking wet.
I was surprised at Agatha’s anger. It was just an accident. Just a mistimed thing. I should’ve been looking where I was going. He hadn’t meant to wet me and my clothes–
“My clothes,” I blurted.
Agatha looked at me in confusion, blinking furiously. “Yes, they’re wet.”
“No,” I said, throwing off the towels and feeling my pockets. “I forgot about the letter.” I felt my body and pockets. I caught the edge of paper, it was soaked. I took it out gently, sliding it from the fabric and unfolding it onto the wooden table. I took the lamp off its peg and brought it over.
While most of the letter was fine, some of the ink had run. I groaned, turning the page over. Some of it had even–
“Did you see that?” I asked, grabbing onto Agatha’s arm.
“I can see,” she said, gripping me back in pretend shock. “But no, I didn’t see that.”
I turned the page over again and the back page shimmered. Like a dull flash. I turned it slower, more deliberate, so the light could catch...
There was something there.
“Can you see letters?” Agatha asked.
I nodded. I turned it and set it at an angle. How could I get a copy of this?
I looked around the stables. I was looking for the record book or bookkeeping shelf.
I saw it at the other end and dashed to the small desk, found a scrap the same size as my letter and colored it with a charcoal block used for writing.
Then, slowly, I pressed the charcoal page against the backside of the piece of paper.
I hoped what I was seeing was what I thought it was.
I took the charcoal page away.
My letter had transformed.
A wax had been used to make a secret message.
I saw Agatha’s jaw drop out the corner of my eye. Mine already down too. I gulped, leaning over the small desk, and looking at it.
There was more writing, and a map.
And the map destination only read one thing. Jebra.
Agatha laughed lightly. “Holy–”
“Yeah,” I said. I looked around quickly, suddenly everyone seeming suspicious. The stableboys mucking out the stalls could be listening. Or worse, could be spies for Lady Skol. And the men in the yard bringing in horses? They didn’t look like people of the Warlands.
I snatched the wet letter up, forgetting that I had to be careful with the wet paper, and placed it in my pocket. I gestured for Agatha to follow me and made our way out of the stables. We had to find a room. Preferably one with privacy.
We found a small dining room that wasn’t being used off a side hall and went in. We sat at the main table and I took the letter out. The main letter wasn’t as smudged as I thought, now looking at it in a good light. A few random words had smudged, but the message was still there.
My mother’s handwriting was still with me.
But the back had completely changed. The wet wax had picked up the charcoal as I wished, and was now a message and map.
The message was only a few phrases though. There was a second part of the prophecy that none other but myself heard. It is this, ‘One you love will cause your death.’
Then the map was only a handful of small sketches, landmarks of a close up area. It must’ve been a close up of the city, or area that Jebra was in. I’d never heard of Jebra, let alone seen it on a map, but compared to other maps, this was completely confusing.
“They’re just animals,” Agatha said, pointing out the landmarks.
“They’re not animals.”
“They are,” she pushed. “Look, that’s a wolf.”
It was a wolf. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know how to understand it, but maybe the older guide would. He seemed to know Jebra and the way there, even if it was a myth.
“Well the first part cuts off old steely eyes,” Agatha said, nudging my shoulder.
I looked back up at the line, my second prophecy. Who I loved would kill me. My heart deflated. Fear flooded it. Not him.
“Don’t worry, Fey. You’ve got me,” Agatha winked.
I couldn’t contain the snort. “Thank you.” And I meant it, despite the pain in my chest. “Really though, thank you so much. I know it’s been crazy so far, and it’s only going to get worse. But–”
Agatha smiled. “Of course. Let’s hope the guide understands this,” she gestured at the map. “If not we’ll find another.”
“I don’t think we can,” I said.
“Why?”
“I just get this feeling…” I looked around the room, trying to find the right words. “I can’t. I can’t leave him now.”
“Which him?” Agatha smiled widely.
I blushed. “I meant the older guide.”
Agatha burst into laughter. I nudged her again and couldn’t stop the laughter coming from my own mouth.
In moments we were in a fit of giggles. Just like the old days when we hid in the corn fields after stealing sweet fruits and eaten ourselves silly.
Before my life had changed so drastically.
Before I’d found out about my prophecy, and my parents.
Before Aunt Teetee’s death.
Agatha turned serious. “What happened in the square? What did you…do?” she asked.
I went to answer and then didn’t. I couldn’t. What did happen? It all seemed so odd now. So strange. One minute we’d been in the square, the next I was at his feet, love coursing through my veins, and wanting him to–
The door burst open and Roman came in, his eyes wild and searching. “It’s time we left ladies, have you got everything?” He had a traveling cloak on and two bags on his shoulders. There was yelling coming from down the hall. Lots of it and what I thought was the sounds of fighting.
I snatched the letter up and folded into my pocket, all the while Roman’s eyes watched me. He nodded and gestured for us to follow him. He waited at the door and then led us down the hall.
“Where’s your son?” Agatha asked, as we twisted and turned out of the inn.
“He’s not my son.”
“Well, where’s your friend,” she pushed.
There were more hallways than I’d realized. We went down a set of stairs and then entered the cellars, or what should’ve been the cellars. A hidden door was revealed and we entered a tunnel beyond.
I was too caught up in the moment to ask him what was going on.
We came out in a different cellar and climbed a set of stairs in a neighboring building. Outside there were more audible sounds of fighting and yelling.
“What’s happened?” I asked.
The guide shook his head, he was angry. “Lady Skol is what’s happened. Her and her views of lycanthropy,” he growled.
Agatha and I said nothing, but we remained silent and following. We came out of the building and into the back alley. The young guide was there waiting–
Except it wasn’t him, but a man that looked exactly like him. Older. And the guide too for that matter.
“Finally,” he said.
“Took some finding,” the guide said.
“Twenty years.” He sighed, and as frustrated as he looked, he seemed happy. His face was lifting of stress having seen us. “Twenty years Roman, and it’s finally beginning.”
The guide nodded. “That’s the worry. Beginning.” He turned to us. “I’m sorry to have kept you in the dark, but things have changed in the last few hours. We will be getting out of here in one of those.” He pointed at a wagon.
“And where is your other guide?” I asked.
“My son is fighting the guards,” the man said proudly. “Can you not feel it?”
As soon as he’d said it, I understood him. I could. There was a feeling in the air.
“Well no, Marcus. They’re from Lassig. They’re not–”
The man lunged suddenly, lifting us easily by our scruff. Our dresses slipped and he gripped tighter. My seared chest groaned in pain and I screamed.
“Easy Marcus,” the guide said, jumping at his brother. “I trust them.” He touched his shoulder and his brother let us down, but didn’t let us go.
He stared into our eyes with pure fire. His hands were strong, yet a gentleness flowed within him. I could feel it. I could feel the love that was behind his anger. It wasn’t us he was angry at, it was Lady Skol.
He felt the gash on my chest and his face changed, recognition passed over it and he turned his hand. Touching it gently. He was like his son then, a face searching me with curiosity. He brought it back, like he’d been burned. He became nervous, biting his lip.
What did he know? What had changed his view of me?
He let us go then, but the fear had long left me. When I looked at Agatha though, it was completely different. She looked on the edge of tears. I took her into a hug and pulled her away from the two men.
The guide pulled his brother away. The sounds of fighting came closer and the men looked out onto the streets. Both began speaking in low tones. Is this what had happened because of the Siren Singer?
I didn’t know what it was, but there was one thing clear, the whole village had been afraid of it. Deathly afraid. The shifters especially hated the sight of it. The two stable boys had shuddered in the stalls on the second passing.
“It’s time,” our guide said, returning to us. “Let’s board the wagon.”
My heart fluttered in fear. “But what about–”
“He’ll meet us outside,” he finished. “Marcus will make sure of it.”
The man known as Marcus smiled widely, “He’ll do more than that.”
We moved to the end of the alleyway, and I became transfixed by the fighting in the square. The guards from Lassig were battling against the many men from the village and soldiers from the visiting packs. I couldn’t understand why the men didn’t change. Why they didn’t shift and become wolves?
Then I saw the fabled Siren Singer atop one of the cliffs on the great pillar that held the Pools of Prophecy. It sat lazily, controlled and leashed, singing softly. It wasn’t watching the fighting below at all.
Below, at the center of the fighting men, stood him. He was shirtless, blood stained and gashes bleeding all over his torso. He held a giant spear and watched the singer above, gauging the height and distance.
He took a step backwards, lofted the giant spear and waited. The fighting below increased. The men defending the pools surged forward at the guards, pushing them back across the square. Screams were cut short with blades, and men died on all sides.
The wall of shifters continued surging forward pushing the guards back with bodies, ignoring the spears that stabbed into them, pushing past the well…
Then he moved!
Running forward like lightning he sprinted at the well. As he neared it he jumped onto the wine cart, leaped onto the well roof, and did a final leap, turning one hundred and eighty degrees in the air. He threw the spear in a blink of an eye.
It whistled through the air up at the singer in a heartbeat.
The giant spear impaled the singer through the middle and pinned it back against the wall, burying it into the stone. The beast began screaming, thrashing about as it died. Blood spewed forth and dripped from the wall.
Its curse was lifted and suddenly the guards stopped fighting, fear filled their faces and they turned to run.
Every person in the village that could turn into a werewolf suddenly shifted, and chaos began.
“It’s time we left,” the guide said, bundling us into the wagon. “It’s going to get messy.”