Chapter 18
Leonie’s ankle fully healed in a couple of days, just as she’d promised. As far as Shan was concerned, that was the only good news.
Despite repeated visits to the unicorns, Buck failed to uncover any further information. According to him, none of them had any idea about the dead tree, or who might have been living there. And the one unicorn who might have been able to help was nowhere to be found.
“The lead mare says Alder regularly goes off on his own to patrol the wider area,” Buck had reported.
“At least, I think that’s what she was trying to say.
Kind of hard to tell without Alder around to translate all those pretty telepathic images of wind through leaves and dewdrops on kittens into actual words.
Anyway, he should be back within the week.
Assuming he hasn’t been possessed by a motherloving ghost, that is. ”
That left Shan with precious few ways to advance the investigation.
Combing through dead trees and hollow logs near the camp didn’t turn up any more hidden caches.
He spent long hours each night hidden in the long grass by the dead tree, motionless and ready, but no one came to collect their possessions.
Even the owls seemed to have abandoned the area.
By the fourth day of no results, he was both exhausted and ready to claw the walls in frustration. The campers didn’t seem to notice his increasingly distracted state, but Leonie did.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said after dinner as he tried to head out on another fruitless patrol. She latched onto his arm like a parking clamp. “You won’t do anyone any good by running yourself into the ground. You’re taking the night off.”
“Yes, friend Shan!” boomed Ragvald, overhearing. The wyrm cut across the dining hall to join them. “Even the strongest ax-shaft will break under pressure. You must rest, the better to fight another day. Besides, you cannot think to abandon the steading now. It is a most special night!”
He blearily tried to remember the schedule. “It is?”
Apparently, this was news to Leonie as well. She checked her clipboard as if something might have magically appeared there without her knowledge. “Ragvald, what are you talking about? It’s just games night.”
“Yes!” Ragvald pounded his fist against his chest. “The most sacred of rituals! How else is a war band to forge true bonds of deepest trust and respect without testing each other’s strength and cunning?”
“We’d better not play Monopoly,” Leonie murmured, the corner of her mouth lifting. “But well said, Ragvald. Come on, Shan. It’ll be good for you.”
“Hey, Shan!” Estelle returned from taking the dirty dishes back to the kitchen, the rest of the pack on her heels. “You’re not trying to escape, are you?”
“Run now,” Ignatius advised.
Estelle elbowed Ig in the ribs. “You have to stay, Shan. Ragvald’s going to teach us a traditional game from his homeland.”
“Oh, no.” Ignatius took a sharp step backward. “I am not being dragged into another toga honk.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Estelle said, while Shan was still trying to figure out if he’d misheard that. “And you can’t run away either, Ig. Ragvald said we’d need everyone for this.”
“Yes, all must play!” Ragvald flung his arms wide, as if to embrace the entire group. “Come, hearth-ally Shan. This must be done by all, or none. Surely you do not wish to disappoint the younglings.”
Privately, Shan thought that several of the kids—Ignatius and Spencer in particular—looked like they would very much like to be disappointed. It was clear none of them were going to be allowed to excuse themselves, though.
“Of course Shan will play,” Leonie said, amber eyes dancing. He wasn’t sure why, but she was definitely holding back a laugh. “He couldn’t possibly miss an opportunity to experience a genuine wyrm tradition. What a wonderful idea, Ragvald. Will your pack be joining us as well?”
“Not this time. My young warriors have already chosen another activity for the evening.” Ragvald gestured across the hall, where Moira was helping her group set up Scrabble boards.
“One which I am forbidden from participating in again, alas. The princess was very firm about that. I do not know why. I am sure I formed my words correctly. The children certainly recognized them.”
“Well, their loss is our gain.” Leonie clapped her hands together. “Come on, pack. Everyone follow Ragvald.”
Shan had distinct misgivings about what wyrms might consider fun. Still, it could have been worse. At least the kids weren’t insisting they all play Twister.
Whatever Ragvald had in mind, apparently it wasn’t a tabletop game. The wyrm led them all out of the dining hall, into the wide central area at the heart of camp. A few other groups were scattered around, playing card games or just chatting.
Ragvald picked an empty spot, close enough to the firepit that they could all feel the warmth of the flames. Humming under his breath, he pulled a succession of colorful pillows out of thin air, arranging them in a rough ring.
“There,” he said in satisfaction. He sat back on his haunches, gesturing for the rest of them to make themselves comfortable as well. “For this game, we must all sit in a circle. Each of us not too close, not too far.”
Finley seated himself on a cushion between Rufus and Spencer. “What are we playing, Ragvald?”
“I am not sure how to translate it into your tongue.” Ragvald rubbed his beard, frowning. “But I am sure you must know it, even if by another name. It is a simple game at heart, and an old one. Perhaps the oldest of all.”
“This had better not involve rope again,” Ignatius muttered. “Or axes.”
“Rest easy, young one. This is a test of neither strength nor endurance, but of trust and daring.” Ragvald reached out a hand, as if to grasp an invisible doorknob. “We require only one thing.”
With a flourish, he produced… an empty bottle.
“Goodbye,” said Ignatius.
Estelle grabbed his shirt as he tried to depart, though she also looked rather alarmed. “Wait. Let’s hear him out.”
“Nu-uh.” Archie scrambled back as if the wyrm had produced a gently fizzling stick of dynamite. “No way. Not even for—ow! Beth!”
Finley gulped, looking like he was bracing himself to reach into a barrel of spiders. “We did all agree that we’d do whatever Ragvald said.”
“Yeah, but only because we thought he was gonna come up with something awesome.” Archie folded his arms with an air of finality. “I’m not playing Spin the Bottle. Especially not with a bunch of girls.”
“I might not mind,” Tiff volunteered.
Leonie cleared her throat. “Ah, Ragvald? We do have this game, or something like it. But it’s only played by adults.”
Ragvald looked down at the bottle, forehead creasing. “Why?”
“Uh, well, you know.” Beth’s flush deepened. “Because it involves, um…”
“Kissing,” Spencer finished for her, flatly.
“What?” Ragvald looked almost as horrified as the kids. “Surely you jest. No one could want random chance to determine such an intimate act.”
“That’s kind of the whole point of the game,” Leonie said. She’d also gone rather pink around the ears. “Generally, you only play if you secretly have romantic feelings for someone else present. It’s a chance to kiss your crush without risk of rejection.”
“Outlanders,” Ragvald muttered. “You will all do anything rather than admit your own emotions. It is a miracle you ever manage to reproduce at all.”
There was no sour tang of deceit to the wyrm’s words; only honest bafflement. Shan relaxed a little.
“It seems we have an unfortunate cultural misunderstanding,” he said. “Your version of this game is different, Ragvald?”
“Yes, for we wyrms are not insane,” Ragvald replied. “We each take it in turn to spin the bottle, like so. Whoever it stops on, you must challenge.”
Archie cautiously returned to his cushion. “So there’s no kissing?”
“Not in my experience, no.” Ragvald frowned. “Though now that I come to think of it, one of my cousins was unusually fond of challenging a certain comely warrior to lead her through an unlit root cellar. It always did seem to take them an inordinately long time to emerge.”
“Exactly what kind of challenges are we talking about here?” Spencer asked. “I can’t do anything that risks damaging my glasses.”
“Do not fear, young hatchling. The challenges do not have to be physical, though that is an option.” Ragvald flicked the bottle, setting it spinning.
“Tradition dictates that you may select the type of challenge you will face. You may pick a test of daring, where you must perform a difficult feat of the challenger’s choice.
Or you may choose a challenge of truth, and answer a single question honestly. ”
“Hang on,” Tiff said. “Is it just me, or does this ancient wyrm tradition sound weirdly familiar?”
“Truth or Dare!” Finley exclaimed. “That’s what it is. Just a version of Truth or Dare.”
“Oh, thank God.” Ignatius sagged in relief, though only for a moment. “No, wait. On second thought, that’s not any better.”
“It’s a lot better,” Archie said fervently.
Rufus nodded agreement.
Spencer frowned. “It doesn’t make sense for the person who spins the bottle to be the one who challenges whoever it points at. For fairness, it should be the other way round.”
Ragvald shrugged. “I do not know how you play this game in your land, young warrior, but in this circle, you must accept my rules. Surely you would not ask me to go against the ways of my honored ancestors.”
Archie’s face lit up. “Ragvald, can we dare each other to do anything?”
“No,” Leonie said firmly, before Ragvald could respond.
“I respect your traditions, Ragvald, but we still need to set some boundaries. Nothing dangerous. Nothing that involves touching another person without their consent. And no daring anyone to take off items of clothing. That includes glasses. And gloves.”