Chapter 37 Wren
When the golden gates of Anadawn groaned open once more, Wren was sitting astride her quickest horse and dressed in her fighting leathers, with Night’s Edge fastened to her hip.
Shen was riding at her side, a steel-eyed king and a vengeful queen both ready for war.
‘Look at us, journeying across the desert to find your sister,’ he said, as they rode out into the wilds of Eana. ‘Just like the good old days.’
Wren chuckled, weakly. ‘At least you haven’t lost your sense of humour.’
‘You know my wit is my sharpest weapon.’
Though it had pained Wren to say goodbye to Tor, he had left already, riding north to join Princess Anika in commanding the Gevran army that Alarik had promised to summon to Eana. Wren hoped that promise would hold true and that she would see Tor – and his reinforcements – soon.
Despite her ailing strength, she had insisted on riding without a saddle mate. She hoped the magic in Night’s Edge would sustain her strength across the desert. After all, what good was a queen who couldn’t lead her own army?
Better than a queen who can’t ride at all, Shen had argued, but she had brushed off his concern. Back at the palace, Thea had offered her a modicum of healing, a mere bandage on an open wound, but it was enough to get Wren washed and fed. The nearness of Eana’s ancient sword and Wren’s own adrenaline had taken care of the rest. So far.
It had only been a handful of hours since Wren’s return to Anadawn, the news of her sister’s drowning passing through her like a dreadful shiver. Now the entire Anadawn Guard had been assembled, spilling out behind her in their pristine uniforms of green and gold, longswords glimmering at their hips. Celeste rode alongside them, leading the contingent of witches, which included Kai, Bryony, Rowena and even young Tilda.
Though Thea had volunteered to come and fight, she was of far better use at Anadawn. Wren could not afford to leave their seat of power undefended and Thea was the only one she and Rose trusted to rule in their stead.
‘Are you all right?’ said Shen, as they rode through the trees, setting a course for the Kerrcal Road, and beyond it, the restless sands. By the time they reached the desert, it would be nightfall again. ‘If you’re feeling faint, just give me a signal.’
Wren glanced sidelong at him. ‘The signal will be me falling off my horse and faceplanting in the sand.’
‘Great. Let’s see if I can catch you before that.’
‘Try and salvage my dignity while you’re at it.’
‘Challenge accepted.’
They rode on, mostly in silence. Shen’s jaw was tensed, every muscle in his body coiled to spring. Wren knew he was thinking about Rose – just as she was. She hoped they had chosen the right direction, and that when they arrived at the Weeping Forest, they would not be too late.
She couldn’t help thinking of Alarik either, the weakening king cooped up in the Mishnick Mountains, trying to weather their burrowing curse without Wren there to help soothe his pain. The truth was, Wren wasn’t just riding for Rose. She was riding for Alarik, too. And for herself. Willa’s warning rang like a bell inside her. She had to kill Oonagh before the curse killed her. All of their fates now balanced on the knife-edge of war.
War with an ancient, powerful being.
‘You’re starting to sway.’ Shen’s voice cut through Wren’s reverie. It was sundown already, and yet she hadn’t felt the hours pass. ‘Do you want us to slow down?’
‘No,’ she said, gripping the reins tighter. ‘Every moment is precious.’
Shen didn’t argue but he didn’t set his concerns aside either. ‘Fix your saddle, Greenrock. Anchor your knees better, so if you do drift off you won’t get trampled by the thousand horses behind you.’
Wren took his advice, tying herself into the saddle in case she fell asleep. Her shoulders were already aching and her head was spinning. She gripped her sword, uttering a plea to the first witch. ‘Keep me strong, Eana. Help me fight.’
Wren soon drifted off, lulled by the comforting thrum of hoof-prints and the sureness of her best friend at her side, charting the way ahead.
Every so often, she became dimly aware of Shen’s hand on her shoulder, straightening her in the saddle or his hand on hers, tightening her grip on the reins, but apart from that, her sleep was deep, feathered only by glimpses of Alarik pacing the dusky halls of the Mishnick Mountains, too wounded even to rest. She saw nothing of Rose, the absence of her sister’s presence – even in her thoughts – setting a bone-deep anxiety to work inside her. The curse fed off it, growing greedier by the hour.
Even in sleep, Wren’s head pounded mercilessly.
Evening slipped away, turning the sky amber and pink, then a dark velvety blue. When Wren awoke, there was a song moving in the wind. The dunes were singing. They had crossed into the desert, the hoof-prints behind her dulling to the barest whisper. She groaned, trying to roll the crick from her neck.
A flask appeared in front of her. ‘Drink,’ said Shen, keeping his eyes on the shifting sands. ‘You look like death.’
‘Thank you for the morale boost.’ Wren snatched the flask from him and drank deeply. ‘How far are we from the Sunkissed Kingdom? We could do with another army.’
‘See for yourself,’ said Shen, jerking his chin.
Wren’s eyes widened as she glanced over her shoulder. Now, instead of one army, there were two travelling behind them. There were at least a thousand more witches from the Sunkissed Kingdom, all dressed in black and armed to the teeth as they galloped across the sand, easily keeping pace with Wren’s army. Wren spied Lei Fan grinning among them and Grandmother Lu riding on her haunches, brandishing a glittering gold cane.
Wren’s eyes misted, the sight filling her with a rush of strength. She smiled, suddenly overcome by gratefulness. ‘I can’t believe I slept through their arrival.’
‘Don’t feel bad,’ said Shen, smiling just the same. ‘We pride ourselves on our stealth.’
‘Let’s just hope that stealth works on Oonagh.’
‘It will,’ he said, and Wren chose to believe it.
‘The last time we travelled the desert together, you were an interloper and I was a bandit,’ he went on. ‘Now you’re a queen and I’m a king. We’ve come a long way, Greenrock.’
‘And we still have more to go,’ said Wren.
‘We can tackle any challenge,’ said Shen, rising up and quickening his horse. ‘Just make sure you can keep up!’
Wren mirrored him, urging her own horse faster. Night’s Edge warmed at her hip, its magic staving off the rising desert chill. Behind them, their armies picked up speed, matching them stride for stride as they rode on into the night.
When the first brushstrokes of dawn feathered the deep blue sky, Wren was already awake. She looked around, searching for landmarks. ‘We’re halfway there,’ said Shen, who needed no such help. He knew the sands like the lines on his palm. ‘We should stop to rest a while,’ he said, making some silent calculation in his head. ‘Feed and water the horses before the sun rises in earnest. Your soldiers will need to rest, too.’ A quick glance over his shoulder made him chuckle. ‘I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to sweat that much.’
‘Oh, leave them be,’ chided Wren. ‘They’re doing their best.’
The Eanan soldiers were indeed struggling with the sands. Even the Anadawn witches looked exhausted. On Shen’s advice, they brought the journey to a halt, seeking respite in a nearby oasis, which was shaded with palm trees. An hour passed and then another while they napped and ate, then stretched their limbs, preparing for the second half of the journey and the unrelenting heat of the rising desert sun.
When they set off again, the air was sweltering. The soldiers began to grumble, their horses slowing in the shifting sand. Wren’s head spun, only this time it was from the heat. She rose in her saddle. ‘Witches, call the wind!’
The witches went to work, brewing a gust that rippled through the ranks of both armies, cooling them as they rode.
‘Good idea,’ said Shen, pushing his hair back from his face. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’
Wren wiped her brow. ‘Because you aren’t melting.’
‘Ah. True.’
The wind was a welcome addition, but it unsettled the sand, turning the air hazy. It was chiefly for this reason that Wren didn’t notice the strange shadow gathering in the distance. At least not at first. Then a shout rang out from somewhere near the rear of the troop. It was followed quickly by another.
Wren turned, searching the haze. ‘What’s that shadow?’
Shen stiffened, his gaze on the strange darkness. ‘It’s no shadow,’ he said, uneasily. ‘It’s a flock.’
Wren could see it now. There were birds. Thousands of them. They swooped down in their droves, shrieking and snapping at the horses. ‘They’re starcrests!’ Only they didn’t look quite right to Wren. Their feathers hung in strips of black and silver and their eyes were bright red. She bit off a curse. ‘They’re dead, Shen.’
Which meant they belonged to Oonagh.
‘They’re attacking our riders!’ he yelled over the swell of shouting.
Wren’s cheeks prickled, the curse yawning inside her at the nearness of her ancestor’s army – more dead things come to terrorize them.
She rose in her saddle, hoisting her sword towards the sky. ‘Soldiers of Eana! Witches of Anadawn and the Sunkissed Kingdom! Hold your nerve!’ she cried out. ‘This wayward flock is no match for our might and speed! Keep your eyes on me and ride hard, as fast as you can.’
‘Seasoned tempests!’ yelled Shen. ‘Brew your storm and cast it behind you. Make a wall of wind these birds cannot hope to pass. They may possess the element of fear, but we have magic!’
A rallying cry went up. It was followed by a fierce and blazing storm that struck as suddenly as lightning. Lei Fan led the charge, guiding the witches as they stirred a hurricane from the rolling sands.
The birds dived down in a great black cloud, shrieking in anger as the hurricane thundered towards them. It roared like a beast of its own, bringing the sand with it. The air thickened until it blanketed the shadowy swarm and flung them back into the shifting dunes.
The soldiers cheered, relief guttering through the masses as they pulled away from Oonagh’s undead creatures. Emboldened by their victory, Wren and Shen turned back to the horizon, chasing it with renewed determination.
Minutes bled to hours, and day once more turned to night. They only stopped to rest when they were certain the birds had fallen away. This time, Wren was so exhausted she fell asleep by her horse with her water flask in her lap. Shen sat at her side, feeding her strips of dried lamb every time she stirred.
‘Nearly there, Greenrock,’ he said, watching her chew, slowly, reluctantly. ‘Can you make it?’
‘You know I can,’ she said, slurring a little.
‘Good.’ He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Wren could tell he didn’t believe her. She wasn’t sure if she believed herself.
The next time they set off, Shen had to help her on to her horse. He tied her into the saddle and secured the sword at her hip, before wrapping the reins around her wrists. Then he hopped up on to his own horse, taking care to ride close as they journeyed on, leading their armies east.
Wren’s head lolled, her lids falling with every stride, until at long last, after what felt like an eternity, dawn poured its syrupy light over them. In the distance, Wren spied the climbing branches of the Mother Tree, reaching towards the blushing sky. She straightened in her saddle, grabbing the hilt of her sword. It warmed, as if in recognition of this ancient place. This magical tree.
‘Hold on, Rose,’ Wren whispered to the rising wind. ‘I’m coming.’