Chapter 8
DION
We spent the first day riding in silence.
Even with wandering eyes and unasked questions floating through my mind, I kept to quiet thinking as the women wanted.
We still knew little of them, and they hadn’t offered anymore of who they were.
But I was beginning to think that the girl, Feyra, was a dormant shifter.
A wolf was waking up.
I reached out tentative probes to see if she would respond or acknowledge me again. It had been so strong the other day, like a cord connecting us. My wolf had howled and words roared in my ears. I’d been too preoccupied to really hear or understand, but had I really heard fated?
She hadn’t given me anything since, her heart was steeled and mouth shut. We’d spoken a little at the inn, when I doused her in water and couldn’t keep myself from staring at her wet body…
I shook my head, I had to focus. I was sitting with Roman now on top of the wagon with the driver. “We’ll reach Kadaar by this evening,” he said. “We’ve made good time, the winds have been fortunate this trip.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything. It was always something out here in the Warlands.
Roman clapped a hand on my back. “Your father was very proud of you back there.”
I snorted.
“That was one hell of a throw,” he said.
“You saw?”
Roman nodded.
“Even I saw,” the coach driver said, wiping spittle from his mouth.
“Whole bloody village saw it. Bloody Siren Singer up there on the rock, crooning away and keeping us all from shifting. Ugly things. But then you run and bloody jump and—and well I dunno—next thing a damn tree is sticking through it’s bloody chest and buried in the wall! ”
Roman laughed and clapped the driver’s back too. We’d traveled with Coln over the Warlands plenty of times. He was another person that knew a half truth of my identity. To him I was one mean shifter, an alpha if I had a pack, but he didn’t realize the whole extent of it.
“Bet you’d give that Marcus a run for his money with the Whiteclaws, eh?” he nudged Roman. “Your brother should be worried.”
“Oh he is,” he said, winking at me.
I colored, wondering if the girls could hear below. It was enough having rejected a fated mate and then having to travel with her, but having others brag about my exploits wouldn’t exactly help anything move on.
But I don’t want it to move on. My wolf crooned and an involuntary feeling spread out, reaching for the girl.
I didn’t say anything more, letting Roman chat with Coln. The two could go on forever, I’d spent enough wagon rides with them to know. They spoke of any and everything, from the exciting to the mundane. When I asked Roman about it, he said that more was gained in trade, than silence.
I suppose I agreed, but I was just being moody.
I was embarrassed about the rejection to Feyra, angry that I still couldn't reveal myself after saving a whole village, and bothered by the heat. But more than that, now that I’d seen Feyra’s body shrouded by the wet clothing, I couldn’t stop seeing it.
She followed me everywhere. I’d had to get out of the wagon to stop staring, stop fantasizing. I couldn’t take her shape from my eyes. I wanted to watch her, to take all of her in. It may be that she was a fated mate in more ways than one, she was a part of my prophecy now.
The town of Kadaar rolled up on the horizon and Coln tapped the roof. He opened a small hatch and chatter from the three women ceased. “Kadaar coming up ladies. Within the hour.”
The talking returned as the trap snapped shut and Coln saw me watching. “Not to worry Dion, ladies’ve always looked at you that way.” He cracked up laughing and whipped the horses to go a bit faster.
I colored and just focused on the fact that I’d have a bit of time away from the women in the town when I returned the Sleep Singer girl. I could clear my head.
We rolled through the gates of Kadaar at the end of day. It had been a hot two days and the first thing Coln did was take his horses to the communal well. They drank deep and I helped him to wash them down. Others were doing the same.
Roman helped the girls with their things and played the guide for them.
I could hear his well rehearsed speech in my head, The square of Kadaar is surrounded by bars and rooms to rent.
Mostly a transient city, Kadaar is a pit stop to gather supplies before heading further into the Warlands…
They weren’t listening though. They were all giggling and constantly whispering, and I cursed myself again for having lost my shirt in the battle.
All I had was my robe and it’d been too hot on the roof to wear it.
I wrapped it tightly around my body and the girls laughed again.
Having helped Coln, I headed back to them. I avoided Feyra’s eyes at all costs, even though I wanted to stare at her forever, and began what I needed to do now—return the Sleep Singer.
“You ready?” I asked. She nodded; all she had was herself. “Good, are you in the camp at the end of the village?” She nodded again. I smiled. “Then let’s go.”
She followed me out of the square and we crossed into the few roads that ran back through the supply merchants and sellers. “I can head home by myself from here,” she said. “You don’t need to–”
I shook my head. “I know you can, but I wanted to speak with your parents. There are things that need discussing.” She looked at me in confusion, then shrugged, leading me on.
The girl came from the roaming clans that were already in the Warlands before the wolves had been banished there.
They were magical people with varying abilities.
I’d seen Sleep Singers many times before, some of them even as assassins, but most were nice people.
It was primarily women who carried the singing ability, and men who carried the ability for foresight.
What I’d come to think though was that the technique of sleep singing was similar to the Siren Singers, they hummed a melody in the spiritual plain that could affect everyone. But seeing both the girl and monster from Lady Skol side by side had given me an idea.
She took me to the largest of the tents currently pitched. She was a Chieftain’s daughter, that might complicate things. And seeing that it had been damaged recently by Locke’s men, the guards were understandably apprehensive as we approached.
“I apologize for my brethren doing this,” I said.
Both men passed a flicker of surprise at having been addressed in their own language, but resumed their duty. “Your men did this?” one asked.
I shook my head. “No, but a brother shifter. I cannot bring them to justice, but I can apologize for their ways.”
The men nodded and then looked at the girl, suddenly they were all smiles and jokes. “You’re in so much trouble Zani. Diora has been losing her mind without you.”
She stuck out her tongue. “It wasn’t exactly my fault being taken.”
The men continued to grin but said nothing more, she led me into the tent. Stealing from a chief was a big deal, even for shifters. I couldn’t believe Locke’s stupidity. He may have cursed his whole pack.
A man and woman rose as soon as we entered, hope was on their faces and elation once they realized who stood before them. They rushed the girl and were soon hugging and laughing. When the father turned to me though, he became cold.
I offered my apologies again, but this time told them who I was.
“Marcus the Whiteclaw’s son? He doesn’t have a son. Do you take me for a fool?” The chief stood taller, suddenly seeing me as a threat. “He died with Myra. I know.”
My blood ran cold. How could he know? “What do you mean?” I asked.
“You think I will tell a stranger so willingly?”
“Oh Daddy stop being silly,” the girl, Zani, said. “He saved me from those other shifters and he’s an alpha. A very strong alpha.”
The chief watched me for a time. “Prove it,” he said. “Shift.”
“I am not a circus animal,” I said. I had to keep focus on the reason that I was here. “And it is not why I am. Your daughter has exceptional ability. Exceptional. She put half a village to sleep. I’ve never seen that, and I’ve only read of it. That power–”
“Is like the old power,” her father said proudly, wrapping an arm around. “She is a miracle.”
“Yes, and I’d like to use her.”
“Excuse me?” he said. Surprise slapped all their faces and their jaws dropped.
“I know that sleep singing has an anti-melody, that is how people can avoid the charm. Unless people know this, they need to be chewing Myrtlewort root. Now I know that Locke and his men don’t even know about this, so they must’ve been well stocked in the root.
But I know this. And when I realized your daughter was singing I blocked my hearing with an anti-melody.
But the skill is like breathing, unlearnable. ”
The family stared at me in shock, I’d played my card and it was too late to go back.
“However I’d like you to figure out an anti-melody?”
“What?” echoed the father again.
“I would like your daughter, or your wife, to figure out the anti–melody to a song. It is the Siren Singer’s song. I memorized it before killing it.”
Their faces were white. The father looked at me like I was crazy. “That’s impossible. No one can hear the melody of the Klush’mar.” He squeezed his daughter tighter. “And even if the melody was knowable, why would I let my daughter hum it to learn the anti-melody? It would be far too dangerous.”
Silence filled the tent, I watched them and allowed the thoughts to sit. I could see that Zani had passed from horrified to intrigue.
“You actually heard it?” she asked.
“Do not give into him,” the father began.
“I did,” I said. “My skill is not as great as yours, but I can hum. I know the melody and that is enough.”
The parents were mortified. Who had been allowed into their tent?
“Sing it,” Zani said.
I took a breath in and inflated my lungs. I began a neutral note, from what Roman taught me, and then sung the melody. The color drained from their faces, they began to grimace. The girl became horrified, with the father’s face setting and becoming angry.
“Do you jest?” he asked angrily.
I shook my head. “That is what I heard.”
“Then you have heard a lie!” he barked.
“That is what I heard,” I repeated, crossing my arms.
“Then it is true,” the wife said. She’d remained silent until now. “Lady Skol took many of our kind years ago when she herself ruled in the Warlands. It is our great shame…but it will not all be for nothing.” She swallowed, looked at her daughter, then back at me. “We will learn your anti-melody.”
“What?” the father said.
“Good. I cannot pay you now, but as a sign of good fortune I will give you my purse.” I handed them a fat bag that I used for such occasions. “I will return in a month or two’s time, it may be of use then. But–”
“Do you know what melody you just sang?” Zani asked, her face downcast. Sad.
“What?” I wasn’t aware I’d sang any Sleep Singer’s melody.
“It is the Song of Sorrow,” she said. “It is a deep, hurtful song. It was sung by our people before we were freed in the creation of the world. It is a song of freedom and sadness.”
I looked at the family, ignoring the shivers rising up my spine and turned to leave. At the doorway I stopped. “Then we must free your people.”
I made good time returning to the cart, taking side streets I was able to avoid any merchants or late night sellers. I however couldn’t help passing the outpost of Lady Skol’s guards on the way.
The building was a hideously fortified thing.
Not many guards came into the Warlands to patrol in her name, if they did, they only stuck to towns that they still controlled.
I didn’t believe any men were stationed here other than a messenger.
Lonely men abandoned by the people they worked for, and banished by the people they lived among.
But there was something interesting up. It was a reward poster for the return of a missing person. Ten thousand Lassigian marks would be given to those who could bring her back. Triple, if the kidnapper was brought in too.
I stared in horror at the portraits. The wealthy merchant’s daughter looked exactly like Feyra’s friend Agatha.
And the kidnapper was Feyra herself.
I tore the posters down and ran back to the wagon as quick as I could.