Барб Хенди - Of Truth and Beasts

Shade stood midroad but no longer sniffed the earth; she sniffed the air instead. She lunged past the stable and a few paces up the road toward the city’s huge tree archway. Before Shade breached the arch, she stopped to look back.

Wynn looked down the road beyond the city to its first hard turn among the trees.

She didn’t doubt Shade, but what was Chane doing? Where was he going to hunt? Or was he just leaving? Had his memory of the night before come back, horrifying him? No, that wasn’t like Chane. He’d followed her across half the world. Even if she chose to be rid of him, it would take effort to shake him loose.

Shade lunged another three steps and barked. A memory of the open plain beyond the forest surfaced in Wynn’s mind. She stared into the dog’s eyes.

How could Shade know this? She couldn’t dip into Chane’s rising memories while he wore the ring. Had he headed beyond the forest? That was at least some relief. Out there he might be alone, unseen as he fed.

Relief vanished quickly—there were Shé’ith patrols out there.

The instant Wynn started running, Shade dashed ahead, leading the way.

Chane reached the forest’s edge in agony. The pain in his side would’ve taken his breath away—if he’d had to breathe. He leaned against a broad tree trunk and didn’t even care that the contact made his skin crawl. As he fully widened his senses, he peered out across the open plain.

He heard no hoofbeats nor smelled anything made of flesh in the low breeze. There was only the grass shifting softly in the dark, and hidden within it was what he sought. He crouched, looking again in all directions.

As he crept beyond the tree line, that sensation of a thousand insects crawling over him faded. His eyes half closed as he stalled. He had become so accustomed to the forest’s fear-laced prodding, trying to seek out what he was. Its absence was bliss.

He moved on, spreading the tall grass with his hands.

Sau’ilahk instantly sank halfway into the earth. The shock of Chane’s lone appearance blotted every thought from his mind. He had not felt Chane’s presence before the pale undead appeared, so Chane still wore the ring.... And he was alone. What was he doing out here?

Perhaps he simply foraged for a kill, trying to find some wild animal to feed on? That did not make sense; the forest or enclaves of the Lhoin’na were better places to hunt.

Sau’ilahk refrained from rushing forward. He had no physical possessions, as such required continued use of energy to carry. He would have to leave them behind each dawn as he slipped into dormancy. But that ring offered so many possibilities.

Chane had gone into a place Sau’ilahk could not. Chane’s true nature was hidden from any unnatural awareness, even Shade’s. With that ring, neither Wynn nor her majay-hì would know when Sau’ilahk finally came for her.

It was too much to let pass.

Sau’ilahk slid through the dark, and not a single stalk of grass caught as they flowed through his black robe and cloak.

Chane flinched and squinted at a sudden glare of white before his eyes. It was almost too bright to look at where it caught the moonlight.

A dome of white flowers sprouted between the tan stalks of wild grass. Tiny pearl-colored petals—or leaves, by their shape—looked as soft as velvet, as delicate as silk. They appeared to glow, though the stems and leaves beneath them were so dark green, they were nearly black where moonlight could not reach them.

Their true use, hinted at in The Seven Leaves of Life , was still a mystery. Chane knew only that their name meant everything concerning Wynn.

Anasgiah ... Anamgiah ... the Life Shield.

He had to learn the secret of that thin text, one more step toward preserving her, if he ever failed in protecting her.

Chane slid his hand along the earth. He reached under with his fingers for the stems, not wishing to even bruise those precious petals. Like his need, they filled his awareness, until he neither smelled grass nor felt the hushed breeze, nor even heard a footfall.

Wynn stumbled into a broad tree trunk at the plain’s edge as she caught up to Shade. Dizzy and exhausted, even in the cool air she’d sweated through her undergarments. She tried to swallow away dryness in her mouth as she looked beyond Shade standing at the plain’s edge.

There was no one out there as far as she could see in the dark.

Where was Chane? Had he gone across to the woods beyond? She couldn’t even see the far trees at night. If he’d crossed, she’d never find him. This was wasted effort, and more than likely she’d be the one to stumble right into a patrol.

She pushed off the tree trunk, but Shade still stood perfectly still, staring out across the plain. Her head didn’t move. Her tall ears stood upright and poised. Her whole attention fixed in one direction.

Shade began to rumble low in her throat.

Wynn tried to follow Shade’s focus, but she still saw nothing.

A dark silhouette suddenly rose out of the tall grass.

It had to be Chane—just him. Who else would be on foot out here at night?

Wynn grew cold, shivering in her damp clothes now that she’d stopped moving. Something about the plain had nagged at her the first time she crossed it. Chane’s lone, dark silhouette stood silent in the grass, and Wynn remembered....

So long ago, Magiere—or perhaps Chap—had told her of a memory stolen from Most Aged Father. Once called Sorhkafâré—the Light upon the Grass—he had led the remains of his forces in desperate flight toward the only safe haven. So very few made it to First Glade, and Sorhkafâré had wandered in grief and rage to the forest’s edge.

And he had seen them .

Scores of undead had raced about the night plain, trying to find a way in. With nothing living within reach to feed upon, they turned on each other in frenzy. Their fluids matted the grass with stains of liquid darkness. All of those risen remnants of the enemy’s horde, as well as fallen allies who’d fought against them, had torn each other apart.

Chane stood in the grass as if he’d risen from that earth still stained black in Wynn’s imagining. He, one of the undead, stood amid the ghost memory of ancient hunger that couldn’t stop until it consumed even itself.

Wynn realized that very plain of madness was right before her eyes.

“Chane?” she whispered.

Shade’s rumble grew to a sharp snarl. Her voice twisted until it became something like the threatening mewls of a cat. Even then, Wynn couldn’t take her eyes off the dark silhouette in the grass. She began to take a step.

Shade instantly wheeled and snapped at her leg.

Wynn lurched back, but Shade wouldn’t stop. The dog lunged again with a vicious snarl.

—Wynn ... back ... Wynn ... stay—

“Not now, Shade,” she said. “Stop trying to—”

A shriek upon the plain smothered the last of Wynn’s words. It hadn’t even died before she screamed out, “Chane!”

Chane shook and convulsed—though only one white petal had fallen upon his palm.

He had stood up, holding his precious find by the stems, only to pause and wonder. They were just flowers, as strangely shaped as they were. In curiosity, he could not help pinching one petal with the fingertips of his free hand. Indeed, it felt like silk-thin velvet, though it stuck to his fingertip. He quickly pushed it off with his thumbnail, and it dropped into his palm.

It was so fragile, like Wynn.

The petal in his palm quickly darkened—first to dull yellow, and then to ashen tan. As it withered, black lines spread from beneath it, twisting and threading through the skin of Chane’s palm. He whipped his hand to shed the tiny husk, but the lines did not stop. They wormed up through his wrist.