Of Truth and Beasts

Chapter 4

The following night, Wynn waited on the docks, watching a wide, three-masted frigate anchored in the bay. Shade continued to glower at Chane, who stood a few paces behind them. The dog’s jowls quivered, revealing her teeth.

Nothing about this night had been easy.

When Wynn had left her room that evening, Chane had been waiting for her in the keep’s courtyard. Before she could do anything, Shade charged him, snarling, with hackles raised. She terrified two passing apprentices as she backed Chane against the northern building.

Wynn had tried over and over through memory-speak to explain what Chane had done and why. Either Shade didn’t understand or didn’t care; she knew only that Chane had attacked Wynn.

Shade became even more enraged when Wynn made it clear that Chane was still coming with them. She had woven back and forth in the courtyard as if looking for a way to get at him. All Chane did was raise empty hands and wait. Wynn had to drop her belongings and grab for Shade. From that moment on, amid the rush to port, Wynn and Chane stayed focused on the task at hand. Neither of them spoke of what had happened the night before in the inner bailey.

Tonight, Chane was dressed the same, minus glasses and mask. The only noticeable difference was his old sword strapped on his other hip. He’d mentioned taking it to a blacksmith and having the broken end ground to a point, so it would be usable again. The old sheath’s end was cut short for the blade and crudely closed with leather lacing.

Wynn wondered why he’d brought it at all, as the sword he’d gained from Ore-Locks was far superior. But she didn’t ask. Chane had both of his packs—or, rather, his own and the one he’d taken from Welstiel—hooked over his shoulders. More than ever, Wynn didn’t like that insidious vampire’s toys being in Chane’s possession, with the possible exception of the brass ring.

Wynn wore her old elven tunic and pants beneath a knee-length gray travel robe and a heavy winter cloak. She carried her staff, its long crystal sheathed, and her own pack stuffed with scholarly needs. She’d also belted on Magiere’s old battle dagger. The last of their baggage was a medium-sized chest that sat at Chane’s feet, loaded with supplies, clothing, and Wynn’s journals.

They were as ready as they would ever be.

Chane pointed outward. “The skiff is coming.”

But Wynn looked back toward Calm Seatt’s great waterfront.

She saw no sign of Ore-Locks, though she’d sent him a message that morning as to the time and place of their departure. Only a few moments after, she’d second-guessed herself, but if he was determined to follow, there was little she could do to stop him, anyway. Still, if Ore-Locks missed the boarding, it wouldn’t be her fault.

“How many cabins do we have?” Chane asked.

Wynn welcomed the question, as the silence was getting thick. Anything mundane put off talk of what had happened between them.

“Two,” she answered. “I told Ore-Locks to make his own arrangements.”

She and Shade would need a cabin to themselves. Chane valued his privacy for obvious reasons. Ore-Locks could fend for himself.

“Perhaps he’ll change his mind,” she said.

“I do not think so.”

Chane was probably right. Ore-Locks’s estranged sister, a master smith fallen on hard times, had made Chane’s new sword. Wynn couldn’t guess what it had cost Ore-Locks financially and personally, and she wondered how he’d acquired it to barter for his inclusion in this journey.

The skiff had almost reached them. Wynn made out the beard stubble of one sailor kneeling in the prow. When the boat neared the dock’s ladder, the slim man climbed up to meet them and glanced down at the chest.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Just our packs,” Wynn answered. “We’ll keep those.”

She’d done well in using only one chest, considering they had no notion if they’d find horses, let alone a cart, when they hit final landfall.

“In, Shade,” she said, pointing to the skiff.

Shade circled behind Wynn, still watching Chane closely.

Wynn regretted not trying harder last night to suppress her memories from Shade, but she’d been too overwhelmed. Hopefully, Shade would come to her senses and remember how Chane had always protected Wynn in the past. They needed him on this journey.

“Shade, go,” she said.

The dog circled back, growling as she approached the dock’s edge. At the sight of her, one of the sailors at the oars looked up. His eyes widened at the massive wolf above, and his hand dropped to a knife in his belt.

“Leave off!” commanded the stubble-faced one.

High-Tower must have explained about Shade when he’d booked their passage.

Shade dropped off the dock’s edge. She landed in the skiff below, and it rocked sharply. Both oarsmen grabbed pier lashings to steady the vessel. As their foreman heaved the chest, the sound of heavy footfalls vibrated in the planks beneath Wynn’s feet.

She didn’t need to look.

Ore-Locks came down the dock, stopping at Wynn’s side with his long, red hair glinting under the lanterns. An overburdened sack was slung over his broad shoulder. He still dressed like a shirvêsh of Feather-Tongue, iron staff and all.

Wynn bit her tongue as he proffered a slip of paper to the bearded sailor.

It seemed he could pay his own way. How a stonewalker acquired money was a puzzle, but Wynn now had no legitimate excuse to leave him behind. Then she felt an unwanted spark of petty glee.

Ore-Locks looked down at the skiff and grimaced slightly. Most dwarves disliked sea travel intensely. Not that they couldn’t learn to swim, but rather that it didn’t matter—because they sank.

The sailor carrying the chest eyed Ore-Locks anxiously. He glanced at the voucher and then down at the skiff. A dwarf’s weight alone might make it sit very low in the water.

Chane ignored them both and lowered his packs, doing likewise with Wynn’s, and waited while she climbed down. Once she was safely aboard the skiff, he followed, but Ore-Locks still stood above.

“Are you coming?” Wynn asked, settling in the skiff’s rear with Chane.

The bearded sailor frowned. “Please, sir, sit close to the center, near the oars.”

Ore-Locks’s expression tightened ever so slightly. When he began scaling down, two ladder rungs creaked slightly. He hesitated again before placing one heavy-booted foot into the skiff.

“Careful,” Wynn warned.

He looked at her. “Do you fear sinking?”

“Goodness, no,” she answered. “I can swim ... or at least float.”

Ore-Locks stepped down with his full weight.

Wynn’s petty glee at his discomfort vanished as the skiff rocked so hard that she grabbed one side.

Ore-Locks moved with surprising speed, shifting quickly to crouch toward the center. The small vessel steadied, and with a sigh of relief, the bearded sailor climbed into the prow, using the chest for a seat.

Wynn was finally embarking on a long journey to both find and secure a powerful tool of the Ancient Enemy—and she had few skills or weapons of her own. Her only companions were the secret worshipper of a dwarven traitor, a vampire obsessed with her, and an adolescent majay-hì.

As the sailors locked their oars into the cradles and began to row for the frigate, Wynn sat silent in a moment of self-pity. But she couldn’t turn back now.

Sau’ilahk materialized on a barren spot down the rocky shore from Calm Seatt’s port and watched as the tiny skiff pulled up to the large frigate. Much to his surprise, the last passenger in Wynn’s skiff had the bulk of a dwarf and red hair. Sau’ilahk was puzzled.

He searched his memories of all dwarves Wynn had ever met while in Dhredze Seatt. He recalled only one with such hair. Ore-Locks, a stonewalker, was no longer dressed like his sect. Had he abandoned his way of life in the underworld? Even so, what was he doing with Wynn?

Sau’ilahk waited until activity aboard the vessel picked up as the men prepared to set sail. He was patient as the moon climbed higher. The ship eventually sailed outward, leaving Beranklifer Bay and turning south down the coast. For now, that was all he needed to know.

Sau’ilahk sank into dormancy for an instant. Focusing on the southern-most point along the shore, he “blinked” to that place to wait and watch again.

Chane stood near the ship’s bow, with sea spray glistening upon his face. The last half-moon of the voyage had passed quickly, one night blending into the next.

Wynn had given the captain an excuse they had used before: that Chane suffered from a skin condition and could not be exposed to sunlight for any reason. As with most people, the captain’s need to accommodate a paying customer took precedence. By now, none of the sailors even noticed Chane’s presence on the deck at night. Leaning against the rail, he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the night wind blowing damply over his skin.

“Can you see the lights?”

Chane opened his eyes at Wynn’s approaching voice. She pressed up against the rail an arm’s reach away.

“Chathburh,” she said, pointing outward. “We’ve arrived.”

Shade came trotting up beside Wynn and reared, hooking her front paws on the rail.

“Where will we lodge?” Chane asked.

“The guild annex has guest rooms. I’ve heard the library is small but unique. You might like it.”

His chest tightened. He had almost felt as if Wynn were safe on this ship. Their sea voyage was about to end, and they would be back in the real world. The search for impossible clues would continue, opposed by even those who might have the power to assist them.

Wynn would throw herself into danger again. His place was to protect her, to keep her alive. They couldn’t just sail on like this forever.

And he had been growing hungrier over the past three nights.

Chane had disembarked once—by himself—during a stop at Witenburh and tried feeding on a goat. That revolting experience had provided some life for his need. Since then, he had mulled over other options without further fracturing Wynn’s confidence.

The lights of Chathburh grew brighter, closer, in the distance.

A sailor hurried past, and Chane called out, “How long to port?”

“Soon,” the sailor answered. “We’ll dock by second bell ... late evening.”

Chane knew that with this stop, Wynn’s search for Bäalâle Seatt would truly begin. Of course, he did not wish her to find it.

He had seen both the guardian and the safeguards placed upon the orb that Magiere had found. He did not want Wynn getting near anything so dangerous, not if he could stop it. But his place was at her side for as long as she would have him. A journey, any journey, ensured his usefulness. For now, that was enough.

Chane gazed toward the city, bracing himself for whatever might come.

“This ... is a guild annex?” Chane asked in surprise.

He watched as Wynn trotted toward what looked like an aging four-story inn. Its unusual height was its one remarkable feature.

“I’ve never seen it before,” she answered. “But it was once a lavish inn for wealthy patrons. When the owner passed away, there was no heir and no one bought it. It became city property, left in disrepair for many years, until the guild finally purchased it for almost nothing.”

Wynn scanned the front of many windows, appearing well satisfied.

All Chane saw was a nondescript building that had been too hastily stained without the boards being properly stripped and cleaned.

“The front parlor should be part of its library,” Wynn added. “I’ve heard it’s well designed to serve our needs.” She stepped up onto the porch landing and knocked at the front door. “Hello?”

Though well into the evening, it still was not late. The second bell for quarter night had not rung until they were off the piers. Chane assumed someone would still be awake, and he was not wrong.

The door opened, and a short, middle-aged woman in a teal robe looked out. Taking in Wynn’s gray, short robe, she smiled pleasantly. Chane wondered if Wynn might be better treated where no one truly knew her.

“Journeyor Hygeorht of Calm Seatt,” Wynn introduced herself, “with a message for Domin Yand. Do you have rooms to spare?”

“Of course,” the woman answered, waving them all inside. “I’m Domin Tamira. The annex is never but half full. You can take your pick of rooms on the top floor. Have you had supper?”

Wynn and the domin continued chattering away as Chane stepped in, though Shade pushed past, hurrying after Wynn. Ore-Locks came last. They all passed through the wide foyer and into a comfortable sitting room filled with old, overpatched armchairs and small couches, along with bookcases stuffed with volumes, some as old and worn-looking as the building itself.

Chane backed around Ore-Locks to the parlor’s entrance. “Wynn?”

The domin’s thin eyebrows rose at his maimed voice, and Wynn paused in her chatting.

“Yes?”

“I will go out ... for a few missing supplies and return in a while.”

She tensed slightly before nodding. “Yes. Find me when you’re done.”

Chane set down the travel chest and pulled off his own pack, leaving it by the door with his old sword. He kept Welstiel’s pack over his shoulder.

“What could we need at this point?” Ore-Locks asked, watching him closely.

The ship’s crew had seen to their meals on the voyage. They had not delved into their supplies.

Chane ignored him and left.

Sau’ilahk materialized in a cutway beside a fishmonger’s stall down the street from the old building. He had kept his distance along the way, so that neither Chane nor Shade would sense him. As Wynn knocked, a domin of Conamology had answered.

Sau’ilahk knew of guild annexes, though he’d never bothered with one in his centuries. What could Wynn possibly seek in this out-of-the way place?

He had not risked getting close to the ship to hear anything she might say, and tonight was his first safe opportunity. His only method was through a servitor—a minor but complex elemental with enough awareness to be his eyes and ears. He cleared his thoughts, preparing to exert energy into conjury.

The annex’s front door opened again, and Sau’ilahk paused.

Chane stepped out alone and strode off inland along an adjoining street.

In brief moments in Dhredze Seatt, Sau’ilahk had clearly sensed Chane as an undead. Other times, as now, he seemed more like a solid apparition—seemingly not there to Sau’ilahk’s senses, and yet somehow there to see, hear, or even touch.

Sau’ilahk hung in indecision, wondering whom to spy on: Wynn or Chane? He finally blinked to the corner, spotting Chane moving on with a steady gait.

Chane picked up his pace when he breached the city’s inland edge. Trotting into the surrounding farmlands, he let his senses widen fully. Even with the brass ring on, somewhere ahead he smelled life, alone and isolated. Perhaps it was his hunger that overrode the ring’s dulling of his senses.

He kept on, losing track of time, and wishing to be farther away before attempting what he had planned. Traipsing through a copse of near-leafless maples, he peered out over a fallow field to a small, thatched barn. Smoke drifted lazily from the clay chimney of a nearby cottage. He silently closed on the barn, pausing, listening for anyone nearby before entering.

It was a poor little place, with only three cows stabled inside. The nearest one had a black face and tan body. Kneeling on the hay-strewn floor, he dropped Welstiel’s old pack and dug inside it to pull out an ornate walnut box.

Chane opened the box to study three hand-length iron rods with center loops, a teacup-sized brass bowl with strange etchings, and a white ceramic bottle with an obsidian stopper. All rested in burgundy padding. He slipped back in memory to the first time he had seen Welstiel use the cup.

They had been starving in the rocky, jagged wilderness of the Crown Range north of his homeland when they came upon an elderly wandering couple huddled by a campfire. Chane had wanted to lunge, but Welstiel stopped him with a warning.

“There are ways to make the life we consume last longer.”

True, and Chane now reenacted exactly what he had seen Welstiel do.

He took out the rods, intertwined them into a tripod, and set his dagger on the ground beside it. Placing the brass cup upon the stand, he lifted the white bottle. Its contents—thrice purified water—were precious. Pulling the stopper, he half filled the cup, remembering Welstiel’s cold, clinical explanation.

“Bloodletting is a wasteful way to feed. Too much life is lost and never consumed by our kind. It is not blood that matters, but the leak of life caused by its loss.”

Chane glanced at the black-faced cow. To his best knowledge, Welstiel had never tried this on an animal.

The very idea of the cup was revolting, not to mention the humiliation of feeding on livestock. But he needed life to continue protecting Wynn. He could not risk feeding on a human, or she might hear rumors of someone missing or found dead and in a pallid state.

Chane approached the cow. The animal raised her head and blinked liquid eyes at him with no fear. Grasping her rope halter, he led her out of the stall and moved her to one side into a clear place to fall. He pressed slowly and steadily with his foot into the back of her front knee. As she began to kneel, he tipped her over, pinning down her head. She bellowed once in panic, struggling to get up, and then relaxed.

He took up the dagger and made a small cut on her shoulder. Once the blade’s tip had gathered leaking blood, he carefully tilted the steel over the cup.

A single drop struck its pure water.

Blood thinned and diffused beneath dying ripples as Chane began to chant. He concentrated hard on activating the cup’s innate influence. When finished, he waited and watched the cup’s water for any change.

Nothing happened.

His incantation was based on researching Welstiel’s journals and the tiny engravings on the cup’s inner surface. Something was wrong. As with any mage, their workings were individual, and seldom could one successfully use the workings of another.

The cow let out a low sound. Suddenly her ribs began to protrude, as if she were turning gaunt.

Chane released his grip and scooted back.

The cow’s eyelids sank as her eyes collapsed inward. Jawbones began to jut beneath withering skin. It was not long before the animal became a dried, shrunken husk as vapors rose briefly over her corpse. As Chane heard the cow’s heart stop, he turned his gaze to the cup.

The fluid was so dark red, it appeared almost black, and it now brimmed near the cup’s lip.

Chane did not know whether to feel elated or revolted. He knew what awaited him in drinking the conjured liquid. The first time, Welstiel had warned him with only two words.

“Brace yourself.”

Chane shuddered once before he downed the cup’s entire contents. When he lowered the brass vessel, it was completely clean, as if it had held nothing at all. For a moment, he tasted only dregs of ground metal and strong salt. Then he gagged and collapsed on the straw-strewn dirt.

His body began to burn from within.

Too much life taken in pure form burst inside him and rushed through his dead flesh, welling into his head. Curled up, he waited with his jaws and eyes clenched until the worst passed and the convulsions finally eased.

Had he used a mortal human in this fashion, he could have gone a half-moon without feeding again. He did not know how long the life energy of a cow would last.

Sitting up, Chane stared at the shriveled husk until his false fever subsided, and then he carefully packed away his equipment. Strong and sated, in control of his senses, he prepared to drag the carcass into the distant stand of trees. It would be a few days before it was found. He and Wynn would be gone by then, and any talk of its condition would never be connected to him.

He paused once upon opening the barn door and glanced toward the quiet cottage. Then he dragged the husk across the fallow field.

Sau’ilahk lingered well beyond a copse of barren maples, watching in fascination as Chane dragged a desiccated carcass toward the trees. What had Wynn’s guardian been doing in that barn? Then he felt the tingle of a living presence and heard dead grass crackle in another direction. He froze in place, a still, black shadow barely more than a deeper darkness amid the night.

Something else moved along the copse’s left. Only a dark hulk at first, it circled around the outside of a leafless tree into sight.

Ore-Locks stood hidden at the copse’s backside, watching Chane, as well.

Sau’ilahk was certain the dwarf had not been there an instant before; he would have sensed a life in this empty place. So where had the dwarf come from so suddenly? His attention shifted as Chane walked out the copse’s far side, becoming more obscured by the small stand of trees.

His pale face had a hint of color. Had he been feeding on the cow? No, that could not be. The animal was shriveled to the bones. Bloodletting would not have had this effect.

The puzzle of Wynn’s companion only grew.

Once again, slight movement pulled Sau’ilahk’s attention.

Ore-Locks watched Chane leave and then turned about, placing one great hand on a tree as if bracing himself. Unlike Sau’ilahk’s fascination, the dwarf was scowling. Perhaps the errant stonewalker did not know Chane’s true nature. Had Ore-Locks seen anything that happened inside the barn?

The dwarf straightened, arms slack at his sides beneath his cloak, and appeared to sink—drop—straight down.

Sau’ilahk quickly drifted to the side of the corpse. Few things surprised him after a thousand years of wandering in the nights. He found heavy footprints where the dwarf had stood, but none coming in or out. Ore-Locks had appeared from nowhere and vanished the same way. This matched what Sau’ilahk had seen in the dwarven underworld.

Stonewalkers had leaped out of the walls at him. Now it appeared Ore-Locks and his caste could pass through earth as well as solid rock.

Two more things became clear as Sau’ilahk circled back to watch Chane striding the inland road toward Chathburh. First, mystery though Chane might be, he required life energy like any other undead, and second, he had taken effort to slip off and do this in secret.

Mulling this over, Sau’ilahk blinked out of sight.

After a late supper, Wynn delivered her sealed message to Domin Yand, head of the annex. A jolly elderly man in the Order of Naturology, he had eaten a few too many honey cakes in his life. He was quite puzzled but in no hurry to open the message so late in the evening. Ore-Locks had finished his own supper quickly, not bothering even to sit, and then vanished to find a room. He never reappeared.

From what Wynn observed in the Stonewalkers’ underworld, she guessed he’d spent much time in dim light, in the Chamber of the Fallen. Sailing under the open sky, constantly surrounded by other people, must feel quite foreign to him. Perhaps he longed to be alone.

She didn’t miss his company, and lingered downstairs in the annex’s library. At least until Shade required her nightly trip outside before bed.

When they finally headed up the central staircase, all the way to the top floor, Wynn found Domin Tamira true to her word. Most of the rooms were empty, and those available had their doors fully open. Wynn picked a large room with a window overlooking the front street. She could just make out the lights of the port between the high rooftops. The faded, four-poster bed was draped with a soft, thick quilt, and old velvet curtains graced the windows. Shade immediately turned a full circle before settling on a washed-out braided rug at the bed’s foot, and then she gazed watchfully at the closed door.

Wynn pulled out one of her three cold lamp crystals. Once it was glowing, she shut the curtains, stripped off her boots, and sank to the floor before the scrollwork dresser.

“Come,” she said. “Time for more words.”

Shade simply wrinkled her nose and remained watching the door.

“Come on,” Wynn repeated, holding out her hand.

Shade rumbled and began to squirm. She fidgeted all the way around, until she faced fully away from Wynn.

“You have to learn, Shade. It’ll make things easier.”

So far, lessons had focused on simple terms for common objects and actions, as well as basic commands. The last were certainly demeaning, considering the intelligence of the majay-hì.

“Shade,” Wynn said, clearing her mind, so as not to give any clues by memory, “show me ... High-Tower.”

She reached out and touched Shade’s haunch, hoping the dog understood enough to call up or send an image of the stout dwarven domin.

Nothing came. Wynn tried to think of other ways to describe High-Tower, from his gray-shot red hair and braid-tipped beard to his—

Suddenly, the domin’s image rose in her head. A brief moment of elation came, followed by disappointment.

“No cheating!” she said, taking her hand away. “You must get it from the words, not my memories.”

Shade had to use words as cues and understand which one of Wynn’s memories to call up to answer back when they weren’t touching.

“Show me ... my room.”

Clearing her head, Wynn waited, but again nothing came. She slumped where she knelt. A simpler exercise might be better, something that didn’t have to do with Shade calling back a previously seen memory of Wynn’s. Perhaps something could be used to check Shade’s growing vocabulary.

“Shade, look at ... the window.”

The dog just lay there like a pouting adolescent. How Wynn wished Shade could simply speak words in thought like her father.

Suddenly, Shade’s ear twitched, and a vivid memory rose in Wynn’s mind.

She was sitting on the hearth’s ledge in the Sea Lion tavern on the night of Magiere and Leesil’s wedding feast. Chap lay beside her, silent and pensive. They both knew his kin, the Fay, were now aware of Wynn’s ability to know of them, hear them. He was deeply concerned about her safety.

“What am I to do without you?” she’d whispered to him.

Remembering that moment from more than a year past made tears well in Wynn’s eyes. No mortal should’ve been able to hear Chap’s communion with his kin, and as a result, they wanted Wynn dead. They’d tried to kill her once, because the taint inside her allowed her to hear them, just as she heard Chap in her head. If it hadn’t been for him, turning on them ...

Once you arrive, stay where many are around you, Chap had warned that night on the hearth. They will shy from approaching where they might be noticed.

“You know something dark is coming,” she’d replied. “Is it your kin ... from what you sensed in the orb’s cavern? Are they behind all of this?”

No ... something more, beyond them. And I have made other ... arrangements, which I hope will come through for your well-being.

Wynn hadn’t known then what that meant. But she did now. Through his mate, Lily, Chap had sent Shade. He’d sacrificed a daughter he’d never met to try to guard Wynn in his absence.

Wynn wiped away fresh tears, uncertain why Shade had called up this memory. Perhaps it was a reminder from Shade that she was the intended guardian and Wynn the ward, and not the other way around. And soon enough, they would be leaving the tenuous safety of civilization.

“Shade, pay attention,” Wynn said, lightly poking the dog’s rump.

As her fingertip sank through charcoal-colored fur, another memory erupted in her head.

Wynn was looking at herself, as if she were two separate people.

The other her looked too tall, as if Wynn was lower to the floor. The other Wynn glared down, pointing a finger at ... Wynn. She said something that came out like a series of sounds parroted without an understanding of the words.

Obviously, this was one of Shade’s own memories passed between them as Wynn’s finger touched the dog. All memories that Shade passed this way had problems when it came to spoken words—which tended to come out muted and dulled. This time, when the memory passed, it instantly repeated, and Wynn caught the words scolded at her ... by herself.

“Shade ... no!”

She jerked her finger back, so startled that she wobbled on her knees. The obstinate meaning behind the reflected memory was clear. Shade was telling Wynn no, quite plainly.

“Oh, you little ... Don’t you tell me ... !”

Wynn fell into mute shock as the greater meaning in the memory dawned on her. She had a sudden bizarre notion, so simple that at first she couldn’t believe it was possible.

“Get up,” she said, pushing on Shade’s rump.

Shade got up all right, and spun around with a snarl, but Wynn grabbed the dog’s face with both hands.

She tried to recall any word that Shade had heard often and that meant something important to both of them. She was just as careful not to let any true memory come to mind. She needed not just a person, place, or thing, but a concept connected to moments—to memories—with a like meaning.

“Wraith,” she whispered.

Shade’s hackles rose and her jowls pulled back. A cascade of moments involving Sau’ilahk, a mixture of both their memories, flickered through Wynn’s mind. It ended with Wynn’s own perspective of thrusting the ignited sun crystal into the wraith’s hood.

That was one word that Shade had heard many times—and understood. Likely, she understood far more words than she let on. This time, Wynn didn’t scold Shade for using memory-speak. Instead, she lifted one hand, touched her right temple with one finger, and then pointed more directly at herself.

“No Shade memory. Yes Wynn memory. Show ... Wynn hear ... wraith.”

Wynn lifted her other hand from Shade’s face and sat back, not touching the dog, so that Shade could not send her own memories—but only call up Wynn’s. The dog stepped forward, reaching out with her nose.

“No,” Wynn said. “No memory-speak. Wynn memory.”

Shade’s eyes narrowed an instant before the assault came.

Every moment in Wynn’s life when she had spoken of the wraith to anyone went racing through her head—too fast! It felt like the world was swirling around and around amid a living nightmare of black-cowled, black-robed, faceless figures. Nausea in Wynn’s stomach lurched up into her throat, and one fleeting, remembered voice sounded inside her head.

—wraith ... cannot be gone—

Wynn flinched, breathing hard. “Stop.”

Of course it would be that moment, so ugly and fresh, when Chane had come at her in the inner bailey wearing that horrible mask. But the sounds were nearly clear. Wynn held on to that memory herself, hoping Shade still caught it.

“No see ...” she said, and then touched her own ears. “Hear yes. Memory of words ... of wraith!”

Shade’s jowls trembled.

An echo rose in Wynn’s mind. Fragmented sounds came out of her own memories of Chane’s toneless voice, saying ...

—wraith ... not ... gone—

Wynn grabbed Shade’s face. “Yes ... yes, Shade!”

It was a broken set of words, and this would never be like talking with Chap. Shade could use only words found in memories that the dog understood, and unless they were touching, it could be only words Shade had ever heard in Wynn’s own memories. But this was still more than Wynn had ever hoped possible.

She’d found Shade a voice, stolen and broken as it was.

Another moment rose in Wynn’s mind.

Chane had come to her room that night to cryptically demand that she follow him out and leave Shade behind. The view in the memory was twisted, two views of the same moment overlaid from two perspectives—Wynn’s own mixed with Shade’s as the dog had lain upon the bed.

—Come ... Shade stays here—

Wynn stared at Shade, wondering what this recalled memory meant. Then broken words, still in Chane’s voice, shuffled in order and came again.

—Wynn ... stays here—

Wynn was so elated that she didn’t even think about what it meant. Shade was doing more than repeating memory words. She was using them to express herself for her own meaning.

Wynn hugged the dog, murmuring, “Oh, thank goodness!”

Then Shade let out a low rumble, and a flash of different moments rose to Wynn’s awareness. They were hazy, muted, and more garbled than any other past memory that Shade had shared. Wynn had experienced this before, the first time Shade had shared memories passed on by other majay-hì—by Chap to Lily, and then to their daughter.

Wynn saw through Chap’s eyes on the night the Fay had tried to kill her.

Lily’s pack of majay-hì scrambled over a massive, downed birch tree as its unearthed roots came alive. Those wooden tentacles lashed at them. Through Chap’s perspective, Wynn saw herself jerked out from beneath the downed tree’s branches by a root. She tumbled across the earth, her tunic torn at the shoulder, and lay there, barely conscious.

Wynn instantly let go of Shade, shrinking away. Those same broken words in Chane’s voice came at her again.

—Wynn ... stays here—

It had happened on a terrible night in the Eleven Territories when the Fay had been communing with Chap and realized Wynn had overheard them. A tainted mortal had been spying on them, and they’d tried to kill her.

Shade began to growl at Wynn. More fragmented words came, this time echoed in Chap’s strange mental voice from the night at the Sea Lion hearth, after Magiere and Leesil’s wedding.

—stay where many—

Shade lunged, shoving Wynn back with her front paws.

Wynn toppled and her back flattened against the dresser. A hodgepodge of differently voiced words came out of her memories.

—stay ... Wynn ... here ... no ... forest—

Shade was trying to command her with what few words she understood. Even in finding a flawed voice, it was unsettling how quickly the dog caught on.

Shade had always had her own purpose, one that Wynn too often forgot. Shade was worried about Wynn traveling where there were too few mortals for the Fay to fear being noticed.

“Oh, Shade ... I can’t stay,” Wynn stammered.

Words from her memories came instantly back.

—Fay ... kill ... Wynn—

Wynn threw her arms around Shade’s neck, hearing and feeling the dog’s distressed rumble. How could she reassure Shade when she couldn’t even do so for herself?

“We aren’t heading inland yet,” she whispered, though Shade might not understand all of the words. “I haven’t told Chane, but we were going farther down—”

A knock at the bedroom door stopped her, and then Chane called from outside, “Wynn?”

Such bad timing made her wish he’d stayed away a bit longer. She sat up, one hand stroking Shade’s neck as she placed a finger over her lips before she answered.

“Yes, come in.”

The door opened, and Chane stepped inside. The look of him startled her.

His face, though still pale, now had a hint of color. He looked ... at ease, yet more alert than earlier that evening. As if guessing her first question, he said, “A bovine, well outside of the city.”

After the full urn of blood left behind at the temple, Wynn took nothing for granted.

“That will work for you, taking just some life from an animal?” she asked.

He hesitated, and then answered flatly, “Yes.”

A strange grimace, a kind of revulsion, twisted his features for an instant. She’d never seen that before where his need was concerned. She felt a little guilty for doubting him, but not for long.

“You should pick out a room,” she said.

“I will, but with winter coming, we should begin the inland trek as soon as possible. How long do we stay here?”

This time, Wynn was the one who hesitated.

“A night or two, at most,” she began, “but we’re not traveling inland just yet. Tomorrow, I’ll book us passage on another ship. We’re bound for Drist, a free port to the south.”

“Another sea voyage? Is this other port a better place from which to embark?”

“The farther south we travel by sea, the shorter our journey to a’Ghràihlôn’na.”

“Can we afford this?” he asked.

She should’ve told him all this sooner, but waiting meant less chance of an argument.

“I’ll have to spend a fair bit of our funding,” she admitted, “which means at some point, we’ll need to fend for ourselves. But don’t fight me on this. It’s the only way. The council wants us to take moons to reach the Lhoin’na, and the same or more coming back.”

“I will not fight you,” he said. “Why do you think I would?”

Wynn didn’t answer, but for some reason, his expression had changed. He seemed almost relieved. Did he look forward to more sea travel?

“Have you told Ore-Locks?” he asked.

“He can wait until it’s already settled. I’ll go out in the morning and see what I can arrange.”

“Take him with you. I would come myself, but—”

“Ore-Locks? No ... Shade is protection enough, and Chathburh is a perfectly safe—”

“There is no such thing as a safe port, in any city,” Chane cut in. “They are favored by the baser factions of all societies. You are less likely to be bothered with Ore-Locks along ... instead of just an animal.”

Shade growled at him.

“At least to a stranger’s eyes,” he added, for he knew how aware Shade was.

Wynn tightened her mouth—only because he was right. For better or worse, Ore-Locks had to at least be treated as part of their group. Then she blinked as something appeared to shift near the ceiling.

It had seemed as if some breeze had found its way through the old ceiling boards, puffing out a bit of dust. But when she peered upward above Chane’s head, she saw nothing.

Chane looked up, as well. “What?”

Wynn squinted and shook her head. She just needed sleep after the strain, and she had a slight headache from struggling with Shade’s lessons.

Outside in a cutway beside the fishmonger’s shop, Sau’ilahk heard the soft swish of air as his servitor returned. He could conjure small constructs of the Elements to serve his needs, and this one of Air captured sounds within its presence. He waited as the round mass of warped air drifted near.

Repeat, Sau’ilahk ordered.

Like a warp upon a desert horizon, it began to reverberate with the sound of voices. Only one recorded utterance was important to him.

... Tomorrow, I’ll book us passage on another ship. We’re bound for Drist....

... the farther south we can travel by sea, the shorter our journey to a’Ghràihlôn’na ...

This filled Sau’ilahk with renewed hope. Wynn was headed to the Lhoin’na sages in their capital city, “Blessed of the Woods.” Had she uncovered something of worth in the ancient texts that he could no longer reach? She traveled with her council’s approval, though likely they just wished to be rid of her for as long as possible.

Yet Wynn Hygeorht would again veer off any course planned for her.

Useful as this might be, for now all that Sau’ilahk could do was track whatever ship she took. Another sea voyage would again limit him from drawing near, but following her would be less troublesome. He could freely forage for himself, knowing where to easily pick up her trail.

Banish!

The servitor vanished, and mundane air popped as it rushed in to fill the space.

The energy to create it had cost Sau’ilahk. He drifted down the alley, slight hunger gnawing at him as he searched for sustenance in the night of a sleeping city.