There were no luxuries here, yet Balen was king. Where were the servants, the luxuries?
Or perhaps it was not his tent at all.
I’d experienced very little of my own world. I’d been sheltered by my mother and then hidden by my family. And while I’d read and studied scrolls and books on every subject imaginable, finding myself thrust in the outside world was frightening. And exactly what I’d wanted. I’d dreamt of seeing the world, travelling, experiencing all those places and cultures I’d read about.
But not at the cost of my freedom. Or my life.
There was a flap at the rear of the bathing area. I pushed it back and ducked my head outside, expecting to find a guard. But there was no one. Male voices, low and unintelligible, carried through the camp. Shadows played upon the tents on either side of mine, but there was nothing or no one to bar my way, just the wide expanse of Grasslands.
My swift footsteps were muted by the light dusting of snow upon the grass. Any moment, I expected someone to shout as I slipped away from the tent.
Then I ran.
I couldn’t hear over the sound of my pulse pounding through my ears, or the jolt of my footsteps as I struggled over never ending clumps of grass. Finally, the clumps gave way to knee-high grass and even ground.
Out of breath, I paused to look behind me at the glowing camp. It was warm back there, populated and bright, nothing like being alone in the cold night, surrounded by a sea of waving stems.
But I didn’t mind. I was free.
I ran, my heart pumping with the promise that lay before me, with exhilaration and, still yet, fear. I ran until my lungs stretched and strained, until I fell to my knees, gasping and rolling onto my back to stare at the stars, the grass bending comfortably beneath me.
My life was my own. And as soon as I caught my breath, I’d run again.
The soft hiss of stems rubbed together in the wind along with the scratchy, high-pitched call of nighttime animals. The tips of the grass swayed gently into and out of my line of sight.
I’d imagined what it would be like to run wild. To let my hair down and run. It was better than I thought.
Joy bubbled inside me, and I laughed.
A large shadow blocked the moonlight overhead. “Are you drunk?” a deep, gravelly voice asked.
My laughter died.
The shadow moved, cocking its head. The sound of its breath reminded me of the horses at the docks. Stems rustled and broke as it shifted, but I heard no other sounds. The nighttime animals had gone silent. As it moved, I saw its eyes, large, elongated ovals that blinked slowly.
“Drunk?” I managed.
“Aye. An odd creature I find, on its back in the middle of the Grasslands, smiling stupidly at the moon. Or perhaps your heart pines after a male? I hear love makes people stupid. Is that true?” Its breath came out in cloudy tendrils of warm air. It moved closer, peering at me until my back pressed deeply into the grass.
“I frighten you,” it said, curiously.
“Aye.” I gulped, my heart racing. “Aye, you do.”
The dark shadow of its head, larger than my entire body, rose up away from me. I let out an uneasy breath. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead and at the small of my back.
I knew what it was as surely as I knew the thread of my life blew thinly in the wind. Extinct, I remembered, feeling a little sick as I stared at the rarest of creatures. A creature made for war, forged from fire, wind, and magic. War Raven.
CHAPTER 4
In dragon form, the War Raven’s chest, underbelly, neck, and head were fashioned of thick muscle covered by black skin said to be tougher than enchanted chain mail. As it cocked its massive head, I noticed a thin white stripe, which ran between its eyes and went back over its head.
It stood over me, trapping me where I lay on the ground. “Perhaps this is better.”
The shadow receded and moonlight returned. Standing at my feet was a slender female. Or was it male? Its skin was as black as ink and as smooth as polished marble. The moonlight revealed a faint, luminous shade of blue within the black skin. Despite the long white hair that flowed over its slim shoulders, its features were not elderly; they were perfect. Power resided within it, a thick vibration like the hum of buzzing honeybees.
Fear rooted me to the ground. This was no War Raven I’d ever read about. Never once had I read or heard about its ability to turn into anything but dragon and raven. I swallowed, trying to find my voice. “What are you?”
It shrugged; the gesture odd and Otherworldly, the movement too slow, too calculated.
“What are you?” It countered. The voice had changed as well. Softer, breathier.
The creature stepped back, allowing me to scramble to my feet. I adjusted my cloak, realizing I must indeed look either drunk or lovesick. My hands were so cold I couldn’t feel my fingers. “I’m—” I struggled for an escape. “I’m just on my way home.” I glanced around. “That way. My father waits for my return.” I backed up and it didn’t follow, so I began walking toward the direction I’d indicated.
Running would appeal to the predator. Running would get me killed.
My footsteps, my breathing, even my heartbeat seemed obscenely loud. I wondered if it could smell my fear.
There was movement beside me.
The creature kept pace next to me, its hands tucked into pockets of a long, deep blue cloak. It didn’t look at me. “I can make it on my own,” I said, attempting a friendly voice.
“As can I.” The corner of its mouth stretched into an unnerving grin.
How long could I walk with this thing beside me? How long would it toy with me? There was no father, no home to hurry to. I didn’t even know if there was a village or dwelling ahead. But then the creature knew that already. It was simply playing with me.
Finally I stopped, facing the mysterious figure that mirrored my movements.
Taller than me, but not by much, it blinked, regarding me without any emotion or guile in its slanted yellow/green eyes.
“I won’t eat you, you know.” Teeth flashed with its wide smile. “Not now, anyway.”
My stomach dropped. I couldn’t out run it, couldn’t fight it, couldn’t do a damn thing if it decided to attack.
Its smile turned into a frown. “You have no sense of humor.”
“There’s no humor in being a meal for a War Raven.”
The lights from the encampment were mere specks now, but they called to me—a safe haven I never should’ve left. But then, how could I have predicted this ?
The War Raven was staring at the lights, too. “You should return. You have much to do.”
I drew back, surprised by the words, wondering if it was some sort of trick, if it wanted me to start running, wanted a chase. “Will you force me to go back?”
It shrugged. “You need to go back.”
“Why? I’d rather take my chances out here.” Provided the War Raven let me go.
“Would you now, Light Bearer?”
It chuckled, the unnatural sound causing goose bumps to spread along my arms. I saw the flash of white teeth again and a glimmer in its eyes. Light Bearer? I opened my mouth, but it spoke before me.
“Travel another hour and you’ll be sorry, Deira D’Anu. Don’t expect me to save you from the thieves and cutthroats that use the high grasses to hide. Go back and you’ll not die this night, or the next, or the next... A champion has given his word, and you must return to face your path. It’ll take you to the Woodlands. Be patient. There is nothing out here, but rape and slavery and death. The choice is yours,” it said, humor lacing its last words.
A great whoosh of wings and a blast of wind hit my face, lifting my hair in all directions.
It was gone. The call of night birds and insects returned to their songs.
The relief that washed over me sent me to my knees. I bent over, my stomach so tightly knotted I nearly retched. The horror of staring death in the face and the joy that I’d survived it made tears slip hotly down my cold face.
Its warning rang in my head.
Should I heed it? Did it have a reason to lie? I’d already felt death’s breath on my neck and I didn’t want to feel it again. Weighing my chances with Balen and his word with potential thieves and worse had me rethinking my path. The War Raven claimed I’d reach the Woodlands. How had it known? How had it known my name? Perhaps it was able to see the future…
Never would I have guessed, standing atop the tower earlier, that I’d be here now. Alone in the Grasslands. Alive. Having met such a creature. Interacted with it.
I’d been a daily visitor at the Hall of Records ever since arriving at the palace. I’d read of war, of history, of the five houses, and of our myths and legends. Not once had I read about a War Raven able to shift into anything more than a dragon and a raven. So what was it? Something else?
Or perhaps the records didn’t know everything there was to know about the creature.
Travel another hour and you’ll be sorry, Deira D’Anu.
I shook off those haunting words, and with shivering hands, I opened my satchel to root for a pen and my notebook. I wrote every impression and fact of my strange encounter until my frozen fingers were barely able to scratch in the two odd words it had called me, Light Bearer. Perhaps there was mention of it in the Fire Breather’s history. Perhaps they, too, had a vast library.
What I wouldn’t give to peruse another Hall of Records, to learn about a people and history so new to me. For the first time in my life, possibilities, a future stretched out before me.
If Balen was to be believed, my differences were not feared among Sydhrs. Should I find Mother’s estate in ruins, I might be able to secure a place for myself within the community of the Fire Breathers. I’d need a profession, a skill to ensure my place and the means to provide food and shelter. The Hall of Records would work nicely. There I could research and learn more about the strange creature, the changeling War Raven.
Perhaps write a story. A great work of fact or fiction. Become a celebrated weaver of tales.
Every Danaan adored a good play, a good tale...
I placed my instruments back into the satchel, so that the pages of my notebook lay smooth and unbent, and then pushed to my feet. I chewed my lip, weighing my options. I’d always been focused on running away, but perhaps there was another path, a new life, a new profession with a people who accepted me. And that didn’t seem as lonely as living in the old estate, still shunned and disliked by the world.