Of Truth And Beasts Part 10

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 pa.s.sed between them as Wynn's finger touched the dog. All memories that Shade pa.s.sed this way had problems when it came to spoken words-which tended to come out muted and dulled. This time, when the memory pa.s.sed, 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 a.s.sault 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 pa.s.sed on by other majay-h-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-h scrambled over a ma.s.sive, 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 rea.s.sure 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 pa.s.sage 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'Ghrihln'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 ma.s.s 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 pa.s.sage on another ship. We're bound for Drist. . . .

. . . the farther south we can travel by sea, the shorter our journey to a'Ghrihln'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 s.p.a.ce.