Caller of Light (2 page)

Although in her heart she already knew she’d been spotted, she still hoped otherwise. Maybe they hadn’t seen her. Maybe the riders had simply adjusted their course. So, instead of fleeing the summit, she chanced another glimpse at the sky. To her dismay, all the riders bore down on her.

She stared at the magnificent beasts, the beat of their wings moving in a unified, sweeping dance. Although the glare from the sun made it difficult to see, the Alpha Criton looked to be solid red, a rare color.

She would’ve continued to watch if she hadn’t snuck away from home, but another yowl from Mira jolted her into action. She spun and ran, trying not to fall on the uneven ground. The cold wind swirled around her, whipping through her hair and bringing tears to her eyes as she raced across the mountaintop.

Fear rippled down her spine, throwing her heart into a sputtering, flip-flopping rhythm. She resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder to assess the shrinking distance of the approaching riders and summoned the courage to hurtle herself over the edge of the mountain. She landed on her heels with a painful grunt and somehow managed not to tumble headfirst. She tried to maintain control in an almost uncontrollable descent as she dodged rocks and prickly bushes.

As soon as her feet touched the level outcropping, she sprinted toward Mira. Sensing the riders were almost upon her spurred her reckless behavior. Without so much as a quiet greeting to her little Criton, she untied Mira and vaulted into the saddle.

Trees whipped back and forth in the strong currents caused by the powerful beating wings of Critons overhead, forcing Mira to dodge the swinging branches as she navigated through the dense grove. They paused at the cliff overlooking a vast valley below. Mira had to leap away from the mountain and freefall before she could extend her wings to catch a draft. If her little Criton didn’t jump out far enough, they’d never clear the rock face and tumble off the steep ledge. Carina squeezed the reins in a death grip and crouched, her body vibrating with fear, anticipating Mira’s plunge.

****

As they neared, Marek scowled in confusion. Their quarry’s long hair flowed behind him. When Marek saw shapely curves, he realized his mistake.
What in Criton’s breath?
The scout was a woman.

He had watched her scurry across the peak, jumping over crevices and skirting around boulders. She had run as if her life had depended on it, like he was the hunter and she the prey. And when she had flung herself over the side of the mountain in one long stride, he had pursued her until she disappeared into a thicket.

He reined FireStrike into an abrupt hover. The Criton’s red wings flapped up and down in an effortless rhythm. “Continue with the men,” he ordered to Sampson.

“Sire, let me go. It might be a trap.”

Marek grinned. “Don’t worry, my friend. I’ll meet up with you before Brookshire.”

Leaning forward in the saddle, he encouraged FireStrike to circle the timbered sanctuary sheltering his prize. She had nowhere to go, except off a very steep embankment she could not traverse by foot. So how did she even get up there? He soon had his answer when he glimpsed a small Criton teetering on the edge of the mountain. The girl hunched low on the beast’s back—a Criton rider. His brow furrowed. Except for a very narrow gap, the wide canopied trees covered the entire rock shelf. She had no room to take off.

“No,” he yelled. “Stop!” But his words scattered in the wind, going unheeded as the Criton’s muscles tensed and she leapt into the air.

Marek gasped as the little animal clamped her wings against her body and plummeted. When the mountainside fell away her wings snapped open, but she continued her rapid descent toward the wooded valley below.

Never taking his eyes off the foolish twosome, he urged FireStrike to shadow them from above. Once animal and rider reached the forest, they’d have to climb to avoid the trees and he’d be waiting. His pulse quickened as he watched them follow the angle of the mountain. The agile beast hugged the uneven terrain, skimming so close to the ground she almost touched it with every downstroke of her wings. They soared to the bottom of the slope, but instead of rising, the pair surprised him when the Criton tucked her wings and disappeared into the woods.

He straightened in the saddle and laughed, shaking his head in astonishment. His mount snorted in frustration, chomping at the bit, eager to follow. “We’re too big,” he chuckled, petting FireStrike’s neck with powerful strokes. “They got the best of us. But in our defense, they know the lay of the land.”

With a final pat, he spurred his Criton upward. Since he couldn’t follow them into the forested valley, he’d either have to fly over it to catch them on the other side or give up the chase. Even at full speed, he doubted they would find their little lemming. With a regretful sigh and a twinge of remorse, he steered FireStrike toward his men. He would have liked to meet the rider. She had courage. When he reached Brookshire, he would ask King McKay about the girl who rode a Criton with the fearless skill of a battle-trained warrior.

2 – FIRESTRIKE

Carina released Mira in one of the Criton cliff dwellings farther away from the castle and raced down the obscure trail snaking along the side of the mountain. She ignored the Critons who screeched as she ran by or groaned in irritation when she pushed them out of the way. When she reached the road leading home, she slowed and veered toward the main stables.

She walked in the shade of a large barn, enjoying the season of the harvest. Warm weather still gripped the afternoon hours, but an unmistakable chill now lingered in the morning. All too soon the leaves would change color and drop, exposing bare branches and abandoned tanagers’ nests to the environment as the Mother Source prepared for the season of sleep and rejuvenation. But not today. She smiled and tilted her head to enjoy the sun’s warming rays on her face.

As she walked past the barn door, a threatening growl from a Criton inside disturbed her thoughts and she hesitated at the entrance. She peered into the building, but the shadowy darkness hid the occupant. Although she wanted to see who made the sound, she needed to get home to prepare for King Duncan’s formal greeting. She bit her lower lip and looked for the Criton’s owner, but only spied a stable boy and his yapping warrigal ambling toward an ovine pasture.

She puffed her cheeks out with air before exhaling. Curiosity, always her downfall, overrode better judgment. She entered the vast shelter and paused just inside the double doors so her eyes could adjust to the dim light. The barn smelled of stale straw, aged wood, and worn leather. She ventured deeper and discovered the single tenant in the first stall. An enormous red Criton stared at her.

She stood in front of the great animal within easy reach of his snapping jaws and gazed into his big eyes. His aristocratic head towered above her, yet she didn’t fear him. Using the shafts of light filtering in through the small windows spaced along the walls above her, she noted every detail of his defined body with an experienced eye.

His small front claws, located in the bend of his wings, rested on the ground. She admired the shimmer of light reflecting off the thin membrane of skin and muscle connecting the fragile-appearing bones of his powerful wings. His tail tapered down to the classic diamond-shaped flap of skin that enabled him to maneuver with the dexterity necessary to locate the slightest air current.

But his regal head captured her attention. An exceptional specimen, his ruby eyes regarded her with a calm, quiet wisdom. The distinctive red band, darker than his body color, rimmed the bottom of his eyes and trailed down the sides of his face like war paint. A small ridge ran the length of his snout, ending at his nostrils, and a short, blood-red mane covered his neck. Although pitched forward, his small ears could swivel in almost a complete circle.

“Aren’t you beautiful.”

The Criton lifted his head higher in a definite “I know I am” response, and she smiled. She extended her hand for him to smell. He lowered his massive head, inhaled her scent, and sighed, apparently satisfied she wasn’t a threat.

She stroked the soft, downy hair on his thick neck. “I bet you’re wonderful to ride.”

“He is,” boasted a male voice from the doorway.

Startled by the unexpected intrusion, Carina yanked her hand off the Criton like she’d been scalded by boiling water and stared at the straw-littered, dirt floor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any harm.”

The steady clomp of footsteps approached until a pair of black boots stood in front of her.

“I’m surprised FireStrike let you pet him. He’s very particular.”

Her courage rose when she didn’t detect any anger from the rider for touching his Criton. “He’s magnificent.” She smiled, venturing an upward glance. Her breath caught as a sudden awareness of the man standing before her warmed her body.

His dark, brown hair, blown into a roguish dishevelment, gave her the impression of a lad coming in from the fields after a hard day playing. But the disarray suited him. He wore all black leather except for a tan shirt with a v-shaped, loosely-tied collar. His duster, a long riding jacket much like her split tail, displayed the Duncan insignia—a red Criton breathing fire. Specks of dust from the journey dotted the duster, adding to his boyish charm. His broad shoulders tapered to a compact waist before flaring down to sturdy legs.

“Aye, he is,” the man replied, stroking FireStrike’s neck.

“Are you bonded?” The intrusive words tumbled out of her mouth without thought.

“We are. Why aren’t you afraid of a Criton you don’t know?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never been afraid of Critons.”

“Then you are either our next Caller or a fool.”

She clamped her teeth together and bit back the choice words burning at the tip of her tongue. How dare he call her a fool. Her spine stiffened. She pinned the rider with a stern glare and balled her hands into fists. “I suggest you watch what you say when speaking to King McKay’s daughter.”

The man bowed with a slight tilt of his head. “Lady Marissa, forgive my indiscretion.”

Carina swallowed the groan threatening to push past her lips. Her eyes traveled down the interior of the barn to stare at the empty stalls, like silent sentinels waiting for occupancy. She reached for her Criton necklace, clutching it for reassurance. The only remaining keepsake that once belonged to her mother, the precious medallion never left her neck. “Marissa is my older half sister.”

“I didn’t know King McKay had another daughter. May I ask your name?”

“Carina.”

“Well, I imagine King McKay has had his hands full with suitors then.”

She glanced up to determine if he mocked her, but witnessed a sincere smile and sparkling, green and grey-flecked eyes. Small lines around his eyes, either from laughing or spending hours in the sun, hinted at a maturity beyond his years. His eyes with those alluring specks glimmered down at her and a curious smile played across his mouth. Her lips curved into a small grin.

He chuckled. “Well, Lady Carina, the men are resting in a lower field waiting for instructions. Since I couldn’t find anyone to acquaint me with your father’s holdings, would you be so kind to offer that courtesy?”

Her heart stumbled. Never in her life had anyone spoken to her in such a kind, respectful manner. “Well…Father would want to escort you himself, but he took Marissa to see Father Augustus for a fertility blessing.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Is that so?” He laughed.

“Yes, you know, because King Duncan is here to court Marissa.” She stared at this brown-haired man with a furrowed brow. As a member of King Duncan’s legion, how could he not know the reason his king had traveled here?

“Aye, of course. And we did arrive early, which explains why no one greeted us. I guess that leaves you to guide me.” He extended his arm.

After a small pause, she placed her hand on his leather-clad forearm and tried to calm the rabble of danaines dancing in her stomach. His breathtaking smile as a reward for her courage stunned her senses. But the world stopped moving and the air stilled in her lungs when his fingers grazed across the back of her hand before motioning in front of him.

“Where do we go from here, my lady?”

3 – WALK

Carina squirmed at the blatant stares from the servants as she guided King Duncan’s man around the grounds. She’d never escorted anyone before, let alone a soldier who displayed such courtesy, and his special attention made her jittery. But his casual manner calmed her nerves, and after showing him the castle and main grounds, she felt comfortable enough to ask for his name.

He frowned at her question. Her stomach churned in turmoil thinking she’d been too forward. But he surprised her.

“Call me Marek,” he answered with a casual shrug.

She blushed at the familiarity he bestowed upon her and whispered his name under her breath.

As she led him toward the pastures and rockier areas, she pointed to the barracks where Duncan’s men would stay. They continued their walk down a narrow roadway until Marek stopped at a fence next to a mountainous outcropping leading to several Criton lairs. Ovine grazed in the field.

Her chest swelled when she noticed his eyes light up at the impressive array of Critons flying overhead or perching on rocky knolls. “Father says we have the largest unbonded nest around.”

“I agree. But I’d prefer to see more adults with bonded riders.”

She nodded. “I wonder what happened to the Caller.”

Marek rested a hand on the top post railing. “No one knows.”