Cyrion (2 page)

He studied the deserted, smoldering Outpost. Everything but the inn and smithy was gone. While the roof of was smoking, the tavern itself was still intact. Jon approached his father’s inn with slow, measured pace. The roof was thatch just like all the other cottages.
So why is it still standing?

“What should we do now? What happened here? Why has everything burned?” Saul wandered around the Outpost square.

Jon stood still and watched the slender tendrils of smoke from the inn roof dwindle, before dying altogether.

It shouldn’t do that.

His eyes drifted down from the roof and rested on an upside down, moss-covered, terracotta flowerpot in front of the inn. Jon hurried to the pot, a knot of fear in his heart. Breathing hard, he crouched down and turned it over. Three smooth pebbles of rose-veined quartz, arranged at the corners of an equilateral triangle.

Their special code. The grumps were fine, and didn’t want him to pursue this. But where were they? And what happened?

“Jon! Come look at this.”

Looking up, Jon spotted Saul examining the ground by the well at the other side of the dusty square.

Just then, the sky turned dark. The refreshing splattering of raindrops on his hot, sweaty head was pure bliss. Jon rose from his haunches and jogged across the square. He was thoroughly soaked within moments, as the light sprinkling turned into a deluge.

Saul growled with frustration as Jon reached his side. “This stupid rain! Jon, I swear there were some weird tracks here. I’ve never seen tracks like these before.”

Jon sank to the ground and sat back to back with Saul by the well, watching the summer downpour drown the last of the smoking, ruined heaps. The rain washed away the acrid stench of burned wood, replacing the odor with the pleasing, clean scent of the wilderness and green and growing things. He breathed in the cooled summer air, savoring it. Even the mud that soaked into his leggings was wonderfully refreshing.

“Jon, you don’t think this could be one of the grumps’ little pranks, do you?”

“You mean like when my Dad lowered us into the well and then took away the ladder?”

Saul tapped his chin with his forefinger. “Or when we went on that camping trip after our Nameday celebrations.” He paused a moment and shook his head. “But the grumps stayed at the top of the well as we were climbing back up. And after the camping trip, we found out that they had been watching us the whole way home, even though we thought they left.”

Jon bit his upper lip. “I know what you mean. This doesn’t feel like a joke. But,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “I also feel someone watching us. Do you?”

Saul nodded. “Okay, if this is one of their little pranks, what would they expect us to do next?”

“Maybe we should look around and see what we can find?”

Jon got up and brushed the worst of the mud from his sopping clothes the best he could, just in case the grumps really were watching. Then he and Saul split up and searched the Outpost, calling out the names of their family, friends, and neighbors. Theirs was a small settlement, comprised mainly of the smithy, the inn, and a few simple cottages the other settlers built for shelter. They returned to the well in short order.

“No signs of anything as far as I can tell,” Jon said, his voice thoughtful and his face expressionless. “Well, aside from the smoke earlier. But then, that rain washed everything away.”

“I couldn’t find anything either.” Saul paced back and forth, his eyes darting to random points at the ruined Outpost. “My dad’s smithy is neat, like usual.”

“I checked the flowerpot. Seems like they want me to stay put. Did yours say the same thing?”

Saul stopped, studied his face for a moment, and nodded.

“And the other people’s cottages are all burned flat.” Brows furrowed, Jon scanned the ruined Outpost. “This definitely doesn’t seem like one of the grumps little jokes.”

“What happened here?” Saul resumed pacing. “We weren’t gone
that
long.”

Jon’s stomach growled. Saul’s stomach replied by growling in sympathy.

“We need to get some food.” Jon rubbed his belly.

“How could you think of food at a time like this?”

“Let’s see.” Jon ticked the points off with his fingers. “We’re hungry, it’s getting dark, the grumps want us to stay put and there’s nothing we could do for now. So why not get something to eat?”

“Okay. Got it. Well,” Saul sighed, “we still have our rations.”

Tasteless peanuts, crackers, and raisins. They’d been living on iron rations for the past three days. Jon surveyed the Outpost, hoping to find an alternative, any alternative, to yet more peanuts, crackers, and raisins. Their settlement was more a trading Outpost than a farming community, so most people grew mainly herbs and aromatics in their garden plots. While a few settlers did try to grow some crops, they’ve mostly been burned to ash.
I was so hoping for goat stew
.
Wait, the goat –

“Well, there is the fat goat we left back there.” Jon grunted as he stretched to ease his aching muscles. “Come on, either we get moving or we starve to death.”

“‘
Starve
to death’? Oh, you’re always sooo dramatic.” Saul rolled his eyes. “Do you even know how to cut and cook the meat? Because I don’t. I mean, that’s a whole goat back there.”

“Well, you know how to start a fire, and I have my dagger. How hard can it be?” Jon said with an optimistic smile.

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER

It was fully dark by the time they trudged their way back over the top of the hill. The rain stopped and Jon was, once again, hot and sweaty. A half-moon peeked over the forest canopy in the clear, star-strewn sky, bathing the landscape in her pearly light. The night was too quiet, absent of the usual hoots of the owls, the song of the cicadas, or rustlings of nocturnal animals in the flowering blackberry bushes lining the path.

Jon was thinking about the missing grumps, pitying himself for his rumbling stomach and his muddied leggings were chaffing when he heard a low, menacing growl underscore the unnatural silence of the night.

A pack of wolves blocked their path. The moonlight glinted gold in their eyes as they moved to flank the boys. Jon unslung his bow and nocked an arrow with sweaty hands, wondering how useful his weapon would be in such close quarters. Saul waved his axe to and fro as he assumed the fighter’s stance. The boys stood back to back along the path so they could watch each other’s blind spots, as their fathers taught them.

“Jon, I think we’re seriously outnumbered here. I see five of them.”

“Really?” Jon detected the faintest note of fear in Saul’s voice. “I see seven. You missed those two in the bushes.”

Jon flicked his attention over the shadowy forest, exhaustion falling away like a discarded cloak as adrenaline surged, refreshing his limbs. A familiar coldness washed over his mind, while the sound of his heartbeat echoed in his ears.
Stay calm. Panic will kill us.
He was weighing the relative benefits of fighting or running away when he caught a slight movement in from the corner of his eyes.

“Actually, there are nine of us,” a high, piping voice said from the darkness. “You both miscounted.” The stranger snorted. “I thought boys are supposed to be good
hunters.”

Saul jumped. “Who’re you?”

“Since I’m with the pack of ferocious wolves, I think I should ask the questions.” A slight, hooded figure, no taller than they were, stepped out of the shadows and into a pool of moonlight. Jon’s eyes narrowed as he calculated their odds. Fight or flight?

“You’re outnumbered,” the stranger said.

Her voice sounds like a girl’s.

“And my friends will hurt you if you try to fight. Don’t bother to run. You can’t outrun a pack of wolves. Especially a pack of wolves guided by me. Answer my question. Do you mean to hurt us?”

She’s got us surrounded, and she wants to know if we plan to hurt her?

“Umm,” Saul said. “We don’t mean anyone any harm.”

Jon nodded down the trail. “We left our kill when we spotted the smoke at the Outpost.”

“You mean the goat back up the path? I’m sorry. The pack already ate most of it.”

“What? We took two days to track down that goat,” Saul said.

“Well, it was just lying there! It’s not like you put your names on it.”

“The goat could’ve fed us for a week, at least,” Saul said.

“So, to be clear,” her treble voice shook. “You aren’t with the band of goblins who burned down the Outpost?”

“No,” Jon said.
We can’t agitate her
. He took deep breath to calm his racing heart. Her shoulders were tense and hunched close to her face; her fists clenched at her side. Who is she? What is she?
I should keep her talking. Maybe we’ll learn something
.

“A band of goblins?” Saul smacked Jon’s arm with his hand. “I told you those tracks were weird.” He turned to the cloaked figure. “But I thought they were extinct. Or mythical. Or…what was it Master Bobbits said about goblins in class?”

Jon ground his teeth at Saul’s babble.
He’s starting to panic
.
Even more reason for me to keep cool.
Keeping his eyes trained on the hooded figure, Jon returned his arrow to his quiver with slow deliberation, before putting a reassuring hand on Saul’s arm.

A snow-white wolf emerged from the shadows and padded boldly up to the boys. The moonlight turned its luxurious coat into molten silver. Both he and Saul froze in place as it sniffed them and then returned to the side of the cloaked figure. It lifted its head, showing the characteristic pink eyes of an albino.

The stranger reached down to pet the wolf, her hand small with slender, ringless, nail-bitten fingers.

A child, then? But what kind of kid hangs out with wolves?

One of the wolves growled. Saul jumped back in alarm. Jon tightened his grip. Saul needed to stay calm.

“My friend says you smell like you’re telling the truth.” She cocked her head. “You really mean us no harm.” She unclenched her fists. The stiff set of her shoulders relaxed. “I was being rude, wasn’t I? Mother said I mustn’t be rude. I’m sorry. My name is Anya, what are—”

Saul adjusted his grip on his axe. “Did you see what happened to any of the villagers? The Outpost was completely deserted.”

“The goblins took them along as prisoners.”

Saul shook Jon’s hand off his arm. “Which way did they go? How long ago? Was everyone all right? Did anyone get hurt?” Saul turned to Jon. “We have to hurry and rescue them before their trail gets cold!”

“Wait, you guys look dead on your feet. How about we rest for the night? I can ask my friends to hunt you some dinner, and we can start fresh tomorrow.” Anya nodded to the pack. One of the wolves padded into the darkness.

“But the trail—” Saul said.

Her tone grew sharp. “How won-der-ful a tracker do you think you’d be when you faint from exhaustion?” Anya waved her hand in dismissal. “Anyway, a few of us followed the goblins after they left your Outpost. They don’t seem to be in much of a hurry, at least according to the Howl. So we should have no problems catching up to them in a day or two.”

She paused and tilted her head Saul. “That is unless somebody insists on playing the hero and falls sick or something, and slows everybody down.” Anya spun away from them both and walked into the darkness. “Come on, then. We can’t stay gabbing here all night.”

The wolves herded the reluctant boys along, with Anya and the albino wolf in the lead. She led them to an animal trail hidden from the main path by a small copse of trees.

“The Howl?” Jon said.

“It’s how we talk when we have to split up.”

“We?” Saul said. He looked at the wolves, before tightening his grip on his axe.

Anya’s small frame, only erratically limned in moonlight, weaved, ducked, and bobbed as she charged on ahead. Jon cussed the night air blue whenever he walked into blackberry bushes, stumbled over various exposed tree roots, and found his face whipped by errant birch branches, teeming with insect life. Suppressed giggles occasionally floated back to his ears at each utterance of a particularly colorful oath.

“You know you live in some really weird buildings?” Anya’s small frame bobbed.

“Huh? Aaah, scat,” Jon said. His foot landed in yet another hole.

“Was there scat in that hole too?” Anya asked, innocence personified.

Jon glowered in furious silence, albeit uselessly since Anya hadn’t even bothered to turn around. He imagined shooting tiny little pinpricks in her direction. That never worked before, but this time, given the strength of his current resentment, it just might.
Girls are so annoying! Wait, I mustn’t lose my temper.
Jon smoothed his brows. He ran his fingers over his abused shin, to make sure he wasn’t scrapped too badly, before continuing on his way.

“That last building? Wouldn’t have burned down,” Anya said, her vague form ducking.

Having learned his lesson, Jon bent his knees as far down as they would go. He stretched his arms out directly in front of him for balance, and then waddled on in a half-squat. Might look a bit silly, but he thought it was much too dark for anyone to notice anything anyway.
Especially under all these trees.

A familiar giggle floated from in front of him.

“Why not? Pthwah—” Saul said as he spat out leaves, twigs, and various insects that a birch branch stuffed into his mouth.

Jon straightened from his crouch in the darkness, grinning. His grin faded when he realized Anya did that on purpose
.
He knew she did. She could’ve really hurt them, but all she did was let them walk into a few holes and bushes, and let branches hit their faces. Just because she obviously thought it was be funny. Whatever she might be, Jon started to think she might not be so dangerous. Irritating? Yes. Like all the girls at the Outpost. But dangerous? Maybe not.

“Well,” Anya said. “The inn’s protected by magic wards against fire, even magical fire. Also against floods and earthquakes. Quite a nifty bit of magic. Expensive. The combination is tricky to get right.”