Pack of Wolves
8/13/19
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Chapter 1
“How do you want to approach this?” Suryc asks as he circles the forest near the House of Vultures. He stays as close to the canopy as he dares, dodging long branches that reach their claw-like fingers toward the sky. Cyrus leans low over his Ddraig’s back, silently contemplating his mission, struggling in vain to keep his mind away from Iris. Their last argument weighs heavily on his heart.
“She hates me, Suryc,” Cyrus mumbles under his breath, hardly daring to breathe as he recalls the loathing that flashed out of Iris’s eyes. “Did she send me back to Wolf so that he would kill me?”
“Cyrus, focus on your job. The Ddraigs will be coming to find their riders very soon. You’ve got to get these people to listen to you!” Suryc snorts, his tail flicking behind him in annoyance. “Whatever Iris feels about you is irrelevant right now.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Cyrus mumbles, brushing his fingers across his exposed, windburned face. The sharp stinging in his skin shocks the former leader of the House of Vultures, reminding him of everything he has lost. This foreign feeling of the sun and wind brings Iris back to his mind’s eye. Without her, none of this would have even been possible. No matter how hard he tries, Cyrus cannot tear her out of his thoughts. “I…I think it’s best if I go to my brother alone. Just set me down in the forest, then find someplace to hide.” Cyrus shouts over the whoosh of Suryc’s wings, his voice barely audible. “I don’t want Wolf anywhere near you, Suryc. No matter what he does to me, you stay out of sight.”
Suryc roars, sending tendrils of fire down to scald the topmost branches of the barren trees. A few of the heartier limbs lose their pathetically small leaves as they fizzle and float down to the forest’s floor. “I don’t like this plan, Cyrus! How am I supposed to protect you if—?”
“You will not go near my brother and his armies; do you understand me? Wolf is ruthless! He will do anything to hurt me, and that includes killing you, Suryc. No matter what happens, do not get caught. Wait for Iris and the other Ddraigs. When they show up, you go with them. Even if that means leaving me behind, okay?” Cyrus bites his lip as he brushes the thick ebony scales at the base of Suryc’s head. The thought of being parted from his Ddraig is as painful as the idea of losing a limb.
Suryc writhes in physical agony at the thought of abiding by Cyrus’s wishes. He drops his head in defeat when he decides to obey. “Just don’t die, Cadogan.” In his words, Suryc voices his unspoken fears and heartache. Then, as gently as a whispered sigh, Suryc eases Cyrus down to the ground, keening a prayer up to the heavens as he flies to find a hiding place.
Cyrus feels the torturous emotions of his Ddraig as Suryc disappears from view. No matter what happens to me, you rejoin Iris. Living or dead, you will honor me by following and protecting her. A mental shuddering in his thoughts expresses Suryc’s obedient nod.
“How am I going to get Cane to listen? Iris is a fool if she thinks he’s suddenly going to change his mind and see me as valuable,” Cyrus whispers aloud as he paces toward the derelict house whose half-burned walls are barely standing. All of the roof and second floor has collapsed, most of the rotting wood falling around the lower rooms. The remaining structure looks like it is one breath away from crumbling. Yet Cyrus does not notice the state of the condemned place; his mind is too busy worrying. She just sent me on this mission to get away from me. Can I blame her for that? All the hatred, all the vile, contemptable ideas that she harbors about me are my own damn fault! I must get this right if I have any chance of getting Iris to trust me. But how? What can I possibly do that will ever make her forget the horrors of the House of Vultures? Cyrus flutters between fury, sorrow, and apprehension with each step closer to his brother. Only the crunch of the gravel under his feet alerts him to his proximity to the house.
Raising his gaze, Cyrus immediately focuses on the empty eyes of Falcon. Her decaying body is still fastened to the traitor bonds along the fence. Signs of carrion birds and other scavengers mar her once smooth flesh. Bites and gouges pepper her sunken, ashen skin. Her widely gaping death smile entrances Cyrus as he draws closer to her side. It’s like Falcon finally found her ultimate pleasure in her gruesome demise. She always loved violence. I guess it’s fitting she die like this, he coldly declares as he stares at her gleaming white teeth set in gray gums and receding, lifeless lips.
“Back to join her?” a voice calls out from the charred porch of the decaying House of Vultures.
“Why are you still here?” Cyrus questions, genuinely curious as he stares at his brother’s masked face. “Still hoping she will come back with a Ddraig that is willing to take you?” I shouldn’t provoke him, Cyrus admonishes himself, even as sincere pleasure ripples through his veins as he recalls the moment when Suryc chose him over his brother.
Wolf tightens his grip on the bowstring in his hand, barely able to contain his desire to unleash the arrow aimed at his brother’s heart. “My business is none of your concern.” Though he tries to sound disinterested, a waver in Wolf’s voice betrays him. Cyrus’s words are far more accurate than he believes, their implication sharper than any weapon that might pierce his heart. “Did you come back to bury your beloved second in command?”
Cyrus can almost feel the tip of the arrow honing in on his chest like a wild dog sniffing out its next meal. “I hated Falcon,” he confesses, slowly raising his hands up in surrender. “Her death brings me no sadness. I’m here to speak to you—per Iris’s instructions, mind—on behalf of the Ddraigs.” Cyrus hears Cane’s barely quashed gasp at the mention of her name. He loves her still.
He’s obsessed with her is more accurate, Suryc replies, quickly adding, You didn’t really think I’d go far away, did you?
“And what could those overgrown reptiles possibly have to say to me now? They made their opinion of me very clear already,” Wolf grumbles as he slowly lowers the bow and inspects the mask-less visage of his brother with a frown. “So, they discarded you too, little brother? Did they discover how weak and pathetic you truly are?” Loping over to his brother’s side, Wolf carefully paces around Cyrus slowly, eyes gleaming with hatred. “Did the Ddraigs finally realize that they chose the wrong brother?”
“I came with a message from Iris.” Cyrus’s voice quivers as he attempts to swallow his fear. Though years have passed since they were children, Wolf still holds power over Cyrus the way a bully never releases a victim from his torment. That familiar tremor of self-doubt quakes through his spine under Wolf’s scrutiny, and Cyrus desperately tries to cover his insecurity with false-bravado. Puffing out his chest, Cyrus forces his body to stand tall as he announces, “She is bringing the other Ddraigs out of the Pith. They are searching for other Cadogan warriors. The Ddraigs believe a war is coming between us and Déchets, and they want to be prepared for it. Iris asks that your people remove their masks and be ready to share their true names with the Ddraigs once they are here.”
“What of the naming bonds? We’re just supposed to share our true names and bind our minds together all because the Ddraigs want us to?” Wolf questions, enjoying the way his brother’s hands tremble at his sides.
“I think it’s different for Cadogans,” Cyrus muses, seriously considering Wolf’s question. Even though he’d been away from Iris for a while, he did not feel connected to her mind. While Wolf paces impatiently around his brother, Suryc answers Cyrus’s unsaid questions. When you go through the Dadeni rituals to connect to your Ddraig, we can clear your mind of those naming bonds, and we can stop you from forming new connections as well. I will only allow you to form a naming bond with someone if you ask it of me now. Be warned though—Wolf is still tied to Iris; no doubt he is suffering the agony of withdrawal. The longer they are apart, the worse he will get.
Can we break their bond somehow? Cyrus demands, noting the unusually glassy gleam in his brother’s eyes.
There’s a way, but it cannot be done here. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if it can ever be done at all, Suryc answers cryptically, offering no other explanation.
Wolf sneers, turning away from Cyrus in derision as he scoffs, “Why should we help the Ddraigs? Surely we can survive an attack from Déchets! We’ve lived for years in hiding, and our old ways have worked well—”
“You can’t seriously believe that what we’ve done up to now has truly been living, right? We’ve survived: a brutal, limping, mere whisper of life, but we have not thrived.” Cyrus barks out a laugh as Wolf scowls. “It’s time to change the rules, Brother Mine.”
“Why should any of us trust your scaly monsters?” Wolf demands, his fingers clenching into a fist in his anger. “They suddenly appear from the depths of the Pith, and we’re supposed to follow them blindly? How do you know that they are even on your side at all? Maybe you’ll wake up one day and be their next meal.” Wolf sighs, his eyes growing unfocused as he imagines such a fate for his brother. “I’d pay good money to watch that horrible creature you trust so blindly devour you.”
Cyrus’s smile is rueful as he whispers, “I’m not following the Ddraigs, Wolf. I’m trusting Iris. I’d have thought you would too.” Cyrus gasps suddenly as Wolf’s fist drives hard into his stomach.
“You expect me to believe that she would send you here on such an ‘important’ mission? She hates you even more than I do!” Wolf snarls as Cyrus dry heaves, bent low over the gravel at his feet. Wolf grabs a fistful of his brother’s hair, shoving his face closer to the ground. “Why would she trust you?”
“She was getting me out of her sight,” Cyrus answers sullenly, his throat bobbing with his grief. Trying not to panic, Cyrus forces himself to keep breathing as he tries to think of a way out of Wolf’s unyielding grasp.
“Or maybe she didn’t send you with any special message! Maybe she attacked you, and you ran away like the coward you are!” Wolf snarls, kicking at Cyrus’s shins to force his knees into the sharp rocks that hungrily wait to taste his skin.
Cyrus rips his head out of Wolf’s vice-like grip, uncaring as to how many strands of hair he leaves in his brother’s fist. “I was never a coward,” he mutters, wishing he believed the words as his mind plagues him with his failures. If I were brave, I would have been a better leader. I would have stopped Falcon from being so brutal. I’d have kept Warbler safe. I’d never have made Iris hate me. And I would have figured out how Wolf managed to keep his pack so well fed despite the abject starvation all around us.
“Never a coward, ha! If you’d been brave, you’d have been the one to kill our father. You’d have drawn a blade and attacked me before I got close enough to touch you right now,” Wolf taunts as he skitters just out of Cyrus’s reach. “Where’s your Ddraig, little brother? How do I know anything you say is true? Maybe this is just your way to try and earn my trust. You just want to join my pack, and this is the only lie you can think of that might be useful to me. Admit it!”
“You can think what you wish, but Iris will scour the land to find you and your people. She wants to protect the Ddraigs, Wolf. You’ll see that I’m telling the truth when she comes to find you.” Cyrus turns toward the forest, intending to disappear into its depths. After all, this part of the land has been his playground for many years; surely, he can find a place to hide that Wolf would never suspect. He’d done the best he could do for Iris. It wasn’t his fault if Wolf did not listen.
Four hulking, heavily armed guardians wait behind Cyrus, knives drawn to force him to stay in his place. Caught between the guards and his brother, Cyrus helplessly watches as they inch closer, closing any gap that might be used to escape. They will not let me leave, Cyrus whispers through his mind connection to Suryc. An answering roar punctures the quiet forest, startling all of the men in front of the House of Vultures.
“So, your Ddraig is here after all? Hyena!” Wolf shouts up to the house, and immediately a man with a gray and black mask appears at the open door. “Take three of your best men and scour the forest. There’s a monster in the woods just waiting to be found.”
With an eerie laugh, Hyena bounds down the steps, yipping until three men round the corner from the back of the house and fall into step behind him.
Fly, Suryc, Cyrus pleads, quickly explaining the danger to his Ddraig. Get out of the forest before they find you.
I’ll be fine, Suryc reassures with no traces of fear. You just worry about yourself right now.
“Now, little brother, what to do with you? Did you really expect to come into my territory and then freely leave?” Wolf laughs as he watches Cyrus turn in slow circles, gauging the strength and skills of his opponents. With a snap of Wolf’s fingers, the guards descend on Cyrus. A quick jab to the ribs steals his breath, and a kick to the back of his knees forces him to the ground once more. Cyrus’s head falls back as he gasps, another fist slamming into his jaw. The strike sends green starbursts to steal his vision, and while he is dazed, the ropes of the traitor binds snare his wrists and ankles.
“What happens now?” Cyrus chatters through his teeth as he watches Wolf’s keen eyes assessing him for weaknesses. The leather chafes old wounds from his previous days in these bonds. Falcon’s decaying body taints the air, filling his nose with the putrid scent of death. Wolf stalks closer, wickedly smiling as he watches his brother’s face turn green with disgust.
“I will build a Master House and become king, just like Mynah has foreseen. When she finds me, we will decide what to do about the Ddraigs together,” Wolf exclaims as he clamps his hands on either side of Cyrus’s neck. “In the meantime, I think I will have some fun with you, little brother. After all, that’s what Mynah sent you to me for, isn’t it? I think that you’re a kind of consolation present since she did not come herself. Don’t you think it’s time to finish what we began all those years ago?”
She wouldn’t do that, Cyrus protests in his thoughts, unable to form the words out loud. No matter how much she hates me, Iris would not send me here to die. Would she? Yet, hearing his greatest fears voiced by Wolf only adds to their credibility. She’s not the girl I remember, is she? She’s grown up hard and callous in this gods-forsaken land. She’s no longer my Child of the Moon.
Seeing the doubt flicker in Cyrus’s eyes, Wolf laughs delightedly. “Oh, little brother, what fun we shall have! For now, I think you’ll spend a couple of days next to Falcon’s rotting corpse while we plan our next moves.” Wolf wipes the blood off Cyrus’s mouth with his bare fingers, pausing to taste it before wiping a stain onto his shirt. “Before I’m through with you, little brother, I’ll drink your blood with my supper. I’ll peel the skin from your bones and toast it for my dinner. You’ll be screaming for death…and then I’ll let Mynah take a turn.”
Cyrus wails as Wolf’s fingers crush into his neck, attempting to close off the artery in his throat. The attack makes Cyrus’s blood begin to pulse, throbbing uncontrollably and painfully into his ears. He feels his face grow warm as his breathing begins to get shallow. Writhing is futile as he strains his neck in an effort to get away from Wolf’s touch. “Please—”
“You’ll die a hundred different ways before I allow your final sleep! I know your true name, remember? I will recreate the binds in our minds, giving you my healing and strength just so I can break you a thousand times over,” Wolf exclaims as dark spots threaten to overtake Cyrus’s vision. Wolf releases him right before he passes out, clapping in time with his brother’s hacking coughs. “I think I’ll leave you for now; let the carrion eaters have their way with you tonight.”
Lancing pains pulse through Cyrus’s head with every heartbeat, accompanied by flashes of green and yellow in his vision. He barely hears his brother’s words as his breathing slowly returns to normal. As he calms down, the view of the empty gravel road reappears in Cyrus’s sight.
Say the word, and I will get you free. Tilting his head toward his left shoulder, Cyrus can barely glimpse the woods and their hidden depths. The long cast shadows are a small mercy in the fading light, yet Cyrus can still find his Ddraig in a matter of seconds. Suryc’s gleaming eyes draw his attention immediately, his elongated teeth shine as if they catch the last whispers of breath from the dying light. Let me help you, Cadogan.
Cyrus does not answer, and instead drops his head against his chest. The smell of Falcon’s decay overwhelms him. Shadows circle lower, some of the braver scavengers landing on the ground and hopping over to Falcon’s exposed feet. A moan escapes Cyrus’s lips at the sound of the vultures’ beaks digging into her body. The hollow clack of them against her bones nearly drives Cyrus mad with revulsion. Howls of coyotes in the fields behind the house alert him to other predators that will soon come to claim a fresh, easy meal. Wolf can’t torture me if I’m dead, Cyrus repeats to himself even as he struggles against the binds. Maybe the coyotes and vultures are preferable. One slow death or a hundred times over? Maybe I should just let the beasts finish me off now.
Iris’s face drifts through his mind’s eye, a frown pulling at her lips as she reprimands him. Are you so weak, so foolish, and so pitiful that you’d give up your life at the first whisper of trouble? Grow a pair, Cyrus! Fight back!
“Go on! Get out of here!” A familiar voice hisses as a darkly clad phantom approaches from the forest’s edge. Swiping a large branch at the vultures, the figure soon clears Falcon’s body of any scavengers. “What kind of fool are you, Condor? Why would you come back here?” the man demands, his clever eyes boring into his former leader’s face.
“Wren! My gods, am I glad to see you,” Cyrus cries in relief, a pounding headache replacing the stars in his sight. Yet as Wren begins to unfasten the binds around his wrists, Cyrus commands him to stop.
“You can’t be serious, Condor! Let me get you free!” Wren protests, his fingers slipping on the traitor binds.
“Move Falcon’s body instead, Wren. Most of the animals will be drawn to her rotten scent. Get her away from me, and that will remove the worst of the danger,” Cyrus explains his wishes, his voice quivering. “I need to stay here with Wolf, as crazy as that sounds.” I can be strong, Cyrus declares to the mental representation of Iris still swimming in his thoughts. For Iris, I can do anything. I owe her for all the hell I put her through in the House of Vultures.
“What on earth could possibly be so important that you would choose to stay here?” Wren’s voice trails off as he scans the porch of the dilapidated house, his eyes constantly roving through his surroundings just to make certain that he is safe. He focuses on Cyrus’s grimly set jaw and realizes that his arguments are futile. Wren’s voice is a whispered resignation as he questions, “You know what he’s going to do to you, right?”
“I do,” Cyrus admits, his body already revolting at the thought of the horrors he will face at Wolf’s hand. “But if I am here, then I can keep an eye on his movements. I can still try to convince him that following the Ddraigs offers us the best chance of protecting ourselves against Déchets.”
“You’re still trying to protect Mynah, aren’t you?” Wren surmises, nodding to himself when Cyrus’s mouth falls open. “You’ve always had a soft spot for that one.”
“What makes you think I ever cared for her?” Even as Cyrus speaks the words, he hears his half-hearted attempt at deception. Rather than insult Wren by continuing to protest what he already knows, Cyrus confesses, “As a leader, I was a complete and utter fool. I truly believed that I could keep Mynah safe and free. I thought that by taking control over the house, I could shield Mynah from a little of the harshness of this life. Instead, I think I poisoned her, Wren. Everything that happened—it’s all my fault!”
“You take too much credit for the actions of others, Condor,” Wren offers his advice sagely, shaking his head as he emphasizes his claims. “Hard as you might try, you cannot control what everyone else does or the consequences that follow. Surely you—and Mynah for that matter—can see that!”
Cyrus bows his head low under the weight of his own guilt. “Despite everything that happened, Mynah needs my help now. I will not fail her again.” Trying not to thrash against the traitor bonds, Cyrus stifles his anxiety by focusing his mind on his days in the House of Vultures. “How did you know that I cared for Mynah? I took great pains that no one would suspect me.”
“You remember why you brought me into the House’s elite council?” Wren replies, cutting off the left sleeve of his shirt. Stretching it wide until the threads scream and snap under his attack, Wren carefully pulls the fabric over his head. It will partially filter the horrible stench in the air around Falcon’s body as he attempts to move her into the woods.
“I asked you to join the elite because I wanted a spy among their ranks,” Cyrus replies, his mind drifting back to the early days of his leadership. “I needed someone who could quietly slip into shadows unseen, listen into conversations unnoticed, and hide in plain sight. You were the best for such tasks, Wren. You still are.”
“I know,” Wren mutters, ripping through the leather cords that hold Falcon’s decaying legs upright. “Nothing happened in our house that I did not see. I think you managed to keep your feelings for Mynah hidden from everyone else—even Mynah herself. However, I’m not so easily fooled.”
Cyrus sighs as Iris’s irate face scowls at him in his memory. “I really screwed things up with her, Wren.”
“Regrets solve nothing, Condor. Much like your decision to stay in this hell hole with a man who intends to torture you will not undo the past,” Wren offers as he slices through the binds holding Falcon’s arms in place. Completely free of its tethers, her body crumples like a piece of paper about to be thrown away. Her belly splits open when it strikes the gravel path, blackening blood and entrails spilling across the earth in putrid masses. “Gods almighty, I wish you’d just let me free you instead!” Tearing strips of fabric off his shirt’s hem, Wren wraps his hands in makeshift gloves to protect them from Falcon’s decay. Both he and Cyrus heave and gag as Wren piles her internal organs on top of her chest and drags her into the forest.
Cyrus weeps as he vomits, his breaths increasing as he waits for Wren to return. Suryc’s brilliant eyes gleam once more in the tree line. Despite Cyrus’s wishes, the Ddraig will not move deeper into the forest. “Cyrus, this is madness!” Suryc hisses, smoke wafting through the air like long fingers of fog that reach and grasp at Cyrus’s body.
“I haven’t completed Mynah’s orders, have I?” Cyrus snarls, writhing in fury as he bares his teeth to his Ddraig. “I cannot leave until I’ve done what I set out to do. Besides, you need to be worrying about that hunting party Wolf sent into the forest! What if they find you?”
“Don’t fret over me; unlike you, I can take care of myself! But if you stay like this, you will only end up getting yourself killed,” Suryc asserts, stamping his large feet in frustration. Getting no response from his Cadogan, Suryc skulks out of view, grumbling as he disappears into the forest’s depths.
I’m alone, Cyrus thinks as isolation envelops him. His breathing grows shallow, his eyes darting back and forth. Cyrus’s limbs tremble and cramp as he tries and fails to curl into a ball, the traitor binds inhibiting his efforts. Only exhaustion finally calms him down, forcing his heart to slow its rapid thrashing against his cage-like ribs.
How can Wolf truly believe this way of life is right? Did he eat human flesh and contract a brain sickness? Cyrus shivers at the thought, memories of previous victims of such ills replaying through his mind. He’d stumbled across a camp of brain-sick nameless unchosen only once in his lifetime. The terrorized gibberish of their cries still rings in his ears. Wolf’s always been this bloodthirsty and depraved, hasn’t he? How can I ever get through to him?
“You owe me for that, you know it?” Wren croaks as he approaches, wiping his own spittle and bile from his chin. Somewhere in the forest, Wren has thrown his mask away too. Cyrus cannot keep from staring at Wren’s strong, dark features as he saunters closer to the traitor binds. Somehow his skin has maintained a deep tan despite the mask.
“Thank you. For dealing with Falcon and for believing me,” Cyrus whimpers, grateful to have one human ally in this dreadful place. Baring his face is the equivalent of offering Cyrus complete trust and loyalty. Cyrus feels a soothing in his anxious nerves that is as strong as the valerian root tea he used to drink to keep nightmares at bay.
Wren, completely unaware of how much his mask-less face has affected Cyrus, grumbles under his breath. “I’m not just talking about a debt that a couple of extra helpings of dinner could repay either. I mean, I’m going to want something huge for moving that reeking sack of guts. Ugh!” Wren gags once more, shuddering as he turns toward the grass, fearing he will vomit again.
“I know,” Cyrus answers, intending to give Wren whatever he seeks as recompense. “What made you decide to lose your mask and trust me?”
Wren scrapes at the bloody gravel where Falcon had fallen. “I’m no longer a part of any house. After the House of Vultures fell, I never joined Wolf’s pack. I’ve put my skills to good use living in the shadows.” Wren hesitates, his eyes searching the ground for any other signs of his presence as he prepares to leave. “Besides, I’ve known you for years, and in all that time, I’ve never seen you go back on your word. If you say that following the Ddraigs is the right way to go, then I know you believe it. That’s good enough for me.”
For now, Cyrus adds, feeling no anger at the clarification. Deep down, he knows that Wren will always choose whatever is in his own best interest. He’s playing the odds, betting that Cyrus and the Ddraigs have the strongest chances for survival. Should Cyrus’s situation change, he knows that Wren will re-evaluate his loyalty. It’s a smart, cunning attitude, and Cyrus expects nothing less from the master of disguises. “Any news that could be worthwhile to me? What has been going on since Iris and I left with the Ddraigs?”
Wren’s mouth forms a grim frown as he answers. “I’ve been closely watching your brother’s pack since the house fell. Everything seemed okay until the day he returned from the Ddraigs when they rejected him. Since then he keeps strange hours, and he disappears, sometimes for days at a time. He’s slipping into delusional madness, Condor—”
“Cyrus, my name is Cyrus.” Wren tenses as he waits for the naming rituals to connect their minds. When nothing happens, his eyebrows raise in surprise. “It has to do with my Ddraig. Our connection gives him to ability to stop the side effects that come from knowing another’s name. I don’t understand it all, if I’m being honest.” Cyrus pauses to give Wren a moment to process before continuing. “Don’t tell me your true name though, Wren. I don’t want to have any secret information that Wolf might attempt to pry out of me later.”
Wren eyes the surroundings for any signs of eavesdroppers, focusing on the place where Suryc was standing only moments beforehand. He squints as he inspects the shadows carefully, intuitively feeling the Ddraig’s presence. However, finding the area empty, Wren turns back to Cyrus, “You should know that something is wrong with your brother, Cyrus.” Wren stumbles over the name, struggling to adjust to the change. “He’s losing touch with reality.”
Cyrus nods as he agrees with Wren’s assessment, wondering once more how he can accomplish Iris’s impossible task. “Wolf has always been a little mental, but the lifestyle he’s been able to live in these masks helped hide it from the rest of the world. Now, with Mynah gone, his connection to her is stretched thin, and with this new threat of war, he’s proving how deranged he truly is.”
“It’s more than that, Cyrus. These odd hours he’s keeping…I can’t put my finger on it, but I just know he’s up to something,” A crack of a twig near the forest’s edge startles Wren. He backs away from Cyrus’s side, shrouding himself in his dark jacket’s hood. “Look, I’ve stayed out in the open too long. I will remain close by and assist you when I can.”
“Thank you, old friend,” Cyrus wheezes before his friend disappears into the darkness. “You’ve done so much for me over the years. I owe you a—”
“Stop,” Wren demands, waving off Cyrus’s gratitude out of embarrassment. Despite his wish to be under the cover of the forest, Wren hesitates, exclaiming, “Hiding as much as I have, I’ve seen a great many private details in the lives of our roommates. I’m a silent knower of many secrets that most of our friends don’t even realize exist. I’ll tell you all about them sometime if you wish. Yet in all my years with the House of Vultures, I think that the true master of disguises was you. You hid behind your leadership, your bravado, and your arrogance.” Facing Cyrus once more, Wren plunges ahead with the secret currently weighing down his heart. “I was on the roof the night Mynah killed Creeper. Before the wake, you poured out your tears to the moon, lamenting and calling up into the heavens as though you could find solace there. You were so distraught that you never even checked to see if you were alone.”
A sheepish flutter irritates Cyrus’s heart as he remembers that night. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks. “I feel so foolish to think of that time in my life. Now, facing the aftermath of the choices I made, I find I am lost. I do not know how to undo everything I did.”
“You can’t, Cyrus,” Wren hisses, scuffing the toe of his well-worn boot in the gravel. “It does no good to dwell on what is done. You played your part well, and had I not heard you that night, I would never have learned your secret. Oh, I made it sound like you couldn’t fool me earlier, but that was deception. It’s what I do, and I’m not sorry for it. But even I had no idea of your true feelings until then.”
“Why tell me this now?” Cyrus wonders, unsure of Wren’s motives as he stalks closer once more.
“You owe me nothing, Cyrus. I’m just a man, like you. Flawed, fallible, and good at misleading others. I just thought you needed to know that,” Wren replies, scuffing the dirt with his toe as embarrassment floods his cheeks. “However, I did see a great deal about Mynah in my spying. And I think that if you let your act slip, if you allow her to see the real you, she will never look twice at Wolf again.”
“I cannot dare to dream of such hope,” Cyrus whimpers brokenly, feeling heat build in his eyes where tears would normally fall. With everything that’s happened, Cyrus has no extra energy to divert to his grief. Wren nods once, then slips into the shadows silently, but his departing words haunt Cyrus’s mind long into the night.
The land around the House of Vultures comes alive as darkness sweeps between the trees. Insects chirp and flutter through the inky blackness as nighthawks and owls rejoice over their feasts. Small animals scurry through the underbrush, coyotes and wolves giving chase. The strangest noise of them all is the cacophony of frogs at the nearest creek. Each one croaks at a different time, producing one steady, drawn out monotony. It’s like a creaking door that never closes, and the sound sets Cyrus’s teeth on edge. Every moment, every noise is like an unseen threat that uses the darkness to draw closer to its prey. The muscles in Cyrus’s neck pulse with tension, straining his shoulders while he keeps a constant vigil. How long before they get curious? He wonders as he listens to a coyote howling in the distance. How long before something comes looking for easy prey and finds me? How long will I suffer before I finally die from their attack?
A few curious critters rustle through the underbrush as the hours pass, but Suryc chases them away before any damage can be done. Satisfied that he will not die by animal attack, relief gives way to exhaustion. Well past midnight, the air rapidly cools as Cyrus waits for sleep to finally claim his weary bones. As the moon drifts high overhead, two long-loved faces appear in his mind’s eye: the first is Mynah as a child, her long white hair gleaming in the full moon’s light, and the second is Iris, the powerful, hardened warrior that girl has become.
Cyrus speaks of these faces aloud as though Wren or Suryc is standing beside him. His voice is a whisper, the words slurring as his eyes drift closed. “Though she is alive, she haunts me. She is a beautiful phantom that captivates my eyes. I know she hates me, but I cannot escape her…nor do I wish to.”
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Chapter 1
“How do you want to approach this?” Suryc asks as he circles the forest near the House of Vultures. He stays as close to the canopy as he dares, dodging long branches that reach their claw-like fingers toward the sky. Cyrus leans low over his Ddraig’s back, silently contemplating his mission, struggling in vain to keep his mind away from Iris. Their last argument weighs heavily on his heart.
“She hates me, Suryc,” Cyrus mumbles under his breath, hardly daring to breathe as he recalls the loathing that flashed out of Iris’s eyes. “Did she send me back to Wolf so that he would kill me?”
“Cyrus, focus on your job. The Ddraigs will be coming to find their riders very soon. You’ve got to get these people to listen to you!” Suryc snorts, his tail flicking behind him in annoyance. “Whatever Iris feels about you is irrelevant right now.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Cyrus mumbles, brushing his fingers across his exposed, windburned face. The sharp stinging in his skin shocks the former leader of the House of Vultures, reminding him of everything he has lost. This foreign feeling of the sun and wind brings Iris back to his mind’s eye. Without her, none of this would have even been possible. No matter how hard he tries, Cyrus cannot tear her out of his thoughts. “I…I think it’s best if I go to my brother alone. Just set me down in the forest, then find someplace to hide.” Cyrus shouts over the whoosh of Suryc’s wings, his voice barely audible. “I don’t want Wolf anywhere near you, Suryc. No matter what he does to me, you stay out of sight.”
Suryc roars, sending tendrils of fire down to scald the topmost branches of the barren trees. A few of the heartier limbs lose their pathetically small leaves as they fizzle and float down to the forest’s floor. “I don’t like this plan, Cyrus! How am I supposed to protect you if—?”
“You will not go near my brother and his armies; do you understand me? Wolf is ruthless! He will do anything to hurt me, and that includes killing you, Suryc. No matter what happens, do not get caught. Wait for Iris and the other Ddraigs. When they show up, you go with them. Even if that means leaving me behind, okay?” Cyrus bites his lip as he brushes the thick ebony scales at the base of Suryc’s head. The thought of being parted from his Ddraig is as painful as the idea of losing a limb.
Suryc writhes in physical agony at the thought of abiding by Cyrus’s wishes. He drops his head in defeat when he decides to obey. “Just don’t die, Cadogan.” In his words, Suryc voices his unspoken fears and heartache. Then, as gently as a whispered sigh, Suryc eases Cyrus down to the ground, keening a prayer up to the heavens as he flies to find a hiding place.
Cyrus feels the torturous emotions of his Ddraig as Suryc disappears from view. No matter what happens to me, you rejoin Iris. Living or dead, you will honor me by following and protecting her. A mental shuddering in his thoughts expresses Suryc’s obedient nod.
“How am I going to get Cane to listen? Iris is a fool if she thinks he’s suddenly going to change his mind and see me as valuable,” Cyrus whispers aloud as he paces toward the derelict house whose half-burned walls are barely standing. All of the roof and second floor has collapsed, most of the rotting wood falling around the lower rooms. The remaining structure looks like it is one breath away from crumbling. Yet Cyrus does not notice the state of the condemned place; his mind is too busy worrying. She just sent me on this mission to get away from me. Can I blame her for that? All the hatred, all the vile, contemptable ideas that she harbors about me are my own damn fault! I must get this right if I have any chance of getting Iris to trust me. But how? What can I possibly do that will ever make her forget the horrors of the House of Vultures? Cyrus flutters between fury, sorrow, and apprehension with each step closer to his brother. Only the crunch of the gravel under his feet alerts him to his proximity to the house.
Raising his gaze, Cyrus immediately focuses on the empty eyes of Falcon. Her decaying body is still fastened to the traitor bonds along the fence. Signs of carrion birds and other scavengers mar her once smooth flesh. Bites and gouges pepper her sunken, ashen skin. Her widely gaping death smile entrances Cyrus as he draws closer to her side. It’s like Falcon finally found her ultimate pleasure in her gruesome demise. She always loved violence. I guess it’s fitting she die like this, he coldly declares as he stares at her gleaming white teeth set in gray gums and receding, lifeless lips.
“Back to join her?” a voice calls out from the charred porch of the decaying House of Vultures.
“Why are you still here?” Cyrus questions, genuinely curious as he stares at his brother’s masked face. “Still hoping she will come back with a Ddraig that is willing to take you?” I shouldn’t provoke him, Cyrus admonishes himself, even as sincere pleasure ripples through his veins as he recalls the moment when Suryc chose him over his brother.
Wolf tightens his grip on the bowstring in his hand, barely able to contain his desire to unleash the arrow aimed at his brother’s heart. “My business is none of your concern.” Though he tries to sound disinterested, a waver in Wolf’s voice betrays him. Cyrus’s words are far more accurate than he believes, their implication sharper than any weapon that might pierce his heart. “Did you come back to bury your beloved second in command?”
Cyrus can almost feel the tip of the arrow honing in on his chest like a wild dog sniffing out its next meal. “I hated Falcon,” he confesses, slowly raising his hands up in surrender. “Her death brings me no sadness. I’m here to speak to you—per Iris’s instructions, mind—on behalf of the Ddraigs.” Cyrus hears Cane’s barely quashed gasp at the mention of her name. He loves her still.
He’s obsessed with her is more accurate, Suryc replies, quickly adding, You didn’t really think I’d go far away, did you?
“And what could those overgrown reptiles possibly have to say to me now? They made their opinion of me very clear already,” Wolf grumbles as he slowly lowers the bow and inspects the mask-less visage of his brother with a frown. “So, they discarded you too, little brother? Did they discover how weak and pathetic you truly are?” Loping over to his brother’s side, Wolf carefully paces around Cyrus slowly, eyes gleaming with hatred. “Did the Ddraigs finally realize that they chose the wrong brother?”
“I came with a message from Iris.” Cyrus’s voice quivers as he attempts to swallow his fear. Though years have passed since they were children, Wolf still holds power over Cyrus the way a bully never releases a victim from his torment. That familiar tremor of self-doubt quakes through his spine under Wolf’s scrutiny, and Cyrus desperately tries to cover his insecurity with false-bravado. Puffing out his chest, Cyrus forces his body to stand tall as he announces, “She is bringing the other Ddraigs out of the Pith. They are searching for other Cadogan warriors. The Ddraigs believe a war is coming between us and Déchets, and they want to be prepared for it. Iris asks that your people remove their masks and be ready to share their true names with the Ddraigs once they are here.”
“What of the naming bonds? We’re just supposed to share our true names and bind our minds together all because the Ddraigs want us to?” Wolf questions, enjoying the way his brother’s hands tremble at his sides.
“I think it’s different for Cadogans,” Cyrus muses, seriously considering Wolf’s question. Even though he’d been away from Iris for a while, he did not feel connected to her mind. While Wolf paces impatiently around his brother, Suryc answers Cyrus’s unsaid questions. When you go through the Dadeni rituals to connect to your Ddraig, we can clear your mind of those naming bonds, and we can stop you from forming new connections as well. I will only allow you to form a naming bond with someone if you ask it of me now. Be warned though—Wolf is still tied to Iris; no doubt he is suffering the agony of withdrawal. The longer they are apart, the worse he will get.
Can we break their bond somehow? Cyrus demands, noting the unusually glassy gleam in his brother’s eyes.
There’s a way, but it cannot be done here. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if it can ever be done at all, Suryc answers cryptically, offering no other explanation.
Wolf sneers, turning away from Cyrus in derision as he scoffs, “Why should we help the Ddraigs? Surely we can survive an attack from Déchets! We’ve lived for years in hiding, and our old ways have worked well—”
“You can’t seriously believe that what we’ve done up to now has truly been living, right? We’ve survived: a brutal, limping, mere whisper of life, but we have not thrived.” Cyrus barks out a laugh as Wolf scowls. “It’s time to change the rules, Brother Mine.”
“Why should any of us trust your scaly monsters?” Wolf demands, his fingers clenching into a fist in his anger. “They suddenly appear from the depths of the Pith, and we’re supposed to follow them blindly? How do you know that they are even on your side at all? Maybe you’ll wake up one day and be their next meal.” Wolf sighs, his eyes growing unfocused as he imagines such a fate for his brother. “I’d pay good money to watch that horrible creature you trust so blindly devour you.”
Cyrus’s smile is rueful as he whispers, “I’m not following the Ddraigs, Wolf. I’m trusting Iris. I’d have thought you would too.” Cyrus gasps suddenly as Wolf’s fist drives hard into his stomach.
“You expect me to believe that she would send you here on such an ‘important’ mission? She hates you even more than I do!” Wolf snarls as Cyrus dry heaves, bent low over the gravel at his feet. Wolf grabs a fistful of his brother’s hair, shoving his face closer to the ground. “Why would she trust you?”
“She was getting me out of her sight,” Cyrus answers sullenly, his throat bobbing with his grief. Trying not to panic, Cyrus forces himself to keep breathing as he tries to think of a way out of Wolf’s unyielding grasp.
“Or maybe she didn’t send you with any special message! Maybe she attacked you, and you ran away like the coward you are!” Wolf snarls, kicking at Cyrus’s shins to force his knees into the sharp rocks that hungrily wait to taste his skin.
Cyrus rips his head out of Wolf’s vice-like grip, uncaring as to how many strands of hair he leaves in his brother’s fist. “I was never a coward,” he mutters, wishing he believed the words as his mind plagues him with his failures. If I were brave, I would have been a better leader. I would have stopped Falcon from being so brutal. I’d have kept Warbler safe. I’d never have made Iris hate me. And I would have figured out how Wolf managed to keep his pack so well fed despite the abject starvation all around us.
“Never a coward, ha! If you’d been brave, you’d have been the one to kill our father. You’d have drawn a blade and attacked me before I got close enough to touch you right now,” Wolf taunts as he skitters just out of Cyrus’s reach. “Where’s your Ddraig, little brother? How do I know anything you say is true? Maybe this is just your way to try and earn my trust. You just want to join my pack, and this is the only lie you can think of that might be useful to me. Admit it!”
“You can think what you wish, but Iris will scour the land to find you and your people. She wants to protect the Ddraigs, Wolf. You’ll see that I’m telling the truth when she comes to find you.” Cyrus turns toward the forest, intending to disappear into its depths. After all, this part of the land has been his playground for many years; surely, he can find a place to hide that Wolf would never suspect. He’d done the best he could do for Iris. It wasn’t his fault if Wolf did not listen.
Four hulking, heavily armed guardians wait behind Cyrus, knives drawn to force him to stay in his place. Caught between the guards and his brother, Cyrus helplessly watches as they inch closer, closing any gap that might be used to escape. They will not let me leave, Cyrus whispers through his mind connection to Suryc. An answering roar punctures the quiet forest, startling all of the men in front of the House of Vultures.
“So, your Ddraig is here after all? Hyena!” Wolf shouts up to the house, and immediately a man with a gray and black mask appears at the open door. “Take three of your best men and scour the forest. There’s a monster in the woods just waiting to be found.”
With an eerie laugh, Hyena bounds down the steps, yipping until three men round the corner from the back of the house and fall into step behind him.
Fly, Suryc, Cyrus pleads, quickly explaining the danger to his Ddraig. Get out of the forest before they find you.
I’ll be fine, Suryc reassures with no traces of fear. You just worry about yourself right now.
“Now, little brother, what to do with you? Did you really expect to come into my territory and then freely leave?” Wolf laughs as he watches Cyrus turn in slow circles, gauging the strength and skills of his opponents. With a snap of Wolf’s fingers, the guards descend on Cyrus. A quick jab to the ribs steals his breath, and a kick to the back of his knees forces him to the ground once more. Cyrus’s head falls back as he gasps, another fist slamming into his jaw. The strike sends green starbursts to steal his vision, and while he is dazed, the ropes of the traitor binds snare his wrists and ankles.
“What happens now?” Cyrus chatters through his teeth as he watches Wolf’s keen eyes assessing him for weaknesses. The leather chafes old wounds from his previous days in these bonds. Falcon’s decaying body taints the air, filling his nose with the putrid scent of death. Wolf stalks closer, wickedly smiling as he watches his brother’s face turn green with disgust.
“I will build a Master House and become king, just like Mynah has foreseen. When she finds me, we will decide what to do about the Ddraigs together,” Wolf exclaims as he clamps his hands on either side of Cyrus’s neck. “In the meantime, I think I will have some fun with you, little brother. After all, that’s what Mynah sent you to me for, isn’t it? I think that you’re a kind of consolation present since she did not come herself. Don’t you think it’s time to finish what we began all those years ago?”
She wouldn’t do that, Cyrus protests in his thoughts, unable to form the words out loud. No matter how much she hates me, Iris would not send me here to die. Would she? Yet, hearing his greatest fears voiced by Wolf only adds to their credibility. She’s not the girl I remember, is she? She’s grown up hard and callous in this gods-forsaken land. She’s no longer my Child of the Moon.
Seeing the doubt flicker in Cyrus’s eyes, Wolf laughs delightedly. “Oh, little brother, what fun we shall have! For now, I think you’ll spend a couple of days next to Falcon’s rotting corpse while we plan our next moves.” Wolf wipes the blood off Cyrus’s mouth with his bare fingers, pausing to taste it before wiping a stain onto his shirt. “Before I’m through with you, little brother, I’ll drink your blood with my supper. I’ll peel the skin from your bones and toast it for my dinner. You’ll be screaming for death…and then I’ll let Mynah take a turn.”
Cyrus wails as Wolf’s fingers crush into his neck, attempting to close off the artery in his throat. The attack makes Cyrus’s blood begin to pulse, throbbing uncontrollably and painfully into his ears. He feels his face grow warm as his breathing begins to get shallow. Writhing is futile as he strains his neck in an effort to get away from Wolf’s touch. “Please—”
“You’ll die a hundred different ways before I allow your final sleep! I know your true name, remember? I will recreate the binds in our minds, giving you my healing and strength just so I can break you a thousand times over,” Wolf exclaims as dark spots threaten to overtake Cyrus’s vision. Wolf releases him right before he passes out, clapping in time with his brother’s hacking coughs. “I think I’ll leave you for now; let the carrion eaters have their way with you tonight.”
Lancing pains pulse through Cyrus’s head with every heartbeat, accompanied by flashes of green and yellow in his vision. He barely hears his brother’s words as his breathing slowly returns to normal. As he calms down, the view of the empty gravel road reappears in Cyrus’s sight.
Say the word, and I will get you free. Tilting his head toward his left shoulder, Cyrus can barely glimpse the woods and their hidden depths. The long cast shadows are a small mercy in the fading light, yet Cyrus can still find his Ddraig in a matter of seconds. Suryc’s gleaming eyes draw his attention immediately, his elongated teeth shine as if they catch the last whispers of breath from the dying light. Let me help you, Cadogan.
Cyrus does not answer, and instead drops his head against his chest. The smell of Falcon’s decay overwhelms him. Shadows circle lower, some of the braver scavengers landing on the ground and hopping over to Falcon’s exposed feet. A moan escapes Cyrus’s lips at the sound of the vultures’ beaks digging into her body. The hollow clack of them against her bones nearly drives Cyrus mad with revulsion. Howls of coyotes in the fields behind the house alert him to other predators that will soon come to claim a fresh, easy meal. Wolf can’t torture me if I’m dead, Cyrus repeats to himself even as he struggles against the binds. Maybe the coyotes and vultures are preferable. One slow death or a hundred times over? Maybe I should just let the beasts finish me off now.
Iris’s face drifts through his mind’s eye, a frown pulling at her lips as she reprimands him. Are you so weak, so foolish, and so pitiful that you’d give up your life at the first whisper of trouble? Grow a pair, Cyrus! Fight back!
“Go on! Get out of here!” A familiar voice hisses as a darkly clad phantom approaches from the forest’s edge. Swiping a large branch at the vultures, the figure soon clears Falcon’s body of any scavengers. “What kind of fool are you, Condor? Why would you come back here?” the man demands, his clever eyes boring into his former leader’s face.
“Wren! My gods, am I glad to see you,” Cyrus cries in relief, a pounding headache replacing the stars in his sight. Yet as Wren begins to unfasten the binds around his wrists, Cyrus commands him to stop.
“You can’t be serious, Condor! Let me get you free!” Wren protests, his fingers slipping on the traitor binds.
“Move Falcon’s body instead, Wren. Most of the animals will be drawn to her rotten scent. Get her away from me, and that will remove the worst of the danger,” Cyrus explains his wishes, his voice quivering. “I need to stay here with Wolf, as crazy as that sounds.” I can be strong, Cyrus declares to the mental representation of Iris still swimming in his thoughts. For Iris, I can do anything. I owe her for all the hell I put her through in the House of Vultures.
“What on earth could possibly be so important that you would choose to stay here?” Wren’s voice trails off as he scans the porch of the dilapidated house, his eyes constantly roving through his surroundings just to make certain that he is safe. He focuses on Cyrus’s grimly set jaw and realizes that his arguments are futile. Wren’s voice is a whispered resignation as he questions, “You know what he’s going to do to you, right?”
“I do,” Cyrus admits, his body already revolting at the thought of the horrors he will face at Wolf’s hand. “But if I am here, then I can keep an eye on his movements. I can still try to convince him that following the Ddraigs offers us the best chance of protecting ourselves against Déchets.”
“You’re still trying to protect Mynah, aren’t you?” Wren surmises, nodding to himself when Cyrus’s mouth falls open. “You’ve always had a soft spot for that one.”
“What makes you think I ever cared for her?” Even as Cyrus speaks the words, he hears his half-hearted attempt at deception. Rather than insult Wren by continuing to protest what he already knows, Cyrus confesses, “As a leader, I was a complete and utter fool. I truly believed that I could keep Mynah safe and free. I thought that by taking control over the house, I could shield Mynah from a little of the harshness of this life. Instead, I think I poisoned her, Wren. Everything that happened—it’s all my fault!”
“You take too much credit for the actions of others, Condor,” Wren offers his advice sagely, shaking his head as he emphasizes his claims. “Hard as you might try, you cannot control what everyone else does or the consequences that follow. Surely you—and Mynah for that matter—can see that!”
Cyrus bows his head low under the weight of his own guilt. “Despite everything that happened, Mynah needs my help now. I will not fail her again.” Trying not to thrash against the traitor bonds, Cyrus stifles his anxiety by focusing his mind on his days in the House of Vultures. “How did you know that I cared for Mynah? I took great pains that no one would suspect me.”
“You remember why you brought me into the House’s elite council?” Wren replies, cutting off the left sleeve of his shirt. Stretching it wide until the threads scream and snap under his attack, Wren carefully pulls the fabric over his head. It will partially filter the horrible stench in the air around Falcon’s body as he attempts to move her into the woods.
“I asked you to join the elite because I wanted a spy among their ranks,” Cyrus replies, his mind drifting back to the early days of his leadership. “I needed someone who could quietly slip into shadows unseen, listen into conversations unnoticed, and hide in plain sight. You were the best for such tasks, Wren. You still are.”
“I know,” Wren mutters, ripping through the leather cords that hold Falcon’s decaying legs upright. “Nothing happened in our house that I did not see. I think you managed to keep your feelings for Mynah hidden from everyone else—even Mynah herself. However, I’m not so easily fooled.”
Cyrus sighs as Iris’s irate face scowls at him in his memory. “I really screwed things up with her, Wren.”
“Regrets solve nothing, Condor. Much like your decision to stay in this hell hole with a man who intends to torture you will not undo the past,” Wren offers as he slices through the binds holding Falcon’s arms in place. Completely free of its tethers, her body crumples like a piece of paper about to be thrown away. Her belly splits open when it strikes the gravel path, blackening blood and entrails spilling across the earth in putrid masses. “Gods almighty, I wish you’d just let me free you instead!” Tearing strips of fabric off his shirt’s hem, Wren wraps his hands in makeshift gloves to protect them from Falcon’s decay. Both he and Cyrus heave and gag as Wren piles her internal organs on top of her chest and drags her into the forest.
Cyrus weeps as he vomits, his breaths increasing as he waits for Wren to return. Suryc’s brilliant eyes gleam once more in the tree line. Despite Cyrus’s wishes, the Ddraig will not move deeper into the forest. “Cyrus, this is madness!” Suryc hisses, smoke wafting through the air like long fingers of fog that reach and grasp at Cyrus’s body.
“I haven’t completed Mynah’s orders, have I?” Cyrus snarls, writhing in fury as he bares his teeth to his Ddraig. “I cannot leave until I’ve done what I set out to do. Besides, you need to be worrying about that hunting party Wolf sent into the forest! What if they find you?”
“Don’t fret over me; unlike you, I can take care of myself! But if you stay like this, you will only end up getting yourself killed,” Suryc asserts, stamping his large feet in frustration. Getting no response from his Cadogan, Suryc skulks out of view, grumbling as he disappears into the forest’s depths.
I’m alone, Cyrus thinks as isolation envelops him. His breathing grows shallow, his eyes darting back and forth. Cyrus’s limbs tremble and cramp as he tries and fails to curl into a ball, the traitor binds inhibiting his efforts. Only exhaustion finally calms him down, forcing his heart to slow its rapid thrashing against his cage-like ribs.
How can Wolf truly believe this way of life is right? Did he eat human flesh and contract a brain sickness? Cyrus shivers at the thought, memories of previous victims of such ills replaying through his mind. He’d stumbled across a camp of brain-sick nameless unchosen only once in his lifetime. The terrorized gibberish of their cries still rings in his ears. Wolf’s always been this bloodthirsty and depraved, hasn’t he? How can I ever get through to him?
“You owe me for that, you know it?” Wren croaks as he approaches, wiping his own spittle and bile from his chin. Somewhere in the forest, Wren has thrown his mask away too. Cyrus cannot keep from staring at Wren’s strong, dark features as he saunters closer to the traitor binds. Somehow his skin has maintained a deep tan despite the mask.
“Thank you. For dealing with Falcon and for believing me,” Cyrus whimpers, grateful to have one human ally in this dreadful place. Baring his face is the equivalent of offering Cyrus complete trust and loyalty. Cyrus feels a soothing in his anxious nerves that is as strong as the valerian root tea he used to drink to keep nightmares at bay.
Wren, completely unaware of how much his mask-less face has affected Cyrus, grumbles under his breath. “I’m not just talking about a debt that a couple of extra helpings of dinner could repay either. I mean, I’m going to want something huge for moving that reeking sack of guts. Ugh!” Wren gags once more, shuddering as he turns toward the grass, fearing he will vomit again.
“I know,” Cyrus answers, intending to give Wren whatever he seeks as recompense. “What made you decide to lose your mask and trust me?”
Wren scrapes at the bloody gravel where Falcon had fallen. “I’m no longer a part of any house. After the House of Vultures fell, I never joined Wolf’s pack. I’ve put my skills to good use living in the shadows.” Wren hesitates, his eyes searching the ground for any other signs of his presence as he prepares to leave. “Besides, I’ve known you for years, and in all that time, I’ve never seen you go back on your word. If you say that following the Ddraigs is the right way to go, then I know you believe it. That’s good enough for me.”
For now, Cyrus adds, feeling no anger at the clarification. Deep down, he knows that Wren will always choose whatever is in his own best interest. He’s playing the odds, betting that Cyrus and the Ddraigs have the strongest chances for survival. Should Cyrus’s situation change, he knows that Wren will re-evaluate his loyalty. It’s a smart, cunning attitude, and Cyrus expects nothing less from the master of disguises. “Any news that could be worthwhile to me? What has been going on since Iris and I left with the Ddraigs?”
Wren’s mouth forms a grim frown as he answers. “I’ve been closely watching your brother’s pack since the house fell. Everything seemed okay until the day he returned from the Ddraigs when they rejected him. Since then he keeps strange hours, and he disappears, sometimes for days at a time. He’s slipping into delusional madness, Condor—”
“Cyrus, my name is Cyrus.” Wren tenses as he waits for the naming rituals to connect their minds. When nothing happens, his eyebrows raise in surprise. “It has to do with my Ddraig. Our connection gives him to ability to stop the side effects that come from knowing another’s name. I don’t understand it all, if I’m being honest.” Cyrus pauses to give Wren a moment to process before continuing. “Don’t tell me your true name though, Wren. I don’t want to have any secret information that Wolf might attempt to pry out of me later.”
Wren eyes the surroundings for any signs of eavesdroppers, focusing on the place where Suryc was standing only moments beforehand. He squints as he inspects the shadows carefully, intuitively feeling the Ddraig’s presence. However, finding the area empty, Wren turns back to Cyrus, “You should know that something is wrong with your brother, Cyrus.” Wren stumbles over the name, struggling to adjust to the change. “He’s losing touch with reality.”
Cyrus nods as he agrees with Wren’s assessment, wondering once more how he can accomplish Iris’s impossible task. “Wolf has always been a little mental, but the lifestyle he’s been able to live in these masks helped hide it from the rest of the world. Now, with Mynah gone, his connection to her is stretched thin, and with this new threat of war, he’s proving how deranged he truly is.”
“It’s more than that, Cyrus. These odd hours he’s keeping…I can’t put my finger on it, but I just know he’s up to something,” A crack of a twig near the forest’s edge startles Wren. He backs away from Cyrus’s side, shrouding himself in his dark jacket’s hood. “Look, I’ve stayed out in the open too long. I will remain close by and assist you when I can.”
“Thank you, old friend,” Cyrus wheezes before his friend disappears into the darkness. “You’ve done so much for me over the years. I owe you a—”
“Stop,” Wren demands, waving off Cyrus’s gratitude out of embarrassment. Despite his wish to be under the cover of the forest, Wren hesitates, exclaiming, “Hiding as much as I have, I’ve seen a great many private details in the lives of our roommates. I’m a silent knower of many secrets that most of our friends don’t even realize exist. I’ll tell you all about them sometime if you wish. Yet in all my years with the House of Vultures, I think that the true master of disguises was you. You hid behind your leadership, your bravado, and your arrogance.” Facing Cyrus once more, Wren plunges ahead with the secret currently weighing down his heart. “I was on the roof the night Mynah killed Creeper. Before the wake, you poured out your tears to the moon, lamenting and calling up into the heavens as though you could find solace there. You were so distraught that you never even checked to see if you were alone.”
A sheepish flutter irritates Cyrus’s heart as he remembers that night. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks. “I feel so foolish to think of that time in my life. Now, facing the aftermath of the choices I made, I find I am lost. I do not know how to undo everything I did.”
“You can’t, Cyrus,” Wren hisses, scuffing the toe of his well-worn boot in the gravel. “It does no good to dwell on what is done. You played your part well, and had I not heard you that night, I would never have learned your secret. Oh, I made it sound like you couldn’t fool me earlier, but that was deception. It’s what I do, and I’m not sorry for it. But even I had no idea of your true feelings until then.”
“Why tell me this now?” Cyrus wonders, unsure of Wren’s motives as he stalks closer once more.
“You owe me nothing, Cyrus. I’m just a man, like you. Flawed, fallible, and good at misleading others. I just thought you needed to know that,” Wren replies, scuffing the dirt with his toe as embarrassment floods his cheeks. “However, I did see a great deal about Mynah in my spying. And I think that if you let your act slip, if you allow her to see the real you, she will never look twice at Wolf again.”
“I cannot dare to dream of such hope,” Cyrus whimpers brokenly, feeling heat build in his eyes where tears would normally fall. With everything that’s happened, Cyrus has no extra energy to divert to his grief. Wren nods once, then slips into the shadows silently, but his departing words haunt Cyrus’s mind long into the night.
The land around the House of Vultures comes alive as darkness sweeps between the trees. Insects chirp and flutter through the inky blackness as nighthawks and owls rejoice over their feasts. Small animals scurry through the underbrush, coyotes and wolves giving chase. The strangest noise of them all is the cacophony of frogs at the nearest creek. Each one croaks at a different time, producing one steady, drawn out monotony. It’s like a creaking door that never closes, and the sound sets Cyrus’s teeth on edge. Every moment, every noise is like an unseen threat that uses the darkness to draw closer to its prey. The muscles in Cyrus’s neck pulse with tension, straining his shoulders while he keeps a constant vigil. How long before they get curious? He wonders as he listens to a coyote howling in the distance. How long before something comes looking for easy prey and finds me? How long will I suffer before I finally die from their attack?
A few curious critters rustle through the underbrush as the hours pass, but Suryc chases them away before any damage can be done. Satisfied that he will not die by animal attack, relief gives way to exhaustion. Well past midnight, the air rapidly cools as Cyrus waits for sleep to finally claim his weary bones. As the moon drifts high overhead, two long-loved faces appear in his mind’s eye: the first is Mynah as a child, her long white hair gleaming in the full moon’s light, and the second is Iris, the powerful, hardened warrior that girl has become.
Cyrus speaks of these faces aloud as though Wren or Suryc is standing beside him. His voice is a whisper, the words slurring as his eyes drift closed. “Though she is alive, she haunts me. She is a beautiful phantom that captivates my eyes. I know she hates me, but I cannot escape her…nor do I wish to.”
3/4/19
House of Vultures book 2, Pack of Wolves will be available soon! Here's a preview of the book jacket and blurb. :)
House of Vultures book 2, Pack of Wolves will be available soon! Here's a preview of the book jacket and blurb. :)