Vanguard

  Neither had asked about the message he carried for the governor of the Evergreen Isle, and Szarok appreciated that discretion. Their company wasn’t disagreeable, even if it was odd. This was the longest he had ever spent in close contact with humans. His ears and nostrils hadn’t stopped twitching under the bombardment of aural and olfactory input. They even breathed louder than the People, particularly when he tried to move faster.

  “You need to rest?” he guessed.

  They had only been walking for half a day. It was difficult to be patient when time meant such different things to their species. But he tried not to show his need for haste, as his ancestors had harmed Tegan in the first place. While he might not have injured her directly, he carried some of that responsibility by way of the rage-fueled memories he’d inherited.

  Tegan nodded. “We should pause for a meal anyway.”

  Efficiently, she passed out equal shares of food. Szarok found it easier to chew through the tough dried meat than they did, so he finished first and tried to quell his distaste and impatience. Not well enough, evidently, for Tegan gave him a sharp look.

  “You needn’t travel with us the whole way. Since your arm’s healing well, you have no further need of me, and we’ll be fine on our own.” There was no hint of hesitation in her voice, or countenance, either.

  Not a bluff.

  “Are you so eager to part company?” he asked, mostly to test her.

  A lie will smell sharp and acrid.

  “No, but I’m not the one constantly staring down the road, either.”

  A fair and honest response.

  “Apologies if I pressured you.”

  “It’s all right,” Millie said cheerfully. “I think she’s going easy since this is my first trip.”

  Tegan didn’t deny that, so it must be true. Interesting. She would push herself harder, but not this girl. They must be close kin. It was a trivial fact that might prove useful, so he filed it away and let them enjoy the break until Millie’s sweat had dried. By that time, she got to her feet on her own and didn’t need to be prodded.

  Now and then he broke and ran ahead to check the path for potential threats, but for reasons he couldn’t articulate even to himself, he always circled back. The females were steady if not swift, and they were good at combining random ingredients to create edible meals. Tonight it was dry grain mingled with fresh fruit, and while he wouldn’t call it delicious, it filled him up with minimal effort. The texture revolted him, but humans seemed to prefer softer food. He noticed they rarely cracked bones with their teeth and sucked out the delicious marrow. Their offerings wouldn’t suffice for long; already he had to throttle the desire to hunt.

  “Thank you for the food,” he said once they’d eaten.

  Millie chased away a couple of nighttime scavengers without even realizing it. Her voice carried well through the trees. He listened, wondering if the burrowers he’d smelled a mile back would approach. A few moments later, they did. Szarok spotted their eyes first, shining in the darkness, but he didn’t move. Too warm a welcome and they’d be gone; the same for a show of force. The Gulgur must be coaxed.

  He didn’t expect the healer to follow his gaze and pinpoint what had commanded his attention. Though she didn’t shift, she whispered, “What should we do?”

  “Nothing. Unless you want them to run.”

  She stilled then, and the other female followed suit, though he suspected she was reacting to cues more than comprehending what was about to happen. The girls hardly breathed for what seemed like ages, and then at last one Gulgur stepped out of the shadows. The firelight was sufficient for his features to be visible: strong chin, large nose, wide forehead, sparse hair. Szarok hadn’t seen enough of the small folk to be sure if this one was young or old.

  “Am Haro,” he said.

  Tegan performed the introductions, much to Szarok’s amusement. She considers herself our leader, then. Millie sat quiet, perceptibly trying not to startle the small folk. They exchanged a few pleasantries, and the visitor made it clear why he’d emerged.

  “Care to trade?” Haro asked.

  “Yes, please,” Tegan answered.

  Apparently judging it safe, two female Gulgur emerged from the undergrowth and opened their packs next to the fire. He’d seen only males before. The group had jewelry, old-world oddities, bits of leather, and all kinds of useless junk. He didn’t need anything, but it took the humans much longer to make up their minds. Millie swapped for a leather strap while Tegan haggled for an impossibly small pair of scissors. The Gulgur accepted a pot of healing ointment, the same stuff she’d rubbed on his arm. Without meaning to, he touched the bandage and smelled the infusion of herbs, and beneath that the sweetness of the oil and beeswax she’d used to create the salve.

  When the transactions were complete, Tegan offered their guests the remainder of the food. After some private discussion in a tongue Szarok didn’t speak, the Gulgur dug in. It surprised him that they seemed willing to share the camp, not only with two humans, but with him as well. The small folk tended to be wary and insular, rarely straying from their burrows until necessity demanded it.

  “What’s your name?” Millie was asking the smallest Gulgur.

  “Chi.”

  Millie glanced at the other female, who had her hands in the cook pot. “And you?”

  “Dia.”

  They don’t speak much.

  But he smelled the wariness rolling off them in waves strong enough that it skirted fear. Yet he didn’t think anything in the camp warranted such a reaction. He raised his head and scanned the perimeter, seeking threats, and found none. Puzzled, Szarok studied the Gulgur.

  “It’s you,” Tegan whispered.

  Because he didn’t care to admit he couldn’t guess her meaning, he held silent.

  “You’re making them nervous. You didn’t look at their things or offer hospitality. All you do is watch. While I understand you don’t mean any harm, the Gulgur find it intimidating. You’re not giving any cues that you’re friendly.”

  “Friendly is not a quality the Uroch cultivate,” he said with a chill in his tone.

  “Exactly. And we haven’t been at peace that long. It’s an uneasy truce in some ways, and they don’t know if they’ll offend you somehow. It won’t hurt to make an effort.”

  Stung, he demanded, “How?”

  “Talk with them. Don’t study them.”

  She doesn’t understand. As vanguard, it is my duty, my honor and my obligation, to learn as much as I can. Only recently had the People realized how critical it was to take in information as the one service they could provide to their descendants. If only my ancestors had known, perhaps I would be wise. Perhaps I would not be so uncertain if such memories had been given to me instead of so much hate and violence. Certainly she couldn’t understand that each moment he chose not to lash out, he repressed the tide of loathing that surged from breathing human stink; that required a choice, control over impulse.

  My instincts tell me it would be better if you were dead, healer, that I would enjoy the taste of your blood in my mouth.

  Szarok imagined speaking the words aloud, Tegan’s cries of terror startling the birds from sleep in a frantic panic of beating wings. But no, the Uroch had chosen peace; they had chosen not to join with the horde to annihilate their distant ancestors. Even if humans were dumb and slow, heavy like clay boxes, their bones had provided the foundation that brought the People to life. Rzika had put it best:

  If we destroy the last of our distant kin out of blind hate and fear, we may as well be like the old ones. We may as well live and die without Awakening.

  Beside him, Tegan stirred. She touched her throat. For some reason, it pleased him to make her uneasy.

  Though he remained unnaturally aware of Tegan’s discomfort, Szarok addressed Haro. “I saw another trading party, half a day from Appleton. Would you know them?”

  “Definitely.” Thus encouraged, Haro launched into an explanation of how the brave
st of the Gulgur were being tested. The ones who survived and returned with anything of value—objects or information—would be promoted in clan hierarchy.

  “Interesting.” Szarok knew little about the structures of Gulgur society, so he asked questions as long as Haro would indulge his curiosity.

  It proved to be longer than anyone else cared to listen, as the females began settling in for the night. Eventually Haro tired as well, and Szarok relaxed enough to let exhaustion trickle in. How many days has it been since I slept well? He couldn’t recall, certainly not since he’d joined company with the humans. Szarok thought everyone else was asleep, so he startled when he turned and found the healer far too close. Somehow he swallowed the instinctive snarl. I don’t hate her. I barely know her. Breathing deep, striving for calm, only drove her scent deeper into his lungs, an unpleasant tangle of smoke and sweat.

  “What?” The guttural exclamation shamed him.

  I should be better at feigning courtesy.

  “We got interrupted before I could change your bandage earlier.” She spoke so softly, he could barely make out her words.

  Since he could smell the fluids on the cloth, other predators probably could, too. So he nodded in mute acceptance and didn’t protest when she unwound the fabric. But she didn’t discard it, merely folded it over and tucked it into her bag. There shouldn’t be any sinister reason why she would want traces of his blood, but … it troubled him. Szarok had heard how her mentor had tortured one of his people until the poor soul had died, mad with loneliness.

  Stung, he demanded, “What will you do with that?”

  “Scrub, boil it until it’s clean, dry it, and use it again,” she said, as if that answer should be obvious. “But not until we get to Rosemere, so be careful. Between our feet and your arm, I’m already running low on supplies. Don’t move.”

  She rubbed her palms together briskly so that her hands were warm when she touched him, so much that it was a shock to his cool flesh. He fought the urge to pull away; her fingers were soft, like creeping slugs. She’s helping you. Be grateful. But anger boiled up because her kindness likely carried a hidden sting in the tail.

  She will hunt you, too. Humans can’t be trusted. They shoot and stab and kill. Those, the last words his sire had snarled at him on the battlefield, on a bloody plain before the river. Szarok had taken his memories as blood surged over his claws, spattered on his skin. One day my offspring will know everything I have done. The People were too young to consider this a crime, but he sensed the wrongness in his bones. I went against the one who gave me life. He died on my claws. The warning troubled him still, more now that there was dissent in Appleton. His sire had been speaking of the Huntress, of course, not this healer.

  And yet …

  Not noticing his tension, Tegan pressed up and down the scabbed wound. “This looks good. It’s sealed, no signs of infection. I’ll put more salve on it, but it doesn’t need to be wrapped. Just be careful not to break it open.”

  “Very well,” he said.

  Holding still proved excruciating torture. First she tugged on his arm, angling it toward the fire, and then she painted delicate stripes on each individual wound. He wondered briefly if she meant to torture him, or if this was some test sent to measure his patience. By the time she finished, he’d broken out in a cold sweat and his jaw ached from clenching his teeth to swallow the snarls. Human hands, ugh, human hands.

  “You don’t like me.”

  It took him a moment to realize she’d actually spoken those words. I should be polite. I should be tactful. Somehow the truth came out instead.

  “Not only you.”

  “You don’t like any humans?” She seemed surprised to hear this for some reason.

  At first he didn’t answer, as it seemed like a stupid question. How many did she think he knew? There had been the Huntress and her mate, the storyteller and his politician of a sire, and the soldiers who’d slaughtered his people like beasts. Even if the old ones were monstrous and mindless, they had no hand in their own creation. Humans only ever saw them as a threat or monsters to be put down. If any had ever pitied the elders, other than the talkative girl they called Millie, Szarok had never heard. It was her actions, after all, that changed everything, so he tried to be patient and respectful. That might count as liking, he supposed.

  “Millie,” he said finally. “She’s flowers and sunlight.”

  Tegan’s hands stopped moving on his arm, so there was only pressure. Finally he yielded to the urge to shake her off, and then he scratched at his skin, trying to dislodge the sensation of insects crawling. A good rake of his claws made it better.

  Scowling, Tegan bristled. “So you did this for one girl. That makes no sense. You helped us. You sided with us. Yet not only do you fear us, as you said before, you also actively dislike us. Except for Millie. So why not destroy us then?”

  Szarok wondered if it would do any good to have this conversation, yet he didn’t turn away. “Have you destroyed everything you hate and fear?”

  A shudder rolled through her, so hard that she doubled over, and for a moment he thought she might be sick. The sour stink of her sweat sharpened, and he hesitated, unsure what he was supposed to do. But whatever had triggered such an extreme reaction, she controlled it, as he so often did. Eventually she straightened and lifted her chin, daring him to comment on that momentary weakness. She may be a healer, but she is a warrior, too. I would do well to remember. Reluctant respect lanced through him, bright as a blade.

  Tegan breathed audibly through her nose. “No. But I wanted to.”

  “Then you understand my feelings precisely.”

  “Do I? How intriguing.” She let out a mirthless laugh that sent a chill down his spine. “But now I wonder whether I should be afraid of you.”

  “Possibly,” he said.

  “I’m too tired for that. I only have the energy for certain threats.” With that, she rolled into her blankets and gave him her back, impressively unconcerned.

  Unwillingly, his ire melted into amusement. Even with all the old ones who ever lived and died shouting in my head, I will not hurt you. He didn’t mean that stray thought like a promise, but it sank into the center of him like a vow. Some of the contention slid away, too. For tonight, he would set aside all his questions and the issues of right and wrong. Szarok listened to her breathing even out, the snorts and snuffles from the Gulgur huddled together across the fire.

  This, this is a good moment, a memory worth passing down.

  When Dreams Come True

  James Morrow had been watching the horizon for months.

  That longing stare had become part of his routine, in fact, and it didn’t matter how many teasing remarks it mustered. Every day, without fail, rain or shine, he had his breakfast and then went to the dock to stare out over the water. If he waited long enough, Tegan would return to Rosemere. He had good reasons for believing, because she had friends so close here that they might as well be called family. He didn’t waste more than five minutes this way, but each time, it felt like a promise in good faith.

  That morning his patience bore fruit as, instead of empty river, he glimpsed the blossoming white sails of a boatman heading for the Evergreen Isle. At the hour, it could only mean he’d spotted hopeful travelers on the shore. Nearby, a fisherman checked his net with careful eyes while sparing him a smile.

  “Think this is your lucky day, lad?”

  “Could be. If it is, buy me a drink.” Morrow flashed a smile, trying to hide the wistful ache square in his chest.

  If she loved you, she wouldn’t have gone.

  But love didn’t always grow at the same pace. For some, the feeling shot up like a determined vine after a hard rain; for others, it sprouted by increments so tiny, you wouldn’t notice at all until the minuscule green shoots finally broke through into the light. He hoped Tegan was the latter, and when she caught up, he’d be waiting. The graceful boat surged closer until it tapped up against the dock and its ow
ner leapt lightly onto the boards to tie it up.

  Eagerly, Morrow skimmed the passengers for Tegan’s face … and found it. She was sunburnt and weary, but her eyes held the same bright, beautiful gleam. She had always been beyond clever, seeking patterns, striving to understand the inexplicable. Her craving for knowledge matched his thirst for stories, so he’d always thought they would make perfect partners. More than once, he’d imagined continuing his quest to replenish Rosemere’s library, Tegan beside him, but she’d left to study in Winterville before he could ask.

  Now she’s back.

  “You couldn’t stay away,” he said, smiling.

  Her head came up, and she grinned. “Have you been waiting here all that time?”

  Wiley the fisherman decided to weigh in. “It’s powerful sad, miss. He doesn’t even go home. We have to bring him a bit of bread and fish now and then to keep him from dying. I think his feet have rooted to those planks.”

  “Wiley,” Morrow scolded.

  But in truth, he didn’t mind her thinking he had waited with such single-minded devotion. He’d never made any secret of his courtship, silly to complain now. But Tegan only laughed and accepted a hand from the boatman. Despite her slight limp, she was sure and graceful. A girl Morrow didn’t recognize came after her, and a cloaked figure who could only be Szarok. A chill ran through him as he considered what this visit portended.

  “You must be James Morrow.” The girl had a pretty face, brown skin, and thick black hair, tied back with a simple leather strap. Her eyes rounded as she peered up at him, and he almost took a step back at the delight that flared bright as a signal fire in her expression. “You are, you’re him.”

  “Er, yes,” he said.

  She seized his hand and shook it with great enthusiasm. “I’m Millie Faraday. I was born in Otterburn, but I moved to Winterville last fall.”