Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [172]
‘Bloodthirsty?’
‘As the stories go.’
‘The stories be wrong.’
‘I’m beginning to believe that now.’
He stepped closer, leaning in. She planted her hand on his chest, sending a wave of energy to his heart. ‘Dumarka? Now?’
‘Where are your birds?’
‘The Three Sisters? Nell’s got them, Temple Los Loma.’
‘They might have served better here.’ He looked skyward. ‘Scout?’
‘I’ll fly.’ She touched his cheek, giving him a light pat. ‘Don’t pout, Hotha. I won’t let you run into the Corsanon temple witches.’
‘Unless they’ve woven a glamour even you can’t see through.’
‘Unless that.’
His eyes softened and he leaned towards her face. She clapped her hands, dropping to one knee before launching skyward.
Bring the Lupins, Hotha, plenty of them. Corsanon must not set foot in Dumarka’s sacred woods.
Xane felt the clouds approaching. The wind got under his skin and he knew the storm was uncanny. He shivered. He really didn’t like the cold. He liked even less riding with the Corsanon temple priestesses. They were silent, using mental speech among themselves, or so he suspected. He couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear their horses either—the tall, perfectly matched palominos with their long flaxen manes and tails—not a snort or a stumble. They never put a foot wrong. He felt out of place and not just because he rode an unschooled grey mare that spooked and crow-hopped at every twig that snapped and every owl that hooted.
He felt claustrophobic. It wasn’t too many leagues into the tree cover before he couldn’t stand it any more—the constraint, the formality, the foreboding. He was desperate to get away and imagination seemed his only escape. He let his mind wander, a young dog without a leash.
Visions appeared, vivid and confronting. The one that entranced him the most was the wolf, the Lupin, if that’s really what it was. He felt like he knew more than his mind could remember. Could that man sitting with the lovely witch in the carriage have really been Lupin? His face was striking enough—legend had it they were beautiful, in either form. Beautiful, and dangerous as demon’s fire. The witch was striking as well, and the temple cat. He sighed. Maybe they all were Lupins!
While he speculated, the creatures in the depths of his mind began to climb. They did so quietly, innocuously. If they could only reach the surface, come to light. If only…Xane shuddered, catching their approach and slamming the hatch door of his awareness, knocking them back down into the pit. How long would he have to battle this? Would he ever feel himself again?
What’s wrong with the lad?
It was the voice of a temple priestess. He heard it in his head and resisted the urge to yelp his surprise.
Hemlock. Another spoke. He was shot in the skirmish.
Skirmish? You call what happened on the Corsanon Fields a skirmish? We lost half a legion.
There was a sudden pause.
Shield. Someone’s listening.
Who?
Quiet. Shield.
Xane pinched the bridge of his nose. He was hearing voices in his head again. Were they imagined or real? They were women’s voices. One he clearly recognised as the Corsanon High Priestess who rode several horse lengths ahead of him. He wrinkled his nose. Had he really caught part of their conversation? If so, it confirmed it. They thought the hemlock had sent him mad as well. Perhaps he would die from it, after all.
He rode on, staying mindful. He didn’t want to miss a chance to hear more, and he didn’t want his daydreams to give those inner creatures the opportunity to rise. A wind rippled under his skin and he sat up, the mare leaping over a tangle of vines as if she’d seen a snake. He steadied her, focusing again into the distance. ‘Too cold for snakes, Rose. Take it easy.’
But it wasn’t too cold for Lupins. Dozens of them. Wolves, anyway, up ahead. He was certain of that. They ran, powerful legs churning, heading northwest, the same direction as he and the witches were going. Could they be called to Temple Dumarka? In its defence? He’d not imagined Lupins would align with any temple. They kept to themselves, or so the stories told.