Fall

Kane

Donovan was rigid in fury. They were all a garden of statues before the limp fera on the desk.

Kane wondered what the fera had been like, before resorting to killing. It had surely been innocent once, at the beginning of its life. Bats were not known to be naturally hostile. But you could never truly know their thoughts until you bonded. Perhaps it had always harbored a dark side, honed to a sharp tip like the claws on its feet.

Donovan dangled the pair of claw extensions like a charm. “Is this the first?”

The first attack. Kane nodded. “I believe so.”

“There have been no reports otherwise,” the guard next to Kane concurred.

“I’m glad the assassin was taken down before it could become a true threat.” Donovan rubbed the pale beak of his fera. Briar closed her eyes. “This cannot happen again. Archers will be needed more now than ever. Along the perimeter, in the camp. Spread the word.”

When only Kane’s guard was left, Donovan frowned. “Are you sure this was the only one?”

“The only one that attacked us,” Kane said.

But there could be other fera, Flint pondered. Kane repeated his words.

Donovan sighed. “Well, I knew they were going to throw something at us. Wasn’t quite expecting this,” he pushed the bat to the side, ruffling its velvet wings. “But it’s almost too late. We’ll be at the East in less than two days.”

Kane nodded. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Keep the troops encouraged, and don’t get yourself killed. Asher would wring my neck if we lost you now.” Donovan grinned. “But something tells me your deer will make your death a hard feat.”

Flint tossed his head, nearly ripping the tent. You are correct.

Piper

Piper pounded on the cellar door. “Finch!”

She flinched as Reine slammed herself against the wood. The leopard growled. It must be barred.

No… She pressed her hand to the barrier. “Finch!”

There was no reply.

Reine clawed at the door, splinters raining down on them. He could be dead by now.

Do you always assume the worst?

I’m a pragmatic. Even in the darkness, Piper could see the glint of Reine’s snarl. You’re welcome.

Piper put a hand on Reine’s head. Do you hear that?

Her fera stopped, and pressed her ears forward. This immediately sharpened Piper’s depth of the noises coming from the other side.

Shuffling vines. Grunts. A swear. Was it Finch?

“Life!” the voice spat. “Can’t you understand me? Or are you deaf?”

No, this voice was deeper than Finch’s. When she listened closer, she realized the Elben uttered was laced with a clipped accent. Where Elben was as harsh as gravel, this accent was the grass growing between. Seinish. She had never heard it mixed with Elben before.

“Are you deaf, Northerner?” the voice repeated.

It struck Piper that he may be speaking to her, but before she could answer, Finch could be heard just above them. She was surprised when he used his true language. “I’m not deaf.”

“Good. Then listen closely. Tell us how you got here, and I won’t turn you in to Seine.”

Piper’s breath caught. If they met Queen Celia, they may never return to the North.

Finch knew the weight of the threat. “We came from the main waterway, and saw the vitrum.”

“And you just followed it here?” the voice said. A rumbling growl came with it. What kind of fera was that?

We may have found our tiger, Reine said.

Piper squinted through the wood. There were pinprick holes of rot. Or he found us.

“You must be miracle trackers.” The voice didn’t sound convinced. “Who sent you?”

“We came of our own accord.” Finch was not giving ground easily.

“Tourists and miracle trackers. An appetizing coincidence.” Something heavy creaked on the far corner of the door. A step, a paw.

He was going to set the tiger on Finch. Piper and Reine threw their force against the door. “Let us out!”

“You have something bigger down there, something more powerful than your little fera bird. We saw it.” A firm stomp came from above. “So you’re going to stay down there, okay?”

“Afraid to fight fair?” Piper called. Inside, she wondered how a tiger could be intimidated by a smaller leopard, but perhaps they hadn’t seen her fully.

“Just waiting for backup,” the voice said. “Then we’ll talk about your chances of seeing the sun.”

Another voice floated from a distance. “What’s this?”

“Northern tourists,” their captor said. Piper started to pick out subtleties in his voice. How he hesitated on longer Elben words, and paused after each sentence despite his irritation.

When she had lived in Biscay, she had heard Seinish often on the docks, although had never gained a firm grasp. It wasn’t twisted in delicate loops like Kinnish, or churned smooth like Chestic. Seinish required caution, because one syllable could mean a thousand depending on its pairing, and sounded choppy in comparison to the other languages.

The rest of the exchange between the newcomer and their captor was lost as they reverted to Seinish. Piper strained to translate, but couldn’t figure anything out at their pace. Maybe Finch had an advantage with his Eastern fera, or perhaps Chip had been hatched in Elbe and was just as clueless as them.

They ended abruptly. In that moment, the silence was loud.

Reine sensed anger rolling just on the surface. They disagree.

It could have been five minutes or five hours before a splashing was heard. Whoever was coming was making their way from the bank Piper and Finch had crossed.

“Oh, hello. About time you showed up, huh bird boy?” Tennyson chuckled. Taft gave the equivalent of a laugh with a rough purr. He switched to Seinish, said something quickly to the others, then went back to Kinnish.

“We have a lot to talk about, you and I.”