Lara clenched her jaw, forcing the words away. She reminded herself then that she wasn’t helpless. She’d learned how to wield a dagger and defend herself, hadn’t she? She’d learn survival skills too. And no matter what happened on the road ahead, she’d hold fast. Even so, the spirit wind’s cruelty got to her. She felt bruised this evening. Tender.
Digging into a pouch she carried at her waist, she pulled out one of the rosewood figurines her brother had carved for her. The Hag. A bent crone, leaning upon a stick. Her thumb smoothed the artfully carved lines as she murmured a prayer to the Goddess of the Dark. The Hag presided over sleep, dreams,death, winter, and the earth. They were entering her time of year, and Lara needed her grace.
The rich smells of gamey meat drifted over their camp, making Lara’s empty belly rumble.
“Settle, my lovely.” Mor’s voice drew Lara’s attention then. “I mean you no harm.”
She had to hand it to the Shee queen. Mor was diligent. Every evening, she attempted to gentle Dorka. Longing gleamed in her eyes now as she whispered to the feline. But she wouldn’t be tamed.
Ears back, hackles raised, Dorka hissed viciously. And then, as Mor edged closer, the clag-doo swiped at her. She was pushing things. Her voice was more strident than usual, even as The Gaulas continued to wrap itself around them.
Heaviness pressed down upon them—a thousand frantic voices crying in the wind.
The sky had gone the color of deep rose now. It was no longer as cold as it had been before this eerie wind began, although Lara found herself wishing for the bite of The Sharp Billed Wind or the bracing slap of The Sweeper.
Dorka yowled, lashing out once more. A ripping sound followed as its claws caught Mor’s sleeve. She reeled back, and with an outraged caw, Eagal took wing. Mor’s song cut off before she snarled something in her own tongue—Lara didn’t need any translation to understand she’d just cursed.
“You’re wasting your time. Clag-doos won’t respond to Shee songs.” Alar appeared by the fireside. Like everyone else, his face bore lines of fatigue this evening. His shoulders bowed slightly under the weight of The Gaulas. He’d been out collecting wood and just dumped an armful on the pile already gathered. They were traveling through largely open countrynow, although whin, broom, and other shrubby bushes were still plentiful.
Mor cast him a glare. However, embarrassment edged her irritation. “Know better, do you?”
His lips quirked into a wry smile. “I’ve spent most of my life sleeping rough in the forests of the North,” he replied. “The wulvers have had a few brushes with clag-doo over the years. They have ways of dealing with them.”
Mor sighed, her chin dipping. Steeling herself against The Gaulas while trying to tame Dorka was taking its toll. She then glanced over at where the clag-doo now strained at her chain, teeth bared. “Go on.”
“The clag-doo once resided in Sheehallion but were cast out. They no longer respond to Shee magic. If anything, your song is incensing her further.”
Mor’s features tightened, and she cast Dorka an almost apologetic look. “What do they respond to then?”
“I’ve never been foolish enough to try and tame one … but if I were, I’d try earth magic.”
Mor’s face screwed up. “Earthmagic?”
“Aye … it’s rawer. Primal. You’d likely have more luck.”
Silence fell as The Gaulas continued to batter them, the fire crackled and guttered, and the skin of the roasting hares and grouse blistered.
Mor then turned, her gaze spearing the young woman clad in flowing blue robes who knelt by the fire. “Maybe a bard’s song will help.”
Ren frowned. “It might … but I’m busy.” Indeed, the bard was readying herself for an exhausting long night. Once supper was over, she’d hold vigil over their camp.
“Not right now, you aren’t.” Mor beckoned to Ren. “Come here.”
It wasn’t a request but a command. The bard scowled. Lara didn’t blame her. Ren wasn’t a dog to be ordered around. The Gaulas rose to a howl then, as if tasting the tension around the fireside. Mor’s Ravens had all stilled, anticipating trouble, as had Cailean, Bree, and Roth.
“You’re used to others doing your bidding, but Ren doesn’t answer to you,” Lara said finally. Shades, she didn’t have the patience for this. Not tonight. The chatter of the spirit wind made her head ache, and she was so tired, her skull felt as if it were stuffed with wool.
A muscle flexed in Mor’s jaw. Lara was aware then that Alar was watching her, his gaze penetrating. She ignored him.
Moments passed before Mor huffed an irritated sigh. Her gaze then sought Ren’s once more. “The Gaulas will plague us for a while yet, I fear,” she said eventually. “You can’t shield us from it every night. You’re just one woman. It’ll break you in the end. Let me deal with the wind tonight, and in return, you help me tame Dorka.”
Ren frowned. “How will youdealwith The Gaulas?”
Mor’s lips tugged up at the corners, and she cast her cousin a knowing look. Vyr grimaced. “The ruling bloodline of my people is gifted in magical song too. But our power is different from yours. It’s why I’ll be able to weave moonlight when we reach The Shattered Crown. Together, Vyrnek and I can take turns in coaxing starlight into a net of sorts, one that will keep the worst of the wind at bay.”
Ren didn’t look convinced. However, the dark smudges under her eyes revealed just how tired she was. She’d held vigil often over the past nights and would be desperate for a night ofunbroken sleep. Rising to her feet, she dusted off her robes. “All right then,” she muttered. “I have no idea if I can help … but I will try.”
Mor inclined her head in thanks and stepped aside to allow the bard to approach the clag-doo.
