1
In the dimming sunset, which was faded as an old photograph in a once colorful world, Wren looked down at her clothes, examining herself. She had adopted a rather uncommon look which differed significantly from the ribbons and petticoats she had worn in her younger years, but if she were to judge herself against her current company, she fit in perfectly well. Her garments now were not something her mother would have dressed her in, but that was a life that she had not known in a long time, and former standards of class and modesty mattered no longer.
She was nearing twenty, unmarried and in a wild world. This was not London.
Her pale nightgown—a relic from the asylum—had been well-worn, but was not completely lost. She had replaced part of the skirt with a stretch of fur. She wore it beneath a Tikilin construction that had been made just for her, shaped like her own ribcage, which wrapped at her waist and let her skirt flare out below it. She'd been given a pair of boots which were much better protection for her feet than the thin slippers she'd worn previously—much better for trudging across uncertain landscapes. Sometimes she was amazed at how she had adapted, but for how long she had been in Nevermor, it seemed more natural than anything.
How long has it been since then? She often wondered. She hardly remembered her misfortunes in the Other World, and even her first meeting with Rifter seemed so long ago. Perhaps that was Nevermor's curse working in her as it had done with the others, gradually leeching away at her memories.
Her current companions—Sly, Finn, Toss, Mach, and the painted huntress, Calico—like her, were wanderers. Not one of them had a home or a place to belong, except with one another. They had only their wits and their weapons, the clothes on their backs. They had clung to each other out of necessity, needing a reason to survive and a company to belong to, for even though things were different now, they were still family. Wren had gone through so much to bring them back together, and though life was trying, she did not regret choosing them a second time. They were the only ones she had left.
Wren had never quite considered herself to be a member of the Wolf Pack, even though she had taken the Vow at the Beginning as well, but she was one of them nonetheless. In truth, the Pack as it had been was abolished, leaving only the few who remained, and Rifter had nothing to do with their union at all. Even so, Wren and her companions were a group unto themselves, shunned by others despite their deeds, disliked for their previous connection to the Rifter.
The group of them had decided that if they were to represent themselves as a tribe unto their own, they ought to mark themselves with identifying symbols. They had adopted a portion of the protective runes Rifter had worn on his arms to ward off the demon. Wren painted hers on her shoulder and down her arm with ash, wearing it until it faded before she would put it back again. Every time she traced those lines, she thought about Rifter.
In their travels, the Pack always kept their camp as simple as they could, for they rarely stayed in the same place for more than a day or two. Each one of them carried his own bedroll which they would position around a central fire once they settled. At times, they would put together makeshift workstations, and at others they had to work out more complicated shelters when the weather was harsh.
How cold must the world get before even the fire and Tikilin won't be able to warm us? Wren wondered.
It was not quite cold as winter, but there was a chill in the air. She sat by the fire as the others continued with their usual nightly rituals of tending to their weapons and belongings, taking stock of what was left. Wren was silent, but was suddenly persuaded to act as they did, drawing out a lengthy dagger from the sheath around her waist. The demon had given it to her, but she had not thrown it away. She had been told that the dagger had once belonged to Rifter and had deemed it worth keeping, but her evaluation of it was pointless. It had not been dirtied since she'd come by it. But there was one thing she knew in her heart that was different from her former outlook: she would use it if she had to.
Rustling in the brush drew the group's attention from their work, always anxious whether or not they would be stalked by a nightmare or hostile persons unknown, but when a familiar dark-skinned huntress emerged, they were all able to relax. Unlike the rest of them, she was a native of this world, but through circumstances, she had become one of them. Calico had separated from her own people and chosen to join with the Wolf Pack in their restoration effort. Though she seemed to truly care for the world and was also Sly's partner, Wren had never been sure how she felt about Calico's presence. They had never quite become friends, though they were the only females of the group. There was a world of difference between them.
The Tribal huntress emerged from the trees with a bundle across her shoulder and a bow in her hand. She had been gone since early morning, hunting and scouting out the local area to keep up with the placement of the land, the movements of the people, and to note the frequency of Nevermor's change if the world was different when they passed through here again.
Dressed in hide and feathers in the scanty manner of her native people, Calico did not say a word as she approached them at the fire. She did not seem to have found trouble during her outing, at least by the look of her. She was no dirtier than usual, though the paint on her body was smeared and cracked, but she was certainly not injured. Likewise, it was not difficult to notice the spill of prey dangling from a rope around her neck, hanging down both sides of her torso.
"Rabbits," Finn commented when she approached. He spoke toward Calico but also clearly to Mach, who was standing beside him. One could tell Finn was not so impressed with the offering. "That's what you've brought us again, is it?"
Perhaps he was joking, or perhaps not, but Calico had never been one to take an insult or a joke either one. She was often quiet, but if there was something on her mind, she did not hesitate to use the English words Sly had taught her to express herself freely.
"If you want something else, you're free to make your own attempt," she sneered, to which they backtracked swiftly.
"Oh no, you're much better at it than we are," Mach said.
"And you look so much more attractive carrying dead things," Finn fumbled. Wren, who was sitting aside at the fire, actually found herself wanting to laugh at that, but she managed to hold it in.
With a curl of her lip, Calico thrust the string of rabbits into Finn's chest.
"Doesn't look so bad on you," she commented. "Good luck."
"That didn't come out right..." He tried to protest, but Calico was already walking away toward Sly, and Finn was forgotten. He looked to Mach for assistance, but the former twin threw up his hands and would offer nothing. Wren, however, took pity on him. Preparing the meals was really the only thing she was much good at in times like this.
She approached Finn, shaking her head and biting back a smile as she took the string of small prey off his shoulder. He smiled back at her with some degree of embarrassment.
"I seem to be a little rusty," Finn said of his attempt to charm the Tribal maiden.
"Seems so," Wren replied.
"I somehow never fail to make you feel sorry for me, though," he said lightly, then motioned toward the meat—which was all it was now, and Wren had to think of it that way. "Are you sure you want to do that?"
"You'll be more help with another job," she assured him, and she knew she was right. He was still inspecting the dead crystals, trying to get a spark of life in them with a bit of Tikilin, or else find some other way they might be useful.
"You always do spoil me," he teased. "I must be your favorite."
"Don't let it go to your head," Wren returned with a smirk.
"Twice rejected," Mach said laughingly, but when he caught Wren's gaze, he looked away.
"Terrible," Finn declared, but his charming mouth was unrelenting. He gave her a toothy grin which showed his fang on one side. Wren shook her head again, turning to tend to this task she had chosen, but she still had a smile on her mouth. Somehow, despite everything, Finn could always bring a degree of charisma and silliness that made things feel so perfectly normal.
As if everything is right with us.
Wren set to work preparing the meat as the others tended to their own projects—Calico was restringing her bow while Sly set out the herbs she'd gathered; Mach and Toss retreated to fetch firewood. All was quiet for a time, each engrossed in their tasks. Wren cooked over the fire in silence, and once it was time to eat, they all came out of their personal fogs and drifted back together again.
They sat beneath the waning moon, so close and yet so far apart, and began to eat. As if they could do nothing else while staring each other in the face around the circle, they began to talk as if they were not former strangers.
But not quite like old friends, Wren observed.
"So what did you find out, Calico?" Finn piped up. "Anything of note out there?"
"I suspect there is another tribe of people nearby," she informed them. "I saw fresh signs of hunting, but I did not locate their position, so they must not be terribly close. I must guess they are few in number, and if they came scouting us, they retreated. They're not a threat currently."
Wren was glad to hear that, and knew she was not the only one. They had to be careful of who found them out, for there were still some who did not take kindly to Rifter's Wolf Pack. They would have been glad to remove every trace of the Rifter from Nevermor and start anew, but the way the world was headed, Wren was not so sure that such a thing was possible, and she believed that the others agreed with her on that. But even as much as they had to discuss about their movements and the state of things, the Pack tried to avoid talking about the Rifter at all. Wren had often wondered if their avoidance of the subject was for her sake, or simply to spare their own feelings. Even after they had followed Rifter into battle with the demon, some among their number did not quite miss him like she did.
"Then I suppose we can move on to the current matters that need discussing," Sly spoke up. "We need to decide what our next step will be since yesterday's attempt at healing the ground did not take."
Calico looked up at that, the only one among them who was not aware of this. "It didn't take?"
"The field Wren healed yesterday is dying already," Sly explained, speaking toward her from his bandaged face. "And dead crystals were unearthed."
Calico seemed to lose her appetite at that. She turned her painted, sun-reddened face instinctively toward Wren—accusingly—and Wren knew what the Tribal huntress was thinking. If she opened her mouth, it would be a repeat of what Mach had said earlier about needing Rifter here. To her luck, however, Calico kept quiet, only seemed disgusted.
"So it comes down to this," Sly dictated. "Do we stay here and hope for better luck with a second try, or do we continue along our trek, hoping for better results elsewhere?"
"No sense wasting energy on something we can't change," Mach muttered, picking at the meat he'd been given. He was in a foul mood over the way Wren had snapped at him earlier, but she saw no need to apologize for it—not at this moment.
"But can we just let it go?" Toss asked. "Put it from our minds? What if this area spreads and begins to kill what Wren has already accomplished farther out?"
"Wren's mere presence here for a number of days might do some good," Sly said. "The land used to thrive when I was near, without any greater effort on my part. If that could happen when the darkness was still present, surely there will be some way to fix this."
Finn, who had been silent, looked up. "Staying in one place for a while might give us an opportunity to replenish our supplies. We could dry some meat, make some new armor. Toss could build a forge and work on some of our weapons. There's no problem with taking a bit of time."
Wren did not speak up at that, but she secretly wondered if there truly was something wrong with taking time. Once, by taking the Vow of the Never-Ones with Rifter, the boys had been promised a state of immortality, of being but never changing. With the introduction of the darkness—or perhaps their separation from Rifter—they had begun to age during the four years that Wren had been absent from Nevermor. It was uncertain whether they were still aging, and she wondered if they might not know it for a year or two, but not so long ago, Mach had been complaining of a toothache, and that had given Wren a chill.
They did not decay before. Perhaps we do not have the time that we think.
Wren did not need immortality. She'd never been able to see too far into her own future to predict it or even anticipate what it might give her. Even if they were to continue to grow older, they might have many years to see to their task, though Wren had not imagined the rest of her life to be that of a nomad. She wanted to settle, have a house, have children...
"To come down to it then," Sly started. His voice interrupted her thoughts. "Does anyone object to making this spot a semi-permanent camp?"
Perhaps it would be a good idea to stay a while, replenish their supplies and decide what was wrong with the field, but Wren did not have the patience for this. In fact, the very idea of being confined to one place made her feel restless and agitated. She could not allow herself this. Days without activity would only reduce her further.
"I object," she burst, suddenly full of zeal for the thoughts she'd been having. "We need to keep going."
The rest observed her for her outburst, but were perhaps so shocked that they had nothing to say to it.
"Perhaps we have no time to waste," she went on. "We need to keep going forward with our effort like we planned. We need to keep looking for the lagoon."
The lagoon—that had been their aim, and she could not allow them to forget. Wren had been there herself once. Rifter had taken her to the glistening pool, and aside from the near-naked mermaids that had made her so jealous, Wren had witnessed the wonder of what led them to seek it now: the new dreams.
Along with the nightmares that came to Nevermor over the sea, there were also new dreams to be born, and they had incubated in the lagoon until Rifter would view them and either reject them or let them stay. To hunt for it now was only natural since the corruption had retreated. The island, however, had changed since then, and when the lagoon was not where it had once been—not where they had first looked—the Pack had begun to move along the coast with hopes of stumbling upon it, healing portions of land as they went.
But as Wren observed the faces of her companions across the fire, she did not see the same resolve that she possessed inside herself. Perhaps it was their doubt in her that was holding them back—as if finding the lagoon would be useless now that she could not even keep a field alive.
"You know," Toss started gently, locking her eyes, "there really is nothing wrong with a bit of rest—"
"No," she said firmly, and she caught the note of frustration in her own voice. It was anger which was driving her, a fist within her chest, but Wren was resolved to the task. She could not take a few days, or even one more. She had to keep herself going forward one step at a time or else she might lose purpose—lose hope completely.
"We have to stay focused," she said, but mostly for her own benefit.
Her companions were quiet, perhaps pitying her, but she refused to look at their faces anymore. Eventually, however, they began to relent.
"Very well then," Sly agreed finally. "We'll set out again in the morning."
2
After the meal was done, Wren had excused herself to the nearby creek to wash up. The others were already making plans for which direction they would aim for when the sun rose. Wren wondered if she was wrong for feeling indifferent toward it. Everything felt temporary until Rifter was back.
For now, she felt better just to be clean.
Wren moved slowly back to camp, dragging her feet through the leaves as they carried her along, but she found herself pausing. The wind was whispering through the trees, making her aware of her isolation. She was completely alone—or perhaps she was not. Perhaps there was someone creeping through the bushes, preparing to sneak up behind and overtake her—
In a swift motion, Wren pulled the dagger from her waist, swiping as she whirled, pointing the blade away from her. There was no one behind her, but of course she had known that. It was only a practice illusion she'd let herself believe for a moment.
The dagger was lightweight and balanced, sharp on both sides and honed to a fine point. Wren was able to hold it steady. Her wrist was stronger than it had been once, more assured, and she was not afraid of needing to use it. She had finally accepted the responsibility of protecting herself against danger, though it had taken a long time. She did not actively participate in battle just for the sake of violence, but she understood the importance of defending herself when it became necessary.
Holding the blade out in front of her, she looked down the length of the metal, keeping watch on her hand to be sure it was balanced. Feeling content that her previous anxieties had not shaken her, she tried out a few slices and stab motions, cutting nothing but the air. She tried not to watch the shining blade sweep past, instead imagining that there was a target before her—a man perhaps; a pirate. He was coming for her, but was vulnerable now, drawing his gun. She could take him down. Wren made her motions again.
Across the arm, then the neck, along the groin, in the heart...
She preferred to practice where the others could not see her, though she had spent quite a bit of time among them when she had first expressed her desire to learn. They had shown her what they knew, focusing on basic maneuvers, but all of them agreed that none could have been a better teacher than—
No.
Wren refused to have that thought, repeating her movements, trying to move more quickly. She turned, striking again—
"Whoa there!" Mach said, jumping out of reach, and Wren drew back immediately. He'd been apt enough to dodge her swipe, but her face flushed, embarrassed that he'd come upon her at all.
"Sorry," he said, recognizing it. "I've just come to check on you. You've been gone for a bit."
There were times when Wren felt a great degree of pity and sorrow in Mach's direction, and though he was often moody, she always found that she could forgive him when she considered his situation. Looking at him now—at the red mark on his face—Wren tried to stay her thoughts as well as her breath. Mach had made it clear a long time ago that he did not want sympathy.
"I'm alright," she said finally. "I was just..."
Her voice trailed off awkwardly, but Mach did not waste time with that.
"Actually, I wanted to say I'm sorry for earlier. Seems that I always have to do that... But I didn't mean to upset you, bringing up Rifter like that."
His comments about their need to find Rifter had been harsh, but they were also true. Perhaps she shouldn't have gotten so angry, but his words had struck her the wrong way at the time.
"It's alright," Wren told him. It wasn't Mach's fault and she didn't hold it against him. In truth, he'd been right. The world did need for Rifter to come back.
"I'm just really good at being an ass," he said with a nervous laugh. "But I guess you know that by now."
She didn't hold it against him. He had taken a blow that the others could not fathom, watching his twin brother die. She also knew what it was like to lose a brother.
It still hurts.
She shook her head, refusing to make a reply. Wren looked down and her eyes fell on the dagger in her hand, examining the way the moonlight cast off it.
"Right," Mach said, acknowledging that he'd said his piece and that the conversation would not go further. "So I noticed you're practicing. While I'm here, would you like a partner? I'm not so good with a blade, of course. Projectiles are more my thing, but I can handle myself."
Wren looked up at him, taking the offer to be a genuine effort to help, and if she said no, she might hurt his feelings.
"Sure," she sighed finally. "It might be nice to focus on something other than air."
Mach smiled and nodded, accepting this as her forgiveness and drew a blade from his boot. He held the knife in his left hand, and she paid attention to that. Part of what she had been taught was that she must estimate what her opponent would do with a weapon—which spanned a great deal of knowledge for different sorts. She was not so sure she could thwart a more powerful man with a sword, but she knew enough about her own knife to match up with another wielder.
They sized each other up for several moments, assuming a defensive stance. Mach's lightly glowing eyes—Tikilin eyes—studied her. He'd been exposed to the substance long enough that he was becoming affected. Wren wondered when her time would come.
"Are you going to make a move or not?" he teased her.
"You first," she returned, straight-faced.
Mach chuckled a bit. "You're so serious," he started, and then he took a swipe. It was halfhearted, in case she had not been prepared, but she managed to get beyond it. Mach looked impressed.
"Not bad," he commented. "Alright. For real this time."
He struck at her again, and as long as Wren did not think about her actions in too much detail, she could avoid being awkward. Mach was very quick, and she had narrowly avoided him touching the guards on the insides of her arms. He noticed.
"You sure you've got this?" he asked, taking a step back. "I don't want to wind up hurting you. Maybe we should—"
"No," Wren found herself saying. She didn't want special treatment—was tired of it. They always handled her with kid gloves, and while that might have been well enough for her in the past, she would never be good for anything if she allowed herself to continue on like this. She needed to learn the hard way.
If I am to be cut, I will be cut.
"Again," she insisted, never letting her guard down, holding the knife properly to defend.
"Are you sure?" Mach asked, but he was still in his stance as well.
"Yes, again!"
Before she had given him time to prepare, she lashed out, seeing a good opening of weakness near his arm. She ran her knife along the leather guard, and he humored her by swapping hands, looking pleased with her tactic.
As they fought briskly and Wren's heart began to pump inside her, she felt a flare of heat swell within, and a strange new rage came over her. She was suddenly very angry; not at Mach, but at another who was not here to take any blows she might have thought of delivering to him.
He was tall and blond, always staring down at her with a condescending expression. He said—
"I never wanted you here, you know. You ruined everything. Things would have been better if you'd never come to this place."
She couldn't consider that Rifter would never have said those words to her. There had not been an indication that he'd felt that way, but her own feelings had manifested in the form of the one she loved most. He had deserted her. She could not even think of how he had saved her—sacrificed for them all.
Why did you do this to me!
Wren was furious, striking without ceasing, and her opponent was growing nervous.
"Hey!" Mach shouted, but she did not heed him—could not somehow.
Stop me. I can't stop myself.
She was wild with fury, her skin hot with the rush, and she could not stay her hand. Mach finally managed to grab her arm and shake the knife free of it, trying to restrain her, but Wren had enough momentum that she was able to push him away and step back. She was unwilling to be held down, but she understood what she had done. She had gotten too emotional—had tried too seriously to hurt him.
When she dared to look up, breathing hard, she saw how Mach was looking at her—Mach and not Rifter, as she had perceived him to be for that brief moment. Awakened, she was immediately ashamed of her behavior.
"I... I'm sorry," she sputtered.
"It's fine. I'm not hurt," Mach said, but this forgiveness did not change the way he looked at her, brows knitted and mouth slightly agape.
"Don't look at me like that," she insisted, lowering her gaze to the ground where her dagger had fallen.
"I have to," he said, very serious—enough that it drew her eyes to his. "I'm concerned about you. We all are. You've been different."
Her heart might have been touched by that sentiment if she'd allowed it, but for now it felt hard and cold as stone.
"I'm alright," she managed to say, but she'd hesitated. She knew that he noticed, but he didn't say anything else. Instead, Mach knelt down and picked up her blade, handing it back to her in his open palm with the hilt facing her. She took the dagger carefully, putting it away but taking her time, because the longer she spent looking at the knife, she could avoid looking back at him.
She had gotten carried away, but she hadn't meant her actions—not toward Mach—but Wren had to admit, though not openly, that she was very angry with Rifter for what he had done to her. It had only taken a while for the truth to sink in. The way he'd lied, the way he'd hidden himself away and rejected the responsibility of the world that he'd created. Or perhaps this anger was only a stage of her grief. She had missed him, and had been sick over it, but now...
Now I'm near to hating him.
Was that true? No, she did not hate Rifter; of course she did not. She loved him too much to hate him.
I just want him back.
Wren stood there, feeling the wind roll over her. There was a definite chill in the air, but it was not only that. She looked up finally, and for once Mach knew better than to say anything. He gave her a nod of understanding and turned himself to go.
Only because he was not looking at her, she was able to follow behind him, back to the camp.
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Author's Note: Hope you're enjoying the story. Sorry for the late update. Two more days until Shadow Sun is released! You can preorder now on Amazon, with the hard copy to follow on November 3rd 2015!