Jo padded along, her large, furry paws gliding effortlessly atop the snow. She hadn’t found a meal all morning and was beginning to get as discouraged as she was hungry. Winter was always difficult; many of the animals hibernated for weeks on end and the ones who stayed active would only come out for brief periods to forage. If she didn’t catch them during that time, she would have to go without.
The sun was positioned high in the sky when Jo finally caught a whiff of something enticing. She paused and sniffed the ground. The snow had been dug away to expose the frozen foliage underneath, the twigs stripped bare of their bark. Mountain deer, down in the lowlands in search of food—and they had passed through recently. Feeling the faintest hope teasing her rumbling belly, Jo continued onward.
A branch snapped, piercing the silence, then another and another. Jo raised her head, ears swiveled forward. A herd of deer burst out from the bushes, eyes bulging and sides heaving, too panicked to realize they were running towards a sabercat. Jo froze, stunned, as they tore by, her hunger momentarily forgotten. She had lived in the Goldenwoods for years and had never seen deer behave that way before. Ears alert and nose twitching, she waited for whatever was pursuing the deer to emerge and face her. Yet nothing came forth and Jo was left alone in the muted tranquility of the snow-covered forest.
Following the path of destruction that the deer had left in their wake, Jo picked up an unfamiliar scent wrapped within the lingering aroma left behind by the frightened animals. Her ears stood at attention, her every footfall was slow and deliberate. Slinking through the undergrowth, she soon came upon a small glade. A peculiar layer of thick ice, rippling from a central point, carpeted the ground and unnaturally large icicles weighed down the branches above. Amidst this odd crystalline cocoon lay a small, lifeless shape.
Jo thought it was a human child at first, clad in strange clothes that looked more appropriate for summer than winter. Puzzled, she waited and watched. But when the child didn’t move, she approached for a closer look. That was when Jo realized that she hadn’t found a human at all. In fact, she had never seen a person like this child before.
She looked very much like a thin, human girl but with long, white hair, which was a most unusual color for a young human to have. She was laying on her stomach, her head to one side, her eyes closed and jaw slack. Four twisted horns protruded from her head and she had a lizard-like tail covered in white scales and fins. For a moment, Jo thought she was partially buried in snow but soon discovered that the “snow” was actually a smattering of tiny white scales across her cream-colored skin.
Jo investigated the surrounding area for signs of anyone else, possibly the girl’s parents, but there was only one set of footprints left in the snow. The prints themselves were long and irregular as if the child had been struggling to drag herself forward when she finally collapsed.
Jo circled back and examined the girl once more. She was alive but wouldn’t be much longer without help. Out of options and unwilling to leave her to die, Jo positioned the girl across her back and made a long and careful journey home.
*
*
One evening several days later, she stirred for the first time.
“You’re finally awake, huh?” Jo said. She had no way of knowing if the girl could understand Imperial Common but since the Goldenwoods technically lay within the borders of the Aurean Empire, she figured it was a good place to start. She adjusted the warm furs cloaking her shoulders and gave a pot of simmering stew a hearty stir. “You were out for a few days there. I’d recommend some hot food.”
Jo spooned some of the stew into a wooden bowl and stood to deliver the meal, but was taken aback by violent thrashing as the girl struggled to throw off the pelts. “Hey! Keep those on! You’ll freeze!” she scolded, reaching out a hand in concern. To her shock, the girl growled and bared her teeth like an animal. Her deep blue eyes flashed dangerously, the pupils long, narrow slits. They were unlike any eyes Jo had ever seen.
Jo withdrew her hand and stepped away, conscious that the girl was watching her every move, scanning for threats. She was more than twice the girl’s size but she was hoping that they could come to a peaceful understanding. She didn’t want to have to resort to force and frighten her even more than she clearly already was.
The girl’s wary gaze slipped past Jo, settling on the campfire churning pleasantly behind her. She let out a sudden shriek and began flailing, still trapped in the interlocking web of blankets that Jo had swaddled her in. Afraid that she was going to injure herself if she continued, Jo knelt down beside her, wondering how she was going to free the girl without getting attacked in the process.
“Settle down, I won’t hurt you,” Jo said gently. “What’s wrong?” She slowly moved a hand towards a corner of one of the blankets, tugging lightly to loosen it from the bunch.
Reacting to the movement, the girl lashed out again, this time breaking free from her imprisonment. But in her weakened, half-starved state, the girl couldn’t keep up her panic for long and collapsed. Jo instinctively reached out to touch her, to bring some comfort, but thought better of it and instead rested her arm on a knee, curling her fingers into a fist. This girl must have been through something terrible.
“Look, I won’t hurt you,” she repeated softly. The girl stared at her, sides heaving. Jo had seen the exact same expression before in a cornered rabbit—a creature terrified that each passing moment would be its last. “It’s alright, you don’t need to be afraid,” she coaxed, hoping that the girl would understand her intentions through her tone if not her words.
Once the girl relaxed a little, Jo brought the bowl of food around to show her. The girl saw it and paused, smacking her lips like a hungry dog. Jo slowly set the bowl down on the ground and backed up carefully. Only once Jo had retreated to the other side of the camp did the girl sniff at the food. She went to touch it and instantly recoiled her hand, shooting Jo a betrayed glare.
“It’ll warm you up,” Jo said as she spooned out her own portion. “Go on, eat it before it’s cold.” But despite her encouragement and all her best efforts, the girl did not eat. When Jo finished her meal, the girl hadn’t even tasted hers.
Jo sighed and bent down to retrieve the untouched food but was stopped by a throaty growl. The girl lunged forward and grabbed the bowl away. After sampling it, she started wolfing it down voraciously. Steam had long since ceased to rise from the bowl, and the stew was probably cold and unpleasant by then, but the girl either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Jo didn’t understand what was happening but was grateful that the girl was eating all the same. She reached into her breast pocket and touched a small, crudely-carved figurine of a cat, offering a silent prayer to thank Melcuni for protecting the girl’s life.
*
*
A few days passed after the girl had awoken and they had fallen into a sort of routine. Jo would go out hunting, half expecting her guest to be gone when she returned, only to find the girl patiently waiting for her every time. The girl had gotten used to the campfire but still didn’t like being near it so Jo would do all of the cooking, delivering the girl her food in the nest she had made on the outskirts of camp. Then the girl would set the bowl in the snow and eat it once it had partially rimed over with frost. As always, Jo was just happy she was eating at all.
Jo posed some light questions, asking the girl for her name or where she had come from, but she hadn’t received any responses. Fortunately, despite their lack of understanding, the girl had become less aggressive, no longer growling or trying to bite at the slightest misstep.
The more time passed, the more Jo was certain that this strange girl couldn’t speak Imperial Common at all. When she thought about it, she wasn’t even sure if the Goldenwoods had any Imperial settlements beyond the odd hermit or herbalist’s cabin. If the girl wasn’t an Imperial though, then where had she come from? For once in her life Jo wished she had been as studious as her older sister, Cucoa—then maybe she’d know what this girl was or a language they could communicate in.
One night, Jo woke to the snapping of twigs. A pair of shining eyes skulked about just outside the light of the dying fire.
“I can help you if you let me,” Jo said quietly. The eyes remained still for a moment and then turned towards the shadowy forest beyond.
That morning, to her surprise, Jo found that the girl had returned to camp and was sitting in the center of a pile of wood she presumably collected during the night. One of Jo’s knives was discarded to the side, deemed too cumbersome. Rather, she wielded a sharpened antler and was hard at work carving out a stick. By the end of the day, the girl had fashioned a crude blowgun.
The weeks went by and Jo was growing fond of her silent guest. After years of living alone, she liked having someone around—even if that someone was unsociable.
That was why, when she woke up one morning, she immediately noticed that the girl was gone.
“Kid?” Jo called. “Hey, kid!” She got up to search but the camp was empty. Her heart sank.
Just when Jo was giving up ever seeing her again, there was a rustling in the brush. She looked up hopefully and the elation at seeing the girl swiftly eased her worried mind. “Where were you? You scared me,” she sighed in relief.
The girl held up a small rabbit, pierced through the neck with a dart. Jo blinked, staring stupidly down at the animal until she realized that the girl was offering it to her. “Nice shot.” She grinned. For the first time the girl smiled, a timid expression where the corners of her lips turned up ever so softly. Jo took the precious gift, her heart soaring at the breakthrough.
“We should share it,” she said as she unsheathed her knife. The girl sat nearby and watched quietly. Once Jo had finished preparing breakfast, she placed the girl’s portion in the snow. “Cold, just like you like,” she said, turning away.
“Kaja.”
Jo jumped, startled by the unexpected sound. “Did you . . .”
The girl stared down shyly as if transfixed by her own feet. “My name is Kaja.”
*
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*
The days got longer and the snow started to thaw. Kaja had been offering information, little by little, speaking broken Imperial Common with a thick accent. She called herself a “zmaj” and came from a place she called “Skolka”, but would get anxious when Jo asked about it. She had some talent in magic: she could freeze objects by blowing on them, and throw sounds to distract prey during a hunt. Jo knew close to nothing about magic but this little girl wielded it so naturally that she wondered why some people dedicated their lives to its study. When Jo asked how old she was, Kaja thought for a moment.
“Forty winters,” she finally replied.
Jo furrowed her brow, certain that something got lost in translation.
One day, Kaja came back to camp after a morning out and touched Jo’s arm, tugging gently to get her to follow. Jo let the girl lead her down a familiar path, a knot forming in her stomach as she began to suspect where they were headed. She drew a deep breath as Kaja stopped and pointed to a pile of carefully stacked stones tucked away in the shadow of a great evergreen. The snow had melted away just enough to reveal the moss that had taken hold of the cairn’s surface. Kaja knelt down next to it.
“What is?” she asked, touching the stone tenderly.
“It’s a grave.”
“Grave?”
“Yeah.” When it was clear that Kaja didn’t understand, Jo continued, “we build them when someone dies so Melcuni can find their soul and guide them to the afterlife.”
“Who has died?”
Jo took another breath before answering. “My son. Icuhua.” Kaja didn’t respond right away so Jo kept talking to fill the uncomfortable lull. “He didn’t live long. A few hours maybe.” She paused, painful memories bubbling to the surface, cutting just as deep as they did when they were formed. She swallowed, then finished her thought with a crackling voice. “This place isn’t exactly forgiving.”
Listening, Kaja stared at the stones wistfully, her face laden with sorrow. Jo soon got the sense that she could no longer see the grave, that she was lost deep within her own memories—the ones that kept her awake tossing and turning at night. Although Kaja hadn’t told her details about what haunted her, Jo understood, understood far too well, and now she could see that Kaja knew. They stayed in emotional silence, each drawing comfort and strength from the other’s presence as they shared the burden of their grief.
Jo composed herself enough to speak again. “Come on, let’s go back.”
“It’s sad,” Kaja whispered, the words catching in her throat, “to lose people.”
“Yes,” Jo murmured back, resting a hand on her shoulder, “it is.”
*
*
One spring morning, Jo was passing by the grave when something caught her eye. A single blue flower had been carefully laid upon it and, although the day was sunny and warm, the petals were rimed in white frost.
*
*
A scream called Jo to action. Operating on pure instinct, she leapt forward, morphing into her beast form in one fluid motion. Tearing through the overgrowth, she spotted Kaja on the ground with a bear towering over her. Jo jumped between them and roared. The bear’s two small cubs squealed, running the opposite direction. Jo pursued them to draw the mother away from Kaja.
Once she felt like she had led it a safe distance away, she climbed up an especially large tree, the thick branches groaning under her weight. There she waited until the bear settled down and wandered off with its family. Jo jumped down from her perch, shaking out her fur. That’s when she saw Kaja stepping cautiously towards her. Jo stared at her for a few moments, contemplating what she should do. She hadn’t expected Kaja to follow her.
“Jo?”
The big cat froze.
It was the first time Kaja had called her by her name.
*
*
It was mid-spring and the days were getting warmer and the nights rainier. Kaja would need lighter clothing so Jo was curing a pelt to make a child-sized tunic. The young zmaj sat down beside her, wringing her hands. It was clear she wanted to say something but Jo knew better than to push the matter and so continued her work in silence.
“My home,” Kaja started after collecting her thoughts, “Skolka . . .”
Jo stopped scraping and put the pelt down. “I’m listening,” she said.
The words, long pent up inside of her, began pouring from Kaja’s mouth. “It’s gone. Something happened. There was smoke and—and fire. I—I think they’re gone.”
“An accident?”
“No. Attack. They were attacked.” Kaja’s eyes welled with tears. “Where do I go when home is gone?”
Jo’s chest tightened. “Are you the only one who got away?”
A nod and a sniffle.
“Do you know who attacked you?”
Kaja tucked her legs up to her chest, hiding her face in her knees. She shook her head.
Jo sat down next to her. “You know you can stay with me as long as you want to,” she said, “or I can go back with you. Maybe someone survived and is looking for you—”
Kaja jerked her head up, her face ashen. “N-no! I don’t want to go back.”
“Do your people have other villages?”
“Yes . . . there are others,” Kaja replied slowly, wiping away the tears from her cheeks. “I don’t know where.”
Jo set her jaw. She had been all over eastern Calthia and had never heard of any such creature called a zmaj. But someone out there had to know.
“Here’s what we’ll do.” She stood up and grabbed the pelt she had been working on. “We’ll get more of these. When we have enough, we’ll go to the Imperial cities. They keep lots of records.” A glimmer of hope dawned on Kaja’s face, encouraging Jo to continue. “We sell the pelts and buy some traveling goods. Then we’ll search high and low until we find the other villages. I’ll be with you the whole time so you don’t have to be scared.” She paused, her eyes resting on the small, wool blanket that had been Kaja’s ever since Jo brought her to camp and wrapped her up in it. “But we’ll need to conceal your horns. And your tail and scales too. Humans and elves . . . they make a big fuss over things like that.” She draped the blanket over Kaja’s head and, with some folding and re-positioning, fashioned it into a sort of cloak. It was crude but it would work until they could get something better.
“Do you think we’ll find them?” Kaja asked, peeking out from under the hood.
“Of course we will!” Jo flashed a confident smile. “But for now, we have a lot of work to do.”
*
*
It was a quiet evening in late spring when it happened.
Kaja suddenly awoke and jumped up from her bed pile, her eyes wide with terror and all color drained from her face. She stared into the woods, her breathing heavy with panic. Jo was confused but not entirely surprised. Kaja hadn’t had one of those episodes for weeks but she knew it was something that never truly went away.
But before Jo could get out any words of comfort, she felt it too.
Jo, former natiuhan warrior and battle-scarred veteran, did not scare easily. She had stared death straight in the eyes more times than she could count and never wavered once. Now, she felt a wave of fear so primal, so powerful, that it squeezed her heart and clouded her mind. Every muscle, every sinew, every part of her was screaming one thing:
Run.
Yet outwardly everything was as it was; the forest was quiet and still, the fire crackled and popped. They both knew better though. Something very dangerous was out there and it was close.
“It’s them . . .” Kaja whispered, shaking.
Jo shut her eyes, willing her body to move. Kaja needed her now more than ever and she was paralyzed with fright, ineffective, worthless. She thought of everyone she had left behind, all the people she had ever let down. She thought of the little grave in the woods . . .
And then determination overpowered fear.
Breaking free of the spell, Jo gathered all the hides and furs she could and clumsily stuffed them into a large sack. She strapped the bulging pack around Kaja’s small, trembling body. “We’re leaving. Now.” She splashed water onto the fire. Kaja, hunched under the weight of the furs, rapidly scanned the forest. The calm, restful darkness now felt alive with terror, filled with whispered threats from an approaching unknown.
“Get on,” Jo instructed, “stay low and hold on tight.” Kaja nodded and Jo assumed her beast form.
They fled into the night, never once looking back out of fear of what they would see.
Far above, an insidious shadow slithered across the moon’s surface, staining its silver light with the color of blood.
*
*
It was as if the shadows around Jo’s camp came alive. Cloaked and hooded figures swept through the campsite, overturning blankets, kicking over baskets, searching everywhere they could find. Growls of frustration rose among them as their search produced no results.
A tall man stood in the middle of the camp, looking around as the others wrecked the place. He shook his head. “They got away.”
“Only just, Lord Alistair,” one of the others said, turning over the wet ashes of the fire to expose a few embers clinging to life underneath. “We missed them by a few hours, at most.”
A deep, unnatural chill settled over the clearing and the cloaked men visibly shuddered. Out of the shadows emerged another figure, his outline shifting and shimmering like dark, shallow water. He was robed and hooded like the rest but also wore a simple metal mask, featureless save for two narrow eye-slits. When he spoke, his voice was unexpectedly soothing—almost hypnotic—in nature. It made the metallic resonance from his mask all the more unsettling.
“Where is she?”
“She’s not here,” Alistair replied gruffly.
The masked man scoffed. “You lost her.”
Alistair narrowed his eyes. “You left her alive in the first place. Did you stop to gorge your host body on sweetmeats while the child fled?”
There was a clap of thunder and hailstones rained down from the sky as the masked man seethed, his shadowy form swelling to twice its size as his anger flared, then reduced again as he regained control. The weather cleared just as suddenly as it had turned. “Had your trackers been more astute, they’d have found her trail sooner.” He spoke with two voices now, blended eerily together. The men exchanged worried glances. The second voice was soft yet deep, grating like a great stone being dragged across hard granite.
“And had you kept yourself and your . . . friends”—Alistair looked behind the masked man, where three pairs of glowing, red eyes stared menacingly back at him—“away, and let us handle things, they may not have gone. I bet the girl sensed you long before we got here.” The fell hounds melted out of the shadows, circling around their masked master, hoping for a command that would allow them to tear the impudent words straight from Alistair’s throat. As they came closer, their forms became more solid, more corporeal.
The masked man shook his head. “You’re off the hunt, Alistair, you and your band will report back to the fortress and focus on your other operations.” His head tipped back to the sky, the red light of the eclipsed moon reflecting off his mask. His voices quivered with relish. “I will find her myself.”
Alistair clenched his fists. A chance to show his value to their mutual master had slipped from his grasp. The masked man turned and walked away, his three hounds following at his heel. He vanished into shadow long before reaching the darkness of the forest.
Alistair turned to one of the others, a woman clad in furs and coal-stained leather, bearing a crossbow slung across her back. The black wolf at her side had been snarling softly at the shadow hounds. “Yvette. Contact Benjamin in Orium. Tell him to meet us in Barsicum. I have a task for him.”
Yvette’s voice was deep, her words clipped and formal. It had all the warmth of a cold grave. “Alistair, he and his group are keeping an eye on Astinos for us. What if Lucretia returns to him and—”
Alistair sighed. “Yes, yes, we’ll have to find Lucretia first. Sometimes I think the Master only uses us for running errands.”
“Hunting his enemies is important. Besides, I don’t think Benjamin and the rest will be busy for long. Luring out Astinos should be simple. Even for that lot.”
Alistair glanced at Yvette. He didn’t speak yet the message was clear: they could not afford another failure.