Prophecy

'Ware, comes the Wither!

The seas weep, red and black

The sky shatters, storm and sorrow

The land burns, fire and brack

It passes, it comes on the morrow

'Ware, comes the Wither!

Tortoises trample, krakens roar

Serpents slither and dragons soar

The children call them to their drums

The Titans come, the Titans come

'Ware, comes the Wither!

The undying rise for the final feast

The Titans awaken from the depths

For any to survive, all must be sacrificed

Life begins with death

- The Rave of Gran Antona II, the Terminal Revelation, year 442 of the Epoch of Epiphany

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1: The Hidden One

The silver fox watched the Hidden One travel along the wooded trail.

He had followed the human and the horse for some time now. This human had always had a peculiar scent, an aroma that contained many things. The fragrance of the forest. The predator's stench. A second life burning within the first.

The fox sniffed again but could sense nothing more. Once, when the human was a kit, lost and vulnerable, she had been open to him and he had brought her comfort. Now, the Hidden One closed herself off, both to him and the surrounding wilderness, in a way he had never felt before.

And so, he followed, seeking to understand what had gone wrong.

The silver fox was not accustomed to creatures isolating themselves. Around him, the woods were alive and open. Trees smoldered with ancient persistence. Insects sparked brief lives along the loamy ground. Birds and squirrels, tempting the fox's hunger, were bursts of essence as they scattered at his approach.

But the Hidden One held her lifefire close, only a hint of it escaping her bounds. As she scanned the surrounding forest, her eyes were sky-bright and wary. Her mane, reaching past her shoulders, was bark-brown but for a single russet tress, like the color of a common fox's summer coat. She had tangled it like interwoven vines, and the auburn threads created a striking striped pattern. Like all humans, she had bundled herself in the skins of slain beasts and bore items of shaped wood and stone that shone when the sun caught upon it.

It was not only the furs that put the fox on high alert. It was her posture, her gaze, her keen awareness—all spoke of a huntress' prowess. She was a kit no longer, and he would not treat her as such. That she held her fire close only heightened the danger, allowing her to prowl almost unnoticed.

The Hidden One reached the edge of a wide meadow, amidst which a mighty creature stood. But it was not this beast nor the Hidden One's tense posture that told the fox his lurking had come to an end.

Death hung thick in the air.

It was the odor as well as a subtler sense that warned him to be wary. The fox was attuned to both and heeded them well. Though his curiosity was far from sated, he backed away from the meadow.

Prey did not linger when hunters were near.

The fox knew his place in the world's fabric. He could not protect the huntress from herself. So as the Hidden One crouched in ambush, the fox bounded away and leaped through the bright leaves to seek the dark places in between.

Pressing his way into the web of life, the silver fox wriggled for a moment, then disappeared entirely.

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2: The Wilds' Protector

She was a whisper among the leaves as she ghosted to the edge of the clearing.

Leiyn's heart drummed on her ribs. Her muscles burned as they worked to keep her movements silent, her figure small and unseen. Her natural senses were awake and keen, taking in the nuances of the forest noises. Aspen branches rustling. Distant birds singing. The stench of slain prey. The stiff breeze that carried the smell to her and obscured her own from the creature ahead.

Leiyn stared at the beast in the clearing as it feasted on a deer. A thorned lion, Tadeo had called it, and Leiyn judged it an apt name. Black spines bristled around its neck, sharp as any porcupine's, but large enough to gore a man. They marked it as male, for the females only had thorns along their back. 

The rest of the creature was no less impressive. His body stretched longer than a human's and was built with powerful muscles evident beneath a short, orange coat. When he looked up after ripping free a fresh bite of flesh, his amber eyes seemed to possess a sharp intelligence. Each of the lion's massive paws were tipped with sharp claws. Even his flicking tail was a weapon, smaller spines fanning out from the end of it.

Here was a sight few in the world could claim to see, even among her fellow rangers. Won't Isla be jealous. Leiyn smirked as she anticipated her friend's expression.

Her hand itched to capture in meticulous lines the impressive beast standing not twenty strides before her. But she'd left her charcoal pen and hidebound journal back with her horse. Now was not the time for idle hobbies.

Still, she committed every detail to memory while she waited for Tadeo's signal.

Their plan was simple. As thorned lions were a danger to any who happened across them, it was necessary to drive the beast back into the mountains. Fortunately, Tadeo, lodgemaster to the rangers, had done this duty once before, and had learned from the previous lodgemaster that thorned lions were particularly averse to the scent of fennel. A couple of torches smoking with fennel might drive a predator such as this safely away from the civilized lands of the Tricolonies and back into its native territory.

Presently, Leiyn's torch was slung over her shoulder. Before they could enact their plan, they had to wait for the lion to eat his fill. Move too soon, and he would defend his kill to the death. So, she held her longbow instead, an arrow nocked and ready in case something went wrong and the lion sensed them.

For the moment, however, all was proceeding to plan.

She glanced into the brush to her left. Somewhere among the leaves, Tadeo waited as she did. Even without seeing him, she would know when it was time by his lit torch.

Patience is a hunter's greatest gift, the lodgemaster would often say. Unfortunately, in Leiyn, patience ran in short supply.

She restrained herself as the lion took a bite, chewed, laid down, then rose and took another bite. Light was bleeding from the sky as afternoon waned into evening. Hunger gnawed at her belly. Still, Leiyn didn't make any unnecessary movement. Long had she grown used to the privations of her profession, and she knew better than to risk exposing herself for a little relief.

Then her nose caught a whiff of something that stiffened her spine.

Leiyn tilted her head back and breathed in, slowly and fully. The odor was unmistakable, reeking of cadavers long since spoiled. It was how a slain deer would smell in a week or two, but fresh as it was, there could only be one other source.

Jackals.

She clenched her jaw as she slowly looked around the woods behind her. Tusked jackals were one of the many dangers in the Titan Wilds. Aggressive and violent, they hunted in packs that could take down any beast or human they set their minds to and would ravage the homesteads in the Titan Wilds as well as the Lodge until they were put down. In her five years as a ranger, she'd contended with them twice and always came away with a new scar.

There was no driving jackals away with herb and torch. Arrows and knives were the only deterrence they understood.

The thorned lion seemed to notice the jackals, for he, too, came alert. His jowls drew back, revealing bloody fangs. As if they knew they'd been detected, the jackals sounded their eerie howls. The din came from the north beyond the lion, though nearer with each passing moment.

She didn't have to wait long. They bounded over the hill's crest, yapping and snarling, their eyes wide with bloodlust. Their tusks curled from their mouths like a boar's. Ears, ragged and torn from dozens of battles, twitched atop their heads. Bits of the carrion, in which they liked to roll for their characteristic stench, clung to their black and gray coats. There were dozens of them, a score at least, and by their scrawny torsos, they were starved for their next meal.

Her skin prickled into gooseflesh. Though every creature had a right to eat, these were a scourge upon the land. They couldn't be allowed to roam free.

A branch snapped.

Leiyn froze. The sound had come from her left. Tadeo. She wanted to spit curses, but silence was more important than ever, for she wasn't alone in noticing the noise. The tusked jackals had stopped to stare at the patch of forest where the lodgemaster hid. She and her mentor had disguised themselves well, but all it would take was the interest of one to alert the others.

She waited a breath, then two, daring to hope they would be preoccupied by the predator before them. One jabbered, then two more. 

The three began to pad cautiously down the hill, heading in Tadeo's direction.

She moved by instinct, setting down the torch and reaching slowly for her quiver so as to not draw any eyes. There was no conscious decision.

Death was the least she would risk for Tadeo.

The arrow hummed as Leiyn drew it from the quiver at her hip. Nocking it, she set it to her anchoring hand against the nicked ash of her longbow. The three jackals were halfway down the hill, while the others still ringed the lion, waiting for the violence to begin.

Leiyn bared her teeth as she rose to her feet. In one smooth motion, she drew back the bowstring.

Then she loosed.

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3: Pride & Shame

Her bow thwacked as the arrow released. The narrow shaft hummed across the meadow, taking the jackal in the throat. It spun to the ground where it lay jerking in its death throes.

The clearing erupted into chaos. 

Jackals yipped; the lion roared; the adversaries clashed. But not all the beasts had been fooled. Half a dozen jackals had seen where death flew from, and they sprinted down the hill—making directly for her.

"Fesht!" she cursed as she drew another shot. The next arrow took one in the eye; her third, close to the heart. Distantly, through the blood pounding in her ears, she heard Tadeo crying out, trying to draw attention to himself and away from her. 

She'd have laughed had she not been breathless. Between them, it was always a competition of who could sacrifice themself for the other.

The remaining four jackals were nearly upon her. Up close, their size didn't seem so diminutive, nor their tusks small. Any one of them could kill her if she gave them an opening.

Heaving the string back one last time, Leiyn put an arrow down one of the beasts' mouths before throwing aside her bow and dropping her hands to her left hip. There, she found well-worn leather grips and pulled the weapons free: twin blades, mirror-bright and almost as long as a Suncoat's short sword. They'd been forged by the weaponsmith in Folly, the closest town to the Lodge, upon her cloaking as a ranger. "Don't be rash," Tadeo had told her then, with a significant raise of his eyebrows. 

But rashness could be a strength as well as a weakness. As the jackals barreled toward her, Leiyn didn't hesitate. She'd been honed as sharp as her knives, and not even death could make her lose her edge.

The first tusked jackal approached on her right, the second not far behind. Her right knife met the first beast as it leaped, whipping across its jaw and splitting it wide open. As it choked on its blood, the jackal crashed into her, tusks scoring her leather jerkin and sending her careening.

At that moment, its ally joined the attack. Leiyn tried regaining her balance, but knew the hit was inevitable. She threw up her left arm and bared her teeth as the jackal's jaws closed about it. Swathed in a thick leather armguard, the canines didn't pierce as deeply as they might have, but it still hurt like Legion's hells.

Snarling, Leiyn reversed her grip on her knife and whipped her arm around to slam the jackal against a nearby tree trunk. The blade pierced its neck even as her second knife worked between its ribs. The growl in the jackal's throat died to gurgling, though its jaws remained locked into her flesh. Even dead, the devils didn't yield.

Prying the beast off, Leiyn looked up to see another trio charge down the hill. She gritted her teeth against the pain and backed deeper into the brush, hoping the foliage might funnel them toward her.

It worked better than she'd hoped. The first two tusked jackals ran into each other as they tried pushing through the same narrow gap, and for a moment, they stopped to snap at each other. The third leaped nimbly over the other two, then went for her leg. 

Leiyn stood ready. Dancing out of the way, she countered with a bite of a knife, finding the base of the beast's skull and pounding through. Fresh blood sprayed over her gloves.

She'd unsheathed her blade from the jackal by the time its companions rallied. This time, they worked together, leaping at her from either side. Leiyn's hands worked independently as she met their attacks. Her left knife scored an ear, the right, an eye. Neither wound was enough to kill.

As the jackals ripped through her jerkin and into her sides, something within her snapped.

A sensation seared her, like someone touched hot embers to the wounds, multiplying the pain. Leiyn's senses were scrambled as she reeled. The world had gathered a different shade to it. Living things glowed, their inner fires revealed. The jackals burned brightest.

Leiyn lashed out at them with every weapon she possessed.

The knives felt cold and lifeless in her hands as she plunged them into the midst of those beastly fires. As the steel pierced their hides, their fires grew muted. She didn't stop. A shriek erupted from her throat, so guttural she almost didn't recognize it.

She stabbed them until their bodies were as leeched of life as the knives that had killed them.

The pain dulled, and the fury went with it. Leiyn stared at her arms and the blood filming them. Her hidden sense remained open, and beneath what her eyes saw, she detected the glow of her own esse, brighter even than it had been before.

She'd stolen the jackals' lifefires.

Her stomach turned. She thought she would be sick, but danger hadn't yet passed. With effort, Leiyn swallowed her rising gorge and raised the walls around her mahia. As her innate magic became blind, the fires around her faded, and plants and animals returned to their ordinary appearances.

Though it shamed her to admit it, the world appeared bland without the magic.

Focus. Be the damned ranger you're supposed to be.

She shoved the roiling emotions away and looked beyond the forest toward the continued sounds of fighting. The battle appeared to be coming to an end. The remaining tusked jackals, eight by her swift count, seemed to lose heart before such determined resistance. The thorned lion projected another ear-splitting roar, and the jackals broke. Yapping, they tore back up the hill, returning north to the mountains from which they'd come.

The lion turned his great head back around to stare at Leiyn through the brush. Even with the distance separating them, his gaze made her want to dance with anxiety. She avoided his eyes, but drew herself upright, trying to seem as large as possible. She wasn't small for a woman, but next to a lion, she doubted the display would count for much.

But the lion didn't appear interested. After several moments, he shifted his gaze from her to look to her left, where Tadeo no doubt stood in a similarly defiant manner. Then, with a nonchalant air, he shook his mane, spraying droplets of jackal blood in a pink mist, and began to work his tongue over his many wounds.

Leiyn breathed a sigh of relief, then touched a hand to the injuries the jackals had dealt her.

She froze.

Slowly, Leiyn lifted her left arm and stared at where the jackal had savaged it. Blood had stained the armguard around the punctures, but her forearm no longer seared with pain. Not wanting to know, but knowing she had to, she probed inside the holes with a finger.

Her skin was whole, mended but for four small, white scars.

Her heart migrated to her throat. She tried to swallow and found herself devoid of moisture. Not again. Saints and demons, not again.

But if she'd learned one thing training as a ranger, it was that she couldn't deny the truth of her senses.

"Leiyn?"

She quickly withdrew her hand from her arm, guilty as a child caught stealing holy day treats, and looked up to see Tadeo making his way toward her through the brush. His eyes were full of concern as he looked her up and down. His appearance could be intimidating to those who didn't know him, with a prominent brow, a nose broken many times over, and skin as tough as oak, but Leiyn knew better. When he smiled, he transformed into the man who had sheltered her since she was a girl, guiding her from an immature apprentice into a cloaked and seasoned ranger. He didn't smile now, though.

"Are you hurt?" he inquired quietly. She didn't doubt the lodgemaster had registered every spot of blood and tear in her leathers. But instead of investigating the wounds, he only touched a gentle hand to her upper arm.

"Fine." She looked him over in return. "Though you fared better than I." 

Truth was, she wasn't sure any of the blood spotting his clothes was his. They seemed no more worn than they usually did, though the lodgemaster did wear trousers until they were more patch than original fabric.

He flashed his usual shy smile. "Experience is the toughest armor."

Leiyn rolled her eyes. "Alright, old man. Now's not the time for a sermon. Experience didn't keep you from stepping on that branch, did it?"

At his wince, Leiyn immediately regretted the words. Tadeo was unfailingly forgiving of others, but the same didn't apply to himself. While he remained the deadliest ranger in the Wilds Lodge, his years were beginning to catch up to him. He couldn't step as nimbly as he once had, and the evening's misstep wasn't his first. In the Titan Wilds, any error could be your last.

The lodgemaster quickly recovered. "I made a mistake, Leiyn; I can admit that. But you shouldn't have drawn them off. What do I always tell you?"

She barked a laugh. "You can hardly call that rash. I saved your life, old man. If I hadn't split their attention, you would have been torn apart."

"As you nearly were?"

Leiyn tried to deny the ice crawling through her veins as she noticed again the abnormal brightness of her lifefire. "We both survived to tell our side. That's good enough for me."

Tadeo eyed her a moment longer, then bowed his head. "Perhaps it is."

While they'd been speaking, she and Tadeo had kept a watch on the remaining Wilds beast. The thorned lion, however, appeared content to lick his wounds and all but ignored them.

She inclined her head toward the body-strewn clearing. "Suppose we'll have to wait to drive this one north?"

Tadeo nodded, studying the lion from the corner of his eye. "Before night falls, we'll retreat. He may feel threatened by us in the darkness. We'll return in the morning. Perhaps he'll be ready by then."

"What about the skins?" She gestured with one of her knives toward the bodies. "Have any use for mangy jackal hides?"

"Once they're cleaned, they'll be serviceable, and we must keep the tusks. But don't skin with your anelaces. Always—"

"—keep your weapons sharp, I know."

They shared a grin, but mirth slipped away as they bent to the task. The conflict had been necessary, and she'd never been one to hesitate at a fight. Yet there was a sadness that came with shedding blood, even for her.

"Your spirit touches mine," she murmured as she cut away hide from sinew, the Ranger's Lament rising of its own volition. "Rest easy, you flea-bitten beasts. Had to be you or me."

Tadeo had long ago instilled the words in her, though she often improvised her own. Still, the Ranger's Lament honored creatures that were only living by their nature but had to die for the rangers to uphold their duty. The Ranger's Oath always came first: to perceive, preserve, and protect the people of the Titan Wilds, as only they could.

Still, the task promised to be a long and smelly one, and with the jackals' stench seeping into her skin, Leiyn already longed for a bath. She thought of the Wilds Lodge and the hot food and comforts it would bring upon their return.

Yet whenever she glimpsed the new scars along her arm or sides, she was reminded of her shame, the curse that could never be washed away. And so, she bent to her task and wished it would be enough to atone for her sins, knowing it never could.

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4: Home

At dusk, they withdrew from the clearing to return to the last member of their party.

"Any longer, and I might have worried," Isla called as they neared. She stood before the horses, who grazed in the small meadow just behind. She was dressed the same as most rangers, sporting buckskin trousers, a wool shirt with a leather jerkin, and the pine-green cloak of their order pulled over her shoulders. 

Yet though they wore the same garb, her friend stood apart from their peers. She had an easy, innocent beauty, accentuated by wide acorn eyes and deep chestnut skin. Her close-cropped hair only highlighted the slimness of her neck. Leiyn had often teased Isla for her dainty appearance, but after spending half their lives together, she knew how tough and strong her friend could be when need called for it.

Leiyn smiled and raised her free hand, the other carrying a sling of jackals' tusks. As they came near enough to see in detail in the gray light, her friend's expression turned to a frown, and she tugged at her ear, as she often did when concerned. 

"Maybe I should have worried after all. What happened?"

Leiyn shrugged. "Tusked jackals."

"That explains the stench." Isla stepped closer and set her hands on the bloody tears in Leiyn's sides. Where Tadeo had kept a respectful distance, Isla had no such compunctions. Leiyn endured her probing, knowing she couldn't avoid questions now. She'd never told her friend of her secret shame, nor did she intend to. But they'd been too close for too long to push her away now.

Isla bent over to study the punctures. When she rose, she frowned. "Lucky. They didn't break the skin."

"Yes," Leiyn echoed. "Lucky." 

She didn't look at Tadeo. She often wondered if he knew the truth. If so, her mentor kept his silence, as he always had before.

"We should make camp," he said, walking past them to the horses, carrying a sling with the reeking skins. "We rise early tomorrow."

Isla raised an eyebrow. "Still need to drive the lion north?"

"He's had a busy evening," Leiyn supplied with a wry smile.

Her friend sighed, then nodded. "I should have expected nothing less from you, Firebrand."

She grimaced, repressing an urge to touch the auburn tress that had partly earned her the name, then scowled at Tadeo as he smiled. "Very amusing."

"It is." Isla gave her a consoling pat on the arm. "And descriptive."

Leiyn rolled her eyes, then took the opportunity to greet her horse. Tadeo's mount stood in the way, and she walked warily around the mare. Feral showed Leiyn her teeth as she passed. The two of them had never gotten along, inspiring Leiyn to give the mare her name. Like fat and water, you and I, she thought as she glowered back at Feral.

Her mount didn't whicker as she approached and ran a hand down his muzzle, but she knew he was pleased to see her all the same. "Hey there, Steadfast," she murmured as she scratched behind his ears, making them flick as though flies buzzed around them. "You kept a good watch on Isla, didn't you, old boy?"

The black stallion had always been a source of comfort and strength. Over their five years together, they'd grown close through many sore trials. She couldn't imagine sharing her patrols with a more loyal companion. When she felt as weak and uncertain as she felt then, he lent her silent support.

With one last scratch, she let him return to grazing, then joined her fellow rangers in making camp.

* * *

The next morning saw their return to the battleground. Much as she hated the stench of the beasts—their smell was unimproved by death—Leiyn enjoyed seeing Isla's astonishment at the number they'd overcome. Her satisfaction was short-lived.

"So Tadeo killed six," Isla recounted as they led the skittish horses up the hill past those the thorned lion has slain, "and you only killed five?"

"Seven, actually." Leiyn grinned. "Better count again."

The lion had moved on overnight. Leiyn and Isla deferred to the more experienced lodgemaster as he kneeled in the brush to study the tracks.

"It's a bit trampled," he said without raising his head. "But the lion appears to have gone north as well."

"That's our duty done, then, isn't it?" Leiyn cast a droll smile at the lodgemaster's long-suffering look. "Only joking. How far should we pursue?"

Tadeo rose and gazed northward. Above the trees rose the Silvertusk Sierra, the peaks still capped with snow that would last most of the season. The foothills were ten leagues away from where they stood. Leiyn feared she knew his answer.

"To the foothills," he confirmed a moment later.

Leiyn groaned and shared a look with Isla. Her friend only shrugged.

"What'd you think this was when you signed up?" Isla reminded her. "A sketching opportunity?"

It made Leiyn's hand itch to draw then and there. She shook her head free of the notion. There'd be time enough to note down the lion later.

"Best not waste daylight," she said. "Lead the way, old man."

Tadeo only arched an eyebrow, then pulled Feral after the tracks.

* * *

They reached the foothills late in the afternoon and still didn't see the lion. Didn't like the reception, Leiyn thought as they stared at the tracks going up into the mountain. Here, the trees had thinned and the grass turned yellow from the summer heat. 

"That's as far as we go," Tadeo said as he pulled himself into Feral's saddle. The mare tried to unseat anyone else who mounted her, but she was strangely compliant when it came to the lodgemaster.

Leiyn mounted Steadfast, while Isla followed suit with her roan, Gale. Before the others could get settled, Leiyn pressed her heels into her stallion's sides, propelling him forward.

"Keep up if you can!" she shot over her shoulder before riding out of earshot.

Steadfast took to the exercise at once, surging into motion. Leiyn grinned into the wind and guided him over roots and around trees as the Titan Wilds whirled by. It was rash to run so blindly through dangerous lands, but there was freedom in carelessness, and Leiyn often craved it.

When Steadfast started panting, she slowed him among the trees and waited for the others. They caught up only a few minutes later.

"So much for Tadeo's usual advice," Isla noted drily as Gale sauntered past, more worn than Steadfast. Tadeo's reproach was silent and mild.

Leiyn only grinned.

The rest of the day passed in alternating bouts of teasing conversation and companionable silence. They'd been patrolling together for a long time, since Leiyn and Isla had become apprentices under Tadeo's guidance twelve years before. In that time, he'd been both mentor and father to them, and Leiyn did not doubt he saw them just as much as daughters.

This was her family now. But this time of year, she inevitably thought of the family she'd lost before.

She warded away the melancholic thoughts until the Wilds Lodge rose before them. The sounds of its occupants echoed down the hill. The shouts from sparring in the yard. The calls of victory as a long shot landed on the bow range. The brays and cries of livestock being shepherded in from the nearby meadows. The dinner bell tolling, gathering all the people from their disparate activities into the great hall.

A smile touched Leiyn's lips. The buzzing of the Lodge announced more than anything that she was home.

They came level with the campus, and the rest of the Wilds Lodge emerged into view. It had sprawled in recent years as the rangers' population grew, but the central building, erected nearly fifty years ago, still dominated. Within were the principal rooms for its residents: the great hall, the kitchens, the lodgemaster's quarters, and the stockroom. 

From the original edifice had sprouted wings to house the growing number of occupants. The east wing held the fully inducted rangers like Leiyn. The west, which continued to expand, housed the apprentices and Lodge staff. Several auxiliary rooms had sprung up as requirements became apparent: a tool shed; another shack for the equipment needed in the range and yard; yet another for the gardens; and a barn for the growing herds and flocks to feed all the hungry bellies.

On the south side, the yard was set up for apprentices to learn to fight with a variety of weapons, from knives to swords to spears, with the hope they would eventually master a discipline. Cloaked rangers used it to spar with one another and keep their skills sharp. On the north side, the archery range was also frequented, with a variety of hand-carved targets placed at different heights and distances to test a markswoman's skill. 

Leiyn had often teased Tadeo that the Lodge was far more luxurious than it should be. But no matter how the Lodge expanded, it remained a fortress at its core. A log wall, nine feet tall, encircled the campus. Only two gates, located at the southern and northern points, opened into the Lodge, and each was guarded day and night. It had been well over two decades since any had dared an attack, but even with all the other changes he implemented, and for all his insistence that the natives were now peaceful, Tadeo had never relaxed the watch.

Their small company badly needed baths, and the tusks and pelts required attending. Hurrying through the tasks, Leiyn met up with Tadeo and Isla afterward, wringing droplets from her braid and heading into the great hall. 

As Leiyn opened the door, a wave of sound barreled over her, loud enough to make her wince. The cheery strains of a stringed gourd filled the room, Ranger Yolant once more foisting her talents upon the willing audience. Though some clapped or sang along, chatter rose from every one of the three long tables as well.

In the far corner, the older rangers sat together, while immediately before her, the apprentices were positioned closer to where they'd catch the draft from the doors. Twenty-one strong, the apprentices ranged in age from seven to seventeen, and had just as varied temperaments. But all sat around a long table eating the Lodge's usual hardy fare, and no matter how far or close they were to becoming cloaked, they had in common that this was their home and hearth. Even the rivals among them would watch each other's backs when out in the woods.

Leiyn recognized the current song playing, and the corners of her mouth lifted as Yolant's yodeling became clear:

Oh, Ranger Alan was no great hero

Yet he saved our land and lord

Through luck and chance, he confounded the shamans

And drove back the Gastish horde

But just how did this odd ranger triumph?

Listen and you'll see…

Leiyn grinned, clapped a few times with the others, then noticed a tussle breaking out. She slipped over to the pair of wrestling apprentices and grabbed each by an ear. The boys cried out and released each other to scrabble at her hands.

"Enough, Naél, Camilo!" she warned, and the lads ceased their struggles, their faces flushed. 

"Yes, Ranger," Naél, the more compliant of the two, muttered. Camilo, smaller and meaner, only narrowed his eyes and jerked his head in what might have been a nod.

It wasn't much, but Leiyn freed them and sauntered away. Boys. She didn't know their quarrel and didn't care. Time would bind them closer than brothers, but until then, so long as they didn't disturb her meal or kill each other, it was their problem.

Isla had fetched her a plate of food, and Leiyn flashed a grateful smile as she sat. It was simple fare, as usual; the Lodge might be growing soft, but it was never luxurious. Seared venison. Boiled potatoes. Shelled peas. A small, early peach, still sour judging by its coloring.

Leiyn tucked into it, barely bothering for manners even when Isla rolled her eyes at her. As she ate, the next verse of Yolant's song curled into her ears:

When titans trampled the fields

Did Alan stand and fight?

No, sir! No, ma'am! He fled instead

Made quick for out of sight!

But the Saints above were watching

And they sent luck Alan's way

As he ran, he tripped and slid

Missing the arrow that would've slayed

That arrow just kept going 

And found a shaman's heart

And those titans he commanded

They began to split apart!

The storm hawks flashed, the tortoises stomped,

The river serpents splashed

Then the Gasts fled to where our ranger hid

So away, Alan did dash!

Her attention was snagged by the conversation at the table. Swallowing a particularly tough bite of the deer, Leiyn broke in, "You're talking about the Rache massacre?"

The other rangers at the table turned to her, most bemused. Only Marina, one of the old-timers who had survived more close calls than a woman had a right to, looked exasperated.

"Listen to the yodeler or to us," she said. "Can't do both—or maybe either."

As if in affirmation of her words, Yolant let loose a sudden cry. Leiyn winced.

"Point taken. But come now—what were you saying?"

The killings had occurred while she was still an apprentice, and grisly as they'd been, she'd never been privy to information about them. All she'd learned had been from the hearsay she and Isla had managed to squeeze from the older members of the Lodge.

Tadeo gave her a wary look. "Those who settled in Folly have been seeing trouble of late. Nothing more, Leiyn."

Those. No need to ask who he meant. All kinds of folks settled in Folly, but only a few Gasts. Leiyn wanted to scowl into her food, but she kept her face smooth. The lodgemaster had never approved of her opinions on the matter, so she tried not to express them as often as she could manage.

He doesn't know Gasts, she thought as she pushed around peas on her plate. Not like I do. 

Somehow, her tongue betrayed her, and words slipped out.

"How do you know they're not connected, the Folly Gasts? Maybe you never caught the killers because they never went anywhere."

"Leiyn." It was Isla who spoke warningly now. In this, she'd always sided with Tadeo.

Leiyn found herself rising, plate in hand. She tried to keep her voice level, but her flushed cheeks betrayed her. "Think what you will. But I don't think the Gasts ever forgot they lost the Titan War." She jerked her head toward the singing ranger. "Neither did we."

Isla's hand snaked out to clutch her arm. "Please, don't go. Let's just drop this, alright? You're leaving in the morning again, and I don't want to part like this."

It was a struggle not to shrug her friend off, but Leiyn managed it. She hated feeling petulant, even as she knew she was in the right. But so was Isla; there was no point in leaving things on a sour note.

Isla pressed her advantage. "Stay. Just for a drink or two."

Leiyn sighed and sat back down, studiously ignoring the gazes of the other rangers. "Fine. Just for a drink."

She couldn't help but smile at her friend's grin. "I'll fetch the first round! One for everyone?"

At the chorus of assents, Isla hopped up and strode for the kitchens, fetching an apprentice as she did to help carry the ale. Leiyn watched her go, then reluctantly met Tadeo's gaze. As he smiled, she knew that once more, he'd already forgiven any hard feelings. It was only right that she did the same.

She sighed, and tried to let the past lie—for the night, at least.

* * *

Four drinks later, Leiyn tottered across the yard to the rangers' ward.

She'd let the rising tension go and allowed herself to be swept up in the merriment of the Lodge. Yolant had sung several more songs, and Isla had convinced Leiyn to take a turn with her across the floor, to the jeers and laughter of the apprentices. Though deft in a forest, Leiyn didn't know what to do with herself when it came to dancing, yet she grinned and fumbled her way through it all the same.

But though the night was still young, Leiyn excused herself and sought her room. Her patrol began early the next morn, and her reason for volunteering for it lingered in her mind. Thirteen years had passed, but she would never forget that day.

Your spirit touches mine, she thought to her father.

Thinking of him led her to dwell on the Rache massacre. She'd only heard news of the slaughter and not witnessed it herself, but she knew enough of the details to vividly imagine it. The headless corpses. The entrails spilling down legs. The buildings, naught but ashes, smoke still spilling from the ruins.

The walls around her mahia trembled for a moment before she firmed them. She knew Gasts, just as her father had, no matter what Tadeo and Isla thought. She carried their curse everywhere she went.

She crossed the dusky yard to the rangers' wing, then unlocked and opened her door. She didn't fear her possessions being stolen by her peers; it was the apprentices a ranger had to ward against. There was a long tradition of playing tricks on the older members of the Lodge, and in her day, Leiyn had been one of the worst offenders. She had yet to fall prey to a prank, and she didn't mean to start now.

Slipping inside, Leiyn started the fire in her small stone hearth, then looked around by the flickering orange light. They were humble quarters, hardly anything that couldn't be made from the surrounding woods. Her most extravagant expenditure came in the form of graphite pens, which were imported from the Ancestral Lands and were useful for sketching the oddities often present in the Titan Wilds without the need to carry a quill and inkwell.

These and her journals were haphazardly stored on the small shelf by the door. Down the middle of the room stretched her bed, a wooden frame she and Isla had built together, a matching one in Isla's room. It was one of the many projects Tadeo had set upon them so they would bond, and as with most of his ideas, it had worked. A trunk sat at the foot of the bed, holding her oft-mended clothes.

By the head of the bed, a crooked side table she'd made on her own—carpentry had never been her strong suit—boasted several carvings Tadeo had gifted her. Half of them were of foxes, for he said her auburn tress reminded him of their summer coats. She smiled and ran a hand through the hair.

Above the fireplace were mounts for holding her bows, knives, and quivers. She could have stored them in the Lodge's armory, but found she slept easier with them nearby. Her various pieces of leather armor hung from hooks beside the hearth.

All this, her life's possessions. It wasn't much by city standards; perhaps she'd even be thought poor, though she had a fair bit of coin stashed away for her next trip to Folly. Still, the last vestiges of her irritation at dinner faded as she took it in.

It was hers, and it was all she wanted. That made it enough.

Leiyn undressed, then slipped under her woven blanket and the wolf fur draped on top. Knowing others kept watch at the gates, she had no sooner shut her eyes than she was asleep.

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5: Huntress

The new day brimmed with promise and peril.

The dawn sun painted the proud clouds with strokes of peachy orange and lilac violet, and the air was sharp with an early spring chill. As she stepped out into the courtyard, Leiyn reveled in each breath, the crispness awakening her senses and focusing her mind.

The Wilds Lodge and its company held its joys and comforts, but the wilderness was where she belonged.

Her departure was well attended. Isla and Tadeo had come to see her off, though it was hardly an occasion to merit a farewell. The patrol was an ordinary circuit through the Tortoise Bluffs and would take five days at most.

But in the Titan Wilds, where the very land itself rebelled against the colonists, any reconnoiter might be a ranger's last.

"Pay Elisa a visit while you're out, will you?" her friend teased. "I'm sure she's missed you these past two years, and spirits know you could use the warm bed."

Leiyn rolled her eyes and mounted Steadfast, who stood as firm as his name as she settled atop his back.

"I'll stick to my route, thanks," she replied. "Folly's lasses will have to mourn my absence."

As Isla gave her a last droll smile and wave, Leiyn turned to Tadeo. He approached Steadfast slowly, though the horse wasn't one to startle, and ran a hand down his sable mane. The lodgemaster held Leiyn's gaze. 

"Remember," he murmured. "Remember your oath."

He said the same thing to her every time before she left on patrol. And though the words remained constant, the meaning was ever-shifting. 

"Perceive, preserve, protect," Leiyn answered. "I remember. I always do."

Tadeo nodded, but added as she turned away, "And Leiyn, don't be rash."

She looked back with an arched eyebrow. "Getting sentimental in your twilight years, old man?"

The lodgemaster only smiled tolerantly and stepped away. Leiyn allowed him another fleeting grin before she turned to the forest.

"Alright, old boy. You can have your head for a minute."

The stallion had never made a sound louder than a snort, and he didn't begin then as she pressed her heels into his flanks. Yet he was as eager as a colt as he burst forward at a gallop, carrying them down into the forest and away from the Lodge.

Leiyn always intended to follow her old mentor's advice, but as usual, she cast it aside. She and Steadfast rode forth with wild abandon, grinning into the wind. At length, when the horse began to pant and the forest became denser, they slowed. 

She found a quiet peace in their surroundings. The natural sounds of the wilderness—chirping birds, buzzing insects, rustling branches—layered like fallen leaves in autumn, each as much a part of the woods as the trees themselves. The air was redolent with the perfume of spring. Leiyn relaxed into the saddle. Though she enjoyed the company of her fellow rangers, nothing settled her like a trot through the Titan Wilds.

This was her home. Only while traveling through the wilderness did Leiyn feel complete—as much as she ever did.

The patrol continued, and as the opportunity arose, she indulged in her usual hobby. Various plants and animals in the Titan Wilds were unknown to the Ancestral Land naturalists and their journals. Leiyn had never been a practiced hand at either drawing or writing, having come to an education late in life, but her impediments had only made her strive all the harder to master the skills. With her hidebound logbook and graphite pen ever in her saddlebags, she kept watch for the next novelty to sketch.

Already, she'd filled pages upon pages with the Titan Wilds' strange occupants. One flower, everscent, changed its aroma with the seasons, and sometimes over the span of a few moments. With her nose buried in its petals, she had smelled first honey mixed with overripe peaches, then it had turned woody and gathered the cool savor of pine. Leiyn wasn't prone to picking flowers, having never been fond of adorning herself like a festival wreath, but she made an exception for everscent blossoms. 

Not all her findings were innocuous. While resting under a gnarled oak, she'd narrowly avoided strangulation from an aggrieved tangle of red-veined vines. Hangman's ivy, she'd termed it, and was fascinated by the discovery—once she'd retreated a safe distance, at least. 

Beasts, too, could often be bizarre and vastly different from those found in the Ancestral Lands. She'd seen deer with fangs like wolves that hadn't startled at her passage but watched like a pack prowling for their next meal. She hadn't lingered to see if they were as aggressive as their stances promised and only sketched them from memory. Such was also the case for tusked jackals and thorned lions, as well as other predators prowling the forested hills.

Still odder things existed. Leiyn had seen rocks, similar to those surrounding them, scuttle like crabs for a short distance before settling, never to shift again. And ordinary aspens and pines had rustled without the aid of wind.

In the Titan Wilds, the land itself was alive. And nothing showed that more than titans.

Leiyn kept her eyes open for more of the oddities that populated this range she called her own, this strange place on the edge of the world. And for a time, she was content.

A harsh cry echoed through the forest.

It wasn't a sound she'd often heard, yet it was distinctive enough to be instantly recognizable. It resembled an eagle's scream, but deeper and cruelly edged. The cry belonged to a beast much larger than a bird, a creature that was foreign even to these wild lands.

It was a draconion's call. And draconions never traveled without their masters.

Gasts.

She felt the change stirring in her. A familiar fury burned through her limbs, hot and cold at once. The tranquility of the patrol evaporated, and the woman who had been content to wander the woods shriveled into a small corner in the back of her mind. 

Leiyn became the huntress once more.

It was a part of her born of memories of loss and violence and barely healed wounds. Gone were the soft feelings that wouldn't serve survival. Gone were serenity and idle curiosity. What use were sketches when devils were out for blood—for her blood and the blood of those she'd sworn to protect?

What place did joy have in a world shared with Gasts?

It didn't matter that this huntress was a facet of herself she'd never liked. A part she feared. A part she hated.

But her rage cut both ways. It was a weapon, and it made a weapon of her. 

She could no more resist it than a titan's awakening.

Leiyn clenched her jaw and tugged the reins in the direction the sound had come from. Steadfast resisted for a moment, preferring the even path ahead of him, but as usual he complied.

"Stay alert, old boy," she murmured to the stallion. "Be ready."

She struggled to follow her own advice, for her mind wandered into bloody fantasies. She would repay them for every wound they'd inflicted upon Baltesia. On the Lodge. On her family. 

They would pay, no matter the cost.

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6: Rash

Don't be rash.

Tadeo's words from earlier that morning echoed in Leiyn's mind. The lodgemaster had first said them to her five years before, when he'd pulled the moss-green ranger's cloak about her shoulders and officially initiated her into the Wilds Lodge. He'd repeated the advice often since, particularly before solo patrols.

No matter how often he said it, however, the lesson never seemed to stick.

Leiyn tried not to imagine what Tadeo would think of her as she crept to the cliff's edge and peered over. She'd timed her approach well: the Gasts were just entering the meadow below, and in a few minutes, they'd be directly beneath her with no cover but a few sparse pines. What little wind was present that day blew toward her, carrying her scent away from those she stalked. Behind her, the bright afternoon sun blazed down, ready to blind any who glanced her way. She hid in plain sight.

Leiyn grimaced and pushed away her mentor's warnings. I'll be as rash as I must. She had to be, for the good of all frontierfolk.

She had to do what Tadeo never would.

In one hand, she held her ash longbow. With a heavy draw weight, arrows shot from it would fly true over hundreds of feet, making it well-suited for picking off targets at a distance. It was the ideal tool for handling a company of warriors from a high vantage point.

If it comes to blood.

She had little doubt that these Gasts weren't a merchant caravan, but a war party. They were certainly dressed for it. Weapons hung from their saddles: javelins and hatchets and their iconic macuas, wooden cudgels fitted with obsidian shards that the natives wielded like swords. They wore armor, thick layers of leather and cloth, some of which had been adapted from the colonists but were painted in their traditional patterns of colorful spirals and waves. 

The Gasts rode their usual mounts. Axolto, or draconions to colonists like herself, were beasts twice the length of a woman and formidable in girth. From all Leiyn had heard, they originated from the parched plateaus on the far side of the Silvertusk Sierra. The draconions' rough skin, ridged and hard as copper, came in striped and spotted patterns of sand-orange, night-black, and sun-yellow. The crests upon their heads showed more variety, the vibrant colors ranging from sea-blue to blood-red. Spines erupted along their backs and tails, though presently most were lying flat, as draconions only raised them when threatened. Where their riders sat was a curious absence of spines, as if they'd been bred out over centuries of domestication. Though their natural protections seemed sufficient, some of the Gasts had further adorned the massive lizards with armor of bones, some from creatures Leiyn could only guess at.

She recognized the symbol of a darkly hued cat painted over the chests of many of the Gasts. Jaguars. Rumors of run-ins with the tribe came to mind. The Jaguars were held to be responsible for some of the worst raids the Titan Wilds had ever seen. Countless skirmishes, many of them fought by rangers before Leiyn's time, had plagued the Lodge's early years. And just five years prior, they'd been accused of the Rache massacre, the butchery of an entire extended family of colonists. Though rangers had pursued the perpetrators, none had been caught, and no Jaguar had been seen since.

Leiyn gripped her bow tighter, chest warming with anticipation. After twenty-five years, the time to claim vengeance had come.

The Gasts numbered just under two dozen, and encompassed both men and women, some old and graying, others so young they were but smooth-faced boys and narrow-hipped girls. At the sight of such ill-suited people to a war party, she questioned if her rapid assessment was accurate. Was this truly a war party or did she only wish it to be?

They're here to kill. They must be. They were Jaguars carrying weapons and wearing armor. She didn't know all the barbaric ways of the Gasts; perhaps people of any age participated in their bloody raids.

The man who rode at their fore—their chieftain, she presumed—was the surest sign of their ill intent. He was powerfully built, arms heavy with muscle, and a neck thick enough that Leiyn doubted even a bear could break it. His head was shaved, putting on display the spring-leaf green tattoos that covered all of the exposed skin on his face and arms. His draconion, in contrast to the others, was completely black, and he rode the beast with the confident slouch of a hunter in his territory. 

I am the hunter here, Leiyn promised the Gast, a cold wrath burning through her.

Just behind the chieftain rode a much older and frailer man. Even if his position in the procession didn't clue her into his role, his garb and staff certainly did. The elder was a shaman, a witch among the natives. Her lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Shamans were responsible for many a Baltesian's death. During the last war between their peoples, shamans had roused the titans and drove them against the colonists and their cities. One fortress, Breakbay, still lay in ruins, the lingering titans making it too dangerous to approach, much less resettle.

She ground her hand against her bow's grip, wishing it were the skinny man's neck instead of wood and leather. Yet another part of her quailed at his presence. She drew in the edges of her secret shame, the mahia she'd been cursed with since birth, and hoped it would be enough to keep her hidden. She resented how little she knew of the witchery she shared with the shaman, and hated it all the more for the fear it stirred within her.

Shamans had taken everything from her. This day promised to be her chance to even that score, if she seized it.

The Gasts were nearing her position; it was time to ready her trap. Drawing back from the edge, she withdrew a broadhead arrow from the quiver at her hip and nocked it. She knew better than to draw yet, for another of Tadeo's oft-repeated lessons echoed in her mind: Never draw unless you mean to shoot. She might have over twenty shots to take. She couldn't afford to waste energy on an amateur error.

Their voices echoed up the bluff. The thrill of the hunt coursed through her, and hunger for vengeance came with it.

Don't be rash.

Wracked with battling emotions, Leiyn sought the calm of her years of training and stood, raising her bow to the ready. Though she hated to speak their language, she shouted down at those below in the Gast commontongue.

"None of you move!"

The Gasts jerked around, crying out in confusion. Their draconions raised their spines and flashed their crests up at her as they startled. Only their chieftain didn't seem surprised as he slowly raised his head toward her. He squinted as he stared up, the sun behind her blinding, just as she'd planned.

"Ranger," the Gast called up to her in Ilberish. "I expected your kind earlier." He spoke her people's tongue well, with only the barest accent. His voice was harsh, as if he'd smoked a pipe since he was a babe.

Leiyn ignored him as she coolly observed the rest of his company, ensuring none had split off to flank her. Forty feet above them, it would take a while to find a way around, but even the slightest mistake could spell her death now.

"What's your name, Gast?" she called down, relenting to using her own speech.

"I am Toa Acalan."

"You are traveling unlawfully through Ilberian lands, Chief Acalan. By your dress, you come with violent intent. Unless you have documentation legitimizing your travel, you and your people's lives are forfeit."

She prayed to the Saints and the wild spirits that they wouldn't have a writ. It seemed impossible that they could. The governor would never allow a Gast war party into Baltesia. A single native could travel without documentation so long as they soon visited an official, and even a family might be permitted through. But a score of Jaguars in a band, armed and riding their volatile mounts, promised too much death for her to allow them past.

"No need to draw that bow, Ranger," the Gast chieftain called up in his grating voice. "I am retrieving your paper."

The urge to riddle him with arrows almost overcame Leiyn as he leaned over and reached into one of his satchels. It was too small to hide the hornbows Gasts were famous for, but she still didn't trust his swift acquiescence. She kept a careful watch on the others, but none of the party seemed to be edging away or moving for their weapons. By all appearances, they were submitting to her authority.

The chieftain spoke as he ruffled through the bag. "Our peoples need not be suspicious of one another any longer. It has been over sixty years since the war."

"And yet your kind keeps raiding and killing mine." 

The Jaguar chieftain only glanced up in response, then straightened. In his hand, he held a piece of paper that rustled with the wind. 

"Here is the writ. Would you like me to go up there to show you, or will you come down here?"

Leiyn's bow gave her answer.

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7: The Writ

She hadn't known she was going to shoot.

Emotion and instinct guided Leiyn's actions. In smooth, well-practiced movements, she drew back, aimed, and let the arrow fly. Only as the missile sailed toward the Gast did uncertainty crack through her anger. A dozen doubts assailed her in the suspended moment of flight. What if the paper was legitimate? What if a gust whipped up and moved the arrow off course? 

What if she killed him?

He deserves it, she told herself. He's a Gast. He's killed dozens of us—

The arrow struck. 

The paper that had been in the chieftain's hand tore free as the shaft caught it and pinned it to the ground. The Gast looked at the document. Though he must have realized the narrow margins by which he remained alive, she detected no fury in his expression, nor any other emotion, when he turned his gaze up to her. He seemed a man carved from a mountain, cold and steady. It was a quality she could almost admire had he not been who and what he was.

"You do not seem to have cut the signature, at least," the Gast told her.

"Leave it. If the writ is legitimate, then I'll return it to you later. If not, then I and my fellow rangers will hunt you down to the last man and woman. Do you understand me?"

The Gast gave her a wide, toothy smile. "Perfectly, Ranger."

Leiyn jerked her head southward, the direction in which they'd been traveling. "Keep moving, then."

At that, the Gast party pressed on, carefully navigating around where she'd pinned the document to the ground. More than one native glared up at her. Their muttering was barely audible at the distance.

But their outrage was nothing compared to her own.

It won't be legitimate, she assured herself as the Gasts moved out of sight. It cannot be. If it was a forgery, however, she was in an even more precarious position than before, for it would mean they had indeed come for blood. Down in the meadow, she'd be vulnerable to an assault. Even where she presently stood, Gast scouts might be bearing down on her. 

She had to move swiftly.

Leiyn bent and retrieved the second bow she'd lain at her feet. The warbow had a lighter draw weight and more manageable size, making it suited to close-range archery or shooting from a saddle. With both bows in hand, she sprinted to her horse and quickly strapped in her longbow. Keeping the warbow in hand, she leaped atop the stallion.

"Ride, Steadfast!" she hissed, fear and exhilaration grabbing her by the throat.

The horse tossed his head before bolting around the backside of the cliff. Their speed was perilous, but Leiyn let the stallion have his head. They barreled down the hill until the incline leveled, then she turned Steadfast back toward where the meadow lay. 

As they approached, Leiyn slowed to a trot. Her every sense strained to detect the Gasts around her, listening for cracking branches, rustling in the brush, watching for shadows among the trees.

But even then, though the lifesense granted by her magic might alert her to the presence of Gasts waiting to ambush her, she kept her mahia securely dammed.

The trees ended, and the meadow unfolded around her. As far as she could tell, no Gasts lingered nearby. Squinting at the cliff where she'd made her ambush, she failed to detect anyone along it, though the blinding sun made it difficult to be sure. 

Spurring Steadfast to a gallop again, Leiyn went to her arrow and the paper rustling in the breeze, then leaped off the stallion. Pulling up the arrow, she gave it a cursory look, confirming that the shaft hadn't broken, the fletching was intact, and the head was still on tight before thrusting it back into the quiver. Then, with one more scan of her surroundings, she examined the document.

Writ of Passage, it read at the top. The arrowhead had torn through the middle sections, but the signatures and wax seal on the bottom remained intact. Instead of the governor's signature and seal, a conqueror had made his mark. Lord Conqueror Armando Pótecil, the name read.

Leiyn scowled at the paper. Conquerors were the top-ranking military officials serving the Caelrey, World King Baltesar, high monarch of the Ilberian Union and the ruler of her home colony, Baltesia. As such, a conqueror's signature legitimized the writ of passage. The Gasts were within Baltesia's borders on legal grounds.

Which meant, if anyone had been in the wrong, it was Leiyn.

A sound behind; the scuffle of a foot on stone. In a breath, Leiyn had nocked and drawn her bow, whipping around to aim at the cliff above.

He was a silhouette atop it, the bright sun's rays cutting into her eyes. But even before he spoke, she knew it was the Gast chieftain.

"Can we have our writ back now, Ranger?"

Leiyn bared her teeth. She should yield to his request; there was no reason she shouldn't. But her tongue betrayed her.

"I have to take this back to the Wilds Lodge to confirm it. Tell me your route. Once we've validated it, I'll have someone return it to you."

"You will not bring it yourself?"

She remained silent as she squinted up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

"Very well, Ranger. Your authority reigns supreme in these lands, where once my people roamed." More than a tinge of bitterness laced his words. "We make for Folly. We have items to trade and deals to strike."

Their paper might legitimize their travel, but Leiyn would never believe they were here for commerce. Even if they seemed to have packed more than a war party normally would.

Leiyn remained silent, returned her arrow to its quiver, and mounted Steadfast. Looking around once again, she pressed her heels into the horse's flanks, then took off at a canter. She felt the Gast's gaze, silent and mocking, on her back even after she disappeared among the trees.

She didn't slow until leagues lay between them.

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8: Titan's Awakening

Leiyn rode Steadfast hard across the land. 

The hills and forests flew by in a dizzying blur. She followed paths that she'd trod over a hundred times before, each root and stone and pitfall familiar. She knew where to urge the stallion to leap over a small ditch, where the crossings lay in the intervening streams and rivers. 

This was her home, her solace. She'd lived nowhere else that had resonated with her like the Titan Wilds, the untamed lands of the Tricolonies. She'd grown up in a town with her father and had spent a brief period in a children's shelter in the largest city of Baltesia, Southport. But only here had her spirit soared, finally free.

Now Gasts—and Jaguars, no less—intruded upon it. 

And she couldn't stop them.

As the wind lashed her eyes to tears and low-hanging limbs threatened to knock her from Steadfast's back, she worked through how they might have done it. She'd heard of forgers who lived in Southport, but the barriers a Gast would have to overcome to procure such a document seemed impossible to navigate.

She couldn't believe the alternate explanation, either. Gasts never told the truth, in her experience. Why would one of the Caelrey's conquerors give the tribespeople leave to travel through the colony?

Frustration seared her, hot as the Lodge's hearths on a winter night. Had Gasts not prowled nearby, she would have screamed with the fury of it. Instead, she had to hold it in, though it roiled and rumbled like a kindling volcano. Her rage brimmed from her, overflowing, erupting.

She couldn't contain it.

As her mahia's walls crumbled, the woods all around her grew unnaturally bright. A wash of sensation struck Leiyn dumb for a moment. Steadfast, a fountain teeming with life, felt like raw flames where their bodies touched, clothes posing no barrier to the sorcerous connection. The stallion seemed just as startled by the touch, and the horse stuttered to a halt, panting in silent protest.

But she wasn't listening any longer, preoccupied instead by her lifesense, for she and her wrath weren't the brightest things burning in these woods. Something else stirred, something that possessed Gast magic as well, and at a scale she could scarcely comprehend. Even though it was far away, beyond the hills and forest she journeyed through, it burned hot enough that distance seemed to make little difference. She sensed it like the smell of sulfur, the bite of the smoke in her throat, the heat of flames on her skin.

Leiyn erected the barest protections before the ash dragon's eruption flowed through her.

She reeled under the onslaught, her balance pitching like a ship in a storm. She barely clung to the saddle as the awakening assaulted her. The sensation resembled a burst of scalding air, only it forced its way into her very essence.

"Wolf's piss," she hissed. She hunched closer to Steadfast's head, his life's presence more comforting than disturbing now, and tried to raise her mental barriers once more. 

But neither the horse nor her walls could protect her from this. Though she didn't think it was an intentional attack, the searing wind was unrelenting and insistent. Billowing with a strength she couldn't hope to match, it ate away at her feeble fortifications.

The esse of the rising titan roared in.

Leiyn squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists into tight knots as the battery continued. That it would dissipate soon was little comfort. A titan like this ash dragon only radiated their spirit this strongly when they first roused from their long slumbers.

To stay above the fiery flow, she focused on her other perceptions. The feel of her clothes, dewy from the ride, as they clung to her skin. The faint, cool wind brushing against her face. The sounds of the rustling leaves filling her ears. The vague discomfort of the hard leather saddle under her rump.

She grounded herself in her senses, and slowly, as the burning wind abated, she pried her attention away from her lifesense. Her walls rose, and her mahia became blind once again.

Prying open gummy eyes, Leiyn wiped at her face with a sleeve, disregarding the dirt she smeared across it. For several moments, she could only hunch over, breathe deeply, and attempt to rein in her galloping pulse.

"Cow's tits, I hate titans," she muttered. "But no use in sobbing over dropped eggs, eh, Steadfast?"

Despite her words, she turned her head toward where she'd last sensed the titan. Her path had taken her up a rise, and through a gap in the trees, she could see the Silvertusk Sierra rising over the landscape. One of its peaks, Nesilfo, the Clouded Fang, was red with lava. Even leagues away and thousands of feet above, it was a clear enough day that the jagged mountain was plain to see. The lava contrasted with the ice and snow that had claimed the apex before.

Above the mountain soared the ash dragon.

The titan took a slow turn through the air on wings formed from the lava's noxious fumes. Its body was long and sinuous, and it undulated as it moved through the blue sky. As the smoke and ash that made up its head parted, it formed a mouth lined with long, sharp teeth. The rumbling of the mountain was its roar, the spurts of lava, its fire.

But the esse within it burned hotter than any volcano.

Leiyn watched the titan circle above the mountain in an endless loop. Experience told her it would continue to do so for several hours before it settled back into its craggy peak for another years-long slumber. For now, it burned with unmitigated power that spread across the wilderness. Nothing that possessed the lifesense could ignore an awakened titan.

Why these spirit beasts acted as they did, no one knew. But watching one, feeling its presence… even as it opened her cursed magic, observing titans was as close to wonder as Leiyn ever felt.

With a start, she realized she'd inadvertently lowered her mahia's walls once more and exposed her lifesense to feel the ash dragon more strongly. She scowled and snapped them back into place.

Remember the cost, she told herself. Never forget it.

But no matter how many times she killed the temptation, it always came back. And the more vehemently she denied it, the more the opposing thoughts intruded.

What if I accepted it? Gathered all the broken pieces of myself and stitched them together? What if I didn't hide my mahia as a secret shame, but wielded it as a weapon?

Yet to even consider such was to spit in the eye of Omn. Embracing Gast magic went against all the teachings of the Saints and the Catedrál. Mahia had only ever harmed her and those she loved. It was a vile thing, through and through. 

She knew it was the truth. She only hoped that someday she would accept it.

Her thoughts triggered a different realization that nearly had her digging her heels into Steadfast's sides. A titan's awakening. Gast magic. It couldn't be a coincidence that an ash dragon had arisen so soon after she'd run across the Gasts—and Gasts with a shaman among them. She knew, as every Baltesian did, that Gasts had the power to command titans.

That the shaman had awoken one now could only mean one thing.

War. War has returned to Baltesia.

Leiyn sucked in a shaky breath as she contemplated it. She'd thought the Jaguars portended a mere raid, their writ be damned. But if she was correct, if this titan's awakening was an omen of worse things to come, it was more critical than ever that she intercept the Gasts. How many warriors would follow on their heels? How many shamans would awaken titans to destroy Baltesia and the rest of the Tricolonies?

Yet even as the terrible hypothetical threatened to freeze her mind into rigid conclusions, she knew it was only one possible scenario. It remained conceivable, however remotely, that the writ was legitimate, the Gasts innocent, and the titan's awakening was a happenstance. Or, if they were raiding, that it was an isolated incident. 

Whatever the truth, she couldn't parse it out in the forest. She had to return to the Lodge; any possible answers awaited her there.

She spared one last look for the ash dragon and lava-riven Nesilfo. It was a ranger's duty to report on the activities of titans. The great spirits distorted the shape of the landscape when they rose from their slumbers. With every awakening, titans demonstrated the wilderness had been aptly named. They, of all the creatures found across the Veiled Lands, most profoundly disrupted the landscape and its inhabitants. When awake, they left a trail of destruction wherever they roamed, be they a hill tortoise trampling a forest, a tempest hawk blighting a hillside with lightning, or a river serpent flooding a river and its surrounding lowlands—to make no mention of what a titan that appeared near a town might do.

But the intentional awakenings of more titans would do far more damage than leaving this one unreported. She had to alert the Lodge to the danger.

Steadfast danced beneath her, eager to be off. Leiyn pressed her heels and urged him on, hoping she wasn't already too late.

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9: Forgery

As the sun set, Leiyn crested the last rise and glimpsed the Lodge emerging above the trees. 

Despite herself, some of her tension slackened at the sight of it. Partly it was the relief of homecoming. As much as she felt at peace while ranging the wilderness, the Wilds Lodge was always a welcome respite from the hardships of roughing it in the outback. Even more reassuring was the prospect that she might learn answers to the questions plaguing her.

"Tadeo will know, won't he, old boy?" Leiyn rustled Steadfast's mane. "He always has an answer."

Though, if history was any guide, he usually gave the answer she least wanted to hear.

She let the stallion set the gait as they rode up the gentle incline. Tall grass parted before Steadfast's long legs and tickled the bottoms of Leiyn's doeskin shoes. With spring well upon them, grass that was golden or brown most of the year had turned bright green, matching the fresh leaves that had returned to the hibernating trees.

As she neared the north tower, Leiyn raised her gaze to the lookout. Old Nathan leaned out of the watchtower's opening, his long face set in its usual frown. Cocking an amused smile, she raised a hand in greeting. He didn't bother waving back. Nathan was the eldest ranger in the Lodge, and from what she'd heard, he'd always lived there. Tough as a maple's roots, she didn't see how anything could put an end to the man, no matter the length of his years.

Though curious about any rumors that might have passed through, she knew better than to ask the cantankerous man after he'd descended his tower to let her through the gate. Instead, she continued around the range to the stables. The stables had grown with the rest of the Lodge. Two dozen well-bred horses could occupy the stalls if, for some unprecedented reason, all the rangers were called in at once. Though apprentices took turns grooming the beasts, no stable hand awaited her, for each person was expected to take care of their own mount. Dismounting, Leiyn led Steadfast to a stall and went quickly through the motions of unsaddling and rubbing him down. The sable stallion nudged her with his head for her efforts, always keen to show his gratitude. 

"Anything for you, old boy." Leiyn smiled as she fetched hay and water. With a final scratch behind Steadfast's ears as the stallion bent to eat and drink, she strode to the great hall.

After leagues of swift riding, her legs felt wobbly. Sweat gathered over the long day clung rank to her skin. But hunger ached in her belly, and her desire for answers drove her into the great hall rather than toward the baths.

She entered to the usual riotous atmosphere. Once more, Yolant was singing and playing the gourd, this time a common tavern ditty called "The Dryvan's Husband," which had a quick melody that tugged even Leiyn's feet to dance. Though there was no capering just then, Naél and Camilo were back at each other, racing around a table caterwauling like cats while their peers jeered at them.

Pressed for answers, she only dodged around the rowdy apprentices and barked a sharp reprimand after them, though her words went unheard. With thinly veiled amusement, she let the boys go and turned toward the called greetings from the other rangers present. Leiyn wove her way through the great hall, swaying slightly with the music, and made for their long table on the far side.

"Back so soon?" Isla rose from the table and made to embrace her but paused at the sight of her soiled clothes. "I thought the ride to Folly was further than a day."

Leiyn raised an eyebrow. "Very amusing."

"But really, it's not like you to skip out on patrol. And you look as if you've had another run-in with titan trappers."

Leiyn grimaced at the reminder of that past chapter in her life, a hand halfway rising to the scars on her neck until she stopped herself. "I'm not half-strangled though, am I? But I can't say what happened is much better."

Isla waited a moment, then shrugged. "Fine. Save the tantalizing bits for Tadeo. My food is getting cold anyway."

Isla led her to the bench, and as they settled down, Leiyn took stock of the others around them. Tadeo was present, as usual, whittling away at another of his carvings, and he flashed her a small smile in greeting. Gan was also there, a middle-aged jester of a man who had long ago immigrated to Baltesia from Altan Gaz, the Kalgan colony that lay to the east. Marina, too, sat at the table. Gan appeared to be telling one of his outrageous stories to Marina, who listened with her usual skeptical air.

Plates were arrayed before each of them, this time boiled carrots and potatoes, spit-roasted game, and forest greens. Leiyn longed to fetch a plate of her own, but her questions were more pressing than her belly's needs.

Leiyn turned back to Tadeo, and without preamble, she blurted, "I have to give report. There's something you should know about."

Tadeo nodded, as if he'd expected nothing else. "What is it, Leiyn?"

She rustled in the small oilskin pouch she kept at her hip and pulled out the writ of passage. Her hasty storage of the paper had done little to improve its condition, and it was coming apart around the arrow-tear.

"What is that, a rag? It can't be a document in that condition," Isla noted drily.

Leiyn ignored her and passed the parchment across the table. "I confiscated this from a Gast war party along the Tortoise Bluffs."

In his careful way, Tadeo slipped out his small pair of reading glasses and slowly lifted the paper to examine it. Leiyn had to keep from drumming her fingers on the table. She wondered if she had time to fetch dinner before he finished reading it. Part of it was nerves; there was little chance that Tadeo would miss what had caused the paper's tear, and she didn't need him thinking her rasher than he already did.

"Well?" she finally prompted.

The lodgemaster lowered the paper and peered over his glasses. "You didn't confiscate it, Leiyn. This is a legitimately signed and sealed writ of passage."

"It cannot be. They were armed, Tadeo. They rode draconions and towed no wagons. Saints, they awoke an ash dragon from Nesilfo! They aren't here to trade. Omn's eye, I know they came to kill."

Tadeo only watched her. He had a hunter's patience and a priest's temperance. She'd only seen him become infuriated a handful of times before and was glad it occurred so infrequently, though she wished she could draw out some anger in him just then.

"An ash dragon?" he asked.

Only then did she realize how her conclusion sounded when spoken aloud. Triggered the bear trap now, she admonished herself. She had no choice but to continue.

"One rose from the Clouded Fang, as I said. It was just after their passage."

"The Gasts couldn't have been near Nesilfo if you encountered them this afternoon."

Once again, she was forced to restrain her frustration. "They weren't," she admitted. "But we don't know what Gast shamans are capable of. And besides, who's to say there aren't more of them out there? Maybe a second shaman raised it."

Tadeo only continued to stare at her, his silence a reprimand. Even amid her anger and alarm, Leiyn knew the unsubstantiated theory was unworthy of even an apprentice ranger. Yet she clung to it all the same.

"I don't know what we can say about titans," Isla spoke up. "It could be a natural occurrence, or it could be Gasts. But when it comes to the writ… If I may?" 

Isla reached for the paper, and Tadeo handed it over. She examined it for several moments before looking up and giving Leiyn a helpless shrug. "It's unusual that a Lord Conqueror signed it, I'll give you that, but they have the authority to grant passage through World King Baltesar's lands."

Leiyn's temper was quickly rising. She clenched a fist under the table and attempted to control herself. "It must have been forged, then. Think about it. It's easier to fake a conqueror's signature than the Lord Governor's, what with the garrisons constantly coming and going. And what reason could a Suncoat leader have for giving Gasts free passage? The Union has never had a warm relationship with the natives of the Veiled Lands, even less than the Tricolonies."

Her claims were all but historical fact. Since the beginning of the colonization of the Veiled Lands, so named for the nearly impenetrable fog bank that shrouded the continent along the Torrent Sea, their motherland had adopted harsh policies toward Gasts and the other natives. Following the Titan War, the old Caelrey had decreed they be killed on sight, and even now, Gasts couldn't be legal citizens of Baltesia. The natives often returned the hostility, and Leiyn had never met a Gast with a friendly smile.

Yet, though she knew what she knew, Isla and Tadeo's raised eyebrows didn't tell the same story. 

"Don't close your eyes to other perspectives, Leiyn," the lodgemaster said. "You must consider all the threads."

Her irritation spiked. The last thing she needed was a lecture. But because it was Tadeo, she kept back any words she might regret. 

"Such as?" she asked evenly.

"Lord Mauricio openly seeks increased independence for Baltesia. He has protested to the Caelrey of the levies and restrictions imposed on us and threatens further action if his requests are not met. For World King Baltesar, these are likely untenable demands. He won't willingly release his hold on the colony."

"So, you're saying Baltesar is setting the Jaguars on us to punish the colonists for the Lord Governor's demands?" Her tone betrayed her incredulity.

The lodgemaster gave her a small shrug. "I am raising doubts as to your assertion. You should not draw your bow unless you mean to loose, doubly so for accusations. Gasts and the other native peoples of the Veiled Lands have been, on the whole, friendly. Many live in our towns here in the Titan Wilds as our neighbors. Do you not think they, too, wish to live in peace?"

"Peace?" A bitter laugh escaped her. "I don't know about you, Tadeo, but I haven't forgotten what happened at the Rache homestead, what the Jaguars did to that family. Believe that Gasts want peace if you wish, but this tribe poses a danger to Folly and the other settlements. As rangers, it's our duty to protect our fellow Baltesians."

Their conversation had finally drawn the attention of Gan and Marina, and Gan chimed in, "Pissing right you are, Firebrand! Ferinos have never given us a reason to trust them."

She grimaced at the sobriquet as well as the slur, which she knew would grate on the others. Yet appreciative of the support, she gave Gan a nod.

Tadeo nodded as well, though she suspected it wasn't out of agreement. "I know you believe that, Leiyn. And I know many share your beliefs." His eyes flickered toward Gan, but they settled back on Leiyn. "But Gasts who live in this territory are Baltesians as well. They aren't 'feral' as some assert, but people, with all the flaws and virtues that anyone possesses. It has never been otherwise."

"And I suppose you think Jaguars are well-intentioned too?" She couldn't hide her disdain, even for him. As much as she respected and cared for Tadeo, the lodgemaster's feelings toward Gasts had always rubbed her raw.

Tadeo gave her a sad smile. "The Jaguars were only accused of that tragedy, never convicted. There's no evidence but rumor that they were behind it. And when I inspected the wounds upon the bodies there, they appeared not to be inflicted by hatchets and macuas, but swords and arrows such as colonists use."

Leiyn hadn't heard that before. Still, she only set her jaw against the assertion. As much as she trusted Tadeo's eye and judgment, she'd heard the blame ascribed to Jaguars far too often to believe otherwise.

Tadeo must have seen it, for he shook his head. "You have a good heart and good intentions, Leiyn, but you are blind when it comes to the Gast people."

His disappointment had always cut through her like a knife, and this occasion was no exception. Instead of shaming her into silence, Leiyn found her voice rising in volume.

"You think I'm blind?" 

At her statement, which she'd nearly shouted into the dining hall, many of the apprentices glanced her way. Yolant broke off her song with raised eyebrows as if to say, Is this how a ranger behaves before younglings? 

Chagrin was the balm Leiyn needed. With an effort, she reined in her temper and tried to present a more reasonable front. She knew she wouldn't listen to hysterical arguments. She had to be calm. She had to be in control.

"I'm not blind," she said in a low voice. "I know them better than either of you."

She could tell her companions didn't wish to resurrect old disagreements; neither did she, for that matter. The last thing she wanted was to deal with bloodthirsty Gasts.

But she wouldn't let the ferinos do to someone else what they'd done to her.

When Tadeo spoke, she could tell he chose his words carefully. "It's best if someone else handles this, Leiyn."

She'd stood before he finished speaking. "No. I'm going after them."

He was at a disadvantage in this, for she knew his philosophy of leadership. He sought to mold himself to the needs of the Lodge and his rangers, bending to meet each where they were instead of forcing his will upon them. Tadeo was not one to forbid someone once they'd declared their intentions.

Her old mentor frowned for a long moment, then glanced at Isla. "Will you go with her? This party should be returned their writ of passage. I will have someone else cover the Coyote Fens for you."

"Of course." Isla glanced at Leiyn. "So long as you take a bath first."

Despite herself, Leiyn gave her friend a weak smile. "So long as you promise to keep up this time."

"With Steadfast? Forget it. Gale is fast, but no one can outlast that stallion of yours." Isla patted the bench. "But come; sit down. Or better yet, grab yourself a plate before the little gluttons claim the scraps."

Though even the apprentices would be hard-pressed to eat the kitchens out of stock, it was sound advice. She was loath to leave off the Gasts' trail for even one night, but in this, she had to relent. The war party was unlikely to reach their destination that evening, wherever it might be, and both she and Steadfast needed the rest.

Sighing, Leiyn made her way to the kitchens.

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10: Skin-Walker

Early the next morning, Leiyn led Isla back to where she'd intercepted the Gasts. Along the way, she caught her up on all she knew.

Isla shook her head in disbelief. "You'll never make it to being a gray-hair, Leiyn Firebrand. Shooting at Gasts alone… Who raised you, dryvans?"

"Firebrand." Leiyn snorted a laugh. "I was fine. I had the high ground and surprise on my side."

"Only you would think that's enough to kill two dozen on your own."

Leiyn only rolled her eyes.

They spoke little after that, riding in what would have been a companionable silence at any other time. But Leiyn couldn't help but brood over every brief interaction she'd had with the Jaguar chieftain. There were things she'd left out in her report to Isla—notably, that he had surprised her as she retrieved the writ of passage. Her friend already thought her rash and impulsive; no need to further degrade her opinion.

The sun was past its apex by the time they reached the meadow. Leiyn indicated where the scene had played out and which way the party had headed. Her friend nodded, then bent to examine the trampled grass. After several minutes, she gave a low whistle.

"You weren't lying; there were quite a few of them. I could almost believe two dozen."

Leiyn raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for taking me at my word."

Isla rose and turned her gaze southward. "Were they traveling quickly?"

"Not particularly."

"Then maybe we can catch them tomorrow."

Mounting again, they set off at a swift but manageable pace. Large as the Gast company had been, their trail was easy to follow, and draconions' clawed feet always left distinctive prints. Still, Leiyn could tell the pace was taking its toll on Steadfast, still worn from his rough treatment over the past few days. She leaned down and patted his great head as he trotted along.

"Just a few more days, old boy," she muttered. "Then you can have a proper rest."

Steadfast turned his head to roll an eye at her, as if he detected the lie in her words.

The afternoon light bled away, and evening fell. Isla had already twice suggested finding a good place to set up camp. Even Leiyn was ready to stop for the night when the tracks of the Gast party led to a wide, open meadow.

Leiyn halted in the trees, her guard instantly raised. She scanned the poplars bordering the meadow but saw nothing but gently stirring branches among the growing shadows. She lowered her gaze again. Signs of a camp were everywhere. Three firepits had been used, and though dirt had been kicked over them, it was clumsily done, the black ash and scorched earth still evident. The faint scent of smoke lingered in the air. The grass had been flattened from many shelters erected, and shallow footpaths had formed where humans had walked between them. The forest lay hushed around them, animals not having moved back after what must have been a recent intrusion.

Isla dismounted Gale, then slowly eased down in front of her. "Obviously, they camped here."

"There's more." Leiyn pointed to the flattened grass. "See the shape of the shelters?"

Her friend studied the ground for a moment, then frowned. "Square? But the tents I've seen Gasts use have always had triangular bases. Did they pick up some Ilberian shelters?"

Having no answer, Leiyn dismounted and, leaving Steadfast to graze, took up her longbow. An arrow nocked, she crept into the camp. The shelters' shapes weren't the only unusual signs. There was scuffing on trees where lines had been hung to dry clothes after the day's travel. A filled-in latrine, still stinking, had been dug in a small meadow just off the larger one. And pressed into the mud was the print of a horse's hoof.

"This was a Baltesian camp," Leiyn said, scarcely able to believe it. "And a military camp at that."

"Ilberian soldiers." Isla sounded as incredulous as Leiyn felt. "What would Suncoats be doing here? And how would we not be aware of it?"

"I don't know."

Leiyn padded across the camp, careful where she stepped, though the meadow was so disturbed it was impossible to pick out any distinct tracks. As she circled the camp, she found one path branching off and disappearing into the surrounding forest. Looking up, she saw Isla standing by another.

"The Gasts continued south," her friend said. "Southwest, really."

"The Suncoats, if they are Suncoats, went north."

They both knew what lay in that direction. The Lodge was the only thing worth trekking to north of Folly, the last settlement before the true Titan Wilds set in.

"Maybe they're deserters," Isla suggested softly.

"Or ex-soldiers finished in their service."

Or maybe they're here on the World King's orders. Though Leiyn was sure her friend had a similar thought, neither gave it voice. Suncoats hadn't ventured this far into the Titan Wilds since the war. If that had changed, it could be confirmation of their worst fears.

War had come to the Veiled Lands again.

"Whoever they are, this doesn't look good." Her fellow ranger looked north, then south. "The camp appears fresh. Did the Gasts meet them here?"

"I don't see how they didn't cross paths."

Isla's gaze met hers. "Maybe you're right this time. Even if that isn't a Gast war party, I doubt they're here innocently."

Leiyn shook her head, too perplexed and worried to be gratified at Isla's rare admittance. But as she turned back to fetch Steadfast, she stopped short.

A stranger stood in the middle of the camp.

Her first instinct was to raise and draw her bow. But seeing who it was—or rather, what it was—she fought against the urge. Violence wouldn't help them now.

From all she'd heard, dryvans weren't fond of being threatened.

Leiyn had only seen one other sach'aan before, and this dryvan looked radically different from the previous one. Her body appeared female, with the semblance of breasts and a woman's curves, and her shape was vaguely human. But there, the resemblances ceased. Instead of hair, vines sprouted from her head, thick and old-growth green. From off-shooting tendrils, pink blossoms opened with cheery color. Her face and body had the woodiness of an acorn's shell. Ivy draped over her, its leaves a mockery of clothes. Her eyes were the green of newborn leaves, interrupted by a rectangular black pupil shaped like a goat's. Her hands were hooked like a hawk's talons, and white and brown feathers sprouted along her arms and shoulders. Her feet were similarly clawed, though membranous webbing grew between the elongated toes.

From the corner of her eye, Leiyn saw Isla freeze as well as she stared at the skin-walker. 

The silence yawned, a pit she dared not venture into. Sweat trickled down Leiyn's brow, but she didn't take her hand away from her bow. Dryvans weren't known for attacking travelers, but she doubted anyone unfortunate enough to be their prey would survive. They revealed themselves occasionally, sometimes even helping people in trouble. But where they came from and how their minds worked, no one could claim to know.

And in the Titan Wilds, what a woman didn't understand might spell her end.

The dryvan broke the silence before either ranger found their voice. Her eyes flickered toward Isla, but her gaze settled on Leiyn as she spoke. "Did you feel it too, Hidden One?"

Her voice was like dancing leaves in a squall, gentle and a delight to listen to. Leiyn shook her head free of the fancy and gripped her bow tighter. An aura about the forest creature set her senses skittering, her gaze drifting, her mind inventing sounds and smells. Yet she could ill afford laxness.

She realized several more moments of silence had passed while she found her voice. "I don't know what you mean."

The dryvan cocked her head in a manner rather like a bird's. "Perhaps if you did not close yourself to the world's essence, you would."

Leiyn had an uncomfortable feeling she knew what the forest witch referred to. She had to stifle the urge to glance at Isla, to see if she understood, but saw no sign either way.

Knowing she had to stop the dryvan from revealing more, she asked, "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" The skin-walker's lipless mouth widened in a simulacrum of a smile. "I am many things with many names. But you may call me… Hawkvine, let's say."

"Hawkvine," Leiyn acquiesced, though, from the dryvan's hesitation, she doubted it was her actual name. "What drew you here?"

Hawkvine closed her eyes. "I felt a gathering of your kind such as this forest has rarely seen. I felt the snuffing of fires, one by one, crawling toward the land's spine. I felt a joining of purpose from two disparate peoples." 

Her eyes still closed, the dryvan drifted closer, her clawed toes carrying her effortlessly across the dirt as they scuttled like a spider's legs. The unnatural movement sent shudders up Leiyn's spine as much as the sach'aan's ominous words.

"There is more," the dryvan whispered. "I felt the forest's hush before violence falls."

Leiyn's skin erupted into chills. But from her fear, anger took root and drew strength.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded. "What do you know?" It was damned foolish to interrogate a dryvan, but the foreboding in the creature's cryptic words had worn her patience thin.

Hawkvine smiled again, then lifted a clawed hand, one talon pointing toward Leiyn's feet. "You might know if you fully opened yourself to all the world offers."

Leiyn followed her gesture and her breath caught. Around her shoes, the grass had darkened and withered as if before a winter frost. Only then did she realize the walls around her cursed mahia had drifted lower, crumbled by the force of her anger. 

With effort, she slammed up the walls again, cutting off the warmth of life surrounding her. Cold fear swiftly replaced it. 

The dryvan laughed, but the sound was as parched of joy as a riverbed run dry. "Must humans always learn lessons the hard way?"

Leiyn turned her head aside and drew Isla's wide eyes to hers. "We're wasting time. We need to pursue them."

Isla's gaze flickered to and from Hawkvine, then to the grass at Leiyn's feet. Her look made Leiyn's stomach clench, yet by the guilelessness of her friend's expression, Leiyn doubted she suspected the truth.

She thinks the forest witch killed the grass. It was a misunderstanding for which Leiyn was pathetically grateful.

Slowly, Isla nodded. "Pardon us," she said meekly to the dryvan, bowing her head as she did. "We must be leaving."

The skin-walker gave no sign of farewell but stared as they crossed the camp to their horses. Leiyn mounted and took her warbow in hand. Shooting from atop a horse in the dark was far from ideal, but she had a bad feeling it might soon be necessary.

She cast a final glance back at the dryvan, mostly to make sure it hadn't crept up on them. Though her gaze was averted, Leiyn had a prickling feeling that the woodland creature could sense her in a way Isla never could, her touch a tap against her walls.

Damming them tighter, Leiyn turned Steadfast down the path that their latest intruders had taken. With the night pressing closer, she and Isla set down it at a canter.

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11: Smoke

Her heart pounded a swift tempo as they moved.

The moons shone high in the sky, but they were only half-full that night, and their silvern light barely pierced the dense forest canopy. Leiyn strained to keep track of their quarry's trail while another eye watched for obstacles that might injure Steadfast. They traveled along a familiar route now, the interior loop of the Robin Holts, but she worried about losing the trail with too much haste. Still, she might have risked it had Isla not pleaded for caution.

"We'll help no one if we fall and break our necks," her friend reminded her. "I want to find these intruders as much as you do, but if we're traveling by night, we have to do it as safely as we can."

It did little to assuage Leiyn's impatience, but she relented, knowing the wisdom of Isla's words.

From the meadow of the Ilberian camp, she had estimated they were four leagues from the Lodge. In full light, they could have arrived within hours. But with darkness slowing them, the journey dragged ever on.

Wishing for something makes it grow no nearer. Tadeo's words reprimanded her then.

"You better be able to tell me that yourself soon, you old stump," she muttered to the darkness.

League after league, the tracks continued along the same route, and Leiyn eventually convinced Isla to increase their speed and simply follow the trail rather than search for the tracks. Despite the long ride, the sensation of being one step away from disaster kept her focus as sharp as an arrowhead. All her bodily needs faded to the background and she sank into her senses, pulling out every scrap of information she could from the shrouded wilderness.

Almost, she let down the walls surrounding her mahia. The temptation, ever bubbling beneath her shame and guilt, had grown stronger than it ever had in recent memory. With the lifesense, she could perceive anyone lingering in the woods for leagues around. Using it could mean the difference between finding their quarry and not.

No. Not now. Not ever.

She shoved the feeling back down and bolstered her barriers around it. She knew its price. She'd paid it before she'd known it for what it was. However useful it might be now, Gast magic was a cursed, unnatural thing.

She wouldn't spit on her mother and father's memories by surrendering to it now.

"Leiyn!"

Her head jerked up at Isla's soft call. The light, startling amid the darkness, immediately caught her eyes through the shadowed trunks. It shifted between orange and red. A faint whiff of smoke hung in the air.

Fire.

Without a word, Leiyn spurred her horse faster and felt Isla doing the same. Steadfast fought against her, the stallion panting with terror at his blindness, but he still obeyed. The fire grew closer, revealing itself to be as large as Leiyn had feared.

Only the Lodge itself set aflame could cause such a conflagration.

Risky though it was, Leiyn released Steadfast's reins, drew an arrow from the quiver at her hip, and nocked it to her warbow. She strained to detect anyone moving within the shadows, but the forest was too dark, and they were moving too fast. 

Was the Lodge under attack? Or was this an accident? Either way, she would take no chances—

The world lurched.

Suddenly, Steadfast was no longer underneath her, and Leiyn flew. Her stallion shrieked. Men's voices shouted all around.

As she hit the ground, pain like the touch of forge-hot iron burned through her. 

A metallic taste flooded her mouth. Spitting, Leiyn tried to draw a breath, but her lungs wouldn't work. She threw all her will at moving her limbs, but only one arm and one leg responded. A ringing drowned out the cacophony that had filled the forest. Her vision was bright with stars.

She gasped for air again, and this time her lungs expanded.

Coughing, choking, Leiyn raised her head as her working hand reached for one of her long knives. Her senses crept back in. The men's voices were close, too close. She heard Isla curse, then scream.

Her fury awoke then.

A shadow ran toward her from the trees—a man, by his wordless bellow. Something glinting in his hands, and he raised it to bring it down on her.

It was impossible to move but somehow, she managed it, screaming with what it cost her. The man missed, stumbled, cursed, then raised his weapon to try again.

Leiyn stabbed. She felt the knife scrape against bone. The man let out a shriek that would have horrified her at any other time. Now, it was the sound of progress.

Tugging the blade free, she rolled away and heard the man grunt as he tried hitting her again. Another miss. He was still rising from his ill-aimed strike as she made it to her knees and thrust a second time.

A gurgling gasp. His hand dropped his weapon and grappled against her hand. Her lips curled in a snarl as she drew out the dagger and, rising to her feet, drove it through his neck.

As the man toppled over, Leiyn wheezed and looked around. Her right arm still hung useless. Every time she tried to move it or it swung with her momentum, pain shot into the base of her skull, blackening her vision. Dislocated, or possibly worse. Thankfully, her legs more or less still worked.

Shadows danced around her, then toward her. Seeing the shine of another blade catching on the firelight, Leiyn lurched to the side, swinging a counter. The man grunted as her knife caught his arm. Flames outlined him as he brought his weapon back around toward her. She backed away, tripped, nearly toppled over. The body of the first assailant lay in her way. 

But her attacker tripped as well. In a flash, Leiyn stabbed her knife through his eye, and the man fell limp to the ground.

She heard pounding footsteps behind her and whirled. Too late—something hit her like a charging buck. A shield, she realized as she smashed against the ground.

She felt the man kick her knife away, then the assailant hit her again with the shield, stunning her into silence. He leaned over her. 

"You murdering bitch," he growled. "I'll flay and gut you for this."

Her second knife was pinned beneath him, so she reached up and grabbed his hair. Rage erupted through her, but it was impotent in her feeble body. 

So, it turned its cutting knives inward.

Under the onslaught, her walls fell from around her mahia. She felt the life pulsing inside the man she held, life she desperately needed.

He jerked in her grip. Something cold and foreign entered her. A flood of torment broke through a moment after. Suddenly, she was pinned to the ground. She could hardly breathe for the weapon stabbed through her.

But she wouldn't lose. She wouldn't die.

As her hand clung desperately to her killer's hair, an unseen limb reached inside him and pulled free his esse.

Faintly, she heard him gasp, then shudder, then convulse. His body, heavy and crushing, slumped onto hers, driving the weapon further into her middle. Darkness edged at her vision, but she did not stop, could not. Like a parched horse at a trough, she drank greedily of his life. As energy poured through her, her pains eased and feeling returned to her limbs.

Some part of her recoiled at what was happening, at what she did, but that part was small. Survival, and the fury feeding that instinct, possessed her now.

As she drew the last drip of life from him, she shoved at the limp body. But she was still too weak and his sword, driven through her belly, held her in place. Whatever she had done with her mahia hadn't changed that.

With an effort that felt beyond her, she pushed him off enough to reveal the hilt of the weapon. 

A whimper escaped, yet she reached up with trembling arms and closed her blood-slicked hands over the sword's hilt. With the last of her strength, she yanked it free.

Darkness seized her and with jealous claws, it dragged her down.