Of Truth and Beasts

Suddenly, Shade’s ear twitched, and a vivid memory rose in Wynn’s mind.

She was sitting on the hearth’s ledge in the Sea Lion tavern on the night of Magiere and Leesil’s wedding feast. Chap lay beside her, silent and pensive. They both knew his kin, the Fay, were now aware of Wynn’s ability to know of them, hear them. He was deeply concerned about her safety.

“What am I to do without you?” she’d whispered to him.

Remembering that moment from more than a year past made tears well in Wynn’s eyes. No mortal should’ve been able to hear Chap’s communion with his kin, and as a result, they wanted Wynn dead. They’d tried to kill her once, because the taint inside her allowed her to hear them, just as she heard Chap in her head. If it hadn’t been for him, turning on them ...

Once you arrive, stay where many are around you, Chap had warned that night on the hearth. They will shy from approaching where they might be noticed.

“You know something dark is coming,” she’d replied. “Is it your kin ... from what you sensed in the orb’s cavern? Are they behind all of this?”

No ... something more, beyond them. And I have made other ... arrangements, which I hope will come through for your well-being.

Wynn hadn’t known then what that meant. But she did now. Through his mate, Lily, Chap had sent Shade. He’d sacrificed a daughter he’d never met to try to guard Wynn in his absence.

Wynn wiped away fresh tears, uncertain why Shade had called up this memory. Perhaps it was a reminder from Shade that she was the intended guardian and Wynn the ward, and not the other way around. And soon enough, they would be leaving the tenuous safety of civilization.

“Shade, pay attention,” Wynn said, lightly poking the dog’s rump.

As her fingertip sank through charcoal-colored fur, another memory erupted in her head.

Wynn was looking at herself, as if she were two separate people.

The other her looked too tall, as if Wynn was lower to the floor. The other Wynn glared down, pointing a finger at ... Wynn. She said something that came out like a series of sounds parroted without an understanding of the words.

Obviously, this was one of Shade’s own memories passed between them as Wynn’s finger touched the dog. All memories that Shade passed this way had problems when it came to spoken words—which tended to come out muted and dulled. This time, when the memory passed, it instantly repeated, and Wynn caught the words scolded at her ... by herself.

“Shade ... no!”

She jerked her finger back, so startled that she wobbled on her knees. The obstinate meaning behind the reflected memory was clear. Shade was telling Wynn no, quite plainly.

“Oh, you little ... Don’t you tell me ... !”

Wynn fell into mute shock as the greater meaning in the memory dawned on her. She had a sudden bizarre notion, so simple that at first she couldn’t believe it was possible.

“Get up,” she said, pushing on Shade’s rump.

Shade got up all right, and spun around with a snarl, but Wynn grabbed the dog’s face with both hands.

She tried to recall any word that Shade had heard often and that meant something important to both of them. She was just as careful not to let any true memory come to mind. She needed not just a person, place, or thing, but a concept connected to moments—to memories—with a like meaning.

“Wraith,” she whispered.

Shade’s hackles rose and her jowls pulled back. A cascade of moments involving Sau’ilahk, a mixture of both their memories, flickered through Wynn’s mind. It ended with Wynn’s own perspective of thrusting the ignited sun crystal into the wraith’s hood.

That was one word that Shade had heard many times—and understood. Likely, she understood far more words than she let on. This time, Wynn didn’t scold Shade for using memory-speak. Instead, she lifted one hand, touched her right temple with one finger, and then pointed more directly at herself.

“No Shade memory. Yes Wynn memory. Show ... Wynn hear ... wraith.”

Wynn lifted her other hand from Shade’s face and sat back, not touching the dog, so that Shade could not send her own memories—but only call up Wynn’s. The dog stepped forward, reaching out with her nose.

“No,” Wynn said. “No memory-speak. Wynn memory.”

Shade’s eyes narrowed an instant before the assault came.

Every moment in Wynn’s life when she had spoken of the wraith to anyone went racing through her head—too fast! It felt like the world was swirling around and around amid a living nightmare of black-cowled, black-robed, faceless figures. Nausea in Wynn’s stomach lurched up into her throat, and one fleeting, remembered voice sounded inside her head.

—wraith ... cannot be gone—

Wynn flinched, breathing hard. “Stop.”