Cyrion (3 page)

Jon increased his pace, making sure to stay out of range as he listened to Saul spit what he guessed was local vegetation and insect life out of his mouth. “What?”

“I know,” Anya said. “I thought the wards were a bit paranoid too. This isn’t flood or earthquake country. Surprised the inn wasn’t dragon-proofed though.”

“Dragon-proofed?” Jon said, a note of disbelief in his voice.
Okay, first goblins, now dragons? What have we gotten ourselves into?

“Ah! Here we are,” Anya said.

They reached a small clearing at the end of the trail. She walked with perfect confidence across the clearing to the pile of firewood, neatly ringed by stones, and knelt down to start a fire. The boys stopped at the very edge of the campsite. A wolf padded toward them from the opposite side, dropped a few dead rabbits at their feet, went over to Anya, and laid down next to her. Anya scratched the wolf’s head. The animal licked her hand and then settled down to doze in front of the campfire.

“Sorry, boys. My friends can help with the hunting, but not with the cleaning or the skinning. At least, not unless you don’t mind lupine drool all over your dinner. And they definitely don’t cook. They lack opposable thumbs, among other things. But hey, I started the fire for you.” Anya smiled.

Her eyeteeth glinted in the firelight as she shrugged, spread her cloak over the ground, and sat down. Anya seemed no older than he was. Her blank eyes shimmered silver by the reddish-golden light of the campfire.

Anya was blind.

PLAYING WITH GYPSIES IN THE WOOD

Saul grabbed Jon’s shoulder and, turning both their backs on Anya, scooted as far away from the fire as the wolf pack allowed. “Grandma, what big teeth you have.”

“So a werewolf, you think?” Jon pulled his lower lip with his fingers. “Makes sense. She said ‘we’. Those wolves seem awfully tame around her, and far too comfortable this close to a fire. Definitely not normal wolf behavior.” He scanned the clearing.
She’s right.
The odds are stacked too high against us. We can’t fight them all and hope to win. Should we run?
He pulled his lip again.

“Maybe a witch, with those eyes. Or a vampire.”

“Who’s ever heard of a blind vampire?” Jon said, snapped out of his reverie by Saul’s last comment.

Saul shrugged. “Aren’t bats blind? Don’t vampires turn into bats? And what about the dragon proofing? Also, did you notice her eyes?” He shook Jon’s arm. “How come she knows where to go if she is blind? Actually, how come she sees even better than we do when she is blind? And why are you so calm? And quiet?”

“Saul, you’re babbling.” Jon worried his lip again.
No, too dark. And they can see better than we can. So now what?

“You know,” Anya said, her eyebrow arched, “aside from the eyes and teeth, I also happen to not be deaf. Did your mothers never teach you that in polite society, it’s considered rude to stare? And to gossip about your hostess?” She shook her head in seeming disbelief. “Now, how about you put down those weapons and fix your dinner? Then we can sit and talk like civilized people. I can even offer you some salt.” A smile lit her face.

Jon hesitated for a moment.
What does she want? Perhaps if we can get her to relax, she’ll talk.
He sighed, bent to pick up the rabbits, and walked toward the campfire.

“What’re you doing?” Saul said, running to catch up.

What can I safely say aloud?

“Well, what’re our options?” Jon said. “Might be different for you, but I’m tired and hungry. And you heard her. We can’t fight or outrun them.” Jon unslung his pack and began rooting around. “So we might as well eat. Even if she does decide to kill us later, at least our bellies will be full.”

“And you believe what she said? You think we can trust her?”

“Actually,” Jon said after a moment’s pause. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

If she wanted to, she’d have killed us by now.

“Trust me,” Jon said looking straight into Saul’s blue-grey eyes. Saul took a deep breath and then nodded, absolute trust on every line of his face.

It had been that way between them for as long as Jon could remember.

“Wonderful.
So
glad you’ve decided to stop talking about me as if I’m not here.” There was an odd, flat note in her voice.

Jon’s face warmed with shame, and he caught Saul also flushing with embarrassment. She was right. Their parents
had
taught them better manners. He sat and took a small dagger out of his pack. The dagger and his bow were his pride and joy. Jon received them as presents from his parents on his last Nameday. While he couldn’t think of a name for his bow, he christened his blade
The Annihilator
. His father dubbed it
The Squirrel Slayer
. After his howls of protest, they compromised by calling it The Slayer. His smile at the fond memory faded. What did the goblins want with Dad? Or with the rest of the villagers, for that matter?

“You know,” Anya’s voice derailed his train of thought, “your dagger stinks of magic.”

“Huh?” Jon looked up from the rabbits, confused.

She was picking twigs out of her frizzy dark hair. The albino wolf looked up at her with its pink eyes in adoration. Or at least, Jon thought so. “Your axe too, by the way.” Anya paused and looked at them in turn. “Your people are not spell casters, are they? Or Watchers?”

“No. What’re Watchers? My dad runs the tavern and the inn.”

“And my dad is the blacksmith,” Saul said, studying his axe intently by the light of the campfire.

“Maybe your mothers are Watchers? Or spell casters?”

“My mum cooks for my Dad’s inn,” Jon said.

“My mum knits. What are Watchers?”

“Even in summer?” Anya said, a note of disbelief in her piping voice.

“She
likes
to knit,” Saul said, finally sitting down next to Jon by the fire. “And what are Watchers?”

“Huh. Anyway, as long as you keep those weapons close, they’ll tell somebody if you’ve been hurt.”

The boys looked at the multitude of minor scratches and bruises decorating their arms and legs.

“Well, if you’re seriously hurt.”

“Tell who?” Jon said.

“How should I know?”

“And what are Watchers?” Saul said, a mulish cast on his face.

“If you don’t know,” Anya shrugged, “then you don’t need to know.” She returned to grooming her hair.

Jon rolled his eyes, sighed, and proceeded to skin and clean the rabbits.

“You’re cooking?” Saul said. “Have you ever cooked anything before?”

“Nope. But the last time you decided to cook, the eggs exploded and we were grounded for a month,” Jon said. “So yes, I am cooking.”

“Eggs exploding?” Anya’s blank eyes widened in bewilderment. “How?”

“Look,” Saul said. “Like I tried to explain to the grumps, it wasn’t entirely my fault. I was conducting an experiment.”

Anya’s lips twitched into an expectant smile. “Grumps?”

“Grown-ups,” Jon answered in unison with Saul.

“We were supposed to cook lunch for all the fathers in the Outpost.” He turned to Saul. “You remember? Our mums wanted no part of the lunch we fixed. I wonder if they had an inkling of how things would turn out.” He shook his head as he skewered the cleaned rabbits before putting them on the fire.

Anya leaned back on her elbows, legs outstretched. “Well?” She canted her head to a side as the smile on her lips widened. “Don’t tease. Tell the story. Please?”

Jon concentrated on the roasting rabbits.
Good, she’s relaxing.

“We were running late,” Saul said, “so I came up with an idea to cook and serve as many eggs as possible in a very short time.”

Jon smiled. “His idea was to stick all two dozen eggs, shells and all, into his father’s forge. We pulled them out when we thought they were done. Then, before you know it… Ka-blooey! Molten egg goo and shell shrapnel everywhere.”

“It took us all week to scrub everything down,” Saul said. “And how we stank! Ooh…The stench lingered for days and days and days. Sleeping in the shed was not fun.”

“So, now that dinner is cooking and you probably know more about us than you really want to, let’s be properly introduced. My name is Jon, and this is Saul.” He gave Anya an expectant look. “We are humans.”

“I suppose that’s my cue.” Anya sat up. “I am Anya, and these are my friends.” She nodded at the wolves lounging in the clearing, basking in the warmth of the campfire. She hesitated for a moment, chewing on her lower lip. “I am a
cyrion
.”

“Huh?” Saul said, leaning forward, confusion on his face, and his hands, nowhere close to his axe.

Oh no! Saul’s letting his guard down.
Jon’s eyes widened in alarm. The aroma of roasting meat filled the night air. He poked at the rabbits while racking his brain on how to get Saul attention without attracting Anya’s.

She heaved a sigh and lolled her head back. “A
cyrion
, a
wai ren
? A shapeshifter? A
forastero
? Just stop me when something sounds familiar.”

“Anya,” Saul said, “in plain Common Tongue. Please.” Jon tried to give Saul a warning glance, which he failed to notice.

“Do you guys learn history in school? You do go to school, right?” Anya said.

“Yes, we go to school! We learn reading and writing and math,” Saul said.

“Also hunting, brewing, fishing, and smithing, but not cooking,” Jon said while turning the rabbits on their spits. He arched his eyebrows and shot a warning glance at his friend.

Saul finally noticed. He pressed his lips together and then stared at the ground, an almost imperceptible frown on his face.

Anya nodded her head. “And not history. Okay, I understand.”

“We just want to ask,” Saul said, still studying the ground, “if you are likely to perhaps…drink our blood later tonight? Or snack on us, or turn us into frogs, even. I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we…we like our current shape and…and species. I’m not a fan of reptiles or amphibians or insects, unless I eat them, not that I eat insects. I mean I
did
eat some earlier. But you know, not intentionally or…err… Anyway, you know what? I’m a big fan of being human and—”

“Saul, you’re babbling again.”

Anya pursed her lips. “Well, I can probably do the first two, but I can only shift myself into a frog.”

Jon scooted back in alarm and tightened his grip on the Slayer.

“But I wouldn’t do any of those things to you. You’re both fun. I don’t want to hurt either of you.”

Jon relaxed.
I was right
.
She might be irritating. But not dangerous.

“Being a cyrion, I can take on the shapes of a lot of things, but mostly animals. I prefer wolves,” Anya scratched the silvery head of the albino wolf lying next to her. “I can also…
reach
…into their minds and make certain…suggestions.”

He nodded his head in understanding. “Like hunting—but not eating—a few rabbits.” The beginnings of an idea emerged in his head.

“Or gathering firewood,” added Saul.

“Exactly. There are limits on what I can suggest, of course. For instance, I can’t suggest they’ve suddenly developed the ability to fly, and should therefore fling themselves off the nearest high cliff. I’d never do such a thing. I’d never hurt my friends.” She nuzzled her closest lupine friend. “I can also borrow their sense of smell or their sight, which makes my blindness almost a non-issue.”

“Back there, on the trail,” Jon said, “you let us trip and fall on purpose, didn’t you? That really hurt.”

“Don’t be such a baby. You ducked the last branch,” Anya said, a puckish smile on her face. “Besides, I thought you were funny.”

“I wonder how many shapeshifters are hiding in plain sight?” Saul said.

“I prefer the term cyrion, and actually, there aren’t very many of us. Your rabbits are burning.”

Jon pulled his smoldering stick of half-burned rabbit from the fire in dismay. Lips twitching into an involuntary smile, he watched Saul bite into the first, still-smoking morsel of meat.

A split second before he did the very same thing.

Wait!

Too late.

All thoughts fled from Jon’s mind as what felt like a swarm of raging bees was unleashed in his mouth. Blinking back tears of pain, he spat the morsel out and dug frantically into his pack for a water skin. Or raisins. Or peanuts. Even disgusting stale crackers.

Anything
to calm his firestorm of agony.

Jon pulled off the stopper and upended the water skin over his face, his jaws wide open. He barely noticed a bag bouncing off his head, of it splitting open, and the brief shower of raisins that followed. All Jon cared about was that the fire inside his mouth had been put out.

He sat back on his haunches, water skin depleted.

Saul was still tossing his pack, looking for his water skin, inarticulate with pain.

Anya sighed. “Well, at least
one
part of you is clean.” She tossed Saul her water skin.

Still hissing with pain, Saul uncapped it before upending the canister into his mouth.

“Better?”

Both boys nodded. Saul made some effort to brush off the odd leaf and twig that clung to his skewer. They returned to their dinner.

“About
reaching
,” Jon said. “Does this mean that you can get inside our minds and make us do things?” His eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Are you doing so right now?”

“No, of course not! You’re talking about mind control and that’s immoral!”

Jon pursed his lips and stared into the campfire for a few moments. “But you could?”

“Yes. But Mother always said it ‘displays an appalling lack of respect for our fellow living beings’. I’m not sure what she meant exactly, but I think mind control is rude. No.” Anya shook her head. “I suggest and advise. I never command nor coerce. That is wrong.”

“Well,” Jon said, his eyebrow arching, “do you feel the same way about, say… goblins?”

Anya leaned back and tilted her head up to the star-strewn sky. “No. I’ve tried. Didn’t work. The books I’ve read warned against trying to
reach
goblins. But I did it anyway. When I was trying to
reach
into a goblin’s mind…I felt like I was lost in an endless, fog-bound labyrinth. I almost couldn’t find my way back out.”