Blade of Glass: Chapter 9

Geneve woke to soft hands against her face. She tried to push them away, but it was like trying to ward against smoke. Her fingers found nothing, pawing air, and the hands found her face again.

She cracked an eye. Above her, trees waved at the sky. Between her and the trees, the unmistakable face of a Feybrind. It knelt beside her, hands checking her face, neck, and—with a stab of agony—her shoulder.

The Feybrind had light-brown fur, almost blond. Its cat-like ears were slightly rounded. It smiled as best its kind could, a slight twisting of the line of its mouth. Its fur-soft hands left her, moving through the air, the motion like poetry given form. {Do you speak?}

Geneve rose, almost blacking out at the pain in her shoulder. The Feybrind backed away, but not from fear. The cat people didn’t fear humans except in great numbers. The Feybrind gave her space. Geneve touched fingers to her shoulder, instantly regretting it as pain jolted through her. “I handspeak the People’s language.” She gestured at her arm. “But I can’t speak it like this.”

{It’s good you can understand. So many of your kind are simpletons.} It held its distance. {There was a great battle here.}

Geneve looked about, remembering Israel and Vertiline. As she turned, the Feybrind moved in, cat-quick, grabbing her arm and twisting. Her shoulder wrenched, popping back into place. She screamed, staggering, nausea rising within her like a wave. She vomited, then tried to straighten, trembling.

{I’m Sight of Day.} The Feybrind was once again at a distance, no doubt wanting to be far away from a potentially angry person. She measured how it stood, changing her view from it to him. This Feybrind was male. The women of its people stood a little shorter, a little less broad of shoulder. {There were Vhemin.}

Geneve moved her arm, biting her lip. It needed a sling, but she had no time for such. “I’m Geneve, Knight Adept of the Tresward. Were there … others?”

Sight of Day shook his head. {You’re alone.}

She bowed her head. By the Three. I’ve killed my friends. Her gaze found her fallen blade. She hefted Requiem, slinging it into its scabbard. Her scattergun was nearby, so she collected Tribunal as well. Geneve moved through the camp, finding many dead Vhemin. She counted eleven of their fallen, the burn marks of glass wrought on their bodies.

No Israel. No Vertiline. And no sinner.

Sight of Day watched her from the safety of the tree line. He made no move to help or hinder her, but Feybrind didn’t approach humans without purpose. She made her way back to him without conscious thought, stopping five paces away. “Thank you.”

He cocked his head, hands moving their beautiful path through the air. {What for?}

“My arm.” She shook her head, angry with herself. Give him your honest self. It’s the People’s way. “For standing guard while I lay on the cold earth. For making sure I saw the sun again.”

The Feybrind measured her with its golden eyes. Vertically slitted pupils should be alien, but his eyes held warmth, and sadness, and even a hint of pity. {You’ve known the People?}

She winced but brought her arm up to speak to him in his own language. {Once. A long time ago.} Her fingers felt clumsy, awkward as she fumbled through her human imitation of handspeak. Her finger joints felt rusty compared to the fluidity of his.

He nodded, perhaps in approval, perhaps just as acknowledgment. {What will you do, Daughter of the Three?}

She turned a slow circle. “I’m going to find my horse. Then I’m going to find my,” she gritted her teeth, “fellow Knights. Free them, if they live. Avenge them, if not.”

{And the sinner?} The golden-yellow eyes moved to the cage.

“I don’t know,” Geneve admitted. “It depends.”

{I will make you a deal,} the Feybrind offered. {I will help you. In exchange, you will stay your blade against the sinner.}

Geneve watched the Feybrind. The cat man stood like the sea of death at his feet bothered him not at all. It probably doesn’t. They don’t like Vhemin very much. She wondered at the People’s motives in this. Feybrind didn’t come to human lands without purpose. But they weren’t evil, not like the Vhemin. They were just … apart.

“I can’t do what you ask.” Geneve sagged as the words came out. “The Justiciars demand the sinner.”

The Feybrind touched his fingertips together lightly. {Perhaps.} He gave another slight smile, head at an angle, as if he believed a different truth but was too polite to say.

Geneve thought about the road ahead. A sinner, free. Two of her friends, dead or dying. About the weight on her soul if the sinner went free, and the debt in her heart if her friends died. Would Israel and Vertiline want to live if it meant a sinner went free? Could she live with herself if they died?

The Feybrind watched her with those wonderful, golden eyes. {There is a storm inside you, Daughter of the Three. Storms can be terrible or wonderful. Shall we find out which you are?}

“I don’t command the Sacred Storm.” Geneve bit her lip, fingers running along the black Adept’s sash with its single gold bar. “There’s nothing inside me.”

{A woman in the eye of a hurricane might see as you do.} The golden eyes didn’t shift. {We have a duty.}

“I … can’t.” She shook her head, sharp and hard. “He’s for the cage. I won’t kill him unless he leaves me no choice, because it’s not my justice to give, but…” Geneve trailed off. “He can’t go free.”

{I understand.} The Feybrind turned to the trees. {Come anyway. We can talk about the end of things once the middle is done. Vhemin live, and I cannot abide.} It slipped into the dappled shadow of the forest.

Geneve stared after, then scoured the camp. It took her some time to don her armor; her shoulder swelled, a tight, angry pain inside it. She hissed as she tightened straps. It hurt but would hurt a lot less than dying.

Of the horses, there was no sign. Vhemin don’t take prisoners. What do they want with Tresward Knights? It was a puzzle, but not hers to solve. Geneve grabbed a waterskin and headed in pursuit of Sight of Day. The Feybrind was right. They might not agree what would be done with the sinner, but they had common ground. No Vhemin will live on human lands. All else was secondary.

* * *

Sight of Day left a trail easy enough to follow. It meant he wanted to be followed; Geneve knew of no human who could track a Feybrind that didn’t want to be found. He left her notches on tree bark. Tiny little arrows pointed her forward, no doubt scratched with the claws on the Feybrind’s fingertips.

Geneve felt weak, wobbling through the dappled green of the trees. She felt sick, more than aftereffects of re-seating her shoulder. As the sun’s midmorning stance took charge of the heavens, she wondered what was wrong with her. Was she sick? Had the Vhemin poisoned her?

Why didn’t they take me with the sinner and my friends?

She imagined she may have looked dead to them. Her ribs ached. Geneve remembered more than one kick to her midsection leaving them feeling like that. The Vhemin might have kicked her, got no response, and carted off her companions. They were known to eat humans. Geneve shuddered, wondering if they saw her friends as a banquet with legs.

Sight of Day waited for her in a small clearing. The Feybrind had collected a soft leather backpack since she’d seen him last. A slender sword hung from his waist, and a bow hung from his shoulder.

He stood by four horses. Geneve held herself still, unbelieving. Her blue roan Tristan tossed his head, prancing for the Feybrind. Vertiline’s chestnut grazed dew-sweet grass, holding close to Israel’s black charger. The beast looked angry. It’d be best to stay away from him. He was known to bite the unwary.

The fourth horse nuzzled Sight of Day. It was a red roan, about the same size as Tristan, but without the attitude. The Feybrind and horse stood, forehead to forehead. Sight of Day’s golden yellow eyes were closed, that small half-smile at his mouth.

Geneve was sure she made no sound, but the Feybrind turned to face her. He stroked the roan’s face, then beckoned her closer. {I found your horses. The black and I haven’t come to terms yet.}

She laughed, feeling joy at seeing the horses. She thought they must be dead and liked Tristan too much to lose him to the Vhemin. “Chesterfield doesn’t come to terms. He’s a bit like Israel.” The smile left her face as she remembered why Chesterfield was riderless. I slept instead of keeping watch.

The Feybrind studied her, then gave his horse another pat. {I thought Tresward horses fought beside their Knights.}

“They do.” Geneve broke from the tree line and headed for Tristan. The blue roan sidled away from her, wanting none of her armored bulk. The traitor made for Sight of Day’s side. “Perhaps Israel sent them away. He’s always had a soft spot for…” She tasted bitterness in her words. “For those who’d fall.”

{There are always three.} He offered her a waterskin.

Geneve drank, nodding her thanks before handing it back. “Israel leads us. Vertiline’s his second, and I’m…” She tried to find the right words. “The extra.”

Sight of Day half-smiled. {Let us find the Vhemin.} He patted his red roan’s flank. {This is Fidget.} Fidget wore no saddle or bridle. The Feybrind didn’t need them.

“She doesn’t look as feisty as Tristan.”

{Try spending an hour on her back.} He slipped atop the horse, the motion fluid, like water pouring itself back into a bottle. I’ve trained my whole life in the martial arts, and I don’t have half his grace. {The Vhemin went north.}

“Then we go north.” She didn’t like the idea of following Vhemin to their territory. They were easier to fight in the cold. Hopefully they’d catch the enemy before they made it too far.

Tristan had no saddle or bridle because only sociopaths made their horses sleep that way. Geneve had trained to ride bareback like the Feybrind and could steer Tristan with her knees. She eyeballed her horse. He eyeballed her right back. She held her palm flat, knuckling two fingers into it. {Kneel.}

He nickered, prancing away. Sight of Day watched, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. {You talk to him with the People’s handspeak?}

“It’s less one-sided than you’d expect.” Tristan pranced a circle, coming back to her with a toss of his mane. He sidled close, and she touched his neck. “I missed you too.” The horse huffed. “I don’t know where they are either, but we need to find them.” {Kneel.}

The horse dropped to his knees, letting her swing her armored weight atop. Tristan stood, but found time for a reproachful stare before prancing in front of Sight of Day and Fidget. Fidget ignored him, but Sight of Day clapped with delight. {Where did you find him?}

“He found me, I think.” Geneve patted Tristan’s neck, wishing she could run bare fingers against his coat. Gauntleted hands weren’t the same. “Let’s go.”

Sight of Day turned Fidget toward the trees and led the way. Feybrind were master trackers, and Geneve didn’t mind following. There was no time for prideful displays while her friends lay in the hands of the enemy.

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