Like the tyger, they seemed to be part of this forest, blending so well into it.
Nyx glanced back to the forest behind her, remembering the chorus. Bridle-song, she realized. She had only heard such singing a few times. In the M?r, few ever demonstrated this ability, to use their voices to sway duller creatures to the singer’s will. Clearly the tyger was no such dull beast, but the combined chorus had been powerful enough to drive it away.
She touched her own throat, remembering how she had felt, what she had heard when the tyger had hissed. It still echoed there, as did her weak attempt to respond to it. She recalled the intimacy she had shared with Bashaliia. Had the reunion with her brother woken something more in her heart, something always there?
Frell shifted closer to Kanthe. “Can you speak with them? We don’t want to be here if that tyger should return.”
The prince shrugged. “I can try. Bre’bran taught me a few words and phrases.” He crossed over to the riverbank and lifted an arm. “Ha’hassan,” he called over. He pressed his palms together and lowered his brow to his joined fingers, then faced the others. “Tall’yn hai.”
Nyx guessed he was thanking them, but a few of the Kethra’kai leaned closer to one another, silently whispering. Others tightened lips in plain disapproval.
Kanthe must have noticed. “It’s been a while,” he said to Frell. “I wager I’m not inflecting properly. Their language is more cadence than words.”
“We need to get across the river,” Frell pressed him. “Maybe they know a spot along its course where we could safely ford it.”
The prince nodded, took a deep breath, and shouted again, “Meer pay … um … pyranta krell nay?” He gestured to the placid river and the danger lurking under its reflection of the forest. “Nee wahl nay?”
The line of men and women merely looked stoically back at them. A few retreated into the willows, vanishing immediately.
Kanthe cast their group an apologetic wince. “From the looks of it, I may have just told them I liked to sniff my own arse.”
“Wait,” Jace said, and pointed. “Look.”
The few who had vanished returned with bows already nocked with arrows. But rather than tipped in bone or iron, taut melon-sized pouches were fixed to the arrows’ ends. The Kethra’kai arched their spines, bent their bows, and shot high. The arrows dropped, one after the other, in a neat row from this bank to the other. The bags exploded upon impact with the water, wafting out a fine yellow powder across the river’s surface.
One of the archers waved to them, motioning them over. “Krell nay,” he ordered.
Jace frowned. “Do they want us to swim over? Through those waters?”
Nyx pictured the thrashing boar.
Kanthe cocked an eye at the swirling yellow dust that was already sinking away. “Maybe they’re seasoning the river. Making sure the pyrantha have a properly flavored meal.”
“Krell nay!” the archer repeated with a scowl.
As their group weighed whether or not to brave those waters, another figure appeared among the Kethra’kai. An old woman leaned on a tall white cane, sculpted out of a wood that nearly glowed. Her hair was snowy, cleansed long ago of the others’ golden hues. The wrinkles of her skin suggested a century of time in these woods.
The tribesmen parted before her. They offered small bows of their heads as she crossed through them to reach the riverbank.
She called across, her voice as pure and strong as the river at her feet. “The currents be safe. But only briefly. You must cross now.”
As proof of her words, a lone pyrantha bobbed to the surface, belly up and unmoving. Then another. But that was all. Nyx knew there were hundreds more still below.
“Hurry,” she urged, “before the spyll of addlemiff wanes.”
Frell glanced at them. “We must trust her.”
“Like we have any choice,” Kanthe countered, looking back at the woods behind them.
They quickly waded into the river and swam across. Nyx kicked and paddled with her breath held. Jace’s cloak billowed around her naked chest, trying to drag her back. The touch of cold water shivered her skin. Something bumped her leg. She flinched, picturing herself swimming through a mass of numbed purple bodies. Fueled by dread, she swam faster.
Upon reaching the far bank, she climbed out with the others. She did her best to drape Jace’s sodden cloak around her shoulders, keeping her bareness hidden.
“Follow us,” the crone ordered.
Only now did Nyx notice the elder’s strange eyes. One was green, as bright as an emerald; the other was a dark blue, like that of a twilight sky. Both were piercing as they studied Nyx, then the elder turned and headed off.
The Kethra’kai marched away from the river. Nyx and the others kept close. As she pushed through the willow branches, an angry howl echoed from the far side of the river. She shuddered, imagining what would have happened if the tribesmen had not intervened on their behalf.
As she faced forward, with her heart finally calming, a question formed. She stared at the pale backs of the Kethra’kai, fading into and out of the woods ahead.
Why are they helping us?
* * *
IN A CLEARING in the wood, Kanthe stood naked with Jace and Frell. A clutch of tribesmen knelt or stood around them, cocking an eye at their bare flesh, parting their hair and searching their scalps.
A tawny-haired fellow named Jaleek picked at the scab along Kanthe’s hip, where a crossbow bolt had grazed his flesh when he had attempted to steal the caged bat. Kanthe flinched as the man reopened the wound, setting it to bleeding again.
“Ow,” he scolded. “Leave it be.”
Though he had not spoken in Kethra, the tribesman seemed to understand and shifted his attention away from the tender injury. Kanthe was relieved until the man’s cold fingers grabbed his privates and inspected the underside of his bollocks. His cheeks heated, equal parts anger and humiliation.
He started to pull away, but Frell scolded him. “Let them search you.”
Kanthe looked his mentor’s way, realizing he had never seen Frell without his robe, which was piled with their packs and gear. The alchymist was all wiry muscle over knobby bone. And from the significant handful being examined over there, his friend could easily serve as a pleasure serf and not disappoint anyone.
Good for you, Frell.
Kanthe turned away to find a man just as red-faced as him. Jace held his palms over his privates as his examination was nearing its end. His larger bulk had taken longer to inspect, especially with most of his skin pelted in curled fur. Kanthe also saw that the journeyman was more muscular than he had suspected.
A regular Brau? bear, that one.
“What are they looking for?” Jace eked out.
One of the Kethra’kai who had been searching their packs and clothes turned sharply to another, speaking too rapidly for Kanthe to follow. He did identify one word that was the same in both languages.
Skriitch …
The tribesman held forth an open fold of wool, taken from Frell’s robe. It held the four spines removed from Bashaliia’s neck, along with the hooked stinger of the skriitch. Others came closer to examine the vile trophies. All eyes then turned toward them, squinting hard, casting gazes up and down their naked bodies.