The sun rose finally, muted by clouds but closer than it had ever been to Friday. Aurora had been right. They had all kept vigil through the night, their heavy coats wrapped around them as they traveled further north. They had talked, and paced, and listened, and pondered the awful finality that pierced them in the revelation that Vale’s Protectorate now had Pyrengard under his eye. Friday understood that this trip to Forest houses meant asking, possibly pleading for help. It meant an assuaging of tempers and diplomacy and danger. And it meant something else she felt beneath the surface of all, something of which she felt certain no one was aware. She volunteered to cook breakfast and Andis led her to the galley and showed her where the food was kept. It was the first time Friday had gone below. She took in the vastness of how the ship had been refitted, so much so that it was like a flying cottage with every required comfort. They passed the forecastle with three beds that looked much warmer and more comfortable than the one Friday had been used to, and the library, which was a thing of beauty and surprisingly large, with large desks covered in papers of all sorts and chalkboards covered in drawings. Friday took her time in the kitchen preparing eggs and toast and sausage and potatoes. It was warm after the deck in the air and it reminded her of the kitchen in the Lion and the Unicorn. She realized then that it had been days since she has thought about that, Vera and Mr. Hays, and Anne, and Geoffrey. And when she thought about him she stood still, not because of any sudden pain or sadness or regret, but because of the complete absence of any such feeling. This was the young man who a few days since she had allowed herself to admit that she loved, who had often filled her heart to bursting. Where was it now? She found herself feeling the most commonplace, shallow emotions lately: surprise, amusement, gratefulness, even some paler shades of sadness or fear. But true wonder and joy and love seemed to have fled her. There was a change occurring deep within her but she did not know what it was, nor could she give it a name. It gnawed at her consciousness like a thing she had forgotten.
A few hours after breakfast in the captain’s quarters, it had gotten very cold indeed and Andis began the process of securing the Dirigible. She sent Othniel down with ropes over a thick clump of oaks and bean to let the air out of the balloons. They descended among the loud hisses of air escaping and settled creaking in the rustling leaves and branches of the trees. A rope ladder was let down to help them descend. Being among very old trees, they were soon able to let the ladder go and walk on the thick, sprawling branches down towards the flat ground. They brushed themselves free of debris and began a trek headed in a northwesterly direction on a well-trod path of deep brown dirt, fallen leaves in autumn’s array, and twigs. Othniel travelled slightly ahead.
“Now the Silverwinds are highly ceremonial,” Andis told Friday as they walked, “So when we enter Ahroun-proper, I think it would be best for Aurora to enter first, followed by me, and then you Friday. In order of animosity, you understand.”
“Surely there is no hate now.”
Andis and Aurora laughed. “No, I told you, Friday,” Aurora answered, “Fantastics have a capacity for grudges that surpasses understanding.”
“All too true,” Andis continued, “They will hate Aurora less because of her royal status, and I’ve told you they are quite formal. They despise me but their sense of dignity only allows them to show the most restrained dislike. And you, being an utter stranger, will undoubtedly arouse their suspicion.”
They continued together along the dirt road. The sky, when they could see it, threatened more rain, but never made good, so in spite of the grayness of the day, they remained dry. Whereas traveling above, the Forest had seemed impenetrable and solid, the interior so far north proved airy and roomy, the ancientness of the trees meeting the order of the Fantastics that cleared, and built, and planned among them. But shadow remained.
They had been walking perhaps a quarter of an hour when Othniel stopped his forward progression, planted his ghostly feet in the ground and unsheathed his Claymore. Andis was quick to take in his actions and she stood still and silent, her hawk’s eyes piercing into the trees for any sign of movement. Whatever was there moved like a native, with knowledge and incomprehensible silence. Then, there it was in the middle of a path, a great brown and grey wolf, brown eyes alight and white, sharp teeth bore in a snarl.
“Aurora, give Friday your cover,” Andis whispered, never blinking and never taking her eyes off the wolf in front of her, “Othniel and I will dispose of him.”
“No,” Friday said. Aurora and Andis were so surprised that they turned to look at Friday. It was all the wolf needed. He pounced and, in the same instant, Andis transformed, not in the calm way Raine had, but in a sort of explosion, her wingspan stretching wide, her call shrill and piercing. She flew up and prepared to claw the attacker, but somehow, without thinking, almost without moving, Friday was there before her, standing in the path of the leap and stretching out her hand to touch the wolf’s chest through his fur. In the very instant her fingers felt their target, the wolf stopped as solidly as if he had run into a wall and on the path laid a naked man, his sharp teeth visible as he opened his mouth to sound his pain, and clutched at his chest with this broad, long-nailed hands. He scrambled to his feet, looking with venom at Friday.
“Better give it up, Fenris Wolf,” Friday said to him. She didn’t know how, but she knew him, she saw him as clearly as one saw oneself in a mirror; in a moment, looking into his eyes as she had been, she knew everything about him. “You will accomplish nothing here, today. Go back and tell your count to send no more.”
The strain on the man-wolf’s face was visible. He tried and tried again to transform but was unable.
“What have you done to me, witch?” he spat in a panic.
Andis, offended for her friend at this most awful of names, dove toward the man-wolf and scratched at his back as he ran away. She stood then, naked in her human form, and Aurora gave her her own coat.
“What was that?” Andis asked immediately, wrapping the coat around her form.
“I don’t know,” Friday answered, truthfully, “And yet I do know. I saw him. In an instant, I saw everything he was. And I revealed him. That’s what I did, I revealed him.”
The two older women looked at each other.
#
Raine greeted them jovially at the edge of Ahroun. The village beyond was bustling and noisy.
“What happened?” Raine asked with a smile, “I’m sure I thought you all had been set upon. I almost set out to look for you.”
Again, Andis and Aurora exchanged a look that did not go unnoticed.
“Andis?” Raine said questioningly.
“I’m in need of some clothes,” was all the reply she got.
“You transformed? Whatever for?”
“We’ll have to talk about that in closer quarters.”
Raine’s eyes reflected her understanding. “Of course. Well let’s get you dressed.”
Stumble It!
