Scrivener’s Tale. Fiona McIntosh

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      FIVE

      Loup arrived silently at dusk but Cassien was waiting, sitting quietly on the stoop of the hut; he had sensed the man’s approach long before. He felt a flutter of nervous energy at what he planned to say, wondering if Loup could write an angry response fast enough. He didn’t plan on taking ‘No’ for an answer.

      Loup nodded at Cassien’s wave.

      ‘Good evening, Loup. Welcome back.’

      The man stopped at the edge of the clearing where Cassien’s hut stood. ‘It’s always good to see you, Cassien,’ he said.

      Cassien’s mouth dropped open in astonishment as he stared at Loup, who gave him a sheepish look.

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘All these years,’ Cassien murmured, shock racing through him.

      ‘I half wondered if you might sense it.’ Loup looked down at his big hands. ‘They were my orders.’

      ‘Brother Josse must be so proud of you.’ He was disgusted at the deception and wanted this man to know it.

      ‘As he is you,’ Loup said, still not coming nearer.

      ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Cassien replied.

      ‘I am as obedient and committed as you are, Cassien,’ Loup grumbled.

      Cassien stood abruptly and turned away. ‘There’s food in the pot,’ he growled over his shoulder. ‘Forgive me, I need to be alone.’ And then he was gone, grabbing his dagger and bow, blending into the forest in a blink and running silently, as far from Loup as possible.

      It never failed to impress him that Romaine could know his mood. Many times she had suddenly appeared out of nowhere when he had found himself particularly unhappy, or hurting deeply from his injuries. Romaine would come, sometimes across many miles. She would lick his wounds and sit close to him, allowing Cassien to hug her, bury his face into her thick fur if he wept. The training had so often felt as though it had no purpose and now he felt betrayed. Loup — his one connection with the world outside the forest — had been lying to him. He was walking now, had stopped running as soon as he’d distanced himself from the man.

      He heard a soft growl and Romaine emerged from the darkness. Light was fading from the day anyway, but here, this deep into the forest, it was almost always dark. Her pale coat looked luminous in the faint light.

      ‘Romaine,’ he whispered.

      She whined softly with pleasure as he crouched down to embrace her.

      ‘Oh, those cubs are close,’ he said, forgetting his troubles and gently touching her swollen belly. ‘But you came to find me anyway, didn’t you, girl?’ Now he stroked the broad, almost arrow-shaped head, which tapered to her nose and pale grey muzzle.

      She ran a large, dry tongue over his face in welcome as he dug his fingers into the bushy fur at the base of her head; she welcomed his rough scratching around her neck and ears.

      ‘You are so beautiful. You never let me down. How are you feeling? When will you have your family?’

      She whined in response.

      ‘Soon, I think,’ he answered for her.

      Romaine had always stood out from her small pack — not just because of her affectionate attitude toward him, but more particularly because of her colouring. Most of her kind were nondescript grey with a darker stripe of fur running the length of their back. Romaine was a creamy grey, lightening to a near-white around her flank. But each hair seemed to have a black tip, which gave her the extraordinary colouring of smoke.

      Her yellow eyes looked deeply into his and he absently stroked her forehead.

      ‘I’ve been tricked,’ he moaned in answer, and went on to tell her of Josse’s orders and how angered he was by Loup’s deception. ‘It’s the final insult,’ he continued. ‘We are Brothers, raised to be loyal and that loyalty is our religion. You know how it is with your pack. You all trust each other. Without that to rely on, I don’t think I want to be part of this family any longer.’

      She growled again, as if she wanted to convey a message.

      ‘Romaine is warning you that your decision may not be wise,’ said a voice.

      At the first word, Cassien had flipped backwards and was on his feet in one agile move, which included drawing his dagger from its sheath. He was poised, crouched slightly, tensed and ready to strike in less than a heartbeat.

      ‘Who are you?’ his scratchy voice echoed back from the trees, inwardly seething that he hadn’t heard or picked up any stray sound or smell. Why hadn’t Romaine warned him?

      ‘No-one you should fear,’ came the reply. The voice was mild and friendly.

      ‘Where are you?’

      ‘Here.’ A small, spare man stepped out from behind one of the great oaks and stood beside Romaine. He touched her head and Cassien was astonished to see her lean against his leg as though they were long-time companions. Her mouth parted and she panted in that happy way of hers, her tongue lolling slightly. These two were friends.

      Cassien backed away a few silent steps to rapidly gauge his surroundings. His senses strained to hear and see what threats might have accompanied the stranger.

      The man seemed to know what he was thinking. ‘I am alone, unarmed.’

      ‘You came with Loup,’ Cassien accused, frustrated by Romaine’s easiness around this stranger.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘To kill me?’

      The man smiled. ‘May we sit? My name is Fynch. Loup knows to leave us be.’

      The stranger called Fynch looked as relaxed and unthreatened as a person could be.

      ‘Please,’ Fynch urged, ‘sit with me.’

      Cassien lowered himself fluidly in one movement to sit cross-legged. He could throw the knife accurately from a seated position; the man would get no more than half a step before it was lodged in his throat.

      ‘Thank you,’ Fynch said. ‘I’m sure you have questions but I come to ask for your help.’

      ‘Help,’ СКАЧАТЬ