A Cast of Shadows: An Araneae Nation Story Read online

  I should have known a hunter wouldn’t be content to scavenge dried salmo jerky.

  “You’re a pretty boy,” I told him. It was the truth. He was sleek and his fur was black. Gold shone in his eyes, and his sharp teeth gleamed. I took a cautious step closer to the spear. When he snapped at me, I made my voice soft and sweet. “Bite me and I’ll skin your furry arse to make a blanket.”

  The canis slicked his ears against his skull as if he understood me, then padded several steps to his left, until he stood between me and the spear. A grumble of annoyance rose in my throat. I tensed, prepared to lunge for the weapon and take my chances, but a terse voice hailed me from the forest’s edge.

  “You’ll never make it.”

  I registered movement from the corner of my eye. “Thank you for your encouragement.” The canis glared between us, then barked once. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to toss me my spear.” My request was met with silence. “No? All right. Do you have a quiver filled with arrows and possess a reasonable aim?”

  “I can’t help you, Daraja.” The male sounded closer. “You butchered his pack mate.”

  “I have never hunted canis,” I said, grateful it was the truth, “let alone butchered one.”

  “Yet there is a carcass in your camp.”

  “Liar.” I risked a quick glimpse over my shoulder. I saw nothing but the slant of deep shadows. “How do I know you didn’t leave the carcass there to incite the canis?”

  The instant the words left my mouth, I shook my head. Our whole conversation was bizarre.

  Who was this male? Why wasn’t the canis as concerned with him as he was with me?

  And why were we speaking of the canis as if it had a mind enough to plot against me?

  “The canis are my brothers. I would rather chop off my own hands than harm one.”

  I crept toward the spear. “I would pay to see a one-handed man chop off his own hand.”

  The male’s voice roughened. “I don’t think you appreciate the danger you’re in.”

  “There’s a feral mongrel eager to tear my face off if I can’t reach my spear, a spear it sounds as if you’re much closer to than I am, and you refuse to aid me.” I expelled a tired laugh and wished I had stayed in bed. “I think I understand the situation better than you give me credit for.”

  The canis gnashed his teeth, and the male’s voice turned urgent. “Can you prove your innocence?”

  “Why should I have to?” In a moment of defiance, I asked, “Who are you to ask that I do?”

  He didn’t answer. Had I honestly expected him to?

  “The Mimetidae paladin brought this pack with him from the northlands. They are under his protection,” he said at last. “To kill one of them is to be killed yourself, courtesy of the gallows.”

  I cleared my suddenly tight throat. “Who are you, their keeper?”

  He paused before saying, “Something like that.”

  Relieved by the notion his concern was legitimate, I lifted my chin. “What proof do you require?”

  “Let me examine your person and your belongings for teeth marks or more canis blood.”

  I glanced at my hands. “How can you tell salmo blood from canis blood except by volume?”

  “I can scent you.”

  Gods above. I had forgotten the Mimetidae were a clan of trackers. This male’s talent would prove I was innocent, but his demands rankled. “Then you can scent me from where you stand.”

  “That’s not good enough.” He sighed. “All good hunters know how to cover their tracks.”

  “My tracks are obvious,” I snapped. “At least they are to anyone who opens his eyes.”

  “Then I won’t be responsible for the justice their alpha metes out against you.”

  “You speak for the canis, then?” Of course he did. The male was three ticks past mad.

  Silence lingered a moment. “I do.”

  “Fine.” I angled my head to try and catch a glimpse of him. “Then I—”

  Teeth snapping, the canis leapt for my throat. I whirled aside, gasping for air, eyes swiveling in their sockets, desperation quickening my pulse as I sought out the one male who might aid me.

  I saw no one and heard nothing.

  A growl behind me raised the hairs on my nape. We had traded positions, so I lunged for my spear, but the canis vaulted between me and the tree with ease. Cursing, I spun toward the river.

  Forget the male. I would save myself.

  In the shallows, my net rippled in the current, its edge hung on a limb protruding from shore. Muttering a curse that would make Father’s ears blush, I ran for all I was worth toward the water. As I waded in, I heard the splash of the canis closing in on me. I shouted relief as I ripped the net free.

  I entered the river as far as I dared. With water lapping at my chest, I flung the net over the paddling canis. It barked as my first tug drew it closer, then yelped when my next tug pulled it under. Strangled sounds caught in its throat as I gathered the edges as best I could and dove deep.

  I didn’t make it far. The canis was fighting to live as hard as I was.

  Luck favored me, and I found a waterlogged tree tangled in debris in the riverbed. Wrapping the net around the thickest limb, I heaved until the canis was immersed in water. Its thrashing shifted the log, which proved to be rotted and less substantial than I had hoped.

  A moment was all I needed to escape. Perhaps the net might drown the beast outright.

  Either was fine by me.

  Kicking off the bottom, I propelled myself up and gasped for air when my head broke water. An instant later, I was shoved aside and under, left coughing up water and bobbing in the current.

  The male—who was more than a voice after all—cried out to the canis, “Hold on, Errol.”

  Unwilling to have my hard work undone, I swam for him and climbed upon his back. I sank my fingers into his hair and slammed his face into the water until I noticed he wasn’t coughing or gasping. Was he even breathing? Ignoring me, he paddled awkwardly to the spot where the canis had sunk.

  “Are you mad?” I spluttered when I realized what he meant to do.

  “He’ll die if I don’t cut him free.”

  “That’s the point,” I yelled at the back of his head. “He wanted the same fate for me.”

  While the male struggled to keep us both afloat, his black eyes met mine and my fingers slid from his hair to rest on his shoulders. “Errol is wild with grief. Please, help me save him.”

  “I would rather—”

  “Gold,” he said, gaze sliding back to where I’d left the canis to drown. “I’ll pay you to help me.”

  Even as my skin prickled at the insult, my thoughts flashed to my father’s face, how his smug grin would crack if I returned home with such a decadent prize.

  “Gods damned fool,” I cursed myself. “Might as well spit and roast myself while I’m at it.”

  Launching into the deep, I kicked my legs until I reached the canis. I grasped the knife from my waistband and sliced through the silken tether, freeing the net from the limb where I had tied it. After gathering the bag’s topknot, I propelled myself through the water with my legs and one arm until my muscles burned from exertion. My lungs stung from holding my breath and my eyes itched.

  When I broke the surface this time, I passed the burden onto the waiting male, who promptly sank like a stone. Father’s parting words echoed through my memory. Be kind. Let all you meet along the river recall your charity with fondness, and may their gratitude wash upon your shore.

  Manners ingrained since childhood tugged on my conscience until I gulped air, then fisted the net and tugged it in my wake. Once I reached the shore, I dragged the unconscious canis onto the beach. The male climbed from the shallows and staggered to his feet. His outline flickered, and I decided right then if he wasn’t Kwaku Ananse, he was the sort of trouble that I didn’t need.

  “Is he…?” the male asked.

  I nudged the canis with my toe, and he
spat a watery growl. “He sounds fine to me.”

  As the male scrambled to revive the canis, I gathered my spear and headed toward my camp. I had enjoyed my brief stay on Mimetidae lands, but I was done with the crazed male and his pet.

  When the pair caught up to me, I had a spear in each hand, my tent packed and my supplies gathered. I inclined my head toward the male, then let him witness my slow retreat past the trees.

  “I owe you for your help.” The male cast a pointed glance behind me. “Come to my camp. Let me honor our bargain.”

  Soaked to the bone, worried for my sanity, palms itching for that gold, I knew I had wagered and lost with this male. I bit the inside of my cheek. “That’s unnecessary. As much as I enjoyed meeting you, I think it’s time I followed the river elsewhere.”

  More riches awaited me. I had to believe that. Perhaps I would find my fortune around the next river bend.

  My next step back pressed something cold and wet against my calf. I swallowed and turned.

  Canis in colors ranging from dirty white to mud brown to black ringed the clearing.

  And the one with its teeth a hairsbreadth from my leg growled.

  Holding a hand out, Brynmor reached for Daraja. “Drop the spears and come to me.”

  “Sorry, no.” Her grip tightened on her weapons. “I don’t see that ending well for me.”

  “I won’t let them hurt you.” Not until he knew the truth. “Lower your weapons, please.”

  Daraja’s laughter surprised him. “I seem to recall an incident involving a tree, a spear and a male who helped me to reach neither, who left me at the mercy of his canis. Why help me now?”

  Brynmor set his jaw. “I couldn’t help you then.”

  She angled a spear at him. “That’s my point exactly. Who’s to say you can help me now?”

  “I give you my word—” he began.

  “You offer me the word of a male with no name and no clan.” She scoffed at his audacity.

  She had him there. Any vows he made hinged on the name and honor of a dead male.

  Rubbing a hand across his chest, he warned her, “The canis will outlast you.”

  “Of course you would think so.” She snorted. “They’re pets of yours? Did you train them to be so vicious? I’ve heard of hunt masters domesticating the beasts, but you didn’t seem the type.”

  Grimacing, Brynmor wished his explanation was only so simple, so easy to dismiss.

  Errol shook out his fur, eager to begin. “Once she lowers her weapons—”

  “No,” Brynmor snapped.

  A throaty grumble told him what Errol thought of that.

  “What do you mean no?” Daraja’s eyebrows rose. “What are you talking about?”

  “I…” Brynmor clamped his mouth shut.

  He was so used to being alone with Errol that he spoke aloud rather than through their bond. The other canis ignored him when he walked as an Araneaean, because he couldn’t communicate with the pack unless Brynmor’s spirit possessed Errol’s body and he became one with the canis.

  Daraja, though, understood him and eyed him as if he was insane. Perhaps he was.

  “Call off your canis,” Daraja demanded. “Let me cross onto Segestriidae clan lands.”

  “No.” Errol warned, “I will not let her pass.”

  Brynmor rubbed a hand down his face. “How did the carcass get here if it’s not yours?”

  “I don’t know.” She scowled. “With the salmo spawning, I have no need to hunt game.”

  He agreed with her there.

  “If you are—were—Mimetidae, then you should be a fair tracker. Did you check the area for scent?” Her brows lifted as she waited for an answer. Brynmor’s gut tightened. No. He hadn’t. They hadn’t. At his delay, she said, “Ah. I see. I suggest you check the clearing, then. No one leaves nothing behind. There must be a scent trail.”

  “She’s right,” he projected at Errol. “We never got around to investigating her things.”

  “I don’t need to investigate.” He stepped forward. “She is a huntress, a murderer.”

  Pointing out that they had far more blood on their hands than she did was a waste of breath.

  “I won’t let you kill her in cold blood.” Brynmor stepped between Daraja and Errol. Errol’s transformation was chilling. He flattened his ears flush against his skull and lowered his head.

  “The others warned me not to trust an Araneaean, even a dead one, but I thought that meant you could do us no harm.” He thrashed his tail. “Now I begin to see the error in my judgment.”

  “Please, brother.” Brynmor exhaled through a budding headache. “Leave the pack to guard the female. We will follow Scipio’s trail, find where he was killed and learn who is responsible.”

  “And if the female is to blame?” Doubt weighted Errol’s voice.

  “If we find Scipio’s blood on her…” Brynmor swallowed hard, “…I will kill her myself.”

  With a curt nod, Errol sidestepped Brynmor on his way to Daraja. “I will examine her.”

  “Shoo.” Daraja’s voice cracked. “Why is he coming over here?”

  “He’s taking you up on your offer. He wants to check you for traces of Scipio’s blood.”

  “Scipio… You mean the canis?” Her brow knitted. “You named them?”

  “They already had names,” Brynmor said. “Most people can’t learn them.”

  She gifted him with another look that questioned his sanity, then dropped her spears and let her hands fall to her sides. Her palms were open and her spine straight. She was confident, which made it easier to watch Errol sniff her feet and legs, hands and arms, anything within reach.

  With a sneeze, he trotted back to Brynmor. “The river might have washed away the blood.”

  “Do you believe that?” Brynmor snorted. “Your nose is better than that, better than mine.”

  Silence hung thick in the air as Errol sat on the ground. “She might have an accomplice.”

  “Did you smell another Araneaean on her?” His fists clenched as he waited for an answer.

  “No,” the canis grumbled, and Brynmor relaxed his hands.

  “Is he finished?” Daraja wiped her palms on her pants. “Does this mean I can go now?”

  Brynmor shared a look with Errol. “Well?”

  “Release her,” Errol snapped. “Warn her never to return to these woods.”

  “I will do as you ask.” Brynmor conveyed the warning to Daraja.

  After retrieving her spears, she gave him a stiff smile. “I hope you find the one responsible.”

  “We will, I promise you that.” He indicated she was free to leave.

  Daraja sidestepped the canis, taking care to avoid Errol as she headed for the river. Her song began the moment he lost sight of her. Her voice lulled him a step forward before Errol placed a paw on Brynmor’s boot. The canis kept it there until the only sounds they heard were the rush of water and the call of night birds. Long after Daraja was nothing more than a whiff of perfume on a hot breeze, Errol kept an eye on Brynmor. When at last the pack became restless, Errol yipped.

  He flung his head back and swore his vengeance to the moon. “Let the hunt begin.”

  Chapter Three

  As I picked my way along the riverbank, an orange and pink sunrise blossomed in the sky.

  Once I crossed onto Segestriidae clan lands, I sat on a rock and waited for my heart to calm. Gnarled trees stretched their limbs toward the river, and their leaves lent me shade. I slid onto the damp ground, reclined with my arms folded behind my head and rested one ankle over my knee.

  Who was that strange male? Why was he loyal to a clan he claimed to no longer belong to? Better yet, why did he tend the canis for the Mimetidae paladin if he himself was no longer part of the Mimetidae clan? Why had the stark fear in his eyes compelled me to— I muttered a curse.

  The male and his secrets were no problem of mine. I had done what was expected of me.

  I had shown the male kindness, hadn’
t I? His canis tried to kill me, but I had spared its life.

  I did for them what they would not have done for me. My shores should be littered with their gratitude, though I wouldn’t hold my breath for their thanks. I was lucky to have escaped alive.

  “This is far enough.”

  I jolted at the sound of a male’s voice behind my resting place. Could I never find peace?

  “Are you sure?” a second male asked.

  “Would you rather start digging?”

  “No.”

  “Then stop asking questions and lift your end.”

  The males grunted in unison and water splashed as if they had tossed something heavy in the river. I used the noise as cover to tuck myself tighter against the rock and angle my spears at the side exposed to the shore. I held my breath and waited while sweat and fear dampened my palms.

  The menace in the males’ tones kept me from peering out of my hiding place.

  My judgment had been proven lacking last night, and I dared not tempt fate for a second day. Better for me if I waited until they finished splashing about before I risked coming out of hiding.

  “Come on,” the first urged. “We should have been home before daybreak.”

  The second male grunted agreement, and they tromped through the woods. Slumping against the stone, I waited until my back lodged a complaint before rolling to my knees. About the time I decided it was safe for me to leave, a reedy howl startled me. I held still, hoping whatever it was would leave. A moment later, a cold nose bumped my elbow, and I glanced down very slowly.

  Staring up at me was a canis pup. Its black eyes reminded me of the male I’d left upriver, the one responsible for the singularly most bizarre night of my life, the one who would have allowed his canis to kill me, maybe, I wasn’t quite sure. He had, after all, protected me there at the end.

  The pup yipped at me and pounced on my leg, its claws scraping down my bare calf.

  “Get.” I shoved it back. “Go on.”

  The last thing I wanted was for its mother to catch me near one of her pups.