Guardian: Dinner

I opened my mouth, stopped, and didn't bite my lip. The duo approaching my fire looked ordinary enough; robed against the cold and bearing packs. My stomach rumbled. Packs sometimes meant food, and my body was quite certain it hadn't been given enough lately. 'Maybe they'll share.'

I beckoned them over and crossed to sit next to my fish again, setting the one I'd started picking at near the flames again. 'They won't notice, right?'

By pantomime, I welcomed them — a bearded man and a veiled woman — to join me for the meal, and they quickly pulled flatbread and some slightly wilted greens from their pack.

'Why didn't you think of that?' I glanced at the riverbank, no doubt home to all sorts of edible plants, and grimaced. 'Because you're as likely to poison yourself as you are to make an edible meal.'

Together, we split the fish into even portions, laid it atop the flatbread, and topped it with the greens. Folded to contain the guts, I crammed the first bite into my mouth, and chewed carefully, watchful of stray fishbones. The greens were zingy, adding a crispness that the fish lacked. The flatbread's flavor was unfamiliar, but good, with a hearty chew. Before long, we'd devoured the meal to the last crumb, and I leaned back on a slanted rock, replete and more than a little sleepy.

'But you still don't know what they want, besides dinner.' My fingers stroked the worn denim of Sorcha's cloak, tracing the patches and the bare weft. 'I'm not sure how to find out with the waterfall's noise.'

The man seemed to sense my concern, pointing to me, then into the darkness while the woman pulled a small hide bucket from her pack and headed for the river. I gnawed my lip, wincing at the pain that flared. When the woman returned, she motioned to the fire with the bucket. She wanted to douse it.

I scratched my head, staring from one fire-lit face to the other. 'As it stands, they may be your best chance at finding if Sorcha went this way. Dare you risk offending them?'

Reluctantly, I hauled myself to my feet and gestured toward the fire.

"Yeah, alright, fine." I shoved the extra wood clear of the makeshift firepit, hoping the lack of fuel right here would help prevent any issues. Nevertheless, when the woman went to put the bucket away after a second trip, I extended my hand, requesting that she lend it to me. I made five trips, my biceps protesting each time, and stirred the ash and charred wood into a gravelly stew, before returning the bucket. 'And pay no attention to the giggles behind that veil or the grin that keeps appearing on his face. Doesn't matter. I don't want to burn the river down.'

Once the fire was extinguished to my satisfaction, the pair led the way across the gravel to the riverbank — a hefty step up that my stiffening body objected to taking — and downriver. The moon shed enough light on the path we cut that I didn't fear I'd fall in the river and drown. Much.

After trudging much farther than I'd expected, the man turned around.

"Now we can speak properly." He smiled and half-bowed. "Thank you for sharing the meal, and your fire. I am Grig, and this is Tyr." The woman nodded gracefully at the acknowledgment.

"I'm Bu — Gua —" My tongue tied itself in knots and I paused, flustered, and stroked the denim cloak I'd draped over my arm. "Cairn. Call me Cairn."

"Ah." The pair exchanged glances I was too exhausted to interpret. "You… are a Butterfly, are you not? A Guardian, perhaps."

Heat crawled over my cheeks and I could only hope the moonlight blanched it somewhat. 'Can't pretend you're not who you are when you're uniformed from head to toe. Though…' My gaze sharpened, and I tried to recall the nuances of that glance they'd shared. 'If the locals haven't been in contact with the Guild in years, how do they know you're a Flit?'

"Yes. To both, actually." I shifted my weight, edging backward, but hopefully discreetly. "I hadn't expected to be recognized here."

Another heavy glance.

"We — our people — have been looking for yours." Grig studied my face, and I fought not to reveal anything. "For years, actually. But more recently…" Grig grimaced and swallowed.

"More urgently, of late." Tyr's eyes didn't focus on my face — they traced the embroidery at my cuffs and collar, and that on the cloak.

"Oh?" I licked my lips, tasting the bright copper again.

"There's been some…"

"Disturbances," Grig finished. "And, with the last storm, a Butterfly—"

"We think a Butterfly." Tyr glared, her eyes flashing in the moonlight.

"Fine." Grig shook his head. "We think a Butterfly crashed into the protective glyph around our camp."

"The last storm?" My gaze shifted from one to the other, trying to follow what they said and what they didn't say. 'So tired of this. Can't someone just say what they mean?' "That was days ago, right? Unless there was a more recent one here. Is the Flit not…" I waved my hand vaguely. "Not talking to you?"

Tyr huffed.

"No, the bird isn't talking. But then, most don't."

"I… don't see." I rubbed my aching eyeballs. "If a bird — what? Hit your shield? Days ago, and hasn't shifted, why do you think it's not just a bird? We can't go that long outside our original form."

"Because most birds don't return the dead." Grig's voice was soft, the tone conveying an underpinning of grief and concern that emphasized the hostility in Tyr's manner.

When my brain caught up with the words he spoke, I reeled, falling forward to brace my hands on my knees.

"I — What?" When Tyr and Grig both opened their mouths, I cut them off. "No. No more of this… bouncing. One of you, start at the beginning, and tell me."

With another loaded glance, Tyr yielded to Grig.

"It was the night of the Quarter Moon. We had made camp on a farmer's field, next to his mill. He'd asked us to help replace his millstones, but he was at the Festival, so we were to wait until he returned. The mill…" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. The rain made the river rise, and my cousin had slipped away. He is… was… fascinated with machinery, and we think he got caught in the dam-work." He sucked in a deep breath, fighting for control, and I clenched my hands to keep from reaching out — offering the hollow comfort that was all I could give.

"We'd just realized he was gone when a black and gold bird with a wingspan wider than I'm tall swooped toward the camp. In her talons, she carried my cousin, wrapped in a strange leather shirt. The river had damaged the glyph, weakened it, but it was strong enough—" He flinched.

"The bird ran into what was left of the glyph — full-on, didn't even try to stop." Tyr shook her head. "The protections — the little that remained — snapped. We were left in the middle of a storm with a dead boy, a half-dead bird, no shield, and no one in any way capable of re-establishing it in the dark. It was three days before the rain slowed enough for repairs." She smoothed her veil over her mouth, muffling her remaining words, but not so much that I couldn't hear them. "Only Butterflies bring so much trouble on their wings."

"Bones and feathers." Stunned, I gawked at them, hoping for even a hint that they were joking. 'They're blaming this on us?' "I am sorry for your loss. It… doesn't sound like a Butterfly problem, though."

Their faces were skeptical.

"Okay — first, the bird. You said it's got a wingspan wider than your height. The biggest Guardian I've seen has a wingspan maybe to your shoulders. And there's only one ferruginous hawk in a generation — he's not here."

"We dragged her to a tent to recover." Grig rubbed his forehead. "This bird isn't a hawk, and her wingspan is much greater than that."

"Owls don't reach that size, either. And the few falcons aren't bigger than the hawks."

Grig nodded slowly, but Tyr shrugged.

"So you know all there is to know about Butterflies? No secrets from the young Guardian?" Her eyes pinched on the last word as if her veil concealed a sneer.

My cheeks burned again, and Mergen's words echoed in my ears. 'Do you swear to not speak a word about this? To stay off the Routes that stray from the now?'

I shook my head. 'That's not the type of secret Tyr's talking about.'

"Believe what you want — all Flits learn what forms are available, so they can find the ones that fit. Anyway, there's another reason your mystery bird can't be one of us. How many days has it been since this happened?"

"It was…" Grig moved his lips as if tallying. "Five days ago now. It happened during the second night-watch, but with the storm obscuring the stars and the disruption of a missing child, I can't be more specific."

"You don't need to be. There's no way for us to stay shifted that long. I was shifted most of yesterday, and again today, and I got so lost in the form I ate a—" I swallowed hard, fighting to keep the fish down. "Nevermind. The point is, we get lost and can't find our way back to ourselves."

"Stuck? Kinda like that bird?" Tyr asked.

"No, it's—"

"Peace!" Grig stepped between Tyr and me, raising his hands to separate us further. "There is to be no agreement without evidence. Perhaps, if it would not take you too far out of your way, you could come and see." He hesitated. "But where are you headed? It's been years since a Butterfly was seen below the falls."

Tyr smacked his hand down and hissed at him, dropping into a harsh dialect that I couldn't follow.

'Bones! If they're going to be mysterious, you're better off going back to the overhang. Maybe you could rekindle the fire.' I glanced speculatively over my shoulder.

"No, please." Grig switched back to trade tongue. "Don't go yet. What brings you here?"

"I'm looking for someone." My fingers drummed a restless pattern on the cloak, drawing Grig's eye.

"A fellow Guardian?"

"No, an Out Poster. She's not been seen…" 'In years.' My fingers stilled. "How would you know a Flit hadn't been below the falls?"

Grig grimaced and gestured to my denims.

"The same way we know you're a Butterfly; by the clothes you wear."

"It's death to wear that uniform." Peering around Grig's shoulders, Tyr's smile was wide enough to squeeze her eyes. "But a Guardian wouldn't be afraid of that, right?"

"Death?" The cloak lay heavy on my arm. "Why?"

"Hush, Tyr. It's not as bad as that." Grig grimaced. "There are plenty who will let the past lie in its grave."

"And there are more who would put you in that grave with it."

Tyr's malice left me speechless. 'If there haven't been any Flits around for years, why does she carry such a grudge?'

"Look, everyone's tired. It's dark. Why don't we make camp and rest? Things will be clearer in the morning."

Scrubbing my hand over my face, I considered my options. It didn't take long. 'It's just a question of camping with them or trying to separate. And if you're going to pick their brains in the morning…'

"Let's go back to the overhang." I jerked my chin over my shoulder. "It's got firewood and some shelter if another storm sweeps through."

Grig cocked his head, studying me.

"That's stupid." Tyr shook her head. "If it storms, the water will rise and we'll be underwater. Plus, the falls will drown out the sounds of anything approaching. If we'd meant you harm, you'd have been dead before you realized we were there."

"No, because I—" 'heard you fine.' I blinked and bit my tongue. "Where would you camp?" The question tasted of copper as it crossed my lips.

"There's a deadfall not too far from here. It's sturdy, and we've got some canvas we can use to expand it." Grig glanced at Tyr, and continued, "But if you'd prefer to camp at the falls, maybe we could—"

"I'm not camping there." Tyr folded her arms. "If you want to, go ahead. You can meet me at the deadfall in the morning if you make it." Her chin jerked up, and she stared at Grig.

I stepped away, two strides backward.

"Okay, you obviously feel pretty strongly about this. I…" Shrugging, I turned around. "I don't. You two make your camp. If you light a fire in the morning, I'll be able to find you easily enough."

Quick strides carried me away from the ensuing fight, though I could hear enough to say they weren't using trade tongue again. My shoulders were tight, though, and I timed my breaths, deep and even, in an effort to relax. The gravel, bathed in moonlight, was in sight when I realized my jaw was clenched so tightly my teeth ached.

'Bones!' I flexed my jaw. 'What is it about them — about her — that has you so on edge?' Gravel crunched under my boots and I checked the fire pit. 'Still soggy. But that's what let them sneak up before — you could hear them fine, but the fire blinded you.' I settled gingerly beneath the overhang and tested the ground. It didn't conform like my hammock, but the gravel had some give. 'It'll do for a night.' I stretched out, throwing the cloak over my limbs like a too-small blanket.

My mind wouldn't settle, though, and I turned over the words, the looks, the gestures — everything I could recall from the unexpected meeting.

'It's not the death threats.' Though a small voice admitted those were disconcerting. 'They're after something, but don't want you to notice. But there's only one thing you know that would interest anyone.' I shivered and tugged the cloak higher on my shoulder. 'Too bad you're not still sealed. If you slip up, give away that you know there's Routes that don't stay in the here and now…'

The thoughts, restless and anxious, chased me down into sleep, where I blocked a bridge as the forest burned around me.