Van’s whole body ached. The wound in his leg had reopened as he rode Olaha through the forest, and blood soaked his thigh. His head pounded dully. Ignoring all this, he focused on keeping Olaha plodding forward, but Van must have been weaker than he’d thought. The journey seemed to take forever.
As he neared the top of the cliff, the smell of fresh blood wafted on the air, along with the thick scent of Kinma dogs. Olaha’s nostrils flared, and he shook himself with apparent distaste. Van stroked his neck, reassuring him as they approached the precipice. Van smelled the four men before he saw them. The stench of blood was particularly strong in the grass where they stood. That of the dogs, though still powerful, was thinning on the breeze. They’re gone.
The men stank of blood, sweat, and okuba ichii.
The Molfah? If they were here already, gathered around someone drenched in crimson, and the Kinma dogs were gone, that could only mean one thing. Van all but saw what had transpired.
They found Shikan and killed him…
But the dogs had escaped, probably down the cliff. Van pursed his lips. If the dogs got too far, it would be hard to catch them. Van had to follow as soon as possible. But the Molfah exuded bloodlust. If he attempted to pass them without explaining, they were likely to shoot.
Van took a deep breath and urged Olaha forward. Stopping just out of range of their arrows, he called out, “Hello there.”
The men, who’d been staring over the edge of the cliff, whipped around to face him. Several of them drew their bows, but one raised a hand to stop them and peered at Van with bloodshot eyes.
“I am Van of the Gansa. I mean you no harm. May I approach?”
The man’s eyes widened. He raised his hands to show that he was unarmed and approached Van. Blood flowed from his forearm, and Van could smell saliva in the wound.
“Van? Broken Antler Van?” the man asked. He hesitated, as though wondering whether to speak, but then forged ahead. “Sae told me about you. That you saved her life.”
“And who are you?” Van asked in a low voice.
“Mukata. Sae’s older brother.” He reached out and grasped Van’s hand with a look of desperation. “Please. Help Sae. Shikan trained the Kinma dogs to attack us—the Molfah. They ran down that cliff.”
Van stiffened. Sae.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled hard on the reins, turning Olaha toward the cliff. When he reached the edge, he peered over. A wind blew up from the bottom. Far below, he could see the tiny figures of the Molfah grappling with Kinma dogs.
He remembered the precipice being so sheer that it had given him the chills, and gazing at it now, he realized that there were almost no footholds. He wondered if he could really make it down on Olaha with his injuries.
Should I just go as spirit? As Kenoi had once shown him.
However, Van rejected that idea immediately. Even if he managed to take control and lead the dogs away as a spirit, they were too close to farmland here, and to Kazan as well. If he was going to take the dogs anywhere, it would have to be into the forest that stretched away on the other side of the road. He had to lead them deep into the wildlands to the northeast, where no men ventured.
A voice came from behind him. “Watch out for arrows.” Turning, Van saw Mukata looking at him with concern in his eyes. “We were ordered to kill the Kinma dogs and anyone who could control them,” Mukata explained.
Van nodded. His eyes flicked to Mukata’s arm and back to his face. “There’s a remedy that might work for that. Don’t give up hope.”
Mukata blinked in surprise. Van gave him a quick nod, then took a deep breath and glanced up at the heavens. The sky, as always, spread far into the distance.
“Let’s go, Olaha,” he said. And with that, they plunged down the cliff.
Van gave the pyuika free rein. Though slender, Olaha’s legs were sturdy and strong. Guided by instincts nurtured in the rocky terrain of his youth, the animal’s body moved seamlessly, racing down the incline, supporting its own weight and Van’s on the barest of footholds, mere bumps in the rock.
The scent of Kinma dogs rode on the wind, permeating Van’s nostrils. An itching sensation spread from the space between his eyebrows into his forehead, then deep into his brain, and he felt the outer shell of his body peel away. He gave himself up to that feeling.
Invisible threads extended from his naked self, their tips stretching toward familiar glowing pinpricks scattered among a broad river of trailing, swirling lights. When the threads touched and fused with those pinpricks, a surge of joy swept through him. The Kinma dogs seemed to feel the warmth, too, because they paused as though confused and looked his way.
The instant Van touched their souls, a fierce impulse swelled within him. The urge to bite. Something inside squirmed and struggled to live, to multiply. He took a deep breath and pushed it down, then stretched out the hands of his mind to embrace the dogs. Warmth spread along the threads that joined them. With a voiceless voice, he called them. And they answered. Like children reunited with their father, they ran for him, pulsating with joy.
Pain pierced Van’s body, squeezing his breath, and he groaned. An arrow had struck one of his fellows. Fury rose inside, and he fixed his eyes on the Molfah who’d loosed the shot. He bared his teeth. The man’s face seemed to warp. Van shivered as a powerful desire to bite and tear the archer’s arm off seized him.
The sensations in his body changed. Olaha had reached the bottom of the cliff. The figure of the archer drew near. He’d nocked another arrow and was taking aim. Van charged straight at him.
At that moment, a familiar, beloved scent tickled his nose, and a high wailing voice struck his ears. “No! Don’t shoot!”
Van turned and saw a woman running for him. Her knees wobbled, but she still ran, forcing her legs to move. At the sight of her, something cool flowed through Van, calming the burning madness that consumed his body.
Words came to him. His own human voice. You must not bite…
“Van!” Sae ran to him, her pale hands outstretched, but Van grimaced and evaded her reach. His bond with the dogs would break if he touched this woman now.
He pulled hard on the reins, turning Olaha’s head, then urged him to a gallop. Something hot burned inside his nose, and his vision blurred. He closed his eyes. The road he needed to take appeared before him like a mirage. A single, narrow route. Thin and fragile, it belonged to neither man nor beast. This was the path he needed to follow, and he took care not to stray.
Van opened his eyes to slits and silently guided Olaha to that path while the dogs ran alongside him. The black wolf touched his thigh, and a soft warmth spread up his leg.
A bow twanged, and pain seared through Van. Another one of his comrades had been felled.
Run, Olaha!
Clenching his jaw, Van quickened the pace, and the pack followed suit. Trees loomed. Sailing over the shrubs, Van leaped into the dark forest. Beside him came the dogs, springing to keep up with the pyuika.
Follow me! Far, far from here! Van called them silently. A quiet sadness flowed through him. Let’s go where no arrows can reach us, where not even man’s scent can find us. To where we can live, even though we carry this disease.
The scent of trees, grass, and earth filled his nostrils.
The pack of beasts raced deeper and deeper into the dark and endless forest.