Followed by Thunder (Songs of the Amaranthine Book 2) Read online

  Songs of the Amaranthine, 2

  Followed by Thunder

  Copyright © 2019 by FORTHRIGHT

  ISBN: 978-1-63123-067-7

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or shared in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author. Which is a slightly more officious way of saying what I’ve always asked. Play fair. Be nice. But by all means, have fun! ::twinkle::

  TWINKLE PRESS

  FORTHWRITES.COM

  because you are certainly someone’s treasure

  Table of Contents

  Curse Bringers

  Thundering Hooves

  Horse Clan

  Lead Mare

  Mountain Lore

  Dragon Dance

  Rock Collector

  Echoing Song

  Cadmiel’s Tump

  Winged Predator

  Sleeping Beauty

  Passed Over

  Tend Her

  Spare Feelings

  Crystal Adept

  Playing House

  Green Stone

  Heavy Pockets

  Pushing Boundaries

  Reckless Fool

  All Speed

  Warrior Maiden

  Bucking Tradition

  Soul’s Anchor

  Tsumiko inspected the crest painted on the crate’s lid—a faceted flower that looked like a jeweler’s workmanship. “Is this for a clan or a cooperative?”

  Michael set aside his crowbar. “Glintrubble is a cooperative that specializes in mining and shaping the stones that amplify a reaver’s abilities. Their community includes horses, rabbits, and bats. And reavers, of course.”

  TSUMIKO AND THE ENSLAVED FOX

  Curse Bringers

  Fira pulled her sister along, keeping her upright, urging her forward, praying she wouldn’t look back. Why must they repay every kindness with a curse?

  “Was it a dragon?” Lufu asked, her voice barely heard over the rain.

  “It was.”

  “Is it gone?” Lufu’s green eyes were too wide, her chin atremble.

  “Let us hope so.”

  Clutching one hand over her heart, she said, “I am hoping hard.”

  Fira pushed impatiently at sodden hair and squinted at the sky, searching for bearings. The storm lashed on all sides, rain sheeting around them in pitiless torrents. Chilled to the bone, she was grateful, nonetheless. This endless drenching might be the only reason the monster hadn’t seen them, smelled them, caught them.

  “Is it my fault?” Lufu’s voice quavered.

  Fira stopped and pulled her younger sister into a fierce hug. At fifteen, Lufu was reckoned a woman grown, but her innocence made her seem more like a child. One in desperate need of protection … and reassurance. “Not your fault, Lufu,” Fira said in her most commanding tone. “If anything, it was me. I stayed too long.”

  Lufu leaned into Fira’s larger frame, confessing, “It was nice to stay. I liked them.”

  “And they liked you. But it is better for them if we move along.” Assuming the dragon hadn’t already taken out its frustration on the tidy farmstead. Fira had seen one of the milk cows carried off, and she feared for both the herd and its herders.

  They’d been taken in by a soft-spoken farmer and his kind-hearted wife, whose reasons were plain enough—six strapping sons. Fira had firmly ignored the bashful looks and clumsy advances of the older boys. Still, the settled prosperity of their farm had tempted her to linger, and the second son had an admittedly nice smile. So when the missus kept finding little ways to delay the girls’ departure, Fira had been fool enough to hope it would be different this time.

  “Are Henry and Roger angry?” Lufu asked.

  The littler boys had been all mischief and play, always begging for dares and boasting of heroic deeds. If Fira had wanted to shift blame, they were owed a share for hastening the disaster.

  Fira asked, “How did they get your rock?”

  “They asked to see it.” Lufu ducked her head. “I only meant to show it.”

  “I know how they can be.” She doubted the boys had planned to keep the chunk of crystal for themselves, but they’d run off with Lufu’s lucky stone. It had always been with them. A link to a childhood that was more nightmare than memory. Their charm against the monsters.

  Bad things happened when Lufu left it or lost it, so Fira made sure to stitch a hidden pocket into whatever rags they found to wear.

  Lufu knew it was best kept secret. But the boys must have twitted her somehow—about her darker skin or her accent—or wheedled her into comparing treasures. And they’d snatched it. No sooner had Henry and Roger vanished behind the barn, the winds whipped up and the sky boiled black, and a dragon fell upon the farm like a blade of lightning.

  Cows bawled.

  Hens scattered.

  Men shouted.

  Fira had listened to Lufu’s teary explanation and bolted after the boys, half-dragging her sister. She knew where the stone was, and she knew they must get it back. Even if Fira didn’t know why, those two things had always been true.

  That single stone was their parents’ only legacy, a rough-hewn gem, clear as air, with winking facets and the tiniest kernel of yellow at its heart. Even at their coldest and hungriest, they never would have sold it. Some things were more precious than temporary comfort.

  When Fira reclaimed it from the two quaking boys and bid them hide in the creek bottom, the sky had opened up, drowning the fields, covering their escape.

  “How much further?” asked Lufu. “Will there be a house?”

  With no answer to give, Fira kept silent.

  “Fira?”

  “I am here.”

  “Even a cave might be good.”

  She gave her sister’s hand a squeeze. “If I spot one, we will stop.”

  But there was nothing to see but a gray and growling sky, hardscrabble rock, and an inhospitable expanse of scrub and shrubs that caught and tore at their heavy skirts.

  A terrifying roar pierced the murk.

  “Is it c-c-coming?” Lufu’s teeth had begun to chatter.

  Fira pointed to a small tumble of stones just visible through the spatter of raindrops, the first shelter she’d glimpsed. “There!”

  Without another word, both girls picked up their skirts and ran.

  Thundering Hooves

  The heap of boulders was farther than it seemed and bigger than it looked, but it made for a meager shelter. Huddling against bare stone was no kind of safety. Fira circled the haphazard monolith, but found no crack, no crevice, no burrow to hide them.

  In the distance, the nightmare beast shrieked.

  Lufu was sobbing now.

  “The stone,” Fira said. “Let me hold it.”

  Over the years, they’d realized that the stone liked Lufu better. It hid her from the beasts and soothed away bad dreams, so she curled around it to sleep. But when Fira held the crystal, it sparked and snarled like a cornered cat, all arched back and puffed tail and bared fangs. More than once, the monsters had recoiled as if stung and fled before the stone in Fira’s hands.

  She couldn’t hide from them, but she could hurt them.

  If only she could keep them from coming back.

  A shrill roar came from closer quarters, and Fira whispered words of love, kissed Lufu’s forehead, and took the crystal. It had to work. It would.

  Lightning briefly blinded her, and thunder cracked directly overhead, but its rumble didn’t fade. The noise kept building until it shook the
very ground underfoot. Fira grabbed Lufu’s hand. Something was coming. Something big.

  “What is it?” her sister cried.

  “I do not know! I cannot see!”

  All of a sudden, the wind changed, whipping around them, pushing back the rain, clearing her view. Fira stood in the center of a whirlwind, frightened as much by the freakish weather as by the danger it revealed. A bronze dragon with red eyes and curling horns crouched upon the stony jumble, poised to spring.

  Fira whirled, placing Lufu behind her. Raising the crystal between two hands, she shouted, “No!”

  Fear and fury and frustration crackled in the usual way, but this time, it was as if her feelings were too much for the stone to contain. So they were flung outward, zinging like an arrow from the bow, striking the dragon with enough force to fling it backward over the rock.

  Hands pulled at her arms.

  Words buffeted her ears.

  She shook her ringing head and let the stone drop from stinging fingers. There was blood. She was bleeding?

  “Do you hear that?” Lufu’s words finally filtered through. She was clinging to Fira, voice gaining the heights of hysteria. “What is it?”

  Thunder.

  And then horses broke into view, coming from behind. Massive animals, thick-bodied and triple Fira’s height. They parted before the sisters, who clung to one another, shocked to find themselves amidst a stampede.

  Rolling eyes. Pounding hooves.

  Heavy feathering. Streaming manes.

  Where had they all come from?

  Lufu bent to rescue their stone from being trampled.

  Without warning, a man tumbled out of nowhere, rolling to his feet before them. He was strangely dressed, big and broad, with gingered hair that was shaved up on both sides. The resulting mane exposed his ears, which were sharp as an elf’s.

  What manner of person was he?

  “This is not a safe place.” He extended a hand, saying, “Come with us.”

  Fira pushed Lufu out of sight, but there was nowhere to hide. They were an island in a river of horseflesh. All she could do was shake her head and glare.

  The herd’s stragglers passed by, and the stranger spoke again. “Can you ride?”

  One of the horses had stopped—an imposing stallion with a golden coat and pale mane. He stamped an impatient hoof.

  “He will let you ride.” The man was easing closer, empty hands extended, gaze pleading for cooperation. “Let us get you out of here.”

  Fira’s warning glare was wasted, for Lufu stepped forward.

  “Here is a brave one,” he murmured, and swung Lufu up onto the waiting horse’s back. He turned back to Fira, eyebrow arched in silent challenge. As if calling her courage into question.

  So she relented. But not without serious doubts. She could tell their stone buzzed with warnings. It was good that Lufu held the rock again. Let her quiet it. Let it calm her.

  Then the man lifted Fira, and she quailed at his touch. He was different. He was other. He was one of them. But how was that possible? Her skirts distracted her, ending in an indecent tangle about her thighs. Fira tried to right them and slipped sideways.

  He caught her by one stockinged ankle and urged, “Grip with your knees.”

  But how could she? People might remark upon her height—gawky, coltish, angular—but even her legs couldn’t straddle a horse of this girth. Lufu was even worse off. Their mount shifted beneath them, and both girls squeaked in alarm.

  “Never ridden?”

  That much should have been obvious.

  He made an odd sound deep in his chest and slapped the stallion’s neck. “Apologies, brother.”

  The horse shook its mane, as if asserting an opinion, and then the man was seated snug against Fira’s back. Wrapping one arm around both her and Lufu, he grabbed a fistful of mane and called, “Onward!”

  A forward leap drove Fira into the strange man’s chest. Far below, hooves pounded wet sod, and she lurched with the unfamiliar cadences of trot, canter, and gallop. She locked both her arms around Lufu, who was keening in the back of her throat.

  “Hold the rock.” Fira spoke into her sister’s ear. “Keep it safe.”

  Lufu turned her face, pressing into Fira as the rain found them again, stinging now with the addition of speed.

  When the noise vanished, Fira stiffened in surprise just as Lufu shrieked. The stallion still moved beneath them, muscles bunching, stride rolling, but the ground had vanished. All Fira could see below was the sheeting rain.

  “What happened?” she demanded, voice taut.

  The surrounding arm tightened, and the man spoke loud enough for both to hear. “We are flying, of course. And you are completely safe. I promise.”

  Flying. Since when did horses fly?

  Fira twisted to look up into the face of the person who was either their rescuer or their captor. The elfin ears weren’t the only thing wrong with him. From this proximity, she could see that his brown eyes were struck through with pupils like thorns. The same as every creature who’d ever overturned a village or farm to find them.

  “Please, do not be afraid. Bavol and I are not any kind of threat.” His face was smooth as a boy’s, and its expression oddly hopeful. “Better us than the dragon.”

  She couldn’t argue the point, but she didn’t know his purposes. Were she and Lufu being carried off by fae creatures? For all she knew, they’d fallen in with some new breed of monster, one with a comelier face.

  No armor. No weapons. That had to count for something. No leer. She’d learned to be wary of grasping, greedy men who were no better than monsters. But the deciding factor was far from heartening. No choice.

  “Well met.” He let go the stallion’s mane and displayed a big hand. “I am called Ricker. May I know your names?”

  Again, it was Lufu who acted first. Flashing a shy dimple, she settled her palm onto the big hand, which closed around hers. She said, “I am Lufu. This is Fira.”

  Fira would have liked to withhold her name, but Lufu had always been more generous, more trusting.

  “Lufu,” he repeated.

  The gentling of Ricker’s expression teased a sliver of Fira’s trampled trust into the open, so when he offered his palm to her, she let her fingertips rest there and was rewarded with a grin.

  “Fira,” he said, sounding glad to know it.

  “Where are you taking us?” she demanded.

  “Home.” Ricker pointed, even though there was nothing to see but swirling gray in every direction. “Our home is well-hidden. No dragon could ever find it.”

  “What about foxes?” asked Fira, for dragons weren’t their only trouble. “Or cats. Or stoats. Or owls. Or bears.”

  Ricker’s laugh reminded her of a horse’s nicker. “You have had your share of trouble.”

  He said it as if he thought their troubles were over. Fira dared not believe it. They might elude the monsters for a little while, but they always returned. Always.

  “No,” said Ricker. “None of those. Glintrubble is home to rabbits and rock collectors. And horses, of course.”

  Horse Clan

  Fira couldn’t even begin to guess how far they’d traveled before their flying steed’s hoofbeats returned. They landed on a patch of moor that looked the same as any other patch of moor, yet the stallion seemed to know that they’d arrived. He danced sideways, giving a small shake.

  Ricker laughed his odd laugh. “Steady, and we will be off. We would not want the mares to get ideas.”

  The stallion held still long enough for Ricker to slide off and ferry the girls safely to the ground. Fira swayed in place, muscles quivering, bones aching, and chilled through. The rain had stopped, but she and Lufu were soaked and shivering.

  What now? Would the man reveal himself to be a monster? Would she and Lufu meet their end in a landscape empty of hope or help?

  But a very different revelation was in store, for Bavol the stallion reared back on his hind legs.

  “We
should give him some room,” said Ricker, taking the sisters each by a shoulder.

  Fira frowned at the touch, more from confusion than displeasure. That’s when the horse they’d been riding vanished in a flurry of scattering light, which condensed into the form of a man. She stepped back fast, ramming into Ricker, who seemed to think she needed coddling. Part of her protested his sheltering arm, but a larger part noticed how much heat he radiated. And him in little more than shirtsleeves.

  Bavol was similarly dressed in a loose shirt that hardly seemed warm enough for the weather. His pants were of fine cloth, which flowed with his movements, catching and clinging with every shift of his muscles. The horse-turned-man shared similar features to Ricker, but his hair was so fair, it neared white, and his eyes were a soft gray that made the narrowed pupil more obvious.

  He was beautiful.

  And now that Fira had some basis for comparison, she decided that Ricker looked and acted younger. Bavol’s carriage and composure gave him an air of greater maturity.

  With cordial solemnity, he presented his hands to her and Lufu, a more formal version of Ricker’s earlier greeting. “I am Ricker’s brother Bavol. You have entered the safety of our herd. Rest, assured of your welcome.”

  Quite the gentleman.

  She and Lufu returned his touch, and he immediately frowned. “They are all but frozen!”

  Ricker flinched. “How was I to warm them?”

  With a gusty sigh, Bavol scooped up Lufu and strode off. “Bring her!” he called over his shoulder. “All will be lost if they sicken.”

  “You heard him,” grumbled Ricker, reaching for Fira.

  “I can walk.”

  “Bear with me a little longer,” he murmured, acknowledging her protest while completely ignoring it. Pulling off his shirt, he wrapped it around her head and shoulder and hauled her into his arms. “The lead mare is a healer. Once you are safe in her care, I will leave you in peace.”

  Fira fixed her gaze on Bavol’s broad back, not wanting to let Lufu out of her sight. “What kind of people are you?” she asked.