Marked by Stars (Songs of the Amaranthine Book 1) Read online

  Songs of the Amaranthine, 1

  Marked by Stars

  Copyright © 2018 by FORTHRIGHT

  ISBN: 978-1-63123-063-9

  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::

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  Table of Contents

  Loor

  Dex

  Star

  Path

  Den

  Name

  Boy

  Peace

  Crest

  Pact

  Ward

  Threat

  Team

  Seed

  Time

  Moon

  Comb

  Tree

  “You shine. Like Soriel of the Dawning,

  like Auriel of the Golden Seed.

  Like every tale of the Kindred,

  the Broken, and the Blessed, you shine.”

  TSUMIKO AND THE ENSLAVED FOX

  Loor

  Loor-ket’s head turned as a chorus of howls welcomed another caravan, sending their skittish Kith sidestepping into a snowbank. Red-caped Amaranthine quickly moved among the reindeer, patting and soothing their kindred, no doubt reminding them that the Highwind pack did not consider them prey.

  Once a decade, a migration heralded this festival week. The Song Circle guaranteed peace to all who made the journey. Here in the depths of winter, the clans would fill the longest nights with light and life and laughter.

  Representatives from every clan on the continent had been arriving for days, each bringing their share of peddlers, artisans, musicians, and storytellers. To this place. Grounds set apart since long ago, watched over by trees that were older than the oldest of them, kept safe by the Highwind wolves.

  Staying well out of the way of the incoming droves, Loor-ket slouched against the base of one of the Song Circle’s sentinel pines. In summer, this vast meadow was all soft grasses and shy flowers, but Loor liked it best in winter, when hushing snows turned the circle into an echo of the moon—round, pale, and serene.

  Not that there would be any peace for a while.

  Dozens of lanterns ringed the expanse, one for each family unit, be it den or warren, flock or herd. By the opening song, there would be hundreds.

  One of Loor’s aunts directed newcomers toward the patchwork of tents arrayed among the trees. Someone was cooking with a spice that made his mouth water. A cheer went up from the direction of the bear camp. A wrestling match, no doubt.

  From a nearby brush pile—reserve fuel for one of the many upcoming bonfires—a youngster from one of the squirrel clans tumbled into the open, checking the stride of the wolf coming Loor’s way.

  The wolf—who had the advantage of being in his speaking form—scooped up the startled squirrel. No bigger than a wolf cub, the kit tucked neatly into the crook of the wolf’s arm. But the youngster protested the cuddling. Sharp scolding and tail puffing ineffective, he transformed into a squirming boy with a thatch of red hair.

  Too many other voices filled the meadow for Loor to catch any words—teasing on the wolf’s part, grumbling on the squirrel’s. With a tweak to the boy’s pointed ear, the scamp was loose, running off to rejoin his friends. Pausing long enough to make sure the child found his way, the wolf resumed his slow trek toward Loor’s vantage.

  Like all Highwind wolves, he was tall and broad through the shoulders, with auburn hair and ghostly ice-gray eyes. But Beloor-dex hadn’t yet attained the powerful musculature that would come with greater maturity. By right and by rite, he was counted as an adult, but he was still young.

  They both were.

  “You missed the ceremony.” Beloor-dex slid down beside Loor and pressed close, matching his posture so they were hip-to-hip, knee-to-knee, ankle-to-ankle.

  “No one noticed.” Loor insinuated an arm around his brother’s waist.

  Beloor gently contradicted. “I did.”

  Loor offered his most disgruntled of grunts.

  His brother’s expression took on the added softness of sympathy.

  Unbending a little, Loor kissed his twin’s cheek.

  Beloor-dex and Loor-ket were alike in every way except significance. Loor had missed his only chance to stand out by being born five minutes too late. Beloor was the Highwind pack’s second tithe, born twentieth. His birthright set him apart from their whole family, including his younger twin. Which left Loor-ket lost in the middle of an ever-increasing pack.

  At least he had Beloor. Their bond was enough. It had to be.

  Loor sighed. “Well, what did they pick?”

  “Elderbough and Moontide.”

  Two brothers just ahead them in the lengthy Highwind registry were establishing their own dens. They’d each earned the accompanying privileges—a mate, a name, a crest.

  Loor let his chin drop to his chest. “They’re good names. They have a nice ring to them.”

  “They’ll sing well,” agreed Beloor. “Next time, it will be your turn.”

  “No.”

  “Can’t bear to leave me?”

  Loor could hear the teasing in his brother’s tone, but he answered seriously. “I’d never leave you alone.”

  His twin was too still, too silent.

  “Bel?”

  “There has been some … talk.”

  Loor wanted to flee from this new tone in his brother’s voice, but he tightened his hold.

  “Nothing is settled,” Beloor went on. “Father only thought to mention it to me earlier today. I hardly know what to think.”

  If not for the fragility in his brother’s gaze, Loor might have exploded with impatience. Somehow, he confined himself to a ragged, “What’s happened?”

  “A … a suitor.”

  He shook his head, not following. All their older brothers were settled, and none of their younger ones had reached the appropriate age. “A suitor,” Loor echoed. “Who’s a suitor?”

  “Someone from the Ambervelte pack.”

  Loor knew the clan, of course. The Highwinds had ties to all the northern dens. An older sister had been courted by an Ambervelte, and her strength had been added to their pack. And there had been additional intermingling among his many nieces, nephews, and cousins.

  Beloor said, “We played together as cubs.”

  Loor glanced at the Song Circle, as if the children and their games could give him some clue to the tentative hope creeping into his brother’s expression. Although twinned births were far less common now—a cause for concerned debate during the last dozen festivals—Amaranthine were prolific. “Everyone plays here, no matter their clan.”

  “She remembered me.”

  A female? Loor could only shake his head.

  Taking a deeper breath than needed for such a small voice, Beloor put the matter plainly. “I have a suitor. Terloo-soh Ambervelte says she will have me and no other.”

  Loor could hear the wonder in his brother’s tone. A tenth child never pursued a mate or established a den of their own, for they served the whole pack. But once in a great while, one was chosen. A female because she was beautiful. A male because he was beloved.

  He needed to say something. Anything. But the only sound that made its way past the constriction in Loor’s heart and throat was a thin whine.

  Loor-ket couldn’t
remember how his twin managed to get him away from the Song Circle. Had they walked together into the wood? Or had Bel carried him? Loor didn’t recognize the clearing spread before them, a sheltered basin of pristine snow, filled with the serenity he craved … and the solitude he feared.

  Taking him by the hand, Bel led him along the edge to a place where the ground split. They dropped into the gully, springing from stone to stone as they followed its jagged course. Walls rose up on either side, and dark recesses began to appear. Bel turned, took both of Loor’s hands and rose from the ground. A short flight. Halfway up the sheer rockface, a narrow ledge served as a threshold. Thick hangings draped the entrance to a cave.

  “My den,” Bel whispered.

  “You had a den?” Loor’s heart wrenched, for he’d thought they shared everything. He’d never wanted anything of his own.

  “This territory belongs to the Highwind tributes, for hunting and for training.” Beloor drew him deeper inside, to a mound of furs. “Only my mentor knows I have a den, for he bid me establish one. But even he does not know this place. I warded it myself.”

  “I can tell.” Even though much of Bel’s training was a mystery, he’d freely shared all he knew of sigilcraft. Loor’s lessons may have come secondhand, but the weaving of power came easily. It was a useful little secret for someone who wanted to avoid notice. An ironic skill for someone who was already beneath it.

  “No one will come. No one can hear.” Beloor shed his fine tunic and stole Loor’s before pulling back heavy furs and jostling him under. Sliding in beside him, he pulled his brother close. “It’s only us.”

  Loor clung to his twin, who made soothing noises and stroked his hair. Treating him like a child. Reassurances flowed—touch and taste and tangling. Beloor accepted Loor’s possessive posturing without complaint. Affection for aggression. Balm for bitterness. Love for love.

  Hours passed, and Loor refused to loosen his hold. If he let go, Bel would leave him for another. Nothing should ever be allowed to come between them. Beloor was Loor’s, and Loor was Beloor’s. This was how it had always been. This is how it should always be.

  Days may have passed. Beloor woke Loor from his doze with a nip and nuzzle.

  Loor opened his eyes, his arms tightening reflexively.

  “All right, brother. I do understand.” Beloor’s palm smoothed along Loor’s spine, settling at the base of his tail. Intimate territory. “If you ask it, I will refuse her.”

  Here it was. All he’d ever wanted. Loor had won. At a word, Bel would be his and his alone. His twin would give up everything that had been denied him because he’d been born five minutes too soon.

  Loor gasped for air. The words were so hard to say, but he pushed them out between sobs. “I will not ask it.”

  Bel cradled Loor, who howled and wept for the lonesome years he must endure. And when no more tears would come, his twin surprised him by falling apart. Loor comforted him in turn, giving as freely as he’d received.

  On it went. Pressed together under the weight of ticklish furs, they whispered and wrestled, teased and tugged. All their growling and grappling was probably childish, but they’d soon be leaving childhood behind.

  This was their goodbye.

  Dex

  When the twins finally emerged, colors whispered through a night sky, shifting currents that seemed to dance in time to the distant piping of flutes.

  “Are you hungry?” Bel asked solicitously.

  Loor smiled and shook his head. A meal wouldn’t touch the hollow he needed to hide.

  “We could hunt,” his brother said.

  He may as well have added, one last time. Finality hung in the air, dragging Loor back even as it propelled Beloor forward. Strange, to be able to tell that his twin’s heart already beat for another. So he declined with all the grace he could muster. “Let’s join the feast.”

  Bel flashed a grateful smile and moved away, toward the Song Circle. Loor followed with flagging steps as their pack’s Kith mobbed Bel. The sentient wolves were in his care, and he belonged to them. Loor had never considered them rivals for his twin’s affection, for they understood the strength of a brother-bond.

  Loor had planned to pact with Bel. To share a lifetime, to live as one. He had though to rescue his twin from solitude, only to be the one left behind.

  He hung back further, watching the rest of the Highwind pack welcome Beloor-dex with tails in full swing and glasses high. Loor’s own tail hung limp as he marked the Ambervelte she-wolf whose whole posture spoke of relief.

  Bel only had eyes for her, and his expression was something Loor had never seen, would never inspire. He was hers now. Loor felt his existence dwindle. What do you become when the only one who ever saw you looked away?

  Nobody noticed him leave. No one raised questions when he jogged away from the lights, the life, and the laughter. Loor trudged determinedly along a faint trail, too lost in his morose thoughts to care where it might lead. The whimper drew him up short.

  A voice—childish, chiding—slipped into his mind and startled him. “I won’t let you take her! She’s mine!”

  Loor had been about to tread upon two cubs huddled together in the snow, a whelp and a weanling. These Kith were hardly visible in the snow, for the soft puff of their baby fur was pure white. “What are you doing way out here?”

  The young male bared his teeth. “Mine!”

  He didn’t want to deal with cubs, but he couldn’t very well leave them. Precious is the cub to their pack, and these two were obviously beyond boundaries.

  “I’m not after your packmate. Is she a sister?” Loor reached for the whimpering ball of fuzz.

  Jaws snapped at his hand.

  “Easy now. She needs warming.” He caught the baby’s scruff, and his concern doubled. She was so small, she couldn’t be weaned. “She should be with her mother. Let’s bring her back together.”

  To his surprise, the older one took speaking form. “No!” he snarled. “Marnoo is mine!”

  “She’s also cold, hungry, and beyond help if you are her only defense,” Loor said mildly. He loosened the bindings around his midriff and settled the baby against his skin. Closing his fur vest around her, he offered his free hand to the furious boy. “Peace, whelp. Would you have me ignore her needs?”

  The boy scooted closer and grudgingly met his palm. “Moon-kin Ambervelte.”

  Loor ran his thumb over the back of the boy’s hand, which was covered in soft fur. “This is unusual. Are you manifesting it for warmth?”

  “This is how I am.”

  “I’ve never seen someone with your features.” Loor took the boy’s chin, turning his face. “Where are your ears?”

  A set of pointed ears slowly lifted above his snowy hair, angled in an attitude of embarrassment. Loor was tempted to unbundle the boy to see how much of his body retained the fur of his true form. He murmured, “Extraordinary.”

  “Me and Marnoo have the same mam, but different sires.” The boy was blushing badly, for the implication wasn’t flattering. He tugged at Loor’s sleeve. “Because she’s a dex.”

  Comprehension came with lashings of curiosity. “Our pack has no Kith-kin. This is a pleasure!”

  Moon’s eyes lost some of their wariness. “You know what I am?”

  “My twin is a dex, so I know what it means better than most. Your mam must be strong if the Amberveltes asked her to improve the bloodlines of your Kith.”

  The boy’s tail began a tentative sway. Was he really so surprised to be recognized and accepted? Perhaps the other children had teased him. Loor pulled the boy closer. “Help me warm Marnoo while we chat. Is her sire another Kith from your pack?”

  “No.” The boy leaned trustingly against his shoulder. “Marnoo’s sire is mam’s bondmate. Da’s a dex, too, and he fosters all those born to his den.”

  Loor could see the sense in uniting two tributes. Both would understand their role and its needs. “So your sister was born in true form.” It was an old custo
m, but not unheard of.

  Moon nodded. “And she’s mine. Da gave her to me.”

  “Are you a tenth child, then?”

  “Halfway.” His tone and smile were shy. “I’m my sire’s tenth cub, but the Maker doesn’t require a tenth from the Kith.”

  “But you’ll foster Marnoo in the manner of tributes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good lad.” Loor mussed up Moon’s hair and gave his ear a cautious scratch. “I should get you back. Your sister needs to suckle.”

  “A little longer? I came prepared.”

  The boy brought a bottle from an inner pocket. With careful deliberation, the soaked a twist of soft cloth in the warm liquid. A twitching nose poked into the open, for the hungry cub had caught the scent of her next meal. As Moon offered her the sop, Loor quickly cupped his hand under it, lest they lose a single drop.

  Marnoo suckled greedily and growled when Moon took the cloth away to wet it. Loor chuckled. “Patience, little one.”

  The cub opened her eyes, which were the rich copper of a harvest moon. Nosing his palm, she licked it clean and whined for more.

  “Here, Marnoo,” her brother crooned. “I brought plenty.”

  Loor smiled at the boy’s earnest devotion. He was a little young to foster a child, being a child himself, but Ambervelte decisions weren’t Highwind business. So Loor struck a balance, addressing the boy as he would an equal while encouraging him to nestle in. Moon was doing his best. The least Loor could do was lend his support.

  By and by, the bottle was emptied. Loor settled the stated cub against his belly and coaxed Moon closer. For a little while, they simply listened to Marnoo’s wuffling snores. The peace of a den shared by three with none.

  “Why are you out here alone?” Loor asked.

  Moon’s ears twitched. “Because I was lonely.”

  “Isn’t it strange to go off by yourself if you’re lonesome?”

  The boy curled against him. “When everyone is happy except me, it’s sadder than sad.”