The Mystical Farrago
I stood outside the fading blue and gold striped tent, studying the thinning canvas and fraying edges, a result of time and too much wear. The creatures I passed after entering the exhibition appeared well-tended and healthy, even the charbulls, which can be notoriously spiteful during feeding times. The staff was agreeable, as always, charming the locals with false smiles and flattery. They leaned in to share secrets with some of the more respectable men, while others flirted with doe-eyed ladies. The sharp-edged pink lizards watched me pass, catching my scent with open mouths and flicking tongues, while the triple-headed mandrils lazed in the hot sun, ignoring the prodding of overly curious children.
I did not want to believe the rumors, had wanted to hold on to the echoes of childhood feelings and believe the best of old man Goddard. But, as I entered the tent, there was no disputing the evidence and horrible truth laid before me.
The crysallix was over six feet tall—small for the species—and anchored to a large perch by a golden chain shining around one slender ankle. Her wings shimmered in the dull light of the tent’s interior, like an oil slick that morphed from green to purple to blue depending on the angle of light. The pinnacle of those wings arched toward the ceiling canopy while the tips brushed the beige, silty floor. The right wing was missing several large pinions, making it impossible for her to escape easily.
The scent of mountain ginseng and hard nut bread filled my nose—not easily procured with local ovens, the kind only found in the tribal ovens of the western mountains. It reminded me of my grandmother’s fondness for the tasteless fare.
The large creature, equal parts bird and human, watched me with glittering, golden eyes. Fine feathers coated her face, hiding any expression. Someone had hastily draped a long swath of linen around her, hiding her breasts and genitals in folds of cloth. I circled her, maintaining professionalism while my stomach knotted. I noted the bloodstains on the linen as Goddard coughed behind me.
I took an authoritative tone, leveling a hard gaze at the ringmaster, who clutched his black hat. “You can’t have this here.”
The crysallix’s eyes flicked between Goddard and me, her feathers ruffling down her spine. There was something wrong, more than the wounds, and though my personal knowledge of the creatures was superior to the average citizen’s, anyone who paid admission could see there was something amiss here. How many had paid admission at Goddard’s Mystical Farrago to bear witness to her imprisonment and done nothing? How many had she suffered under? If they had seen the creature as equal to human, those who had abused her would have felt the slice of the guillotine. But because her kind did not speak a language easily understood, they were treated as less than. And the only voice she had in this world was when decent people saw wrong and strived to right it, but that did not happen often enough.
Goddard stammered, filling the air with excuses that reeked of falsehoods. They’d rescued her from a smaller carnival that had been sacked in the night. She was the last creature left, he said, and would have died tethered to the wagon that held her if they had not come along.
“How long have you had her?” I opened my notebook, making notations of her condition, documenting all that he said.
“Only a month or two, Lieutenant.” Goddard moved closer to me, calloused hands warping his felt hat. He blathered on and, while my pen continued to transcribe his words, I was no longer listening.
She could have shredded him and the rest of the staff with her talons or torn them with her hidden beak. Their ferocity was legendary. Her feet were scaled and thin, but with five three-inch talons growing from her toes that splintered the wood she perched upon. Her arms hugged her torso, hiding the talons that should have been there. But Goddard had probably filed them down. I wondered how he had kept from being killed.
I interrupted the man’s monologue, abruptly cutting him off midsentence. “She might have made her way back to her tribe if you had released her when you found her. As it is, you have dragged her leagues away from her native lands.”
“She could not have survived on her own, sir. I couldn’t abandon her.” He brushed the uneven wing with stubby fingers, and she flinched, tucking it closer to her body. “She might have died without me.”
The possessive tone of Goddard’s voice stabbed a deep discomfort in my chest.
“Mr. Goddard, it is illegal to keep a crysallix. You, being a man of the world, know this simple law. Are you telling me that you did not pass any other tribes that might have taken her? Or any rehabilitation farms?”
His hands continued to worry at the hat while she examined me with discerning eyes. She shifted on her perch, talons and toes crunching the beam that stood three feet from the ground. Large breasts moved beneath the draping fabric as she strained to sit a little taller. I wondered what my scent was to her.
“What have you been doing with her?” I asked. Perhaps it is the quiet language of distant cousins, or the way she stared at me in recognition of another female, or the blood on the fabric. But I knew her story. Every woman knew this story. It did not matter that we did not speak the same tongue.
“Just trying to make a bit of extra coin to pay for her care. She’s expensive to feed, and healers don’t come cheap.” His voice trailed off as I turned on him.
“What were the names of the healers you employed? There are few who understand the species.”
He shifted on his feet, continuing the abuse of his sad hat. “They were in the last town. …”
The crysallix issued a soft coo, and I met her eyes. A promise settled between us.
“Close the exhibit.”
“But …”
“No more shows, no more displays.” I gestured to the blood. “No more of whatever happened here.”
“Sir …” he stammered, and I was too incensed to correct him.
“I will arrange care for her at the regional exotic creatures’ clinic.” She flexed her wings slightly as I spoke, strained a little taller, understanding the essence of what was being said. “What tribe does she hail from?”
“I don’t know.” Goddard’s face had gone sallow, but his eyes flashed.
“Where are her leathers? Surely she wasn’t naked when you found her.” Without the distinct colors of her leathers, it would be difficult to discern which tribe she came from. Though, if we could replace the pinions, she might find her way home.
“Perhaps, sir, if we could come to some sort of arrangement.”
There it was again. He did not stop to wonder why I was unaffected by the crysallix, unlike most men. Or why I could breathe her scent and not desire her. For those not exclusively drawn to mate, the pull to her was different.
“Arrangement?” I asked. This was why she had yet to be returned to her tribe—because of bribes and temptation. How many fellow officers had succumbed to it? It was an odd thing to scold someone I’d once revered, but I was not a child, and he was proving my childhood idolizations to be grossly misplaced.
“Mr. Goddard, if you would like to add bribery to your charges, please continue.” I wrote in quick, clipped script describing the offenses and tearing off a piece of the triple-layered parchment. “I will return in three hours, and you will hand her over, unscathed, with all of her belongings.”
“But I haven’t …”
“Three hours. And I will have reinforcements with me. Do I make myself clear?”
Goddard’s face puckered, and he spat on the ground. “You little shit. How dare you come into my business and tell me what to do? I remember you. Remember the free tickets and rides I gave you and your friend? And every year I would come back, you would be waiting.” He spat again, hitting my boot. “And this is how you repay my generosity? I remember your little friend, too. I remember what happened to her.”
He attempted to rattle me by mentioning Judeth, but I’d had years to deal with her loss and would not be swayed. She would have been just as disgusted as I was with the scene.
I shoved the paper into his hands, my eyes never leaving the crysallix.
“When someone demands a kindness be repaid, it is proof that it was never a kindness at all,” I said. “Instead, it is a revelation of one’s true character.” I towered over him, staring into his black eyes until they looked away in shame. “And cover her properly or I’ll strip the coat from your back.”
As I stepped outside the tent, the crowd continued to mill about. Children ran to the next exhibit, laughing and dripping creamsicles down their dirty hands as well-dressed couples strode by, leaning toward each other adorned in long skirts and tall hats. The air was filled with childhood memories, now forever tainted.
My mouth felt dry with the knowledge there was something here that I was missing, but he would give me only what I could discover on my own. Perhaps the crysallix would speak to me when she was in a safer place. I thought it as likely as being struck by ball lightning on a cold summer day. They were notoriously private creatures, untrusting of outsiders, and, after incidents like this, it was understandable.
They lived in tight-knit tribes in the mountains and valleys to the far west, but there were rumors of other groups nestled in the east and south as well. It was a matriarchal society, with their own written language, their own ways, their own strange foods. They took one love mate in their lifetimes but could breed outside of that relationship and outside of their species. And, according to my mother, those that did not find a love mate continued to attract unwanted attention. There was something about the creatures that drew the gaze of the human male. Perhaps it was the wild feminine, the fierce, winged warrior that defied the male order and gave no unearned respect. Perhaps it was the scent of their pheromones that was used to find a mate. It was said that once love mated, the crysallix ceased the production of their pheromones, but I offer no opinion on that.
I had listened in school as one teacher romanticized them, his tone lilting as he described a lucky meeting with one as several boys leaned forward, entranced. Judeth and I had wondered at their reaction, and it disturbed me in a way I was too young to define. Mother had once said there was a reason we lived so far from town, especially after father died. She said we were always in danger among men.
I often thought of Judeth and considered that if she had been granted even a fraction of the crysallix’s strength, perhaps she might still be alive. As it was, I had consigned myself to a quiet life without her. There was nothing more to be done about it. I’d moved away from the Farrago, recalling the way the creamsicles dripped down her knuckles as she tossed her head back in laughter, green eyes shining with affection.
Three hours later, ten officers returned with me, a mix of male and female, per my request. Aggie, the healer who ran the exotic clinic, already stood before the tent when we arrived. She was a short, thick woman with disheveled hair and dirt under her fingernails. Her dress was torn in three places and spattered with what I hoped was dirt. The messenger reported she had nearly knocked him over when she received my request and had beat us to the tent in her haste. When I arrived, she was guarding the entryway like a goose and its nest, preventing any man from entering until they had inhaled a pungent herb that she forced upon them by threat. It negated the effects of the pheromones in the air and would last for several hours.
Aggie’s familiar smile warmed me. It was the type of warmth that could settle crying children with a single look. She gripped my hand, daring to pull me in close for a quick hug.
“I was happy to hear from you, Lieutenant.” She winked. “My Jude would have been so proud.”
My cheeks grew hot. “I should have stayed in touch,” I said flatly.
She patted my hand. “Life is hard enough without being reminded of our losses.” The same softness that Judeth had inherited swam in her eyes. She nodded toward the tent. “Tell me about her.”
I conveyed all that Goddard had said, indicating I believed it all to be fabrication. She listened intently, murmuring that he’d probably pulled out the pinions to keep her grounded.
She rubbed her chin. “Why didn’t she kill him? Rip his spine through his throat, or sever an artery?” She frowned. “It’s out of character for the crysallix.”
“I thought so as well. That is why I sent for you.” Creatures trusted Aggie. They knew her good intent by her smell. Well, except for the charbull that had taken two of her fingers. But she reckoned he was hungry at the time.
Officer Vinja, on loan from a different department, stuck his head through the flap of the tent. His greased hair jutted in unintentional directions, and one side of his mustache drooped down while the other side curled upward in unnatural cheerfulness. “We have unchained it, sir, but it’s fighting our attempts to move it. We can’t coax it off the perch.”
“Sir?” Aggie demanded, puffing up her chest and scowling at Vinja. Her tone caused the officer to step back in concern. “What do you mean by ‘sir’? Have you no eyes to see, nor wits to think?”
“Aggie, it’s okay.”
But that would not soothe her as she rounded on Vinja. “Well then, I suppose that you might be a young lass? Or I, a neutered charbull? Perhaps that’s not an exotic creature at all but a …”
“Aggie, the crysallix.” I breathed. She huffed, tossing a few more curt words at him as he opened the tent for us. He mouthed apologies, his cheeks flushed, but I waved him away. He had intended no harm, and it happened too frequently for me to react anymore.
They had clothed the crysallix in a clean dress, tearing the back out to accommodate the wings, but the rest of her was covered. Her wings spread wide, flapping at anyone who came too near as her talons gripped the perch. Goddard stood in the corner, sneering at the officers, who ducked away from each swipe of her hand. Though the claws were too dulled to slice, they could still rend flesh with enough force behind them.
The scent of ginseng and nut bread was thick in my head, reminding me of quiet nights and warm hugs. I knew their scent registered differently for each person.
“You, Mustache!” Aggie waved over an anxious Vinja, whispering into his ear and pointing at the door, which he disappeared through with some urgency.
I should have been the first one in the tent but had stayed back to make sure Goddard didn’t run for it. The crysallix watched Aggie with narrowed eyes as the older woman jabbed a finger in Goddard’s face and backed him into a corner. I thought she might bite him.
“What have you been feeding her?” Aggie shoved herself into him. Goddard glanced at me, but I offered no rescue.
“Bread and cheese. Sometimes fruit,” he stammered.
“Bread!” Aggie rolled up her sleeves, her eyes wide with fury. “She’s starving—that much is clear. Bread and cheese aren’t part of their diets, you numb-knuckle. They are predators. They need meat—liver and organs—to live. If not, then nuts and specific fruits, but bread? They can only digest nut bread from their recipes, not ours. Are you daft or heartless? Are you trying to kill her?”
“No, no, ma’am. I was trying to save her.” His hat lay trampled under their shifting feet. “We found her trapped and injured. Surely you don’t think …”
“Even I can see that you are a terrible liar, and I don’t have the sight.” The force of her voice sprayed spittle into his face. “And what did you do with her pinions? Where did you hide them?”
“I don’t have them.” He stammered, grateful when Vinja returned and she had to step back. Vinja held a large bag under one arm.
Tugging the bag from the young officer, Aggie held a yellow persimmon aloft, making a tutting sound as she advanced cautiously toward the creature. She was whispering as she moved, stopping arm’s-length away and offering the fruit to the crysallix as she bowed her head.
Gold eyes flicked from the woman to the fruit, then to me. I nodded, imperceptible to the others in the room, and she swiped it from Aggie’s palm. If you have never seen a crysallix eat, it is unlike anything you might have experienced. I would recommend something like a fruit or nut your first time because watching them rend a dove or rodent with their beaks will turn you sour for days.
Her seemingly human jaw opened wide, a black beak extending from the maw, its long point sharp as steel. She devoured the fruit in two bites. Her beak, gleaming slick with juice, disappeared again. Aggie held up another, the scene repeating as a few of the officers shifted uncomfortably. Stepping backward, she continued to coax the creature. She offered two hard-shelled nuts, freshly roasted by the smell of them. The crysallix stepped down from the perch, warily watching the surrounding officers but unable to resist. Aggie produced a piece of jerky, leading the creature through the door, into the bustling crowd of the afternoon.
“We are not done here, Goddard,” I said in a steady voice. “I’ll be back for those pinions, or I’ll be removing something of yours.”
I stationed two guards around the Farrago to dissuade any attempt at running. It was a long walk to the clinic. The officers kept the crowd at bay as we moved. Hungering eyes of men that drew too near were met with harsh words and the barrel of a rifle. The frustration of desire as the local men caught her scent and were rebuffed drew angry curses but no violence.
We saw her settled in a large enclosure as Aggie gave her the rest of the food, and the officers returned to their respective stations. I lingered behind, watching her and wondering at her odd behavior.
“What do you smell?” Aggie smiled as the crysallix’s beak extended again, tearing through the bag and devouring its contents. “For me, it is the scent of a fresh born babe, my babe. And fresh dirt, with a hint of mint.”
“Mountain-dug ginseng and the hard nut bread that my mother baked for my grandmother.” A tug of nostalgia crept into my voice. “She smells like home.”
She nodded, glancing around to make sure we were alone, and whispered anyway. “How are the feet holding up?”
“No issues, thanks to you.”
“And the shoes?”
“Still go through them quickly, but not like I used to. Ever since you trimmed them down, it’s been fine. I’ll probably need your services in another year when the nails break through again.”
“My home is always open to you.” She looked satisfied, but her gaze shifted back to the enclosure. “Can you hear her?”
The crysallix flexed and extended her wings, watching us curiously.
“No. I don’t know that she will speak to me,” I said.
Aggie shrugged. “Don’t know that she won’t until you ask. Did you see the way she looked at you in the tent? She recognizes kin.”
There was a squawk from another enclosure, followed by a louder grunt, and Aggie bustled away, shouting reprisals as she went. I turned to follow when I heard a breath of wind behind me, the whisper of wings. I hadn’t considered my proximity to the bars of the enclosure when I turned and stared into intelligent, golden eyes. Greenish blue bristles and filoplumes surrounded her eyes and nose, leading outward to brighter contour feathers. Too much like my grandmother’s, but brighter and fuller than mother’s had been.
She extended dulled talons in greeting. I hesitated, unsure, before reaching back, allowing my fingers to entangle with hers. She raised her head, sniffing the air before jerking me in close. The sharp beak extended too fast for me to react as she nipped my cheek, drawing a bit of blood before releasing me. It was a bonding ritual. Though I had never experienced one before, my grandmother had spoken of it in her more wistful moments.
I stumbled back as she ambled away and nestled in the soft bedding in the corner. Finding Aggie, I made my excuses and stopped at the station to file my report before heading to my simple apartment.
The crysallix found me in my slumber, lulling me into her dream with a voice as soft as wind. We perched naked in a high tree, the blue-tipped mountains spread around us in a twilight sky. Her name was Nyla, and, like many of her kind, she was a curious creature.
“What are you?” she asked.
“Distant relation,” I answered.
She laid a hand on my chest. “I can smell our ancestors in you.”
I shook my head. “My ancestors are gone. I have no connection to a tribe. I was raised alone and schooled with the humans.”
Her wings stretched wide, matching the iridescence of the mountains before resettling. “But you do not belong with these people. It must be difficult. How do they not see you?”
I swung my legs in the air, explaining that it was not as difficult as it had been for my mother or grandmother, who could not walk down the street without unwanted attention and lived in isolation, devoid of any tribal connections.
Mother began shaving my face at a young age so that I could make trades and sell goods for the family.
“What of your wings?” She cocked her head in a stilted way, leaning around me to eye the fragile, undergrown things.
“Useless, too small to serve any purpose. I keep them strapped down most of the time.”
Gently, she ran a tough hand across my cheek. “I can feel the rachis and calamus of the feathers, the barbs trying to sprout. Why do you dispose of them?”
“It is easier for them to accept me if I look like them.”
Her eyes narrowed, but I sensed no judgment. Wild creatures understood the motivation for survival in strange environments.
“How do you eat?” she asked.
“Same as you, though my beak is small and weak. I cannot manage the unroasted nuts or hard seeds, but I can eat fish and meat, fruits and vegetables.” I shrugged, looking around at the landscape she had brought me to. “Is this your home?”
“It was.” Nyla sighed, drawing a single knee to her chest as she gazed about at the mountains. I could almost hear the songs of her sisters crying out to her. She leaned toward me in a gesture of intimacy. “What happened to your mate?”
Not ready to speak of something so painful, I countered, “Why didn’t you kill Goddard when you had a chance?”
Her eyes held sadness. “He has something precious of mine. I should have stayed and fought, but no one would have understood. They do not hear me like you do now. So, I left to build strength and restrategize.” She laid a firm hand on my shoulder, staring into my eyes. “Will you help me get it back?”
A pounding on my door pulled me from my answer, tugging me from our dream into unwanted consciousness.
I answered the door. Vinja stood on the threshold, hair greased into place and mustache symmetrical in its upward curls. Behind him, the sky was brightening into dawn.
“They’re gone,” he panted.
“Who?” My muddled brain was still half trapped in Nyla’s dream.
“The Mystical Farrago. Durgin and Eads were stationed outside to keep them from leaving, but when their replacements showed this morning, they were gone.”
“Durgin and Eads?”
He shook his head. “Dead, skulls bashed in. Goddard took an assortment of creatures and the wagons but left most of the tents.”
I rubbed my eyes. “A moment,” I said, closing the door and donning my uniform before stepping outside. There was no time to shave off the stubble that poked through my skin. I would have to hope that no one looked too closely.
They’d draped the bodies in white linen spattered brown with drying blood. I did not look beneath, focusing instead on the wheel tracks that led away from town, following the smaller road through the forest. They could be heading north around the western mountains by now, or worse, gone into the deserts to the south. But I doubted Goddard was that foolish.
The hasty departure and abandonment of several exotic creatures made me ponder what he was running from, or running with. While I studied the tracks and dealt with the assignment and care of the abandoned creatures, a message arrived from Aggie.
“I have completed my examination of our guest and need to speak with you. Come as soon as you can.”
My mouth was dust as I stared down the road for a moment, deciding my course of action. Issuing orders to the remaining officers and organizing a search party, I specified their route and what to look for. I knew what Aggie would tell me. I knew from the experiences of my grandmother and mother there was only one thing that caused a crysallix to stay with someone they loathed.
It took an hour for me to reach my old home in the woods. Carved between two boulders and shaded by towering conifers, the cave had sat undisturbed for the last five years. Ever since mother had wandered away into the woods, it had sat empty of life, and I had lacked the heart to tend to it. Home was a painful reminder of things lost, and I told myself that I now led a different life and had become a different person. But we are skilled at convincing ourselves of our evolution until the past pulls us back and forces us to deal with those things we never speak of.
It was much like I remembered, perhaps a little mustier and lacking the warm scents of the people I loved. It took thirty minutes of searching to locate grandmother’s old trunk, then took me an hour and a half to get to Aggie. Nyla waited for my answer.
“She’s had a bantling recently—less than a year, I’d wager. It wouldn’t be strong enough to fly yet, and still vulnerable to the elements.” Aggie said. The concern on her face was evident, her hair more wild than usual. I imagined the hand-wringing when she realized the situation.
“How is Nyla?”
“Nyla? Aw, that’s a lovely name.” She crooned before her expression sagged into sadness. “They don’t do well when separated from their offspring. Typically they stay together until the bantling begins its first cycle.” The expression on my face must have showed my confusion. “Wasn’t that true of your mother?”
I didn’t answer. I honestly couldn’t recall how old I had been when she first left, but she’d come and gone so often after I met Judeth. “Are you saying that all crysallix have a cycle? Even the males?”
It was Aggie’s turn to look confused. “There are no male crysallix born, dear. When the cycle comes, they can choose to carry more masculine or feminine traits. Didn’t your mother teach you?”
Nyla was sitting up, hugging her knees close, observing us from inside the enclosure. The dress she wore was torn in places, probably ripped by her talons while she slept.
“I have something for you,” I said.
Nyla sniffed the air before moving toward us. I pulled the leathers from my satchel, running a hand over their faded blues and greens. There was a heart-worn tug in my chest before I handed them to her. She cocked her head from side to side, wings shuffling down her back as she alternately studied my face and the garments. Crysallixes did not give up their leathers, and it was abnormal to wear another’s. I nudged the clothing through the bars. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before clutching them to her chest.
She tore the dress from her back, rending it in long strips, before tugging the leather breeches on and pulling the breastplate over her chest. The straps crisscrossed between her wings, latching the buckles at either shoulder. The colors were a near match to her feathers. If she wasn’t of my grandmother’s tribe, she had to be from a neighboring one, and my sadness lessened at letting them go.
Aggie patted my shoulder. “They fit her well. It must have been difficult to part with them. I thought Ardan would have taken them when she left.”
“Mother had her own leathers, and these have been hidden away for too long. It seemed appropriate they find a new owner.” Nyla smoothed down the pants and tucked the straps under the breastplate edges. When she finished, she stood taller. The wings seemed stronger, despite the missing pinions. “This would have made her happy.”
“What about the bantling?” Aggie asked.
Nyla listened, though she did not show it. “I’ve sent a search party into the desert trails. It won’t take long to realize the caravan did not go that way. They are only searching for Goddard and know nothing of the offspring. Hopefully, by the time they return, the bantling will be safely reunited with its mother.”
“And Goddard?”
I shrugged, remembering his face when he mentioned Judeth. “His well-being is not my concern.”
Nyla stared through the bars, reaching out with her dulled talons. I nodded. She could smell her offspring and track it faster than anyone else could. It was dangerous to smuggle her out of town, a risk to both of us, but it was the only sure way to locate Goddard and the child.
I rented a dapple-gray draft horse, powerful and able to bear the weight of both of us on his back. We skirted the town through old pathways, avoiding the locals. Nyla allowed me to cover her with a cape, but the tips of her wings brushed the haunches of the horse. She was used to being around horses from being in the wagons, but I don’t think she had ridden one before. Her arms latched around me as we rode.
Nyla kept her nose angled upward, occasionally opening her mouth to get a better scent, and pointed which direction to turn. It took several hours, but eventually, we found the wagon tracks heading toward the western mountains. The wagon train then split, three wagons heading down the long path to the desert, two wagons continuing on.
Nudging the draft horse to move faster, we followed the trail into the woods. It would be dark in a couple of hours, but the air still held warmth, and Nyla would have an advantage come nightfall.
Two of Goddard’s men sat around a small campfire while the old man paced from one wagon to the other, worrying his hands.
Stopping at the far wagon, he pulled back the bonnet before resecuring it and continuing his pacing.
“Relax, Boss. No way they find us, not with the side roads we took,” the younger man said. He had the type of leanness that could be misperceived as weakness. He had grown an unruly beard that snuck up on either side of a crooked nose to appear older.
Goddard shook his head. “We rest for a few hours and leave with the first light.”
There was a sound from inside the wagon, like a whimper or a weakened chirp. Nyla bristled beside me. The sharp nails of her toes and fingers dug into the ground as we watched and waited. Our horse was a half-mile behind, tethered lightly to a tree and happy for the rest while they’d settled their horses on the far side of the wagons. They had not caught our scent yet.
The other man was older, clean-shaven, but with a face full of scars. He poked the fire, asking, “Is it worth bringing with us?”
Goddard paused, moving closer to the speaker and distancing himself from the wagons. “What are you saying?”
I unlatched the clip on my holster and withdrew the flintlock pistol. It was not as powerful as a rifle, and I would only have one shot before they were on me. So far, I could not see a pistol on either of them, but I suspected at least one of them to have something concealed.
Nyla darted away, skirting the clearing and heading toward the wagon, quiet and quick. I could not have stopped her had I tried.
“All this trouble.” The man spat on the ground. “We should cut our losses and be rid of it.”
Goddard stormed forward, brandishing a small knife. “Do you know how much money that little thing will fetch us?” The man did not react to the blade being wagged at him. “The foreign markets will pay a fortune for it. I was planning on selling the set by winter, but perhaps this way is better.”
The younger man squirmed. “Will it live without its mother?” He avoided looking at his companions. “It seems to be getting weaker.”
The blue of Nyla’s feathers caught the light as she paused behind the brush beside the wagons, but the men did not notice. To reach the opening of the wagons, she would have to dart into the open, exposed. If they trapped her in the wagon, she would lose the advantage we had counted on.
Goddard turned on the younger man. “They didn’t leave us much choice, did they? Stole her away with the food. How was I to know what she ate? It’s not like the damn things talk.” His face shifted into a half smile. “Nice of that hag to educate me. The little thing ate up half my jerky before it fell asleep.”
Nyla slid from the shadows toward the wagon. The rustling caused the young man to turn when I leapt from the bushes.
“Goddard.” I leveled the pistol at him, releasing the safety. He paled while the other men started to their feet. “Thought you could escape?”
Goddard sneered as his older companion brought his hand to his hip. “Lieutenant. Didn’t expect you to come all this way just for me. You’d think they could better spend our tax money on actual crimes rather than trying to bring in a small crook like me.”
Nyla slipped into the tent. A coo echoed from inside. The young man turned again but was drawn back by my words.
“I don’t plan on taking you back,” I said, eyeing each of them in turn. It was a lie, of course. My intention was only to grant Nyla the opportunity to get the bantling and then be on our separate ways. I had not come with murder on my mind.
“You mean to kill me?” He glanced at his companions. “And what of them? You can’t kill us all.”
“I don’t plan on killing them.” I cocked the gun, trying to keep my nerves and aim steady. Nyla was taking too long. She should have been out by now.
“Is this about that waif that used to come around with you?” Goddard asked, his face done up in a cruel smile.
My stomach knotted.
“She was a sweet thing, wasn’t she?” The smile turned wicked as he spoke. “What was her name?”
The gun trembled with my voice, “Don’t.”
He snorted, “Jude …”
The explosion from my hands drowned out his speech. The bullet struck his shoulder and he stumbled backward.
Smoke wafted from the gun as Nyla paused outside the tent, a bundle clutched in her arms. Reaffixed purple and blue pinions evened out the symmetrical drape of her wings, catching the light. Her eyes narrowed at the scene before she launched upward, and I knew I would not see her again.
The scarred man leapt over the fire, wrapping his arms around my gut. We landed in a heap of curses and fists, wrestling one way, then the other, as the pistol disappeared into the brush. While I lacked many of the predatory advantages from my lineage, I had enough of their strength to best him.
He grunted in surprise as I flipped him beneath me and pummeled his face. Blood spattered from his nose as bone crunched and gave. But he did not relent. His fist met my cheek as I landed a blow to his ear, and he cried out. He struggled even as his muscles quaked with strain beneath me and, for a moment, I had the better of him.
A sharp hit to the back of my head knocked me sideways. I had forgotten about the younger man. He kicked my ribs, knocking me to the ground as he continued his assault. I gripped his foot, twisting his leg and knocking him off balance while he yelped before the other man was up and joining in. One boot met my ribs, another my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs as I endeavored to rise. They hailed fists and boots upon me as I covered my head and told myself that I could outlast their assault. But blood dripped into my eyes as the world threatened darkness.
“Enough,” Goddard said. One arm hung limp, blood dotted the ground beneath his feet. He leveled a small pistol at me as the men swayed beside him, their breathing labored. “You won’t be leaving these woods. Maybe I’ll feed you to the little crysallix we’ve got.”
He cocked the pistol, and I closed my eyes.
A scream between a hawk and a mountain cat split the air. A flurry of oil-slick wings shot above me as Nyla slapped the pistol from Goddard’s hand. Her wings unfolded, knocking one man to the ground. She shredded the face of the other with her talons as she spun.
Goddard stumbled back, searching for the lost pistol as she advanced.
“Please,” he begged, holding one hand up. “I was trying to help you.”
She stopped, tilting her head as her wings shivered again.
The younger man rose to his feet behind her, a knife in hand. I struggled to reach him, dragging myself on the ground and gripping his leg. The knife glinted in the firelight as he raised it. I screamed her name.
Warm blood pooled onto his boots, coating my hands and splattering my face. The man fell before me, lifeless eyes staring at the sky. White ovals of bone were pulled through the torn gap in his throat. There was a soft gurgling as his last breath struggled to exit and found itself trapped.
Goddard screamed as she leapt upon him. I closed my eyes until his cries ceased, replaced by a sound I knew too well. It was the sound that my mother and my grandmother made when they feasted on ferrets or lambs.
I pressed myself up. Nyla was perched upon his chest, the rest of the scene blocked out by the drape of her wings. Goddard’s head lay twenty feet away, expression frozen in terror.
The remaining man watched in horror as his face bled down his shirt. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled into the woods. He would have to seek a healer in the closest village, then tell his tale of the crysallix. A vastly different tale than other men often told. I hoped it served as a warning.
Nyla nudged me awake sometime later, helping me to sit and fussing over my cuts and bruises. Preening me like my mother used to. Once satisfied, she darted into the wagon that our draft horse was now hooked to. She had cleared the bodies away. Long smears of blood led into the trees, and the wheel tracks that led us here had been swept away.
Emerging from the bonnet, she squatted down before me, holding out the small babe to me. Its hands already sported soft talons, slender limbs covered in a dull-gray down with shades of blue surrounding golden eyes. Bringing the creature to my chest, one hand reached my face as I smiled. Nyla leaned close, resting her head on my shoulder with a gesture of pride.
They smelled of mountain ginseng and hard nut bread, of fresh meat and soft down. They smelled of home.