10

Tower

THE IMAGE OF THE SHAMBLY root shelter she left behind lingered in Wynn’s mind as she trudged through bramble and brushwood. Her paws slipped as she climbed up the rain-slicked dirt mound. After much effort she found herself gazing into the dark horizon.

I just had to press on, didn’t I? Now I’ll be lucky to find a dense enough thicket or brush to shelter under.

Peering into the darkness and rain, she spotted only low shrubbery, rocks, and mushrooms. She picked out a small hill in the distance and approached it; perhaps some height would give her a better view.

Her eyes scanned the landscape, combing for any rocky overhang or somewhere to burrow.

Nothing…except…

She squinted in disbelief.

Looming in the near distance sat the tall structure.

Isolated against the stark, gray sky.

A tower.

WYNN PULLED HER CLOAK CLOSER as the wind slapped more droplets onto her small snout. In the thick of the storm, another thought brewed in her mind.

A tower? Out here? I could check my map, but…

But the very thought of the map being swept away by the wind and rain banished the idea from her mind.

Perhaps she’d stumbled across a town with larks who could help her, a cozy shelter she could stay in, and a bustling market. Her stomach rumbled. And some decent food. She quickened her pace, imagining the warm bed of an inn or a freshly brewed broth to warm her up.

But her daydreaming faded as quickly as it came. She found herself face to face with a crumbling, ivy-ensnared stone wall.

She walked along its side until she met its tall, rusted gate. Its side door was crooked and wedged ajar.

Wynn squeezed through it, finding herself deep in waterlogged grass. She struggled to stifle her disappointment as she picked her way across it to the old tower.

She weaved past the overgrown weeds near an old fountain. She carefully crossed a small moat, her paws half submerged in water with each step on the wooden planks.

Wynn climbed up the old crevice-ridden steps and gazed at the battered tower door. She placed both her paws on it, and grunted as she gave it a push.

With a long creak, it opened.

She stepped inside.

Giving a small shake, shivering and spraying water droplets from her fur, she looked around.

Large, ornate web tapestries spiraled down from the ceiling, their faded designs muddled by dust and the elements.

At least it’s cover, I suppose. I could lay here till the rain ends, then find a proper shelter, or better yet a village.

Wynn pulled her cloak closer as a draft forced its way through the crumbling foundation of the tower.

It’s freezing. I need a fire.

She looked around for materials, her gaze settling on the only still-intact sconce near a staircase. She walked up to it and saw that it was empty.

There must be something I can use here.

Wynn gazed up at the spiraling staircase, a flare of curiosity in her chest. Briefly, the memory of being snuggled up near her siblings, listening to tales of towers and dungeons, of magic and enchanted paintings, flashed through her mind. Now it was like she had stumbled into such a story.

As Wynn reached the top of the steps, she paused.

Dancing below a door in the small, stone corridor before her was a light. It flickered faintly in the room.

Wynn cautiously approached it, gently pushing open the wooden door. She peeked into a small study. Books wrapped around the walls and tall shelves, reminding Wynn of the Ears of Dim’s chamber. She quietly slipped in, leaving the door ajar in case she’d need to escape.

The stone and wood shelves were dotted with all oddities. Jars where plants grew out their confinement, scrolls and books alike. Some were stacked neatly while others were strewn this way and that. There were odd iron fixtures, clay figures, pens, dried wattlereed—the list went on and on.

They all shone under the warm glaze of the light at the end of the room. Wynn listened for the sound of a voice, or any indication that she wasn’t alone. Eventually mustering the courage, she let out a feeble, “Hello?”

But nothing answered her but the pitter-patter of rain battering the walls outside.

Slowly, Wynn began navigating through the small maze of shelves, her eyes scanning for any movement as she approached the source of the light. Eventually, she emerged from the cover of the shelves to find herself face-to-face with the light source.

Leaning against an old wooden desk in front of a large round window was a long silver staff. Its design resembled twisted tree roots, and a bright flame flickered on its curled tip.

A strange torch. It had to be lit by someone.

Her gaze drifted across the pile of old books on the desk, eventually landing on one with an open page. Curious, she picked it up and started flipping through the dust-ridden book, running her paw along the page. She began to read:

“…when moving, take heed of what may lay before you, lest you risk severing such a fragile connection. Unlike a real zephyr, this summon of Ire can be destructive and overwhelming to an inexperienced pupil. Never cast this haphazardly or near dry brushwood.”

Wynn raised a brow and turned a few pages.

“Mirages can be a cunning way to defend against those who seek one harm, but one must note that the issue of making it convincing is the other half of the battle. Before attempting to weave one, remember the four traits of a proper spe—”

A low growl cut Wynn off, causing her to drop the book.

She whipped around to meet the harrowing yellow eyes of a creature that stood mere steps from her. Her heart dropped.

A wilder.

The wilder had two long streaks of white cutting down its smooth black fur from head to tail. Large, barbed pins rose along its back in sharp hackles as its narrow snout twisted into a pointed snarl.

Although it wasn’t much larger than Wynn, she had heard of the damage a badger-pine was capable of. The image of her uncle’s snout, full of faded scars, snapped to mind. As he had told his kin, these creatures were not to be messed with.

The badger-pine stepped closer, its long curled claws scratching against the brick floor, its lips peeled back. Wynn stepped back, nearly stumbling into the desk as the fur on her shoulders rose with alarm.

With a snarl the badger-pine lunged, its claws narrowly missing Wynn’s cloak as she sprung away.

In the frenzy Wynn knocked over the staff. It clattered to the floor next to her. As the creature made for her again, she snatched up the staff and swung it across the wilder’s wolf-like snout.

It yelped and recoiled in pain as Wynn dashed for the door.

As she ran, two blurs leapt down from the shelves and appeared before her.

More badger-pine.

Wynn turned around to see the first one hot on her heels. She snatched two books from the shelves and threw them at the wilder. The first flew past its head. The other caused it to slip and barrel into the shelf, bringing down jars and books with it.

She darted past it, just missing its jaws.

Wynn zigzagged through the maze of shelves, pressing her ears against her head to block out the loud snarls and bellows that pursued her. Through the shelves, the sheen of their sleek fur and claws flickered against the amber light of the staff.

In the dim light, her eyes picked out another smaller door propped open by a fallen book. It was eight steps to the left of her. The only problem was that this was also where the shelves ended, and thus her cover. She’d be vulnerable if she took that route.

Wynn stopped, the ache of exhaustion washing over her as the creatures started to encircle her. It would only be a matter of time before they cornered her within the shelves.

Using what remained of her strength, she made for the door, her paws nearly flying over the ground. She sprang through the door and wheeled around, slamming it behind her.

Wynn panted and backed away from the thin wooden door. The creatures scratched and pounded on the other side.

Still shaking, the young swirl-ear turned around.

Then froze.

She was not alone.