Talon POV

Gresha City had exiled me. Though I no longer felt so confident about the state of my mind and my emotions, I decided that this journey should not be entirely wasted; it had taken me significantly more time than I had thought it would, but at least I could do the thing I had set my mind to when I left Hallow Zaya’s home over a week ago. And so I found my feet walking the familiar path to the Angra-Fyr Village. As usual, I found I was unwelcome upon arrival. Such a feeling was natural, almost nostalgic. The suspicious glances and murmurs of the villagers around me was almost like a lullaby, and it helped me clear my mind and focus.

Before I encountered Kite, however, I realized I was being surrounded. Warriors, both male and female, drew around me in a loose circle, arms crossed. One or two rested their hands upon their weapons, but a few seemed intent on beating me with their bare hands. It wasn’t so strange to notice that I was being watched and gossiped about, it wasn’t even that rare for the occasional cocky teen to try to stand up to me, but having so many people confront me so blatantly and confidently gave me pause. Something had changed in the village while I was gone. I glared them down, lip curled slightly to reveal teeth. “What do you want?” I asked, feet shuffling into a fighting stance.

“So the Gresha-lover returns,” one of them taunted. “Heard you were going soft, Talon.”

How did they know I had come from Gresha? Had they somehow learned I had been captured, or just assumed it? No, it didn’t matter how they knew. My lips parted to reveal a full snarl. “You’re a bunch of fools if you believe that,” I said. “Just try asking the Greshans how they feel about me. Or better yet, ask me yourselves. I’ll rip your throats out.” I was not in the mood for these games and posturing.

One of them, to my left, burst out laughing. It was one of the women. “The dog is still all bark and no bite,” she said.

They wanted bite? Fine. I would show them my teeth. Before she could move, my fist was in her jaw. By the time the others were reacting, I was already slipping out of their reach again. The woman stared at me with a flabbergasted expression, rubbing her angry red jawbone as blood trickled from her lip. I took some small satisfaction from their expressions of outrage and surprise; if they hadn’t been prepared for me to lash out, they shouldn’t have provoked me to begin with. How pathetic. I spat, “I am here to speak with my brother. Where is Kite.”

“Go away! You’re not welcome here, traitor!” one of the men shouted. My eyes darted around at those who had tried to encircle me. Really, I’d been bluffing by lashing out. I was still tired, both physically and emotionally, from my imprisonment and fight with Elian, and doubted I could fight my way through the whole village. As I was analyzing the situation, however, a panicked squawk drew my attention.

“What’s this here? Talon, you brought us a phoenix?” One of the men, tall and lanky with a scar on his arm, was approaching a panicked Crim, who was drawing up behind me. The tall man grinned greedily. “Talon, Talon! This is a treasure—hand that little beauty over and all is forgi—”

I kicked the man in the face. He staggered away, clutching his hands to a bloody nose as he howled like a wounded dog.

“Brothers, sisters. What is going on here?” a deep voice interrupted. All heads turned to face it. There was Uncle Harrier. Rage rose in my belly, and I struggled to tamp it down. His dark eyes fixed on me, lighting in recognition. “Talon. It’s been months. Have you brought some new prize back for us?”

“I’m here to speak to my brother,” I said, stance wide so as to keep Crim behind me.

A grin broke out across Harrier’s face. “Oh, is that what this is about? We had feared you’d been taken from us by the Greshans for their rites, after a few people from neighboring villages were taken. The Angra-Lefa Village in particular was hit hard. But our warriors are strong and fierce, and you more so than any of them...usually. What a shame.” His eyes became harder, his tone a little more pointed. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that?” I opened my mouth, but he interrupted me before I could say anything. His low and gravelly voice cut through anyone still muttering as they watched us. “Come. We have much to talk about, back in my home.”

I shut my mouth. Harrier had been a warrior once. He had survived dozens of battles while his fellow warriors fell around him for good reason. Though he was old and frail and I could easily best him in a fight, the last thing I wanted to do was go anywhere with him, alone. So I replied, “Speak plainly, old man. If there’s anything you need to discuss with me, you can say it out here. What the Hell do you want?”

His smile tightened. A bad sign. “My boy, be reasonable. You’ve been acting irrationally as of late, I really think it’d be better if you came and spoke with me first. You say you want to speak with my brother, but as he himself told me, the last time you two discussed anything in person nearly led to fratricide. A shameful thing, for brothers to spill their own blood. One of the old great sins.”

“I wasn’t going to kill him!” I snapped, only for Harrier to interrupt me as he continued his lecture.

“If you weren’t going to kill him, then all the more reason for you to listen to me. We only point blades at those we wish dead. But you’ve always been too weak to be a warrior, haven’t you,” Harrier spoke in a low, yet almost calm and detached growl. “And before you interrupt oh, yes indeed, you’re powerful, Talon. One of the most powerful boys I’ve ever mentored. But power and strength are two different things. If your dead sister is enough to send you barking at shadows, then you’ll never be strong. A warrior who does not know who to paint his blades at is the same as the Fiend, or her dragon children. Why do you think you’ve earned the name Fiendspawn?”

I don’t remember attacking him. But the next that I was aware, the other villagers were holding me back as I strained against them. Harrier had stepped a few paces away, gazing at me with an infuriating look of condescension, while Crim screamed in another villager’s arms. Then movement from the side of my vision drew my attention. I looked.

Kite.

He said nothing. Despite how he was too far away for me to read his expressions, I could recognize him in an instant. It had only been a week, and yet he looked different. Somehow in my mind, he had stayed the annoying and clingy little brat he had always been, ever since Asha’s death. Never changing, never growing, never learning, only ever endangering himself and getting under my feet. But now he seemed taller, more powerful, more stoic. Emptier, somehow. He had changed. Briefly we met each others’ gazes. He must have heard the commotion, could have guessed why I was there. But without a word or even attempting to approach, he turned and left.

I was tired.

Even as my arm began to bruise and throb, I ripped it from the warrior who was holding it. I redoubled my efforts, clawing and biting my way from the village’s grasp, then lunged for Crim and tore him away from the man holding him. Then I paused, and looked back at Harrier. The old man hadn’t moved a pace, not to help his warriors or stop me.

“Tell mother and Kite that they can no longer rely on my charity to feed them. They’ll have to make do on their own from now on,” I said. I had come here to find closure, and as I said those words I felt a great weight lifting from my shoulders, the ancient and heavy bonds tying me to the village cut for the first time. But there was no relief, only a bitter and hollow feeling. Despite my earlier resolve, the only thought in my mind was a weary what next?

Harrier’s smile twitched. A bad sign. “Is that so. What an ungrateful son...but you brother seems quite eager to fill your shoes. Very well. Good luck on your travels, Talon.”

I ground my teeth. There was no way Harrier would simply let me go so easily. He was not my mentor for no reason, nor was he Angra’s war leader due to a whim. I turned and fled as quickly as I could. There was no way I would be capable of outrunning the village and its horses, not if they chose to seriously give chase. But they saw me as weak now. Weak wasn’t worth taking seriously. Weak was the dust on one’s boots, an annoyance but a minor one, to be washed off at your own leisure.

Even so. Leaving immediately would be foolish, whether I trekked up north along the river or vanished into the Wastelands. But there was one place I could lay low before leaving in earnest, at least until Harrier lost interest. One place where I could rest, and sort out these feelings and decide what to do next, one place I hoped would not turn me away.

Deep in the Deep Woods, I know there stood a well-hidden and sacred sanctuary, and its good-hearted and welcoming caretaker.