Prologue


    I sprint through the night-steeped woods, heart pounding and lungs burning with the effort of getting away from who… No. Whatever is hunting me. I run blindly, partially because of the darkness and partially due to confusion. I know my name is Myar, I am seven years old, I was born on April twenty-ninth and I have some basic knowledge of civilization. The memories of how I learned these things are lost in the new fog blanketing my mind. I sense that whatever is chasing me probably has answers, but I doubt it will share them and I won’t like whatever I do manage to find out.


    Either way, capture isn’t an option. My senses are dulled from whatever the people I escaped from did to me, leaving me clueless to what is going on. The ground changes, becoming solid and smooth as screeching, spinning lights bear down on me from the side. I stop, panting and confused. I realize what the lights are only when the car gets unavoidably close. Suddenly, I’m flying through the air, spinning and flipping disorientingly as pain from the impact only begins to register in my side. I hit the ground fifty feet away, skidding even further. I jump up, hurt far less than I should be, and look back. The car is stopped and the driver is jumping out but I only barely glimpse him before the monster chasing me crashes


    through the trees. It is huge, the size of a semi tractor, and covered in black… fur? I don’t have time to figure it out because the creature sniffs once, twice, then swivels its head toward me. I turn, sprinting across the last stretch of highway before plunging into the trees on the opposite side. The woods seem strangely less foreboding here, less like grasping hands trying to drag me back into the creature’s gaping maw.


    As I sprint, clarity of thought seems to, albeit slowly, come back to me. I wonder about some of what happened, how the monster seems exclusively focused on pursuing me. I contemplate how I survived the crash and resolve that it must have been the way the car hit me. I become aware of the fact that I have been running faster and further than I should be able to at seven when all of my exhaustion comes back in a rush.


    I pass out, waking to a man carrying me through the woods. He is definitely on the tail end of middle aged, with a weathered brown face etched with slight lines and accentuated by a jutting brow. His eyes are a deep brown, like freshly turned earth, and his hair is a salt-and-pepper gray. He wears simple woodsman’s clothes and seems to be going somewhere specific. I try to speak, but it only comes out as a weak grunt. He looks down at me, smiling and instantly earning my trust with it. He says nothing as I drift in and out of a haze of exhaustion, still not entirely willing to trust this seemingly kind stranger. We walk for a long time, eventually coming upon a clearing. I look around briefly, seeing only a small hut and a well. I conclude that if this man meant me harm, he would’ve done it already. Reassured, I finally relax and give in to deep, dreamless sleep.


    Chapter 1


    Ten Years Later


    Freezing water is splashed on my face, waking me up enough to register Tamarin trying and failing miserably to parody “Happy Birthday” to the beat of a rock song. I groan, wondering how he manages to make something sound that awful without even trying. I hop out of bed, fully intending to tackle him, but he has me in a hug almost instantaneously, still singing terribly. When he finally stops, it is because he forgot that the pancakes were cooking and the house was filling with smoke.


    “You almost did as well as I do with those pancakes, Tam,” I joke as I throw the charred food out the door. I follow them, going to milk the cow and do my other chores. As Tam remakes breakfast, I contemplate that day ten years ago when I escaped… something and he rescued me from the forest. I finish my chores and walk in with a few fresh greens, eggs, and milk for our breakfast. I pour the milk and wash the eggs and greens, still thinking about that day I remember so clearly. I hand everything to Tam and set the table. I am so lost in thought I almost don’t hear Tam’s question.


    “So, Myar, what do you want to do today?”


    “I definitely want to spend time in the ring.”


    “And?”


    “Maybe a couple hours in the smithy.”


    “Sounds like a plan.”


    We decide on working in the smithy before it gets too hot and start with that.


    As we walk toward the low stone building, I reminisce over my first weeks here and the training I did. Tam and I have a traditional lifestyle, pretty much devoid of modern technology save books and a beat up old truck. I’ve never asked why Tam lives like this, but I do know my presence changed a lot, and I get the feeling that if I questioned him about it, he would just change the subject. That’s how it always is if I ask Tam about anything about his past. Tam probably would’ve just had the hut, garden, and barn. Now we have a training ring, a smithy, and an obstacle course. I built most of those structures early in my training, when Tam was focused more on building my strength than on any form of technique. I was miserable just placing the cornerstone, when I didn’t even know I was building something I would enjoy for years.


    I step into the smithy and as Tam gets the fire going, I ready my tongs and hammer while I contemplate what to make. I look around the low, muggy room and determine that, given how little time I have, I’ll make a small dagger that I can hide easily. I dump a small amount of iron and crushed chicken bones into a crucible, holding it over the fire until it has all melted together. Then I pour it into a mold, only letting it cool to the point where the metal is solid enough to keep its shape. I take it out of the mold to twist and fold the malleable steel, continuing until it is too solid. I reheat the dagger and repeat the process for hours, stopping only when the metal has a blue tinge. I temper the new steel, heating and cooling it repeatedly to give it strength. Finally, satisfied by my work, I step out of the forge and get ready for lunch. I pick a head of lettuce and walk into the house.


    “Hey,” Tam greets me, not looking up from his cooking.


    “I brought lettuce.”


    “How is that dagger going?”


    “I just finished it,” I reply, noticing the surprise he quickly masks at my speed. I sometimes wonder about this, that surprise at something I have done and will do for years. I go to the stream behind the house to wash the soot off of my face and hands. I look at my reflection, seeing the normally olive tones of my skin darkened to match my hair, my hazel eyes stark against the soot. I clean up, taking a long time because of how much soot there is.


    By the time I walk in the house, Tam has already set the table and served food onto my plate. I dig in, contemplating Tam’s somewhat hidden trepidation and excitement. He obviously has some grand surprise planned; something he thinks I will love. I don’t think he will tell me until the last minute, so I prepare for combat training. I grab my swords, check that they are sharp, and march out into the secluded clearing where we practice our fighting.


    I am much better than Tam, probably because of his old injuries. He’s never actually told me about them, but the way he performs specific tasks in ways that don’t use specific muscles is telling. He usually blocks and parries my attacks, then points out flaws in my technique. My training is extensive, involving pretty much any type of weapon and no weapons, including espionage and basic interaction. I used to try to get Tam to crack and tell me why he decided I needed to know these things, but I have long given up.


    Today I will train with the more traditional blades of my shortswords and daggers. I wrap the handle of the now cooled dagger in a long strip of leather and tie it off. I start with weapons I am familiar with, still working to perfect my form, before I start with the new knife. It is instantly familiar, although I haven’t practiced with it. I have always been that way, better at using something I have made than what Tam buys or makes himself. I am so lost in thought, daydreaming about my past, that I don’t hear Tam correct me. Normally this would be cause for a lot of hard running, but Tam too is lost in his own world. I stop, stunned by how distant he is today. After about five minutes of waiting on my part, he notices me staring at him. He looks at me briefly before seeming to come to a decision.


    He sits down on a log near the ring and motions for me to sit too. His face is grave as he begins, “There is a lot that I need to tell you.”


    “Like what?” I say, deeply unsettled by his tone and the implication that he’s been keeping secrets from me.


    “Your past, mostly, but some of your future too.”


    “My past.” It is a statement, not a question, and I can’t keep the bite of anger from my tone. I am angry, mostly at him for keeping secrets, but also at myself for not searching harder for answers. Tam sighs, suddenly looking every year his age and then some, but he pushes on.


    “You were born far from here, on the U.S.-Canada border, in a military hospital where your mother worked. She died during delivery, and no one knew who your father was. You were sent to an orphanage on the Canadian side of the border, but after three years there, you disappeared without a trace. We-”


    “We?” I ask.


    “Yes, we, but I’ll get to that later. We searched for you for two years, but after spending so much time without even finding evidence, the search was called off. I was one of a few who disagreed with that decision, but I was the only vocal one. I had a disagreement with my higher-ups and that led to me being isolated here. That isolation was my salvation because, eventually, I found you.”


    Stolen novel; please report.


    “Why did everyone want to find me?”


    “They won’t allow me to tell you.


    “And you still obey their rules because?”


    “Let’s just say you don’t want to know what happens when you don’t.”


    “Did you work for a gang?”


    “In a way, but the group was less of a gang and more of an organization. I helped keep it going when we were limited heavily by our opposition. As of now, that is all you need to know.”


    “But-”


    “No. I won’t let my loose tongue harm you, Myar.”


    We sit in tense silence, both pondering Tam’s words. I move to get up, but Tam stops me by saying, “We leave tomorrow at noon.”


    I’m shocked, not remembering ever not living here, and scared. I try desperately not to show it, knowing how many secrets he kept from me. I stride away, speechless and angry.


    I go most of the rest of the day without speaking to Tam, and he acknowledges my silence with his own. We both are tense, wanting to go back to normal, but not willing to give an inch. We go to bed earlier than we usually do, partially because of our argument and partially because we are leaving, possibly forever. I am the one who breaks the silence, and I break it only because of something Tam mentioned years ago. My query is hesitant, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I have to ask, “Are these mysterious higher-ups the reason you trained me with two swords instead of with a shield and sword?”


    “Yes.”


    His reply is simple, but his guarded tone keeps me from pressing further. The day continues as it did before, almost like my tenuous offer of peace never happened. It is infuriating to be on this precipice of knowledge, of answers, and have no way of getting to them.


    We both pack only essentials, not that I have much that isn’t an essential, and all of our weapons. My pack was a gift for my birthday last year, when I turned sixteen. It is a large hiking backpack, navy blue with forest green accents and inner lining. Tam had sewn custom sheaths into the sides for my swords before he gave it to me, and I think back to how mysterious he was about why I would need it. At the time I was annoyed with not knowing, however resigned to it I was. Now, however, I wonder if Tam knew we would have to leave and got the pack for the trip.


    This line of thinking gets infuriating quickly, and I shove the whole thing down under the thought that Tam will tell me later, whenever later is. We leave as planned and the ride starts without a hitch. Sometime around three we stop to stretch our legs and use the nearest convenient bush. We’re still in the forest, and even that hasn’t changed much since we left, so wherever we’re going must be a long way away. Going so far scares me a little, because I’ve never really been outside of our little stretch of woods. I do my best to nap, but I’m still not used to riding in a car. I doze off for a while and wake up when we stop sometime around six for supper. We eat a plain, carefully rationed meal of cheese and bread, both fairly recently made, and a rabbit I manage to catch. It passes silently because Tam still seems scared to elaborate on what he already told me. We only drive for about an hour more before stopping for the night. Tam finds a clearing about fifty feet off the road that we can put our tent up in.


    The night passes uneventfully and we both are well rested when we wake up the next morning, around dawn. It is drizzling slightly as we get back in the truck, and the clouds are heavy with more rain. The monotony of the seemingly eternal drive and the dreary weather start to get to me, making me restless. Tam picks up on my anxiety and softens a little. He pulls over, explaining, “Your training can’t stop just because we’re on the road.”


    I am surprised, but grateful for him providing a way to be productive and dispel some of my restlessness. We get out and Tam scuffs out a small circle in the dirt of the road. He looks to me, impatient, “Are you going to just stand there or are you going to get your knives out?”


    I jolt into action, drawing the two daggers attached to my belt and getting into a fighting stance. The next few minutes are a blur of attack and parry, give and take, all in the name of getting the upper hand in the fight. Tam’s injuries don’t affect him nearly as much in a knife fight as they do with swords, and these are the times I can tell he was once a master swordsman. The fight is quick, ending with my dagger at Tam’s throat. He concedes defeat to me with something like pride in his eyes as I help him up. It dissipates quickly, and Tam’s back to his normal all business self. “Time to move on. We should be in town late tomorrow evening.”


    The thought of finally meeting other people scares me more than I like to admit. What if they don’t like me? What if they think I’m weird? What if everyone just ignores my existence? I push these thoughts down and think of my training with interaction and how to act around people. I’m struck by another thought, and I voice it. “What’s our story for how and why we’re in town?”


    His reply is surprising, “We’ll mostly tell the truth and leave out your training.”


    “How far are we from town?”


    “About one more day of driving, maybe more if we run out of fuel and have to hoof it. It’s directly north of here about 300 miles, but the drive is longer because of the curve of the road.”


    “What’s the town called?”


    “Lands End.”


    The name seems ominous to me, but I keep that thought to myself with Tam being very confident in the town’s safety. I can tell by the way he says the name, like he’s starving and the town is a bowl of his favorite hearty stew. We drive in silence until nightfall, when we are both so tired of being in the truck that we just set up our tent and pass out inside. I wake up several hours later, although I’m not entirely sure why, and sit up at the same time Tam does, looking haunted and nervous. He looks at me and we converse silently with that glance. My eyes ask questions and his betray the answers. He definitely knows what we woke up to and why. I don’t get to ask more because a bone chilling screech pierces the night.


    Tam starts and I almost yelp in fear, but Tam regains his composure and signals to be quiet, arm myself, and follow his lead. I do so and Tam creeps outside, silent and stealthy, stalking something I have yet to see. We continue in this fashion for about half a mile, making it to a small clearing. Tam stops, searching for something and, apparently satisfied, starts to tromp around and talk like it is normal to be on a hiking trip through the woods at three in the morning-miles from civilization. He makes a subtle gesture that most people would think accidental, but I know Tam well enough to know it is a signal to follow his lead. We walk in circles around the clearing long enough that I’m contemplating going back when the bushes rustle. It happens again, and Tam takes that as his chance to execute his plan. He starts walking with purpose now, straight back to our camp.


    The bushes along the sides of our path rustle some more. Whatever it is doesn’t want to reveal itself. I feel a bolt of fear go through me. This thing in the bushes is enough to warrant Tam trying to counteract it. Tam has been unflappable for as long as I can remember. One year, the summer I turned fourteen, a forest fire swept through our area. I panicked and kept trying to create a firebreak, but Tam sat in the house the whole time. Later that day I saw the fire, but the wind had blown it far from our home, never coming within ten miles of our little patch of forest. Seeing him so edgy inspires more fear than the actual creature in the undergrowth.


    We make it back to camp unscathed, but Tam clearly doesn’t intend to go back to sleep and ignore the creature stalking us in the bushes. He stays silent and doggedly gets me to climb a tree and watch for enemies. He stays grounded just beneath the colossal pine. The brush rustles again, in multiple places this time, and I realize we have multiple attackers. I look down at Tam and see him shift his stance slightly toward the other creature in the woods. It is small, almost imperceptible, but I can practically hear his voice telling of the strategy. “When you face multiple ambushers, the best action is pretending to notice only one, to look as fully as possible like an easy target.”


    He does look like an easy target, even to me, and I know it’s a trick. Our pursuers seem to think so as well, because the one that Tam supposedly doesn’t see creeps out of the bushes. It is dark in the clearing, but I can tell whatever it is isn’t a normal woodland creature. It is huge, with a large doglike muzzle, indigo eyes and dark fur, but that is all I can see of it. I move to climb down the tree, but the soft scrape of Tam drawing his sword stops me. He has never drawn the two-handed greatsword for anything other than practice before, and that fact heightens my terror.


    Tam swings as the creature pounces from the side, sinking the blade deep into its neck. He quickly reverses the move when the other monster springs in his direction. He manages to hit the thing, but it definitely isn’t a killing blow. It turns around and charges back towards Tam as he fights off yet another of them. The woods seem to boil, pouring what I can now see is some kind of monstrous wolf into the clearing. I desperately want to drop out of the tree to fight at Tam’s side, but I learned to do what he says to the letter, no matter what, a long time ago. The near instantaneous planning skills Tam possesses mean that everything happens for a reason.


    If the massive pack of wolves intimidates him, Tam doesn’t show it. He adjusts his stance and prepares to take them on by himself. It looks like a death sentence. Tam takes what looks to be a practice swing, and the clearing is lit brightly by a wall of flame separating us and the wolf monsters. The terror must have muddled my mind, because it looks like Tam just summoned a massive wall of flame. Tam still looks unfazed, looking through the flames like his eyes are already adjusted to the bright light emanating from them. The heat hits me like a blow, nearly knocking me out of the tree from the sheer temperature. Tam watches as the monsters charge, running themselves into the inferno with no regard for the danger. Eventually the monsters put out the fire by suffocating it in their numbers, and Tam quickly becomes a whirlwind of flashing steel underneath the press of the wolves. I’m climbing down the tree, trying to help in any way I can, when the same screech that woke us comes again, closer and somehow angrier. I instinctively jump out of the tree, not wanting to be completely vulnerable to this new enemy. I’ve barely jumped when the claws sink into my back and shoulders, cutting deep and keeping me in the air. I scream in agony and look upward at my captor, almost screaming again in terror. It is a new monster, a bat with a long toothy beak, large enough to hold me in its huge talons. The monster screeches again, and I see another go for Tam. I manage to break through the haze of pain long enough to call out his name. He turns, successfully knocking away the bat thing, yet that leaves his back open. A wolf monster capitalizes on the opportunity, jumping at Tam and clamping its jaws around his side. I scream out, but the monsters start carrying me away, and the horde starts to dissipate. I keep screaming, pulling my sword out of the shredded pack hanging off my back, finally managing to damage the bat thing enough that, with one last slice along my back, the monster opens its talons. I fall almost fifty feet, the tree breaking my fall, everything consumed by one thought. I want, no, need to get to Tam, to try and help him.


    I make it to his side, inspect the wound, and all my will to do anything drains away. Tam opens his eyes and looks at me. I see a kind of gallows’ calm in his eyes, and it nearly breaks me. He speaks, a final message.


    “Know that I loved you, Myar. You were… my son. You must go…go to Lands End…find A…”


    Then he’s gone. The eyes that held so much love, so much compassion, were empty, without him behind them. I am almost completely silent, unable to make a sound from grief. It is too much to handle. I do the only thing I can, run. Run from the grief. Run to the town important enough that Tam’s last words were telling me to find it. Time becomes meaningless as I run, jumping over brambles and fallen logs. I feel nothing, just a sort of hollow emptiness, completely without emotion or pain or anything. My mind wanders, thinking of Tam, but I let the emptiness take over again. Sometime later, I’m not sure when, I feel grass, mowed grass, beneath my feet. I must be in the town. Now that I’m actually thinking things like pain and exhaustion register and I collapse, falling into blackness.