Guardian Hound (4 page)

“Open your mouth,” Tilgard instructed.

Lukas did. He was panting, his tongue long and alive, drawing in more scents, like the fish the cooks were making in the kitchen; Greta pretending to work in her classroom but really reading some book with modern paper; Oma in her study, hidden there by magic and shadows…

Lukas shook his head, wanting to break free.

Tilgard held on tighter. “Almost there, son. Focus on the gardens.”

Outside! Lukas jerked his head out of Tilgard's hands and looked out the window. He barked and shivered, thinking about how he could
run
now, really truly run, finally, if only he could get free.

Lukas shook himself again, finally shaking himself completely loose.

It was no longer his body. He wasn't connected to it at all.

Lukas retreated into black nothingness and curled in on himself. It was worse than the shadows—just endless darkness as far as all his senses could tell.

Then his hound soul rose.

Suddenly, Lukas was no longer alone in the dark or afraid. Another soul curled in around his, warm and steady.

Hamlin
.

Lukas was aware enough to know that not all hounds had a human name. For most, it was just a sense, a presence that was composed of odor and sight. (Not that the hound didn't have a name for himself, but that was a dog name, and not a human one.)

Hamlin had both a presence and a scent, the combined smells of wool warmed by the fire and the hard steel of a soldier's bayonet, as well as musty hound. He wasn't a puppy, or even a young dog. Hamlin already knew duty.

His job was to guard.

Lukas was surprised at how protective Hamlin was. No one would harm Lukas while Hamlin was there. Not even the shadows.

Lukas rolled back in the warm comforting darkness of Hamlin's soul, happy to let go of his fear. He felt a tiny thread of disappointment—not from Hamlin, no, but from the man with the rabbit fur.

Did he really expect either Hamlin or Lukas to pay him any heed?

Neither of them recognized his authority. He was not their master nor the leader of their pack.

Run?
Lukas asked.

Faster than any others,
Hamlin promised, and soon they shared the wind on their face as he galloped under the trees and across the fields.

Almost fast enough to outrun the shadows.

# # #

When Lukas came back to himself late that evening, he was crouching, naked, in the gardens near the woods. The ground felt solid and cool under his toes. The air carried the scent of sunset, while the sky blazed orange and pink.

Felix carried the traditional cloak with him, rich red wool lined with the softest rabbit fur. It marked that Lukas had made the change and was a full member of the hound clan.

Though Lukas understood now that his human sense of smell would never match Hamlin's, he could still tell something was wrong.

Felix smelled nervous. And where was Tilgard? Why wasn't he here, bearing the cloak?

“Welcome back, Lukas,” Felix said, standing, unfurling the cloak for Lukas to step into.

Lukas slipped on the unfamiliar robe, scenting that many had worn it before him.

Felix asked the traditional words of greeting: “Did you have a successful hunt?”

How should Lukas answer? Hamlin hadn't hunted anything, or chased rabbits or squirrels. Instead, he'd checked the perimeter. Lukas now knew every wall, every gate, every weakness and strength in their defenses.

Hounds didn't all hunt first thing—it was acceptable to just run. But that didn't feel right. Finding all the walls around the woods, even the hidden ones, was kind of a hunt, wasn't it?

So Lukas said, “Yes, we did.” It wasn't exactly what they'd done, but none of the traditional responses fit.

“We should go inside now,” Felix said.

“Yes!” Lukas said eagerly. “I must go present myself to the court.”

Felix shook his head as they started walking back toward the castle. “Tomorrow.”

“It's custom—”

“Yes. But you are a prince.”

Lukas didn't think that was right; however, surely his tutor knew best. “What breed am I?” he asked. He was sure he was some type of sight hound—Da was a sight hound. All the important ministers at the court were sight hounds. Chances were he was a sight hound, too.

However, that didn't feel right. It was part of Hamlin, but not all.

“We want to verify that,” Felix said smoothly. “Don't want to get something as important as that wrong,” he added with a wink. “There's why I'm here, and not Tilgard.”

Lukas nodded solemnly, reassured, despite how worried Felix smelled. Even if Lukas wasn't pure sight hound, he was still a prince. He'd prove it later, in a couple of years, by changing into different types of hounds. He knew he could, and Hamlin assured him that they would.

The cold stone of the entrance way shot though Lukas' bare feet, and he pulled the robe tighter around him. When the first servant saw him and bowed, Lukas grinned and forgot how he was naked under the cloak, how it tickled his bare skin, how easy it would be to get lost in all the new smells.

Instead, Lukas stood taller, proud to be a full member of the hound clan.

This was surely the happiest day of his life.

# # #

Oma waited for Lukas in his room, of course, when he came back from his first transformation. She dismissed Felix abruptly, shutting the door in his face.

Though the room felt smaller suddenly, Lukas stood as still as a point dog while Oma circled him. He wished he had more clothes on than just the red robe.

“Those fools don't know what breed you are,” she hissed at him. “Only I do.”

Her laughter sent chills down Lukas' spine.

Hamlin drew near, wary and on guard.

Lukas turned to face his grandmother, feeling brave, daring to ask, “What breed am I, then?”

“You're a guardian hound,” Oma told him. “You're as fast as a sight hound, with eyes as good as theirs, despite their blue color. Your coat is brindle, almost tiger-striped, gray and brown. Your nose picks up trails like a scent hound. But your rear quarters and canines confuse them—they're pure guardian—making you stronger than you seem.”

“A guardian hound,” Lukas said, delighted.

Guard
, Hamlin agreed.
And fight.

Lukas was surprised at how close Hamlin stayed. Most hound souls only came at the bidding of their human soul. They only rose on their own when the human had stayed in control for too long; the hound clan needed to transform regularly, at least once a month. A hound soul also rose in times of great need. But Lukas was safe here, in his room, with just his grandmother.

Unless—

“What do you mean, only you know what I am?” Lukas asked, afraid of the answer.

Oma looked at him, then shook her gray curls. “You must stay hidden—stay safe—until it's time. The court can't know your breed. You can't tell them. And neither will I.”

“No,” Lukas said. A begging whine crept in his voice. “Not another secret.” Carrying his terror of the shadows alone was hard enough. It had only been since spring, but it felt like a lifetime to him. Now he had to hide what breed he was? Lukas started to cry. “No!” he wailed loudly. It was too much.

Hamlin rose all the way and Lukas heard himself snarling at his grandmother.

It wasn't a sound he'd heard before. Not even the largest soldier hounds sounded like that, with that deep rumble.

Some part of Lukas recognized where it came from: A sound from before hounds were civilized, before they'd grown tame.

He snarled again like a giant wolf, then he nudged Hamlin to the side.

Let me
, he said gently, his tears forgotten.

Only then did he realize Oma hadn't moved. She'd gone as still as a field mouse.

“You are a wonder,” she whispered, her eyes still bright with fear. “No matter what anyone else ever says. You are more than I ever dreamed for. Remember that. You are perfect, a marvel that the fools will never recognize.”

“I will,” Lukas promised, swallowing down the knot that still lingered in his throat. “
We
will,” he added. He didn't want to accept the burden of another secret, but he knew he had to.

He also already knew what the next day would be like, and cringed, wanting to wail and stomp the ground, but he only wrapped his arms tightly across his chest and shivered.

The crier would only use Lukas' name to announce him to the court, and not include any lineage or breed, since they didn't know.

All the ministers would wonder and whisper. They'd always question him, his loyalty, his heritage. He'd never follow in
Da's
footsteps; the ministers would never let him be king, no matter how brave or strong or smart he was.

When Lukas turned seven, two years in the future, he'd formally prove to them he was a prince. Only royalty could take on other hound forms.

It would never be enough.

However, Hamlin would be there, and together, they would endure.

China, 1940s to Present

Mei Ling

Mei Ling didn't like the trader Mama and Papa invited into their little village hut. He smelled too much of
bailandi
—sour peach brandy—and his crooked smile never met his eyes.

But the last war had been hard, and the next one was already coming. Chairman Mao had just risen to power. He promised reforms and a great revolution, but according to
Grandmama
, nothing would ever change in their small village, and the peasants and farmers just needed to accept their fate.

So Mei Ling didn't say anything about the trader or his filthy shirt, though she could see the crawling lice from where she sat. That would have been disrespectful, and she'd been beaten enough to have finally learned that.

Mama and Papa had begged, borrowed, and gone into debt to lay a feast before the trader, trying to drive up their asking price for Mei Ling. On the pretty red and gold hunk of cloth (that they'd borrowed from Aunty Li) lay steamed bamboo leaves wrapped around rice and thick pork sausages, a huge wooden bowl (also from Aunty Li) filled with imported sweet cherries, and a pot full of fatty duck soup with new onions.

Mei Ling sat in the corner of the front room, reminding herself to keep her eyes on the dirt floor and not stare too much like Papa always accused her of doing. She wanted to bring good luck and fortune to the family, and not be the bad luck daughter
Grandmama
had always declared her to be. Her four sisters sat behind the wall in the other room of their hut, probably huddled together on the shelf bed that Mama and Papa slept on while the five of them slept on the floor.

At least the dress Mei Ling wore was pretty, made from sturdy flax and dyed a deep purple. It wasn't new, of course—she had four older sisters. But it was clean, and Mama had spent many nights fixing it so it fit well.

At the end of the meal, long after even the crumbs had been cleared away and the good tea had been served on borrowed china, the adults finally got down to business.

The trader promised Mei Ling's parents that she would have fine robes and plenty of food for the rest of her life, if they sold her to him. He promised to keep her away from the new war, the one brewing with Korea.

Mei Ling knew he lied. She'd work harder than all of them did now, probably to her death, like Xi Ban in the story of the ungrateful daughter. She'd clean floors in great houses only if she was lucky.

While Mei Ling wanted to live, she also knew that the gods had long ago set the path she was to walk along. Prayer and sacrifice might alter the course a little, but her fate, in many ways, was already written in stone.

However, Mama and Papa didn't know how sharp Mei Ling's teeth grew at night.

Grandmama
had always declared that Mei Ling had evil in her soul.

Mei Ling felt like she had a twin swimming inside her, closer now than ever before.

In a little while, her other soul would rise.

Then the trader would have to beware.

# # #

Mei Ling knelt still and unmoving in the line with the other girls. The floor of the dingy warehouse was hard, cold concrete, and dust lay thick on the wooden shelves behind them. Electric lights buzzed far above them—the first Mei Ling had seen. She'd also used a toilet for the first time, and had been unashamed when the trader had had to show her how it worked.

The other girls also sat unmoving; however, many of them smelled like sweet poppies and their eyes were hazy.

Mei Ling had never cried or tried to run away. She'd always tried to do what the trader had said, so she sat with her senses still clear. The trader hadn't tried anything with her either; maybe he sensed her twin, or her bad luck.

Fear ran through Mei Ling as she knelt, but she trembled only a little, and only when no one was looking.

The trader had left her at the warehouse, and she'd seen more money change hands. That was all right, though. Mei Ling, and her twin, would always remember his scent. She would find him again later, when she was grown and her teeth were even sharper.

Half a dozen men and women, dressed in fine silk robes of brown, red, and blue, walked up and down the line. Though they looked closely at the girls next to Mei Ling, none asked her to stand, or asked her questions.

Was she marked with such bad luck that others could see it? What would the new trader do with her if none of these city people wanted her?

A tall man wearing a light-gray, Western suit and black tie came in as the others drifted away, their choices made. He glanced around the room, then walked directly toward Mei Ling.

His cheeks were pocked, and his beard grew in patchy across his jaw. But his hair was ink black, his eyes burned with intelligence, and his forehead was as broad as the sages in the stories Mama had told Mei Ling.

“You, girl. Stand,” he commanded.

Mei Ling looked up, startled. His voice was more beautiful than any she'd heard. She wondered what he sounded like singing in the fields, then told herself not to be silly—this man had never worked in the fields, not a single day of his life.

“What's your name?” he asked, not unkindly as she rose steadily.

“Mei Ling, honorable sir,” she replied, finally remembering not to stare and focusing her eyes on his very nice, polished leather shoes, peeking out from the sharp crease in his gray suit pants.

There was something about him, something different, and not just his Western clothes.

Her twin soul swam closer in his presence.

“I want her,” he announced.

The feet of an assistant came into view. Mei Ling flicked her eyes up, then kept them on the floor. He wore a traditional Chinese jacket and pants, all in black, with black embroidery that only caught the light when he moved. “But sir,” the assistant said, his voice breathless. “She's much younger than you usually like.”

Mei Ling raised her eyes to the man's waist. She might be young, yes, but everyone, including
Grandmama
, had said she had an old soul.

“How old are you?” the man asked.

“I was born in the spring. Sir,” Mei Ling said, glancing up at his face, then back down again. It was true—she didn't know how old she was. Mama had never told her.

“Ten, maybe, sir,” the assistant murmured.

The man looked thoughtful and glanced around the room. The older girls sat at the far end. His gaze lingered there for a moment.

Mei Ling caught her breath. He had to choose her. He was the only one who had seen her. He didn't scare her, not like the traders with the poppies.

Also, her teeth had grown very sharp over the last week.

So Mei Ling raised her eyes, all the way to the man's face, staring defiantly at him, daring him not to choose her.

He would be a fool if he didn't.

When the man glanced back, it was directly into Mei Ling's eyes.

“Bold,” he said, smiling. “Her. I want her.”

“My name is Mei Ling,” she repeated, still feeling daring.

“Mei Ling. You can call me Master Yon,” he said.

Mei Ling nodded and followed him out of the warehouse, feeling as though fate and something else had just collided.

# # #

Master
Yon's
house sat around the corner from a busy street, down a quiet alley, set back with a gate. Mei Ling knew the gate wasn't just to keep others out, but to keep those inside, in.

The great wooden door was painted a dark red, like the earth from the far-away mountains. A golden doorknob stuck out from the center of the door, watching, like a great eye. It, too, guarded the house.

Mei Ling's breath caught. She'd heard stories all her life about magic. She didn't know it actually existed. Maybe Master Yon would teach it to her someday.

The first room was dark and small, with a steep staircase going straight up. A second room stood just to the right. The wood in the house seemed blackened with age and more sturdy than brick. Paintings hung on the wall to Mei Ling's left, like the drawings she'd seen at the village temple.

An older woman helped Master Yon with his coat. She wore a dark blue uniform with long sleeves and a high collar, her black hair streaked with silver and pulled back into severe bun.

Without being told, Mei Ling took off her shoes and placed them on the rack next to the door, under the painting of
Xio
Gong, one of the eight immortals. She spread her toes and pressed down against the slightly warm floor. She'd never had to wear shoes before, and they had hurt her feet.

“First, a bath,” Master Yon said.

Mei Ling caught him frowning at her toes, but she didn't try to hide them.

“Then, after dinner, you may present her to me.”

The old woman's black eyes didn't change, but her face grew more stern. “After dinner,” she promised.

Mei Ling didn't know what Master Yon meant by either of those things, but chicken flesh crawled across her shoulders at the way he said them.

Still, she was prepared for her fate.

The old servant led Mei Ling up the stairs, instructing her not to dawdle as she took them one at a time.

Mei Ling didn't tell her it was the first time she'd even seen so many stairs all in a row, let alone climbed them.

The bath was in a room filled with cold tile, painted colorful red and green. Water ran out of the pipes, already hot. Sweet soap lay on the sink, and colorful bottles filled with hair soap—shampoo—lined the tub.

Mei Ling knew Mama and Papa had never seen such luxury.

“Eh, you're a quiet one,” the old servant said as she efficiently stripped off Mei Ling's dress. “That's good. But you can call me Old Miss if you'd like.”

Mei Ling knew that the servant's name was some sort of joke, but it was an adult thing she didn't understand.

Old Miss showed Mei Ling how to wash herself, and helped her scrub her toes and her nails until they were clean. Her fingertips were all wrinkled by the time they'd finished, then she stood still while Old Miss ran more water and rinsed her clean.

When Mei Ling finished and stepped into the softest, thickest towel she'd ever known, she swore to take a bath every day. Surely this was heaven on earth.

The water had pleased her twin as well.

There were too many rooms to count, too many stairs, and too much food. Mei Ling's head swam with all of it. Old Miss finally showed her to a room that she claimed Mei Ling could have, all by herself, with a huge bed that would have fit all of Mei Ling's family.

But such luxury came at a price. Even Mei Ling understood that.

After Mei Ling slept dreamlessly for a while, Old Miss came and woke her up. The night was quiet and dark outside. No one else was around, all the other servants gone.

Old Miss had Mei Ling dress in a fine, green silk robe, covered in golden embroidered dragonflies—her namesake. It had obviously been made for someone taller and been hastily cut down to fit her.

But that was all right. Mei Ling would have her own clothes, soon. Master Yon had promised her.

“After, you come back here,” Old Miss instructed Mei Ling. “I'll be here if you want me to be.”

Mei Ling smiled but didn't reply.

Master Yon wanted something from her, something Old Miss and the assistant hadn't approved of.

Mei Ling wasn't worried. She had secrets of her own.

# # #

Master
Yon's
room was lit by a single oil lamp on the dresser, making Mei Ling feel more at home. Like the other rooms, the walls and floor were made from old, dark wood, but the ceiling was made from sheets of embossed tin. A large rug of red and gold covered part of the floor. In the corner lurked a high bed, with a throne-like chair before it.

The room smelled of sweet poppy smoke and something else, something magical, like the doorknob out front. It brought her twin soul swimming closer.

Soon, she knew her twin would rise all the way.

Master Yon stood by the dresser, pouring himself a drink—something amber and sour smelling—from a fine cut crystal bottle into an equally fine glass. He wore a beautiful robe, also in green silk, covered in cicadas. The cuffs and placard were done in red, quilted material, and Mei Ling knew they'd be soft to the touch.

Only after Master Yon had taken a drink did he turn and look at Mei Ling, who still stood just inside the door.

“Good,” he said.

Mei Ling didn't like how glassy his eyes looked, the intelligence hazed with smoke and drink.

“I need you to do what I say tonight,” Master Yon instructed. “I won't hurt you.”

Mei Ling heard the unspoken “tonight” in his promise. There would be other times, in the future, when it would hurt.

But she didn't say anything, didn't tremble in fear.

“Good, good,” Master Yon said, walking to his chair, then sprawling in it. “Take off your robe.”

Mei Ling froze. This was not something she was supposed to do. She knew that. Maybe this was why Old Miss had said she'd be there, waiting, if Mei Ling needed her, needed someone to soothe her.

“Now,” Master Yon instructed.

Mei Ling saw the path forking in front of her.

She could do as he asked, and that would break her, hurt her in ways she couldn't yet say.

If she disobeyed, she'd be beaten, or worse, much, much worse, maybe even forced to take sweet smoke and never be free of it.

Then her other soul stirred.

She had a third path she could take. Everything beyond that first step lay shrouded in darkness, nothing sure, except that it was her fate, primarily because she'd chosen it.

Mei Ling turned her back to Master Yon. With steady fingers, she undid the frogs on her robe.

All the while, her other soul rose.

The room grew lighter, brighter. She'd always seen well in the dark; now, shadows no longer lurked in the corners.

Mei Ling felt her teeth grow sharper. Her face pushed out and her jaw grew strong enough to break bone. Her nails grew claws and she had to be careful not to rip the silk.