Shadowlands (8 page)

Toronto
. “I know of the place. I am to stay there,” Wolf said, touching the chain around his neck. “The High Prince has given me instructions to find her home.”

“I have been there.” Hawk nodded. “The Royal York Hotel. The crossroads are very near to it.” He drew his brows down in a vee. “I could telephone Alejandro, give him the news myself.”

Wolf considered. He knew what a telephone was, and in theory he knew how to use one. The High Prince, on the other hand, was well versed in such things.

“Truthsheart did not give
me
this option of announcing my news by proxy,” he said. “I can only conclude she did not wish me to do so.”

“Then she had her reasons, and we will respect them.” Hawk gestured with the bottle and Wolf reached out with his glass. “Still, I could find out exactly where he is, save you some time.”

But when Wolf had agreed, and he had watched with interest as the call was placed, they found that Alejandro Martín was not to be reached so easily. Hawk spoke into the instrument nevertheless, leaving something he called a “voice mail.”

“If you do not hear from me before you go, check at the concierge’s desk of the hotel for a message from me. In the meantime…” Hawk drummed his fingers on the tabletop, looking about him with a distracted air, before rising and pulling a mass of folded paper out of a drawer in the desk. Wolf leaned forward with interest. This might be some of the writing Max the Guardian had told him about—proper writing, not just the bits of words he’d seen on signs.

But it was only a drawing. “This is a map,” Hawk said, tapping the paper. “Humans use these to picture their land, and to give directions.” He looked up. “You know how the land is here? All of a piece, one single place?”

Wolf nodded. “I came through the Portal in Rome,” he said, “and arrived in Madrid by train, to see as much as possible and acclimate
myself.” He said nothing of the fact that he had been here in the Shadowlands before, in another form. Only the High Prince herself needed to know that.

But Hawk was already unfolding another of the maps. “There are two others of the People here in Spain that I know of. Not all of them have chosen to make themselves known to me. But you may start with these until Alejandro can direct you to others.”

Wolf noted the use of the human name. He watched with interest as Hawk showed him how the map worked. He would not need it to return to Madrid, of course, since he could Move directly to the crossroads in the Atocha train station, having been there already, but Hawk showed him on the map how to find the fountain of Cibeles from the station.

“In the fountain you will find a Water Natural, Shower of Stars by name.” The Sunward Rider unrolled the second map. “A Solitary, a Troll, lives here,” his finger tapped the paper, “just to the north of the city, in Segovia, where there is a great aqueduct.”

“How did a Natural come through a Portal?” Wolf asked, his finger on the map of Madrid.

“That I cannot tell you. I am not on such terms with her that I might ask such a question. Nor do I know what decided her to remain here.” Hawk emptied his glass and got up to pour himself a refill. He squinted one eye at Wolf before nodding and refilling his glass as well.

“You will return, then,” Wolf said, not really asking.

“Oh, yes,” Hawk replaced the bottle as he answered. “I would see the Lands again, and my fellow Warden, and the Exile, now that he is no longer my charge. And who knows?” Here Hawk smiled again, his eyes twinkling under his dark auburn brows. “I might be able to manifest my own dragon, to go night flying along with the High Prince.”

Wolf found himself smiling back. “Look for the Princes’ court in the Vale of
Trere’if
.” He sipped his wine and sighed as he lowered the glass.

“You like the
fino
? You must take a few bottles with you when you leave Spain. The true
fino
is not found very far outside of Andalucia.”

Once back in Madrid, with the image of the map in his head to orient him, Wolf had no trouble finding the fountain of Cibeles. Unfortunately,
the fountain itself was in the center of a roundabout, and the traffic swirling through the lanes like water in a whirlpool never stopped, and rarely slowed. A half-familiar movement in the corner of his vision made Wolf look to the left and then to the right, but he saw nothing. On the other hand, no one seemed to be taking any notice of him. The sound of Movement would be covered by the noises of the traffic. Wolf focused once more on the fountain, picked out what looked like the perfect spot and—

He was standing in the spray in front of the goddess’ chariot, his hand on the rump of a stone lion.

“Nighthawk sends me,” he called out. At first nothing changed, and he wondered how long it would take for some human to notice him standing here. He had been warned that in this world moving water only concealed the People from others of their kind, not from humans. Just as he was beginning to think he had better Move back to the sidewalk, the spray thickened, obscuring the cars and buses, the crowds of humans, and the buildings, until even the sounds and smells of the outside world faded, and Wolf found himself standing in a cool green room with iridescent walls, sparkling in spots with a sapphire luster. A small woman, sitting cross-legged on what passed for a floor, smiled up at him.

Wolf looked around him. He appeared to be completely underwater, but he had no trouble breathing, and no difficulty standing on what seemed to be a liquid surface.

“I am Shower of Stars,” the Water Sprite said. “Sit. You bring a message from Hawk?” Like most Sprites, Shower of Stars was much smaller than a Rider, though fully formed, except for her feet, which were hidden in the water. Her skin was a pearly gray-blue, her long hair slightly paler and rippling of its own accord as though it floated in a current. Her eyes, like those of all Water Sprites, were a brilliant emerald, with no whites. Her clothing, like her hair, was in constant, rippling motion, and Wolf wondered if this was because she was the Natural of a fountain, and not a pond.

“I am Stormwolf. My mother was Rain at Sunset. The Chimera guides me.”

“I do not know your mother, though there is water in your ancestry, Wolf of Storms, son of Rain at Sunset. Welcome. What news?”

The music in the Water Sprite’s abrupt and tinkling manner of
speech felt familiar, but Wolf could not quite place why. He took a deep breath and repeated what he had already told Nighthawk. He stumbled a few times, but on the whole found it easier going the second time. The Sprite had fewer questions to ask, but that was likely because she was not personally acquainted with the new High Prince.

“Go back,” she said in answer to his own final question. “Pleasant to experience once more the full
dra’aj
of the Lands, the presence of the High Prince.”

With a little shock Wolf realized that if Shower of Stars had experienced the full
dra’aj
of the Lands before, it meant that she had lived through more than one Cycle. He frowned. There was something about
that
thought which also eluded him, something that felt important, but nothing more followed, and he had other, more pressing concerns.

“If I may ask,” he said. “How is it that you plan to pass through the Portal?”

“You tell the High Prince. She sends a Rider to bring me. Someone with strong water connections—stronger than your own, Stormwolf.”

Wolf nodded. “I believe there is such a one, a Singer who has
fara’ip
with the Water Sprite, Tear of the Dragon.”

“A Singer, who has the history of the People in her care? Ideal. More so if she has
fara’ip
with one of my kind already.”

“Nighthawk gave me your name,” Wolf said now. “And that of the Troll, Mountain Crag. Are there any others that you know of to whom I might pass the news I have been given?”

The Sprite’s emerald eyes narrowed in thought, but she ended by shaking her head.

“Once I knew of more.” She shrugged, causing clothing and hair to ripple even more. “But I have been long in my fountain. Ask Graycloud. He knows.”

“I have his name also,” Wolf said. “I thank you. May I, uh…” He gestured at the walls. How was he to leave?

Shower of Stars’ laughter was the tinkling of water from her fountain. “You may Move from here, Rider, since I will allow it.”

A moment later, and Wolf was standing once more on the sidewalk. He was not surprised to find that his clothing was quite dry.

The Troll, Mountain Crag, was even more matter-of-fact about Wolf’s news than the Natural had been. Following Hawk’s directions, Wolf had found the Solitary in a pleasant bar, dark and crowded, within sight of a great two-tiered aqueduct that towered over the mountain town of Segovia. The Solitary had made himself look like a bull of a man, short, thick across the shoulders, with a massive head covered with thick graying hair, gray-pupiled eyes under shaggy eyebrows, and hands like hams. He seemed a working man, and Wolf was not surprised to gather from the talk around them, that “call me Jenaro” was a mason who was well-established and well-known in the region.

“Good news, I would suppose, for them as cares about it,” the Troll said, tossing back the small glass of beer in front of him and signaling to the barman for another. A miniature loaf of bread and a plate of sizzling sausages roughly the size and shape of the Troll’s fingers, though much redder in color, appeared in front of them. “A new High Prince, a Dragonborn at that. I’m glad to know of it.” He popped a sausage whole into his mouth and followed it with a piece of bread torn from the small loaf. “Though, in answer to your question, Younger Brother, I don’t think I’ll return to the Lands. I came here before the Basilisk ever thought to raise his war banners, before the Banishment of the Guardian Prince. That these events have passed to the old Cycle mean less to me than they might to others.” A broad grin disclosed a mouthful of squared-off teeth. He gestured out the bar’s open doorway at the massive blocks of the aqueduct. “And besides, where else will I have so magnificent a bridge?”

The old Troll’s eyes narrowed at Wolf’s question about others, just as the Water Sprite’s had done.

“To the west, across the great water,” he said. “That’s where Graycloud has gone, that’s where you’ll find
him
.” He grinned again, and Wolf steeled himself not to back away as a shadow of the Troll’s real shape seemed to pass in an instant over his human form. “A Sunward Rider, if you care about such things. He’s been the longest tenant here, if I may speak in those terms, having lived in the Shadowlands longer than any of us. There was one of my kind in China, many years ago, but we’ve lost touch. Alejandro can tell you of others there may be.”

Wolf tossed back his glass of
fino
. Nighthawk was right; he’d have to procure a bottle or two before he left.

(Flicker) Flat. Black and white. Smell of fear sweat, exhilaration. Layer upon layer of greasy meat and pastry, tobacco and other burning grasses, alcohol, perfumes, burnt sugar. And here, in the hidden recesses of the upper stories of the building, the dust of ages. Sound of pigeons cooing, flapping of wings, pittering of rodent feet. (Flicker) Louder, nearing, claws on concrete, paws, footsteps, claws. (Flicker) The smells recede somewhat into the three-dimensional background. Color.

Foxblood could understand, pretty well, what his Pack mates said to him when they were in other shapes, but the whole Hunt found it easier to think and speak to each other when in Rider form. The great scaled lion that approached Fox now, way too fast for the concrete floor, scrabbled to a stop only just in time.

“Control yourself,” he told it, waiting as patiently as he could for Claw to turn back into a Rider.

“Easier said than done, as you should know better than most.” He must have just taken human
dra’aj;
nothing else could have made him so cocky. Foxblood took a step toward the other Hound.

“Though you’re right, you’re right, as usual,” Claw said, cringing, his shape flickering into that of an actual dog for a second. They all knew who was Pack Leader here. “We should control ourselves, absolutely. And we will, for sure. Once we have plenty of the new
dra’aj
.” A line of saliva trickled from Claw’s mouth, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “Like you said.”

“Tell me,” Fox said, stopping himself just as he was reaching for the other’s throat.

Claw ducked his head again, and pretended he only meant to look around him, sniffing. As if he didn’t know as well as Fox did that except for the others guarding the stairwells, they were alone.

“Stump’s missing.”

Fox’s hand went involuntarily to the cell phone in his pocket—another thing, like the pocket itself, that only existed when he was in Rider form. A great way to keep in touch with the rest of the Pack, since they couldn’t Move.

“Who reported it?”

“Badger. She reported in on time, says she hasn’t heard from him.”

Fox frowned. There’d been a Five of the Pack in the place called Europe. Did this mean there were only four now? Impossible that a human could have killed Stump. Far more likely he was in a
dra’aj
-induced stupor and had simply lost track of time. Possible, but not as likely, that some Rider had got him. Fox considered who to send. He had two Fives of the Pack here with him, but it was still tricky, very tricky, for them to move like humans did. No. He’d have to rely on those already in place.