Midnight Thief (23 page)

Kyra laughed despite herself. It was unmistakable. These were demon kittens.

The two kittens startled at the sound and froze, staring at Kyra with wide eyes. Yellow led the way, cautiously approaching step-by-step while Gray followed behind. They stopped five paces away and blurred, changing into two naked children. Yellow was a girl about Lettie’s age. She said something to Kyra in the Makvani language that sounded like a question. Gray, a toddler boy, watched expectantly.

Kyra shrugged an apology. “Sorry, I don’t understand you.”

They stared at each other for a few more moments. The children blurred back into their cat shapes, although they continued to circle and sniff at her from arm’s length. Kyra picked a long stick off the ground and trailed the end in the dirt. Yellow pounced and attempted to trap the stick with her paws. Kyra pulled the stick away and wiggled it enticingly. Gray joined in the chase. If these had been ordinary kittens, Kyra might have held her own, but she was no match for these half-grown demon cats, and Yellow soon paraded in a circle with one end of the stick in her mouth, tail held high in triumph. This proved too much for Gray, and he attacked the stick again. Soon both kittens were rolling in the dirt.

“I see you’ve discovered Libena and Ziben.”

Kyra whipped around to see Pashla standing a few paces away. The two kittens stopped wrestling.

The woman smiled and knelt in front of the little ones. She spoke to them at length, looking back at Kyra from time to time as if she were talking about her. Pashla ran her hand affectionately down their backs before sending them off to play.

“You have something in common with them,” Pashla told Kyra. “They spent their early years without a clan, as did I.”

“They did?”

“Our people lead a warlike existence. It is not uncommon for cubs to be left without a family. Most of the time, other clan members take them in. But sometimes they end up alone.”

“Who raised them? Humans?”

Pashla shook her head. “No, they’re pureblood. While you spent your early years as a human. Libena, Ziben, and I spent ours as cats.”

On one hand, the idea of growing up as a cat stretched the limits of Kyra’s imagination. On the other, the story felt familiar. The two kittens were playing a game now, something requiring the involuntary participation of an unlucky insect. They might have fur and sharp claws, but their play wasn’t that much different from the orphans back at Forge. She wondered if Idalee and Lettie had recovered from the fire, and how they were getting along with both her and Bella gone.

“Do you remember what it was like?” she asked Pashla.

Pashla exhaled slowly. “It was a long time ago, but I do have some memories. I remember my mother. I remember being carried around by the scruff of my neck, huddling under her belly with my littermates. It’s not uncommon for mothers to stay in cat form with their children when they’re younger. The mothering instincts, like all other instincts, come stronger in our fur.”

Kyra felt a touch of envy. She had nothing like those memories. “And then what happened?”

“I don’t know.” Pashla’s voice was suddenly sad, although it must have been decades since those early years. “She sometimes left us, I assume to go hunting. If she was with a clan, we never saw the others. One day she didn’t come back. By then, my littermates and I had grown enough to fend for ourselves, although we didn’t know enough to stay together. We drifted apart. I hunted small animals and kept myself from starving. When you don’t have language or reason, you think differently. When I was hungry, I knew to hunt, and when I was tired, I slept. Sometimes I was scared, or lonely, or angry, but I didn’t know what it meant. I made no plans. I just existed. In the same way, my memories are different. I have images and impressions, but nothing like the memories I have of later.”

Struggling for survival amid a confusion of emotions. Fighting to fulfill basic needs. It was eerily familiar. “And then what happened?”

“I met another cat. There was a wounded deer, and we found it at the same time. I was ten years old, not yet fully grown, but still ready to fight the other cat for the carcass. She stepped back and let me eat first. After that, she brought me food. That was enough to win me over.” Pashla smiled wryly. “It really did not take much. Back then, I had no concept of language, rules, or loyalty. All I understood was my next meal.”

Kyra scrutinized Pashla’s face, trying unsuccessfully to imagine this graceful, self-possessed clanswoman as the wild thing she had described, tamed finally by food and kindness. Flick had won Kyra over with food as well. She lowered her head to hide a sudden pang of loneliness.

Pashla continued. “I remember the first time I saw her change. It took me completely off guard, seeing her in her skin. I almost attacked her. She must have known the risk, but she was determined to show me what I was. And she did win me over.

“A while later, I changed for the first time. I was sated after my meal. She had brought others from the clan to see me, and when they changed, my body followed suit. It was frightening. Suddenly, I was naked, cold, vulnerable. My mind was clearer, but my senses were dulled. They made noises at me that I didn’t understand. That time, I did attack. You can draw blood with fingernails, if you’re vicious enough. It took weeks to tame me. Months to teach me language, and years to bring me into the clan. But the woman—Dala was her name—was very patient, and Leyus was good to me. Other leaders would have killed me for my rebelliousness, but he liked my spirit. I’m indebted to both of them. It is good to be in a clan.”

Pashla looked at Kyra as she said those last words, and Kyra got the distinct impression that Pashla wanted her to experience this for herself. And there was such concern, such compassion in the clanswoman’s eyes, that Kyra suddenly found herself telling her own story. She told Pashla about her own fragmented early memories, of scavenging in the city’s trash piles and balancing on the edge of survival. She talked of things that she hadn’t even told Bella or Flick, not because they wouldn’t have cared or because she feared their judgment, but simply because they wouldn’t have understood. Pashla knew about desperation, about being utterly alone those early years. After Flick and Bella had taken Kyra in, she’d felt loved, but she’d never felt like she truly belonged. Nighttime was her element. As she’d grown in confidence and skill, Kyra had struck out more and more on her own, and though Flick and Bella would have been willing to follow her, they simply could not keep up.

Pashla listened without interrupting, rubbing Kyra gently on the back as the words spilled out. When Kyra ran out of things to say, Pashla finally spoke. “Now you’ve found your people.”

But even as Kyra gripped Pashla’s hand in gratitude, she remembered her dream. How Bella had pulled her to her feet, and how Kyra’s claws had pierced her skin and brought forth five drops of blood.

T H I R T Y - F O U R

K
yra healed more quickly than any human, yet it still felt agonizingly slow. Every day was one day closer to the coming raid, and she desperately needed to get word to the Palace. At the Guildhouse, James had proposed a raid in one month. If that were true, Kyra guessed she had two more weeks. But who knew what might have changed since then?

“Are you well enough for a longer walk tonight?” Pashla asked her one evening.

“I think so, if we go slowly.” In truth, the shelter had started to feel restrictive. It was time to start building her strength.

“Good. I had an idea. We can take the kittens.”

Curious, Kyra followed Pashla out into the forest. They found Libena and Ziben tumbling at the foot of a nearby boulder. Pashla barked a command, and the kittens fell into step with them. It was a cool night—autumn was starting in earnest. Kyra shivered and wrapped her animal skin tighter around her. They walked in silence for a while. Then Pashla finally spoke.

“Changing comes naturally to us,” she said. “It is hard for me to teach you how. It would be like trying to tell you how to breathe or lift your arm. But we will try. You’ll have to hunt with me.”

“Hunt?” In her mind’s eye, Kyra saw the wounded deer crashing through the forest.

The woman nodded. “Four legs feels the most natural when we’re hunting. That’s when it makes the most sense to be in our fur. Our senses are sharper then, our instincts stronger. Some of our younger ones have trouble changing back into their skin after a satisfying hunt.”

Following Pashla was like following a ghost. She made no sound and left the ground undisturbed as she glided through the forest. Kyra felt a twinge of jealousy. All her life, she had been the graceful one, and now there was an entire race of people who could do this better than she.

Pashla stopped and raised one finger. “Deer upwind,” she said softly. “You can smell them.”

Kyra might have smelled something, or she might have just imagined it. Either way, she nodded and followed.

A few steps later, Libena’s stance changed. The kitten arched her back and moved forward with high, mincing steps. Pashla held Kyra back with a light touch as Libena focused on an invisible prey. Suddenly, she pounced in a rustle of leaves. There was a scuffle, and Kyra thought she saw a small shadow scurry off. Libena’s head drooped, and Pashla said something to her in an encouraging tone.

Pashla led them around like this, stopping to point out sights and smells. It was fascinating. Kyra had always taken pleasure in finding things in the dark, and now Pashla pushed her to her limits, showing her faint footprints, shadows that were no more than a flicker or a feeling. They had continued a while when Pashla stopped and brushed Kyra’s elbow. The woman didn’t look worried, but Kyra followed her gaze to a telltale rustle in a nearby tree. There was a crash of branches as a shadow dropped to the ground. Silence; then a two-legged shape walked out of the trees.

“Leyus.” Pashla brushed three fingers down the front of her neck as she dipped in a slight bow.

The clan leader was just as Kyra remembered from the gathering, with the same air of authority even when walking alone. He acknowledged Pashla with a nod. “Pashla. You are healing well?”

“Yes, as is Kyra.”

“I would speak with Kyra,” he said to Pashla. “I will return her to her shelter after we finish.”

“Of course.” Pashla touched Kyra’s wrist. “We will continue tomorrow.”

Kyra watched helplessly as Pashla gathered the kittens and disappeared into the trees. The clanswoman was sometimes strange and not completely predictable, but at least Kyra knew Pashla wouldn’t harm her. Leyus was a different matter.

“Let us walk,” said Leyus. Kyra obeyed, muscles tense. Somehow, this didn’t seem like a social visit.

They continued through the trees. Kyra once again noticed the Makvani’s grace of movement, though Leyus didn’t take as much care to leave the forest undisturbed. It was as if Pashla wanted to blend into the forest, while Leyus saw no reason to. Finally, he spoke.

“Tell me again what happened with James.”

His tone was casual, but Kyra didn’t miss the suspicion behind his question.

“We disagreed about my job,” she said. “James wanted more than I was prepared to give.”

“And when he tried to kill you, what happened?”

“We had an argument, and it turned into a fight.”

“I see,” said Leyus. “What puzzles me, Kyra, is why this happened at that hour, halfway through the meeting with Pashla and Czern. And Pashla says James called you a traitor.”

Kyra struggled to keep a tremor out of her voice. “James stretches his stories sometimes.”

Leyus turned to face her. “And if I talk to James myself, will he give me a similar account of what happened?”

She didn’t answer. Leyus held her gaze, daring her to look away.

“The truth is, Kyra, I don’t care about your relationship with James. Our alliance with him will only last as long as it is useful. Neither do I hold you accountable for your actions before you learned what you were.”

There was an edge in his voice as he continued. “What I do care about is your loyalty to the clan. Pashla is a strong clanswoman, and capable, but her past affects her judgment. It is important to her that those with our blood have an opportunity to be in the clan, and I honor her wishes because she won the Challenge. We spared your life, and we will even teach you our ways if you desire. But make one step that harms the clan, and we will deal with you like any other human. Are we understood?”

Kyra forced herself to meet his eyes. “Aye.”

He studied her face, as if mining for answers. A brisk wind blew around both of them, swirling dust and leaves about Kyra’s ankles.

“Good. Do not forget our conversation.”

The conversation with Leyus brought things into sharp focus. Pashla’s kindness and Kyra’s own curiosity had taken the edge off her urgency, but she saw that she needed to leave, and leave soon. Kyra heard another roar the next evening, a summons to yet another meeting she couldn’t attend. This was her chance. Everybody else would be at the gathering, possibly for several hours. And she was well enough to travel.

The thought of escape set her heart beating and her mind racing. If she wanted to take advantage of this chance, she had to act quickly. There wasn’t much she could take with her. A few pieces of leftover fruit, the clothes she wore, and a blanket. The fruit would only last her half a day, but she couldn’t be more than a day or two from the city, and she’d been hungry for longer periods of time than that. Perhaps she could use what she’d learned from Pashla to forage along the way. The thought of Pashla was the only thing that nagged at her. It felt wrong to leave without a word, but she saw little other choice.

Kyra didn’t know exactly where she was, but the city was roughly to the west, and hopefully she would be able to find a road along the way. She pointed herself away from the morning sun. The forest was changing for winter. She was surrounded by yellow-orange leaves, and some trees already sported naked branches. Her nerves carried her the first quarter hour, but then doubts began to surface. The Makvani, however dangerous they were, were the only link to her past. She still had so many questions and so much to learn. Would she ever get another chance? And once she got to Forge, what would she tell them about her time in the forest? Could she betray the Makvani, betray Pashla, after they had saved her life?

“Kyra, what are you doing?” Kyra jumped as Pashla stepped out through the trees. Had the clanswoman been at the gathering? Perhaps the Makvani were watching her more closely than she’d thought. Kyra forced herself to relax and smile, even as she took a frantic inventory of how she looked. She only had a little fruit on her, an amount that was more suitable for a short walk than for a multiple-day journey to the city. The blanket was more suspect, but she had it thrown around her shoulders like a cloak.

“I was feeling strong and decided to go for a walk, although I might have been too optimistic.” She put a hand to her bandaged middle.

Pashla’s face instantly clouded over with concern. “Are you unwell? I can help you back.”

“That would be good.” And it wasn’t even a lie. Her wound was throbbing and her limbs were weak. Even with Pashla’s help, she was exhausted by the time she made it back to the shelter. She’d been a fool to think she could make it all the way back by herself. She would give herself another week to heal. It
should
still be enough time, she hoped.

Yet as Kyra collapsed and drifted off into sleep, reflecting over her failure to escape, she had to admit that part of her felt relieved.

It wasn’t that Kyra’s senses got sharper. It was more that she finally learned to use them. Pashla taught her to be aware of every detail—the faint scent of a crushed leaf, a telltale snap of a twig, the scratch of tiny claws. But it was more than just paying attention. As a thief, Kyra was used to being alert, ready to hide at the smallest sign of a guard. Now she learned to approach the world as predator, not prey. Rather than reacting, she searched, and the world came to her in more vivid detail than she’d ever thought possible.

She looked forward to her walks with Pashla and the kittens. Every day was a new challenge and a chance to learn. Kyra stopped Pashla during one early morning walk, raising her finger in warning as she sampled the wind. The scent was familiar; Pashla had pointed it out to her just a couple of days ago.

“Geese somewhere close,” she told Pashla. “Probably flying through for the winter.”

“Very good,” Pashla said.

Kyra allowed herself a small smile as she shifted her attention to the ground before her. Leaves covered the dirt, decorating the forest floor with red-and-yellow piles that shifted in the wind. It all looked normal—except for one mound of leaves that moved too much. Kyra froze in her steps and pointed. Pashla nodded slightly and gestured to Libena, who was also staring at the pile. At Pashla’s signal, Libena approached and waited, one paw off the ground. Kyra saw the rabbit dart out just as Libena attacked. The kitten’s teeth closed around the rabbit’s neck.

Pashla said something in their language, which Kyra understood to be praise and a suggestion that they take a break. They settled on the ground, and Pashla handed Kyra a plum. It was a welcome change from the steady diet of raw meat, and Kyra ate slowly, savoring the sweet juices as she watched the kittens tear into their catch.

“Tell me,” Pashla asked Kyra, “do the humans really not suspect our shape-shifting?”

Talk of humans made her uneasy, reminding her that she was running out of time. “There are stories. Rumors of shape-shifters beyond the Aerins that some people believe, but no one has suspected it of you yet. At least, I haven’t heard anything.”

Pashla nodded thoughtfully. “We are most vulnerable when we change, so we don’t do it in front of our enemies. The humans always find out eventually, but it is easier when they think the cats are mere beasts.”

“Does James know?”

“James is an interesting one. If he fears us, he doesn’t show it, but I don’t think he has guessed yet. He approached us soon after we came to these forests. Back then, we were raiding farms in the countryside and the occasional trade caravan, but he wanted us to come closer to the city. He offered us supplies and access to trade schedules if we’d help him. It works to our advantage. The armor he traded us has been very helpful.”

The detachment with which Pashla spoke about the city raids was unsettling. “Why do you fight the humans?”

Pashla gave her a curious look. “You think like them.”

It was the same response she had gotten from Adele and Mela—not flat-out disagreement, but puzzlement, as if the idea were so bizarre that it didn’t even brook consideration. Kyra waited for Pashla to explain, but she didn’t.

“Pashla,” Kyra finally said, “you never told me why the clan came here in the first place. Why are you wandering?”

“It’s a long story, going back to when I was very young. Our people lived on the western side of the Aerin Mountains, in lush forests with good hunting. About twenty years ago, there was a war with a human clan. They poisoned our land and forced us to leave. At first, we stayed on the western side of the Aerins, in the unsullied parts, but there was not enough space. Our own clans started fighting each other. Leyus was young compared to the other clan leaders, so he led us across the mountains in search of better forests.”

“What you mean, ‘poisoned the land’?”

“That is a story better told by others, after you become more settled with the clan.”

Another question nagged at Kyra. “If all the Makvani are from across the mountains, how did I get here?”

Pashla chewed her fruit thoughtfully. “It’s a mystery. You must have come from the west somehow. None of the Makvani tribes came here before us, and we have not been here two years.”

“But all I remember is Forge. How could I have traveled so far if I was too young to remember?”

“The only humans who travel such long distances are the Far Rangers. Perhaps you could find them after you heal. Traders have long memories.”

“Do you know the traders?”

Pashla shook her head. “No. We do not deal with them. Though before we started roaming, we traded in humans.”

“Traded in humans?”

Pashla gave Kyra a sidelong glance. “Humans are funny creatures. They think nothing of raising and keeping horses or dogs, but they complain when others do the same to them.”

The plum juice suddenly tasted sour in Kyra’s mouth. “You were slavers,” she said.

“As were the humans who bought our goods. Does this bother you?”

Kyra gripped the leftover plum pit. The edge dug into her palm. “Slavery is a harsh fate.”

“The world is not an easy place, Kyra. We all do what we must. If you have any doubts, do not speak of them to the others. It would not reflect well on you.” Pashla stood, dusting herself off. “How are your injuries? If I hunt, can you keep up with me?”

It was a purposeful change of subject. “I can’t sprint,” said Kyra, “but I can follow you.”