Lioness sprang to her feet, her ears pinned back, her growl outmatching even the thunder that rolled across the darkened sky. Foxbrush turned to look where they looked.
His heart stopped beating.
It must be a dream or an illusion brought on by the magic intoxication of Nidawi’s presence. It must be, for how else could he see, even through dark and rain, that form in white rags, her hair falling free in red-gold tatters below her shoulders, her icy eyes fixed upon him in unbelief. His bride: his beautiful, broken, terrible bride.
“Daylily!” he cried, taking three strides. But he had not taken a fourth when, with a roar that shook the orchard, Lioness sprang over his head and charged in streaking, snarling fury right at that vision that was no vision, but which breathed and moved and looked right at him.
“No!” Foxbrush shouted, though he did not know he shouted. Like one in a dream, he could not run, could not make his limbs move, straining against the pull of resisting time. Seconds, half seconds, were hours too long, for the white lion bounded with the speed of lightning.
Daylily shook herself free of her shock at seeing Foxbrush in this of all places and focused her gaze fiercely on that which approached. It was not a wolf. It was a Faerie beast, an invader, and her enemy.
Our enemy!
She snatched the Bronze from around her neck and crouched, prepared for battle.
Save our land!
The Lioness leapt, and Daylily, though her arm was none too strong, would have driven her sharp stone up and into her flesh as she descended, had the great cat not turned in the air at the last and landed to one side. Lioness lashed out, claws flashing, but caught Daylily’s gown and not Daylily herself. The lion’s second swing struck Daylily in the side, sending her crashing to the ground and her Bronze stone spinning through the air.
Daylily bared her teeth and reached for the stone, but Lioness pressed her to the dirt with an enormous, crushing paw. Claws tore into Daylily’s shoulder and she screamed. Her voice pierced the rain and the thunder and Foxbrush’s heart, and he screamed as well and threw himself at the lion.
But just as he did so, a savage yell rang out, and a wild man in skins, his hair pulled back in a long braid, fell from the branches of the fig tree above and landed square upon Lioness’s broad back. With strength greater than his size indicated, he unbalanced her, pulling her off Daylily so that both of them rolled across the ground. Foxbrush narrowly avoided losing his face to Lioness’s flailing claws, and found himself standing clear, staring down at Daylily’s flattened form.
Nidawi caught Foxbrush’s arm and pointed at Daylily, screaming, “Kill it! Kill it, my king!”
Then, without another word, she turned to Lioness and the wild man, who were grappling together. Sun Eagle was on the lion’s back, his arm around her shaggy neck, holding on with desperate force even as he struggled to grasp his own Bronze stone. Lioness reared up on her hind legs, twisting her long body and catching Sun Eagle by the leg. He yelled a brutal, angry yell but held on a few moments more before Lioness pulled him free and flung him from her.
Nidawi, still a child but with the face of a demon, flung herself at him, her claw-like hands tearing the skin of his chest into ribbons of blood. He struck with the Bronze, and where it touched the skin of her arm, it burned. The smell of burnt flesh filled the orchard, and steam sizzled in the rain.
Nidawi fell back, clutching her arm. “Kill it!” she cried out to Lioness.
Lioness crouched, her eyes intent. Then she leapt, her powerful body unfolding to its full lethal extent. But she landed on empty ground, for Sun Eagle gathered his limbs beneath him and fled. He hurtled into the deeper dark of the orchard, plunging on into the jungle, Lioness close at his heels. Nidawi, still holding her arm, ran after, screaming wild, incoherent threats. And the three of them disappeared, followed by the echoes of their voices.
Foxbrush stood in the dripping orchard, staring after the vanished figures and telling himself that none of this could be true.
Daylily moaned.
This at least, be it dream or real, he could not ignore. Foxbrush spun about, his skin-clad feet slipping in the wet grass, and all but fell to her side. Her eyes were closed, her face a rictus of pain as she rolled onto her side. Her fingers, muddied and scraped, clutched the Bronze.
She neither saw nor heard Foxbrush as he awkwardly lifted her, apologizing and cursing in turn. Her mind was full of pain. Pain and the driving voice still urging, Our enemy! Our enemy . . . our enemy . . .
At last even that faded into the fire in her shoulder.
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