A knot formed in the back of his throat at the thought as he realized it was the first time he’d thought of his father in a long while. With all the danger and fear he’d experienced these last few weeks, he’d forgotten to think of him. He struggled to keep the knot from unwinding and becoming tears. He didn’t want to cry-he’d cried enough to last a lifetime.
Graymon swallowed hard and pushed on. It had been scary when Khirro grabbed him and put a knife to his throat, but not as scary as when his friend caught fire. What happened after that, he didn’t know. He only knew that the magician told him to run, so he did. And he didn’t stop until the bush grabbed him and made him; then, for the first time, he looked back to see if anyone was chasing him, friend or foe, though he no longer felt like he knew one from the other.
He crouched down and peered through the tangle of undergrowth back along the path he’d followed, but saw no sign of movement.
What happened to them?
The sun dipped close to the horizon and the chill in the air deepened. Graymon hugged himself, and bit down on his teeth to keep them from chattering. He’d been through this before and it hadn’t come out well-he knew full well the dangers of the forest at night.
“I’ll hide somewhere,” he said and scanned his surroundings. At first, he saw nothing that looked like it might make a suitable hiding, and his shivers became hard to control as fear added to the cold. His eyes passed over a brace of winter ferns for a third time before he realized they hid a fallen tree behind them.
“Perfect.”
Steering a wide path around the bramble that interrupted his escape, Graymon approached the deadfall slowly, careful to keep from making noise. He peered between sagging fronds, squinting to see into the darkness created by the cascade of browning leaves disguising the log. It looked like there was enough space under the fallen tree for him, but it was difficult to see in through the ferns. When nothing jumped out at him, he moved closer and parted the leaves.
The ground beneath the log fell away in a shallow depression, creating more space than Graymon had realized-enough for him and nanny, too, if she was here. Leaves rustled as he pushed his way through and into the makeshift shelter. The ground was carpeted with soft moss beneath his feet and it felt warmer hidden behind the ferns, what little heat the day had offered trapped behind their screen. Remembering the tree where he’d hid before, Graymon shuffled in a circle to make sure no mice or other small creatures hid anywhere, but he saw none.
They’ve gone to sleep for the winter.
Graymon yawned and stretched at the thought. It suddenly seemed like a long time since he last slept, perhaps longer than he’d ever gone without sleep. He settled down on the bed of moss and decaying fern leaves and laid his head down, heedless of the threat of insects crawling on him as he napped. He was asleep as soon as his eyes closed.
The white tyger came to him immediately, but this time the beast wasn’t alone. A woman with red hair and green eyes accompanied the animal, her hand stroking his neck at the base of his head, and Graymon recognized her as the ghostly woman who visited him in the wagon. He wished he could pet the tyger the way she did.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” the woman said.
“I’m not afraid,” Graymon replied. “This is a dream.”
The woman’s smile lit up her face and made Graymon feel as though he’d done something especially well; it made him want to smile along with her.
“It’s not the dream I’m talking about, sweet Graymon, it’s this.”
She stopped scratching the tyger’s neck and stepped away from the beast. Graymon’s smile wavered but he forced it to stay.
“I’m not afraid of the big kitty. He’s my friend. I dream about him a lot.”
The woman nodded, then turned her gaze toward the tyger, so Graymon did, too. The cat stared straight ahead at the boy, expressionless as always, except for a flicker at the back of its gaze. The light mesmerized Graymon. He wanted to go to the tyger and look deep into its eyes to see what caused the light. A second later, he didn’t have to.
The flames started on the tyger’s neck, where the woman had been stroking him. At first, Graymon thought she set the big cat on fire, but she didn’t have a torch and he hadn’t seen her use a flint. Something else had caused it.
The fire spread over the tyger’s head, igniting its ears and spilling down onto its face to set its whiskers alight.
“No!” Graymon reached out for the tyger but didn’t move toward it. As much as he wanted to save the beautiful animal, the fire scared him.
“Don’t be afraid,” the woman said. In his panic, Graymon had forgotten she was there, and her words startled him.
“But he’s on fire.”
“No. See how it doesn’t burn him? He’s fine. Do not be afraid for him or of him.”
Graymon stared, eyes wide and mouth agape, as the flames spilled down the animal’s back and along its tail, enveloping the beast completely. The fire burned bright yellow and orange, and he felt the heat of it across the space between them, but the tyger didn’t flinch or cry. It stood in place, looking at him, as still and rigid as the tyger statue on the steps outside the palace in Achtindel.
“I would never hurt you,” the tyger said in his mind.
Graymon recognized Khirro’s voice, but had his voice always been the tyger’s? Or did his dream play a trick on him?
“We are the same, Khirro and I,” the voice said. “I live inside him and sometimes, he inside me. One day, you will carry the flames.”
“Me?”
Both the tyger and the woman nodded, and their affirmation brought a knot of excitement to Graymon’s tummy. He imagined himself running through the forest, bounding over logs and leaping through thickets, flames jumping from his back and spreading to the dry leaves.
“You will see this again,” the woman said disturbing the dream within his dream. “Will you be afraid then?”
He shook his head.
“Even if it’s Khirro you see aflame?”
Graymon shook his head again. The tyger’s flames flickered and went out and the boy felt disappointed at their disappearance.
“Good,” the woman said as the tyger loped away into the forest. “The time is coming, young one. Be ready for the tyger. Be ready for the flames.”
Graymon nodded and the woman, the tyger, the forest faded away until the dark nothing of sleep held him.
Under a log, behind a curtain of ferns, Erechania’s next-in-line to the throne smiled in his sleep.
***
Athryn sucked a breath of air in through his nose and with it, the smell of dirt and crisp winter air. The earth pressed against his cheek and he blinked to clear his blurred vision. Lying a few feet in front of him, he saw the undead soldier-now dead again-and the head of one of the soldiers on the ground near him. In tyger form, Khirro had rent Mandich’s head from his body with one strike of a massive, flaming paw. He’d mauled the dead man, too, but not before the thing pulled its blade across Athryn’s throat.
He tried to touch the wound to see how bad it was, but found himself unable to move his arm. A breath gurgled down his throat, into his lungs, the taste of blood sharp and salty on his tongue.
I still live. But for how long?
He strained to move his eyes and look past the two fallen men, but saw nothing other than the trunks of trees and the green-brown brush. Holding his breath, he listened. Leaves rustled in the wind; an early owl cried its chilling call. Nothing human.
Did Khirro survive? Graymon?
He licked his dry lips and tasted more blood.
“Help,” he said, but the word struggling through his lips came out a gurgle, a whisper.