“She did what she must tokeep you safe. You are the child of the Ddraig blood andWindwalkers—a blending of bloodlines never before seen in ourrealms. It makes you a dangerous commodity. You are of both worlds,but ultimately you belong to neither.” The ghostly figure stalksover to stand beside me, putting her hollow hand over my shoulderas though to comfort me. “Your mother returned to Déchets after theattack so no one would look for you. I doubt the Windwalkers evenrealized that you were her daughter that day.”
“If I have Windwalkerblood too, then why do I not control the breezes like theydo?”
The reply is so simple that I feel alittle stupid for asking. “You’ve never tried it, have you?” Thelight pulses with mocking laughter as I shake my head. “So how doyou know that you cannot use these powers?”
“What about Cane andCyrus? Why did Cane attack his brother? Was Hawk really behind itall?”
“Are you sure you wish tosee this?” warns the Carreglas hovering before me. “Your feelingsover all three of these people run extremely strong—even more sothan for your own parents. What you learn may not be what youwish.”
What is known can neverbecome unknown, I tell myself even as Ianswer. Siri’s beautiful form appears in my imagination, all herurgings about Cyrus right behind her. Then my mind floods with themysteries that shroud Wolf: is he to be trusted? What aboutHawk? I’ll never be free of thesequestions if I don’t find out what’s real. “I need this truth too.” So muchdepends on it.
The light shifts to green and yellowas the background changes; the male I knew as Hawk standing at themouth of a cave. Seeing his unmasked face, clear of any sufferingor wound, fills my heart with joy. “Let’s go!” he shouts over hisshoulder as two small boys appear beside him. As they scuttle tothe entrance, one boy slips on the sharp stones. His brothercatches him, steadying him with a quick embrace before Hawk slapshis hand away. “Let him fall next time. Then he’ll learn to keephimself upright. Now get out there and hunt!” Hawk demands as heshoves them both roughly down the hill to the forestfloor.
He’s harsher than Iremember. I regard Hawk’s strictness indisbelief. He never reacted in such amanner to me. Was it because I was a girl?
“It was the nature of theforest dwellers to be strong, tough, and almost brutal. Even beforeCassé fell, the forests have always been dangerous places. In manyways, Hawk was living by the rules of the Major Houses long beforehe ever wore a mask,” the Carreglas specter explains beforecontinuing the vision. “Don’t judge him harshly, Iris. He does lovehis children, as you will see.”
We follow them into the woods, theboys running silently up to the river’s shores. They fish withlittle success. One brother is focused on his goal of finding food.His eyes never leave the rushing current; I recognize this steadyfocus as Cane. The other boy scampers impatiently along the water,more interested in the bits of shells and rocks there than inhunting for food.
“Father won’t like it ifhe sees you playing around, brother,” Cane chides as he tosses hisline out into the current.
“I can’t help it—fishingbores me! You just stand with a pole and wait. That’s not fun,” theother boy, Cyrus, whines as he tosses rocks into theriver.
“You don’t like to gohunting at all. Why, you’d be content to live on algae and walnutsfor the rest of your life,” Cane answers with a smirk. “No wonderDad thinks you are weak.”
“I’m not! I just don’tlike fish,” Cyrus answers. He rubs his wrist along its bonyprotrusions, bruises evident around his thumb. How did he get those? I wonder,feeling a knot building in my stomach. They almost look like they have fingerprints. Did someone tryto break his finger?
“You just don’t likekilling,” Cane accuses sharply, pulling the fishing line out of thewater.
“Is that why you don’tlike me?” Cyrus asks, his search through the debris along the shorestopping abruptly. He eyes Cane warily.
Cane huffs as his feet crunch in thesand and stones along the shore, inching closer to Cyrus’s stillform. “No. I just don’t like you at all. No reason necessary,brother.” He suddenly smacks Cyrus with the fishing pole, over andover, until it cracks in half. Cyrus bleeds along his collarboneand eyebrow, tears pouring down his cheeks.
“Stop it, brother!Please…,” Cyrus wails, raising his hands to shield hisface.
“Father says you are anuisance! A waste of food and air. He says there’s not much reasonto keep you alive. And I agree.” Cane raises both pieces of thefishing pole, the jagged ends aiming at Cyrus’s chest.Get away from him, Ilong to cry, urging the child to move with my ownwillpower.
Cyrus bolts down the waterline,shimmying up a tall sycamore tree. Hiding amongst the tall, highbranches, he waits until his brother hurries by before he allowshimself to grieve.
“It’s not true,” Cyrustells himself as he wipes blood and tears from his face. “Fatherdoesn’t hate me.” His chin wavers as he sobs over his stainedfingers.
The Carreglas shows memany more incidents of this brutal sibling abuse, and I struggle toclose my mind to them. Cane, my kind,gentle Cane—how could he hurt Cyrus so? How could he hate his own brotherthat much? AndCyrus—my gods, what horrors that child endured!
Hawk, for all his tough love andlessons, does not show as much loathing for Cyrus as Cane believes.If anything, he seems to have a soft spot for Cyrus, caring for hiswounds as Cane explains them away as clumsiness. Hawk tucks thesniffling boy into his bed at night, even leaving a candle lit byhis side in the cave. It only infuriates Cane more, and thebeatings continue, each more hurtful than the last.
Yet the jealousy that finally pushesCane over the edge, I soon learn, has nothing to do with Hawk’sattentions at all. It does, however, have everything to do withmine. I see myself sitting at my cracked upstairs window, tearyeyed after another fight with Mom about going outside toplay.
“Wonder what’s wrong withher,” Cyrus ponders as he notices me. I remember watching them cutacross the
