Marked by Stars (Songs of the Amaranthine Book 1) by Forthright

Author:Forthright [Forthright]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Twinkle Press
Published: 2018-12-04T05:00:00+00:00

With no real need for sleep but an abundant need for clarity, Glint took his stitching outside. Away from Waaseyaa, he was more himself, but having been with the boy, his stitches were more potent, and his sigils shimmered with strength he hadn’t known he possessed.

Path’s description from those earliest days was proving true and truer. Glint whispered, “Gladder. Lighter. Stronger.”

By moonlight, he duplicated his crest, embroidering it directly onto Waaseyaa’s shirt. It was as much a claim as it was a promise of protection. The boy was his now. A fosterling.

Mid-high saw the task finished, so Glint called the Kith into a circle, to bear witness to the boy’s attainment. “Take your shirt back. Wear it well.”

Waaseyaa quickly obeyed, pulling the cloth away from his skin to admire Glint’s addition. “A sigil for me?”

“That’s the mark of my clan, the Starmark crest. Wearing it means you belong to our den.” He dropped to one knee and looked him in the eye. “We are your pack.”

“What kind of pack?”

Glint grinned. “We are dogs.”

“Den is like … house?”

More than a house, not just a building.” Glint offered him new words. “Home. Pack. Mine.”

“I belong to Glint?”

“Do you have a family name? What is your clan called?”

The boy blinked. “Reaver found us and saved us and took us in. He shared his name and keeps us safe until the enclave is ready. I was his, but he gave me to you.” Touching the crest on his shirt, he asked, “What should I be called?”

Glint considered birthnames of great importance, so he pressed. “How did your mother call you?”

“Waaseyaa means ‘first light from the rising sun.’” He shook his head. “I was born among the trees, but I have no roots. I escaped. I ran. I wander.”

Once he learned more words, Glint would talk to Gerard. To one made for dens, endless wandering sounded wretched. He wanted to know the bounds of his territory and to learn its every whiff and way. To protect it and to find pleasure in its peace. And to share it.

“You are a Reaver, then?” Glint asked. “Or would you like to be called Starmark.”

“Both are good names,” Waaseyaa said tentatively. “But I will have a new name when … when I keep my promise. I should wait.”

The boy’s scent twisted with secrets and fears, and Glint pulled him close. “You do not share my name, but you bear my crest, Waaseyaa the Wanderer. If you have made a promise, then you must keep it, and I will be your support.”

He clung and mumbled, “I can still belong to Glint?”

“Never doubt that, boy.”

Glint was pleased to see that his sigilcraft worked well enough. Waaseyaa’s presence was snug as a nutmeat in its shell. The giddying soul no longer stoked his senses and stirred his appetite. Even better, he was well-hidden from the predators who might still be on the hunt. But with Waaseyaa muffled, it was possible to pick out other points of brightness throughout the village.

Reaver’s men might be a raggle-taggle crew of mismatched humanity, but they gathered at the same circle.

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