In Silence Waiting Read Online Free

and the old woman, who know the truth, I am half lir. To the lir, I am simply not lir. I understand now why it’s so easy to touch the lir with my sense. It is a dreadful revelation, but one I might use to my advantage.

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    When the caravan pulls out that morning, Mariss ignores me, courting silence in deep melancholy. I resent her for it. I cannot choose what I am, but she can persecute me for it. Holding that thought close, I maintain resolve, though each step brings images of carnage from the swiftly closing pack mind. I maintain contact with them, feeding my anger with their ferocity.
    The hottest part of the day arrives and the sun blazes down relentlessly. My sense tells me the pack will be within striking distance sometime the next day. They will attack after nightfall, another massacre. I might escape in the confusion. Yet, even if I vanish amidst the chaos, where will I go? A renewed hopelessness drags at my feet. The remainder of the day I trudge along as one wading through deep water.
    Sleep comes slow that night and is fleeting when it does. The pack mind edges close. It violates years of conditioning not to warn the humans. I lie there, awake as often as I am asleep, and cling to my resolve.
    A mental cry jars me from restless slumber. It is Imara. I am familiar with her mental presence. I move through darkness toward her weakening mental wail. I am close. A soft gurgling sound now accompanies the fading agony. A figure is lying in the dust. I lean over Imara and our eyes lock in the darkness. She tries to speak. Bubbles of fluid, black in the dark, emerge from between her lips. I reach out to her, seeking the source of her agony. The mental keening fades as my eyes adjust enough to pick out four parallel gashes spilling the lifeblood from her throat.
    The marks are familiar in formation. I draw back from the dying woman. The gashes are spaced perfectly for the claws of a cynta.
    I extend my sense more just as cries of alarm ring out and a group of bobbing lanterns comes rushing at me through the dark. Panic swells. I rise to bolt, searching with my ability for a clear escape route. It’s too late. I have enough time to sense the presence before hands come out of the darkness, shoving me toward Imara. I fall, catching myself on clawed hands in the blood soaked dust near her head. The warm, wet mud coats my hands. Imara’s mind is silent now. I curl on the ground and detach myself from the ensuing chaos.
    Cries of alarm, sorrow, and hatred rise up around me. Someone brings my shackles and collar, imprisoning me again. They take hold of my chains and kick at me, trying to drive me to my feet. The blows fall without mercy, sending daggers of pain through my body. A man’s voice curses me. A blast of bitterness and guilt assaults my sense and I look up to see Mariss. She stares at Imara, refusing to look at me.
    Deep pleasure rises above the confused emotions around me then. I know who it is. Poisonous hatred pushes through my despair. With a snarl at my attacker, I spring to my feet and crouch. Merk is a few feet away. Greed and gloating radiate off him. There is no remorse over Imara’s death.
    I meet his eyes and snarl again. The surrounding humans back away.
    He sneers and turns to the man holding my chains.
    “Bring the beast. We’ll secure it to the lead wagon. And Mariss…” She looks up, her eyes brimming with tears. “Perhaps you can clean up this mess you made.”
    She bows her head, placing a hand over her eyes. Her shoulders shake.
    There’s no point fighting. I follow. Once I am tied to the wagon, I reach out with my sense and immerse myself within the pack mind, insinuating my presence into their shared senses.
    I maintain the contact throughout the day while I lead the wagons. Three guards hover around me, the stench of their sweat turning my stomach. The pack mind tries to cast off my presence. I soothe and distract it. Like the pack leader, I find I can project images of the coming feast,