Boreal

Chapter Nine

Fulmar's boys left them at the edge of the dockyard. Ptarmigan watched them go, vanishing back down the dimly lit streets like thieves into the night. He ran his fingers through his hair, glancing at the list before tucking it safely back under his shirt.

"We should hurry," Shyam whispered, "Almas will be waiting for us."

He nodded. Ptarmigan pulled the hood of his cloak up. He kept his head down as they moved through the port, though deep down he knew it wouldn't make much of a difference. The streets were thriving with people. Workers hurried to unload cargo from incoming ships, rolling barrels and carrying chests down gang planks to stack them up in the middle of the road. Amongst them, passengers disembarked, weary from weeks spent travelling. Ptarmigan frowned. Many were from the west, likely come to celebrate the Long Season, to experience the northern traditions. They'd had a few tourists, back in Hayd, but never this many. They gawked openly, pointing at Shyam, muttering to each other like she's grown an extra head. He picked up his pace; it would only take one to ask a Guardian, and they'd be as good as caught.

"Do you think the same's happened to Pater Kagus?" He asked, trying to take his mind off the worry eating away at him.

"I hope not. The Guardians patrols take them past the Citadel. So...so it wouldn't have been able to get in, right?"

Ptarmigan didn't know, but he nodded anyway. His skin crawled under the weight of dozens of eyes. Even more people were taking notice of Shyam, now. A few were even drifting closer, hoping to get a better look. His wyvern shifted her weight and chattered.

"We're going to get caught."

"No, we won't. Its fine," he hissed.

"Excuse me, boy?"

A hand grabbed at his shoulder, and Ptarmigan jumped. The woman took a step back, similarly startled. She was a westerner, pointed ears adored with gemstones and chains, eyes a pure and startling blue. Behind her cowered a young boy, only five, six, Emergences, bundled thick with furs. The woman smiled, warm and bright.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's...it's alright." Better you than a Guardian.

"Would it be alright if..." she trailed off, gesturing from Shyam to the boy.

"Shyam?"

His wyvern trilled and bobbed her head. Ptarmigan relaxed. He crouched, ushering Shyam up onto his outstretched arm, perching delicately on his wrist. The boy shied away, but his mother placed a hand on his back, urging him closer. His eyes trailed up to Ptarmigan, then drifted to Shyam. Slowly, he reached up, placing his palm flat against her chest. The boy grinned, speaking fast in a language Ptarmigan couldn't understand, before he scampered back to hide behind his mother. The woman thanked him, and Ptarmigan grinned. But, as he turned to leave, another hand reached out to stop him.

Too late, he realised they were surrounded. Tourists swarmed on all sides, some asking, other simply reaching out, grasping at his wyvern. Shyam shrieked, scrambling up, winding her way under the hood of his cloak. Someone snatched at his hood, but Ptarmigan was quick to grab the fabric, yanking it back into place. He tried to step forwards, to push through the crowd, but they pushed right back. Panic gripped his throat as they continued to yell, asking to see his wyvern. Shyam pressed herself against the back of his neck, trembling. He clenched his jaw, shoving at the closest person.

"Move!" he yelled, voice tight.

His words were lost amongst the excited chatter. A hand closed around his wrist, dragging him back – a man smiling and talking, but Ptarmigan couldn't hear him over the roar of blood in his ears. He tried to pull himself free, but their grip held firm. The boy snarled.