Nekhek meant “servant of demons.” It was the word my people used for squirrel cats.
“Shalla, please! He’s in a desert on the southern edge of the Berabesq lands called the Golden Passage. He’s hurt bad. You need to cast a spell to heal him. Try to get word to Ferius Parfax. She’ll go there and find him. Please, sister, you’ve got to—”
“I won’t be doing anything of the sort until you at least tell me where you are, Kellen.” The shape of her eyes in the shards shifted left and right as she looked around. “What is that place?”
“It’s … I don’t know exactly. I was searching for the Ebony Abbey when—”
“The Ebony Abbey? Oh, Kellen, how could you believe in such nonsense? Everyone knows the abbey is a myth.”
“It’s real, damn it! Or at least the monks are, since two of them found me in the desert and now they’re taking me to some mountain.”
Her features changed, becoming deadly serious. “Kellen, if that’s true, then I must tell Father right away. The war coven must be dispatched to destroy that abomination before—”
She wasn’t listening. All she cared about was the glory of our people, and most of all of our family. I poured all the arta siva—the Argosi talent of persuasion—into my words. “Sister, you’re going to listen to me now. Reichis is dying and you’re the only one in the whole world who can help him. If you love me at all, if you ever want to call me brother again and have it mean more than a sick joke, then you’re going to save him. You’re going to save my friend.”
She stared back at me from the onyx shards, but then sighed. “Very well. Describe the place where you left him and perhaps I can—”
“I’ve got him!” a deep, angry voice called out from the sky above me. It was one of the monks. “The damned fool tried to slip into shadow!” Black ribbons appeared out of the clouds, wrapping around my wrists, twisting over and over and tightening their grip. They began to tug at me, pulling me away from Shalla.
“No!” I shouted. “Let me go!”
More whirling strips of shadowblack appeared, winding themselves around my chest. I felt them tugging at my ankles. Suddenly I was being pulled into the air, yanked up like a fish on a line. I screamed and cursed, pulling against the ribbons until it felt as if my shoulders would tear from their sockets.
“Kellen? What’s happening? I need you to tell me how to find the nek—”
I never heard the end of that sentence. The hard ground slammed into me. Cold ran up my back. Above me the sky was now grey, shedding tiny flakes of white snow that melted into tears when they touched my skin.
The monks had pulled me out of shadow before I could tell Shalla how to find Reichis.
9
The Fool
The word “fool” is notable for having more than one meaning regardless of which language you’re speaking. Whether in Jan’Tep, Berabesq, Gitabrian, Daroman or any number of other tongues, a fool is one deficient in judgement or prudence, someone who’s been taken advantage of, a deranged person lacking powers of understanding or a chilled dessert made from mixed fruits. You’d think that last one would appear only in one language, but in fact there are several that use the word “fool” to refer to a frozen fruity treat.
When my captors referred to me as a fool—which they did often over the next day—I’m pretty sure they meant all the assorted meanings simultaneously.
Except the fruit one, though I couldn’t exclude that either, come to think of it.
“The fool is freezing to death,” Tournam said.
The harshness of his tone stirred me from my slumber. I turned my head and saw what I’d been seeing every day since they’d pulled me from the shadows: snow, ice, rocks, mountain. In my weakened state the trip would have been far too arduous, were it not for the fact that I was pretty much just floating along, held aloft by Tournam’s shadow ribbons wrapped around my torso and legs while the monks marched up the mountainside.
I’d learned that the one with the shaved head and teardrop markings beneath his eye was named Butelios. “Of course he’s freezing. It’s cold.”
That made me chuckle, and like him more than Tournam.
“And he is obviously weak,” Butelios added. “Both in mind and in body.”
Okay, maybe Tournam was my favourite of the two. It didn’t really matter. I wasn’t planning on being in their company much longer.
“I should feed him to my demon,” the Berabesq said, fussing at the burnt patch on the front of his leather coat. “What use is he going to be to the order?” The young man looked down at me, a big smile on his face. No, wait, I’m seeing him upside down. That’s a glower. “Nearly dragged me right over the cliff with you. I should’ve let you shatter your spine on those rocks. Your death would’ve been as unpleasant as it is deserved.”
My life hasn’t exactly been a bowl of fool either, you know. I giggled at my own cleverness, which set me to shivering. I really was freezing. In addition to all my other injuries and ailments, my brief venture into shadow had left me with some kind of fever.
“Why did you flee from us?” Butelios asked. His back was to me as he slogged patiently up the mountainside.
“My friend,” I said—or, rather, croaked. The thought of Reichis spurred me on though. “I need to help my friend.”
“The animal?” Tournam laughed. “Didn’t I tell you already? Animals are for food, not companionship.”
His jibe reminded me that he’d tried to make me believe I’d been eating Reichis. “How’re those burns on your chest?” I asked pleasantly.
From my vantage point looking up at him, his snarl looked impressively menacing. “Your pet was already dying when we took you from the Golden Passage. By now his corpse has been picked over by buzzards and jackals.”
“You’re wrong!” My attempt to shout produced barely more than a hoarse whisper. “I heard him speak to me, when I was in shadow. He’s still alive.”
“You weren’t in shadow, moron,” Tournam countered. “You were just falling to the rocks when my ribbons caught you.”
Liar, I thought. I saw the black snow. I heard Reichis call to me, and I spoke to my sister. She said she’d help him!
Only … That would’ve taken a long time, wouldn’t it? Several minutes at least. Falling off a cliff takes only seconds. My clothes were still soaked in sweat, my skin clammy. Had I been so feverish and desperate to save Reichis that I’d imagined the whole thing?
“Look. Now he’s weeping,” Tournam said. “Over a worthless animal.”
Butelios came and stood over me, the shadowblack markings on his cheeks making him look oddly sympathetic. “Forgive Tournam. He cannot see the sharp blade of grief twisting inside your heart. We will arrive at the abbey in three days’ time. Until then, sleep.” A shadowy liquid appeared at the corners of his eyes. Black tears drifted down his cheeks and fell onto my forehead and into my eyes. I tried to shake them off, but I was suddenly so tired that it was all I could do to hold on to consciousness long enough to hear Butelios say, “Poor fool.”
10
The Sleeper
I drifted in and out of sleep, with only brief snatches of consciousness in which to plan my escape. I had no idea what awaited me inside the Ebony Abbey, but I no longer had any intention of finding out. Either Reichis was alive, waiting back in the desert for me to save him, or he was dead. I could snivel and whine about it, or I could toughen up; choose to believe that squirrel cats were as unkillable as he always claimed and go find him. I knew which decision Reichis would make.
Actually, he’d probably assume I was dead and go find some other sucker to steal from.
“Doesn’t matter,” I mumbled aloud.
“What’s that?” Tournam asked, his shadowblack ribbons bobbing in the air as he turned to look at me. “Butelios, dose him again.”
No, I thought. Don’t let him.
The strange thing was, some part of me was actually starting to crave the blissful, dreamless oblivion his tears brought
on. Maybe being cried on with shadowblack is addictive. “Leave me alone,” I said, when the big monk slowed in his march up the mountain pass to look down on me. Had Nephenia been here, she would’ve given him a proper thrashing. Sleep spells really piss her off.
“Rest will ease your wounds,” Butelios said gently. “Both those we can see and those we can’t.”
“Shut up,” I replied groggily. “’M’tryin’ to sleep.” With that I closed my eyes and let my head flop to the side. I’m not sure if he bought the act or if he just wasn’t comfortable with the idea of forcing his will on me, but he didn’t try again.
Okay, I thought, that minuscule victory spurring my brain to work a little faster. Now what?
I wasn’t in great shape for an escape attempt, but if I waited until Tournam and Butelios got me inside the Ebony Abbey, it would be too late. Who knew how many monks they’d have in there? Or if the entire place might be some kind of prison? No, I’d have to make a run for it just before they got me to the abbey.
Why wait that long? Why not try sooner rather than later? Because in the outlaw business, timing is everything.
When Ferius was teaching me gambling, she said an amateur plays their cards, an expert plays their opponent’s, and a master plays the space in between. Yeah, it didn’t make sense to me at first either. But I think what she meant was that the cards don’t matter nearly as much as the psychology of the players themselves. Let’s say you’ve got a good hand, but you think your opponent has a better one: your cards no longer matter. Even if your opponent has a terrific hand but thinks yours might be better, then—again—his cards don’t matter. It’s all about expectation and anticipation.
Right now my captors were wary because they knew my strength was slowly returning. Once inside the abbey, someone would no doubt be taking steps to keep me there. But what about near the abbey? What about those precious five or ten minutes before we arrived? Tournam and Butelios would begin to feel safe—after all, we’d be close to the end of the journey. Their minds would turn to better food and shelter and whatever else awaited them in their home. They’d figure their mission was over and the danger had passed. If I made my move, say, a few hundred yards from the abbey entrance, then my two escorts would be stuck: they’d be tired from carting me all this way, and while there might be any number of other monks to help them at the abbey, getting those people would require running in the opposite direction to where I was headed. So they’d probably have to split up, which would make my job a lot easier.
Because in life, as in poker, the real game happens in the space between your cards and theirs.
Nope. Still doesn’t make sense.
Regardless, it was as good a strategy as I could come up with. Now I just needed a plan. And some rest. I couldn’t recall ever being so …
No, wait! Don’t fall back aslee—
11
The Stall
The slight jarring sensation of being set down on the snowy ground roused me again.
Okay, now where was I? Oh, right: a plan.
A successful getaway plan depends on three elements: the stall, the break and the twist.
The stall is the diversion you set up to draw your captors’ attention so that you can escape whatever cage, chains or noose they’re using to keep you prisoner. The measure of a good stall comes down to how distracting it is and how long it lasts. Usually my powder spell can produce a big enough explosion to give me a decent head start, but scraping at the insides of my pouches every chance I got only produced enough for one or two decent blasts.. Once that was used up, I’d be dry. I had my castradazi coins sewn into the hem of my shirt, but I still didn’t know what each one did; I’d only worked out a couple of decent tricks—neither of which would hold off Tournam and Butelios long enough. So I’d have to look for something else.
Then, of course, comes the break—that’s where you get free of your bonds. Tournam’s shadowblack ribbons enabled him to both carry me and hold me immobile at the same time, so I’d need to somehow disable him. I had a couple of ideas, but neither could be tested in advance, so that was a problem too.
Even if I could come up with a decent stall and then break away from the monks, they’d simply follow my tracks until they could hunt me down. That’s why the third part of any solid getaway plan is the twist. I had to come up with a way to send Tournam and Butelios on the wrong trail. Normally the twist is the hardest part of the plan to come up with, but in my case I already had it worked out. See, even if I could get away, I didn’t have the supplies or equipment to get myself back down the mountain and away from this territory. So I’d either fall to my death or starve along the way. The good news was that since “escape” is supposed to mean getting away from something, Tournam and Butelios would be expecting me to make a run for it.
That’s why I’d do the opposite.
“Almost there,” Butelios said, stopping to lean against an outcropping of rock.
“Thank God for that,” Tournam said, pressing his palms to his lower back as his shadowblack ribbons wound themselves back around his arms. “Carrying this moron has been giving me a headache for days.”
I had noticed that my ride had been getting a little bumpier today. Good to know.
“How far?” I asked, then, to cover my enthusiasm, added, “Will there be decent food there?”
Tournam chuckled. “If there was, do you think we’d waste it on some Jan’Tep sand rat who’s already caused us more grief than he’s worth?”
Guess not.
“Just over that ridge,” Butelios replied, pointing along the path to a sharp elevation in the distance. I looked off to where he’d gestured. My best guess was a mile or so.
“I need to piss,” I said, rising unsteadily to my feet. “And the other thing.”
“The other thing?” Tournam asked. “You mean take a shit?”
I nodded.
Fast as whips, his ribbons lashed themselves around my arms. “Well, you can wait. It won’t be more than half an hour.”
I squirmed against the shadowy restraints. “Then it’ll be a half-hour of you smelling something very unpleasant.”
“Stop that!” Tournam said, wincing in response to my twisting and wriggling.
He’s exhausted, I realised then. Which both made this the perfect time for me to attempt my stall and also made it much, much more dangerous.
“Just give me two minutes,” I begged. “I’m dying here.”
“I’ll show you dying,” Tournam grumbled, but finally he relaxed the muscles of his arms and the black ribbons let me go, but not before lifting me a foot in the air to drop me unceremoniously to the snowy ground.
I got up again and made a show of looking around. To our right, a sparse forest of evergreens spread out across the mountainous terrain. To our left was the edge of a cliff even more sheer than the one I’d fallen off a few days ago. I started for the trees, and made it all of two feet before one of Tournam’s ribbons grabbed at my wrist. “Over there,” he said, turning me around and pointing to the cliff’s edge. “That way we can keep an eye on you.”
I did my best to look annoyed and embarrassed. I was neither actually. I hadn’t for one second thought they’d let me wander off into the forest. So I sauntered over to the cliff’s edge and stood there a moment, looking down at what had to be a good two-thousand-foot drop.
“Well? Are you going to get on with it?” Tournam asked.
“Is he really dead?”
“What?”
“My friend. Do you think he’s really dead? Was it just the fever that made me think I’d slipped into shadow and spoken to him? Or could it have been real? Maybe I really can fall into shadow.”
Butelios’s heavy footsteps were quickly followed by his hands grabbing onto my shoulders. “Do not even think of jumping again, my friend. I fear Tournam may not save you a second time. Learning that there’s a Jan’Tep war coven out there intent on seeing us all dead has done nothing to improve his already uncongenial
disposition.”
“He likes you though, right? I mean, you’re friends?”
“I suppose.”
“Good.”
I dropped down, using my weight to break free from Butelios’s grip. Instinctively he tried to grab me again, but now I was under him and his those big arms of his caught nothing but air. With the monk already off balance, I drove my shoulder deep into his stomach. The breath fled his lungs as he folded over the top of me. I grabbed hold of the back of his robes and pushed against the rocky ground with every ounce of strength in my legs. Butelios was a lot heavier than me, but Ferius had taught me a thing or two about leverage—specifically how to throw someone bigger over your shoulder.
The whole thing had taken less than two seconds, far too fast for Tournam to react. By then Butelios was hurtling over the edge. The brief look of confusion that passed over his features was enough to make even an outlaw feel guilty.
Sorry, friend. For both our sakes, I hope Tournam likes you more than he hates me.
12
The Break
Ferius says you should never kill someone if there’s an alternative, and there’s always an alternative.
Ferius doesn’t have the shadowblack though, and while she certainly annoys people enough to make them homicidal, it’s rare that anyone actually tries to murder her. Furthermore, crazy monks who do have the shadowblack don’t tend to take her prisoner in order to feed her to their demons.
So I was prepared to treat Butelios’s imminent demise as an unavoidable consequence of his having captured me. That said, I really did hope Tournam would save him. In fact, I was counting on it.
“Butelios!” he shouted as he ran to the edge. With a look of agonised concentration, his brow furrowed and the shadowblack markings on his arms spun off into ribbons that darted down the cliff to wind themselves around the bigger man’s ankles. Tournam grunted from the intense effort, swaying as he tipped dangerously close to the edge himself. I grabbed hold of his torso and hauled him back a foot or so until he caught his balance. After all, I’m not a monster. Yet.
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