Plague of Shadows

by Michael Wisehart

  “Just lie back and relax. We are attempting to bring his spirit back from where it was sent. This chamber is a very special place. It holds a fissure that breaches clear through to the underworld.” He pointed at the branches above him. “This is the Tree of Souls. Its roots reach down into the fissure and act as a conduit for these spirits to be brought back into the realm of the living.”

  Bringing souls back from the underworld? Was that even possible? This was sounding more and more like a very bad idea. He was about to say something to that effect when he felt someone take his hand. He turned. Lenara had left the circle and was now standing beside him.

  She looked just as surprised by the contact as Joren, but she didn’t release her grip. In fact, she tightened it. Her hand felt good in his. It was warm, comforting. Tilting his head, he looked up at the Archchancellor behind him. “Will I feel anything?”

  “It will be over quickly.” The Archchancellor raised his arms just like before and began to read from the book. He started chanting in the unknown tongue, and a soft breeze stirred through the cavern. It blew across Joren’s face, stirring Lenara’s robes.

  As the chanting grew, so did the wind, growing to a roar as the gusts encircled the cavern. Over the sound, Joren thought he could hear something else. It might have been a baby crying, or possibly a young girl. It was unsettling. The weeping soon turned to wailing, and then an ear-piercing scream. And not from just one individual but thousands, millions.

  He wanted to put his hands to his ears, but his arms wouldn’t move. What was happening to him? He raised his head and saw that the lower branches of the tree had wrapped themselves around his arms and legs and were working their way upward. When had that happened? He hadn’t felt them. He tried to say something, but the rush of the wind and the strange chorus of voices drowned him out.

  He looked at Lenara. There was a strange sadness in her eyes, but her hand continued to squeeze his. For some reason, he could still feel her touch. He was determined not to embarrass himself in front of her, so he closed his eyes and opened his mouth to take a deep breath, but as soon as he did, something clawed its way inside.

  His eyes ripped open. He tried forcing his mouth shut but it wouldn’t. Something was holding it in place, spreading his lips farther apart. He could hear his jawbones popping at the joints, searing pain ripping through them further still. Tears flooded his eyes, momentarily blurring his vision. His mind screamed out, but no sound came. He watched in horror as the tree’s branches, having now wrapped his body like a cocoon, were forcing themselves into his open jaws. He howled silently as they pushed deeper and deeper inside, down his throat, and into his gut.

  Joren tilted his head to get the Archchancellor’s attention—something had gone wrong—but the Archchancellor’s face held no pity, no remorse, no disgust. His focus lay solely on the book in front of him and his chanting.

  Joren’s body convulsed. The tree was now deep inside him. He could feel its limbs moving around in his chest and stomach as if he were in a constant state of retching and yet not able to relieve the pressure. Everything spun as the nausea took over.

  Joren had seen men in pain before. Once, he saw Tallis Nareen have his entire arm ripped off at the elbow after getting it caught in one of the stone presses, but even then, he couldn’t imagine the pain being more than this.

  Joren looked to his right and found Lenara’s raspberry-colored eyes staring back at his. Another harsh jolt of pain brought his attention back around as the screams began to fade and a single voice came into focus. It grew louder. Joren searched the faces of those standing closest but couldn’t find the source.

  What’s happening?

  The voice was growing more distinct. Almost like it was coming from . . . inside him. It seemed to be laughing.

  Suddenly, the branches retracted from his mouth, and he realized he had no feeling. The pain was gone. He spared a quick glance to his side to see if Lenara was still gripping his hand. She was.

  Is it over? Why can’t I talk?

  “Get rid of the old body,” the Archchancellor said as he glanced over the podium at the slab.

  Joren watched as the bulradoer struggled to hoist the inquisitor beside him off the stone. Didn’t it work? What happened? He tried to speak but nothing came out. He tried to move; his limbs were unresponsive. He tried to look at Lenara, but even his eyes no longer obeyed. Help! Something’s wrong! he screamed. But no one heard. Panic took over.

  Suddenly, his entire body started moving on its own. He could hear someone talking, but there was no one there. Other than being able to tell it was the voice of a grown man, he had no idea who it was.

  Someone please tell me what is going on!

  Everything faded, and the darkness took him.

  The Tree of Souls had gone still once more, as had the pool of inky shadows behind them. Closing the book, Valtor made his way to the side of the altar and looked down at his work.

  The young recruit looked almost peaceful, considering the amount of blood that was seeping from his ruined mouth. It saturated the front of his white tunic and mantle.

  “Heal him, Lenara.”

  The short bulradoer released her grip on the guard and waved her hand over his jaw. She repeated one of the first healing incantations taught to all bulradoer, and the bones snapped back into place as the lacerations knitted themselves together. The guard twitched, the fingers on his hands knotting into fists as the skin around his mouth resealed, revealing a rather sadistic grin. The guard sat up and looked at Valtor.

  “Where is Ferrin? Where is my dear smith?”

  Chapter 2 | Ferrin

  FERRIN PULLED BACK on the reins, bringing the small band of riders to a stop. He was panting almost as much as his poor horse. Behind him, he felt Rae stir as she loosened her grip on his waist.

  “Are you still alive?” he asked.

  She held her hand in front of her eyes to block the sun and grunted, which for Rae typically meant yes.

  Nostrils slowed alongside Ferrin, Suri still snugly wrapped in her blanket in front of him. Little more than her nose—which was red from the cold—and her eyes could be seen through the material. Ferrin couldn’t tell if she was asleep or squinting against the afternoon light. She was the quietest six-year-old he’d ever seen.

  Their ride through the Pass of Arnon had been a brutal one, as the heavy winds gusting down from the sheer cliffs had cut right to the bone. The pass crossed through the Razor Spine Mountains, an unforgiving range of barren rock rising to form sharp spikes, like those of their razorback namesake. It was the longest mountain range in Aldor, stretching to either side of the plains as far as the eye could see.

  Ferrin inhaled deeply through his nose, enjoying the smell of freedom. He couldn’t help but smile as he looked out across the sea of yellow ahead of them—the Rymiran Plains. Dried or not, it was the first grass he’d seen in months. He wanted to shout, but he didn’t want to risk giving away their location. Besides, the last thing he needed was another scolding from Rae.

  After taking a moment to stretch, he wiped his eyes, unsure whether the tears were from the cold, the hard ride, or the emotions of the moment. Turning in the saddle, he looked at the empty pass behind them. They had accomplished the unthinkable. They had escaped the walls of the White Tower. Now they just needed to elude the long arms that were sure to be pursuing them.

  Rae peered beneath the bandages on her chest, inspecting the wounds Cheeks had inflicted while on the rack.

  “How are they?” he asked.

  “Same as the last time,” she said curtly.

  Ferrin took the hint and turned back around.

  Rae’s injuries were taking a long time to heal. Since using magic required the wielder’s own strength, she had to be careful not to use too much. She could end up doing more harm than good.

  “That’s a beautiful sight,” Nostrils said, staring out at the sea of wild grass before them.

  Ferrin marveled at the way it rolled ac
ross the plain, like a swelling tide under an easterly wind. “It is indeed.”

  “What is this?”

  Ferrin turned. Rae was hanging halfway off the horse, stretching to rub her hands across the top of the matted stalks. “Grass,” he said, smiling at her innocent curiosity. He wondered what it must have been like growing up in a world of shadow and stone, never having witnessed anything beyond the drab walls of the Tower.

  “Grass?” They were close enough to Nostrils for Rae to hand Suri a couple of pieces to play with. The little girl smiled as she waved them around. Suri had the same caramel skin and dark hair as her mother. Unlike the other warm-skinned people Ferrin knew, she also had Rae’s peculiar pale-green eyes.

  As much as Ferrin would have liked to take the two of them around and show them this whole new world, they didn’t have the time. “I can’t speak for the rest of you. Your lives are your own,” he said, glancing at Nostrils. “I don’t know if you have family, but if so, I would suggest you relocate them before the Tower scoops them up to use as bait. As for me, my former life is over. I’m going to make sure my sister is safe and then find a small community tucked away in the middle of nowhere, somewhere I can live out the rest of my days in peace. It’s hard to rest when you’re forced to sleep with one eye open.”

  “I’m going with you,” Rae blurted out.

  Ferrin turned. “Are you sure? If you have family somewhere, I may not be going in that direction.”

  “I don’t have family,” she said, staring rather wide-eyed at the field of dry grass, seemingly mesmerized with its movement. “I told you. I was born in the Tower. I’ve never left it.”

  Nostrils turned. “You’ve never been outside?”

  “That’s what I said.” She looked at Ferrin. “You got me and Suri into this mess. You’d better get us out.” Her lips tightened into a scowl, daring him to disagree.

  “Well, I guess that settles that.” Ferrin had hoped she would come with him but hadn’t wanted to force her. It was her decision. She was going to need a lot of help adjusting, and he didn’t like the idea of setting her and Suri loose. They’d be worse than domesticated animals released into the wild. Neither would survive long.

  Ferrin looked at Nostrils. “What about you, Captain? Do you have a wife and kids waiting back home?” With as few wrinkles around the man’s eyes as Nostrils had, Ferrin guessed he couldn’t have been much more than ten years his senior. Other than his nose, the man’s appearance was fairly average: leathery skin from days in the saddle, callused hands, and chestnut hair trimmed short enough that it didn’t hang much lower than the bottom of his ears.

  The former White Tower guard leaned forward in his saddle, cold leather groaning under the motion. “I’ve been a military man all my life. Never had much time to settle down. Unlike you, I’ve got no ties, so I figure one place is as good as another. Besides”—he tapped the hilt of his sword—“I reckon you could probably use another good arm with a blade, and to be honest, I wouldn’t mind the company.” He scratched at the week-old growth on his face. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Rhowynn first,” he said, his gaze shifting north. “I need to make sure my sister is safe, and after that, Easthaven.”

  “Easthaven?” The captain gave him a puzzled look.

  “There’s a man there I need to get a message to.” Ferrin’s mind was drawn back to that cold, damp cell where he had left Azriel bound. The only thing the old seer had asked of him was that Ferrin find Azriel’s son, Kellen. Short of dying, there was nothing that was going to stop Ferrin from doing just that.

  “You’re a good man, swordsmith,” the captain said, “but don’t you think you’re taking your obligations a little too seriously? The Black Watch will be hunting us. We don’t have time to go traipsing halfway across Aldor just to deliver a message.” The captain twisted the reins in his hands. “Don’t get me wrong. I feel sorry for the seer’s situation, but we have our own safety to consider.”

  Ferrin nodded. “Like I said, you have no obligation to come with us, Captain. For my part, I hope you do, but I gave Azriel my word.”

  Nostrils nodded, though not with great enthusiasm. “Understood.” He leaned back in his saddle and rubbed the back of his head. “What now?”

  “We’ll have to stay off the main roads. My thought was to skirt the edge of the mountains until we pass into Keldor. From there, head north up the Taloos River for Rhowynn.”

  Nostrils grimaced. “Even with the extra coin I was saving for when I managed to break loose of the Watch, I doubt I’ll have enough to get us half that far.”

  Ferrin leaned over and dug around in his travel sack, fishing out the purse he’d stolen in one of the legate’s chambers during their escape. “I don’t believe that will be a problem,” he said, and tossed the heavy pouch to the captain.

  Nostrils startled as he tested its weight before pulling loose the drawstrings and looking inside. His eyes widened even further as he removed a couple of gold coins. “Where did you get this? There’s more gold here than what I could earn in the next ten years as captain.”

  “I guess the legates enjoy a higher stipend than the guards.”

  “I’d say.”

  “What is it?” Suri asked.

  “It’s gold,” Nostrils said. “You buy things with it.”

  Ferrin chuckled, as the captain had to keep pulling the little girl’s hands out of the purse.

  Nostrils smiled as he tightened the strings and tossed the purse to Ferrin. “I daresay we’ll make Rhowynn, with enough left over to buy a small town.”

  The captain’s comment might have been overreaching, but it was good to know they had something to fall back on. Ferrin tucked the gold back into the bottom of the sack.

  Nostrils cupped his hand over his eyes and looked up. “We better get going while we still have the light.”

  Ferrin nodded. “We don’t want to get caught out here in the open. Thornwood Forest should allow us to travel unseen through the day and hopefully let us catch a few winks at night.”

  “Sleep?” The captain stifled a yawn at just the mention of the word. “I’d almost forgotten what that was.”

  Ferrin certainly knew the feeling.

  “Here,” Nostrils said. “It’s your turn to hold Rona.” He handed Ferrin the reins to the extra packhorse carrying their gear and supplies. They’d been trading off carrying the mare’s reins for the last two days. But it was the first time anyone had attempted naming her.

  “Rona?”

  Nostrils smiled. “A girl I courted in my younger years. Stubborn as a two-headed sniffer.”

  Ferrin laughed, and the horse whinnied as though she knew they were talking about her. “Rona it is.” He tightened his grip on the reins and glanced over his shoulder at Rae. “Hold on.”

  Rae wrapped her arms back around his waist, and Ferrin kicked his mount, sparing a quick glance behind to see if Nostrils had done the same. Even though Rae seemed to be getting the hang of riding, she was still having difficulty understanding the concept of riding with the animal and not against it. Her body bobbed up and down at the wrong times. He could only imagine the bruising her backside must be enduring. His had already gone numb, but he wasn’t sure whether that was from the bouncing or the cold.

  They made good time as they crossed the open plains north toward the standing tree line ahead, the soft lowlands giving way to rougher terrain the closer they got. The sun hadn’t yet dropped below the western horizon by the time they reached the first of the outlining groves of mountain fir. The soft padding of the horse’s hooves in the tall grass turned to crunching thuds as they rode across a blanket of pine needles and fallen cones.

  So far, there had been no sign of pursuit. Ferrin hoped that whoever came after them confined their search to the main roads.

  Rae and Suri seemed to be enjoying themselves despite the circumstances. Their eyes darted back and forth from one thing to the next as they attempted to touch anything and everything tha
t came into reach. Ferrin was having a difficult time keeping from laughing.

  It seemed the only two words they knew how to say were “What’s that?” as they pointed at some new thing. They were particularly enthralled at the wonder of so many different-sounding birds. There was a smile of rapture on each face as they poked their ears to the wind, listening for more. Every now and then, Ferrin caught himself doing the same.

  Night came early within the confines of the trees. Ferrin brought them to a stop not far from a meandering stream that wound down from the mountain’s base, and they made camp. As dark as it was, Ferrin figured smoke from a small fire wouldn’t be seen, and they were going to need the heat in order to make it through the night.

  The snows of early winter had not yet arrived this far south, but the chill in the air was enough to set his teeth to knocking. Other than the uniforms they had taken from the dead guards, neither he nor Rae nor Suri had a proper set of clothing.

  It didn’t take long for them to get a small blaze going. Ferrin and Nostrils led the horses to the stream and let them slowly drink their fill. After rubbing them down for the night, they fed them some of the oats the captain had procured from the Tower’s stables and a single apple each—a treat for all the hard work they had done over the last couple of days. It was the least they deserved.

  Suri, who had been shadowing Ferrin around the campsite, made sure she got an apple as well. She gobbled it down as fast as the horses, not sparing even the core.

  Ferrin took his seat at the fire across from the little girl. Her blanket had fallen around her legs as she amused herself with a couple of pine cones.

  “Here, get some water,” the captain said as he started on the food. He handed Ferrin a kettle.

  Ferrin, too hungry to argue, took the pot, filled it from the stream, and hung it over the fire, anxiously awaiting whatever Nostrils had in store.

  Rae tried not to appear too interested. She walked over, looked inside, grunted, then sat down beside Suri.