Plague of Shadows

by Michael Wisehart

  “The Archchancellor tried to use you as a conduit to help bring back the inquisitor’s soul.”

  “His soul?” If Joren hadn’t looked scared before, he certainly did now.

  “Yes. But it didn’t work. Something went wrong, and he ended up . . . inside of you.” It might have been a lie, but it seemed a plausible one. Better than the truth, that’s for sure.

  Joren didn’t bat an eye. “In me?” he said a little too loudly, looking down at his chest as if he could see Sylas staring out at him.

  “Shh.” She raised her hands and glanced back at the fires. Good. No one was moving.

  “The dead man is in . . . me?”

  She nodded. “That’s why you can’t remember what happened. Why you woke up not knowing where you were or how you got here.” She took a step back and looked him over. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure you were still in there at all. It’s been days since the ritual.”

  “Is he gone?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps. Or maybe he’s still there and you managed to come to the surface while he was sleeping. Or maybe it’s completely random. I have no idea. This is the first time I’ve ever seen this.”

  Joren leaned against one of the trees being used for the corral and rubbed his hands together. “At least tell me what we’re doing out here.”

  Finally, a question she could answer. “We’re chasing down the ones responsible for killing the inquisitor in the first place.”

  He nodded slowly, still looking like he’d just received the worst news of his life. Which, of course, he had. “Is there any way to fix this?”

  Another question she didn’t have an answer for. “I don’t know. But for the sake of your own skin, you need to keep your concerns between us. The others,” she said, pointing back at the camp, “have been told by the Archchancellor that you are to be obeyed. Sylas, the inquisitor who’s been in control of your body, is the expedition leader. If the guards start to question your sanity, it could be the worse for you.”

  He nodded.

  “So, for now, it’s best you keep up appearances.” She hoped he’d take her advice. She certainly didn’t want to spend all her time keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn’t say or do something stupid. She had been charged with his protection. The last thing she needed was to have to worry about their own people trying to kill him.

  “How do I do that? I don’t know anything about where we’re going or who we’re even going after.”

  “Just follow my lead. And speak with me before you say anything.”

  He nodded again.

  They stared at each other for a moment until it began to feel awkward, so she faked a yawn and started back to their beds. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk about it some more in the morning.”

  Joren looked deflated, but eventually he nodded and followed her back to the fire. He crawled into his bedding on the other side of the pit and didn’t move.

  She watched him briefly as he lay there looking up at the stars, then finally turned over and closed her eyes.

  “Mount up! Time to go!”

  Lenara woke with a start. It was still dark. It felt like she’d just fallen asleep. She turned over to see Joren stuffing his blankets into one of his saddlebags.

  What was he thinking, the idiot? I told him not to do anything without seeing me first.

  He turned, and one look at those eyes and she knew . . . Joren was gone.

  She crawled out of her warm blanket and over to the fire, where a few of the logs were still burning. “What’s going on?”

  Sylas looked at her over his horse as he continued to pack his gear. “The smith has been spotted.”

  “Have the trackers returned?” she asked, glancing around the camp. They had brought a pair of Cylmaran scouts along for the pursuit. Both had spent years hunting large game in the lower swamplands beyond the Khezrian Wall. Their gruff exteriors and rowdy dispositions kept most of the other men at arm’s length.

  “My trackers have,” Sylas said proudly as he looked up into the trees.

  His trackers? Black shapes stirred on one of the upper branches. It took her a moment to realize what she was staring at . . . corax.

  “Go,” Sylas said to the huge reptilian birds. “Keep a close eye on them.” The two hunters spread their wings with a deep-throated caw and lifted into the sky. Guards stared in wonder at the enormous creatures.

  Lenara kept an eye on Sylas as he finished packing. That also had been unexpected. Not only was Joren still alive, but Sylas was a wielder.

  Chapter 25 | Ayrion

  IT HAD TAKEN MOST of the night to dispose of the bodies. They had used five of the six cooking pits to burn the remains, along with any clothing, blankets, and utensils the Nathillians might have used. They had also emptied and cleaned the water barrels and buried all the rovers’ fresh fruits and vegetables, anything that might have been carrying the disease. By the time they were finished, Ayrion was ready to collapse.

  Once finished, Zynora had everyone wash with boiled water and musca. Apparently, the rovers were rather fond of the drink, since each of the wagons had a barrel or two tied to the back. Afterward, they had a small service for Taylis’s mother and Marissa’s parents, and Bek volunteered to take the first watch in case of any other unexpected surprises while the rest of the group tried to get some rest.

  As tired as he was, Ayrion couldn’t seem to doze off. He lay awake in the back of Marissa’s wagon, listening to the little girl as she tossed and turned beside him under the thick blankets. She had refused to sleep anywhere but her own bed, which had been made with fresh blankets from Tameel and Zynora’s wagon. More than once, he had to wake her from whatever nightmare she was reliving in order to calm her down. Each time, she’d curl up against his side and fall back asleep.

  Once again, he was left wondering whether there was another little girl out there who was missing her daddy, a wife who had no one to cuddle up to at night, maybe a son who no longer had his father to teach him the proper way to hold a sword. Or had his life been devoted to his work?

  He crawled out from under the heavy quilt he shared with Marissa and stretched his stiff muscles. He could see the faint light of a grey dawn through the cracks in the wagon door. He quietly pulled on his boots and coat, trying not to wake the little girl as he left.

  Stepping outside, he shut the door and yawned, his breath misting in front of him. The last of the campfire embers had long since expired, and the frosty morning fog slithered its way between the wagons.

  Realizing he wasn’t the first one up, he joined Zynora by the fire as she busied herself over a large kettle. He knelt and warmed his hands. “Morning.”

  “Is it?” Zynora asked, looking up at the quickly fading stars. She shook her head. “Time moves so fast when you get to my age.”

  Ayrion took a seat on a log placed a comfortable distance from the fire. The glen was silent. The crackling of the wood and the occasional grunt from Zynora as she stirred the kettle’s contents were the only sounds he heard.

  It was relaxing. After the last couple of weeks, Ayrion longed for a little peace and quiet, no matter where it came from.

  He heard the familiar squeak of Ol’ Lera’s hinges as Tameel climbed down from the back of the green-and-gold wagon. The old man scratched at his lengthening beard and then at his stomach when he spotted Zynora toiling over the fire. He strolled over and took a seat.

  The smell of a breakfast had apparently reached the outer woods, as Bek appeared not long after, trailing through the mist like something otherworldly. He’d apparently kept watch the entire night, not waking the others. Probably still feeling guilty for what his people had done. The man seemed to glide across the ground without so much as a sound, thanks to the odd shoes he wore. Unlike Ayrion’s boots, they didn’t seem to have hard soles or stiff necks to support the ankles. They looked almost like tall, thick socks, stopping just below the knees.

  Bek took a seat beside Ayrion and warmed his hands. “Something s
ure smells good,” he said with a polite smile to Zynora. He noticed Ayrion looking at his feet. “You like them?”

  “They’re certainly unique.”

  “They’re zabatas.” He pulled one off and handed it to Ayrion for inspection.

  The shoe felt more durable than Ayrion had expected but was still pliable, like it would stretch to fit the one wearing it. The body of the shoe was made from stitched hides—fur side inward—which kept the insides soft and warm. The sole was thicker, sewn from two, maybe three, pieces of leather.

  “I use them for tracking. No sound and few tracks. Can’t tell you how handy they’ve been for hunting.”

  Ayrion handed the soft boot back to Bek and nodded his approval. He wouldn’t have minded having a pair himself.

  “Breakfast will be ready shortly,” Zynora said, sprinkling in some cinnamon from one of her jars.

  “How far are we from Belvin?” Ayrion asked. He didn’t relish the thought of visiting a place where the entire town had gone mad, but as Zynora had pointed out the night before, they needed answers. It seemed the most important question was the one everyone was too afraid to ask: Had all this been caused by magic? It was one thing to contract an illness that led to death; it was quite another for an entire town to lose their minds, turn into white-skinned cannibals, and go on a killing spree.

  “Belvin’s a good half-day ride east through the forest,” Bek said, accepting a hot bowl of porridge from Zynora. He blew across the top. “It only took me a few hours, but I was riding my horse pretty hard.”

  “Good,” Ayrion said. “We don’t need to be on the roads after dark.”

  “Aye,” Tameel agreed, stuffing another spoonful of porridge into his gob and filling his left cheek to match his right. He looked like a chipmunk hoarding nuts. “I don’t want to be anywhere near that town when the sun goes down.”

  “You won’t be,” Zynora said, dishing out a bowl for herself.

  “Oh? And how do you know this? Been spirit-dreaming again, have we?”

  “No, you old coot, I know this because you aren’t coming.”

  Tameel choked as he tried to swallow. “What do you mean, I’m not coming? Of course I’m coming.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Tameel looked befuddled, his bushy eyebrows lowering as he dropped his spoon back into his bowl. “And may I ask why not?”

  “Because you are going to stay here with the kids. They don’t need to be anywhere near Belvin.”

  Tameel thought a moment. “You’ve got a point.” He started to raise his spoon but stopped. “Why are you going, then?”

  “Because I’m the only healer we have, and there could still be people who need my help.”

  Tameel shook his head. “This whole business smells rotten, if you ask me.”

  Ayrion agreed with Tameel but didn’t argue. Regardless of how he felt about the situation, they needed to figure out what was behind the strange madness.

  After breakfast, they packed what provisions they thought they might need and were ready to leave by the time Marissa and Taylis had woken and eaten their breakfast. Behind them, the first rays of sun could be seen pushing through the trees.

  “I’ve got to go, Marissa,” Ayrion said, trying to unhook the little girl from his leg.

  “I want to go too,” she said, almost crying.

  “I’ll be back. I promise. You stay here with Master Tameel. He’ll take good care of you.” He looked at Tameel and mouthed, Help.

  Tameel hustled over to the back of the tinker wagon, grabbed something from just inside the door, and returned. “Here, Marissa, look what I have for you.”

  Marissa relaxed her grip enough to turn her head.

  Tameel held a doll, one that had been popular in all the towns they had visited. This one wore a yellow dress with a bright blue ribbon around the waist. Her hair matched Marissa’s—long, wavy, and the color of chestnut.

  Marissa let go of Ayrion’s leg to get her hands on the new toy. She squealed and hugged it to her.

  Ayrion nodded his thanks and quickly mounted before she changed her mind. He turned his horse east and joined the others as they made their way out of camp.

  Behind them, Taylis chased after the horses all the way to the edge of the rovers’ corral. “Be careful,” he shouted. Ayrion waved at the young boy and fell in behind Bek and Zynora.

  His twin blades rested snugly against his back, their weight comforting. Even without his memories, Ayrion thought he felt more like himself, knowing they were there.

  By that afternoon, the forest thinned and was replaced by rows of cottages. Bek stopped at a crossroad and pointed straight ahead. “This road will take you into Belvin.” He then steered his horse left onto a smaller, less-traveled road.

  “If that’s the case,” Zynora asked, rubbing her backside with a slight wince, “then why are we going this way?”

  “I need to check on my wife.”

  They followed Bek north as the less-traveled road wound deeper into the forest. The woods were quiet. Apart from the occasional tree-rat and a few birds flitting from one branch to another, the place seemed dead.

  It wasn’t long before the lane opened into a small clearing with a cabin on the left. They took the path leading off the road toward a two-story barn in back. The building wasn’t much to look at, but it seemed well built, with no openings in the siding and each window having its own shutter.

  Inside, four stalls lined the left wall, with a light-brown mare occupying the first. She whinnied when she saw Bek, and he patted her on the way by. “I’ve got feed and water,” he said, directing his mount into the second stall and Zynora’s into the third.

  Ayrion took the last, making sure the stallion got a full bucket of oats and plenty of water. They left the horses saddled and exited the stable on their way to the house.

  The front of the cabin was decorated with rows of bright violet flowers with yellow centers, which contrasted with the home’s darker wood. Yellow curtains hung in the windows, adding an additional touch of color, and wooden shingles blanketed the top. There was a single stone chimney on the side. No smoke rose from its flue.

  Ayrion followed Bek and Zynora to the front door, where he noticed part of the flower bed on the right had been trampled, and deep shoe prints had ground a number of the winter plants into the mud. The broken handle of a hoe lay farther down, snapped completely in half. A few feet beyond that, a trowel was stuck upside down in the yard. Must have been what Bek’s wife had used in her attempt to kill him.

  “Nell, I’m home,” Bek said hesitantly as he lifted the latch and pushed the door open. Sunlight poured into the front room, and the door thumped to a stop against the wall.

  They stood in silence as they peered into the house, Bek and Zynora waiting for their eyes to adjust to the dim light. Ayrion didn’t need to wait. With his Upakan eyes, he could see just fine. The front room was quaint but clean. Vases of wilted flowers decorated the empty spaces on the table, cabinets, sill, and hearth. There were two rockers near the open hearth. The one on the right held what looked like a half-knitted sweater, and the other a whetstone.

  Off to the right was an open kitchen with a dining table, a few cabinets, and a stove. A single door at the back led to what Ayrion guessed was the bedroom.

  Zynora cleared her throat. “Is there a reason we’re all standing out here?”

  Bek mumbled something and stepped inside. “The last time I was here, my wife tried to kill me.”

  Ayrion heard faint noises coming from the back room, followed by what sounded like something banging against the wall. He drew one of his swords and followed the others as they headed for the back. Bek turned the knob, easing the door open. The room beyond was covered in darkness. The window on the left was shuttered; if that wasn’t enough, a thick blanket had been draped over it. Ayrion whispered in Zynora’s ear. “Have you ever heard of an affliction that causes people to fear the sun?”

  Zynora shook her head. “I need to
have a closer look at her.”

  Under the window, a dresser rested against the wall. The excess material hanging from the window covered the top. On the right was a second window—also covered—and a rocking chair that no doubt looked out across the backyard and the barn. And at the center of the room was the bed.

  Ayrion could see Bek’s wife lying on top, bound to the corner posts. As soon as she saw them, she thrashed about, fighting to break free of the cords. She looked like a green colt that had yet to be broken. She hissed as she strained against the binding, the cords taut to the point of snapping.

  Ayrion tightened his grip on his sword in case they did.

  Bek moved to the side of the bed and reached out to touch her. As soon as he did, she reared her head and tried to sink her teeth into his hand. He jerked away with a yelp.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Zynora asked, pulling Bek back.

  Ayrion stood protectively beside Zynora, poised to strike at the first sign of danger.

  Nell growled as Zynora moved around the bed to examine the woman more closely. She was careful to keep out of reach.

  Zynora looked across the bed at Bek. “We need light if I’m to examine her. I need to see the transformations. We might even find a clue about what is happening in the very changes themselves.”

  “I’ll fetch a lantern,” Bek said, choking on the words as he brushed fresh tears from his eyes. “But don’t open the shades. I don’t want to expose her to the sunlight. It hurts her.”

  “So, they’re not just afraid of the light?” Ayrion asked, keeping an eye on the woman as she writhed on top of the sheets. “They actually feel pain from it?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s interesting,” Zynora said as she took a step closer to the bed.

  Nell pulled away.

  “Did you see that?” she asked.

  “See what?” Bek asked, moving closer.

  Zynora reached her hand out slowly, and Nell curled away from the old woman’s touch, releasing a sad whine as though in pain. Zynora dropped her arm, and the woman relaxed once again.