Sea of Shadows

by Kelley Armstrong

  They'd tethered the horses near the stream, where spring grass grew in abundance. Then they made camp a hundred paces away. Now Ashyn watched her sister crouch beside Daigo, examining his leg. The infected scratch seemed to be worsening. Ashyn had already done what she could, helping Moria wash and drain it. Now her sister was fretting, and Ashyn wanted to be there, sitting with her, comforting her, and reassuring her. She tried, but it was like talking to a spirit, one who may respond, but only vaguely, remaining hidden and distant beyond the veil.

  Moria tugged impatiently at her cloak as it slid over her shoulder. It was obviously new, and Ashyn had asked about it, but her sister had stiffened at the question before changing the subject.

  Ashyn presumed she'd taken it from Edgewood. Moria's own had clearly been--Ashyn winced at the memory--unusable. So she'd likely removed one from the tailor's shop. Completely reasonable, but perhaps to Moria it seemed like theft. Ashyn wanted to offer comfort, but for once in their lives, Ashyn couldn't reach her.

  As she watched Moria, she noticed Ronan heading her way. He slowed and looked from her to Moria. Then he made his choice. It was--she sighed--the expected one.

  Ronan crouched beside Moria. He pointed at her dagger and made a motion, as if throwing it. Moria lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. Ronan took out his blade and gripped it, as if to throw it, then gestured at his hand. Asking her if he was holding it properly. Trying to entice her away from Daigo for a lesson. Again, though, Moria only gave a half shrug.

  She clearly just wanted him to go away, and those lackluster shrugs--instead of telling him point-blank--only proved that she wasn't herself. But Ronan would see it as rejection. Ashyn could take no pleasure in seeing him hurt.

  She stood and walked over, with Tova trailing silently after her.

  "Can you throw both?" Ashyn asked as she approached them. "I know you've practiced with your off-hand, but can you throw them both at once? Like . . ." She motioned.

  Ashyn thought she'd pantomimed it quite well, but Ronan choked on a laugh. Even Moria managed to find a smile.

  "If I threw them like that, I think I'd lose both my feet," she said.

  Ashyn shot her fist at her sister. Moria sputtered, a real laugh now, then turned to Ronan.

  "What did you teach her on the road?" she asked. "She usually squawks every time I do that."

  "I don't squawk," Ashyn said.

  "Yes, you do." Moria raised her voice to a falsetto. "Moria! That's rude!"

  Ronan laughed and Moria grinned, and Ashyn didn't care if they were laughing at her, only that her sister was smiling again.

  Moria leaned over to Ronan and mock-whispered, "Just don't tell her what it means."

  Ashyn shot her fist again before motioning her away from Daigo. "Ronan wants to learn to throw a blade. Go teach him so he'll stop pestering me about it. Tova and I will look after Daigo."

  A throat clearing behind them. They looked over to see Gavril returning from his patrol.

  "Given how you just pantomimed throwing a blade, Ashyn, I would suggest you join the lesson. At the very least, your sister ought to teach you how to handle it better. You draw it as if you're preparing to slice an apple."

  Ashyn's cheeks heated.

  "Martial arts aren't a Seeker's focus, Kitsune," Moria said. "You don't use your dagger for much more than slicing apples."

  "Because I have my sword. While fighting may not be her strength, I'd like to see her better able to defend herself."

  Ronan got to his feet. "Ashyn is--"

  Ashyn rose. "Gavril's right, even if he could use a few lessons himself--in diplomacy." She gave him a pointed look, which he chose to ignore. "I'll spar with Moria later. For now, she can go with Ronan while I tend to Daigo."

  Gavril shook his head. "I'll stay with the cat. I need no lessons on holding my blade."

  "No," Moria said. "You just need lessons on how to release it. Preferably before you fall from a thunder hawk and dash out your brains on the rocks." She paused. "Though that might not be an overly debilitating injury."

  He turned a cool look on her, but Ashyn swore she saw a flicker of warmth in it before he knelt beside Daigo.

  "Go, Keeper. I'll tend to your cat."

  Now Ashyn was sure a look did pass between them. She was almost as sure Moria mouthed thank you, but that seemed too great a stretch of the imagination.

  "Come, then," Moria said. "Time for class."

  The lesson did not last long. The sun had almost dropped before they even began. They continued by the light of the moon and the campfire, but when Tova nearly got his tail lopped off, it became clear that throwing daggers in the dark was not, perhaps, a wise idea. They should have settled in for sleep then. Yet no one was tired.

  They sat around the campfire, talking. Or Ronan and Moria talked. She had brought out sharp quills from her bag to show them, which necessitated the tale of where the quills came from. Then Moria and Ronan discussed the ways they could be used as weapons, poisoned or not. Ashyn had tried to slip away and give Ronan time with her sister, but he'd kept her there, pulling her into discussion.

  It would have done little good to give them privacy anyway. Gavril sat across the fire, as silent and still as the rock he'd settled on. But he was listening to the conversation. When Moria stretched out her arm, explaining something to Ronan, and her cloak swung a little too close to the fire, it was Gavril who noticed first, scrambling up with, "Watch it!" and sweeping it away from the flames.

  "You don't want to damage that," he said as they both moved back a step.

  Moria murmured, "I know," her gaze dropping slightly.

  Gavril hesitated. He glanced at Ashyn, then he bent and whispered something to her sister. Moria shook her head. Gavril said something else. She hesitated and then nodded.

  "Ashyn?" she said. "I need to stretch my legs. Will you come with me?"

  Tova was on his feet even before Ashyn. Moria made a stop at her pack and pulled something from it, then they began to walk.

  Forty-three

  They headed toward the horses. At night, Ashyn could look out at the landscape and think she was still in the Wastes. It was flat land, with distant, irregular shapes that could be heaps of stone and rubble. But the ground here was soft underfoot. Earth, not lava rock. As they walked, their steps swished through new grass, and those shapes were trees and distant mountains.

  This was what the Wastes had looked like before the Age of Fire. It was so different. Normal for other people, she supposed--the rich smell of grass and soil, the chirp of crickets and night birds, the unseen creatures that scampered out of Tova's path. There were spirits here, too, quiet ones whispering past. She ought to revel in her surroundings, in the sense of life swirling all about them, so unlike the Wastes, so unlike her home.

  But it wasn't home. It felt odd and alien, and she knew part of that owed to the circumstances--there was no way she could enjoy her surroundings given the situation. Whatever the reason, it was not what she'd expected. She'd always dreamed of rich, vibrant, living land, and now she almost yearned for hard rock underfoot.

  When Ashyn shivered, Moria started undoing her cloak. "Here, wear this."

  Ashyn shook her head. "It was just a breeze."

  Moria stopped walking and pulled her cloak off. Ashyn protested again, but Moria didn't pass it over. She just stood there, fingering the supple leather and fur lining.

  "It's beautiful," Ashyn murmured. "I'm glad you found it."

  Moria nodded.

  Ashyn pressed on. "Whoever was supposed to have it would be pleased that you found it, too. That it went to such good use."

  "It's mine," Moria whispered, gaze down.

  "Exactly. It's yours now and--"

  "No." Moria raised her head, eyes meeting her sister's. "It truly is mine. I found it in Father's shop, with a . . ." Her voice clogged and she cleared it. "With a note. It was my Fire Festival gift. There was . . ." She tugged a small package from her pocket, and when she held it out, her fi
ngers trembled. "This is for you."

  Ashyn stared down at the wrapped parcel.

  "I'm sorry I didn't give it to you earlier. With everything . . . I didn't forget. I just . . . I wanted it to be a better time. But I don't know if there will be a better time, not for a while, so you--you ought to have it."

  When Ashyn took the package, her own fingers quivered. Moria started to back up.

  "I'll give you some privacy--"

  Ashyn reached out and caught Moria's cloak. "No. Stay. Please."

  She untied the paper and folded it back, then folded it back again and again. She managed a small laugh. "I don't think there's a gift in here. It's all paper."

  She kept going until, finally, she reached the middle and found a ring. A thin silver band studded with garnets. As she lifted it, she saw a note underneath. She picked it up and turned her back to the moon, letting the light spill over the page.

  To my child whose heart shines as bright as these stones, It was at a Fire Festival that I met your mother, and I later bought her this ring as a reminder. It's time to let it shine again, a reminder of the love that brought me my two greatest treasures.

  All my love, always,

  Father

  Ashyn put the ring on. It fit perfectly, and she swore the stones glittered in the moonlight.

  "It's beautiful," Moria said.

  Ashyn nodded. "It was . . ." The words caught in her throat and when she looked down at the note again, she couldn't read it through the haze of tears.

  She passed the note to Moria.

  Her sister lifted her hands. "No, I shouldn't. It's a private message for you."

  "It's for both of us," she said, and pressed it into Moria's hand.

  She watched as her sister read it. Watched as her face crumpled, as her shoulders shook. Ashyn caught her and held her, and they fell against each other as the tears came.

  When Ashyn and Moria returned to the campsite, Moria went straight to Daigo, who was again resting under Gavril's care. Ashyn headed to the stream, to check on the horses and wash off some of the day's dust. She was cleaning a spot of dried mud from Tova's ear when Ronan appeared.

  "Is Moria all right?" he asked. "She was happy when we were practicing and talking, but when you two headed out . . . she seemed upset."

  "She's fine. We talked about our father. Finally."

  "Good." He hunkered down beside her. "So you feel better?"

  She nodded.

  "I'm glad. You have enough to worry about."

  He crouched there, looking at her as if she was supposed to make some kind of response, but she wasn't sure what.

  After a moment of silence, he said, "If you want more lessons with your dagger, I can give them. Your sister is an excellent warrior but a lousy teacher."

  Ashyn sputtered a laugh. "Patience is not her strong suit."

  "I can tell."

  "It doesn't help that she's distracted."

  "We all are. Understandably."

  "I meant that if she seems . . . cool, it's just the circumstances."

  He frowned, as if confused. "All right. But I'm serious about the lessons. We'll be on the road a few more days, and I'm happy to give them."

  "Thank you." She glanced over. "I'm sorry if I've been sharp with you."

  He frowned. "You were sharp with me?"

  "Distant or . . ." She could tell by his expression that he had no idea what she was talking about. Apparently, unlike Moria, she did not convey her feelings well. "I've been as distracted as anyone, I fear. I only wanted to say thank you for all you've done, and I'm sorry your return to the city was delayed. I know you have someone waiting for you."

  "Someone . . . ?" He gave her an odd look.

  "You said you had someone waiting."

  "I said I had . . ." He sputtered a small laugh. "You think I have a girl waiting?"

  "No, of course not. I just said--"

  "You said someone in a tone that leaves no doubt that someone must be young and female. Truly? I was exiled to my death, Ashyn. If there was a girl--which there was not--I'd hardly expect her to be waiting for me." He sat a few moments in silence. "I have a younger brother and a sister. They're the ones I need to get back to."

  She glanced over. "Then why would you not simply say so?"

  He shrugged. "There was enough to worry about. I wasn't going to burden you with my life story."

  "Telling me you have a brother and sister is hardly your life story."

  Another shrug and when she looked over at him, she knew there was more to it. She saw guilt there, and discomfort, as he shifted and kicked at a small rock.

  "How old are they?" she asked. "And no, I'm not prying. I'll ask that and nothing more."

  "Aidra is six summers and Jorn is almost ten. They're staying with my aunt. She'll take care of them well enough, but . . . they are of an age where she'll want them to start earning their keep, and I'd rather they did not. If I can help it, they will not."

  Ashyn suspected that "earning their keep" did not mean sweeping shops. She noticed he'd made no mention of a mother. Presumably she was dead, then. Ashyn had promised not to pry, though, and she would not, as dearly as she might wish to know more.

  "We'll get you back to them," she said. "As quickly as we can."

  He looked over. Their eyes met. His hand dangled there beside hers, and she wanted to give it a squeeze. A friendly squeeze, reassuring, nothing more. But she could not breach that gap.

  He cleared his throat and rose. "Let's get to bed, then. Gavril's made a guard schedule. I'm on second shift. You get early morning." He grinned over. "Less chance for you to drift off."

  "I did not--"

  "Oh, yes, you did. I could hear the snoring--"

  "I don't snore."

  He continued teasing her all the way back to camp.

  Forty-four

  Ashyn woke as Tova rose. While the night wasn't nearly as cold here as on the Wastes, she noticed the loss of his warmth and lifted her head. He nudged her cheek, telling her to go back to sleep while he went to relieve himself. But now that she was awake, she realized she could stand to do the same.

  She glanced over at the small rise they'd agreed to use for watch. She could see a light-brown cloak and dark, tousled curls. Ronan was on duty. She started over to warn him where she was going, but his head was lowered, as if he'd drifted off. She didn't doubt it. He'd not seemed to sleep at all during their two nights in Fairview. She'd wake him when she returned and insist on taking her shift early, though she'd still tease him about it come morning.

  She wasn't going far anyway. Just down by the stream, where the shallow gully offered some privacy. The horses were downstream, asleep. She gave them wide berth.

  Tova wandered off, looking for a place to lift his leg. As she was unclasping her cloak she heard a faint whistle. An insect zipped past, as long as a finger joint. It hit Tova in the side. He snorted and twisted, biting at it, as if it had stung him, but it was too far for him to reach and clung in his thick fur. She walked over to pull it off. He took a step toward her. Then he teetered.

  "Tov--!"

  She didn't even get the rest of the word out before she felt something hit her neck with a sharp jab. She clawed at her neck, and something fell into her hand--too hard to be an insect. As she peered down at it, she had to struggle to focus, forgetting for a moment all about Tova and wondering why she was staring down at this odd little tube with a pointed end.

  It looks like the quill that Moria had. Not the barbed tip, but the tube, hollowed out and . . .

  Her legs gave way, and she was unconscious before she hit the ground.

  Ashyn woke on a soft pallet. She lifted her head groggily to peer around the dark room, and spotted a figure sitting beside her.

  "Moria?" Her voice sounded odd, like a frog's croak.

  Her sister turned, but it was so dark Ashyn could only see the outline of her head.

  "You better not be going out," Ashyn said. "You know Father hates it when you
and Daigo . . ."

  Father . . .

  The thought caught in her mind, and she could feel it buzzing there, trying to push past her sleep-stupor. Something about Father . . .

  She couldn't focus. Her throat hurt and her head throbbed. Had she drunk too much honey wine? No, she was always careful since the last Fire Festival, when Moria wanted to know what it felt like to be drunk and Ashyn had spent half the night nursing her.

  Fire Festival . . .

  Again, the thought caught, and her gaze went to her hand. There was a ring on her finger. Silver with red stones.

  Where did that . . .

  Father. Fire Festival.

  "Moria?" she said.

  "Shhh."

  Ashyn hesitated. Her sister sounded odd. Was her throat hurting as well? Ashyn struggled to rise, her hands gripping the coverlet. Only it wasn't her silk coverlet from home. It was coarse hemp cloth.

  She heard a distant noise. Men's voices, speaking in a tongue she didn't recognize. She pushed up on her sleeping mat and peered around, her heart hammering now, mind struggling to put the pieces together.

  As soon as she looked around, she knew something was missing. Something she ought to be able to see even in the dimmest light.

  "Tova?" she said.

  No answering scrabble of claws. Ashyn blinked hard. She caught sight of a drawn curtain, moonlight seeping in on all sides. She scrambled over and yanked at it.

  "No!" whispered a voice beside her. "Don't--"

  Ashyn turned and let out a shriek. A hand clapped over her mouth and when it did, she screamed all the louder, feeling that hand, covered in hard bumps that rasped against her skin. She struggled to get away, but another hand grabbed her by the shoulder, holding her fast.

  "Be still," the voice said. "I'm not going to hurt you. You need to keep your voice down, child."

  A nightmare. She was having a nightmare. Nowhere else could she wake to see such a thing and hear it speak like a normal woman.

  As Ashyn struggled for calm, she looked up into that terrible face. It had the shape of a human head, but instead of skin, it had overlapping reddish scales all over its bald skull. Where there weren't scales, there were warts--on the nose, the ears, the lips, even the eyelids.

  Shadow stalker.

  As the thought came, her mind stuttered. It seemed to latch on to an idea--a memory--that wouldn't quite form.