Shielded

by KayLynn Flanders

  When I curled up, my sword remained in my hand at the ready. I still hadn’t used it. But I would.

  In the Wild

  “You let him escape?” Graymere’s hood perfectly concealed his face in shadow. The man in front of him crossed his arms to keep his trembling hands from showing.

  “I gave chase for miles only to find the Wild had snatched him from his horse. There was no sign of him along the river, either.” His eyes ricocheted off every surface, landing on anything but the mage in front of him.

  “That is not how the Wild works.” Graymere rubbed his temple. “I know this magic.” He grasped the branch of an evergreen with one hand, crushing its needles in his grip.

  A breeze stirred, and the shadows began shimmering around them before condensing and swirling into four vague outlines of men cloaked in night. Graymere lifted his other hand, and the figures rose from the ground as if pulled by invisible strings. He exhaled. Black blades sprouted from their hands, glinting in the filtered light of the forest as the blades and men became more than mere shadow.

  Graymere released the tree branch and shook out his hand.

  The man trembled as he stared at the massive evergreen, now only a brown husk. “I-I’m the best tracker of our village,” he stammered. “If you kill me, you’ll never find him.”

  “Yes,” Graymere said as he turned to the man, arm outstretched, palm forward. The man fell to his knees, mouth open in a silent scream. Graymere clenched his hand into a fist, and the man crumpled. “I will.”

  A vine twisted around Graymere’s ankle as he mounted his horse. He shuddered and kicked the Wild’s tentacle away. “Find the Hálendian who escaped, and kill him,” he commanded his four new minions before snapping his reins. As one, his creations turned and prowled into the forest.

  I drifted in and out of nightmares, shivering and jumping at every sound in the forest until the sun rose. I was still mostly damp and freezing, buried next to the tree, but I was alive. The throbbing remnants of the tethers had dulled into a sharp ache. But while that pain had eased, I now felt every single bruise and scrape from my escape yesterday.

  The pink light of dawn feathered down to my hiding spot as I listened to the song of the forest, trying to pick out anything that didn’t belong. Tiny footprints surrounded my hideaway. Footprints that hadn’t been there when I’d fallen asleep.

  I dragged myself out from under the tree with a shiver. Cotton and dust coated my mouth. I brushed dirt from the blade of my sword, and the memory of the mage’s knife sliding across Aleinn’s throat flooded my mind. I flinched and squeezed my eyes closed, trying to block out the vision, but that only made it worse. Now a sea of blue and green eyes stared at an empty sky from the mud. I rolled over and heaved the meager contents of my stomach into the hole I’d slept in.

  I stayed on my hands and knees until the world stopped spinning. I had no idea where the road was or how to find it, or if I could get back to Hálendi. Or, rather, if I even should go back.

  I wiped my mouth with a corner of my cloak and curled up on the ground. But something dug into my leg. I gasped aloud—Ren’s book! I righted myself and pulled it out, cradling it in my hands. Flora and Fauna of the Wild. It could tell me what was poisonous, what I could eat. Help me survive.

  I reverently brushed the cover and opened it to the first page. But it was blank. My brow furrowed, and I turned one page after another. All blank. I could faintly see Ren’s name on the inside corner of the cover, but that was it. The ink had washed away.

  “No,” I whispered. The sound jarred against the rhythm of the world around me as though the trees rejected my words. A tear splashed onto the page, and I slumped to the ground, pressing the book to my heart.

  Eventually I rolled onto my back, my tears running into my ears and hair. Birds flitted from one branch to the next above me, flashes of red and orange and black and yellow. A family of rabbits hopped by, the father leading a slew of tiny bouncing fur balls. Nothing eased the emptiness spreading within.

  Eventually I sat up and wiped my cheeks. I pulled the hunting knife from my boot and set Ren’s book next to it. This, along with my sword, was it. Everything I had to survive.

  I’d made it through my first night in the Wild, so now the question was: What should I do? With the death of my father and brother, the council would rule Hálendi, with General Leland—if he’d survived—at its head. And a traitor somewhere in their midst. If this was the traitor’s work, I’d be killed the moment I got home. And there were probably spies—or the mage himself—watching for my return.

  But why would a mage be in the middle of the Wild to attack me? There were much stronger fortifications around my father, and no one even knew Ren was planning to leave for North Watch. Another thought hit me: Did this mage have anything to do with the magic reported at the border?

  I slipped the knife back into my boot, and the book into my pocket, wincing when the pain in my chest flared. My instincts told me not to return to Hálendi, but the mage himself had said King Marko had sent him. Perhaps Turia’s marriage negotiations were only a ploy, then. But why would Marko attack when our kingdoms had been at peace for centuries?

  I scanned the sky and turned until I was headed in a general western direction, and began walking.

  I’d be killed if I went back to Hálendi, but I could also be killed going to Turia. Logic warred with the steady beat in my mind. All around me, the Wild’s vivid colors danced in a warm breeze. And when I watched the gentle sway of leaves, the tethers hurt less. Peace pervaded, and the Wild itself seemed to whisper, Stay.

  Animals came to investigate my trail. Foxes and rabbits and even an animal I’d never seen that had luminous eyes, tall ears, and a long, fluffy tail that swished behind it when it ran.

  Hours and hours passed with only the animals as company as I journeyed west—I hoped. I should have been tired as I pushed through the underbrush. My muscles ached a little, but the buzzing energy inside, the spark that had ignited when I’d entered the Wild, seemed to fill me up the longer I walked. I wasn’t hungry, but I ate some wild strawberries I came across. The pulsing headache diminished, and a drink from a tumbling stream eased it even more.

  As I stood to wipe the cool water dribbling from my chin, a black shadow drew my eye from farther upstream. I froze like a deer who’d caught a predator’s scent. And slowly, so slowly, the shadow turned. Faced me. A jolt of recognition, of otherness, swept through me at the sight of the man. It wasn’t the mage, but it felt like him.

  Run, a voice on the wind whispered. And I did.

  I jumped over the stream and took off, scrambling up a small incline and pushing myself into a sprint the moment the land flattened out. Leaves slapped against me and I held my hands in front of my face to protect it. I risked a glance over my shoulder, but I couldn’t see him following—the foliage had knit together in my wake. But I could feel him following, too close for my liking.

  I veered to the left, dodging trees, ferns slapping against my legs, marking my passage. I turned right, and the ground beneath me gave way. I tumbled down and slid to a stop next to a great tree, each of its broad green leaves almost as big as my head. My elbow throbbed where it had collided with a gnarled root, exposed from the ground like a grasping hand.

  Hide, the same voice whispered.

  I dove into a pocket under the exposed root, burrowing in until I could barely see out. The man appeared at the top of the ridge. He stopped, scanning the forest. His cloak was darker than black, a hue that pulled from the shadows around it. Under the cowl, there was no hint of the man underneath—no glinting eyes, no hooked nose. Nothing. He had no face, like he was made of smoke.

  He glided down the hill toward my tree, never slipping despite the cascading dirt. When he neared my spot, an echo reverberated through the forest. He jerked upright, head cocked toward the sound, and took off running. His foot
falls made no noise.

  And I could have sworn the echo he’d chased sounded like…

  Like me.

  I exhaled long and slow, dizzy from holding my breath. When I squeezed out from under the tree, it seemed tighter than when I’d hidden. I gripped my sword with one hand, ready to run, but stopped suddenly.

  The ground. Where the shadowman had walked, the grass, once green, was brown. Any tiny flowers were wilted. Within the verdant forest teeming with life, a path of destruction stretched everywhere he’d been.

  I fled, sprinting as far and as fast as I could in the opposite direction, listening for the whisper on the wind, but not hearing it again.

  When I finally stopped to rest my hands on my knees and catch my breath, sticks and leaves stuck in my hair and clothes. I was more turned around than ever, and the sun had dipped below the trees, washing the sky in orange.

  I found another spot for the night—a tree that had fallen onto another tree, creating an alcove underneath.

  As I lay waiting for sleep to claim me, sifting through my options, the one thing I’d figured out was that something didn’t add up between the traitor, the mage, and now King Marko. I had two paths: Hálendi or Turia. My empty stomach turned. I couldn’t go home—I didn’t know the traitor’s identity or the mage’s next move. At least in Turia I knew the threat. And there was a chance I could find answers about the mage in the palace library.

  I sighed, deep and long. Death hadn’t found me yet, so I’d go to Turia. No matter the risk, I would search from the Fjalls to the cliffs if I had to. I would unearth who was responsible and avenge my family, protect my kingdom.

  If, that is, I could find my way out of the Wild.

  * * *

  My tutors had made me study maps of the Plateau for hours and hours. I’d always resented it: seeing how wide the world was and never getting to experience it. But as I picked my way through the Wild the next day, making steady progress northwest, I thanked each of them by name. The Fjalls split the Wild, and acted as a natural border between Hálendi and Turia. And while the main pass was the safest, most-used road over the mountain, there was another.

  I found a long, sturdy branch and, after cutting off the shoots with my knife, used it as a staff as I walked. The ragged wound from the tethers still bled into me, a constant, dripping pain. Ren’s book stayed in my pocket. Even though it wouldn’t help me survive, I kept it as close as I could while keeping my hands free to climb and venture through the underbrush.

  But the farther I traveled into the Wild, the less the tethers hurt in my chest. The Wild filled me instead, easing my burdens and healing the cracks around my heart.

  I let the forest guide me, taking whichever path presented itself. It tended to be uphill, but I didn’t care, as long as it led northwest. I’d need to cross the Fjalls via a path, and Miners’ Pass, though small and dangerous, was my best chance to avoid the mage and his men. Then I’d be in Turia, and each step forward would lead me closer to answers. I hoped.

  Near midday, a meadow spread out before me, with a gurgling stream cascading down from a cluster of rocks, pooling in a small basin, then continuing into the forest. At the edge of the meadow, the peak of the mountain I’d climbed all morning jutted out, a field of boulders leading to the top, no trees to impede the view.

  I scrambled up, careful of loose rocks that would send me plummeting back down. Sharp edges chafed against my palms, and my arms shook as I climbed. A small animal with bushy brown fur scampered by, watching curiously. When I reached as high as I could climb, I stood among the boulders on a wide, flat rock, breathing heavily with my hands behind my head, the evergreen-scented wind whipping strands of hair from my matted braid.

  Endless forest stretched in every direction as far as I could see. The land rose and fell, mountains and hills and gullies, but all green. Shining lakes dotted the expanse, reflecting the perfect blue of the sky that cradled everything from above. Pillowy clouds offered patches of shade as they migrated from one side of the world to the other.

  My hands fell to my sides, and my shoulders dropped. My eyes stung in the wind. I wished Ren could be here, standing next to me, seeing what I saw. But he’d never stand beside me again. My hand fastened around the book in my pocket, and I turned to face ahead. To the path I hadn’t yet traveled.

  The Fjalls rose like dark monsters from a sea of green. Or maybe the forest was the monster, and the Fjalls a row of rotting black teeth. Either way, I’d have to find my way across them.

  * * *

  The forest was quite loud, once it got used to you. Birdsong, chirping calls, and the whisper of crickets and buzzing insects wove together into the tapestry of greens and purples and yellows.

  As I walked the next day, there always seemed to be a stream in my path when I needed water. I hiked for as long as I could, rarely stopping for food. My limbs shook only a little; the Wild’s energy filled me, a buzzing, crackling satisfaction I’d never experienced with food.

  My mind spun in circles—thinking of anything and everything to keep memories of the mage’s attack away. I realized we’d had only two days’ notice before setting out to Turia. Yet the mage had been waiting for us. Expecting us. I cursed whoever had betrayed us to an icy death and swung my staff at a low-hanging vine in my path. It recoiled from the hit before resuming its position, and I swallowed back my anger and stepped more carefully.

  As the sun began its descent into evening, a line of gray cut through the path I took. Everything in its wake had died. Birds didn’t sing here, and a hint of charred wood hung in the air. I jumped over the path, unwilling to touch anywhere a shadowman may have crossed.

  As the sun set, casting the sky in pinks and oranges, the foliage opened to reveal a wide meadow. The scent hit me first, a perfume so exquisite, so powerful, I stopped right at the edge and drank it in. A shining lake rested in the middle of the clearing, white sand enveloping its shore.

  A grove of trees grew next to the water—trees I’d never before seen. Delicate white flowers bunched along the branches, and the branches curled and bounced like ribbons. I sighed as I approached the lake—the tethers didn’t hurt at all here. Nothing did. I set my staff against a ribbon tree, brushing my finger through the soft grass at its base.

  A small tug in the back of my mind warned me not to touch the lake, but the pull of its calm surface drew me in. A respite from pain. From the memories haunting every step. I knelt and dipped my hands, expecting the same cold water from the streams. But it was warm. Deliciously warm.

  I drank my fill, then untied my hair, combing through the snarled mass as best I could. My scalp itched with dried mud, so I dunked my head underwater to scrub it. And though the water was warm, it had the same effect as jumping into a river of glacier runoff. Sharp prickles, numbness, then heat all over. But the heat didn’t burn; it felt more like a cat stretching in the sun.

  Though there was still maybe an hour of light left, I decided to stay. I lay on the soft sand of the shore and watched the stars appear one by one, until I was covered by a blanket of them. Safe under their protection.

  * * *

  When the silver lake reflected the blush of dawn, I stood to gather my belongings, and dizziness overwhelmed me. I waited, hands on knees, until it faded. My sword lay on the ground next to my staff. I didn’t remember removing it. I shook off my confusion, buckled it on, and headed toward the edge of the meadow. A small family of deer peered out from the trees beyond. I sighed and stared over the beautiful scene one last time.

  As I hiked uphill, away from the lake, something dug into my leg. What was in my pocket? I pulled it out and startled. Ren’s book. My brow furrowed. Right.

  After looking back more than once with a wistful sigh, I dug my staff into the ground and forced myself to leave the haven. The energy inside me was jumping more today, tugging frantically. The forest was more frenzied, too
; I had to use the dagger from my boot to cut away thick brush in my path. But I continued pushing toward the Fjalls.

  Later in the day, a broad leaf sliced against my cheek. I stopped with a gasp and held my hand to the thin cut. Only a bit of blood seeped out, so I continued on. But then the land dropped at a steep cliff. Too sharp to climb down, too tall to risk falling from. I huffed and wiped sweat from my forehead. Another obstacle. One more in a string of fallen trees and rivers and mountains.

  But something moved in the ravine.

  A shadow. With a trail of death following in its wake.

  I jumped back from the edge and fled into the forest, running as fast as I could. The Wild pressed me on, guiding me away from the shadowman and toward the Fjalls, but when I sprinted into a meadow, I skidded to a stop.

  A shining lake. Ribbon trees.

  It was the same meadow as yesterday. Had I been running in the wrong direction?

  I clasped my hands behind my neck as I caught my breath. A dizzy sensation overwhelmed me. Maybe I just needed food. An ache within told me my legs needed rest, too. It couldn’t hurt to sit for a few minutes. I took up my staff and headed toward the ribbon tree grove.

  In the Palace Dungeon

  “He killed them. He killed them all.” The filthy man curled into himself, rocking back and forth on the wet, moldering floor.

  The king leaned against the doorway and tapped the letter against his thigh as Blaire tried to get the messenger to speak of anything else. It wasn’t the first time they had tried to get this story from him. But it would be the last.

  He read the letter again.

  The tariffs are not affecting them as we had hoped. I will find a way to connect the royals to us. I need only time and loyalty in the right places.