by Jodi Meadows
Josh threw up his little finger at his friend. “Just trying to show young Will what’s around here. Your singing rocks aren’t anywhere near here, are they?”
“Er.”
I glanced between them, chewing on a last bit of my jerky. I wasn’t much interested in stories about caves.
The caravan stretched into the west, all wood and metal wagons painted with merchants’ colors and examples of their wares. The horses milled around in tiny herds, each group near their designated wagons as they munched on the browning autumn grass. Some of the guards had horses as well; their bridles and clips clang-clanged as they ambled around.
The air was still and crisp and, for once, free of the acrid stench of wraith. Only the odor of people and horses and autumn filled the road, and with the sun slipping past noon, there were few shadows.
One of the shadows moved.
Just a fraction, but movement nonetheless.
I peered harder, tuning out the guards’ voices. The shadow in the trees resolved itself into a black-clad young man. When he lifted a hand in greeting, I rolled my eyes and sat back.
Once the caravan rumbled into motion again, there wasn’t much of a chance to sneak away. A few of the older guards hung back in the forest, making sure no people—or wraith beasts—were following, but as a new and young guard, I wasn’t permitted.
At nightfall, I took first watch, and adjusted my weapons before I climbed a tree.
Moonlight filtered through the canopy of copper leaves, and rained silver-blue on the railroad where the wagons had been removed from the tracks and now waited in formation for morning. The caravan leader and merchants slept in the middle, while off-duty guards dozed on wagon rooftops, their weapons close beside them.
The road was dim. Empty. Only a breeze disturbed the stillness.
“Do you even know how to use that sword?” Black Knife appeared out of the shadows, crouched on a branch above me, one tree over. He was so quiet.
“I know which end to stick where.” I smiled as I scanned the road again. Nothing. Only the faint scent of wraith blew in from the west. “What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to take a walk. That’s not a crime, is it?”
“You’re the one who decides whether people are criminals.”
“I don’t decide. Other people are the ones going around taking things that aren’t theirs.” When he stood, the tree groaned and a leaf fluttered down, but that was all. He braced himself on a high branch, then maneuvered and stretched until he sat beside me, just a breath of air between us. “So, Will.”
I stiffened. “What did you call me?”
“Will. I heard one of the guards call you Will earlier, but I can go back to calling you ‘nameless girl’ if you prefer.”
My whole body sagged in relief. “Call me whatever you want.”
“Will, then. What are you doing here? Don’t you have important things to take care of elsewhere?”
“I have important things to do here.”
“In a tree? With a merchant caravan?”
I shrugged.
“Wraithland.” His tone was low. Dry.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m going to the wraithland.”
Wind gusted through the trees. At the acrid stench that followed, both of us stilled and our eyes met. “Do you hear anything?” His whisper was so soft I almost didn’t hear him.
We listened, waiting, but night birds chirped and nocturnal animals skittered through the trees. A wolf howled in the distance. After a few minutes, we relaxed.
“Don’t go to the wraithland,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”
I smirked. “Why, Black Knife. You almost sound worried.”
He seized my hands; the leather of his gloves was cool against my skin, and I could hear the faint rasp of his breath as he drew me closer. “Don’t go. Come back to the city with me.”
I leaned away. “I must go.” I hesitated, but pushed out the words in pale gasps. “You know what I did to that man. You know what I am.” Since the One-Night War, I’d never said even that much aloud. Even hinting at my ability would draw unwanted attention—like Black Knife’s—and here I was, laying myself bare. “I have to see what’s out there, what it means. Unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
“Have you been there? Do you know what it’s like?”
“Just the stories.” The admission sounded like defeat. “Maybe a few more stories than most, but no firsthand experience.”
“What kind of stories?” An owl hooted, filling my pause. “There’s a secret out there.”
He raised his eyes to the sky and drew in a breath. “What are you looking for?”
Could I trust him? Probably not. He called me dangerous, but he was just as much of a threat. Still . . . “I saw a map, which made it very clear there’s something hidden out there, and I want to know the truth.”
“Ah.” There was amusement in his voice. “For someone who lies and steals and impersonates others, you are awfully concerned with the truth.”
If only he knew about my other great talents, like forgery. Then he’d be really impressed. “Do you know anything about that location?”
He sighed. “Only rumors. What have you heard?”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Black Knife. You haven’t said anything to hint that you actually know what I’m talking about.”
A small, warm chuckle came from behind the mask, and the black silk shifted with his smile.
“I’m so glad my suspicious nature amuses you.”
“It’s delightful.” He adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Very well. I will take the risk of revealing what I know, in hopes of convincing you of my trustworthiness.
“You saw a map with a location marked ‘confidential’ and ‘debated.’ Further investigation revealed that it was on the northwestern border of Liadia, where there was little more than a village, a lake, and a nobleman’s country home. Now you’ve got a mind to go see this lake for yourself to determine what is actually out there, though I can’t figure out why you care about it so much you’d risk your life and sanity.”
He didn’t think very highly of me. “What do you mean I’m risking my sanity?”
“There’s a reason why your lake is so debated: few people are willing to make the journey into the wraithland, and even fewer return. Those who do bring such wild and unbelievable stories that most end up in institutions for the mentally unsound.”
“Oh.” I swallowed a heavy lump in my throat. “I don’t suppose you have statistics on that.”
“The chances aren’t good, Will. What makes you think you can survive the journey?”
“Nothing, I suppose. But I must discover the truth.”
“It’s not your responsibility.”
Nice, coming from someone who didn’t see why I would bother. “Whose is it, then? Yours? The king’s? Any of the other kings who’ve tried and failed in the past?”
“It should be a worldwide effort, not just the effort of one girl pretending to be a boy.”
“Kings and princes sit over councils and pretend they have a plan, but the truth is, they don’t. And the rest of the world is weary, just waiting for the end.” I hesitated around the dangerous truth. “Liadia broke the Wraith Alliance.”
Black Knife stilled. “How do you know that?”
“A refugee told me.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t ask for a name. I didn’t want you to go after anyone, if you found out.”
He tilted his head a fraction. “You don’t trust me?”
“Of course not. You’re a vigilante. But I’ll tell you the story I heard.” Leaving out identifying details, I repeated what the refugee maid had told me. “If it’s true, and there really is an area unaffected by the wraith, I owe it to the people I care about to find it and determine whether there’s any way to survive when the wraith hits.”
“Don’t you owe it to them to stay alive?”
I eyed him askance. “D
o you have friends, Black Knife? Family? People who care about you? Don’t you owe it to them to stay safe and alive?”
His voice was soft, and he dragged one gloved finger down the side of his mask. “It’s for them that I wear this.”
“Then you understand. I need to do this because of what I am, and who I have to protect.” A queen who wouldn’t protect her subjects was no queen at all.
“Because of your magic. And the children you watch out for.” Heartbeats thudded between us. “If you’re determined to be foolish and brave, at least tell me your plan.”
The implied sentiment was clear: at least tell me you have a plan.
I dared the smallest of smiles. “While everyone else stays in West Pass Watch, I’m going to hike down the mountain and into the wraithland. I need to see that lake. I need to touch it. Maybe I’ll find that it’s exactly like the rest of the wraithland. But maybe I’ll discover something beyond that—something that changes everything. Maybe there’s something I can do to halt the approach, not just mitigate the effects. If I can stop it, don’t I have an obligation to try?”
Black Knife’s gaze wandered into the forest beyond me. “I hear myself in your words. Asking you again to reconsider would be horribly hypocritical of me.”
“I’m glad you finally realized that.” My tone was light, but I was relieved he’d said it. I didn’t need his approval, but it was nice that he understood.
He turned back to me. “What is your magical ability? To heat things? The stone on that wall had been melted.”
I closed my eyes. Talking about my magic out loud was too much. Especially with Black Knife. Naming my ability would shatter this tentative truce. He would never be able to overlook what I was. When I was a child, I’d believed I’d brought things to life. The truth was that I could animate objects, and command them, but there was no real life involved.
Still, it was a dangerous power. “What happens to flashers, Black Knife?”
He seemed to deflate. “They’re taken to the wraithland to be killed in the very thing they helped create.”
“Oh.”
“It used to be a longer journey, and the Indigo Kingdom passed them off to Liadia and kingdoms beyond in order to reach their punishment. Now it takes just a few days to reach the wraithland. They’re deposited at West Pass Watch and sent in along with glowmen.”
I balled my hands into fists and squeezed my eyes shut.
“They can’t use their magic to escape because they’re given an injection. It keeps them barely conscious, unable to focus enough to use their power.”
And when they were delivered to the wraithland, the glowmen would tear them apart. The beasts would devour them. The air would suffocate them.
“I wish I hadn’t investigated. It was easier not knowing.” He shivered, and he sounded—upset? Hurt? Confused?
“Are you still capturing flashers?”
“No,” he whispered. “I haven’t been. It’s why I couldn’t take you in that night, and why I wanted you with me after.”
“Even though the man—”
He nodded, shifting toward me, and our shoulders brushed. “Even though.”
His shoulder against mine was a faint, barely there warmth. I didn’t move away. “Why are you here?” I asked.
“I like sitting in trees.” There was tension in his voice, and weariness.
“Admit it.” I leaned away from him, keeping my tone hard as our eyes locked. “You’re following me.”
He laughed and ducked his face. “Very well. I’m following you.”
“Why?”
“You keep getting away from me. That never happens.”
“I don’t think you’re even trying to catch me anymore.”
His chuckle came again, warm and muffled, but real enough that something inside me melted. “I’m still trying,” he said.
“And as part of this never-ending quest, are you going to follow me into the wraithland?”
His posture shifted—shoulders down and slightly turned—and he glanced west, as though conflicted. “I can’t.”
Disappointment rippled through me. I hadn’t realized I’d hoped he would come along. So we could argue more? Fight? “You have important things to do in Skyvale. Thieves to catch. Wraith beasts to kill. I know.” And what else? Who was he when he wasn’t Black Knife? “The caravan is scheduled to stay at West Pass Watch for two weeks. That gives me a week to get to the lake, and a week to get back. I’ll return to Skyvale the same way I left: as a guard.”
“It’s probably the first honest work you’ve done.”
“It’s not completely honest. Where do you think I got this sword?”
“Will.” He dropped back his head in exasperation, and a tiny sliver of his throat peeked between his shirt collar and mask. “Well, you’d better come back alive, and in your right mind, because when you do, I’ll be waiting for you.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “To arrest me?”
“No. To—” He hesitated. As soft as a breath, he closed his hand over my arm. “To welcome you home.”
Trees shivered in the wind, sending spirals of leaves hissing downward. I looked at his gloved hand, unmoving over my sleeve. Why was he touching me like that? What was he thinking? He’d followed me out here from Skyvale and now . . .
I held very still so that he would, too. “Skyvale isn’t my home.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll wait for you anyway.” He squeezed my arm, just lightly, and withdrew. “Please be careful—”
A shriek and howl interrupted him. Screams sounded from the caravan. Without another word to Black Knife, I leapt to the ground and ran.
TWENTY
I RACED THROUGH the narrow stretch of forest separating my post from the road.
Already, torches illuminated the clearing. Sleeping guards rolled off the rooftops, and inside the barricade created by the wagons, people shouted and cried out in terror. The reek of smoke and wraith flooded the area, chased by the metallic tang of blood.
Nausea tumbled through me as I drew my sword. It was a strange, heavy weight, and not as comfortable in my grip as my daggers, but it had a better reach.
“Where is it?” Black Knife stopped next to me, breathing hard. His sword was already out, a natural extension of his arm.
“I don’t—”
A terrible click-clack and shriek came from the far side of the caravan. We both ran toward the sound, following the other guards.
An enormous scorpion—as big as a wagon—scuttled down the road, pincers clacking as men surged toward it.
Black Knife swore and charged the beast, and only then did I notice the most terrifying part of all: chains around the scorpion’s head, pincers, and tail. Chains that had snapped and were now dangling like jewelry.
From the chaos, glowmen emerged. They carried the broken ends of chains, torches, and long staffs that they must have used to prod the beast into the Indigo Kingdom.
I drew my dagger in my left hand and hurled myself into battle.
Most of the men concentrated on the scorpion; it was heading straight for the wagons.
I focused my efforts on the glowmen, the grotesque wraith-mutated men. There were five of them. No, ten or twelve. They emerged from the forest with shouts of rage.
I swung my sword down on the nearest glowman. He blocked my sword stroke with his staff, and fire raced up my arm and shoulder from the impact.
With a grunt, I staggered back and into another glowman. He kicked me back toward the first. I adjusted my grip at the last moment, ducked, and sliced a wide arc with my sword. Blood sprayed from the glowman’s stomach, but I didn’t have the luxury of watching him flail. I turned and attacked the second one, but he lifted his forearm, wrapped in chains, and steel struck steel with a spray of sparks.
I stabbed with my dagger, hitting the large artery in his thigh with a long, clean cut. Blood poured out of him in wraith-stinking torrents.
Smoke choked the air. I coughed into my sleeve and tur
ned for my next opponent, a third glowman. Then a fourth and a fifth and a sixth. The fight became automatic—cut and block and duck and slice and do not die—and the glowmen kept coming, wearing horrifying faces that reminded me of hounds and birds of prey.
My right arm burned as I raised my sword again and again. Cacophony filled my head, all clank of steel, rush of fire, screams of horses, shouts of men, and the click-clack of the scorpion. I saw it only between glowmen trying to behead me. The wraith beast was black and glossy, its carapace barely scratched in spite of the guards throwing themselves at it.
Glowmen littered the ground around me. I used a dead one as a stool so I could slice open the inner-thigh artery of another, who’d been fighting Josh or Jack or whatever that guard’s name was. The man gave a curt nod before turning to his next opponent.
The scorpion’s tail slammed into the ground as people hurried out of its way. Men stood on top of the wagons, brandishing torches to keep the beast away from the merchants and merchandise, but a giant glowman with a sparking metal rod jabbed at the scorpion, keeping it from retreating.
I pushed toward it, elbowing my way through guards and glowmen, using my blades where necessary. Blood and sweat coated my hands, drying into a dull armor under the heat. Someone had thrown a torch at the scorpion, but overshot. Now flames licked the edge of the forest, working into a full blaze. The scorpion screeched, shying away from both fires. Its stinger struck the ground, remnants of its binding chain flailing along with it.
People screamed as the chain hit the edge of a wagon roof. Wood splintered and the wagon tipped, but men raced to right it.
I forced past a clutch of guards taking out a glowman with rough skin that looked more like alligator hide.
“Will!” Black Knife appeared beside me, both of us just out of reach of the wraith scorpion. “You’re hurt?”
I shook my head. “Not my blood.”
“Thank saints.” He bumped my arm with his and jerked his chin toward the wraith beast. “Remember the giant cat?”
“With horror.” But I knew what he was going to suggest. “This one has no neck.”
