The Crowded Shadows

by Celine Kiernan

  “Oh no,” said Wynter. At her voice, the landlord raised dull eyes and finally registered their presence.

  The eldest daughter was crouched by the fireplace, a blanket pulled around her naked shoulders. She was dazed and staring, swollen with bruises, her hair a wild nest around her chalky face. She rocked gently and gazed into the ashy grate.

  Wynter expected Razi to stalk to the girl’s side, expected him to insist on treating her. Instead, he kept his eyes on the men and settled his sword in his hand. The landlord’s eyes dropped to Razi’s weapon, then lifted with a dangerous glint.

  “We just want to get our things and leave,” said Razi softly.

  “You were with them,” said the landlord, rising to his feet.

  “We did not do this.”

  “You were with them!” The landlord’s men stood away from the walls, their cudgels in hand.

  “We tried to save her,” croaked Wynter. “Look!”

  She lifted her hand to indicate Christopher. Look at my friend, she meant to say, see how they hurt him. But Christopher was hunched and lethal looking, his lip curled, his face a feral mask within its tangled mess of hair. He shifted his knife and the light glinted in his eyes.

  “We …” Wynter said desperately, tearing her eyes from him. She could not understand how things had gone so wrong. “We …” Unexpected tears rolled down her face and she rubbed them away with her wrist, her knife flashing in the slanting light. “Tried to save her.”

  Razi stepped forward. “Let us get our things,” he commanded, “I have no wish to inflict any further hurt on you.” He balanced the sword in his hand and looked around the group of glowering men.

  Anyone seeing him would wonder what he had hidden up his sleeve to make him so certain that he would win. The men looked to the landlord, then backed off.

  Razi kept guard as Christopher and Wynter slipped into the tavern and gathered up their things. He never once lowered his sword and he edged carefully around things, his eyes on the men, while Christopher and Wynter collected everything together. He sent them ahead of him into the yard, where they found the horses wandering loose, their tack a reeking, smoke-darkened tangle on the ground. Christopher and Wynter did a slow and clumsy job of getting the horses ready, while Razi stood between them and the prowling men.

  When the horses were finally set and Christopher and Wynter had heaved themselves into the saddle, Razi turned his head, his eyes still on the men, and spoke softly over his shoulder. “Christopher, load your crossbow and keep them at bay for me, will you?”

  Christopher numbly loaded the weapon, pulling the specially designed lever and cocking it easily, despite his hands. He leaned back in the saddle and aimed at the loose circle of men, his face utterly devoid of emotion. Wynter did not doubt that he would let fly an arrow as soon as draw breath. The men seemed to share her conviction and they stepped back.

  Razi spun to his horse. He hopped the stirrup, launched himself into the saddle and swung to face the men again.

  “Please,” he said, lifting his sword. “Please, do not allow some misguided attempt at revenge to cost you your lives. We had nothing to do with this, and I have no wish to kill you in the defence of my friends.”

  The men stared at him. Slowly, and one handed, Razi began to back his horse from the stable yard. Christopher did the same, his crossbow still aimed at their chests. Wynter could not manage the co-ordination necessary to dance Ozkar backwards from the yard. She slumped instead in the saddle, the pain in her head completely overtaking her, and allowed him to follow the other horses as they made their cautious and wary exit from the ill-fated tavern.

  Once on the road they turned and galloped. No one followed.

  Bruised

  As they journeyed on, the pain in the small of Wynter’s back quite overpowered the pain in her head. It was as though someone had reached a knotted fist inside her and was twisting her kidney slowly in place. The men rode ahead, Razi leading the way, Christopher lagging behind him, both lost within themselves, and Wynter watched them through a mindless haze. Everything seemed very far away somehow and the world had taken on a curious reddish hue. After a while she found herself leaning forward in the saddle, her hands clenched on the pommel, tears of silent agony rolling down her face.

  Then Ozkar stumbled, and the pain in Wynter’s back spiked to a new level of unbearable. She listed sideways with a gasp, and gritted her teeth against the urge to scream. Oh, that was bad. That was very bad. She heard herself sob, and realised that she couldn’t go on.

  Scrubbing her face in her sleeve, Wynter quietly cleared her throat. “Razi,” she said. It was nothing but a pathetic little croak, and neither of the men seemed to hear it. “Razi,” she said again. “I need to stop.”

  Razi glanced around at her. His eyes widened in horror and he dragged his horse to a panicked halt. The frantic way he scrambled from the saddle told Wynter a multitude about how she must look. As he ran, he flung his arms up to her, causing Ozkar to shy, and Wynter cried out as bolts of agony flared through her back.

  Christopher wearily turned his head to see what the fuss was, and his face did a slow crumble at the sight of her. Razi was holding his arms out for her to slide into, but Wynter knew that it would only bring agony, and she clung to her saddle.

  “I can’t, Razi,” she gasped. “Don’t make me.”

  “Oh, Wyn,” he said, his face creased in sympathy. He put his hands on her waist. “You must. Come on. I’ll lift you. Come on, it’s all right.”

  He pulled gently, and Wynter cried out at the unbearable agony of it. She gripped the pommel.

  “Don’t make me,” she cried, “don’t make me.” But Razi was reaching his strong arms around her waist and pulling, even as she begged him not to. A massive spike of pain lanced her lower back and she couldn’t help it, she screamed.

  The last coherent thing she remembered before sliding from the horse and into breathless agony was Christopher’s hand, prying her fingers from the pommel and clutching her sleeve as he lowered her into Razi’s arms.

  She did not lose consciousness, but for a while everything came and went through shifting clouds of pain. When, finally, she was capable of focusing her wits, she became aware of a little fire burning. The men’s small cauldron was suspended over it, hanging from a split branch tripod, its contents steaming gently.

  Wynter concentrated on that for a while, before looking past the flames to find Christopher. He was staring at her, his crossbow cocked and ready, lying across his knees. She squinted uncertainly at him. She could remember Razi carrying her and laying her on the ground, then lifting her again so that Christopher could spread a cloak for her. She remembered clutching Razi’s arm and weeping when he had tried to sit her up. She recalled Razi stripping her of her tunic and her undershirt, and his horrified yell at the sight of her back.

  How long ago had that been? It could have been hours, it could have been only moments.

  She was lying on her side now and the pain had subsided to a dull kind of toothache, gnawing into her kidneys. She shifted and moaned, and Christopher suddenly focused on her, as though he had been asleep with his eyes open. He lifted his gaze to look past her and someone laid a big callused hand on her shoulder. Razi. She was briefly embarrassed by the fact that she was wearing nothing above the waist but her breast cloth. Then Razi scooped his arm under her shoulders and the pain drove everything from her as he lifted her into a sitting position.

  “I am very sorry, sis. I am so sorry.” Wynter had never heard that tone in Razi’s voice before and she was suddenly very frightened at what might be wrong with her. She was terrified to see fear in Christopher’s glittering eyes and she looked away. She wanted to say what’s wrong with me, Razi? but was only capable of gritting her teeth for a long moment.

  Gradually the sharp pain faded, leaving only a dull, gnawing agony, and Wynter let herself relax against Razi’s chest. He ran his hand over her hair and she leaned her head back onto his shoulder.<
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  “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “I need to look at your back.”

  She cursed and squeezed her eyes shut, then bent slowly forward to rest her chest on her drawn-up knees. Pain squealed high again and she bit her lip with vicious force, tears leaking from beneath her eyelids. There was a rustling as Christopher knelt in front of her. She was afraid to look into his face and see that expression again, but when he took her hands, she squeezed his fingers in gratitude.

  “What… what is it, Razi?” she gasped. I’ve been stabbed, she thought, I’ve been shot in the spine.

  “Some whoreson kicked you in the back.” Razi had his calm, professional voice on now, and Wynter was amazed at how soothing it was. It made her feel safe and protected. It made the sharp pain of his gently pressing fingers endurable. “You are deeply bruised,” he said. “And I am worried that they might have hurt one of your kidneys.” Christopher’s hands tightened on hers, and she opened her eyes to look up at him through the fringe of her hair. He was gazing at Razi in despair. Wynter tugged his hands and he looked down at her, his eyes drowning.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Razi will fix me.” She smiled at him, but he seemed incapable of changing his expression from that bleakly staring mask.

  Razi sat back then, and gently patted her on the shoulder. “I will help you lie down now, sis. If I may?”

  Christopher’s face creased up at the distress this brought to her eyes, and he gripped her hands tightly while Razi eased her down onto the reeking, smoke-dirtied cloak. He let go then, so that Razi could roll her onto her stomach.

  Wynter rested her head on her folded arms, waiting for the pain to subside. The sounds of boots crunching in leaves told her that the men were moving about. Sure enough, Christopher came into view and resumed his vigil on the other side of the fire. That fire is such a bad idea, she thought as he laid his crossbow across his knee, and scanned the trees with restless, red-rimmed eyes.

  Razi took a hot cloth from the cauldron and wrung it almost dry, hissing at the heat. He came back to sit cross-legged at Wynter’s side, curling his long body forward so that they were almost eye to eye.

  “The fire is a bad idea, Razi,” she whispered.

  He nodded. “Do not fret about it, sis. Just …” he cut himself short with an impatient grimace, and leaned across her with the cloth. She flinched as he laid it on her back. Then there was blessed relief as the heat of it seeped into her bruises. Slowly she relaxed, and Razi pulled another, equally rancid cloak up to cover her. She slid her eyes to look at him, and he ran his hand across her hair.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “You have a cramped muscle in your back.”

  She closed her eyes in shame. Just a cramp? she thought. Oh, I’m such a God-cursed girl. Razi’s soothing, rich voice went on, as did the gentle movement of his hand on her hair.

  “They have not broken your ribs, thank God, nor misaligned your spine. But I need you to pass water before I know whether or not your injuries are severe.”

  Wynter’s face blazed, and Razi sighed. “Do not feel bad, darling,” he said. “There is no need for shame, just let me take care of you. Will you do that for me? Let me take care of you?” She nodded without looking at him, and he patted her shoulder. “I am brewing some willow-bark tea for you, it will not be long in coming. And when you need to pass water you will tell me?” She nodded again. Then Razi pushed himself to his feet, and she heard him make his way to Christopher.

  She cracked her eyes open and watched him hunker down by their friend, his elbows on his knees, his eyes averted. The two men stayed like that for a moment, not looking at each other. Finally she heard Razi ask, “Have you pain?”

  Christopher said nothing. His knuckles whitened against the grip of his bow.

  Razi kept staring at the ground. “Sometimes, after the nightmares, you suffered a lot of pain.” Christopher’s eyes flickered from tree to tree. He looked besieged, ready to run. Razi slid his eyes up to his face. “I could give you something if—?”

  “There ain’t no pain,” whispered Christopher. “Not when you do it on purpose. It feels good.” He glanced down at Razi, saw the shock that his friend couldn’t hide, and immediately looked away.

  Razi scrubbed a filthy wrist under his wide eyes, stunned. “Um …” he said. Then, as if finding something he could deal with, he abruptly straightened and said, “I should clean those scratches, Christopher. You are in danger of infection. Come along.”

  Razi put his hand on Christopher’s shoulder, and to Wynter’s shock, their friend snarled and shoved him violently away. Razi fell into the leaves and Christopher shrank back, appalled at himself. “Razi! I’m sorry! Just… Razi, you mustn’t startle me. I’m too …” He tilted his head and helplessly spread his hands. “Don’t startle me, Razi,” he whispered.

  Razi just sat, staring, and after a moment Christopher’s shoulders slumped, his eyes wandered, and a numb, distant expression crept into his face. “Have we soap?” he asked dully. Razi nodded, and Christopher pushed to his feet and stood swaying for a moment with Razi still sitting at his feet. “Give it to me,” he said. “I’ll go wash myself.”

  To Wynter’s surprise, Razi did not argue. Instead, he got to his feet, fetched his wash kit from his saddlebag and handed it wordlessly to his friend. Christopher laid his crossbow down on his saddle, helped himself to hot water from the cauldron and carried the copper bowl and the wash kit off into the trees.

  “Christopher!” called Razi. “Won’t you stay in camp?”

  Christopher didn’t turn around or reply and they watched him limp away. Wynter was unnerved and confused by the defeat she saw in Razi’s posture.

  “Razi,” she said. He glanced sideways at her, like he always did when he did not want to discuss something. “Perhaps he just needs some time alone.” Razi watched her from the corner of his eyes and she turned her cheek against the vile grit of the cloak, wishing he would look at her properly. “Perhaps he feels ashamed, Razi.” Razi caught his breath at that and looked helplessly into the sky, his eyes glittering.

  “Perhaps,” she said, “he is ashamed because those men took his bracelets. They meant so much to him, Razi, and it would hurt Christopher terribly that he could not stop them being stolen again. Perhaps it is because they stripped him and hunted him in the dark. Christopher has always seemed so very proud, he might imagine that you think him less of a man for allowing these things to happen.”

  Razi was looking at her with utter misery. He shook his head, then he pressed his hand to his eyes suddenly.

  “What?” she said, completely lost, swimming with confusion and despair. “What is it, Razi?” The cloth was cooling on her back, and she clenched her teeth and her fist against the slow increase of pain. She pressed her forehead into her arms to stop from groaning.

  There was a rustling as Razi came and sat beside her. His hand resumed its soothing movement through her hair. “How is your head, darling?” he murmured. “Your wits seemed thoroughly scrambled last night. You must have a powerful headache.”

  She laughed. “It is quite overpowered by the agony in my back.”

  “You have a sizeable bruise on your forehead.”

  “How lovely,” she mumbled, her eyes closing at the sleepy comfort of his caress. “I must look simply divine, like a princess from a painting. It is no wonder Christopher has fallen for my charms.” He continued to stroke her hair, the fire crackling in the background, and Wynter knew he was looking out into the trees, fretting that Christopher was out of sight. “The fire is a bad idea, Razi,” she said again. “It will draw them down upon us.”

  “No,” he said quietly. “They will not come again today. They will be sleeping now, and sated. Heavy from the change that always happens before… beforehand.”

  Wynter’s eyes flew open, pieces dropping into place. “It was the Loups-Garous?” she said, startled that she had not made the connection before, horrified that it had
been them. Had they recognised Christopher, then? Had they done those things to him, purposely to shame him, knowing who he was? “Oh, Razi,” she said, “did they know it was him?”

  It took him a moment to gather the threads of her meaning, then he shook his head. “No, Wyn, in that state they barely know their own names. They know only what it is they want and …” he shuddered and shook his head, his eyes full again. He looked away, swallowing back his despair.

  “Those poor girls,” said Wynter. Razi’s hand tightened on her neck for a moment, then resumed its steady motion through her hair. She turned her forehead into her arms again, trying not to see that little girl’s face, bobbing away from her in the dark.

  “Life was so much simpler when you and Albi were babies,” whispered Razi, his voice far away.

  Wynter snorted. “Oh aye?” she said bitterly. “In whose happy dream?”

  “Oh, but it was, Wynter. It was so much simpler.” She opened her eyes, but Razi’s voice was full of tears and she could not look up at him. “Wyn?” he whispered. “I do not think that I am strong enough to finish this. What kind of a man would that make me?” he said. “To carry the two of you forward after this? After… this?”

  Wynter turned her cheek and gazed up at him. With his big brown eyes and his transparent hurt, Razi looked like a little child. Despite the beard, despite the scar, he looked as Wynter imagined he might have looked as a four-year-old, solemnly carrying the weight of the world through the doorway of a kitchen and laying it in a box of hay. She reached for his hand and kissed it, pressing his fingers to her cheek and wearily closing her eyes. “It will be all right, Razi,” she promised. “You are not alone. You and me and Christopher. Together we can fix everything.”