One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2)

by Randall P. Fitzgerald

  Óraithe looked to Scaa who offered nothing.

  “How?” She had asked the girl but Callaire offered an explanation. “We sent a rider ahead to see that the camp was clear. The rest I cannot be certain.”

  “Letters,” the other girl stepped forward. She was round-faced and weighed more than her height agreed with. “There have been letters. As recent as a week.”

  “We allowed people to go freely if they felt the need,” Callaire said. “Scaa decided there was little risk in an attack. They took many things when they went, letters surely were among them. Some returned with others.”

  The explanations were enough. There was little meaning in strong suspicion. Soon she would be surrounded by strange faces, all looking at her.

  “I am sorry,” Óraithe bowed to them again and they bowed quickly in return. It was near comical. “Things are… new. You had things you wished to tell us?”

  The pale one spoke. “We were the last to leave the city. We took note of the patrols as best we could. We…” The girl hesitated and the man stepped forward.

  “We cannot be sure they still hold true. It has been nearly three weeks.”

  Óraithe nodded. “I will hear what you know, nonetheless.”

  The pale girl continued. “There is nearly no presence from the city guard among the Low District. A few, at times. Traffic to the brothels and some alehouses. But not many. They have been pulled beyond the Palisade and guard it viciously, even against looking through.”

  It made no sense. “Why?” She said the words out loud, though she had not meant to.

  “We… do not know. The Low District became violent and strange when you were still a nameless tale whispered over strong drink. At first, punishment was severe and immediate. Hangings, daily. Dozens, sometimes. The people fought against it. The truth and your name came to the city from this camp.”

  Óraithe did not know what she was meant to do with such knowledge. She chose to leave it for the time and ask what was known. “The wall? Is it guarded still? The gates? There must still be a watch.”

  The three looked amongst themselves, frowning.

  “It was… dark.” The man spoke. “We could not see and did not wait to be called out for fear we’d be hanged as treasoners.”

  Thanks were given for what information they had, and the family took their leave. Callaire did the same, worrying over the work to be done. They stood alone in the far sun of the afternoon and Óraithe looked off toward the city, wishing she could see it but glad she could not.

  “We must go.”

  “We?”

  “Us,” Óraithe put a hand on Scaa’s arm. “Tonight. We must go and see what we can. Learn what we can.”

  “You are not—”

  “Do not make me such a pitiful thing. Please.”

  Scaa looked away, biting her lip and knitting her brow. “At sundown? It will take the best part of two hours.”

  “Is there no time for a meal?” Óraithe said the words as playfully as she could manage, hoping to end the serious atmosphere that hung heavy in the air.

  Scaa smiled, perhaps thinking the same. “Then we will eat and, after, make mischief for our homecoming.”

  The meal was pickled fish and some boiled vegetables. As good as they had had since leaving. Still, anything that touched her tongue was more welcome than a kiss from the Sisters. Scaa told Borr and Callaire of their plans and they set off into the night. Óraithe wondered at how they had been so willing to let them go unattended. It seemed a curious thing, but Scaa offered nothing except that they rarely questioned her on much of anything, saying it may be for the best. Óraithe agreed.

  The dirt beneath their feet was hard and cold. A stark change from the Wastes, Óraithe thought. She wore thin flats of leather on her feet as she had when she left the prison. Covering her feet in anything more had begun to set her ill at ease. The ground felt too far away with a proper covering. Scaa could not contain her concern and asked again and again about her feet and her constitution. In truth, Óraithe might have stopped the questions on some other night, but the quiet beneath an open sky bothered her more than she wished to say.

  Small flames dotted the edge of Óraithe’s sight. The walls of the Bastion City. The circles became clearer as they moved and showed the red stone more clearly. A fire lit at once at the base of Óraithe’s skull and she gritted her teeth. There was hate in her, hate she did not wish to control or quell. Scaa had gone quiet at the sight as well. There was no need for words and the strange upset of the night sky was buried now. Óraithe’s eyes darted sharply as they closed on the tunnel that would be their way into the Low District.

  It was too close for speaking when Óraithe took a proper count. Three at the gate proper. Two more than she remembered. And a half dozen on the leading edge of the wall. She’d never known so many to be there in her nights spent watching them. Óraithe stopped and dropped to her stomach causing Scaa to whip in surprise and do the same. A panic set in. Was this another betrayal? Did they mean to walk her through the tunnel and put her back into that cell? That horrible cell… She could see Teas’s face. Crystal clear, crying.

  “What is this?” She whispered the words, tinged with anger and fear, at Scaa.

  Scaa shook her head wordlessly, seeming confused. Óraithe nodded her head at the gate and the walk above.

  “Too many.”

  Scaa looked to the guards and came to Óraithe’s side slowly, dropping beside her.

  “Do we return?”

  Óraithe studied Scaa’s eyes. There was no hint of a lie in them. Only concern.

  “Love?”

  The word pulled Óraithe from the dark place in her mind. She shook her head.

  “No… No, we must find what we can.”

  Óraithe stood and Scaa came up beside her. They made the tunnel with no trouble. It was as it had been before. Scaa led them and Óraithe did all she could to keep from reaching out to touch her. They came to the end of the tunnel and Scaa stood to leave it. Just as she did, Óraithe heard a man’s voice, gruff and annoyed.

  “City’s shut, boy. No reason you’d be comin’ in through them tunnels unless there was no good—”

  Óraithe did not hear the rest. Scaa turned and pushed her back into the tunnel. “Go!”

  A shout came from behind as Óraithe turned to run. She could feel Scaa impact the ground behind her only a few times. She spun on her heels and saw only a blobbed silhouette.

  Scaa yelled as the shadows shifted. “Let me free, muleborn twat!”

  “Mouthy little cunt, int ya?”

  There was a sharp move and Scaa screamed out. Óraithe took a step back toward them. She heard a groan when the scream had passed. Footsteps again, hard on the ground. And a pair behind. The blob in the light at the end of the tunnel crashed to the ground and the only sounds were grunts.

  The seconds seemed to crawl toward a stop. Óraithe was too far to run to them now. She could feel a shifting back against the ground away from her. Scaa was hurt. She had to be. Was the guard on her? She felt the walls above her, just barely. Hard stone. She had not worked such a thing. The doubts flushed through her a thousand times between heartbeats. Scaa’s pained, desperate voice broke time back to a furious rush.

  “Óraithe!”

  The choice was the only one. It was all she could do. She whispered to the night. “I’m sorry.”

  A row of spikes shot down from the tunnel and found purchase in something. Óraithe stopped them as abruptly as she could manage and the form slid off of them. Whoever was underneath did not move for a moment. Tears welled in her eyes at the sound of ragged breathing.

  “Scaa?”

  She called out. Her voice cracked.

  A groan. “What happened?”

  Óraithe fell to her knees. It was Scaa. “It’s okay now. He’s dead.”

 
“How? What do…”

  Óraithe stood, her knees shaking horribly, the spikes in the tunnel crumbling. “We must go. The others will have heard the yelling.”

  Scaa pushed the body off and the weight landed on the ground at Óraithe’s feet. She stood crouched in the tunnel and Óraithe came close.

  “Are you alright?” She reached out to touch Scaa’s face and a warm hand pressed her own onto a rough cheek.

  “My arm.” Scaa winced. “But it does not matter. As you said…”

  “What of the body?”

  Scaa groaned again. “What would draw more? A missing guard or a murdered one.”

  “We will take him.”

  “With my arm—”

  “I will.” Óraithe put her hand to Scaa’s shoulder. “Come.”

  She shifted the earth under the body and pushed it ahead of them. The walk from the tunnel was quick and when they’d left it, they stuck to the side of the wall. Scaa’s bleeding had slowed when they came away along a dark stretch and pressed out into the desert. The corpse, they left in the open far from the walls. There was enough in the desert that would take care of him, Scaa had said, kicking the body before they left.

  The return was much slower. The bleeding had stopped but the wound was deep and Scaa could hardly move her arm. They were taken to Naí the moment Borr saw them come into the camp. She clicked her tongue when she saw the wound. The muscle was cut in half and a ligament was nicked as well. The healer could mend it but the arm would be stiff to the point of disuse for a week or more.

  Through it all, Óraithe sat quietly, watching Scaa as she talked with Borr and Naí. She gave only short answers when asked questions. She stared at Scaa’s arm and the floor in turns, lost in a haze. There was no direction to her mind, only a blur of angry, hateful thoughts.

  “It will be alright,” Scaa said, reaching out her hand to Óraithe and waiting for it to be taken. “I will be alright.”

  Óraithe gave her hand and the rage inside her condensed and grew cold. All of her selfish hate found new reason in the blood-crusted hand she held in her own.

  “Borr. I mean to take the Low District tomorrow.”

  He looked at her, unsure of what to make of the sentence or why his name had preceded it. The rest stared at her, waiting just the same.

  “Gather the best we have. We will open the gates for the rest. And we will kill anything that stands to stop us.” She shook her head toward the camp. “Go.”

  Borr looked to Scaa quickly and then nodded. He left them, moving with purpose.

  “Are you sure?” Scaa’s face was one of concern.

  “I am.” Óraithe put her head to Scaa’s shoulder and Scaa did the same. “Earlier…” She hesitated. “I feel the same.”

  She heard soft sobs and felt tiny jerks from Scaa. And then a long snort. Her love was indelicate, ill-suited to crying. She did so awkwardly at best, but such an awkward thing let Óraithe know this was no dream.

  “I wish to protect you.”

  Óraithe did not say the words. She could think of only one way to ensure her wish was made real and she would not wait any longer.

  R

  Rianaire

  Rianaire stood over the yard watching as Gadaí finished drilling the gathered members of the guard. Eala was with her, watching mindfully and contemplating which of them would be promoted to positions within the standing army she meant to field. Marmar had been sent to each of the Regents that they ought do the same. The birds had not been gone long enough to expect any reply but if things went as Rianaire expected, the bulk of the replies would be self-aggrandizing, insisting that this or that Regency was far too thin stretched and important to supply the realm with able fighters. She had considered putting the threat of execution in the first papers that were sent along, but that would not tell her nearly so much as allowing the Regents to show themselves for what they were.

  She let the thought of the letters and her need of an army shift to more present matters, looking over at Eala.

  “Have you found a sense for it?”

  “Hm?” The girl seemed only to remember Rianaire’s presence a moment later. “Oh, Rianaire. I apologize. A sense? For satyr tactics? I believe so. Unless you meant something else?”

  She had not, but may as well ask beyond it. “And what of the guard?”

  Eala’s lips made a frown as she thought deeply on the matter. “There are… a few. They lack in basic command understanding. They wish to be… kind, is a word I would use for it. Others are scared and soft. I was when first I saw Gadaí as well, I suppose.”

  “We have time enough, for now. Be mindful in your choices.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Rianaire.”

  Eala had not looked over to her the entire time. She was earnest at least, though she required more attention than Rianaire would have liked. She was young, after all. There was perhaps a benefit in such a choice in the long term. Rianaire took her leave of the girl, making for the yard below and Gadaí who was finishing her work. The speed she showed was like nothing Rianaire had seen. The guards fared worse than her eyes at the work of trying to hold off the relentless press of attacks. Each, in turn, was put arse to ground before Gadaí let out a bark and lectured them, clearly annoyed at their slow uptake.

  “A head must move before the hand! Fools!” Perhaps annoyed was too light a term. “You cannot best my speed! Not with hands! I am through with you! Come tomorrow.”

  The satyr turned and clacked her hooves against the stone of the yard, making toward Rianaire.

  “These are the ones who guard? Bahk! They would fall before they stood.” She began to gather the few things she had brought when an idea came to Rianaire.

  “Gadaí.”

  “Yes. I hear you.” Her frustration with the trainees was spilling over.

  “I have had a thought. Where do you now stay?”

  “Outside your walls. Away from the eyes and the mouths.”

  “I want you here. In the Bastion.”

  Gadaí looked at her unbelieving. She said nothing.

  “You would be given your own quarters, of course. Treated as any other who calls it home, I will guarantee as much. It is something they would learn soon enough. I wish for you to consult with Eala as often as you are able. And to guide her. You know the fight we face.”

  “This would cause you problems.”

  “That, you will find, is something of a theme. I do not care for the thoughts of others, only that what needs to be done is done well.”

  The satyr looked her over quietly for a moment, studying her face. “You are sure?”

  “There is no other way to be. Though, being sure is not the same as being correct. All choices lead to others. Outcomes will be what they will be.”

  “A frivolous way to live.”

  Rianaire laughed. “I would say the same of people who waste time worrying over results they cannot imagine. Now, come. We will see you given a room and your things retrieved.”

  “I must stay in the Bastion, then?”

  Rianaire turned and started toward the stairs which led to the main doors of the Bastion. “You may stay wherever you wish. And move whenever you like. Though, if you decide you’d rather return to the horsefolk, I’d prefer if you let me hang you from your neck beforehand.”

  “I would allow it, were I so foolish. They are lost, those ones. Lost to fear and pity inside.” Gadaí made a noise. “Tried to speak with them among these trees. To say we have no reason for this. No place in elf lands. They would accept only blood for their fear.”

  They climbed the steps and Rianaire watched the stares from the gathered people as they did. A curious thing to them, but hopefully she could lead them to understand the value in Gadaí. They came to the top of the stairs and entered the hall. The attendants that would normally have swarmed her kept to the edges o
f the room, busying themselves in corners while failing to hide obvious glances. There was use in Gadaí beyond her knowledge of the hippocamps.

  “You, boy.” Rianaire called to the smallest, frailest creature in the room. She knew few of them, leaving their employ in the hands of those they worked under. The unfamiliar boy looked at her with pleading eyes before finally walking shakily to her. “This is Gadaí. Find her chambers and have her added to the calls for my meals so that she can dine with me if she so chooses.”

  “Y-y-y-y…” He gave up and simply nodded, lowering his eyes and holding out a hand to direct Gadaí. The satyr started away.

  “If any give you trouble, report them to me, Gadaí. I can assure all those who are listening to us now that I have had my fill of dissent and questions.”

  When Gadaí had gone a tall girl of perhaps a hundred or so came and knelt before her.

  “Oh Sisters, just say what you’ve come for girl. I’ll not be hanging people for speaking at me.”

  “Y-yes, Treorai.” She stood, her eyes still cast at the floor. “Your Binse awaits you in the hall. And after the heads of the colleges—”

  “Should Síocháin not be telling me these things?”

  “She is… indisposed. With the… with…”

  “Inney. Her name is Inney.”

  Rianaire pushed past the girl, her mood ruined in the space of a pair of sentences. It was all she could do to keep from fleeing for the brothels and the simple privacy of paid company. The work, to say the least, was too important. The hippocamps would come. A horde could even be among them in some hidden place. Sisters know there was enough space unused in the province for them to stuff themselves. Corners and mountains and abandoned keeps. She hoped that they’d moved south. The lack of reported attacks gave her hope, but not enough to abandon good sense. A lack of one thing was not proof of the other, after all.

  She climbed the stairs for the cold stone room that she so hated. Pulling the doors open she found Méid and Tola in seats. They stood as she came in and lowered their heads.

  “Rianaire,” Tola said. “A welcome home is no doubt in order.”