by R. T. Donlon
Where had this girl come from? he thought. She is certainly not Portizu.
The Western Shore? The East? He could not put his finger on it. Across the joints of her arms and legs, the rim of her neck, the circular indentations of her eye sockets, pink scars stretched in harsh angles across her skin. She wore her blonde hair up into a braid that hugged the line of her neck.
“You climbed the Lonely Peak?” Curala asked.
The girl smiled.
“There are many paths to a destination,” she said. “Most only know one. I know many.”
From across the room, a glint of red light flickered across Actuano’s eyes. It made him appear maniacal, predatory.
“You seek the help of the Lost Warriors,” said Actuano, pointing to both the girl and the Elite. “Both for very different reasons.”
“We do not know each other,” said the girl, “but you will get to know me if you wish to kill the Shadow Warrior.”
“So this leads us to our problem,” Actuano continued. He pointed once again to the Elite and the Master Archer. “You seek help in eliminating the Shadow Warrior and you,” Actuano continued, pointing to the girl, “while you seek to kill the Light King.” Actuano smiled once again. “Hmm…What shall we do? Who shall we help?”
Killing the Shadow Warrior was one thing, but the Light King? This girl had ventured far past any sort of logic to make her intentions known.
“The Light King?” Fenir asked. “You wish to assassinate the Ruler of Light? Elite, we cannot concern ourselves with this! The Chieftain has made it clear—”
“The Light King does not rule us,” Curala chimed in. “Who cares if he dies?”
The taerji talks through him, Fenir thought. This is not the true Elite.
“He took from me everything I held dear,” the girl continued. “He must pay for every ounce of blood he spilled. You have come here for a reason—to enlist the help of your sworn enemies—but I can offer you so much more.”
“From what you have showed us this is true. You may have more power within you than you know of, but we have something you will never have,” Actuano continued. “The ultimate taerjic state. What can you give us in return if we should undertake in something so…murderous.”
The girl opened her robe, exposing a black mesh fabric that covered most of her body. It shimmered even in the cave’s lack of light. Wrapped neatly around her shoulder in a tied-off bundled sack, she presented a pile of gold nuggets.
“But I have gold.”
“Oh my,” Actuano whispered, reaching tenderly toward the treasure.
The girl withdrew as if to tease Actuano.
“Not until we have a deal,” she sparked, “then this can be yours.”
Actuano turned back to the Portizu.
“And you?” Actuano asked. “What have you brought?”
Fenir waited for the Elite to respond.
“You have brought me nothing?” Actuano spat.
“We have brought something of tremendous value, something you have been wanting for such a long time,” Curala began. “Rest assured.”
Fenir held his breath, knowing exactly how Curala would finish his thought.
“No,” Fenir whispered. “Do not do this.”
“If you help us, the Portizu will readmit the Lost into our Tribes,” the Elite continued. “Full re-admittance.”
Taerji drowned the shock that Fenir would have felt in his real state, but even sunken this low into his own mind, he questioned the tremors of Curala’s offering. These people were not fit—never would be fit—to live among the rest of the Portizu.
“There will be panic in the villages,” Fenir pleaded. “There will be chaos. Rescind your offer, Elite. You do not have the authority—”
“I told the Chieftain I would do anything to keep his people safe. This is how I intend to do that.”
“But, Elite—” Fenir continued, but Curala held up a solemn palm, crushing his words midair.
“Not now, Fenir. You must trust me.”
Actuano rung his hands together giddily.
“So many choices!” Actuano giggled. “Your offers are just too tempting. The Lost Warriors will help you in both of your quests and you shall reward us with your offerings.”
The foreign girl smiled wide at this, revealing a line of perfectly straight teeth, yet somewhere in that smile, Fenir knew this was not a girl at all, but a woman done wrong by everyone she had ever met. There was a sort of terror in her gaze.
“You both should know who you are dealing with. Shall we introduce ourselves?”
Curala turned to the girl and bowed into marjhi, although an urge inside of him beckoned to hinge further into something a bit more sacred. She seemed to demand that sort of respect.
“My name is Curala Shuth, Warrior Elite of the Portizu Tribes and this is Fenir Alterre, Master Archer of the Mountains.”
The girl’s hand reached forward for embrace. Curala took it.
A Westerner, he thought. Ferrila.
Every joint, knuckle, and crease of her hand exposed the same pink scars spreading across her face. She noticed Curala’s wandering eye.
“You must excuse my appearance,” the girl explained. “I have only begun to undertake the healing process. Just a month ago I was immobile, every bone in my body broken.”
Curala creased the skin above his eyes in confusion.
“What happened?” Fenir asked.
“The Cliffs of Eternity happened.”
The Cliffs of Eternity, Curala thought.
He had never seen the Cliffs, but he had heard of them.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she spoke. “My name is Tae Jean, but you may call me the Rogue Queen.”
KYRAH WILL RETURN. THE CITY OF SHADOWS AWAITS...
Darkness Beneath the Dying Light
Book 2 of The City of Shadow & Dust Series
