Chapter 20
Sy watched as Corentine quickly plucked fitted pants and tunics from the drying lines, holding them up briefly. Most would be heavier, sturdier material than what she’d brought from the island. He handed her several pairs of thick knitted socks and a pair of boots he’d guessed might fit. She slid a foot in and nodded.
“I’ll never be able to carry all of this up a cliff,” she protested as they stuffed her bag nearly to bursting.
“The NeverCross Mountains are always frozen,” he said. “And EvenFall is expensive. I don’t have a lot of Riatan coin.”
He knew they’d both struggle with the packs, but it was the best way. The climb to Damren’s hidden home was only a day’s length for him, but she may be much slower. And once they crossed the mountains, there would be many days of hard travel in Riata.
“I want to go to the armory next. I have a few weapons, but I need backups and things to sell. And you’ll need more than that whip.” He still wasn’t sure he trusted that weapon.
“I’m fine with my whip,” she replied curtly. “Really, Syashin, I can’t see how we’ll carry all of this.”
He heard the frustration in her voice and noticed she’d reverted to his full name. “I’ll help you, but please trust me when I say you’ll be glad to have these things later. Corentine, remember, we’re never coming back.”
She glared at him, and he hated himself for reminding her. How could either of them forget something like that? Obviously, she hoped to see her family again, and although he knew it was unlikely, he too still harbored hope that Resh or even his father might find them later, with a ready army of Weshen. But these were idle hopes. Preparation was wiser.
He led the way through the few streets to the community armory, their progress painstakingly slow in the early morning light. This task would be more dangerous, as there was never a time when the weapons were left unguarded.
But Sy knew all the rooms by heart, and he hoped to find one of his father’s left unlocked or unwatched. He didn’t dare venture the NeverCross Mountains and into EvenFall with only a single bow sword and a handful of throwing knives.
“Here,” he whispered, peering in a window. The room within, as well as the nearby windows, was dark and still. Perfection. He pushed a knife through the soft wood and pried the lock away with a popping sound. He grinned. It was a fact he had viewed with shame before, but today he was glad the buildings were in disrepair. The window slid open with a screech that made him cringe, but after waiting several moments, it seemed evident that no-one was coming.
Tucking their bags out of sight in an empty doorway, Sy hopped onto the ledge and hefted his weight through the opening, then held his hand down for Corentine. She struggled more, being several inches too short for the jump, and he hauled her body across the sill. They landed together in a heap on the floor, and Corentine scrambled to stand and distance herself from him.
He sighed to himself, wondering if she would ever trust his honor. He turned away to search the weapons for a few particular favorites, while she idly opened cabinets and drawers.
“Almost done,” he whispered, handing her a set of finely-fletched arrows for his bow sword. She wrapped them in a cloth with the other weapons he had chosen, fitting everything into yet another bag taken from a peg on the wall.
But just as she closed the buckle, heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway just beyond the room. There was no time to escape back through the window; the first lock on the door was already beginning to rattle. Sy kicked the newly-filled bag to a corner, pushed Corentine down behind a massive trunk of old blades, and flattened himself against the wall behind where the door would open. If they were lucky, the guard would just open the door, glance around, and leave without seeing anything.
“The noise was from in here, I think,” a gruff voice said as the first lock clicked open. Realizing there was more than a single guard, Sy cursed under his breath. If they were caught, they could be sent out to sea again, or the men might decide to keep them prisoner until the General returned. Sy’s stomach flopped at the idea of Corentine in the Weshen City prisons.
Too soon, the man started on the second lock.
“Arash said all the young pups were accounted for at breakfast,” another voice answered.
“Eh, he’s been drunk the whole summer.” The door swung wide, forcing Sy to soften its landing with quick fingertips so that it wouldn’t smack his nose. He couldn’t see anything of Corentine. Hopefully the men wouldn’t, either.
He thought he recognized the voices, but it had been too long since he’d spent more than a few weeks in Weshen, preferring the travel and trials of the MagicCreature hunts.
“Who’d be man enough to sneak into the General’s armory, anyway?” the first one wondered, his dull voice reflecting awe at the guts of such a task. “Course I’d like to look around in here myself.” The men laughed, and Sy’s hopes for an easy escape disintegrated. These men were simply too curious, and now they had a legitimate excuse to snoop.
“Eh, the General’s gone soft these last years, waiting for that rogue son of his to man up and make some heirs,” the first voice said, and Sy’s memory slotted together the pieces he’d been searching for: this was Melshen. Irritation prickled over his shoulders, his muscles tensing. He had heard Tagsha warn his father about this man, recommending his removal from armory duty. “Lots know it. Ashemon’s losing respect.”
Sy narrowed his eyes at Melshen’s disrespectful words, feeling his face flush at the realization of the gossip his own actions had caused. Reshra had been right. Sy’s refusal to sire a child truly was reflecting badly on the General. How much worse would the news of his banishment be received?
He gritted his teeth, pushing away the hot feeling of shame to focus on how they might escape.
Then Melshen grunted, striding forward. “Hey, window’s open!”
Sy cursed himself again for this new mistake. The men certainly wouldn’t leave quickly now. Might as well make his presence known, and hopefully protect Corentine from discovery. Both men had gathered at the window, peering out with their backs to Sy, but it was possible they might see her if they turned in the right direction. Quickly, Sy stepped around the door, blocking their exit, as though he had entered from the hall.
“Melshen! You will ask my forgiveness for such a slander to my father and myself,” he growled, standing tall and straight. The shock in their eyes was plain, but Melshen still recovered quickly, jangling his keys as his lips curled upward. His other hand drifted toward the knife pushed into his belt.
“Well. Our young First Son. Certainly didn’t expect you to be here.” He glanced around the room, his beady eyes glinting in suspicion. “Get tired of the girls on the island? Or did you find a way to skip out on the hunts again?”
The other guard laughed at Melshen’s joke, his fat belly shaking, and Sy snapped. Melshen was broad, but Sy was faster, and he was on the man in a second, holding Melshen’s own knife held to his throat.
“My business here is none of yours. But you will not slander my family. I’m doing you a favor by repeating myself. Now, beg my forgiveness, and I might spare your life.”
He heard the slightest gasp from behind him, and both guards’ eyes swiveled toward the trunk. Sy let out another curse just as the fat guard strode past him and yanked Corentine from her hiding spot.
“What’s this? A girl? Perhaps you’re wrong, Melshen, and young Syashin isn’t a beach runner after all!” The broadest man Coren had ever seen held her tightly by the arm, snatching her shawl and pulling it halfway back. She stumbled toward him, twisting to remove the fabric.
His face leered as she spun, the covering unraveling and her panic rising as they stepped closer and closer, locked in a dance of desire and destruction.
“Or perhaps our future general pitied our lonely summer and brought this pretty doll for us to play with!” he cackled. A meaty hand brushed and grappled at her breast, and Coren felt a great rage well up in he
r, black and fiery red.
She would not be touched against her will.
The whip slid from her middle and snaked across the floor, flicking at the man’s feet. The handle was instantly warm in her palm, and its dark magic seemed to call to her boiling blood, making the whip in her fingers seem to move on its own.
Coren’s vision crowded with shadows until all she could see was the man before her. Like a flash of light in the dark sky, the whip snapped across the man’s massive chest, and a bright line of blood appeared. Shouting a curse, he let go of her arm, and she darted away toward the opposite wall.
Struggling to suck air through her closing throat, she shook her head and tried to blink away the odd bits of darkness in her eyes. She bent to retrieve her shawl and was knocked off balance as the man grabbed at it, yanking it from her fingers.
“You’re not getting away from me after that,” he roared, swiping at the droplets of blood on his chest. His eyes glittered as he moved to corner her. Coren risked a glance at Syashin, whose face was a mask of rage. The guard he was struggling to hold back made a noise as if to speak, but Syashin pressed harder against his throat, his leg stretching to pin the man’s arm before he could retrieve his weapon. The man was thick with muscle, but Syashin appeared to be better trained.
Coren knew they should flee now. Forget the bag of weapons, jump out the window, and run. But something in the whip sang a song of blood in her mind, its handle seeming to stick to her fingers. The fat guard watched her like a hunter, trying to measure her movements, but Coren had no intention of being touched again.
“You’re just a girl,” he sneered. “Now put away that whip and come do what you were made to do.”
A mask of calm slid over her, hiding the boil of rage behind a sheet of unforgiving black ice.
“Nothing,” she whispered, watching as her hand struck the man again, higher this time.
“Nothing is small.” Another line of red appeared, like a ladder up his bulging chest, and another.
“Corentine!” she heard Syashin yell, but his voice sounded so far away. Farther than home, and farther than the Restless King, and farther than happiness.
The handle was hot in her hand and the whip was slick and nearly black with blood, pulsing gloriously with magic as the life of each droplet seeped into the weapon’s strengthening braid.
“Nothing is small when it is against your will!” she hissed, striking one last time. This fresh cut finished her task, opening the artery in his neck, and he staggered back, clutching at the red liquid that flowed in an entirely wrong direction. He stumbled heavily against the wall and slid down as she advanced in measured steps. A wet trail of crimson marked his descent.
“That’s what I was made to do,” she whispered, her voice echoing in the shadowy corners of her mind. She felt as though something had taken her hostage, and everything else had fled. She knew, on some dark level of her soul, that what she’d done was horrific.
But she no longer remembered how to find the part of her that cared for men like this.
So with her slippered foot, she pushed the man over, watching intently until the last bit of life faded from his eyes.
Gradually, she became aware of the silence around her. Her body swiveled slowly, her eyes dragging over the room as though it were the first time she’d seen it. Syashin was watching her with an unavoidable, grim expression of horror on his face. The other man had been bound and gagged while she had worked, but fury crowded his brows into his eyes, and she knew he was cursing her.
Glancing back to the dead man, she realized a curse was exactly what she deserved. Light splintered into her shadowy vision, the pain squeezing her eyes shut, and Coren sprinted to the window, slumping over the sill just in time to retch into the street below.
What had she just done? And why?
Sy had no idea what to think.
Corentine hung over the windowsill, and he heard her still gagging. What had she just done?
The man lay slumped against the wall, tracks of blood still bright on his chest. Sy knew what she’d done, and yet, he didn’t know. Corentine had completely come apart - her mind cracking open to reveal something darkly different inside. Sy had seen the presence hovering in her eyes, darkening them from tan and gold to black and amber, like the molten insides of a forge.
He’d seen the reddish glow of the whip’s handle, as though she had gripped hot iron without flinching.
It had been slightly terrifying, but Sy couldn’t help but notice he was also unavoidably intrigued.
Such power. And in a Weshen woman. It sounded like the stories of old. He’d stolen a restricted book from Weshen City’s sparse library once and reveled in reading the adventures of the times before the Separation and the Sacrifice. When the women hunted alongside the men, fearless and fierce.
Watching the young girls giggle on the beach each summer, he’d never quite believed the stories could be real. Watching Corentine, he’d begun to believe.
But was that even Weshen magic? Sy feared something entirely different was lurking in the braid of that whip.
He looked down at Melshen, whom he had wrestled to the ground as soon as the other man had pulled Corentine from her hiding spot. Tightly bound, Melshen was slumped over, looking very similar to his partner, except for one small, yet very significant difference: Melshen was still alive.
Sy crouched, busying himself with tightening the man’s bindings and checking the gag. Melshen tried to yell something beyond the cloth in his mouth, and Sy pressed the knife point to his throat again. He quieted, and Sy rewarded him with a blow to his temple. His eyes fluttered closed.
What was he going to do with these men? Both presented serious problems.
“I’m sorry,” Corentine whispered from behind him. He glanced up and saw her face was ashen. She glanced at the body against the wall, then quickly away. “What will we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Sy admitted, looking around the room. Melshen would obviously tell everyone, and he and Corentine could be imprisoned if caught. But as much as he hated the man, there was no reason to kill him too.
Even if they just left the guards locked in the room, the others would notice their friends’ absences before the next meal.
“We’ll leave them here,” Corentine said, her voice gaining surety with each word. “Your father knows we planned to survive. So let everyone know we did. You can leave him a note if you wish. Tell him I killed the man. The people of Weshen should know that we’re alive!”
Her eyes were blazing with fury and determination. Sy rose and nodded, swept into her ferocity like a boat caught in a current. He regretted what had happened, but it was true they were already outcasts. Outcasts created by his father.
“Okay,” he agreed. A hint of a smile crept onto her lips, and his chest tightened. “Let’s go, then.” He stooped to pick up the bag.
“Don’t you want to leave a note?” she asked, eying him.
He actually didn’t want to leave such an admission, but he shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “Melshen will tell them what happened.”
“But he’ll lie, won’t he. He wouldn’t want to admit his friend was bested by a woman.” She scrutinized Sy, then each guard, and he could tell her mind was working out the path he hadn’t wanted her to find. “He’ll tell the General you did it. You’ll be the murderer.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he sighed, wishing she weren’t so perceptive.
“It does! You shouldn’t be taking blame for things I’ve done! I want you to write a note! I want you to tell Ashemon the truth. I want…” She bit at her lips, and he watched her intently. She shook her head, refusing to continue.
“You want them to know it was you, don’t you?” he asked, realization washing over him. She was proud of what she’d done. Perhaps only a little, as her cheeks were now flushed in embarrassment or shame. But she owned her actions.
Corentine turned away, resting her hands on the windowsill. “I want them to fear m
e,” she whispered. “So please just write the note.”
So he did what he’d become quite good at - following her direction. He rummaged in the cabinets of the room, finally finding spare paper and a pen, and he wrote his father a quick note. He half expected her to read it over his shoulder, but Corentine remained by the window, staring into the street below.
Sy lifted the dead man’s shoulders with a grunt and placed the paper beneath him, where Melshen wouldn’t see it until it was too late.
Sy tossed the bags out the window, and they dropped down into the empty street.
“We need to make it back to the boat as quickly as possible. And we can not be seen, not after this.”
She nodded, her expression grim, but not exactly sorrowful.
Sy tilted his head at her. Especially now, he figured she could handle what he had planned next. “How do you feel about tunnels?”
Shadow could feel the blood that had been spilled with its weapon.
The iron tang floated on the air, crossing miles and miles of city and ocean and forest. Now that the ancient blood in the whip was awake, the magic would strengthen. And as did the magic, so too would Shadow strengthen.
It flexed its limbs, breaking free of the cassocks of dirt, the crevices of ancient tree bark, and the hidden undersides of green-black leaves. Breaking free of the binding spell that man had used so many years ago.
The Shadow was good, and the Shadow was bad.
The Shadow remembered, and it vowed to take all the man had.
For the first time in so many years, Shadow stood. It was not whole, and still so weak, but the scent of blood in the summer air would be enough to sustain its journey.
Shadow slunk east and north along the coast of Umbren, slipping silently between the trees of ShadowsEnd Forest and toward the NeverCross Mountains.
Chapter 21
Shift of Shadow and Soul (SoulShifter Book 1) Page 19
