Shadow Over Avalon

by C. N Lesley

  Intrigue and secrecy – a message they wanted lay hidden by that rock. Her brothers looked to the right as another rider, also Brethren, rode down over a slight rise to them. The first two seemed surprised. Shadow pressed harder; frustrated she could get nothing past basic emotions. Ector had said head-blind Terrans were easy, but something blocked her probe. The newcomer seemed just as closed, except Shadow sensed a quest-search from him.

  “An ambush?” Thor asked.

  “Brethren. Wait.”

  “Go visit with them,” he suggested.

  “No. Better this way. Not know of our traveling party yet.”

  “I wish you’d take the time to speak plainly. You can when you want to.” He threw a rock at a low flying bird, missed, and swore.

  Shadow, not intending to aggravate him, continued, “The first two did not expect a third. Going down there will tell I have company. Might spoil their plans. This way we see where they go.”

  “Don’t you trust your brothers?”

  “We are all bought. They work as I.”

  Shadow turned back to the group. The latecomer looked familiar, yet she could not make out his features enough to place him in her ragged memory. His bright thatch of hair reminded her of someone. The other two were strangers to her. One of them dismounted to take something from the base of the rock. They split up, two headed for High Fort, and the loner turned south.

  “Well?” Thor demanded.

  “Not our problem. Two different missions.”

  “How can you tell from this distance?” Thor said. “They might not even be Brethren.”

  Shadow rolled over on her back, enjoying the sight of white clouds against an azure sky. She considered how shocked Thor would be if she answered.

  “Hellcat. Don’t you dare go to that Brethren place of yours to daydream when we should be riding trail.”

  “Not yet, our dust might turn them.” Shadow rubbed at her neck where her collar chaffed against tight shut membranes. The heat didn’t help.

  A hard hand snapped round her wrist. Thor leaned over, frowning. “Never touch raw wounds with dirty hands. I’ve got the makings of a poultice in my saddlebags. Bare the area.”

  Shadow laughed, thrusting aside his hand. He would die of fright if he saw those structures working.

  “No common ground between us, not even a genuine offer of help? You Brethren hate us that much?”

  “Hatred follows fear, not indifference. Nothing left of value to lose. Tend our own hurts. Owe no fort-man.”

  “Have it your way, dark sister.” Thor spat on the hand that had touched her, wiping it off on grass. “Lief found a group of men curious about bedding you. It cost him bruised knuckles to convince them they didn’t need dark brothers screaming for blood. I think he wasted his effort. If they’d gotten close enough, they’d have lost interest. Just what are you?”

  “Not human.” No, not human by his standards, nor ever had been – a bag of skin hiding fish and metal masquerading as Brethren, a cadaver lingering among the living. Thor should have hit a raw spot. People loved, hated, cried, and laughed with joy; Shadow knew how empty she had become. There had been a time when feeling started to return, and then Boy had shut her out. She tried to cry, but tears didn’t come, never came now, and she walled off that last spark of soul. She was not a living being, just a tool to function for others.

  “I am human, and should’ve known better,” Thor said, quiet voiced. “Maybe it’s that pretty face that makes it so hard to accept you’re Brethren. I know Outcasts won’t take help, and I was wrong to offer. I was doubly wrong to hit back with such a low blow. Pax, wild one?”

  Shadow couldn’t breathe. A mad moth flew wildly inside her head, flitting with blind ecstasy around those two words. A face formed inside that desolate void and said, ‘Pax, wild one.’ Blue eyes pleaded, the windows of the soul begged for mercy, and had it been given . . . ? Did she kill? Disengage—disengage!

  “Hey, cat? I said sorry—a fey Outcast! What do you see?” Thor was up on his knees in a moment, leaning over with both hands digging into her shoulders.

  “Winding trails to hell.” The vision was a mere fragment of a moment in time.

  “You’re going to die?”

  “Fortune falls where it will.” The sweet stench of death was in her mind. She didn’t know whether she saw the past or the future. Danger lurked nearby. A reassessment adjusted her plans as Thor backed off.

  “We reach High Fort tonight?”

  “Yes,” Thor said.

  “Tell Lief I trade for harness and saddle. Better if I seem a free agent. Who knows what work is on offer?”

  “Clever. Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

  “Getting too near priests. I can feel words slipping away. Soon mute.” Shadow stood up, shading her eyes against the sun to spot the course taken by Brethren. They had not changed direction.

  “Is it safe to ride?”

  Shadow nodded, starting back for her mount.

  All through the remaining daylight hours, she picked at the edges of her vision. When they rejoined the main party before sunset, she slipped back to rearguard position without waiting to be told. All Outcasts rode thus when entering forts.

  As night closed in she made out the glow of High Fort, and heard that noise in her mind, the same one she had heard in Grimes. She resigned herself to becoming dumb again as Lief came riding back to her, reining in his mount to keep pace.

  “Terms agreed. Stop a moment,” he requested.

  Shadow brought her mount to a halt, watching in amazement as he cut marks in her reins with his belt knife, then slashed her saddle with a small cross hatch. A spoiling of gear to indicate transference of ownership to an Outcast.

  “Wise call, hellcat. My father hadn’t intended a trade of harness. What is this Thor tells me about working arrangements?”

  “Not work near . . . you. Must seem free,” Shadow managed.

  “Already dumb? Damn, I wanted more information! How can I learn who tries for me if you can’t speak?”

  “Tell . . . name.”

  “What if I ask the priest to release your tongue?”

  Shadow shook her head. How to tell him not to ask; priests mustn’t know she could hear their interference.

  “We’ll work round it. Don’t like priests, do you, hellcat?”

  Again she shook her head.

  “Surprising what one notices on a trip. There’s a certain style of eating people have. Silvers aren’t so bad, but Bronze Bands resemble pigs at a trough. I watched you . . . dine. How does a Gold Band lady sink so low?”

  Shadow looked at him, shocked. Her fragmented memory didn’t allow a recollection of her past life, but he was right. Her manners at the table were better than most other people.

  “I thought as much. I would’ve traded my soul for a War Maid with your looks. Yes, hellcat, I mean it. Whoever let you go was a fool. And don’t look at me like that, I haven’t developed a death wish.”

  “Dragon Duke,” Shadow reminded.

  “I asked him if he’d got any Outcasts at Tadgell. There wasn’t one to hire at High Fort this summer, and I’d heard he welcomed them. That’s why I wondered if you were his creature when you turned up.”

  “Not an . . . insult.” She could not guess why Dragon had taken offence at a simple question.

  “I didn’t think so, but he drew on me. Alsar had him hauled off to cool down somewhere. You ever been to Tadgell? A fort set in sea cliffs, near the Western badlands?”

  Shadow knew of the badlands. There could be half a score of forts along the west coast cliff. Her concept of locations remained limited to a very few she had seen on Ector’s map, and a vague memory of High’s placement: impossible to forget the position of High Fort. She shrugged, spurring her horse after the main party.

  “Hey, cat! Wait up,” Lief called. He galloped up to her side to keep pace until they slowed at the tail of the company.

  “I don’t want a running feud. If the Dragon
Duke still wants my blood, can you tell him I didn’t intend to cause offence?”

  “Pass . . . the word.”

  Chapter 15

  Earth Date 3874

  Enjoying new smells and the strolling entertainers, Shadow steered her mount through the throngs of talking, laughing, shouting people and strolling musicians; all battering her senses after the quiet of open land. A group of idle soldiers lounged outside a large, brown tent. A ranking trooper lay just inside the open flaps, sprawled across four bags of straw. Shadow dismounted, walking to him.

  The man sat up. “Itinerant or working?”

  “Grimes outrider.”

  “Itinerant, then. Your food and board for however long it takes to find outside work in exchange for keeping the peace here, or you can leave right now.”

  “Terms?”

  “No other contracts within High Fort. Keep your weapons to prevent duels. No Gold Band men are to hack each other into small pieces—retainers don’t matter. Kill any lower orders, wherever originating, if a Gold Band is threatened.”

  “Time?”

  “Clear out at your own convenience. We want your kind working with us to make this a blood-free celebration. Any prior commitments?”

  “Make . . . peace for . . . Grimes,” Shadow managed to reply. She failed to see the point of lying to this man when her intentions matched general orders. She could not find the words anyway.

  “Fine. Peace for a change. There’s a lean-to at the western perimeter for Outcast mounts. The beast will receive attention, and here are twenty tokens.” The soldier passed across a heap of metal discs. “These can be exchanged for goods in the fair or given up to watch performances. Mingle and collect any information you can. Report any arguments to me. There’s a room near guest quarters on the second level assigned for Brethren, and enough of your kind around to show you the way. Dismissed.”

  Shadow collected the discs and remounted. Not what she expected, mingling with the fort-dwellers to keep the peace. She calculated a minimum of two days in High, which might prove useful, since she could see the place without the restrictions of one truly banded.

  A smooth-cheeked boy took her mount at the shelter. She made sure the animal had proper attention before heading back to a booth where she had glimpsed a man breathing fire. He was just starting his act as she edged into the back of the crowd and dropped a disc into a passing plate like the other watchers.

  Hard hands grasped both her arms from either side to immobilize her. A dark brother stood to the right and left of her, both looking intent on the fire eater. The elder of Outcasts leaned over to her, narrowing slanted eyes set in dark skin.

  “Come,” he murmured.

  “Working,” Shadow said. She attempted to walk away, but now they held her arms with pressure against each elbow joint and an upward thrust against shoulder sockets. A small circle of revelers opened up around them, eager to enjoy a free spectacle.

  “Move,” the brother said.

  Since she couldn’t fight without betraying her hidden strength, Shadow had no choice. The Brethren marched her into the depths of High Fort, down to the second level, and along a corridor to a door fourth from the left. There were rows of stacked beds against the two longer walls, also a washstand and a piss pot at the far end that gave off a sharp aroma. A lone occupant stirred at the sounds of entry. One leg swung over the edge of a lower cot to show a fine-tooled boot cracked with age; a second followed. The riding pants were dirty and patched, also once quality wear. The hair on the back of her neck rose.

  “A sister,” the older man said.

  Both long legs touched ground. A shock of dark auburn hair came into view as the man flowed to his feet with lethal grace. Light violet eyes swept appraisingly over Shadow, and then he made strange movements with his hands.

  “Grimes,” the older brown-skinned brother said. “Just in.”

  Again his hands moved, fingers flickering. The redhead raised one eyebrow, waiting.

  “No, he’s eating.” The darker man responded to the weird gestures.

  Shadow was propelled to the vacated bed, flung down to have her hands and feet tied to the bedposts by experts. Her two captors departed to leave her alone with the one man for whom she had accurate memories from the time before, this fey brother.

  Dumping his kit between her feet, he rummaged to extract a bone needle and an earring with a polished stone laced in bands of blue, white and a hint of yellow. It had three insertion circles of silver attached to a bar designed to keep the structure rigid. If the situation had not been tense, Shadow might have laughed at the effort to keep her still for the gift of a bauble.

  As if sensing her questions, the man pushed back his own greasy locks to display an identical earring. The two smaller hoops fitted through gristle while the lower one attached to the fleshy lobe. Was this the sole motive for her capture? Perhaps physical contact would give her an edge to break through that barrier she had found with other Brethren on the trail.

  The needle made an unpleasant scrunching sound as it parted cartilage. She distanced herself from the pain, trying to seep into his closed mind, only to rebound off a barrier more solid than before. All she got was a sense of cynical amusement from the man as he finished.

  “My name is Copper. Watch my hands as I make the sign for ‘Copper’,” he said and did so. “Every one of us is cursed with perfect memory from the moment of re-banding, so don’t pretend you forgot.”

  Shadow registered the gesture, amazed at his easy speech.

  “This is the sign for bed,” he continued, “And this is kiss.” His greasy hair touched her cheeks while his firm lips slid over her tightly sealed ones. He broke off, frowning at her resistance.

  “Among Outcasts, I am king over all . . . Shades, you remember me from before your sentence, don’t you?”

  “Aye, and your warning.” He said she would be joining them, but she thought at the time he meant they were both going to die. A wave of shock passed through her at how easy it was to speak.

  “Yes, that’s the new bauble freeing your voice,” he continued, anticipating her next question. “I came that day to spare you this life, but fate dealt a hand against me. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  Shadow had a vivid image of that meeting. A glorious sense of being alive, of riding free, until his warning marred her day. His suggestion seemed absurd.

  “An Outcast taking a Colored Band away from home? Not possible.”

  “We’ve done it before and since. Say the name you’ve taken.”

  “Shadow.” What did he want of her?

  Copper made a gesture with his hands. “This is your name,” he said. “I shall not speak it again outside of Haven.”

  “Haven?”

  “Our base. We’re heading out at dawn.”

  “I’m working. I can’t leave until I’ve made peace between Grimes’ heir and the Dragon Duke. There was an unintended insult.”

  “The hells you will! Dragon is close guarded. He won’t fight any duels with two brothers accompanying him. I’ll see he gets the message.” Copper ran one finger down her cheek, following the curves. Shadow turned away.

  “So you don’t like being touched—not altogether unexpected. You’re Brethren now, subject to me, my lovely. No one dares to interfere with Brethren concerns, so you’ll ride out with me, willing or not, in the morning.”

  “I can take care of myself. I stand and fight alone.”

  “My subject, my woman, part of my army. If I have to break you to my will, I shall. None of us can survive without each other, learn that now. At Haven, you will function in Brethren mold.”

  “What if I refuse?”

  “That Black Band makes you mine. Where have you been that Brethren wishes clash with your own? Where did you learn to rape a mind like Harvesters can?” He leaned close. “Our earrings protect us from mind intrusion, but we can all sense another trying to probe.”

  The door crashed open. Two brothers gestured at Co
pper. He leapt to his feet, also gesturing, and then dashed after them.

  Shadow considered her options as the door slammed shut. If she submitted to Copper’s authority, she might learn how an earring released her tongue. On the other hand, there was Ector. If she missed the meeting, she was alone. Nestines needed stopping. This was not a question of loyalty, but of need. Shadow tensed her right arm to snap the bonds, experiencing a sensation of pain, if not the same as from living flesh. The other restraints came apart with ease now her special limb was freed. She flicked up a false thumbnail for a tiny capsule of plas-skin sealant. She couldn’t let humans see inexplicable masses of metal in a seemingly real limb.

  Where to go now? The brothers had picked her up within moments of entering High Fort, which made for bad odds to risk going through the compound unless they thought she already evaded them. Not out but down; they would not expect a static escape, and she had a pack of stim-tabs under the plas-skin of her forearm. Shadow risked a probe into the corridor, it was empty.

  No one looked at Brethren; no one noticed a dark sister in progress. Shadow passed the fifth level down with growing confidence. At the sixth landing, three men lurched out from the stairwell. A deep voice cursing bad wine sent a vivid flashback coursing through her. The shock sent her reeling to knock against a torch bracket, a noise that made one man turn, the dark-skinned brother. Shadow fled.

  “Dragon, no!” a voice yelled from above. There was the sound of a fist on flesh, then two sets of feet pounding after her.

  Shadow panicked, her feet barely touching the stone steps. The tunnel forked at the bottom level. Voices came from one side, the other silent, probably a priest place. She ran toward the sounds, past laundry, past kitchens, away from the thud of pursuit. A dead-end, an underground river flowing under the depths of High Fort – Shadow dived into the water to the sound of two male voices yelling, “No!”

  Icy water flowed over her head. A swift undertow grabbed at her body. Shadow didn’t care that men wanted her out; she was too concerned with staying alive. Nothing else mattered in this black world except avoiding hard rocks in a turbulent current. A light, an impossible light ahead, rushed forward. She slammed into a metal grill with enough impact to deflate the lungs of any normal Terran.