Empire of Shadows

by Miriam Forster

  The goats were still tethered in a line at the edge of camp, and they bleated as he passed, pulling at their ropes. “Someone will come to get you soon,” Emil promised, patting one. It studied him, its odd rectangular pupils dilated

  “Maaaaaaaaa,” it complained. Emil thought it looked like a worried old man.

  It took him only a few minutes of searching to spot the track Stefan had seen. His brother had been right—the track was as wide as Emil’s hand, the front four toes pressed deep into the earth. There were more, heading into the forest. It could very well be a tiger’s print, but Emil needed to be sure.

  He took a small wooden whistle out of his pocket and blew a soundless blast.

  At first there was nothing. Then Emil heard a faint rustling from the nearby trees, followed by the sound of feet hitting earth. A girl about Emil’s age stepped out from the treeline.

  The girl was dressed in a simple brown tunic and trousers favored by many of the Sune. Her skin was the color of polished narra wood, and a single gray streak ran through her dark hair. Like all the magical shifters in the Empire, she had brown eyes flecked with gold.

  “You called?” she asked.

  Emil didn’t waste time with greetings. “Esmer, why didn’t you tell me there was a tiger in the area?” he said, indicating the enormous paw print in the dirt.

  “What?” Esmer’s voice was sharp. “Let me see.” She knelt and put her small hand over the track, tracing the shape of the print. Then she leaned forward, sniffing it. “Well, it’s definitely a tiger,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “But I swear it didn’t come through our territory. I would have warned you.”

  “So where did it come from, the capital?” Emil snapped. Then he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “I’m sorry, I . . . Stefan’s gone after this thing.” He heard the break in his voice. “Can you track it?”

  Esmer gave a half hiss, half growl that sounded remarkably like swearing. “Stupid boy. Of course I can track it. Tigers aren’t nearly as subtle as they like to think.”

  There was a flicker, a chill of magic rippling over Emil’s skin, and Esmer disappeared. In her place was a wild cat, slender and long-legged with gray fur and black spots. The cat looked up at Emil with golden eyes and waved its black-tipped tail.

  Follow me, the tail said as clearly as any spoken words. Then the cat turned and trotted off into the undergrowth.

  Emil followed.

  MARA SWORE UNDER her breath as she tried to keep her balance on the tree branch. One of her hands gripped the branch above her, the rough bark digging into her skin, and the other held her dagger. Her eyes were fixed on the pile of yellow berries that she’d arranged in the crook of the tree. She felt horribly exposed and her shoulder was starting to cramp, but she didn’t move.

  Come on, she thought, as if by sheer will she could summon her prey. Come on, you stupid monkey. I know it’s the middle of summer, but you have to be hungry. You just have to be.

  Her stomach twitched at the thought. The monkey might not be hungry, but it had been days since Mara had eaten anything but berries. She’d learned to cook in the Order, doing kitchen duty, but she hadn’t joined the hunting parties. The idea of leaving the Order walls had been too tempting . . . and too frightening.

  Mara had spent time as a human before joining the Order, of course. Even wild Sune had to change sometimes, or they risked going feral. She’d been on trading trips to the nearby villages, watched people point and whisper and shy away from her. She’d learned how to read, been taught the laws of the Empire and the story-songs the humans sang, as well as the songs of her own people. She knew about humans.

  But she’d never tried to survive as one outside the Order. This body might be good at fighting, but it was poorly designed in other ways. No claws, no teeth, and even Mara’s quick, muscled form couldn’t move fast enough to catch a spotted deer. Humans needed weapons to hunt, and Mara’s dagger wasn’t built for throwing.

  It didn’t help that her senses were so dull. She’d been so full of grief and guilt three years ago that she’d forgotten—or ignored—the difference between her human senses and her animal senses. And it hadn’t mattered in the Order, where her surroundings were all stone and dirt and sweat.

  But out here, under the blank gray of the Barrier, everything was so muddled. And it had only gotten worse as the bamboo forest of her childhood gave way to unfamiliar teak trees. It had taken her days to learn to read her surroundings again, days to stop being startled by a grouse exploding from cover, or the crack of a branch under a deer’s foot. Sometimes Mara still felt like she was traveling half blind.

  At least she’d figured out how to disguise her scent a bit. By smashing leaves with rocks, she’d made a thin paste that she’d smeared on her face, neck, and hands. She’d also rubbed her tunic and trousers with fresh earth. The camouflage was comforting, especially at night.

  Night was the worst. Before her exile, Mara had loved the dark, all soft outlines and cool, clear air. But now, with no night sight at all, the darkness was full of shadows and danger. Sometimes Mara had nightmares that the families of the men she had killed were hunting her. Those nights always ended with her sitting with her back against a tree, her dagger in her lap, and her mind filled with blood and screams.

  A rustle brought her attention back to the matter at hand. There! A monkey with a black face and silver-gray fur, its small black eyes bright with hunger. The sight made Mara’s stomach hurt even more. She remembered hunting monkeys from the ground: the stalking, the brief chase, the sweet-salt taste of raw meat.

  Her hand tightened on the dagger.

  The monkey crept closer. . . .

  There was a screech close to Mara’s ear as a flock of birds above her took flight. She jerked, startled, and her boots lost their grip on the bark.

  Then she was falling, plummeting, and there was the ground coming at her like a fist. The impact chased the breath from her body and sent a shooting pain through her shoulder. Between the shock and the hurt, Mara felt the carefully built wall inside her crack, and the power in her blood woke with a scream.

  Pain. Hurt. Change.

  No!

  Mara dug her fingernails into her palms, resisting with all her strength. Her vision swam with red. The magic that allowed Sune to change from human to animal was closely tied to instinct, and it was especially strong when there were injuries or danger. Changing to animal form helped you get away, helped you heal. But it could also take over, leave you mindless and furious like a wounded animal.

  It could make you kill.

  I am human.

  I am human.

  I am human.

  The red started to fade and the overwhelming urge ebbed. Mara went limp with relief. She’d had accidents at the Order, bruises and cuts, once even a twisted ankle. But there she’d been able to shove the urge away, tamp it down. After a while, the instinct to change had faded entirely.

  She’d forgotten how strong it was, the sheer need. The need to become something else, something stronger, faster, better able to survive. She’d been safe in the Order, but out here her instincts would be harder to resist. She’d have to be more careful.

  Her vision was clear again. Mara pushed herself into a sitting position. Her shoulder still burned with pain, and her arm dangled from her side. Dislocated.

  Mara grimaced. They’d taught her basic healing at the Order, including how to put in a dislocated shoulder. It was going to hurt. A lot. But she didn’t have a choice. As long as she was injured, she was a danger to herself and others.

  Just as Mara was bracing herself to put her shoulder back in, she heard a commotion through the trees. Cracking branches, running footsteps . . .

  And the high-pitched breathing of a human fleeing for its life.

  Mara scooped up her dropped dagger and looked around for somewhere to hide. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she fell to her knees and wriggled into a nearby bush. She tried to make herself sma
ll and still, like a baby deer.

  The footsteps got closer, and a boy ran into view. He looked about her age, with a dark scruff of beard on his chin, and he was wearing a filthy, buff-colored tunic. The boy’s mouth was open, gasping for air, and he cradled his left wrist close to his side. The fingers of his right hand were clenched around a broken spear.

  Mara shrank farther into the bush, as the boy staggered closer. He reached the tree she’d fallen out of and leaned against it.

  A low growl reverberated through the trees.

  The boy’s head snapped up. His pupils were wide and dark like a rabbit’s, and his chest heaved. A second growl came, and Mara’s skin rippled with recognition. It couldn’t be . . .

  A tiger padded into her line of sight.

  EMIL KNELT BY the shredded remains of the goat. Esmer was right; it was easy to track the tiger’s path. All they had to do was follow the blood and broken branches. The goat’s belly had been torn open, and its intestines were wet and glistening and buzzing with flies. A sour smell filled the air.

  Emil thought about the tiger’s claws tearing open his brother. He dug his nails into his palms to drive the image away.

  “Anything, Esmer?” he called.

  “Over here,” Esmer called. She was back in human form and examining the base of a nearby tree.

  Emil crouched next to her as Esmer touched the grass and old leaves, rubbing them between her fingers. Her forehead was creased with worry.

  “Stefan was here,” she said. “His scent is all over this area. But he didn’t go near the goat.”

  “Because the tiger was there,” Emil said. He took a deep breath, loud and ragged in the still woods. “Which way did he go?”

  Esmer scanned the ground. “That way,” she said, pointing with her thumb. “They both went that way, not too long ago. If you look, you can see the tracks.”

  Emil looked down at the line of scuffled marks that led off into the trees. His neck felt tight and stiff, and his feet were sweating inside his boots. “What is a tiger doing this close to humans? We’ve visited this area every summer for years and never had a problem.”

  “There are mercenaries camped to the south right now,” Esmer said. “The tiger might have been trying to avoid them and ended up closer to your camp.”

  Emil studied the ground, not really listening to Esmer’s words. “I’ll follow the tracks. Can you circle the area a little, make sure they didn’t double back?”

  “Of course,” Esmer said. “If you find him, call for me.” She flicked back to cat form and vanished into the bushes.

  Emil started following the tiger tracks, praying to the Horned God that he would find his brother alive. I won’t lose another member of my family.

  “Stefan!” he called as he went. “Stefan, are you there?”

  THE TIGER WAS beautiful, with inky black stripes over fur the color of molten bronze. It held its broad head low, muscled shoulders rippling under its silky fur as it stalked forward. The boy made a whimpering noise. Mara bit her lip.

  There was no way she could fight an adult tiger and win, not in her human form. But if she let this boy die right in front of her, it would be one more death on her conscience. One more thing to atone for.

  Her deliberations were interrupted by the last thing she expected, a mocking female voice inside her head.

  Wait right there, my brave, foolish boy. I’m coming to you.

  Shock froze Mara in place. Her eyes snapped to the tiger, which was pacing closer. A Sune? She hadn’t seen another Sune since she’d walked through the doors of the Order.

  You interrupted my dinner, the tiger drawled, her attention still on the human. That was rude, you know.

  Mara couldn’t breathe. It had been years since she’d heard another voice in her head, years of living with her own lonely thoughts. And now, another Sune. Just within reach . . .

  But what was she doing here? She wasn’t Mara’s Tribe—the coloring was wrong—so she couldn’t have followed her. And there were no tigers in this area.

  More important, why in the name of Nishvana was she hunting humans? None of the Sune Tribes Mara knew would allow such a thing. And the tiger didn’t look wounded or angry or any of those things that could make a Sune act on instinct. If anything, she seemed . . . bored.

  Mara saw the boy’s hand tighten on the broken spear, and he drew himself up.

  The tiger-Sune chuckled silently. Yes, yes. Fight me, human child. It’s so much more fun when the prey has some spirit.

  Anger burned through Mara’s shock. Only the oldest and most powerful Sune could reach through the layered confusion of the human mind and make themselves heard. The boy clearly could not hear the tiger, yet still she taunted him.

  The tiger-Sune was enjoying this.

  As carefully as she dared, Mara got to her feet. Her arm throbbed, but she ignored it. She stepped forward, making herself as tall as possible.

  “Hey!” she yelled, waving her good arm at the tiger-Sune. “Hey, you!”

  The tiger blinked. Another one? she drawled. How delightful.

  Mara put all her will behind her answer. Think again, she sent, hoping her mind-to-mind speech wasn’t too rusty. I’m no unarmed human to be played with and tormented.

  The tiger sat back a little. Her ears went back, and she hissed. A loner? I thought I was the only one in the area. Where did you come from?

  That is none of your concern, Mara sent firmly, making sure not to break eye contact. What is your concern is that this boy is now under my protection. I’ve claimed him.

  On what grounds? The tiger sounded interested, rather than angry, but Mara didn’t relax her stance. This is my territory, young one, not yours. By rights all prey belongs to me.

  Humans aren’t prey! Mara sent back. And hunting them is forbidden. You shame yourself and our kind with your actions.

  That’s one of the benefits of being a loner. The tiger opened her mouth, revealing teeth the size of Mara’s fingers. Blood stained her muzzle. There are no Tribe Elders here to stop me.

  Beside her, the boy shifted. “Don’t move,” Mara whispered, and he stilled. At least he was smart enough for that.

  I’m here, she sent to the tiger. I’ll stop you.

  Really? The tiger crouched low, tail snapping. Let’s see if you can. The muscles under the tiger’s skin twitched, tensing for a leap.

  Mara stepped in front of the boy.

  “Stefan!” The shout carried through the air, followed by the sound of someone crashing through the brush. “Stefan!”

  The tiger recoiled. More vermin, she sent, disgust making the word slick, like spoiled meat.

  Mara pressed her advantage. Yes, more humans, she sent. Coming with their spears and their bows and their anger. How many can you fight?

  The tiger’s eyes met Mara’s again. Have it your way. But I’ll remember you, young one. Then she was gone, slipping through the woods.

  Another boy burst through the trees. He was tall and lean with the same simple clothing and dark-brown skin as the boy Mara was protecting. His eyes scanned the clearing, and when he saw the injured boy, his shoulders sagged with relief.

  “Stefan!” he called out. “Esmer, I found him!”

  “Emil.” The first boy exhaled, slipping down the tree to a sitting position.

  Mara’s shoulder chose that moment to throb, and she hissed a breath through her teeth, stepping back from the humans. Maybe she could slip away while they were distracted.

  The new boy wasn’t looking at her at all. He knelt down by Stefan, his whole body tight with anxiety. “Stefan, are you all right? What happened?”

  “I was tracking the tiger,” Stefan said, his voice short with pain. “I wasn’t going to try to kill it, I just wanted to find it, and follow it so it couldn’t get away. But it must have smelled me, because it started chasing me.” The other boy started examining Stefan’s wrist.

  “What happened here?”

  “I fell down at one point,” St
efan said, then winced. “Did something to my wrist. Sprained it, I think.”

  “More like broke it.” The other boy sat back on his heels. “Honestly, Stefan . . .”

  “No lectures, Emil,” Stefan said, shifting positions. His face was gray under his brown skin. “I’m going to get enough of that from Father.”

  Mara was about to step behind a clump of trees when there was a flash of fur and a spotted wildcat came bounding thorough the brush. Its gray-and-black fur stood up on end, and it was clearly agitated.

  Then, between one leap and the next, the cat flickered into a girl. A girl with a gray streak in her hair and gold-flecked brown eyes.

  Not another one, Mara groaned to herself. That’s not fair.

  The girl walked up to Stefan and slapped him. It wasn’t a hard slap, just enough to redden the skin, but the boy rubbed his cheek and glared at her.

  “What was that for?”

  “For being stupid,” the girl said. Her voice was soft, at odds with her no-nonsense tone. “Because your brother won’t say it and you won’t listen to your father. So that leaves me.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? How are you still alive?”

  Preoccupied with watching the other Sune, Mara forgot to look where she was stepping. A branch snapped under her foot.

  Stefan looked up. “Because of her,” he said, waving his uninjured hand at Mara. “She jumped in front of the tiger, waving and shouting. I think it might have attacked us anyway, but then we all heard Emil and it ran away.”

  Mara fought the urge to run away too, as three pairs of eyes landed on her.

  The cat-Sune tilted her head. “Confuse the tiger, make it think the prey isn’t worth the fight. Not a bad plan.”

  The other boy stood. He was even taller up close, with the slight stoop of someone used to having to duck through doorways. His black hair was thick and wavy, and his eyes were the dark brown of freshly turned earth. He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling, and Mara found herself wanting to smile back.