The Shadow Soul (A Dance of Dragons)

by Kaitlyn Davis

  Rhen slipped from Ember as she knelt down and settled the boy on the grass. Digging through his things, he pulled out a canister of water and gently opened the boy's mouth. Being careful not to pour too much, he tilted the bottle. Reflexively, the boy swallowed, opening his mouth for more. Rhen obliged with another small dose, but then stopped. He didn’t want all of that water coming back up and out the boy's mouth.

  Next, Rhen dipped his hands into the stream. Without drying off, he patted the boy's cheeks, his forehead. Going back for more water, he wet the boy's hair and arms, and then repositioned the body so the child's feet slipped into the water, hopefully absorbing it.

  Rhen leaned down. Already the heartbeat sounded stronger.

  He poured some more water into the child's throat before sitting back up.

  There was no blood, no wound, and no foreseeable reason why the boy had gone so long without food. He seemed old enough to take care of himself, maybe ten or twelve. Scrawny still, but surely able to hunt in the absence of adults.

  No, this seemed like something else. Perhaps the result of a mental incapacity.

  But Rhen thought back to the blood, the ash, the burnt pile of wood. Perhaps it was just a lack of will.

  Rhen understood that—the feeling of failure when a loved one died, of helplessness, of wanting to drift away never to be found again. But he had overcome it, with help.

  Rhen looked at the boy again. His skin was dark, born that way and not just tanned from the sun. His hair was black and chopped so haphazardly that it stood out at all different directions. He had lived with wooden huts instead of stone castles. With animal skins instead of fine silks.

  So different from the people Rhen had grown up with.

  And yet, still the same somehow. Still fragile, just like someone else Rhen remembered—someone he so often tried to forget.

  He reached for the water again.

  If this child was truly alone, then Rhen was the only one left who could save him.

  A thunderous boom sounded through the trees.

  Rhen dropped the bottle.

  It fell, rolling along the ground, sinking closer to the water. He dove, catching the canister just before it fell into the stream, but half of the contents had been emptied. He turned it, looking through the top to judge the remaining amount, when something just behind the bottle caught his attention instead.

  A footprint.

  No, he corrected himself, a bootprint. Something that could never belong to an Arpapajo.

  Invaders had been here.

  Rhen looked at the boy, torn. He really shouldn't leave, not when the child was still so weak. But his skin had brightened. He looked better. And those prints could be the key to saving a lot more than one boy. They could be the key to saving the kingdom.

  He had no choice.

  Decision made, Rhen stood.

  Scooping the boy up one more time, he gently placed him under a tree, hidden from the riverbank in case anyone approached.

  "Keep him safe," Rhen whispered into Ember's ear. She stomped a hoof, letting Rhen know she would not let him down.

  "I'll be back soon," he said, but still grabbed his sword and scabbard, belting them tightly around his waist.

  Sloshing through the water, Rhen moved to the opposite side of the bank to examine the print further.

  Most definitely a boot.

  He looked close by, scouring the ground until a second print identified itself. Rhen stepped closer, repeating until he had a solid trail to follow. Crushed branches and chopped bushes created a line through the normally untouched forest, a track that was easy for Rhen to find. He was used to stone, something that left a much more invisible path. Compared to that, this was simple.

  Before long, Rhen happened upon a camp. A few tents were set up. Weapons lazily rested against a tree. A fire was still warm though the flames had died. And behind, stacks of logs were piled up, tied together in tight bushels like those resting beside the fires in his family's castle.

  The loud noise must have been a tree falling, but why? Why so much wood? Unless they were planning to make camp for a long time—or for a much larger crowd—an army, perhaps.

  His mind spun.

  This was more proof than Rhen had ever hoped to find, more information than he was prepared for. The king had to know, immediately. Biting his lip, Rhen reassured himself that his father would believe him. With news such as this, with stakes so high, surely just this once, everyone would believe him…

  Rhen moved to turn.

  But before his feet had even shifted, something heavy slammed into the back of his skull.

  The last thing Rhen thought before he crashed to the ground, slipping into the darkness, was Damn it, Cal, why must you always be right?

  3

  JINJI

  ~ NORTHMORE FOREST ~

  Blue. There were so many shades of blue.

  The deep midnight of a heart in mourning.

  The gray shadow behind closed eyes.

  The hot white when they first open.

  The oscillating flashes of blinks, until it's just one bright hue against the clouds.

  Jinji saw them all, lying there, staring up through the trees because her body had forgotten how to move. Even if she had strength left in her muscles, there was none left anywhere else. Her spirit was spent, was broken.

  So she kept watching the clouds drift, even as her eyes began to sting and tear and dry again, she kept looking up. Because the other option was to close them, and every time she did, all she saw were shadows—darting between flames, circling in blood, hiding behind big, brown eyes.

  The shadow had taken everything, but it still hunted her. In her dreams, in her sleep, even in her waking eyes—it was always there.

  Something nudged Jinji's foot, but she didn’t stir.

  Then something wet and slightly scratchy brushed her hand.

  Hot breath tickled the hairs on her arm.

  Just let me be, Jinji thought, ignoring the sensations. She wanted to join her family in the spirit realm, to drift away unnoticed by the world.

  And she had been so close.

  What happened?

  And then Jinji really looked at the blue sky above her, noticing it as if for the first time. How was she outside? Why wasn't she still in her pallet, blanketed by the memory of her parents and of Janu?

  And that little twinge of curiosity was enough to finally push her into movement. After days of indifference, something had broken through the hurt.

  Slowly, carefully cajoling her muscles back to life, Jinji lifted her head and looked into two bulbous black eyes.

  She jerked back—her entire body shocked into movement.

  A very large animal was looking at her, leaning over her, but Jinji wasn't afraid. If it had meant to hurt her, it would have. Instead, the creature leaned its head forward, slapping a soaked tongue against Jinji's cheek.

  She rolled away, standing quickly. Blinded from the head rush, she wobbled on unsteady feet until she felt soft fur under her fingertips and held on for balance.

  "Thank you," she whispered and opened her eyes.

  Jinji ran her hands over the soft hairs and felt the animal sigh. At the sight of a large leather seat, Jinji remembered what it was called—a horse. The newworlder who came to give the children language lessons always rode one.

  "Who traveled with you?" Jinji asked, continuing to pet its neck.

  The horse stomped, dipping its head in the direction of the water. Following the line, Jinji looked along the ground. Sure enough, she saw footsteps into the stream and out the other side.

  Large footsteps.

  The footsteps of man.

  Suddenly, Jinji's hands dipped to her legs, feeling for her animal skins.

  She let out a breath—they were still there. Her eyes searched for any maltreatment, but there were no rips or tears in her clothes, no aches in her body where there shouldn’t be.

  Her parents had warned her about males in the new wor
ld, especially about ones who could not control their urges. It was the reason she had never traveled to the great cities her father spoke of—she was not allowed to until she joined, and then Maniuk would—

  No, Jinji thought as her chest clenched tight and her mouth dried. Maniuk would not be taking her anywhere. Nor would her father. Or her mother. Or…

  Water. I need water.

  Jinji ran, fell next to the river, and dipped her hands deep into its cooling currents, splashing her face.

  A moment later, Jinji realized the curtain of hair normally falling over her shoulders was not there. Goosebumps rose on her neck and she reached back, grasping the air.

  Her braid.

  She had chopped it off.

  The memory slowly returned as she rubbed her fingers over the mess that remained, chopped and ripped, her own personal battlefield.

  Hesitant, she leaned over the water. It had been so long since she had seen herself without long, flowing locks—the sight of her face free of the frame of black would be a shock, but she needed it.

  They were gone.

  Her prayer had failed and she had to face it.

  As much as she wished to fade away, to leave this place, she had been kept alive for a reason. And right now, remembering her people, that reason was vengeance. She would find the shadow, and she would destroy it.

  Taking a deep breath, Jinji forced her eyes to the water to look into her braidless, tribeless, but not purposeless reflection.

  The image of Janu stared back at her.

  With a yelp, Jinji fell onto the grass. An electric shock pulsed through her body, setting all of her hairs on end. Disbelief.

  Reservedly, she sat up and leaned over the water again.

  The image was slightly distorted by the moving current, but it was unmistakable to her eyes. The slightly flatter, higher cheekbones of her brother. His slightly wider eyes and thinner mouth.

  Almost the same as she, yet completely different in Jinji's eyes.

  The blue spirit strands flowing through the water appeared in her vision, almost as if they could read her mind. Searching through the spirits, she peered closer and closer, until the white spaces, the mother spirit of jinjiajanu was there. She grasped it, and almost instantly felt the illusion woven across her facial features.

  Using only her mind, she felt along the tightly knotted strands circling her face, and she remembered—remembered lying in that bed dressed in Janu's clothes, wishing beyond everything else that he were there instead of her.

  In their own way, the spirits had listened to her prayer. They couldn't let her trade places with the dead, but they could for a time, let her pretend.

  She felt her clothes again.

  Her savior, whoever he was, must have thought her a boy.

  Well, she was happy to keep it that way. And feeling the knots tied tight across her face, Jinji realized that this illusion was built to last—was permanent. Nothing would unravel until Jinji decided it was time to reveal her true face, to let the mask of her brother's features fall away.

  Now was not that time.

  Releasing her connection with the spirits, Jinji stood and looked over the water one more time. The sight of her brother gave her strength and made her feel less alone, even if it was just an illusion.

  Masked by Janu's face, she felt ready to find this man—her unknown protector.

  The Arpapajo were gone, but not forgotten. They lived through her, and venturing into the new world was the only way Jinji would ever be able to find the answers they all so desperately needed. So that was exactly what she planned to do.

  And maybe, after all of the mysteries had been solved and the shadow was gone, maybe then the spirits would let her drift away—maybe then they would let her truly enter their world.

  With a sigh, she turned and waved to the horse.

  "Follow," she said and the horse stepped forward. Satisfied, Jinji turned toward the tracks.

  The sun was starting to lower in the sky. They would have to move fast.

  Wasting no time, Jinji splashed through the water and ventured farther into the woods.

  The more she walked, the more footprints she saw and the more signs of life. Bushes carelessly chopped. Branches thoughtlessly broken. Something had been in her woods.

  After a long while, when the sky had already started turning pink, Jinji heard what she was searching for.

  Laughter.

  Deep, boastful, taunting laughter. The sound of men who thought they had won without even realizing the fight had yet to be fought.

  Behind her, the horse neighed and stomped its feet. Jinji reached for the leather straps hanging from its body, calming the poor animal down before securing it to a low-hanging tree branch. The time had come for them to part ways, at least for a little while.

  Using the growing darkness as a cover, Jinji moved closer to the noise. In these moments, her body felt as one with the forest. The dirt seemed to soften under her feet, muting any sound. The trees opened wide, letting her move swiftly between them. Even the animals quieted, as though they were in on the mission.

  Normally, she hunted for game. But not tonight.

  As the sun disappeared, a fire brightened into view, flickering through the woods like a beacon for her to follow.

  Jinji crept as close as she dared before stopping behind a large tree trunk and peering around the edge to survey the scene.

  There were five men—four smiling, and one distinctly more sullen.

  My rescuer, Jinji thought dryly, taking in the straps binding his ankles and the harsh angles of his arms, which must be bound behind his back. His skin was pale, reminding her of her joining dress, bleached by the sun rather than baked by it. His hair was light brown, fused with red, almost like a bird's feathers—a color Jinji had never seen on a man. Even sitting, he seemed rather large, stockier than the boys she had grown up with.

  But more than anything, Jinji found herself drawn to his eyes. They were green, like the forest, filled with a deep despair that Jinji understood. Hopelessness. The feeling of failure.

  Even though the two of them could not be more different, Jinji felt as though she looked into her own reflection. Her eyes, brown as they were, told the same story. And that sense of shared loss made her want to help.

  But how?

  Jinji shifted slightly, taking in the other four men. It was their laughter that had rung through the trees.

  They were not particularly large or threatening, more like foxes than bears, but still she was outnumbered. Jinji looked at the red tint to their cheeks, the jugs in their hands, the wide smiles plastered on their lips. Something was odd about them, like they had leaned too long over a fire and breathed in too many fumes. Their eyes were vacant, open, but unaware.

  Perhaps it would be easier than she realized.

  Jinji reached for the knife at her waist, but grasped nothing. She looked down, wincing at her idiocy. Her brother's skins. She was in her brother's skins, not her own. Her knife was a long distance away, back home laying useless on the floor.

  Using the firelight, she searched the ground, but a branch would not be nimble enough to wield against four foes. She could knock out one maybe, but four? No.

  Jinji turned back to the camp. They had to have weapons.

  She crept in a circle, moving behind the trees and just out of sight. The men looked unarmed and relaxed. But surely they kept protection with them.

  And then a bright light caught her eye.

  She looked closer.

  The hint of flickering fire gleamed from the dark.

  A newworlder weapon. Jinji had only seen them a few times; like hardened water they shimmered. Metal, she thought. The newworlders fought with metal and not rock. But, she sighed, it will have to do.

  It looked like her knife, slightly longer with a curved edge rather than a straight one, and a cuff circled the handle.

  But it was a few feet out of reach. She would have to make herself known before grabbing it, wo
uld have to expose herself. If one of them held a weapon she couldn't see, Jinji would be dead. And she would never avenge her people.

  Oh what she wouldn't give for a spear—something she could throw from the shadows. Slamming a fist against her leg in frustration, she searched for another option. But there was none.

  A drumming sound caught her ear, pounding closer and closer.

  From her peripheral, Jinji saw her rescuer look up with a gleam of hope, the smallest hint of a smile.

  A squeal sounded through the darkness.

  All four captors looked up from the fire, brows furrowed.

  The horse, Jinji realized. Her knot hadn’t been tight enough—thank the spirits.

  The thunder got louder, quicker.

  The men stood and turned toward the darkness on swaying feet, searching for the cause of the noise.

  Before she had time to second guess, Jinji jumped from the trees and ran the short distance to the gleaming knife, gripping its cool hilt.

  She felt eyes on her.

  Jinji looked up, right into the crystal green irises of her former rescuer. They were wide, shocked, and then satisfied.

  A deep yell interrupted her focus, and Jinji stood swiftly, swinging the knife into the throat of the man reaching for the weapons at her feet. Blooded spurted out, raining on her like a wave as he crashed to the ground.

  Before it was too late, Jinji gripped another knife from the pile, this one smaller and more like the ones she was used to.

  Another man turned from the darkness, looking straight at her, and she acted out of reflex.

  The blade landed with a thud against his forehead, sinking until only the hilt remained. All life left his face before he fell, knees first, to the ground.

  The last two men spun, taking Jinji in with surprise. She was small, she knew, but that didn’t mean she wasn't threatening. And two of their companions were already down.

  They stepped apart, circling her, coming closer at two different angles, and her heart sank.

  These men were trained—intelligence reflected in their eyes, their movements. She had never been in a real fight before, not one against people. Animals were different; they tried to run. But these men had turned in challenge.