Pursuit of Shadows (The Keeper Chronicles Book 2)

by JA Andrews

  What was unsettling about the Undying title was how true it felt. Everyone in Queensland had thought Mallon had been killed by the elves eight years ago. Until Ayda the elf showed his body to Will, not dead, just trapped.

  Will lifted his gaze up to the Scales, as though he could see through the mountains to Alaric and see if the other Keepers had found a way to deal with Mallon.

  Will set the book on the back of the wagon and flipped to the first page. Diagrams of stones and energy and animal filled the pages, detailing how to suck the energy out of a living creature and store it in burning stones.

  This is what Killien had Lukas reading?

  It discussed the sacrifice of the animal coldly, mathematically, as though it was of no importance. The focus was on how the energy, forced into lifeless gems, created the burning stones. Distaste and fascination warred with each other as he skimmed the pages. It was unnatural to put living energy into something not made to hold life. The entire process was ugly. And terribly inefficient. More time was spent on how to keep the energy from fading out of the burning stone than on how to put it there in the first place. Energy did not like to be contained.

  A quarter of the way through the book he found pages heavily notated with small, wiry script.

  Compulsion Stones

  The transference of thought is relatively simple. A gem can be filled to hold an idea with relatively little sacrifice, a cat or other small animal, will provide more than enough.

  But the idea in the compulsion stone is only a suggestion. The closer it matches the target’s natural inclinations, the more effective the process. While it is occasionally successful with animals, results are not positive in humans. The foreign nature of the idea is recognized too quickly.

  Will scanned the rest of the page. This was essentially a cumbersome way to do an influence spell, with similar limitations. An idea that was too foreign wouldn’t work. Convincing someone to not notice a single person among a crowd was easy. Convincing them to not notice a single person walking into their room at night was almost impossible.

  The rest described how to infuse a burning stone (aquamarine worked best) with a single thought. The process was messy and complicated, with a dozen reasons it could fail. It ended with a comment that Mallon was one of the few who could create compulsion stones reliably, but his methods were unknown.

  The scribbled notes on the page were far more interesting.

  Not thoughts—Emotions.

  Mallon used natural resonance of emotions. Humans inherently susceptible to foreign emotions.

  Will ran his finger over the note.

  The natural resonance of emotions.

  The phrase caught his attention like a glint of light out of the grimness of the book and something profound shifted in his mind. He spun his ring, turning the idea over in his mind.

  He’d always thought of reading people as an extension of his other abilities. Emotions weren’t exactly like vitalle, but he’d always thought of them as a form of energy other Keepers couldn’t draw into themselves. But he didn’t draw emotions in, he opened himself up and let his own body resound with them.

  Resonance fit it perfectly. Because everyone was affected by other’s emotions to some extent. A happy friend could lift one’s spirits, anger could spread from person to person like a flame. Emotions were contagious.

  He spun his ring slowly. Maybe Will’s particular gift was that he could isolate others’ emotions from his own so he could feel them clearly. The idea sat inside him like a lamp, shining onto other ideas, linking things together that he’d never connected.

  Along the very bottom of the page, was scrawled:

  Emotions resonate—they do not move. Once the stone is created, transference of emotions, unlike thoughts, requires NO ENERGY.

  The lines under the final words were dark and thin and victoriously emphatic.

  Will nodded slowly in agreement. It took no effort for him to feel the emotions of others.

  He traced the wiry script. Was it Lukas's?

  Whoever’s it was, this much enthusiasm for controlling people was unsettling. The fact that it reminded Will of the influence spells he’d been using throughout the Sweep made it even worse.

  A distant rumble rolled across the grasses. The clouds were closer, climbing high against the blue sky. Their tops so bright white they were almost blinding, and the dark line beneath them as dark as a sliver of night.

  “Stow those books, fett,” the ranger barked at Will.

  Will shot him a scowl and tucked Lukas's book back into its grey sack. He was about to close the bag when he remembered the book Lukas had bought from Borto—the blue one with the silver medallion.

  He peered inside, but none of the books were blue.

  Grabbing Clans of the Eastern Sweep from the bag he was supposed to use, he tucked the oilcloth snugly around everything. Back on Shadow, he took his place along the eastern side of the clan, his mind still toying with the ideas of resonance, and that Lukas was reading books about magic.

  Killien didn’t have any stonesteeps. He’d paid an outsider to create the heatstones, another to bless the herds. What was Killien planning to do with knowledge he couldn’t use? When he didn’t come up with an answer, he turned his attention to his own book.

  Clans of the Eastern Sweep was short and boring. There were only two tribes besides the Morrow this close to the Scales, the Temur and the Panos. The end of the book was dedicated to the Morrow’s history. It was uninspiring.

  Always the smallest clan, they were conscripted by whatever nearby clan needed them when infighting broke out in the Sweep. The book ended with Tevien, 17th Torch of the Morrow Clan. It was noted that he had one son named Killien.

  A new hand began beneath it.

  Tevien, Torch of the Morrow, led his people for 23 years. His goal was to unite the Roven clans. He brought Torches together who had never met in peace.

  On Midsummer’s Day, in his twenty-third year as Torch, Tevien was summoned to mediate a skirmish between the Temur and the Panos. He was struck by a stray arrow and returned to the grass, giving his life and his strength back to the Sweep.

  Killien, 18th Torch of the Morrow, took his father’s place at age 18, uncontested.

  Will looked toward the front of the caravan where Killien rode.

  Eighteen was so young.

  At eighteen, Will had been seven years into his training at the Keeper Stronghold and just starting to travel Queensland in what would end up being fruitless searching for new Keeper children, traveling through a safe land, and telling stories to small towns. Not exactly the same as becoming the Torch of a small, vulnerable Roven clan.

  A rain drop slapped against his neck and Will snapped the book shut and tucked it into his saddlebag just as the real rain hit. Around him, the caravan moved on unperturbed. Hoods were up and heads were down, but every horse, wagon, and person plodded forward, as if nothing was happening.

  The storm was fierce and blustery and short-lived. Killien didn’t send for him when the wagons stopped, and he jotted stories for the Torch until it was late enough to try and sleep. The boards of the wagon were hard against his back, the chill of the night seeped through his blankets, and the black Serpent Queen snaked through the stars like a stain.

  The pale light of morning came too soon. Will rolled himself out of the wagon, toying with the idea of walking until his body loosened up, but weariness won out and he mounted Shadow, riding along the eastern side of the caravan.

  They’d barely started when Sora appeared. A fresh wave of exhaustion rolled over him at the thought of talking to her.

  “Good morning,” he said, without enthusiasm.

  She raised an eyebrow. “No unwarranted cheerfulness this morning?”

  He didn’t bother to answer, and they rode in silence until Talen’s tiny form dove down and landed on Will’s bedroll.

  “Good morning,” Will said, ignoring the mouse he dropped.

  “I was wondering if I�
��d get to meet your hawk.” Sora looked at the bird with keen interest and ran a finger down its feathers. The hawk fixed her with its expressionless gaze.

  “Sora,” Will introduced her, trying to sound polite, “meet Talen.”

  Sora took in the bird’s drab, tiny feet. “Talon? Did you name your horse Hoof?”

  “My horse is Shadow,” Will said, patting the pinto’s mottled neck with affection, “because I’ve always wanted a black horse named Shadow. The Roven wouldn’t sell me one, so I bought this one. And named him Shadow.”

  Sora fixed him with an unreadable expression. “It’s fitting that you would take something as beautiful as a brown and white pinto and, just by changing the words you say about it, think you can change it into what you really want.”

  Will stared at her. “Do you ever have any fun? Shadow’s name makes me happy. And Talen’s name isn’t ‘Talon’ like the claw, its ‘Talen’ like the coin because he was payment for a job. Although whether he was a good payment or not, I haven’t decided.”

  “He’s a grass hawk. And he’s beautiful.”

  “A grass hawk? Is anything in this land not named after grass?”

  Sora shrugged. “The grass is everything here.”

  “He’s not full grown, is he? Because he’s too small to hunt anything but mice.”

  “Just a yearling.” She reached out again and ran her finger along Talen’s brown and white chest. “But he won’t grow much bigger. A female would be half again as big and a better hunter.” The edges of her lips lifted slightly. “And faster and smarter and all around more capable.”

  Talen fluttered his wings and hopped onto Sora’s fist—and she smiled a wide, genuine smile at the bird.

  It was utterly transformative, like the time Will had seen a brown lizard skitter onto a leaf, and its rough skin had shifted to a vibrant, shimmery green. He was torn between shock and a sudden possessiveness toward Talen.

  “Stop seducing my hawk.” Will pulled out a bit of meat. Talen hopped back onto Will’s saddle horn and snatched it up. “He’s small and not particularly useful, but he and I are a good fit.”

  She sat back, the smile lingering. “Grass hawks are difficult to catch.”

  He almost opened up toward her. It’d be unusual to feel any pleasant emotions from her. But it felt refreshing to take the smile as enough. He did soften his voice a little. “Don’t try to convince me he’s valuable. I’m very comfortable with the long-suffering caretaker roll I’ve developed with him.”

  “He’s not valuable, just intriguing.”

  Talen peered at Will’s saddlebag.

  Will spread his hands out. “You’re going to have to be hawk-like and hunt for yourself if you’re still hungry.”

  Talen let out a whistling call and sped off into the sky.

  Will watched him go until he was only a small black speck. He flung the dead mouse past Sora into the grass.

  A small crinkle of disgust wrinkled Sora’s nose, but it was accompanied by another smile. She kept her eyes trained on the disappearing hawk. “Killien wants you.”

  Will looked at her sharply. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

  She shrugged. “He’s up near the front.” She seemed to have no intention of coming with him. So, spurring Shadow forward, he left her looking thoughtfully after Talen.

  As he rode up to Lilit’s wagon, the silk scarves hanging across the back fluttered and he caught a glimpse of the Torch’s wife lying on a thick bed of blankets. Her eyes were closed, her face set in an expression of exhaustion and irritation. She pressed painfully swollen hands against her belly. The wagon lurched. Her eyes flew open and she hissed something at the driver.

  A grey sleeve came into view and laid a wet cloth across the front of her neck.

  Lilit’s eyes closed again. “I’d sell everything I own for more wet cloths.”

  “I’ll be right back with more water, Flame.”

  “Thank you,” Lilit said.

  Will urged Shadow alongside the back corner of the wagon and came face to face with Ilsa. She cast an alarmed glance toward Lilit, who still lay with her eyes closed, and waved him away.

  He motioned for her to be quiet, and offered his water skin. She paused, then gave him a begrudging smile which still looked vaguely disapproving. He poured water onto the cloths in her hand until they were soaked.

  Thank you, she mouthed, before turning back into the wagon

  “I found some,” she said to Lilit, spreading another cloth across the Flame’s forehead. The Flame let out a long sigh of relief.

  Will rode up toward Killien, feeling almost euphoric but trying to school his expression into something less intense.

  Lukas rode next to the Torch, bent over a book Killien held. The Torch watched Will, disapproving. With a quick word to Lukas, he shut the book and handed it to the slave. Lukas gave him a nod and glanced back at Will. Whatever he muttered as he rode away made Killien laugh.

  When Will reached the Torch, the man glanced back at Lilit’s wagon. “Lilit does not like foreigners, and she will not be pleased if she finds you loitering around her wagon. You don’t want to cross that woman, Will. Stay away from her.”

  Will’s buoyant mood deflated. At least Lilit’s hostility of foreigners didn’t extend to her slaves. “Is she alright? She seems…uncomfortable.”

  “The healers assure me everything is as expected.” The wagon hit a bump and Lilit snapped at the driver. Killien grimaced. “She wanted to stay in Porreen until the child was born.”

  Will couldn’t blame her for that. “Does no one stay behind?”

  “Not this year. With the reports of the frost goblins. I couldn’t let her come north with only a small guard. She was…not pleased with that decision.” Lilit’s voice rang out behind them again, scathing. Killien winced. “She’s usually not so…”

  Lukas had fallen in close behind them, the book spread across his saddle again. A bit behind him Sini talked to Rett, enthusiastically waving her hands while Rett still looked anxiously at the green stone he held.

  “Have you been enjoying my books?” Killien changed the subject.

  Will nodded. “I read the account of your father yesterday. He sounded like an fascinating man.”

  “My father led the Morrow with honesty and strength. He said that fear could punish and rule, but never lead.”

  Will felt a reluctant approval of the sentiment.

  Killien didn’t continue right away, but his hands tightened on the reins “What you read is the official version of his death. The Torch of the Panos had refused my father’s help several times. But other nearby clans had begun to mend their differences. My father had a way of making people…see each other. Clans who had been enemies for generations were trying a tentative peace.

  “Suddenly the Panos wanted help, said they wanted peace. But I think the truth is that my father was uniting their enemies.” Killien stared ahead, unseeing, at the serpent’s wake that wound ahead of them on the Sweep. “Two reliable witnesses say there was no fighting the night my father died. There would have been no stray arrows. And when he died, all the old feuds were revived.”

  Killien rode with an unnatural stillness.

  Cautiously, Will opened himself up to Killien. A hollow, worn out grief laced with a savage need for vengeance filled his chest. The anguish and anger at his own father’s death rose up.

  Yes, emotions had resonance.

  A tightening in Will’s chest shoved the words out without him meaning to. “My father was killed when I was eleven.”

  Killien turned toward him and Will felt a glimmer of sympathy from the man. He shoved the emotions out of his chest.

  “He was murdered.” By one of your wayfarers. “A man broke into our house…” Will rubbed his scarred palms together. “I could do nothing.”

  Killien’s eyes focused on some unseen point. “You seem like a man of peace, Will. But if you could find the man responsible, what would you do?”

  The pre
ssure in Will’s chest climbed up into his throat, threatening to spill out. Killien shifted to watch him closely. “I ask myself that often lately…and I never have an answer.”

  Killien’s face was stony. “I do.”

  They rode for a long stretch in silence while Will battled the anger that filled his chest. Had Killien sent Vahe twenty years ago?

  He glanced at Killien. “How long have you been Torch?”

  “Seventeen years.”

  Not Killien then. His father.

  Not that it mattered. Killien would have, if he’d been Torch then. Lukas's grey presence behind him felt like a dagger cutting into the afternoon. Spread out behind them slaves peppered the caravan. So many lives stolen and broken.

  “I would like to continue my father’s work to unite the clans. But I’ve become convinced the only thing that will work is a common enemy. I need an attacking army to destroy.” He turned to Will, his eyes brighter than they should be.

  Will shook his head slowly. “I don’t know of any disposable ones.”

  The Torch turned back toward the grasses with a fierce smile. “A disposable army. That’s exactly what I need. With that I could unify the Sweep. I could solve the world’s problems.”

  “Or you could raze it to the ground.”

  Killien let out a boyish laugh. “No Will, for that, I’d need a dragon.”

  “I hope you’re not offended,” Will said, forcing a lightness into his words that he didn’t feel, “that I don’t share your enthusiasm for the disposable army or the dragon.”

  Killien grinned at him. “I never expected you to, storyman.” The smile slid off his face. “But the Roven need a way to see that they have more in common than they think. And there’s nothing more effective than fear to make people see the truth.”

  Will hesitated before asking, “What happened to your father’s words that fear could punish and rule, but never lead?”