Pursuit of Shadows (The Keeper Chronicles Book 2)

by JA Andrews

  “When is it that you’re leaving?” Her face was back to being unreadable.

  “Once we reach the rifts, I suppose.” Or he freed Ilsa. And Rass. He felt a cold doubt in his stomach at Lukas's warning that Killien already owned him. But a sudden realization struck. “Can you leave?”

  “Of course I can.” The scowl was back on her face.

  “Does the work Killien asks you to do usually make you this mad?”

  “No. This was a first.”

  She stopped talking and Will let the conversation end. The gnaw of doubt that had crept into his stomach was still there, and he tried to push it away.

  Several minutes passed before Sora glanced over at him. “You have dead flowers on your head.”

  Will laughed, pulling off the crown. The dried stalks of the flower chain broke where he touched it, and one of the little blooms, which had curled in on itself into a brownish cage of withered petals, snapped off and rolled down his leg and into the grass.

  “I’m King of the Grass.” The whole dry chain crumbled and fell.

  Her mouth quirked up in a smile. “You should get a better crown.”

  Will brushed his fingers through his hair, dislodging bits of dead flower. “I should get a better kingdom.”

  Sora didn’t seem inclined to talk any more, so Will went back to flipping through the book, before the last of the daylight trickled away. When it was too dark to see the page, Will flipped the book closed and pointed out that if they didn’t find Hal soon, they might not find any dinner. Sora gave a “hmm” that sounded like an agreement and mounted her horse, turning it in to the clan. Will climbed up on Shadow to follow when shouts rang out from somewhere nearby. A rider tore toward them.

  It was Ilsa.

  “Sora!” she cried. “Killien needs you! The baby has come, but the Flame—she’s bleeding and it won’t stop. She is losing her strength. The Torch begs you to come!” Her face was drawn, her eyes worried.

  Sora’s horse danced away from Ilsa’s mare. “What does he think I can do?”

  “He asks…” Ilsa hesitated, her eyes flashing toward Will for just a breath before facing Sora again, her brow creased with uneasiness. “For your blessing.”

  Sora’s face hardened into stone. “He’s a fool.”

  “She’s dying, Sora.” Ilsa voice was quiet, pleading.

  Sora pressed her eyes shut.

  “The Torch begs you.”

  With a growl torn from somewhere unbearably deep, Sora spurred her horse forward. She and Ilsa raced toward the front of the clan. Shadow, jolted into action by the others, raced after them.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Shadow galloped after Sora and Ilsa to a small tent near the front of the caravan.

  What did Killien think Sora could do that a healer couldn’t?

  Ilsa swung off her horse and hurried into the tent. Sora sat still in her saddle gripping the reins.

  Killien rushed to her. “Please!” He stood at Sora’s knee like a supplicant.

  “You know I can’t help her,” Sora hissed at the Torch.

  “She’s dying.” Killien reached up to clench the bottom of her shirt. “It can’t hurt to pray.”

  He wanted her to pray? Will leaned forward trying to see Sora’s face, trying to understand what was happening.

  A low, torn moan came from inside the tent and both Killien and Sora flinched. With a curt nod, Sora shoved his hands off her and swung down from her horse.

  Fixing the Torch with a look of pure hatred, she whispered, “You and I are finished.”

  Without waiting for a response, she ducked into the tent.

  Killien sank to his knees and dropped his head into his hands. Will sat awkward in the saddle, unable to make sense of either Killien’s request or Sora’s response.

  Another low moan tore through the night and Killien shuddered. Will cast out toward the tent and felt three people’s vitalle blazing like watchfires. A low, smoldering form lay at their feet.

  Lilit had very little time left.

  Will waited to see if Sora did anything with vitalle in the tent, but nothing happened. He climbed quietly off Shadow. Skirting around Killien, Will drew in some energy from the grass and wrapped it around himself like a cloak, infusing the influence spell with the idea that he was not worth noticing.

  Will reached the tent door, and when none of the Roven at the nearby fire objected, he stepped inside. A lantern cast dim light on Sora and Ilsa kneeling next to Lilit’s still form. Sini leaned over a basin of red water, washing blood off her arms. Tears traced tracks down her cheeks, and she dashed at them with her shoulder.

  He cut off the influence spell, letting it dissolve and Sora gave him a quick, surprised glance.

  “The healers gave her mutherswort,” Sini whispered to Sora, “but she still bleeds from somewhere deep inside.” Her voice broke. “It’s too much to stop.”

  “The child?” Sora asked softly.

  “A healthy boy.”

  All the fury was gone from Sora’s face. With her jaw clenched, she shifted the blanket covering Lilit’s legs. Beneath them, everything was soaked with blood. “Find some clean blankets,” she said firmly to Ilsa, who hurried out of the tent without glancing at Will. “And fresh water,” she added to Sini with a tight smile at the girl.

  Sini nodded and left.

  “What does Lilit need?” Will whispered.

  “Strength she doesn’t have.” Sora gently lay the blankets back down.

  Sora sank back, her hand resting on Lilit’s stomach. She bowed her head and began whispering words Will couldn’t understand. He cast out toward her, waiting for…something.

  The words rolled out of her mouth rhythmic and heartfelt.

  Killien brought her here to pray?

  Will knelt down next to Lilit’s head, setting a hand on her damp forehead and casting out. Her vitalle lay weak and thin, like tired coals of a dying fire. The little energy she had surged against the tattered edges of a tear deep inside her womb. She was weak enough that the blood flowed through it slowly.

  He drew all the energy he could find from the grass beneath them. It wasn’t nearly enough. If he took from the grass past the tent, it would leave a difficult to explain, enormous dead spot, and it still might not be enough. Casting out farther, he found the blazing energy of the fire and drew in as much vitalle as he could. It poured into him, and he felt the fire growing dim. Someone outside called for more fuel for the flames. Hopefully it would come soon, because this wouldn’t be enough.

  As gently as he cold, he set his hands on the sides of Lilit’s head and slowly funneled the energy into her, offering the vitalle her body needed to heal itself. Will leaned down near her ear. In a low, calm voice, he began.

  “The night the nineteenth Torch of the Morrow Clan was born, the winds of the Sweep blew like a dragon, flattening the grass and driving evil omens before it.”

  A sound near the door caught his attention. Killien stood there, watching Will sharply, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Sora was still bowed, whispered words pouring out of her in a rhythm like a prayer. Lilit groaned quietly.

  “Lilit, Flame of the Morrow,” Will continued, pressing more vitalle into her, “had fought and bled, until her strength was almost spent.”

  Slowly the wound drew together. He drew in more from the fire, funneling everything into Lilit’s body.

  “But the Flame of the Morrow was not like the grass, she did not bend and bow before the wind.”

  Lilit took in a deeper breath and Killien sank down next to her.

  “She reached down into the Sweep,” Will continued, “down into the grasses, into where the power of her people lay.”

  Lilit opened her eyes and a spasm of pain flashed across her face. Sora placed both her hands on the Flame’s stomach and continued whispering. Will cast out toward Sora, but she still did nothing more than pray.

  “The Flame of the Morrow reached into the place where all life begins,” he whispered. “Into
the place where all life goes when it is worn out with living.”

  Lilit grimaced and shifted. The wound was almost healed, the blood barely flowing, but the fire was almost out. “She reached that place,” he said, offering some of his own energy while casting out desperately to find more, “and she found the strength to fight on.”

  Killien had drawn back, his eyes locked on Lilit’s face.

  She was pulling energy from Will too quickly. He couldn’t quite stop the bleeding. The blood kept wanting to push the tear open again. He cast out toward the grass past the tent. It would be impossible to hide a huge swath of dead grass, but he didn’t see another choice.

  Outside the tent the fire flared with new fuel and Will grabbed the vitalle from it, pouring it into Lilit.

  And finally the last of the wound closed.

  He waited a moment, but everything held. She was terribly weak, but the immediate danger was over. Lilit groaned and twisted and Will let his hands fall off the sides of her head.

  Sini returned, bringing an armful of blankets. She lifted the filthy one off Lilit and began to clear away the soaked ones. Will sank back, his palms aching.

  Sini grabbed Sora’s arm. “The bleeding—” She shoved blankets out of the way and calling for clean water.

  Killien scrambled forward, clinging to Lilit’s hand. “The bleeding stopped?”

  Sora shoved herself up and stepped back, her face white. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, staring at Lilit. She looked at Killien, her eyes wide, shaking her head quickly. “I didn’t…”

  Without finishing, she spun and shoved her way into the night.

  More healers rushed in, and Will slid back against the tent wall. Killien bent over his wife whose eyes were cracked open. Her vitalle was still more like embers than flames, but it wasn’t pouring out of her any longer. Will slipped outside.

  The wind whipped against him. The world had fallen into darkness and the fire burning near the tent, now blazing, lit only a small area. His feet dragged against the ground and his arms hung limp and heavy at his side. Shadow’s saddle horn stung against his sore palm as he heaved himself up and headed toward his own wagon.

  The stirrings of the clan woke Will the next morning while the sky was still a faded yellow-grey. He pulled the blanket up over his face and stayed in the darkness, the rough wool warm against his face. His arms were heavy, and his eyes felt like someone had poured sand into them. He stretched his hands experimentally, but his palms were only slightly sore.

  A voice called out, proclaiming the son of Torch had been born. The Roven around him let out cries of celebration, and Will shoved himself up, waiting to hear anything about Lilit. But the red-bearded man announced the caravan would move at midday, and moved on.

  As the morning wore on, the ramifications of the night before grew heavier. The clan was abuzz with the news of the Torch’s son, Sevien. He heard enough to know that Lilit lived, although she was weak. But did Killien know what Will had done? The Torch had focused only on Sora. What had he thought she’d done?

  Questions spun tumultuously in his mind and his stomach hardened into a cold knot. Someone must have noticed what he’d done. A trio of rangers trotted toward him and Will’s heart slammed into his throat. But they rode past without a word.

  He scrubbed his hands through his hair. If Killien knew he’d done magic, Will would already be busy explaining himself. Which meant Killien had a new baby, and a wife who had almost died, and Will hadn’t come by to show he’d even noticed.

  Will pushed himself up and trudged toward the Torch. When he reached Lilit’s tent, he found Killien surrounded by Roven, holding a small bundle. There was no sign of Sora or Hal or Ilsa. Will worked his way through the crowd until he reached the Torch, his heart pounding so hard in his throat he could hardly swallow.

  Killien turned and Will’s chest clamped down on his heart until the Torch’s face broke into a grin. “Come see the future Torch!”

  A scrunched face with a shock of red hair peeked out of the blankets.

  “He’s definitely Roven,” Will said, leaning closer and trying to look calm. The baby was asleep, his brow drawn in a little scowl as though he were put out by all the activity.

  “He is indeed,” Killien said. “He’s got a cry that will wake the dead.”

  “Congratulations. He looks like a fine boy.” Will tried to keep his voice calm for the next question. “How is your wife?”

  Killien’s smile faded slightly. “She’s weak. But the healers think she is out of danger. They say it is safe for her to ride in the wagons. We reach the rifts in a couple days and she’ll rest better then.”

  Will nodded and breathed out a long breath. “Good.”

  “Last night in the tent, I heard you telling her that story,” he said, and Will tried not to flinch, “I appreciate what you did.” Killien set one hand on Will’s shoulder. “Lilit doesn’t remember your words, but I do. And I think they gave her some strength.”

  Will pressed his fist to his chest. “If I helped in any way, I am glad.”

  When he looked up, Killien was still studying him. With a curt nod, he said, “The little slave girl you wanted, when you leave, you may take her with you.”

  Will stared at the Torch. “Really?”

  “But I’d still love to know what those runes say,” Killien added, turning to a healer who’d just arrived.

  Relief washed over Will. He could take Rass with him. And Killien had no idea what he’d done last night. He watched the Torch walk toward Lilit, wondering what he thought had happened in that tent.

  There was no sign of Ilsa, so he headed back to his wagon and collapsed back down.

  The day passed in an uncomfortable sort of loneliness. Will fell asleep in the wagon, which helped curb some of his exhaustion, until the caravan rolled out around midday. He caught one glimpse of Hal riding toward the herds, but no glimpses at all of Sora.

  Huge storm clouds built up along the western horizon dropping the Sweep into an early shadow that night. He wrapped his cloak around himself, but the rising wind tugged at it like greedy fingers.

  “This storm will be big,” a little voice said behind him.

  He turned to see Rass, and a blaze of affection rose in him for the girl. She looked…healthy. Still too thin, but healthier. He found a pile of flatbread and dried meat at a nearby fire and sat on the wagon, Rass’s bare feet dangling down as she chattered at him.

  “Rass,” he said when she had quieted for a moment, “You know I’m not staying with the Morrow forever.”

  She looked at him and let out a little sigh, but nodded.

  “When I leave…” He stopped, feeling suddenly nervous. He glanced down at her hands, stained brown with dirt. “Is there really no one here who takes care of you?”

  She heaved an irritated breath. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I know,” he assured her. “I just…” He rolled a piece of the flatbread between his fingers until it formed a snake. Taking a breath, he pushed the words out. “When I leave, would you like to come with me?”

  Rass looked up at him, her eyebrows shooting up higher than he’d ever seen them. She didn’t speak and something very much like terror clamped down on Will’s chest. She tilted her head to the side. “Would you like me to?”

  Will nodded, although the motion felt awkwardly wooden. His mouth felt dry and the next words rushed out. “I have a home, of sorts. It’s a big stone tower. And you could come there with me.” The idea of bringing this little, eccentric girl to the Stronghold made him grin. “The people there would love you.” He leaned close to her and whispered, “They know about magic too.”

  She gave him a small smile, but her brow was still creased. “You’d leave the grass, though. Wouldn’t you?”

  Will looked out into the darkness of the Sweep. “I’d leave this grass, but then we’d go places with other grass. My tower is surrounded by it.” He gave her a smile. “It’s hard to find places with no grass
.”

  Rass looked away, and he couldn’t see her expression for an excruciating handful of heartbeats. When she turned back, though, she smiled up at him and nodded. “I think I’d like to go with you.”

  Will let out a long breath and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “That makes me very happy.”

  She leaned against him. “You’re funny, Will.”

  Her shoulders were definitely less boney. The idea nagged at him as he let Rass fall into her normal chatter. He’d known her less than a fortnight. And while he’d shared his food with her, he was hardly feeding her a lot. But there was no doubt she was gaining weight. Her face was filling out too, although not exactly how he’d expected. She was gaining some roundness to her cheekbones, but the rest of her face was still thin. Her chin was still pointed and long. She looked less and less like someone from Queensland, and more like…someone more exotic. She reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place.

  Rass’s eyes flew open wide and she scuttled behind Will.

  Sora strode over, her face thunderous. Will leaned back from her fury.

  “You did something,” she hissed, pointing a finger in Will’s face.

  He batted her hand away, his heart pounding in his chest. “What are you talking about?”

  “You did something to the Flame.” Her voice was low, but sharp enough to cut through the Sweep itself. “Killien thinks it was me.” The word ripped out of her throat.

  Rass grabbed the back of his shirt and pressed herself up against him.

  If Will had ever thought he’d seen Sora angry, he’d been wrong. Her body shook with rage, her eyes dug into him as though she could rip his heart out with a thought.

  A different sort of fear jabbed into his gut. “What is Killien going to do to you?”

  “Do to me?” she asked, incredulous. “Probably build me a shrine.” She leaned close again and Will forced himself not to pull away. “But I didn’t do it.”

  Will stared at her at a complete loss. She was angry about getting credit for healing Lilit? He could understand a reluctance to accept it, but not this level of rage.