Shadows of Uprising (Guardian of the Vale Book 2)

by Tamara Shoemaker

  “Does that mean that whoever tried to Cast me in the arena wouldn't be very skilled with Shadow-Casting?”

  “Not necessarily,” Marysa murmured. “I just think it means they weren't trying to hide it; you were in a public enough place that it doesn't seem like they'd be worried about whether people felt it or not.”

  Alayne pursed her lips and then headed to the door. “I'm going to have a look around.”

  Kyle grabbed her arm. “You're not going out there right now.”

  “I want to see what's going on.”

  “Daymon's doing that. You stay here.”

  Alayne submitted to his instructions with poor grace. The adrenaline of the moment had faded, and now she wanted to go figure out who had caused all the ruckus.

  She sank down onto the bench and eyed Kyle. He looked deflated. Guilt stirred in Alayne. That's your fault, dear girl. She cleared her throat. “Tell me about your parents, Kyle.”

  A long, silent moment followed Alayne's request. Kyle sank slowly down next to her and interlaced his fingers. He stared at them. “What do you want to know?”

  Marysa plopped onto the bench opposite them and leaned her elbows on her knees. “Tell us why your mother Shadow-Casts. Do you think she's the one who did this to Alayne? She's a High Court Justice, so does she think she can just get away with everything? What about your father—where is he in all this? Why haven't we heard of or seen him? If his wife is working at Clayborne, I would think he'd want to at least visit at some point during the course of the first semester, but I could be wrong. Maybe they don't have a good relationship. What do you say, Kyle? What're they like?”

  Alayne frowned. “Marysa, lay off. His mom's not his fault.”

  Marysa picked in irritation at her fingernails.

  Kyle sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Marysa, I had nothing to do with any of this. I didn't know my mom was involved in Shadow-Casting.” He stopped. “Well, I take that back. I suspected, but didn't have any proof. She and my dad are pretty involved in their work in the High Court and rarely ever have time for me. I raised myself mostly. Sure, I had everything money could buy, but attention from my parents? Too expensive.” His voice was bitter, rough. An undercurrent of something else hid in his tone, but Alayne couldn't identify the emotion.

  Alayne's thoughts flew to her own parents, whom she knew loved her more than anything. She touched Kyle's arm in sympathy. He flashed her a look, and Alayne pulled her hand back, startled. Guilt was written across his expression, but he quickly hid it. He scuffed his shoe on the floor.

  “Two years before I came to Clayborne, my parents started hosting some get-togethers in our house in the Capital. Lots of big-wigs, nobody I knew by sight, but I heard big names sometimes. Several other Justices. They'd have a meeting. I was always kept carefully out of the way—they had security on the doors and everything. They met in a renovated carriage house out back. My dad's a Water-Wielder. He'd get all the guests into the building, then wrap the entire building in a wall of water. I tried to listen in once when I got past their security guards, but it was hard to hear anything.” He paused.

  “So, did you ever find out what they were meeting about?” Marysa asked.

  Kyle shook his head. “Not by eavesdropping. But I sneaked into my father's study one night to get a book. I wasn't supposed to; he never let me in his study, but they were away so often, I'd found some ways in and used them a lot. Anyway, this time, my dad was there, and I didn't realize it until I was actually in the room. He was on a video-conference, and I heard it before I saw it. He was addressing someone who was the Head Commander of the Elemental Alliance, and he was mid-sentence when he noticed me. He turned off the image right away, and I didn't see who it was he was talking to.”

  Alayne shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “Your dad is kinda buddy-buddy with Leader Blankenship, isn't he?'

  Kyle nodded. “Yeah.”

  “What if—” She hesitated. “What if the reason why we've suddenly got this High Court decision to round up Natural Humans... what if that's the Elemental Alliance's goal? And what if your dad played a part in that? Or your mom?”

  Kyle leaned forward, rubbing his face in his open palms. “I know. I've thought the same thing so many times since the announcement, Layne. What if this whole thing is my parents' fault?” He grew still, his face in his hands. Marysa sighed. “Maybe it's not that way, Kyle. We just don't know. Either way, we know you're not connected with your parents' actions, so even if they did do something so horrendous, it's still not your fault.”

  Kyle didn't remove his hands. He said nothing at all.

  Alayne threw Marysa a grateful look.

  Daymon appeared in the doorway. “All clear. Alayne, I'm walking you back to the dormitories. I've checked your room again, but that doesn't mean anything. I'm also going to ask my uncle to give you some extra lessons.”

  “Why?” Alayne asked, standing. “What lessons?”

  “You'll see,” Daymon answered. “And there's no negotiation. I'll feel less fearful for my life if you know how to guard your own better.” He flashed a quick grin and then stood aside. “Let's go.”

  Alayne hurried to the bench and grabbed her bag. “What are the teachers saying?”

  “Nobody's saying anything.” Daymon took the bag from Alayne and hefted it onto his own shoulder. “Come on.”

  He led the way out into the hallway, glancing all around. Kyle walked on Alayne's other side and Marysa beside him. Alayne felt a little ridiculous as they traipsed in formation down the hall. It took her a moment to realize they weren't heading back to the arena. “Where are we going?”

  “There's a service hallway that runs underneath the gymnasium,” Daymon answered. “It's rarely used. I thought it might be safer than heading back through the crowd of people when we don't know who the Shadow-Caster is.”

  “I can't avoid crowds for the rest of my life, Daymon.” Alayne glanced up at him in exasperation. “Are you planning to hide me until every last Shadow-Caster is caught? There are always going to be more.”

  Daymon barked a laugh. “Just this time, Alayne.”

  They reached the end of the hallway, and Daymon pulled out a key for a narrow door on the left. He slid it in and unlocked it. Curved stairs led downward around some metal piping and onto a gray metallic floor below. Service lanterns hung from the walls.

  “Creepy,” Marysa whispered. “I like it.”

  “You would.” Alayne followed Daymon down the steps, Kyle just behind her. Marysa bounced along beside her. They hit the metal floor, and their footsteps clanged a hollow ring every step they took.

  They passed doors on the left, each one leading into a small storage room. Alayne peered into the window of one. “These look like prison cells.” Nervous energy flowed through her. Her fingers fidgeted with anything they could touch: yanking her jersey, twisting her ring around her finger, playing with her braid.

  “Maybe they were prison cells.” Marysa's eyes widened with excitement. “Maybe Clayborne was once a prison, and this is the solitary confinement wing. I wonder if we could find any wall art-work that the prisoners drew to while away time.”

  Alayne rolled her eyes and kept moving. It wasn't until she peeped into the sixth door from the stairwell that the ring dragged her into another vision.

  Chapter 8

  Jayme sat on a chair in the gray, chilly room, slumped over. His eyes were closed, the waves of dark hair that curled too long on his neck were moist in the air. His tan cheeks were sunken, and shadows formed beneath his high cheekbones. His thin frame wilted, even thinner, on the seat. Alayne thought for a moment that he was asleep. Then she noticed tears streaking his cheeks, and his chest shuddered as he took a deep breath.

  “Jayme!” Alayne pounded on the glass window, but he didn't look up. She glanced wildly around the space. In the center of the room, a puddle of water had collected. In its still reflection, Alayne could see two service lanterns on each side lighting Jayme's forl
orn figure.

  Jayme shook his head, opening his eyes, and stared at the corner of the room, torment spilling from his look. He spoke, but Alayne couldn't hear the words. He's talking to someone. She craned her neck to see who it was, but the angle of the door hid the person from view. Glancing into the puddle again, she could see Jayme's reflection, the two lanterns, and... and...

  “Alayne?”

  The world shifted, and the cold flowed from Alayne's brain, down her arm, back across her hand, and into her ring.

  She lay spread-eagle on the metal flooring, and all three of her friends leaned over her. Worry clouded their eyes. “Did you have another vision?” Marysa asked.

  Alayne nodded. She sat up and rubbed her temples, squeezing her eyes shut.

  Marysa squatted in front of her. “Does it give you a headache?”

  Alayne shook her head. “No. I just—I don't understand. The visions are so vivid and real and—but it has to be a dream.” She turned her gaze toward the metal door where she'd stood only moments before. She glanced up at their concerned eyes. “You guys think I'm crazy, don't you?”

  All three of them shook their heads. Daymon crouched next to Marysa. “If your ring has some powers, Alayne, that's a good thing. We can maybe try to use that to your advantage. We just need to figure out how it works, that's all. What triggers the visions?”

  Alayne shrugged. “I don't know.” She pushed her braid behind her shoulder. “Although both times, I've seen a room, and the vision has taken place in that room. The first one came when I went in the commissary. This one happened in that room right there.” She pointed to the door.

  Daymon looked thoughtful. He rose and crossed to the door, peering in the glass window. “What did you see?”

  “J—Jayme.”

  Kyle and Marysa glanced at each other.

  “What was happening this time?” Daymon asked.

  “He—he was in a chair in the far corner of the room, slumped over and crying. The lanterns were lit, and there was a puddle in the middle of the floor. He was talking to someone.” She shivered.

  “Someone was in the room with him?”

  Alayne nodded woodenly.

  “Who was it?” Kyle asked.

  Alayne licked her lips. “M—me.”

  There was utter silence except for the distant dripping of water. Finally, Daymon sighed and stepped away from the door. “We need to go, Layne. People will start wondering where you are.”

  Kyle and Marysa both grasped one of Alayne's hands and pulled her to her feet. She followed Daymon numbly down the dim corridor, her feet echoing on the metal floor as loudly as wishes in the empty chambers of her heart.

  * * *

  A strained silence fell between Marysa and Alayne as Marysa closed the bedroom door and went to sit on her bed. Alayne knew her friend wanted to hear more, for Alayne to spill everything she felt, but she couldn't. She felt as though her chest had been ripped open, and she bled freely, and there was no staunching the blood unless she clung tightly to the wound, holding the edges closed, sealing her thoughts.

  Alayne made a half-hearted attempt to straighten the covers on her bed. “Supper'll be in the commissary. You hungry?” she asked.

  “Layne.”

  Alayne could hear the disapproval in Marysa's voice.

  “You think Daymon'll let me out of my room long enough to eat some food?” She fluffed her pillow and pulled her comforter over it.

  “Turn around, Layne.”

  Alayne did so. She sat on the edge of her bed and sighed. “What, Marysa? What do you want?”

  Marysa pressed her lips together as tears spilled out of her blue eyes. “I want you to talk to me.” Her voice shook. “You're in pain, Alayne, and you're not talking to anyone. It's going to build up and fester, and you're carrying it all off like you're a rock. But you're not, and eventually, it's going to catch up with you. You'll go crazy or—or die or something, and I couldn't stand that!” Each tear stabbed Alayne's heart.

  She crossed to Marysa, wrapping her in a tight hug. “I'm sorry, Mary.” She pulled away, swiping the back of her hand across her own wet cheeks. “See, now you've got me crying, too.” She sighed and leaned back against the wall, tucking her knees under her chin and wrapping her arms around them.

  Haltingly, she spoke through the pain-filled regions of her chest. She blanketed the empty space between them with Jayme's name, his qualities, his passion for life, and his death. She spread over that the guilt she felt for not loving him more when he was alive, for only truly appreciating him after his death. She wished she had been faster, had stopped Malachi in time. Then she poured out her fears—fear that Jayme would be forgotten if she didn't think about him every moment, that she would forget what he looked like, his teasing grin, his dancing brown eyes. She topped it all off with Kyle—her fear of hurting him or of allowing herself to give him a chance. She wondered aloud if he might not feel cheated in the long run, because perhaps her feelings would never match his. She shook out the idea of the visions; why were her dreams so very real in them? Why did they play out in real settings? Did she want to see Jayme so badly that her mind made up these hallucinations? How was she ever supposed to heal when the dreams were so vivid?

  Marysa listened to everything with wide eyes that sometimes swam with tears but always exuded pity and sympathy. And when Alayne had finally dropped the last word onto the platter of pain she'd just handed Marysa, both girls sat in silence. Alayne felt empty, but it was no longer the howling wilderness to which she had exiled herself since Jayme had disappeared over the waterfall. Now her heart rested quietly, and in the emptiness, tiny fragments of her fractured emotions slowly began to heal.

  * * *

  Professor Pence had not openly declared war on Alayne, but it was clear that she took delight in making Alayne's life as a student as difficult as possible. Every day, when Alayne walked down the steps to take her place next to Marysa, Kyle, and Daymon near the front of the class, the professor's icy eyes watched her progress until she slid into her seat.

  Alayne had been nervous about the idea of continuing to stand up to the professor over the issue of Shadow-Casting. Despite Sprynge's announcement that the students would be taught Shadow-Casting, she knew she had delivered a big threat by telling the professor that her classroom would be empty if the teacher continued to mess with elements within another person's body. Alayne knew that she held on to a strange popularity since her fight with Malachi last year, and if she really wanted to, she could clear the classroom without much effort.

  But her sense of right and wrong only sharpened as the Elemental Alliance made themselves prominent in Continental Media newscasts night after night. Stories of Continental Guard-enforced mandatory evacuations, Naturals' transfers to NRCs, even some riots in various City Centres painted the MIU images in the common room and the commissary. As Alayne's distrust of the EA grew, she was determined to keep her eye on the professor. Besides that, she was furious that Professor Pence had so cold-heartedly ordered her to make Kyle break his own finger.

  Since the showdown, Professor Pence had taught only Throw-Casting. No mention was made of disturbing elements within others, but neither was any apology or remorse offered. Professor Pence stuck strictly with the lessons in the book, and Alayne had a feeling the teacher was simply biding her time.

  Meanwhile, the professor threw whatever jabs she could in Alayne's direction. During one lesson late in the fall, the professor looked sternly over the top of her spectacles at Alayne. “Miss Worth, Mrs. Connington has some source material that I need later in the class. You may go to the library to retrieve it for me.” She turned her attention back to the rest of the class and continued the lesson.

  Alayne laid her pen on her desk and stood, edged behind Kyle, and hurried up the stairs. The library was sixteen floors above the Throw-Casting classroom, and by the time Alayne reached the chute, shot upward, found the librarian, made her request, and returned with the material, fifteen minutes h
ad passed.

  She trotted down the steps and placed the books on the teacher's desk before returning to her table. The rest of the students sat dejectedly in their seats, and Professor Pence pulled an image into the air from her MIU. It was a spread sheet, and she entered grades quickly with a swipe of her wrist.

  “What'd I miss?” Alayne whispered to Marysa as she slid back into her seat.

  “Test,” Marysa whispered back. “Counts for half of our grade this quarter.” She looked glum. “I didn't do as well as I should have. She pulled it out of nowhere.”

  Alayne grimaced. “Ugh. I hate surprise tests.” She raised her hand.

  Professor Pence saw her hand through the image. If Alayne didn't know any better, she could have sworn the professor was smirking at her. “Yes, Miss Worth?” she asked coldly.

  “I didn't get the test. Is there a copy I can take?” She glanced over at the professor's desk, but other than the source material she had laid on the wooden structure, it was empty.

  Professor Pence slowly lowered her arm after she posted the last student's grade. She swiped the image from the air. Instead of directly answering Alayne, she spoke to the class as a whole, “Let it be known, class, that if you choose to be absent from class, if you should decide my class is not important enough to attend, if you should for any reason put your own schedule above mine for this hour of your life, you will have no favors granted to you. Make-up tests are certainly out of the question. I'm sorry, Miss Worth,” she said with a smile that wasn't sorry at all, “you receive a zero today.” Then slowly, she pulled the image back into the air and drew a large zero next to Alayne's name on the spreadsheet.

  The injustice of the situation roiled Alayne's blood. She wanted to throw her notebook directly through the image of the spread sheet and hit the woman in the face. She wanted to tear out the professor's perfectly smoothed hair. She wanted to roast her alive. As this thought flitted through her mind, melting heat shot through her fingers and her hands.