Instead, there was no pain. No blood, no gaping wound. Just a flush of warmth flowing where the sword entered her body.
The shadow continued to churn and shrink around the blade, as if it were being sucked into the light. It hissed and screamed. Arms emerged from the smoke and rose, reaching for her until its fingers were an inch from her face. Then the smoke rolled back and the fingers disappeared into the blade. The last thing she saw were its red eyes. Then the shadow disappeared and the sword pulled away.
Caleb dropped to one knee, panting, the sword in his hand following him down to the ground. Sweat glistened across his face.
Her fingers stole to her chest and she felt the spot where the sword had been. Nothing. Not even a hole in her shirt.
She stared at Caleb. She knew he was an Eldaran, had seen the mark on his hand. But to see him as a true Guardian, to feel his power . . .
After a moment he looked up. “Are you . . . all right?”
Nierne nodded, unable to take her eyes from him and his glowing sword.
He gave her a tired smile. “Good. I think . . . that was . . . the only one.”
There were no words for what had just happened.
Caleb bent forward. “That is not easy.” He wiped his forehead. “Banishing one of those things.”
“Your hand . . .”
He tilted his head back. “What?”
“That sword . . . you drew it from . . .”
He lifted the sword up. “Yes, it comes from my mark. Does it scare you?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, still fingering the spot above her heart.
He held the sword out. The light reflected off his face, making his skin glow. Then he held the sword toward his right side. With his palm facing left, he moved his hand across his body. The sword sank back into his mark as he pushed toward the blade’s point. A moment later the tip disappeared into his palm and his mark dimmed.
He looked up at her again. “How is that? Better?”
“I can’t believe . . .” She clutched her front. “I mean, you told me you had a sword . . . and Velyni . . . but now . . .”
She slid down the side of the house and held her face in her hands. Too much to process. She’d known Caleb had power. But to actually see him just now pull a sword—a blazing sword— from his mark . . . and the shadow. She shuddered. It had gone right for her. If Caleb hadn’t been there, with that sword . . . And why didn’t the sword pierce her? It went right through her, like a beam of light.
A hand touched her shoulder.
She sucked in her breath.
Caleb stood over her, his face tight. “Nierne?”
He wasn’t human.
It hit her like a gust of wind, slapping her across the face. Not like her. Not like Lore. Did that change things between them?
He sank down on his knees. “You know I would never hurt you.”
She worked her mouth. “I know. Your sword, it went through me.”
His eyes widened. “It did?”
“Yes.” She placed two fingers above her heart. “It went through the shadow and caught me, right here. But nothing happened. I didn’t even feel it.”
Caleb sat back. “I—I had no idea. If I had . . .” He stared at the spot. “But I don’t see a wound. Or blood.”
Nierne rubbed the area. “No. I don’t think your sword affects humans.”
He slowly nodded. “That makes sense. My job is to protect mankind, not harm them. However, if something had happened to you . . .”
He stared at her until her cheeks warmed. Only minutes ago Caleb had held her so tight a quill pen wouldn’t have fit between them.
“So, do I scare you?”
She studied his face, the hard jaw line, his full lips and sharp nose. And his eyes. They were not warm, but neither were they cold or hard. Intense, purposeful, without fear. Strong. Watching her right now.
“No.” He did not scare her. Any hint of his murderous past was gone. He was now a Guardian, a Son of Truth. And with that came unique power. However, that sword of his would take some getting used to.
“Good.” He held out his hand. “I told Lore to stay back while I took care of the shadow. Let’s find him and move on from this place.”
Nierne took his hand and he helped her to her feet. Maybe they had a chance, a real chance, at defeating the Shadonae. If Caleb could do in Thyra what he did here with that shadow, the Mordra could not protect their masters.
If nothing else, that gave her hope.
Chapter
28
Lore had seen death before, more times than he cared to recall. Death was cold and permanent and unstoppable. The antithesis of life. But what he had seen before, even during the siege on the White City, was nothing compared to what he saw now in this small fishing village.
The first house had a young man and woman, both lying on the hard packed ground in front of a long, wooden table. Simple furnishings filled the rest of the home: a straw mattress in the corner, a wooden chest, and a cupboard next to the fireplace. The man lay on the woman, as if shielding her from something. The woman lay beneath him, curled up on her side. Both were dead, their bodies a bluish tint and stiff, but not yet bloating. The deaths had been recent.
Lore came within a foot of the bodies, held his scarf over his nose and hunched down, checking for any wounds or signs of how death had occurred. Nothing, at least that he could see. No blood either. He reached over and brushed their eyelids, shutting out the terror in their eyes. Whatever had happened, their deaths had not been peaceful.
He stood, his gaze still on the bodies, and stepped back. So what had the man been protecting the woman from? He had an idea, and that idea left a ball of lead inside the pit of his stomach.
Lore turned and left the house.
Nierne glanced at him from where she stood by the horses. His face was tight as he stared back. On to the next house.
He could smell death before he even entered. This time there were more bodies. Same position. In the middle of the house next to a wooden table. Only this time there was a child.
His nostrils flared and his hand shook as he held the scarf to his face. Dear Word. What kind of monster killed—he couldn’t say it. Instead, he hunched down and closed the eyes of the little boy nestled beneath his mother. Then he closed the mother’s eyes, and the father’s. He was about to stand when he realized there was one more body.
His jaw tightened. On the other side was a baby, not more than a couple months old, tucked between the father and mother. Its eyes were closed as if in sleep, but the blue tint to its lips and skin revealed otherwise.
“Oh, Word.” Lore spoke with a long groan. “Not this.” He rubbed his face, but he would never be able to rub the sight from his eyes.
This was evil in its fullest form.
He stood and walked out of the house. He knew now what they faced. It had to be those shadow things Nierne talked about. Only something so vile could kill such innocence. He drew his sword. He knew his blade probably didn’t stand a chance against a shadow, but he didn’t care.
“I wander through shadows and light.” He spoke under his breath, reciting a passage he had read over and over again years ago until he had memorized it. “And death haunts my every step. I cannot see the way out of the darkness, so guide me, living Word, Speaker of Life.”
He continued to recite the passage as he entered the next house, leading in with his sword. This time there was only a man, older, with hair streaked grey and a beard that reached his chest. He lay as though he had been trying to crawl toward the door and was struck down in mid-crawl.
Lore bent down. “Be at peace.” He drew the man’s lids shut. Caleb was wrong. They had time to take care of these bodies. It wasn’t right to leave these people like this for the wild animals and crows to feast upon. Which, speaking of . . .
He stood and walked cautiously toward the door. Where were the scavengers? There wasn’t even a bird or the shrill of an insect. Did that mean that the Mordra were still here? He gripped his sword tighter. Then so be it.
He left the house, chanting the passage again. He turned right and followed the row of houses toward the center of the village. Two more houses, two more families, each one adding fuel to the dark fire burning inside him. He gripped his sword so tight that his knuckles grew white.
In the middle of the village was a well. As he approached it, the horses screamed far off. He twisted around, sword ready.
Caleb rushed from the house across the street and held his hand up.
Lore stopped. Caleb’s mark was glowing white, like a star on his palm. He would never get used to that sight.
Caleb motioned toward the corner, then toward himself. Lore pointed at himself, asking if he should go to. Caleb shook his head. He pointed at his hand and mouthed, “Shadow.”
He knew Caleb had special powers as an Eldaran, but could the man really take on a creature that had wiped out this entire village?
Lore motioned that he would follow.
Caleb shook his head again and pointed to the ground. Stay.
He stared at Caleb and Caleb stared right back. He finally nodded and lowered his sword. This was Caleb’s fight.
Caleb turned and moved along the side of the house back to where they had left Nierne and the horses. Lore took up position in the shade between two houses and watched Caleb disappear around the corner and waited.
“I wander through shadows and light.”
What did the Mordra look like? His mind conjured up all sorts of gruesome and terrifying images.
“And death haunts my every step.”
Like the black wolves who had attacked Rowen. Enormous, with glittering yellow eyes and a putrid smell.
“I cannot see the way out of the darkness.”
Word, how do we fight things that can kill an entire village and have no regard for children?
“So guide me, living Word, Speaker of Life.”
Word, please help us.
Minutes later there was a long, feminine scream, followed closely by a hiss. Lore raised his sword, his eyes focused on the houses the sounds came from. A man spoke, but he couldn’t make out the words. Every muscle in his body tensed, his legs ready to run the moment he gave the mental command.
Another long hiss filled the air, then faded into silence.
Lore waited, his senses alert for anything. No other sound came. A minute later the soft hum of voices echoed across the village. If he could hear Caleb and Nierne, then that meant . . .
He left the side of the house and followed the street, down toward the corner, then turned left.
Caleb and Nierne emerged from between the first two houses, where the horses had been tied. Nierne was white like sea foam. Caleb’s features were set, determined.
Lore kept his sword out and ready. “What happened?”
Nierne looked up. “There was a shadow.” Her voice quivered.
“And?”
They stopped a couple feet from him. This time Caleb spoke. “I banished it.”
“You—what? How?”
Nierne looked at Caleb, as if expecting him to answer.
“My mark contains a sword. I used it on the shadow.”
“Wait—what?” There was a faint glow around Caleb’s palm, but not the burst of light that he had seen before. “You have a sword? In your hand? But I thought you just touched the—”
“I’m a Guardian, not a Truthsayer.” Caleb folded his arms. “Different gifts, different weapons, different responsibilities.”
“A sword.”
Caleb raised one eyebrow. “Yes, a sword.”
Lore ran a hand through his hair. He could not imagine a sword emerging from Caleb’s palm. What in all the Lands did that look like? And this sword had stopped the shadow?
Nierne nodded, color slowly seeping back into her face. “A sword made of light.”
“By all that is holy . . .” Lore glanced back at Caleb. “Are there any more shadows?”
Caleb went still, his eyes losing their focus. Nothing moved in the village, not even a breeze. Far off, the surf whooshed. “No.” His gaze came back. “That was the only one, as far as I can sense.”
“So you can feel these things?”
“Yes.”
“From how far away?”
“I don’t know. Before today, the only one I had met was Velyni. But she was different. She looked human and had a flesh body. The one I banished back there”—he pointed behind him—“was different. It wasn’t as powerful. And it appeared as a dark fog. But it felt the same.” Caleb looked at Nierne. “Why is that? Do you know why this shadow was different?”
Nierne furrowed her brow. “I don’t know much about the Mordra, other than they come from the unseen world. But I do remember reading that a shadow that has been in our world for a long period of time is able to shape shift. Perhaps they grow stronger here as they become accustomed to our world.”
Caleb’s face darkened. “Yes, that makes sense. I remember Velyni saying she had been here in the Lands for centuries.”
Her mouth fell open. “That long? Where did she come from? The Shadonae have only been in Thyra a little over a year.”
“Good question. And why did she call them her masters, especially if she has been in the Lands longer than them? Unless”— Caleb scowled—“the Shadonae came from somewhere else, and live longer than human beings.”
Nierne rubbed her arms. “The Shadonae must have had some kind of hold over her.”
“Or they were working together. Although I can’t picture Velyni calling someone master unless she truly believed he was her master.” His face tightened. “She even offered to serve me.”
Her eyes widened. “She did?”
“Caleb, Nierne.” Both turned toward Lore. He pointed toward the sun. “We only have a couple hours of sunlight left. And there are dozens of people in this village. We need to start now if we are going to take care of them.”
Caleb gave him a puzzled look. “Take care of them?”
“Take care of their bodies.”
“Why?”
“Because if we don’t, scavengers will come. And sickness.”
“So what are you proposing we do? Bury them all?”
“No.” Lore sheathed his sword. “Burn them.”
Nierne went pale again. Lore didn’t like the idea of dragging dead bodies either, but he had done it before, when he helped bury the dead from the siege on the White City.
Caleb crossed his arms. “So how are we going to burn them? We can’t build a pyre big enough to hold all of them.”
“We will use one of the houses. That one.” Lore pointed to the largest house in the village, the one right at the end of the road, set slightly apart from the other houses. Probably the elder’s house, or whoever was in charge of the village. “Caleb, you help me gather the bodies. Nierne, gather as much driftwood as you can. We will place the wood and kindling on the floor and around the bodies to help with the fire.”
Nierne nodded and started off toward the beach, her face still pale.
“You know we won’t be able to create a pyre hot enough to burn the bodies down to the bone.”
Lore rubbed his face. “I know.”
“So why try?”
“Because I don’t like the thought of dogs eating the children.”
At the mention of children, Caleb’s eyes narrowed.
“You saw them too, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” His answer was both gruff and dark.
“All this time I’ve been heading to Thyra to rescue Rowen.” His throat tightened. “But now there is another reason. I knew the Shadonae were evil. Everyone
in the north remembers the Nordic Wars. But never did I imagine . . .” He shook his head. “I have to help these people. I’m no good against the shadows, but I can fight flesh and blood.”
Caleb nodded. “I am beginning to think the Word has more in store for me than I thought. I can fight the shadows.” He looked down at his palm. “And I will.”
So they were in agreement. No longer on different paths, they were on the same one. To rescue the people of Thyra.
Caleb turned to head to the first house.
“Caleb, wait.”
He turned around.
“Be on guard for any other shadows.”
Caleb nodded. “I already am.”
“Good.”
Caleb spun back around and headed again to the closest house.
Lore wrapped his scarf around his face, covering his nose and mouth. This was going to be a long couple of hours.
Caleb thought he was done with hell when he chose to follow the Word. Apparently not. Here he was, surrounded again by dead bodies. At least these ones weren’t moving, like the ones that used to frequent his nightmares.
He took out his scarf and tied it around his face. Ugh. That smell. Would he ever smell something decent again? It felt like the smell had lodged itself deep inside his nose.
He looked around the house, then back at the bodies and grimaced. For once, Lore was the stronger man. He couldn’t stand dead bodies. Blood was even worse. At least there was no blood.
Where to start? His gaze landed on the little girl sprawled out next to the man he assumed was her father, given the way his arm was positioned protectively over the girl. Well, if Lore wanted the children burned first, best to put them in the middle and start the fire there.
Caleb hunched down and gathered the girl up. She was stiff and cold. Carefully he stood, holding the girl out from his body. He turned and headed toward the door. Her long, brown hair fell away from her face. She looked to be about nine or ten years. A pretty little thing, even with her pale face and blue tinted lips. If it wasn’t for her unbending body and lack of warmth, she would have looked like she was sleeping.
Heir of Hope (Follower of the Word Book 3) Page 24
