Then the screams began.
Nierne lurched to a stop. She stared ahead in horror. Dark swirls of smoke-like beings darted out from the shadows and swooped down on escapees, attacking them and leaving bodies scattered along the street. She watched as one black smoke cloud wove its way around a woman. The woman screamed, then went silent. Her body dropped to the cobblestones, and the creature moved on.
Nierne held a hand to her neck, her eyes staring at the street, and the wisps of blackness weaving their way along. The Shadonae had brought the Mordra over from the other side? She turned and clutched the stone archway. How could they survive against these shadow-beings? They couldn’t even touch them. No one could touch the shadows, let alone kill them.
Nierne felt like she was going to vomit what little she held in her stomach. There was no escape from this nightmare, no escape at all…
She felt the hard metal of Father Cris’s key press into her palm. She looked down at the key. Perhaps there was a way to escape.
Out of the corner of her eye, Nierne saw movement. A wisp of blackness, barely visible in the moonlight, began to weave its way up the street toward Cragsmoor.
She held her breath. It was three blocks away. No one else was near her. She wasn’t sure how well the shadow-like thing could see, but didn’t want to wait to find out.
Nierne tried to move, only to find that panic had paralyzed her. Calm down, she told herself, taking a few deep breaths. Her legs loosened up slightly. The shadow drew closer. It was now or never.
Silently she slipped to the right. She moved from building to building. Far away she heard another scream. Minutes later, another. And another. Each scream pierced her heart.
Why, why, why? Nierne cried inside her mind. Why was the Word allowing this? No answer came. She clenched her jaw and pressed on.
After a minute she looked back. The shadow did not appear to be following her. She turned and ran again, expecting to be enveloped by darkness. But it never came.
Slowly Nierne made her way across the city toward the Monastery. The moon moved across the sky, lighting her way. An autumn chill filled the air. She clutched her robes close to her body and ran from building to building.
She stopped to rest inside doorways or behind fences overgrown with weeds. Her time in the fortress had weakened her. But she didn’t stay in one place for long. As soon as she could, she pressed on.
Silence hung over the city like a death shroud. Nierne watched for other survivors, but saw no one. The buildings and streets were dark and empty. Perhaps they were being as careful as she was.
As the first rays of dawn began to spread across the eastern sky, she finally reached the Monastery. The stone building loomed ahead, a brooding structure that had stood for countless years as a light of knowledge. Nierne glanced up at the only place she had ever called home. So far it had escaped any damage from the fire and chaos that had been wrought upon so many other buildings in Thyra.
Nierne crept around back and let herself in through the garden gate. Weeds filled the flowerbeds along the narrow path that led up to the back door, something that would never have happened under the watchful eye of Father Karl. Just one more reminder how much everything had changed since that fateful day weeks ago. She opened the back door, and quietly shut it behind her.
The Monastery was silent. No songs, no low whispers of conversation, not even the soft scratch of quills as history and the ancient writings were copied once more to ensure that people never forgot.
But they had, Nierne realized. She walked along the hallway toward the stairs. The deceitful power of the Shadonae had been forgotten, and now the people of Thyra were paying.
She crept up the staircase and walked along the second floor. The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet. She stopped and looked inside the second room. A fine film of dust and dirt lay on her desk. The parchment she had been writing on weeks ago lay on the ground, water-stained and crumpled. Over in the corner sat the tube that held the scroll she had been copying.
A cool, salty breeze drifted through the open window. Nierne crossed the room and carefully peered out. The sun rose across the city. Below, nothing stirred. She looked up and down the street. Nothing. Not even a dog. As far as she could see, the city was empty.
Nierne shivered. She backed away from the window and sat on the floor. She rubbed her arm with one hand and looked at the key Father Cris had given her. What was she supposed to do with this? Father Cris had told her to get the people out of the city. But there seemed to be no one to rescue.
She looked back at the window. Should she wait and watch? But for how long?
Nierne placed the key around her neck and drew her knees up to her chest. She watched the window and listened, hoping to hear something. White clouds drifted across the window. After half an hour, she crawled back to the window and looked out.
The sun shone now brightly over the city. But still nothing moved. Nierne watched for a couple of minutes, then sighed and backed away. She shook her head. She should go find help.
Her eyes widened. Nierne looked up. Of course. There had to be people outside the city, people who had not yet been taken.
Nierne scrambled to her feet and headed out the door. She followed the hall to the stairs and headed down. She crossed the Monastery and stopped by the kitchen in the back. Copper pots hung above a long wooden table. The fire in the fireplace had burned out long ago. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows along the eastern wall. The subtle scent of spoilage hung in the air.
Nierne grimaced and looked for anything still edible. She found two shriveled apples in a basket on the floor. She grabbed the apples and hurried out.
Near the back of the Monastery was a second set of stairs that led down to the underground rooms and catacombs. She followed the stairs down and stopped in front of a tall thick door. Beyond lay the catacombs, the burial place for those honored by Thyra. When she was younger, the catacombs had scared her. Perhaps it was because death had seemed so much closer to the living in such a place.
Nierne placed the long metal rod Father Cris had given her into the small hole near the handle. She heard a soft click as the lock turned. She pushed the heavy door open and entered the catacombs.
The stale air felt warm compared to the cold sea wind flowing through the monastery upstairs. Small slits of light shone down from somewhere above, lighting the dark tunnels. There were large hollowed out sections along the walls, each containing a beautifully carved white box. Her middle gave a slight lurch at the sight. She knew what the boxes contained.
She turned and shut the door. The door closed with a soft thud. She stood there with her hand on the handle for one moment and listened. A deep silence filled the catacombs. Slowly, Nierne turned around.
She made her way along the corridor, passing by tunnels that jutted from the main one. The eerie lights overhead blinked in and out, sending her moving between shadow and light. Childhood fears began to swell inside her. She knew there was nothing to be afraid of in this place. The dead could hold no power over her. Father Reth had told her that. But she still hated this place.
Nierne picked up her pace and hurried through the catacombs. Then she saw the door ahead.
She fumbled with the key and pressed it into the small hole. She turned the lock and gave the door a push. The door swung out with a loud groan.
Fresh, cold air pressed against her face. Nierne breathed in the air and stumbled out of the catacombs. Bright sunlight blinded her eyes. She pushed the door shut and leaned against it. Ahead of her, the bright green hills of Kerre waved in the wind.
She wanted to drop to her knees and rest. But she could not linger here. Behind her stood the walls of Thyra. She might be on the other side of it now, but the enemy could still be close by.
So Nierne turned and locked the door to the catacombs. She placed the key back into her robes and looked around.
She then realized she had no idea where to go.
Nierne glanced to her left. She coul
d see the wide-open sea, the white sails of ships moored nearby dancing in the breeze.
Her heart sank. She had no idea how to sail and suspected that, even if she could, those kinds of ships would require more hands than just hers. So she turned the other way. Green hills stretched as far as the eyes could see until, in the far distance, she could make out the faint tips of the Ari Mountains.
She knew there were some villages near mountains. Perhaps the hand of the Shadonae had not yet reached them. However, the thought of traveling that far on foot and alone overwhelmed her. But what choice did she have? Stay here and hide in the Monastery?
Nierne looked one more time at the city walls. Then she turned and hiked up her soiled robes. She set her face toward the mountains and began to walk. What she would do once she reached her destination, she had no idea. At this point, she was taking it one day at a time. Because that might be all she had.
7
The next few weeks were a blur for Rowen. She trained hard, her muscles aching every morning when she woke up. But she could also feel her arms strengthening from the exercises.
Slowly she pulled her uniform on, her shoulders protesting every movement. Braiding her hair took even longer.
Pale morning sunlight poured through the window nearby. Rowen took her nightgown and laid it inside the wooden chest that came with her room. On the table a servant had left a fresh pitcher of water and bowl. She quickly splashed her face and dried it with a cloth. Lastly, she belted on her sword and headed out to the common room.
Rowen could hear voices rising from the table just below the balcony. Some of the guards were coming off night duty. Others were grabbing a bite to eat before heading to their posts. She stepped off the stairway and headed toward the back table where a steaming black pot had been brought up from the kitchen. She filled a bowl and sat down stiffly near the end of the table.
“Looks like the captain’s been working you hard,” a voice next to her said. Aren plopped down on the seat across from her, holding a half-eaten biscuit in one hand. He gave her a grin and took another bite.
Rowen gave him a small smile in return. She had met the Nordic her first day, surprised to find a guard who was not a Rylander. As usual, his hair was pulled back, exposing the black markings across his right cheek. In the culture of Nordica, they were called Marks of Remembrance, each one representing a loved one who had died. On her first day, Rowen had learned Aren’s marks were for his father and two older brothers.
“Yeah, a bit sore this morning.” Rowen rolled her shoulders.
“If you think that’s bad, wait until you start your unarmed training.” Aren popped the last bite of bread into his mouth.
“Unarmed?”
He swallowed. “Yeah. The captain believes in training his guards not only in swords but also in hand to hand. After your first day of that, you’ll be lucky to roll out of bed.”
Hand to hand? Rowen felt her chest tighten. She had not been physically close to anyone since she had touched Cleon and that man in the inn. She paused, her gloved hand clutching her spoon just above her bowl. What if Lore made her remove her glove? Or—she felt faint at the thought, her spoon dropping into her cereal—what if her glove was not enough to stop the power of her mark?
“Rowen, are you all right?”
“What?” Rowen looked back over at Aren.
The grin on Aren’s face disappeared. “It’s really not that bad, the hand to hand training. Well…it is, but the pain only lasts a couple days. We’ve all gone through it and lived.”
“Oh, it’s not that. It’s—”
“It’s the intimate factor, isn’t it?” Aren bent his head toward Rowen’s. “Training closely with the captain. Don’t worry. Captain Lore is a perfect gentleman. You’re not the first woman he’s taught.”
All thoughts concerning her mark vanished. “What?” Rowen felt her face turn bright red. “No, it’s not that, not that at all—”
Aren winked at her and laughed so hard that Rowen thought he might choke. A part of her hoped he would. Aren waved his hand as he caught his breath. “The look on your face! You should’ve seen it.”
It took her a moment to calm down, but then a small smile stole across her lips. She wondered if it were possible to stay mad at Aren for long.
“Nah, there’s nothing to worry about,” Aren said after catching his breath. “You’ll be sore, but the captain’s the best teacher there is, even compared to a Nordic.”
“That’s good to know,” Rowen said. Never would Aren suspect the true reason for her unease. She let out her breath and picked up her spoon. She ladled up some of the grainy cereal. “Speaking of the captain, where is he?”
“He should be here shortly.” Aren stood and gave her another grin. “Time for duty. See you around.”
Rowen watched Aren leave and wondered if anything ever got under his skin.
She sighed and took another bite of the warm mush. The other guards laughed down at the other end of the table. No one else ever sat with her. Probably because she tended to move away when they tried. It was just she was afraid of touching others, of accidently triggering that power that lay just beneath the strange mark on her hand.
It was better to be alone and undiscovered than to be found out.
After breakfast, Rowen headed through the double doors at the end of the common room into the training room to begin her less intensive exercises.
Before she knew it, the sun was high in the sky, its light filtering down through the glass dome above. On the other side of the room a couple of the guards had stripped off their shirts and were engaging in some kind of wrestling within the circle drawn on the floor.
Rowen watched them for a moment before beginning her next set. As she moved her arms, a horrible thought entered her head. Surely she would not be learning that kind of combat, would she? She glanced at the guards again.
“Ready to start?”
Rowen nearly jumped from her boots. “Captain!” she said, twisting around.
“Sorry to startle you.” Lore took a quick step back from the pointed end of her sword. “I thought you heard me enter the room.”
“No, sir,” Rowen replied. She realized she was still pointing her sword at him. She quickly sheathed the weapon.
“Actually, you won’t be needing that today,” Lore said. “Today we will begin your unarmed training. So go ahead and put your sword back in your room while I have a quick word with Geoffrey.”
Lore walked toward the other guards while Rowen left the training room. Panic filled her chest. She reached her room and shut the door behind her. Memories of her exile flashed before her eyes. Rowen squeezed them shut. Anguish churned inside her heart. “I can’t go through that again,” she whispered. “I won’t go through that again.”
Rowen opened her eyes. Her heart hardened under her resolve. She walked toward the chest at the end of her bed. She placed her sword inside and shut the lid. She lifted her hand and stared at the glove. Creases folded in the leather as she closed her hand into a tight fist. No, she thought firmly. Whatever happened, she would not take the glove off. She would just need to find a valid excuse to keep it on.
• • •
Lore stood near the door as Rowen entered. “As I said, today we will begin your unarmed training.” Thankfully, he didn’t mention the glove. He only motioned toward the training circle. “Shall we begin?”
Rowen felt the weight of her mark ease as she followed Lore. They stopped in the middle of the first circle. The other guards had left, leaving her and Lore alone in the training room. The sun had moved overhead, throwing a circle of light against the far wall. The faint scent of sweat hung in the warm air.
“Face me,” Lore said. His voice echoed quietly across the training room. Rowen turned so that she stood square with Lore. “First is balance.” He had her move her feet until they were slightly apart. “Bend a little.” Rowen bent forward. “Now straighten your back.” She could feel her weight sitting toward he
r middle. “Good. Balance is one of the first steps to unarmed training. Without balance, it doesn’t matter what you do with the rest of your body, you’ll just fall over with the first shove—” Lore pushed her.
Automatically Rowen stepped back, feeling her body distribute her weight between both legs, but the weight still remained around her middle.
“See?” Lore circled her.
“Yes.” Rowen brought her body back into the start position.
After a few more shoves, Lore came to stand in front of her again. “You have good balance. Good. Now for the next part.” He moved closer to her and began to move her arms into position. Then he grabbed her hand.
For one heartbeat her body went rigid at his touch. It was that hand. Rowen waited for the blast of heat to fill her chest, to rush down her arm, to force her to see inside Lore…
But nothing happened.
It took another heartbeat for this to register.
Then relief flooded her in one swift whoosh. The glove had worked! Her secret was safe. She could touch another.
“Rowen, are you all right?”
Rowen found Lore looking at her, his hands still on her arm where he had been positioning them. “What?” she said, her mind still on the newfound joy of her discovery.
“You had a strange look on your face. Everything all right?”
“Yes.”
Lore took a step back. “Are you sure? I’m not making you feel uncomfortable, am I?”
“No, I’m fine.” Rowen broke into a smile. “Go ahead and continue.”
Lore stared at her again, as if he were trying to peer beyond what he could see. Rowen looked back. His eyes were such a strange color of green…
Lore blinked and gave her a smile. “Then I will continue.” He moved beside her and again began to move her arms in place.
They spent the next few hours together. Lore showed her many different moves. It felt invigorating to have so much power in combat without any weapon in her hand. She felt strong and capable. Rowen committed to memory what Lore taught her, all the while sensing something growing inside of her. The newfound knowledge that she could now touch others had released a powerful desire. A desire for connection. For friendship.
Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1) Page 10
