by K. F. Breene
“Wait! There are usually—”
Jezzia broke off as Mela’s sword flashed, drawn from its sheath. She turned the corner of the alley, lost from sight. A single cry of pain sounded a moment later, followed by a second.
“Which way?” Kallon asked, urgency in his voice.
“Left. We go left,” Jezzia answered, out of breath.
Mela rejoined them as they reached the end of the alley. Behind her, filling a smaller lane, lay two Graygual. Blood pooled around their bodies. One’s face held shock, the other, pain.
“A woman against two Graygual.” Jezzia’s voice was wispy. Sayas helped guide her. “A woman. Women fighting alongside men. I saw the weapons but I thought that was a rumor…”
“Which way?” Kallon said.
Jezzia led the way as her mind buzzed. Rumors and myths floated through her memory. Hushed stories of heroism and whispered words of hope rose to the surface. An end to all of this horror had been promised.
One name tumbled out of her mouth. “The Wanderer.”
“Who is this Wanderer we keep hearing about?” Sayas asked as Jezzia doggedly came to a stop in the shadowed space across from Master’s back door. The house used to belong to Sheridan, the town’s most prosperous merchant. He was killed when he refused to let the Graygual through.
“There are three men in there,” Kallon said, his head tilted to the side again. “And three women. Are all of those women…?”
Jezzia shivered, drawing in on herself.
Kallon nodded as if she had voiced her answer. He stood straight and still, staring at the house. As if on cue, the groups he’d sent earlier drifted back in from the sides, silent, but somehow communicating. It was like a practiced dance, each party having rehearsed the steps a million times, and now putting on a choreographed show.
“These Graygual are fat and complacent,” one of the returning men said. “Easily taken down. Even the one with three stripes. They’ve seen no opposition in a while. They aren’t expecting any resistance.”
“It fits with what we’ve seen so far,” Kallon said. “Townspeople?”
“We didn’t make any sound. They are hiding in their homes, hoping no one comes knocking on their door. Like all the towns we’ve passed. Like our own town.”
“Our town was lying in wait, not hiding.”
“In these times, hopefully that is the same thing. We will see soon.”
Kallon gritted his teeth. “Yes. Go back out. Kill every Graygual you see. Rouse the town. Mela, Sayas, and I will take these.”
“All three of you?”
Kallon glanced back at Jezzia. “There are three captives. We bring the fourth. I want them safe.”
“The Graygual are cowards,” Sayas said quietly to Jezzia. “They’ll kill all their captives if they think it will help them get out alive. Or if they are certain, they die. They will kill their captives at the first sign of trouble.”
Jezzia gulped, fear bubbling up for her friends, one of which had moved into the town with the Graygual under golden lock and key. To the onlooker, they were pampered and treated well, given everything a rich wife might want. And if it were their choice, it would be a wonderful life, indeed.
If it were their choice.
Unspeakable rage welled up in Jezzia again. “Can I have a sword?” she asked.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Sayas answered as the groups moved off as silently as they’d come.
“Why?” Jezzia faced him. “Because I’m a woman? Your women fight. They all carry swords. Why can’t I?”
“They know how to use them. You might stab yourself.”
“Here.” Kallon handed her a knife, point down. Those hard eyes pinned her to the spot. As she took it, his other hand came up, fast as lightning, and covered hers. Seriousness bled through his gaze. “Killing will not make the pain go away. It will not cure your suffering, or heal your wounds. Recovering your freedom is the way forward. Peace and tranquility is what you seek. That is what your heart desires. I see it in your eyes. I read it in your bearing. I do not advise using this knife. Not if you don’t have to, and with us here, you won’t.”
“Then why are you giving it to me?”
“Because we won’t always be here. And because I can’t tell you how to grant your own salvation. Only you can do that.”
Tears welled up unexpectedly. When he let go, she brought the knife closer. “I understand.”
He watched her for one more heartbeat before turning back to the house. Sayas stayed beside her, Mela next to Kallon.
They waited in silence. Just waited, and watched.
A hawk screeched in the distance. Someone shrieked in the house. Jezzia squeezed the handle of her blade.
A hoarse scream tore through the night from the distance. Flickering lights danced to life in a few windows. More screams and shouts.
Kallon and Mela started forward, as if one of them had said “go!”
“You stay behind me at all times,” Sayas told Jezzia as she stepped forward after them. “You stay safe above all else. If the worst happens, run. Got it?”
“No. This is my fight, too.”
“This will be your deathbed unless you listen to me.”
Kallon and Mela scaled the steps gracefully, like dancers. Jezzia trudged after them, anxiety and adrenaline making her hands shake and her teeth chatter. She hadn’t felt the cold like this for some time.
They burst through the door and hustled through the kitchen, pausing when showered with the illumination of a roomful of candles. Three girls jumped up from the couch, wide-eyed and terrified. Master burst out of his chamber, pulling on his shirt. The two other Graygual were each at a window at the front, no doubt alerted by the disturbance.
“Remember us, you sludge?” Sayas said in a voice out of a nightmare. He tossed a knife up in the air, caught it by the blade, and threw. The blade blossomed in the neck of one of the Graygual at the window. The man garbled out a scream, clutching his throat as blood welled up between his fingers.
Mela danced forward, lithe and agile, dagger in her hand. The other Graygual turned from the window, a sword coming up. His knees bent, ready for her. She stopped her advance just out of his reach, waiting as patiently as if he was pouring tea.
“I thought we had killed all of your kind,” Master growled, holding up his sword.
Kallon stared at him through smoldering, hate-filled eyes. “That was the plan. Do up your laces. I’d hate for you to die thinking you could’ve bested me if only you had tied your boots.”
Sayas chuckled as the other Graygual struck at Mela. She turned a fraction, the movement small, but his sword sliced through the air beside her, the blade so close it rustled the fabric of her top. She stabbed, the action as beautiful as it was lethal. Her dagger sliced his sword arm, making him grunt. His sword clattered to the ground, his hand going lifeless.
“Dismal. Very out of practice, ay?” Mela stepped forward and stabbed again. He tried to move as she had done, but his movements were jarring and clumsy. He couldn’t get out of the way in time.
Her blade pierced his side. He grunted again, and staggered. His body fell against the wall. Blood stained the floor in bright red splashes.
The movement of Master drew Jezzia’s gaze. She cried out as his sword struck. Kallon batted the blade to the side lazily. Master was ready again, lunging almost immediately. Kallon batted that one away, too, stepping back. Master stepped forward, striking. They had reached the mouth of the hallway, Master chasing the other man across the floor.
“Help him!” Jezzia cried, her knuckles white where they gripped the hilt of her knife. She stepped forward, trying to aid him, but Sayas grabbed her. “Let me go—he needs help! Master is an excellent swordsman.”
“Kallon, we don’t have time for this,” Mela said.
Kallon showed his teeth to the Graygual in a silent growl. “Our duty is keeping you from the slow death you deserve.” He stepped forward and to the side, his movements
suddenly so fast they were nearly lost to the eye. His blade flicked and moved, like a living thing, slashing fabric and skin alike.
Master grunted, swinging his own blade, backing them away. His face went pale. Shock leaked into his eyes. Then fear. He lunged, wildly.
Kallon flicked the blade away, then stabbed. The sharp point parted soft flesh. Master’s steel skittered across the floor.
“He may be an officer, but he did not deserve five stripes on his tunic,” Kallon said in disgust. He wiped his blade on a heavy drape as Master kneeled, clutching his entrails. He struggled with a dying breath. Jezzia watched every last rise and fall of his chest. So did the other girls, unwilling to look away despite the carnage.
“That means the Inkna wanted this town. There’s no Gift here to stop them. They brought in the Graygual to maintain order. What were they after, I wonder?” Mela’s light gaze passed over the mute and dazed girls huddled together on the couch before settling on Jezzia.
“Gems,” Jezzia answered, shaking. “They aren’t good for anything but decoration, so we didn’t get much for them. They are worth a lot to the Graygual. More than anything else we trade. Until the Inkna showed up, anyway. They offered us more than we thought they were worth. We thought we were doing really well. At first. Then the Graygual showed up. They weren’t interested in trading.”
Jezzia’s grip tightened on the knife. She’d probably never release it again. In a rush she asked, “Can you teach me to use a sword? In case they come back…”
A shadow crossed Mela’s face. Her gaze turned apologetic. “We cannot stay.”
Jezzia’s chest tightened, fear and hopelessness warring. “But the Wanderer! You’re sent to herald her coming. Aren’t you? She’s supposed to end all this. If you leave they’ll just come back! Stay. Please, stay.”
“Do you mean the Chosen?” Kallon asked, his brow crinkled.
Jezzia shook her head in frustration, and her gaze met those stormy gray eyes. Imploring.
The front door burst open. A blonde woman walked in with a confident stride. She took Kallon’s focus. “It’s time to go. The townspeople are finding their courage. Finally.”
“They weren’t raised to expect they’d lose all they held dear,” Kallon said disapprovingly. “We cannot expect them to bounce back as quickly as we did.”
“Is that what we’ve done? Bounced back?”
Kallon ignored Jezzia as the woman’s gaze scanned the room, lingering on the women cowering on the couch. Her face softened. She glanced at Kallon once more and gave a slight nod before heading back out.
Kallon stepped closer to Jezzia. She couldn’t help the tears streaming down her face; she was terrified of what would happen if they left.
In a soft voice that contradicted his hard eyes, he said, “You will need to keep to yourselves for now. If you let others know you have regained control, the Graygual will just send in more. You must maintain the illusion of being conquered if you want to keep your freedom. Watch for the tide to change. The Chosen has been named. We must join her before the Graygual discover our trail. One day we will return, and we will bring the Graygual’s death with us. You must stay strong until that time. Organize these people. Lead this town. Wait for our return.”
Jezzia felt something shift at that expectant gaze. His words tickled a place deep within her, unlocking a strength she didn’t realize she possessed. Courage welled up, bleeding through her.
He was giving her a duty.
She squeezed the hilt of her knife, thinking of who in the town could train her to use it. “I will stand ready for when the time comes. I won’t let you down.”
This man was heralding change. Somehow he was connected to the Wanderer, she could feel it. War was coming.
Chapter Two
“What are we doing?”
“We’re waiting.”
“We’re not supposed to wait. We’re supposed to find S’am.” Marc’s voice was hollow. He sounded as nervous as Leilius felt.
“I know. Shut up. I’m thinking.” Leilius rubbed his temples. He hated these exercises. If he couldn’t sneak up on S’am by himself, there was no way he could lead a bunch of big-footed nitwits to do it. She expected far too much from him.
“We don’t have all day for you to try and rub two thoughts together,” Rachie blurted.
“Would you shut up? She might be in earshot.” Leilius dropped his hands and glanced at the felled tree to the right. It lay in a broken mess, rotting into the green grasses, shimmering with wetness. To the left of the path grew a white flowered plant, shaded by the large trees that surrounded it.
“Okay.” Leilius took a deep breath and tried to block out the eyes staring impatiently at him. “This is the beginning of the non-Gift area. Her mind power won’t work in this area of the trials… I mean, what used to be the trials. S’am is waiting somewhere in there. I think—”
“This place creeps me out,” Gracas interrupted, rubbing his upper arms as if he was cold. “It’s got a weird vibe to it.”
“Can you imagine going through here by yourself?” Rachie asked, looking through the trees with wide eyes. “That would suck.”
“Why are you leading again?” Ruisa asked from the rear of the loosely clustered group.
Leilius swatted at a fly. “Because I’m the only one who has worked with S’am on spying, that’s why! She seems to think I can help you guys get better at sneaking.”
“Fat chance,” Marc muttered. “Leading this group is like herding cats.”
Leilius pinched the bridge of his nose and willed patience. He had no idea how S’am trained this bunch of ninnies. They couldn’t follow even the simplest of directions.
Of course, they were always attentive and respectful when S’am worked with them. They had to be—she’d kick them in the head if they weren’t.
Wondering if he could get away with the same thing, Leilius glanced back. His gaze skimmed each of them before stopping on Xavier’s huge shoulders that topped his sizable frame. He thought back to the battle with the Graygual only two months before, remembering how quickly the large kid had moved. How effective he was with his sword. He’d plowed through men with twice his experience and come out the victor.
Leilius turned back slowly. Best not to stir the pot. Leilius would just get his ass kicked.
“So here’s the plan,” he said in a hush. Time to quit stalling. “We spread out. Stay off the trail. Stick to the trees and try to work within the leaves, but don’t shake any branches or anything.”
“Walk in the leaves, but don’t shake any…” Rachie spat, something he did when he was irritated during training. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Just…try to keep under cover, but don’t disturb your surroundings, you know? Quiet movement.” Leilius’ voice had risen an octave, something he did when he was irritated.
“We’ve stalked game; we know what we’re doing.” Xavier motioned them forward. “Let’s go.”
Leilius shook his head, but he stepped forward anyway. This wasn’t going to go well. “Just watch what I do.”
Everyone moved slowly off the path and into the area where mental powers were supposed to go dead. Leilius didn’t know anything about that. The lush green landscape of the Shadow Lands seemed consistent across the whole of the island, wet and alive. He’d heard the Captain and S’am talk about huge fluctuations in their powers in certain areas, and he’d paid attention, but he couldn’t feel any difference from one place to the other.
The guys and the sole girl spread out slowly like a fan, ducking under reaching branches but still shaking every small piece of flora they walked past. Gracas went so far as to set a whole branch quivering.
“Stop. Stop!” Leilius said, pausing in a leafy hollow.
Xavier stopped, shifting to look in Leilius’ direction. A twig cracked under his weight, making the large guy wince. More pops sounded off to the left where Rachie and Gracas were, and a rustle gave Ruisa away. The only person who was as sile
nt as Leilius was Marc. Something Leilius pointed out.
“I’m the worst with a weapon,” Marc explained with darting eyes. “I’d be the first one to die if I got caught. Or, in this case, the first to get punched. The need to survive has taught me how to blend in. I just wished that worked with S’am…”
“Well how the hell are we supposed to walk through the damn leaves without making them jump around like dancing frogs?” Rachie snapped.
“Just…” Leilius sighed. “Watch me.”
“I did watch you. You walk like a girl!” Rachie said.
“I’ll kick your teeth in like a girl, how would that be?” Ruisa barked.
Leilius took a deep breath and held up his hands, trying to calm everyone down. His flaring nostrils probably gave away his irritation, but he had to try. “We’re all jumpy. I know that. We’ll be leaving the protection of the island soon and going back to the danger of the mainland. That’s a scary thing. I get it. We might—”
Rachie’s fist came out of nowhere. It was nothing more than a skin-colored blur.
A moment later, Leilius groaned as he picked his head up off the ground and wiped at the mud stuck to his cheek. He shook his head to clear it, his vision a little blurry.
“You’ve gotten much quicker,” Leilius said, wheezing. Apparently, Xavier wasn’t the only one to watch out for. S’am’s lessons had really started to pay off.
“Don’t talk to us like we’re scared,” Rachie growled, emulating Sanders. “I’m not scared.”
“I’m scared,” Marc said.
“Can we get on with this before S’am shows up?” Gracas looked around the trees with wide, expectant eyes.
Picking himself up slowly, Leilius chose a different technique. “Just…watch me.”
Well, it was the same technique while hoping for different results.
They started out again, everyone allowing him to go first. They moved slowly, rustling, cracks, and pops sounding off every so often. If this was enemy territory, they’d be caught by anyone half decent. But just like they had with weapons and fighting, they’d all get better.
