by K. F. Breene
That familiar ache sounded through Cayan’s middle as he thought of leaving her. A strange ripping tore his insides. He couldn’t shake the feeling.
Making his way up the gradual incline to the large brick walls of the city, he said, “Burson is scouting out the area on his own.”
“We could use his input,” Daniels said.
“He doesn’t have any. Not since we left Shanti.” Cayan felt the mental touch again. A man stepped out through the trees ahead of them. He held a bow worn from use, with a sword strapped to his trim waist. A dagger adorned his other side. His light-brown gaze shocked into Cayan as the mental touch turned into a poke.
This man was strong with power. A little over three-fourths that of his own, and sharp with it. Cayan could feel his menace, riding on the threat of violence. Those same attributes etched every movement of his body. He stood at ease, but perfectly balanced, as if expecting to pull his sword at any moment.
The small hairs on Cayan’s neck stood on end as Sanders stiffened beside him, but he ignored the mental contact. He didn’t know the protocol of this place and the last thing he wanted to do was incite a fight. Harder to ignore was the challenging stare. Cayan knew exactly what that was about, and he wasn’t in the habit of backing down.
“Bring Rohnan up,” Cayan barked, pulling his eyes away from the man. If he let his gaze linger any longer, he’d offer his own challenge.
Cayan glanced at Daniels. “Burson is having three different competing… choices, I suppose. He told me what he’s sure of, but something happened that pushed us into murky waters. He’s… afraid. He thinks being on this island is going to decide our fate, but there are so many paths, and so many outcomes… he can’t make enough sense out of them to help.”
“We were doing just fine without him,” Sanders huffed. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Yes, Captain,” came Rohnan’s quiet, sing-song voice, lilted with his foreign accent. Sorrow and trepidation still ruled his thoughts after leaving his sister, but his strength was coming back. He had a duty to perform, just like her, and pushed ahead with everything he had. Cayan admired him for it.
“Do I allow a mental touch from these people?” Cayan asked, seeing another light-haired man standing beside a large wooden gate that marked the entrance of the city. His hands hung loosely at his sides, but he stood ready for any problems. Cayan could feel it in his emotions and read it in his stance. He must’ve been a guard, though he dressed no differently from any of the other Shadow people.
Suspicious eyes scanned Cayan and his men as they passed. A large square opened up before them with a kind of stage at the rear, currently bare. Lining the square were stalls selling food or other items. A spicy smell wafted toward them, cut with an occasional whiff of horse manure. Many people loitered, some talking amongst themselves, some simply standing and looking around. A building rose up behind the structure, two stories, square, and fortress-like. A window overlooked the city’s entrance from the second story, showcasing the shadowy outline of a lone person standing within.
Answering Cayan with eyes darting, Rohnan said, “If it is an Inkna, attack immediately. Cripple, but do not kill.” Rohnan’s voice took on an edge. “The Inkna want kill us all. You, most of all.” He still had trouble with the subtleties of the language.
“Those Inkna tried to kill me once. Didn’t work out so well for them.” Sanders grimaced as he spotted one of them and stared him down.
“I figured,” Cayan said as they veered to the right, following SeaFarer’s directions.
Burson had told Cayan they should all stay in the city, saying that SeaFarer should arrange their accommodations. Surprising Cayan with his readiness to take on the extra duty, SeaFarer wasted no time, finding them a place to stay shortly after docking. He’d only needed to speak to the nearest Shadow person he saw. That was it.
Seafarer might not be friends with the people who ran this island, but he was trusted by them. That could only bode well for Cayan and his men, since the coarse sea captain seemed to be rooting for them and Shanti.
“And if the Shadow people make mental contact?” Cayan persisted.
“I not sure—so far you have surprised them with your Gift,” Rohnan answered, only occasionally looking at someone he passed. “With that well of power within you, more available to you now that you have accessed it twice, you seem to have more than a full dose of the Gift. At least, so history would have us believe. I also surprise them, but more for my appearance.”
“You look like one of their siblings,” Xavier said from somewhere in their crowd.
“The question of distant kin is no longer an issue. If only it help.” Rohnan’s voice was dry and somewhat brittle.
“It might.” Sanders pointed at a square building with unfamiliar writing above the large door. “SeaFarer said the blue, brick house. Why someone would paint brick that God-awful blue, I don’t know.”
“Can you read the writing?” Rohnan asked as Cayan pushed through the door. Cayan didn’t hear a response until Rohnan said, “Now can you imagine why someone would paint one of fifteen of the visitor living quarters blue?”
“I see being an asshole runs in the family,” Sanders grumbled.
Cayan climbed the stairs and sought out the first blue circle above a brown, nondescript door, which SeaFarer said would be his quarters. He turned to the men gathered in the hall. “Sanders, break everyone off in pairs. Two people per room. I want an experienced man with a non-experienced one.”
“What about the girl, sir?” Sanders asked.
“Put her with Marc.”
“Why me?” Marc whined from way in the back.
“Because you won’t peek at her, you idiot,” Sanders said as he started walking down the corridor. “And if you do, she’ll beat you bloody.”
“Ruisa,” Cayan said as she passed. The young girl stopped in front of him and looked up. Unlike the boys her age, she showed no fear of his presence or his status. The girl was a tomcat, tough and unflinching. She had been an excellent choice, despite her lack of fighting experience.
“Yes, sir?”
“I want you and Marc to talk, not only about what you know, but what he knows. Every night I want you talking. If you run into anything that looks… dangerous, try to get a sample and analyze it. I want you both familiar with antidotes, and if we need it, I want your guidance with… attacks. In the day, you two are to separate in case there is a problem. If someone needs help, one of you will need to administer aid quickly, so I want one of you with each group at all times. Also, never—and I mean never—are you to be alone, do you hear me?”
Cayan’s power blasted into her as his gaze turned intense, demanding her attention. With wide eyes, and losing all the stubborn determination of youth, she nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“I will be telling Marc the same. You two will be sought and killed for the part you play. More importantly is that some people here are living without fear of the law. They’ll take what they want, when they want it. A pretty, young girl is something a great many men want. Maybe you can fend off one, but not a couple. Have someone with you at all times.”
Ruisa gulped. “Yes, sir.”
Cayan nodded. “Good. Now catch up with the others. And tell Marc what I said about talking. He is shy to a fault—he’ll need encouragement.”
Ruisa’s expression darkened.
Realizing how that had sounded, Cayan added, “Shanti used to kick him in the head to encourage him. If words don’t help, try that.”
A relieved smile graced Ruisa’s lips. “Yes, sir,” she said. She turned and ran down the hall to catch up with the others.
Cayan turned to his own room. He took out his sword before opening the door. He entered quickly and ducked to one side in case someone had made it here before him. No knives or arrows flew through the air and landed in the door behind him. That was a good sign.
Quietly, he shut the door and moved through the sparse space. The room was half the size of his
bedroom back home, with a simple bed, simple wood chairs, rugs and paintings on the wall. Cayan checked under the bed before he rolled his eyes at his ridiculousness and filled the room with his Gift. There were no minds in there save his.
“I have one of the most powerful minds in the city, and I don’t think to use it to see if there’s an intruder in my room.” Cayan shook his head as he dropped to the wood chair. His voice sounded loud in the empty room.
He allowed himself one moment of rest before he started to think about their situation. With so many Inkna present, the island was festering with enemies. Never mind keeping people out of trouble—how was he going to keep them alive?
* * *
Leilius drifted in between two huts and leisurely passed by a water spout where two men were leaning close together and chatting. Leilius adopted his unassuming walk toward the nearest tree, and then loitered behind the trunk, letting his body go still and his mind slow down. Almost immediately, he was rewarded with, “I heard a woman went into the trials today.”
The man was using the trader speech Sanders made sure that every army person and trader in their city knew. Leilius had hated learning it, thinking he’d never be asked to go on trading ventures, but now he was thankful and determined to ask Rohnan to teach him other languages. A big part of being a spy would be understanding people from different places—S’am would want him learning everything he could.
“So did I,” the other man said. A squeak sounded, the water spout being used. Water gushed into a bucket, masking the voices for a moment, but soon Leilius heard, “—eyed girl. Has to be. Who else has all that mind-power, eh?”
“Don’t know. She didn’t waste no time, though, from what I heard. Right off the ship. Didn’t even stop in the city.”
“Well…” A pause filled their conversation before a lowered voice continued. “If she had stopped there, they would’ve killed her, sure as I’m standing here. From what I heard, them Graygual want her something fierce. Probably safer in the trials than here or in the city.”
“Not anymore.” Leilius heard a throat clear. “Good mornin’. Er, afternoon, I mean.”
“That one’s always creeping around, that one is,” the other voice said a few moments later. He must’ve been talking about whoever passed.
“Yarm saw some men takin’ that Inkna-Chosen out of the bushes.”
“What’d you say?” came the other’s shocked exclamation.
“Shut up, if you know what’s good for you!” the first hushed. “Yarm done said it, and Yarm ain’t around no more. So you do the math.”
“What do you mean, though, takin’ him out of the bushes?”
“There ain’t no fence keepin’ around them trials—just some thorny bushes. Well, Yarm reckoned there was a hole in them thorns. He saw that damn Inkna walkin’ out.”
“Ain’t no way. Ain’t no way he did.”
“That’s what I heard he said. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
“They only get a knife,” the disbeliever scoffed. “I seen them thorns. No knife is getting through that, I don’t care how sharp.”
“He weren’t alone, you wool-headed son-of-a-goat! He came out alone, but there was a few men waitin’ for him…”
“Oh.” The squeak of the water spout sounded again. Water punched the bottom of a fresh bucket. After a moment, the disbeliever said, “That can’t be right. If they’re trying to get that Chosen thing, they need to finish the trials. Not sneak out of ’em.”
Another throat clear. “I don’t know ’bout that,” the first said. “But that’s what Yarm saw. He came running into the hut and blurted it out. Said he was going to go tell the Shadow people—thought he’d get sum’in for it. Only, his dead body was found strung up on that thorn fence the next morning. His tongue was cut out and dick cut off. Now, that could’a been them Shadow, right as rain, but they ain’t usually vicious. They’ll kill a man, but they don’t make a show of it. Naw, that could only be whoever he was tryin’ to tell on.”
“You think it’s him?”
“Now, I don’t know that he would be here, but he wants the violet-eyed girl. How do you get the girl, and keep your man? Well, you cheat. And we know that kinda guy cheats, so… Now, it probably isn’t him. No, don’t see how it could be. He wouldn’t be here. But he’s got lots of workers…”
“Hello Farley,” the disbeliever said in a cheery voice.
“What are you two hamming about?” came a third voice.
“Just taking some water and being on our way. Pity about the rain, ay? Awfully sloppy out here.”
“Get on whit ya. I gotta fill my bucket,” said Farley.
Leilius drifted away with a tingling in the base of his spine. He didn’t know who this him might be, or who these men were that waited for the Chosen, but cheating was bad news. So was this Inkna-Chosen not being in the trials when S’am was trying to kill him.
Rather than running immediately to the Captain, however, Leilius walked toward the outskirts of the camp. He needed more information.
He soon realized that the inhabitants in this Trespasser Village were nearly all men. A few women wandered around, but they had their bosoms almost completely on display, and led with their hips in a way that had Leilius’ face turning red.
He listened in on one conversation after the other, hearing “violet eyes” often. News of S’am’s arrival traveled really fast. It also seemed that the people in these parts hoped she would dispose of the Inkna-Chosen. Every one of them respected the Inkna if they passed one, and nearly fell over themselves bowing to a Graygual, but when they thought no one was around, they were rooting for S’am.
Yarm’s name came up a few times, but exactly what he was supposed to have seen was mostly conveyed with large eyes and lifted eyebrows before people looked at their feet. Few were brave enough to recount the story.
After a while, when nothing else noteworthy could be heard, he decided to head back up to the city. He was wet and cold and didn’t want to get sick. He hated being sick, especially because he wouldn’t be able to bitch about it with Sanders around.
He drifted toward the city with his unassuming walk when a group of men passed in front of him, heading toward the huts on the outskirts of the camp. Most huts out that way were vacant, and in bad shape. Still, this group was moving in that direction.
Leilius veered right so he would be able to see these men in more detail. There were five of them total. Four wore shiny, black material that kept off the rain—the same kind Leilius had seen often since they’d landed. Loose arms, hung from broad shoulders, swung at their sides. They moved, stealthily and quiet, their eyes sliding from one side to the other.
Leilius felt tingles crawling up his back as fear settled in his gut. He didn’t know these men, but the way they moved, the look of their swords, and the sharp edge in their eyes, made him think killer.
In the middle of their group strode a man completely their opposite. Short and bald, he walked in a floppy sort of way suggesting he was no fighter. His skin was pale and he wore a shiny, blue shirt with shiny, red pants.
Leilius’ mind raced as he veered left again. This group was silent, and they were beyond dangerous. They were not the sort of men Leilius needed to get messed up with, even just to snoop. The Captain or Sanders could handle guys like that!
Then there was that guy in the middle. He was free to walk, so he was no prisoner. With men like these around him, he had to be someone important, like that Hunter stalking S’am. Or someone worse.
Fingers tingling and really wanting to run, Leilius remembered what S’am had told him about fear. If he showed it, it would alert the predators. Spies were in dangerous places all the time—the spies that lived were the ones that didn’t act like they were ever in danger. They acted like they belonged. Confidence would keep him alive. Hopefully.
Leilius adopted a dumb-puppy expression and a loose-limbed stride. He’d play up the young idiot persona that Sanders always strapped the Honor Guard
with. It’s what people expected, which meant it was the best way to blend in.
Not a moment too soon.
The gaze of one of those men swung his way. Fear pinged through Leilius’ body as dead and hollow eyes honed in on him.
“What are you doing here, boy?” came a dry rasp.
The man broke away from the rest, walking closer with the smooth slide of a deadly predator on the hunt. None of the others bothered to glance Leilius’ way.
Leilius’ legs went numb as the fear overcame his senses. His foot hit something, tripping him. He fell, face-first, into the wet mud, scraping his cheek against a rock.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, not sure what else to say.
A hard boot smashed down on the center of his back, pinning him painfully.
“I said, what are you doing here, boy?”
“I-I was just trying to find my pa,” Leilius stammered, playing up a more rural speech. “He were supposed to be in one of these huts, but I can’t find him. He took the wine we was supposed to trade for our supper.”
The boot ground into Leilius’ back, grazing skin and bruising bone. He heard a pop before agony seared up his spine. He cried out, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please,” he begged. “I didn’t mean no harm.”
“Your pa isn’t around here. See that you aren’t, either.” Without warning, the weight lifted. Tears of pain dripped from Leilius’ eyes and coated his cheeks. He stayed frozen, not sure what to do. Not sure why the man was hovering over him. The cold seeped through his skin, making him shiver violently. His teeth chattered, crunching grains of dirt that had flown into his mouth when he fell.
After some minutes, still shaking with fear, Leilius finally looked up to see that the man was gone. He’d walked away through the mud and gunk without a sound.
A flood of relief washed through him. He dropped his head for a brief moment, thanking God for his life, not caring about the cold or the agony of his back. Just happy to be alive.
