Shrouded Sky (The Veils of Lore Book 1)

by A. Akers, Tracy

  Chandra flipped over the rail and plunged into the icy water. She clawed her way to the surface, battling waves as they knocked her over and under and over again. She flailed and she kicked, but it was no use. They were too strong, and her boots were quickly filling with water. She reached for the laces, but was unable to remain afloat. She sank beneath the waves, then bent her knees and yanked at the knotted shoestrings.

  They wouldn’t budge.

  Chandra forced her way back up, searching for her dad, for the boat, for anything she could grab on to, but there was nothing visible to her in the turbulence.

  Something slammed against her, sending pain to her ribs and shock to her system. She sank, deeper and deeper, too weak to remain afloat, too exhausted to wonder what had hit her.

  Another object crashed into her, spinning her in what felt like opposite directions.

  Chandra spiraled into darkness, unable to fight, unable to think. The weight of the water crushed against her; her lungs burned for want of air. But in her confusion she did not know how to escape it. Which way was up? Which way was down?

  An eerie light materialized through the watery haze. Surely it was her father! Surely it was rescue!

  She reached her hand toward it. Here! I’m here!

  The light hovered, then drew near, its brilliance revealing the vast and quiet beauty that lay beneath.

  Chandra gasped then gulped, no longer able to control her lungs. Cold water rushed into them, dousing the warmth of her last dying breath. She closed her eyes and willed the light to take her. There was no use fighting it. She was drowning.

  And no one would ever know.

  CHAPTER 2

  Chandra shivered as cool air skimmed across her, but the hand exploring her ribs felt warm against her skin. The fingers pressed gently, sending a stab of pain that ricocheted all the way to her spine. “Ge’ off!” she croaked, shoving the hand away.

  “Be still,” a man’s voice said. “You’re injured.”

  “No shit.” Chandra groaned and attempted to sit, but he pressed her back down.

  “I said be still.”

  Chandra pried her eyes past the salty sand that crusted them, but all she could see was a blur of gray sky. She drew some saliva into her mouth. “Where . . . are you?”

  A shadow leaned over her. Chandra blinked, trying to bring it into focus, but then a hand traveled up her thigh, pushing the leg of her shorts toward her hip. She bolted into the upright position. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” she snapped.

  “Exploring your wound,” the man said.

  “Well explore your own wound!” She flung his hand away, but as she did she noticed a massive purple bruise canvassing her entire ribcage. Apparently her shirt had been lifted to explore that as well.

  Chandra yanked down her top, sending more pain to her ribs. She winced and glanced at her legs. They, as well as her boots, were frosted with sand, but her left outer thigh sported a deep jagged ridge along the full length of it. Her stomach roiled. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she said.

  The man eased her back down. “You swallowed too much water.”

  Chandra looked toward the stranger, but he had stepped away. “Have you seen anyone else, here on the beach?” she asked, twisting her head in an attempt to locate him.

  “Only you,” the man replied.

  He returned to her side and knelt beside her, and as he did his face came more into view. He was young, his features handsome and perfectly balanced. But it was not the beauty of his face nor the frown that was planted upon it that had Chandra mesmerized. It was his eyes.

  Chandra reached a hand to her head, expecting to find a gaping wound from which all her good sense had escaped. “Your eyes,” she said.

  “What about them?” he asked.

  “They’re violet.”

  “And yours are green.” The young man reached for a leather satchel at his side. From within it he pulled out a cloth and a small, topaz-colored bottle. He bit the cloth with his teeth and tore it into several strips, then draped them across his thigh and pulled the cork from the bottle. A scent that reminded Chandra of menthol and eucalyptus wafted into her nostrils.

  The young man poured the oily substance onto a strip of cloth. “This will sting,” he said, and pressed it to the wound.

  Chandra nearly flew off the sand, but the young man’s hand pressed her back down. “I told you it would sting,” he said. He glanced at her. “Do they bother you?”

  “What?”

  “My eyes. Do they bother you?”

  “Yes,” Chandra said, trying to think past the pain. “I mean no.”

  “Which?” he asked.

  Chandra grimaced. “Which . . . what?”

  The young man shook his head, then lifted her leg and bent it at the knee, propping it in front of him as he began to wrap it with the remaining bandages.

  “Who—are—you anyway?” Chandra asked through gritted teeth.

  “Orryn,” he responded. He tied off the last of the cloth. “Who are you?”

  “Chandra.”

  “Chan-dria,” he said. He looked at her thoughtfully. “In honor of the moon goddess?”

  Chandra forced a laugh. “I don’t know anything about a moon goddess.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said, and turned his attention back to the bandage.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Chandra asked. The condescension in his voice had not gone unnoticed.

  “Chandria is a goddess of the ancients,” he said. “Her name means ‘moon-like’. Did your parents not tell you?” He grunted with disapproval.

  “I doubt they named me after some goddess,” Chandra said. “Besides, it’s just a name.”

  “Every name has meaning and a purpose in the granting of it. Even yours.” Orryn eased her leg down. “This will do I think, until I get you to the Spirit Keeper.”

  “The what?”

  Orryn rose slowly, and if Chandra’s eyes had not been in focus before, they certainly were now. She moved her gaze up Orryn’s body, realizing he was tall, or so he seemed from her prone position in the sand, and dressed very strangely. His feet were covered in boots lined with fur that spilled over the tops of them. They reached to the middle of his calves and were crisscrossed by long thick laces. Dark leather trousers hugged his muscular thighs, leading Chandra’s wide-eyed gaze toward the formfitting jacket that reached just past his hips. The jacket was of leather and tooled with curvilinear symbols that vined along a row of polished buttons. Its white, fur lined collar was turned up at the young man’s jaw, outlining his perfect face.

  As Chandra examined him, she thought he looked familiar. Perhaps it was the hair. Long and blond, it was pulled back and plaited at each side of his head, the rest of it left to stream past his shoulders.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” she asked. “Legolas of the North or something?”

  Orryn tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Your outfit,” she said, nodding in his direction. “This is the tropics, you know.”

  “You’re feverish.”

  He pulled off his jacket, revealing an oatmeal-colored tunic and a long-handled knife tucked into the braided waistband of his trousers. Everything about him screamed Renaissance Festival.

  He draped the jacket across her.

  “If you’d step out of your role-play for a second,” Chandra said, “you’d realize I’m burning up, thank you very much.” She shoved the jacket onto the sand.

  “What do you mean, role-play?”

  “You’re from a geek fest, right?”

  Orryn frowned. “You say that as insult.”

  “No. I mean—” Chandra bit her lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “It will take more than that to hurt my feelings,” Orryn said. He turned and marched off.

  It was then that Chandra realized the heat enveloping her was from the inside, not the out. Another cool breeze swept across her, sen
ding goose bumps to her skin. She stood shakily and brought the jacket up with her. Turning, she scanned the area for Orryn and spotted him. He was walking toward the edge of a tree line and a light gray horse that was tethered there.

  Chandra draped the jacket around her shoulders, then moved her eyes along the trees and toward the distant horizon. A vast range of snowy mountains could be seen, and towering above them was a hint of smoke spiraling from the tallest summit. She turned and looked toward the beach. Strangely, there were no palms, not even a hint of the tropics where she and Ike had been sailing that morning. She moved her focus to the sea, praying she would see The Seeker sailing across turquoise waters toward her. But what she saw made her knees go weak. The waters were void of ships, and they were dark and gray and swirling around spiraling rocks “that rose from the sea like monstrous spines.” Chandra drew a sharp breath. “Impossible.”

  “Impossible?” Orryn asked.

  Chandra wheeled to face him. He now stood just steps away, holding the reins of the horse.

  She took a startled step back. “What is this place?” she demanded.

  Orryn’s jaw tightened.

  “I said, what is this place?” she repeated.

  “Your questions will be answered in time,” he said.

  Chandra’s eyes shot back toward the landscape. The place seemed familiar, though not in a way any sane person would recognize it. It was an author’s creation, a fantasy world Chandra had visited many times through the dog-eared pages of her favorite books. Surely it was just a dream. Or maybe she had gone insane. Or even worse—

  Her hand fluttered to her mouth. “Am I . . . dead?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” he said.

  “Insane then.” But Chandra was not sure which was preferable.

  “Insane is more likely.”

  Chandra huffed with annoyance. “I’ll have you know I’m only half insane. If I was completely insane, the city of Kiradyn would be right there,” she said, pointing toward the forest.

  Orryn looked in that direction, his expression confused, then concerned.

  “You know of Kiradyn?” she asked, but there was no need for a reply. His face told her he did.

  Chandra backed away slowly.

  “There’s no reason to fear me, girl. I already told you, your questions will be answered in time.”

  Orryn moved toward her, but Chandra spun and attempted to run. How far she would get was anybody’s guess, her leg was throbbing and her head was pounding. But Orryn gave her no time to consider an answer. He grabbed her, stopping her in her tracks, and yanked her toward him.

  Chandra threw her weight against him, shoving him with every ounce of strength she could muster.

  Orryn locked his arms around her, his face inches from hers. “You’ll do further damage to your injuries if you don’t stop,” he said.

  “Let me go!”

  But Orryn only increased his strength. “I will not harm you,” he said. “But I cannot let you go.”

  “You’re hurting me!”

  Chandra writhed and pushed, panting with temper and exasperation. But then she realized that Orryn was panting almost as hard as she was.

  Orryn let go his hold and staggered back, his eyes wide. “I’ve been away too long,” he said, then turned and headed toward the horse.

  Chandra wasn’t sure how to react. One minute she was running from him, the next he was running from her. She glanced at the sky. It would soon be dark. And then what? She had no food, no shelter, no idea where to go. “Orryn!” she shouted.

  He did not turn around.

  CHAPTER 3

  Orryn reached the horse and prepared to mount. With one hand on the pommel and the other on the reins, he lifted a boot into the stirrup, but for some reason he couldn’t lift the rest of him into the saddle.

  He threw a glare at the girl who was still wrapped in his jacket. He’d require its warmth if he was to journey home unscathed. But he would not, could not, require the warmth of the girl. He clenched his teeth. Fool, he whispered to himself. What’s wrong with you?

  “Orryn,” the girl called.

  Orryn detected a hint of desperation in her voice, but why should he care? She’d already made it clear she wished to flee him. Then again, everyone he’d ever found on the beach wished to flee him at some point or another.

  “God,” he muttered. He turned to face her. “Come if you’re going or stay if you’re not,” he hollered back, but Syddian law required that he take her. There was no real choice in the matter.

  The girl’s eyes darted back and forth along the beach, then toward the sea. Orryn shook his head. If she was looking for the boat from which she had tumbled she was wasting her time and his. No vessel survived the elementals, though occasionally a survivor was spat to shore.

  The girl called Chandria stepped toward him, her shoulders slumped in what appeared to be resignation. Good, he thought, easier to manage that way. He watched as she approached, assessing her features and looking for as many impurities as he could find. Her black and lavender hair was too short, that he decided instantly, and her eyes, so pale. He did not like them at all. He cocked his head. Decent face, he would give her that. But her skin was ruddy from too much sun and too little attention. No matter; it would likely regain its luster once healed. He moved his eyes past the pink under-tunic she was wearing and toward the bandaged wound on her thigh. As he did, he noticed her legs were well-shaped—something in her favor at least. How unfortunate one was damaged and likely to scar.

  The girl stood facing him, her bothersome eyes raised to his.

  “Will you help me find my father?” she asked.

  Orryn realized her voice had quivered somewhat, but he held his contempt in check. Perhaps she was due a little courtesy. After all, she did not yet realize her father was dead and the life she once knew all but over. Orryn sighed. He disliked this part of the rotation more than anything. It was one thing to save a person’s life, another to tell them it would never be the same.

  “I cannot help you,” he said. “It will be dark soon and we must reach shelter before night falls.” He glanced toward the mountains. Their pastel hues were deepening to emerald and amethyst. He cupped a hand over his eyes and squinted at the sun. They would have to spend one night here before leaving, but as soon as the sun rose he would take her to Syddia. To delay the journey would mean trouble for him. And four nights with this girl was going to be trouble enough.

  “Could we at least search the beach?” she asked, drawing his attention back to her.

  “No,” he replied.

  Her eyes went black with rage. Perhaps they were not so pale after all.

  “Listen, elf boy,” she snapped. “I don’t care what you want or how dark it gets or what kind of la la land I’ve ended up in, but I’m going to find my father whether you like it or not!” With that, she turned her back to him and limped down the sand.

  “Well, return my jacket before you go,” he shouted. “I, for one, would prefer not to freeze tonight.”

  The girl yanked it off and tossed it to the ground. “There!” she barked over her shoulder. “I hope you freeze anyway.”

  Orryn ground his teeth and marched toward her. He grabbed up the jacket and pulled it on.

  The wind picked up, sweeping a bitter chill through the air. The girl paused, wrapping her arms around herself. Her body trembled, but she set her chin with determination and limped on, her strange black boots crunching across the sand.

  Orryn followed, keeping a cool distance. He was pleased to have the warmth of his jacket again, and equally pleased the girl did not. Yes, she would soon regret her words. Then she would be begging him for the jacket he had so generously offered. But he would not share it again. She’d had her chance.

  At last she stopped, as he’d expected. There was no place left for her to go. She’d met the tumble of rocks Orryn already knew to be there, and her injuries would not allow her to climb them even had she been inclined to do
so.

  The girl began to shake, her shoulders vibrating as she buried her face in her hands. Orryn thought to reach out to her, to offer comfort as he had seen others do. But then he realized his place, and his training.

  “We must go,” he said.

  “You go!” the girl said with a sob. “I have to find my father.”

  God, enough of this, Orryn muttered to himself. Just tell her what she needs to know and get on with it. “You’re wasting your time, girl. Your father is dead.” The words, though true, had tumbled out of his mouth in what sounded like a blurt. Orryn felt a strange twinge in his belly. He had been trained not to speak truths so harshly. But he had also been trained not to care.

  “Dead?” the girl cried. She spun to face him, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “Do—do not cry,” Orryn said stiffly. God, why was she doing that? He reached a hand to dry her tears, but jerked it back. He had seen his mother dry his younger sister Tiersa’s tears many times, but this was different—and more dangerous.

  He clenched his jaw, realizing his mind, and very nearly his hand, had twice now reached for the girl. It was an early sign. Departure could not be delayed past morning. But then he could not help but wonder, would the Sovereign Lady agree with his decision to leave his post? As a Pedant, one of the guardship’s most elite, it was against the law for him to leave his rotation without a replacement. But surly the Sovereign would understand.

  He had been on duty for four moons now, when it should have been only three. Had his replacement arrived when scheduled, he would have been home by now, in Syddia, with lavation already complete. As it was, he had remained at his post, judging the tempers of the clouds and waters, patrolling the woods and searching the beaches. It was an all-day every day ritual, and he had grown weary of it. But to leave with no replacement? Orryn knew his job and hundreds of others like it were vital to the maintenance of things. This girl, however, was not one of those things. Or was she?