The Shadow City

by Ryan Wieser

  “Whatever we are paid to,” the taller one answered, pulling Jessop back to the moment.

  Jessop squeezed Falco’s shoulder. He nodded. “You’ll move no slaves.”

  “But—”

  Falco raised his hand, silencing them. “No slaves, and your residency is probationary for several months.”

  The two slowly nodded in agreement.

  Falco leaned back in his throne. “Good. Find my man Corin later this day, and he will assist you with your residency documents.”

  Falco kept a ledger of any who came through Aranthol. When she had asked him why, he had but one response. “Conscription.”

  * * * *

  Jessop left Falco to discuss matters with Corin. She had never had any interest in leading Aranthol. Just like Dezane, she had always known Falco to be a trueborn leader. She had faith in him, and she did not envy his position of power. She thought of their earlier exchange and wanted to put it out of her mind. She couldn’t just spend her life between their chambers and the Pit, their training arena.

  Leaving the castle was easy, and she had free reign over the Shadow City. Leaving it without any guards attending her was somewhat harder. She had roamed the city unattended before the incident with the desert mage, but since then, Falco had made sure she rarely had a minute alone. All who knew her face knew her skill, and knew Falco’s love of her. If they were too dumb to fear her, they were at least smart enough to fear him. She had tried reminding Falco of that time and time again, but he wouldn’t be persuaded.

  It was the same love he had for her that kept him at arm’s length. She wished she could force him to see reason—whether they were together in more than words did not matter to those who sought to harm them. His love was motive enough. Unless he intended to stop loving her, she would always be a target. Despite Falco’s concerns for her, they both knew she wasn’t a very vulnerable one.

  She finished brushing her dark mane back, braiding the top so it would stay out of her eyes. She turned from her reflection, secured her usual weapons—two daggers, each the length of her forearm— in their harness, strapped in a diagonal cross over her back, and made her way for the door.

  She rested her hand on the wall beside her doorframe. Closing her eyes, she focused on the energy surrounding her. She felt through the black walls, breathing slowly, concentrating vigorously. Falco had taught her well, but her skill for Sentio, though great, still lagged behind his own. She could feel the two guards on the other side of the wall. That was how Falco had taught her, in the beginning. To shut your eyes, and use your mind to seek out others, like you were in a dark room trying to feel with an outstretched hand. In the beginning, it had been beyond futile. She had been certain the Hunters were right—perhaps Sentio couldn’t be grasped by women. And then, Falco had employed a new tactic.

  He had blindfolded her for their training. They had gone onto the rooftop of the highest building in Aranthol, her eyes covered, and he had told her to stop him before he stepped off the ledge. When she rushed him, targeting his presence with any small sound, he had struck her. He did not harm her out of malice, but necessity. They fought, and she lost. Again and again. Until she could fight without eyes, until she could find him without sound, until her mind was the greatest weapon she had. Blinding her had given her true sight.

  Finding had been the first step to mastering Sentio. Manipulating had been the second. Altering the cognitions of another human, suppressing their ability to move because you could suppress their ability to want to move, had been no easy feat. Reshaping energy so that the inanimate was under your influence or forcing a guard to see an empty hallway when you stood but a foot before him were skills that took a lifetime to master. Yet Falco had already conquered them all, and he was dead-set on Jessop following in his lead.

  She entered the minds of the guards, using a great deal of concentration to work over two minds simultaneously. The ease of the work wasn’t solely based on the skill of the one who mastered Sentio, but of the strength of mind of the one who could fall prey to it. She found their vision, and could see their view of the dark, black hall. She saw one gaze over the onyx walls, the other staring at the black marble flooring.

  Only when she was certain she had fixed their perception did she dare open the door. She hesitated, halting in the middle of the two sentries for but a moment. She could stop a knife midair with easy confidence, but she was still sometimes uncertain about the more advanced maneuvers. When they made no gesture to suggest they could see her, she quietly closed the door behind her and ran off down the hall. Certain she was in the clear, she flung herself around a tight corner, only to bump straight into another guard.

  The guard stumbled back, shaken. Jessop found herself staring at a set of glowing green eyes, identical to her own. She huffed heavily, “What are you doing here, Korend’a?”

  Korend’a was a Kuroi guard whom Falco had hand selected to work in the castle. He was tall, with dark skin pulled tightly over sinewy muscles. He straightened out his black robes, reminiscent of Kuroi warrior attire, and looked her over quickly.

  “I maintain the safety of the castle, Jessop. I do tend to walk around here.”

  She studied his face, finding herself wondering for a brief moment how old he was. Maybe as young as three decades, maybe as old as six—the Kuroi were a stunningly youthful people. “Hada’na nei hey’wa, Jessop?”

  He asked her how she had been faring. Korend’a had been the only sentry to help Falco get rid of the remains of the man who had attacked Jessop the previous year—he had been the only one to know what had nearly happened to her. He had been the only one, aside from Falco, to ever see her back.

  “Dand’e dore dona, Korend’a,” she responded, insisting that she had been well. “I promise,” she added when he kept his glowing gaze fixed on her.

  “I believe you.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, and she used it to think of a way to get past him. Korend’a did not have a weak mind. He had the powers of the Kuroi, but more than that, he had her respect. She would never wish to meddle in the mind of one she cared for.

  “I must be going—”

  “Let me accompany you.”

  She raised a hand. “Not necessary, Korend’a.”

  He remained in her path. He looked her over slowly, and she knew he sensed her intentions to be alone in the city. Sentio was not a gift of the Kuroi; what they could do was something quite different, and unnamed. They had a power they claimed to have inherited from the earth, one that lived in the sands as surely as it lived in their blood. Falco had theorized that it was her Kuroi lineage that made her capable of mastering Sentio with such ease. She had never thought it had been with ease.

  “Norenay, Jessop.”

  Necessary.

  * * * *

  They walked through the dark streets in silence, and Jessop had to admit that even though she had sought isolation, being with Korend’a wasn’t dreadful. He didn’t harass her or stare at her; he didn’t stop to speak to anyone in the bazaar. He moved through the black market of their high street with utter disinterest, winding toward the Gahaza Square with silent composure. It made her want to pester him, if anything.

  She could tell simply by looking at him that he wasn’t evil. He wasn’t cut from the same dark cloth that all of those who roamed up and down the street were. She was certain he wasn’t even sought after by the Hunters of Infinity. But there was something about him…He lived with guilt, in true isolation, always present but constantly, somehow, absent. She could see in his eyes that there was a life he had left behind, a life he missed greatly. He had wronged someone, perhaps. She believed she could ascertain the reasons by force, if she entered his mind quickly enough, but she wouldn’t. She knew it would be wrong to do so, and to use abilities just because she had them seemed like an abuse of power.

  Jessop halted by a wooden stand, ru
nning her fingers gently over the silver talismans being sold. She eyed him quickly before speaking. “How is it you came to work for Falco?”

  Korend’a kept one hand on his sword, the other behind his back. “I have worked in your castle for two years, and you have only thought to ask me this now?”

  “I tend not to make small talk with the guards.”

  “What would you call this?”

  She dropped the necklace she had been holding and stepped back into the busy street, carrying on with her walk. If he didn’t wish to tell her, she wouldn’t press him.

  “I killed two Kuroi, amongst others,” he spoke suddenly, his voice soft.

  She turned around to face him and saw his face harden, awaiting her reproach. She was surprised at his confession. For a Kuroi to kill one of their own was the greatest of trespasses amongst the tribe. She had anticipated a history of slighting another, not murdering.

  “And Dezane DeHawn let you live?”

  His lips were tight with regret. “I killed the man who murdered my husband…and I also killed his entire travelling party. Dezane knew I had been wronged, and while there is no excuse, he offered me the opportunity to live out my life in the Shadow City, instead of dying beyond the Grey.”

  She nodded slowly at the tall man. She could not blame Korend’a for his actions, not when he so clearly punished himself for them. “And when you moved here, Falco chose you to serve in the castle.”

  “He said he wanted someone who understood love was worth killing for.”

  Jessop thought of the guilt she saw in Korend’a. She thought of Falco. She thought of her mother and father, and of Hydo Jesuin too. “Is it?”

  “For me, it meant losing my home, my people, the right to live the way I wanted for the rest of my days, all to avenge the one I loved.”

  She stared at him, captivated. Korend’a had long ago done what she intended to do herself. “Well, was it worth it?”

  He looked down at her with dark, certain eyes. “Absolutely.”

  Before she could speak to him further, Jessop felt a hand latch onto her shoulder. “Excuse me, lady?”

  She shook the hand off, turning to face whoever spoke to her. Korend’a was at her side in an instant, and had pushed the man back several feet. Jessop sized the man up. He had one eye and ragged hair, his dark clothes matching those of his companion, one with a face made of metal. They were the men from the assembly that morning, the two who ran the illegal transport service.

  Jessop looked from the one-eyed man to his robotic companion, to the larger group of leather-clad denizens they had congregated with. “What do you want?”

  He clasped his hands together, his one pale eye rolling around as he looked her over. “I recognized you from this morning, Miss, and couldn’t help but ask if you could do me a kindness?”

  He moved to take a small step closer to Jessop, but Korend’a immediately had his hand out, keeping the man at bay. Jessop knew the trader had been drinking—she could smell the ethanol on his breath. Jessop was many things, but a woman of the people was not one of them. She could fight at their sides, but she could not stand and speak with them in the streets. It had nothing to do with their station or demeanor—it was about her. She didn’t want friends, she didn’t need any companion other than Falco, and she didn’t like talking. She most often wished to speak to no one except Falco or another Kuroi.

  “I don’t grant favors,” she answered, brushing past the man. He quickly got back in her way, and at his gesture, Korend’a unsheathed his sword. The group of men, many of whom Jessop recognized as other local dark traders, stood behind their cyclopean frontrunner.

  She took a slow breath, trying to recognize everything she was feeling. Falco had told her to control her emotions, lest they control her. She hadn’t been forced to deal with any menacing citizens for a year. She felt challenged by the man, and angered by his disrespect, but she did not feel fear, for the fight was something she had long since learned to love. Though she recognized how greatly outnumbered she and Korend’a were, she felt adrenaline—excitement. She knew her heart raced not simply out of anticipation, but out of concern for Falco. If she fought in the town bazaar, he would know, and he would be angered.

  She drummed her fingers against her thigh, trying to suppress her exhilaration. On a deeper level, Jessop always wanted the fight. She had an irrepressible rage that could only be quenched through combat, the memories that once shook her with terror in her sleep now fueling her every strike. But she was not a barbarian—she clung to civility and composure, to restraint and control. “Remove yourself from my path, or have yourself removed, trader. Any issues you have with Falco Bane’s ruling, you take up with him.”

  The man did not move though. Instead, he half-smiled at her. “If you could just speak to your Lord on—”

  “He is your Lord too and as long as you stand in the Shadow City you live under his ruling. Now get out of my way,” she ordered.

  She could sense his strike before he had even begun it. Slowed by feebleness and intoxication, his hand moved toward her face at a glacial pace. Hastened by skill and adrenaline, secretly pleased he had started something she would gladly finish, she unsheathed her daggers with expert speed. She pierced the palm of his hand before his slap connected, forcing her blade through his calloused skin, impaling metacarpals and flesh, bursting through the other side with a plume of blood and a shrieking wail from the trader.

  His scream set them off. Three men leapt at Korend’a, who moved about them like a shadow, slicing and ducking and weaving—untouchable. Two lunged past their wounded leader and made for her. She ducked a strike, elbowed a jaw, turned, and with perfect fluidity executed a roundhouse kick on one. He flew back and knocked his companions to the ground. She knelt, dodging another strike, and slipped her blade into the thigh of another. He cried as she pulled the blade free from his torn muscle and flesh.

  She stood and flung both blades out, instantly killing two of the traders. Using Sentio, she called the blades back, and in an instant, her fingers were wrapping around their leather-bound hilts. She turned one blade inward so it ran parallel to her forearm, and kept one extended out. As another man lunged at her, she punched him with the hilt of the inward facing dagger, before slicing him up the gut with the other.

  They fell from her, afraid and angered. Korend’a pulled his sword free from the chest of a trader. She listened to the gushing flow of blood escaping the cavity. All about them the high street had diminished into chaos. Some screamed and fled their curios—some gathered to watch. She no longer cared if Falco had been beckoned—she relished in her fight. Let them see her anger, she thought, let them see she wouldn’t be threatened by them. The man who attacked her the year before, a famed and dark desert mage, had not lived to see another day. Neither would these seditious traders if they didn’t yield to her.

  By the mayhem surrounding her, she felt as though she had gotten her message across. The one-eyed man had found his feet and was lurching towards her. She threw her blade, and using Sentio, froze it midair, the tip hovering just a half inch away from his eye. He didn’t dare move, and his paralysis was infectious—the remnants of his gang stood frozen.

  “Gather your living and leave,” Jessop began, but before she could say anything further, the passersby in the street began to kneel, ducking their heads low to the ground. She could feel him behind her—Falco had arrived.

  “What is this mutiny?” he asked, his deep voice travelling over the street. She did not turn to face him, not daring to pull her focus from her blade.

  “My Lord—she attacked us, killed my men, her and her manservant!” The one-eyed trader yelled past her, his voice filled with vitriol and terror.

  She could hear Falco walking slowly towards them. “Firstly, he is no ‘manservant.’ Secondly, she attacked you? Unprovoked?”

  “M-my Lord, we wanted to just
speak with her. I thought I could ask her to speak to you about t-the s-slaves, s-seeing as she is y-your l-lady, isn’t she?”

  Falco actually let out a small laugh, his breath brushing over her hair as he came up behind her. “She is my everything,” he growled, his voice deep.

  Without hesitation, his Sentio cut through hers as he took control of her blade and plunged it into the man’s eye. He leapt past Jessop, pulling the blade free from the screaming trader, and quickly stabbed him in the throat. He spiraled under the arm of another merchant, quickly piercing him in the armpit before leaping up behind him and snapping his neck.

  He pulled the blade back, pirouetting about the group of dwindling survivors. He sliced and stabbed and snapped. Blood flew about him like paint, flicking over his face, covering his hands. None could strike him; none could anticipate his next move. Falco’s abilities, the way he danced with a weapon, immobilized his enemies. He fought with a true unparalleled ability and an almost arrogant sense of ease—knowing he had no equal.

  Jessop watched him with shock, silent. This was not the first time he had killed in the street, nor even the first time he had killed for her. He had ended the lives of many who had entered Aranthol. She was shocked because of his public declaration.

  He crouched over the body of the last trader, staring him in the eye as he passed. Then slowly, he rose, turning to face Jessop. He stepped over fallen bodies, navigating the street, slick with blood, with ease. A splattering of blood covered his perfect face. His gray eyes held her, and just as his opponents had felt, she was frozen by him. He was singularly the most intoxicating person she had ever known.