The Shadow City

by Ryan Wieser

  Falco grabbed her hand, and quickly retracted, hissing in pain. She opened her eyes and saw that while there were no flames, he kept his hand close to his chest, clearly in pain. He looked at her with anger. “Your skin is hot as a flame.”

  She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, securing her hands against her sides. She felt no such heat. “Then don’t touch me.”

  He sighed heavily and rested his hand on her knee, ignoring her anger. “We need to discuss this.”

  She refused to look at him, staring instead at his hand on her. “Discuss what?”

  “The Fire-wielding,” he answered. His voice was low and soft, as though he were trying to breach a difficult topic with kindness. She didn’t need his kindness—she wasn’t one of his indigent denizens.

  “There’s nothing to discuss. You’re not a Fire-wielder, you know nothing of it,” she snapped, flicking her gaze to him briefly.

  “And you are and yet you know nothing of it. I don’t know anyone who becomes a Fire-wielder. They’re born with those abilities…It’s incredibly dangerous, Jessop, it makes you that much more—”

  “Volatile?”

  He sighed heavily. “That’s not the word I would use, but yes. We need to figure out how you can learn to control it.”

  She turned in her seat, focusing her angry stare on him. “What makes you think I can’t control it on my own?”

  He arched his brow at her. “You just burned my hand.”

  “Maybe it was on purpose.”

  They stared at one another, angry and indignant, silent. She had felt such rage it was difficult to discern truth from lies born of anger. She had acted in ways that she knew she previously never would have, but it seemed to be precisely that—previously. As in, before Jeco was taken. There was a before and an after, and she quite frankly no longer cared about who she was or what she did before. Nothing mattered but the present, nothing mattered but getting their son back.

  “Do you think I don’t feel the same?” Falco whispered, knowing her thoughts.

  She shook her head at him. “Don’t do that, Falco.”

  He shook his head at her. “Do what? Share a mind, as we always have?”

  She held his stare. “Perhaps I no longer wish to share everything of mine with you.”

  He physically withdrew from her, recoiling his hand, narrowing his gaze. A part of her immediately regretted the words, but another part, the part where the fire resided within her, willed her to go on, urged her to hurt him further, as he had hurt her. “I have shared my entire life with you, I have shared my body with you, I have shared my abilities with you—I gave you our son. And what do I have to show for it? You have a throne and I have lost my child.”

  She felt the tears brimming, hot and plentiful in her eyes. Her throat was dry, as though the flames already licked her skin. She saw how her words wounded him, she saw the way he bit his cheek. “You blame me.”

  “This is your war, is it not? We took the Blade for you. We angered Hanson and Hydo for you. Now they have Jeco.”

  Her voice was louder than she had intended. Several warriors turned, their concerned eyes flicking between her and Falco. She cared not. She kept her focus on Falco. He stood and ran a hand over his face. “I won’t speak with you when you’re like this.”

  As he began to turn from her, she stood and grabbed his shoulder, lurching him around to face her. “Oh, you will speak to me. It is difficult to face the truth, isn’t it? I did everything for you and now my boy is missing!”

  “Our boy, Jessop! He’s my son, too.” Falco’s voice was louder than hers, travelling about the cabin of the Soar-Craft, silencing any adjacent conversations, stilling any movements. Every eye was on them.

  Urdo and Kohl quickly appeared in the aisle, alarmed by the arguing. Kohl raised his hands out slowly, as though gesturing peace to her. “Jessop, you cannot blame Falco for Hanson’s misdeeds.”

  She turned her teary-eyed gaze to him. He looked at her with complete confidence, as though no matter how many times she attacked him, he believed their bond would keep him safe. She shook her head at him slowly. “Every time you speak to me, you risk your life. Hanson is your mentor. You helped him escape Falco’s wrath when you nearly killed me. This is just as much your fault.”

  Kohl nodded slowly. “You’re angry, that’s understandable. But we will get Jeco back.”

  She shot him a warning stare. “Keep my son’s name out of your mouth.”

  He was silenced, nodding at her slowly, gauging the extent of her anger. Urdo took a small step towards her. “Jessop, I know how mad you are, but you cannot appear to defy Falco before his soldiers, not days before he intends to lead them into another battle.”

  She shook her head at Urdo. “I can defy whomever I wish. Falco leads the rest of you because he is stronger than you all.”

  She turned her gaze back to her husband. To his tired gray eyes and his saddened face. “But you’re not stronger than me, are you? It’s becoming more apparent each day that my abilities have surpassed yours.”

  He nodded at her. “Perhaps you are stronger than me. Perhaps you’re the strongest there’s ever been. I don’t care, Jessop. All I care about is you and getting Jeco back.”

  She shook her head at him, the tears silently streaking down her cheeks. “That’s not true. It’s never been true. Otherwise we would have never left Aranthol.”

  “We both wanted vengeance on Hydo, we both wanted to secure the Blade for our son.”

  She shook her head, unable to hold back the tears any longer. She felt the flames ignite, she could hear how they whipped about her wrists. She felt the despair that no words could describe, the hollowness in her chest, the pain of missing her child, so great that her body erupted in tangible heat when she thought of it. Nothing had ever mattered as much as he did. They had been so blinded by their revenge and their struggle for power and destiny, they had somehow lost their only son.

  She lowered her head, crying heavily, her shoulders heaving as she fought for breath. The fire surrounding her fingers blurred in her teary-eyed vision. She tried to focus, she tried to take deep breaths. Falco was right and she knew it. She had no clue how to contain the flames that every eye on the vessel stared at with horror.

  She felt hopeless. Helpless. She was more than a failure. She struggled for breath as the fire travelled up her arms, growing stronger and stronger. She could hear people calling her name but their voices sounded faint and far off, unrecognizable. She could smell smoke. The fire travelled around her torso, and she remembered the first fire, all those years ago. She remembered the cabin, and the screaming, and Hydo. The only Fire-wielder she had ever known. She could see him clearly controlling the flames, using his dark abilities to commit the murders that had initiated everything.

  The memory made the pain worse, made her ability to focus that much more impaired. She bit her lip and struggled against the tears and despair. She needed to contain the flames, for however immune to their wicked burn she was, none surrounding her were equally invulnerable. She tried to keep her eyes on the fire, she tried to focus her attention, but all she could think about was the way the ashes had run through her fingers.

  Suddenly, someone grabbed hold of both of her hands. The touch startled her, as fingers intertwined with her own, as she was pulled close to the chest of Falco. He held her tightly, burning in her flames. She tried to jerk free, she tried to move away from him, but he held her too tightly, refusing to let go.

  He held her firmly against him, and she knew his agony was great. He ignored the burning of his own flesh, he ignored the pain, tucking his face against hers. He kissed her tears and whispered against her skin. “Come back to me, Jessop. Come back to me.”

  She had experienced it before. Falco’s voice had the ability to cut through all the pain, a blade of his own, sharper than all the agony and chaos and mystica
l abilities. She heard his voice, and her heart needed him. He grounded her. She let her head rest against his chest, where she could hear the pounding of his heart.

  “Come back to me,” he whispered into her dark hair. The fires extinguished. He let go of her hands and she quickly wrapped them around him, holding him tightly. He locked his arms around her and held her against him. She sensed him healing as he held her, fixing the burns she had inflicted on him. I’m sorry, she pushed the small words across his mind. He shook his head, continuing to hold her.

  Suddenly, the Soar-Craft jerked to the side, causing a stir amongst the passengers. Jessop pulled away from Falco, quick to grab hold of a chair to steady herself. She looked around to see everyone braced, holding onto items and walls, securing their positions against the turbulence. As soon as they seemed to recover, the vessel jerked in the opposite direction. A deafening sound filled the cabin, like wind whistling through a tight space.

  Then the Soar-Craft dropped. She felt the pressure change within the cabin as they were all lurched upward against the fall. She kept one hand on the chair, one on Falco. What’s happening? She pushed the thought into his mind.

  He looked around, seemingly as confused as everyone else. The Soar-Craft was still falling, beginning to tilt forward. Packs of bedding, food parcels, and weapons all began to tumble forward, collapsing against chairs, crushing people against cabin walls. As a massive crate came barreling towards them in the aisle, Jessop released her hold on the chair and threw her hand out, freezing the wooden box before it struck them. Falco locked his arms around her tightly, supporting her as she warded off falling items.

  She knew what was happening and it terrified her.

  As Falco held her upright, she flung oncoming items out of their way. “Falco—we’re crashing!” she yelled, her voice battling against the whipping wind filling the cabin.

  She felt him hold her tighter; he too knew the truth. Suddenly, Dezane appeared in the aisle, fighting his way against the falling debris and panicking passengers. Urdo grabbed the tribal elder and wrenched him up to where they stood. Dezane grabbed the seat beside Falco and Jessop. “We are under attack! Raiders in Hara’agul have shot the vessel—we’re going down!”

  Jessop turned in Falco’s arms, looking from him to Dezane, and back to him. She looked into his perfect gray eyes as her heart raced, as the world around them began to soar past. They fell, faster and faster, hundreds of feet down. “Jeco!” she shouted to Falco, and he nodded at her, his gray eyes dark and serious, knowing her mind. They wouldn’t die in this crash, they couldn’t, not when they had their son to find.

  She shifted in his tight embrace. “I need you to let go, Falco!”

  He shook his head, staring at her as though she were insane. “Never.”

  She squeezed him tightly, “Do you trust me?”

  He regarded her silently, slowly, as though he were at peace. “Of course.”

  She kissed him quickly, firmly, as if it were for the last time.

  “Then let go…”

  If you enjoyed The Shadow City, be sure not to miss the first book in Ryan Wieser’s epic Hunters of Infinity series,

  The Hunters of Infinity have been protecting the Daharian galaxy for years, but there has never been a female Hunter—until now.

  In a seedy bar in the shadowy corners of Daharia, Jessop comes to the rescue of young Hunter Kohl O’Hanlon. Impressed by her remarkable sword-wielding skills, the Hunters invite her to their training facility, the Glass Blade, though not all are pleased with the intrusion. But they soon discover that Jessop learned to fight from the rogue leader of the Shadow City of Aranthol—and escaped. Now they want to use her intimate knowledge of their enemy to destroy him.

  As Jessop grows closer to this elite brotherhood, their leader succumbs to a mysterious ailment, and Kohl learns that Jessop is hiding dark secrets, raising suspicions about the enigmatic woman who saved his life. Has the Hunters’ security been breached—or do they have a traitor in their ranks?

  Allegiances will be questioned.

  Loyalties will be betrayed.

  Vengeance will be brutal.

  Read on for a special excerpt!

  A Rebel Base Books e-book on sale now.

  CHAPTER 1

  The tavern was dark and quiet, barring the muted voices that filled the corners with whispers of quiet corruption and deceit. Hushed sounds traveled on thick smoke to the ceiling and her eyes trailed over the dimly lit corners and over the musty cloaked patrons. Dirty exchanges took place everywhere, too-young girls being offered coins and despair by corrupt travelers, whose lies traveled like fire across the alcohol on their lips. This wasn’t a typical bar, this dark, underground dwelling in the heart of Azgul where there were more shadows than light, more smoke than air. It was a seedy, unsafe locale where illegal exchanges could occur. A place favored by those in the city’s most important positions, for in this underground dwelling they could act as they truly wished.

  From where she sat, with her cloak draped low over her face, she could easily make out the group of Aren. They were more discreet than she had anticipated, but few could go unseen to her well-trained eyes. They were scattered about the bar, donning the civilian attire of common Azgul nomad passerby. The Aren weren’t common travelers though; they were fatalistic believers who waited anxiously for a supposed impending end. A doom and darkness that would swallow the entire Daharian galaxy whole—their belief in some unimagined state of horror for the universe made her certain that not a man amongst them had ever laid eyes on Aranthol.

  She scanned the room, counting twelve of the zealots. Without their robes they appeared as normal men, barring their brand, which could be seen on the base of several of their necks. The tender nape of the neck was where all in Azgul had their brands. She knew that their mark was not well-known though, not as well-known as they would have liked it to be. Thinking of the brandings nearly had Jessop reaching for her own neck, certain she could almost feel the hot iron against her still. The smell of burning, blistering flesh unnaturally recoiling from heated metal filled her nostrils. She shivered at the putrid memory and forced it back to the depths of her mind, where she kept all her locked-away thoughts and all her darkness.

  Suddenly, the oddest sensation roused her, overcoming her senses. She could feel silk running across her skin, dragging her fine hairs on end, exciting her cells. The energy of the room had completely changed, thickening the air more than any smoke or liquor could do. She had only ever been around one other of her kind, and to feel the changing electromagnetic charge in the room without him present was as compelling to her as it was terrifying. The draw was a beast’s cry calling her in, feeding her need to find the one like her. It was a pull strong enough to grip her, strong enough to shoot adrenaline through her, to dilate her pupils and ready her muscles and tell her, without question, that Hunters were near.

  She closed her eyes and narrowed in on their presence. She could smell the faintest scent of grease on one of them; it had an acidic air to it—like the oil slick found in the Western corner of the city. She could hear his voice though he did not speak. She could see the diminutive smudge of black slick over his boot though she did not open her eyes. Her senses—so refined—ensured she could see most of him without ever glancing his way.

  And then she laid eyes on him.

  She found herself staring at a silver star-shaped scar, a twisted knot of marred flesh the size of a plum carved into his cheekbone. He had a mess of blond hair that he wore pulled back and dark eyes that he scanned the bar with. His frame was large but he held one shoulder slightly higher—due to recent injury, she imagined. As one of his large hands curled around a drink, the other rested comfortably against the hilt of his blade. His eyes trailed over the room and for a moment she wondered if he sensed her presence too. His gaze returned to his drink, and he smiled with half his mouth, allowing the star-sha
ped scar to pull and glisten. He was beautifully flawed.

  Her gaze fell to the man beside the young Hunter—an older man, another Hunter. The men dressed as she had expected. Their uniform consisted of black breeches and tunic, over which they wore a waist-length black leather vest, bound shut with the belt that carried their blade. The vest had their sigil imprinted over the heart. She watched as the older of the two pulled a stool out from the bar, slowly sitting as his well-trained eyes searched the corners of the establishment with practiced ease. His braid of silver hair rested down his back and as a rare flickering of light caught his face she saw his skin was mapped with the deep lines of worn scars. She had let her gaze hold him for less than a minute when she felt the whirring energy of his keen mind.

  His age made him more attuned to the presence of those like him. He turned in his seat, searching the room—he could sense her. But Jessop didn’t worry—he wouldn’t be looking for her; he would be searching for a man. Just to be sure, though, she forced her thoughts down, quieting her mind and turning her gaze away.

  She concentrated on her hand, on drumming her fingers on the table before her. She could feel her blood coursing, warm and rapid, through her veins, and her heart quickening, all for feeling the presence of those so like her so near. Her foot bounced against the floor, pumping adrenaline through her long legs. The silent room seemed to be getting louder and louder, she could hear her beating heart, swelling under her breast, her green eyes straining to stay down as anticipation welled inside her…

  Through her periphery she could make out the lone Aren, moving swiftly towards the Hunters. He held a blade. He needed to be quick. Her beating heart was pulsing rhythmically, deafening her thoughts. Someone—a girl—seeing the knife, screamed, a shriek that set the room into motion. Jessop finally let herself look up. The Hunters moved quickly in the shadows, swift to unsheathe their weapons. The Aren formed their pack quickly; there were thirteen, not twelve. For a brief moment, she was surprised at how one could have passed under her sight. She threw her hood back, finally able to watch the scene unfold. As the zealots formed a semi-circle around the Hunters, backing them up against the bar, the tavern crumbled into pandemonium.