Silver and Shadow (The Canath Chronicles Book 2)

by S. M. Gaither

  “Less admiring yourself, more figuring out what we do now, how about?” Soren says, taking both swords in one hand and using the other to feel along the smooth door.

  He shouldn’t be able to read my thoughts, but I swear sometimes he still can.

  With a snort, I lower my gaze from my reflection and sniff the bottom of the door. I catch the scent of dirt and steel, and I follow the trail of it to the very edge of the door’s right side—and then to an incision so thin that, if it didn’t smell different from the rest of of the door’s surface, there’s no way I would have noticed it.

  Soren crouches down next to me and reaches for this recess my nose found. “Big enough for the tip of a sword?” he guesses hopefully.

  I step back to study the starlight blades in his hand.

  He chooses one and jams it in with a quick, decided flick of his wrist.

  I cringe a bit, thinking about the possibility of damage to the blade. But there’s no need for it—he’s right: the sword slips right in as if it were made to go there. As it presses in, the edges of the indentation begin to glow.

  Of course. No surprise that something that beautiful could open the door to another world.

  Soft white light spreads into swirls of complex patterns across the obsidian surface. There’s a sound like old hinges creaking, and I think I see the door tremble a bit. But all of it is concentrated on the right side; Soren notices this, and he quickly locates a matching recess on the left side and shoves the other sword in.

  “Okay,” he admits, “Saving both swords was a good idea after all.”

  We both take a step back as the door glows brighter and shakes harder.

  And then it splits down its center, the smooth surface parting and swinging back as two separate gates that lead into what looks—and smells and sounds—like a dark forest teeming with life.

  Chapter Three

  “Good find, Little Wolf,” Soren says, voice a little awed at the sight as he absently gives me a quick pat on the head.

  Another low growl rumbles automatically in my throat.

  Although really, I’ve stopped completely hating that dumb nickname—and it’s especially dumb now. Because as a human I may be five-foot-basically-nothing, but as a wolf I’m tall enough to look him directly in the eyes. Hardly little, in other words. But the nickname is something else that’s familiar in this weird place, at least.

  And it’s infinitely preferable to the next thing I hear—the sounds of feet slapping behind us, of cloaks fluttering closer, and of their owners letting out those terribly familiar screeches.

  “That’s our cue,” Soren says, diving through the narrow opening between the doors and disappearing into the shadowy tangle of trees.

  Before racing after him, I grab the swords—first the right and then the left—in my teeth, yank them free, and pitch them toward the forest with a strong toss of my head. As soon as they’re both removed, the doors collapse together so quickly that they almost catch me in the process.

  Pretty sure there’s a patch of my tail fur forever embedded in that doorway now.

  “I would say ‘good thinking, sealing us away from those monsters,” Soren says, “but you just wanted to save the swords again, didn’t you?”

  Well, he’s not entirely wrong.

  He grabs those swords once more and then turns and starts to walk away, muttering something under his breath.

  I give my body a shake, trying to throw off the feeling of nearly being crushed by that door. It almost works. I wish I could shake the memory of those nex creeps just as effectively, but I can’t; thoughts of them haunt my steps as we wind our way through a jungle-like landscape. Moss hangs from almost every branch, thin and patchy and swaying in a warm, damp breeze. Reddish moonlight shines through those patches in the moss. Or at least it looks red to my wolf eyes—and it doesn’t seem very bright, either. I can pick my way easily enough over the spongy vegetation and occasional root twisting out of the ground, but I don’t see how Soren is managing to keep up such a quick pace in the darkness.

  He suddenly seems determined to put as much space between us as possible, whether there’s darkness or questionable footing on our pathway or not.

  So it’s a quiet walk.

  A long walk.

  This forest feels like a repeat of that endless bridge. We walk and walk into nothing but more crimson-tinted darkness. I hear things in the distance—chirps and hums and sounds of life. And I see things that suggest that life—the flicker of campfire, flashes of movement through the reddish grey trees—but every time I try to look closer, there’s nothing there.

  Every now and then I catch Soren glancing back at me. But we might as well be strangers for as long as he lets his gaze linger on me.

  I keep my head low to the ground. Focus on sniffing out threats. I trust my sense of smell more than I trust anything else in this place. It’s always been incredible, even in my human form, but in this form it’s beyond anything I could have ever imagined. It’s brilliant, even if it’s a lot of work trying to untangle exactly what scent is coming from where.

  We’ve walked maybe ten minutes when Soren reaches the crest of hill ahead of me, and he stops. He lifts his head to the sky for a moment. Or to the dark canopy of leaves blocking it, I guess. Then he turns, looks straight at me, and sighs so deeply that his entire body gets in on the motion.

  “I keep hoping I’ll turn around and you’ll be gone,” he says.

  Rude.

  My fur bristles. And suddenly all of the insanity of the past few hours hits me, reminds me of how mad I still am about the stunt he pulled back on Earth— and I’m no longer content to let this be a one-sided conversation.

  I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to force a shift without the adrenaline of an approaching monster egging it on, but transforming back into a human turns out to be easier than I expected.

  For some reason, this disappoints me a little.

  My heart may have felt at home as a wolf, but I think my brain is still convinced that human is what I should be. What I should stay. So it’s much quicker to relax and help me focus on finding my way back to that form.

  I even manage to shift my clothing back so that it’s perfectly intact—something that usually takes a bit of practice. In theory you can shift anything that’s in contact with any part of your skin; my Uncle Eli started explaining it to me at one point—something about cells and bio transfers and—yeah, I don’t really know what else. I fell asleep in the middle of his lecture and got myself kicked out of his library.

  Not the first time that had happened, I’ll admit.

  As the last of the fur disappears from my arms, that disappointment at my brain’s insistence on humanity fades. Because now I have opposable thumbs—which means I can walk over and take one of those swords that Soren’s holding.

  He lets it go with little protest, although he looks like he wants to sigh at me again.

  As I turn it over and admire it, I ask, “What are the chances of finding a tactical supply store of some sort? I’m going to need a belt, a sheath of some kind…”

  His eyes narrow.

  So the joking part of our little adventure is officially over.

  And I guess he was serious about wanting me gone.

  I narrow my eyes right back at him. “Where the hell would I go now, genius?”

  “You probably should have thought about that before you invited yourself to join me.”

  “If anyone belongs in this place, it’s me. Or did you already forget that you had to use me to get in here?”

  “Your family is back on Earth. That’s where you belonged.” He scowls at me before turning and starting to walk again. “And I wouldn’t have used you if I’d believed I had any other choice.”

  “You could have just told me the truth!” My shout jerks him to a stop and sends some sort of winged creatures—the first actual, full-blown life I’ve seen in this weird forest—flapping and fighting their way through the thick leaves above.


  Soren spins back to face me. “Are you trying to attract more creatures for us to have to deal with?”

  “Whatever monster shows up, I hope they eat you first,” I snap. “So at least the last thing I see before they kill me will be your dumb face disappearing into their mouth.”

  He exhales a sharp breath through his nose. Grips the hilt of his sword and takes a step back toward me.

  I mirror his motions. I don’t particularly want to fight him, but he should know better than to think I’m going to back down if he swings that sword at me. I’ve been itching for a chance to strike something with this blade since the moment I first laid eyes on it.

  But he doesn’t swing anything.

  Instead, once he’s within just a few feet of me he stops, and he quietly says: “I didn’t tell you the truth because I didn’t think you would help if I did.”

  “We’ve had this conversation before. After I found out you lied about who you really were—I didn’t leave you then, did I? At some point you’re going to have to trust me.”

  “Or you could just leave me alone?” he suggests. “Why the hell do you care about gaining my trust?”

  “I—”

  “I don’t want you to trust me, or vice-versa. I’m used to doing things on my own.”

  And suddenly I remember why I followed him in the first place.

  “You came here to find your mom and your sister,” I say, slowly lowering the sword to my side.

  He looks as if I went ahead and stabbed him anyway.

  I fumble for words. “I wanted to help you. That’s why I care about gaining your trust.”

  “Why do you want to help?” he demands. His tone is so thick with suspicion that it’s painful to listen to.

  Because you don’t have a pack. Because I know what it feels like to be alone among your kind. Because I thought I might have been falling in love with you. Because you need help, even if you don’t want to admit it.

  Because I want you to know what it feels like to be able to trust someone.

  Five perfectly good answers for him.

  But what I say is: “Can’t we just get out of these creepy woods before we worry about that? Why do you always insist on having these conversations when we’re in the middle of possible death and terrible danger?”

  “Because we’ve been two steps away from possible death and terrible danger since pretty much the moment we met?”

  “And we’ve managed not to let it catch us yet, so let’s keep that streak going, shall we?”

  Another nearby flutter of movement startles us both.

  “…Fine by me,” he growls after a moment of tense silence.

  I’m the one keeping distance between us now. He’s ten feet ahead of me when, several minutes later, he says: “There will be other portals to Earth, in addition to that one we just came through. And if my theories about crossing the worlds are correct, it should be easier to get back than it was to get here. There’s more of you on Earth to pull you back to it—so we’ll find a way to send you back. Soon. You aren’t staying with me.”

  “I don’t want to go back.”

  “Liar.”

  “I—Fine. Part of me does. But I’m here now, and I don’t only do things halfway, so—”

  “Do you really understand where here is?” he says, turning back to me in exasperation. “Canath. The word means shadow—and that’s all that’s here. Dark creatures. Corrupted souls. Every nightmarish thing from the mythologies of Earth, and then some.”

  Almost as if to illustrate his point, a low roar rumbles in the distance.

  I force myself not to shudder at the sound, and I make my way to his side as I steadily reply: “It can’t be all bad. And I’ve dealt with my share of monsters on Earth, don’t forget.”

  Monsters like your father, I think. But I purse my lips tightly enough that the words don’t slip out.

  “I can’t focus on my mission if you’re here. I can’t protect you too. I won’t.”

  I can’t contain my eye roll. “Like I need you to protect me. I’m just fine taking care of my—”

  A projectile of some sort cuts me off, whizzing past my ear and sticking into a tree behind me. A white-tipped dart. I heard it before I saw it—that’s the only reason part of my ear isn’t also sticking into that tree behind me.

  With a quick twist that throws me off-balance, I narrowly avoid a second dart. I drop clumsily to my hands and knees, cursing. Another dart sails past. I rise to a crouched position and jerk Soren down to my level.

  “Keep low and keep moving side to side.”

  I follow my own advice, and I put space between the two of us again. I know from experience that hitting a secluded, moving target with a projectile that small is incredibly difficult.

  But our attackers are apparently incredibly skilled.

  Because despite my speed—and my dark clothing blending into this world’s twilight shades of black and blood red—the next arrow that comes out of the shady trees nicks a clean little path across my cheek.

  The stinging pain is dangerously close to my right eye.

  Annoyed— and not thinking particularly clearly—I stop and spin around, my newly-acquired sword lifted and my eyes searching.

  My stolen blade seems to react to my anger; it pulses in my grip, its night-sky surface darkening as the swirls of white and blue stars go out. So that’s kind of cool. Now if only I could find something to swing it at.

  The woods are silent and empty, save for us.

  There are no strange scents in the air.

  It makes no sense; dart guns aren’t exactly super long-range weapons. If the ones wielding them are close enough to hit me, they should be close enough for me to smell, to hear, to see—

  Except sight is becoming a problem. With every wary backward step I take, my vision seems to be getting worse. My head is swimming. The red moonlight burns brighter and brighter until it’s a disorienting haze all around me.

  I close my eyes and reach for the stinging wound on my cheek. And then I realize…

  Those bastards poisoned me.

  And then they hid.

  Cowards.

  Gritting my teeth, I open my eyes and keep moving. I can feel a strange burning beneath my skin. But knowing that I wasn’t imagining my dulled senses—and knowing what’s causing this ailment—somehow makes it easier to fight through it. At least at first.

  But it’s much more intense than the poison those nexes tried to claw into me.

  Either way, I plan on staying on my feet.

  I push harder to focus.

  Soren is nearby; I smell his pine and rain scent clearly. I don’t sense his movement, and I don’t want to think about why that is.

  I also hear the faint sound of leaves shuffling under feet—too many feet to be only his. They stop. A chorus of soft breathing and softer whispers reaches me.

  Then...silence.

  Followed by the particular suction and SWOOP of a dart rocketing from a gun—

  I dive behind the nearest tree to avoid the shot. The venom in my veins makes me wobbly. I feel my way along the bark, scrabbling for balance, for grip, circling around the trunk…

  And suddenly I see them, and I freeze.

  Ghouls in the bloody moonlight. Human in stature with faces that are anything but; their cheeks are sunken in a cadaverous way, their eyes a blazing red. Bat-like wings and too-long limbs make them seem still more haunting, and the skin on their exposed neck and arms is hanging off and nearly translucent. There are three of them, each with a crudely-fashioned dart gun in their hands, and they float in synchronized silence through the trees toward me. The edges of them appear almost blurry. I’m pretty sure pieces of those bodies are actually floating through some of the dangling moss and tree limbs.

  They still have no clear scent that I can pick out.

  I don’t know whether that’s because they’re actual ghosts, or if it’s because my senses are totally failing me at this point.

&
nbsp; Both possibilities are terrifying.

  They stop a short distance away and the center one steps forward. Its mouth works with strange motions—almost like it hasn’t spoken in a while and it’s trying to remember how—until finally it starts coughing up words in a language I don’t understand.

  But the tone is understandable enough.

  It sounds pissed.

  Is everything in this world going to be poisonous and pissed off?

  Its jaw opens freakishly wide and contorts at odd angles that don’t seem physically possible, and then it speaks a single word that I think I understand: “Trespassersssss.”

  Soren appears so suddenly at my side that he’s lucky I don’t accidently slice him in half.

  “Do you think he’d believe us if we told him we were just passing through?” he mutters.

  The answer is a resounding no, I’m betting.

  The center ghost-thing races forward, tossing aside the dart gun and whipping its freaky, distorted arm upward to flash a dark set of claws at us. Those dangerous claws are the most solid-looking part of its otherwise haggard body, because of course they are.

  Soren and I leap apart to avoid the painful solidness and sharpness of them. The other two ghosts follow the first one’s lead, each of them brandishing their claws and diving for one of us while that leader regains his balance.

  I spin away from the one targeting me, my sword steady at my side until I have a bit of momentum built up. Then I swipe upward with the full strength of that momentum, slicing toward the descending creature’s chest.

  It twists at the last second, and I strike its arm instead.

  My sword glows a brilliant sapphire blue as it connects and sinks in. The arm gives more than it should—for a moment I think that even this glancing blow is going to be enough to run the blade straight through—but it’s body is still solid enough that I have to work to dislodge my sword.

  Once the weapon is firmly back in my hands, I stumble quickly away, trying to put enough space between us to allow me to regain my center.

  There’s an odd black mist rising up from the place my blade cut, while a grey liquid oozes down over the creature’s body.