Cast in Secrets and Shadow

by Andrea Robertson

  “Gods.” Teth appeared beside her. “That can’t be real.”

  Ara had to swallow a couple of times before she could speak. “I think it is.”

  “Who wears a butcher crow skull for a helmet?” he muttered.

  Teth’s skin took on a slight grayish cast as he walked up to Joar.

  “You didn’t happen to find that lying around in the desert.” Teth made a show of examining the skull.

  Joar’s laugh was close to a roar. “What manner of trophy would that be?”

  “A lucky one?” Teth replied.

  “You are a strange man.” Joar frowned at him. “Only a coward would do what you suggest. I took the skull of a crow that attacked me in the Ghost Cliffs.”

  “Mmmm.” Teth nodded. “How nice for you.”

  Joar smiled. “It is nice, for it makes a very fine helmet.”

  To demonstrate, Joar fitted the helmet on his head. “You see?”

  Ara’s hand flew to her chest, certain her heart had stopped. The giant wearing a butcher crow helmet was a terrible amalgam of beast and man. A monstrosity sent by the gods to punish the wicked. The armor covering his neck and shoulders melded to his body, transforming him into a creature of the air and sea. Otherworldly and terrifying.

  Teth hadn’t stopped nodding, but he looked like he might be sick.

  “Impressive.” Nimhea strode forward, admiring Joar’s trophy-helmet. “Tell me about the fight.”

  Joar pulled off the helmet and grinned at Nimhea. At the same moment, Teth snapped out of his daze and grabbed Ara’s arm, pulling her out of hearing distance.

  “I don’t know about this guy.”

  “Why?” Ara asked.

  Teth stared at her.

  She spread her hands. “Okay. I get that he’s . . . overly enthusiastic about the hunting thing. But the Tangle is a dangerous place. Don’t we want to have someone who killed a butcher crow on our side?”

  “The obvious answer is ‘yes.’ ” Teth gazed at Joar and Nimhea, who were talking and laughing like old soldiers sharing war stories.

  “But—”

  “But,” he continued, “I don’t know anything about him.”

  Ara shrugged. “It doesn’t seem strange to not know about one person in an entire kingdom.”

  “You don’t understand,” he told her. “The Below knows about everyone, especially anyone unusual. Joar is someone we would have noticed. We keep far more accurate records of births, marriages, deaths, disappearances than any monarch ever did. We should have a record of Joar, but as far as I know we don’t.”

  “Because you’ve memorized all the records in the Below.”

  Teth pointed a finger in Joar’s direction. “His record I would know. He’s an outlier. There is no one else like him in Saetlund. There’s no way the Low Kings haven’t tried to hire him.”

  “Hire him? You mean as an assassin?” Ara asked with apprehension.

  “No,” Teth replied quickly. “Someone of Joar’s . . . stature isn’t suited to assassin’s work. Assassins should be invisible.”

  He glanced in Joar’s direction and coughed to cover a nervous laugh. “Joar is what we call a bruiser. Bruisers are meant to be a spectacle.” His jaw twitched. “I can’t stand not knowing who someone is.”

  “You didn’t know who I was,” Ara said. “That worked out.”

  His expression softened. “You’ve got me there.”

  The look in his eyes made her wish she could fold herself into his arms and melt against him.

  Taking her hand, he blew out an exasperated breath. “I can’t help but feel he’s someone.”

  “We need him.” Ara settled for squeezing his fingers, which was hardly adequate. “There’s no one else to guide us.”

  In truth, they didn’t have time to try to find another guide. Not knowing what information Eamon had given to the Vokkans, any delay in finding Ofrit’s hidden site could prove disastrous. Ara didn’t know what awaited at the Tangle, but that place held the key to continuing the Loresmith quest.

  “I know,” Teth said. “But I’m keeping my eye on him.”

  With a nod, Ara said, “Fair enough.”

  Teth’s suspicion didn’t worry Ara. As a thief he was inclined to be wary. But she was surprised that she didn’t have more reservations about Joar. She knew little about him. Teth couldn’t supply any clues to shed light on Joar’s past. She should be more anxious about a stranger not only joining them, but leading them into the depths of a jungle.

  Like Teth, Ara sensed something odd about Joar, but unlike her friend, what she felt didn’t alarm her. Instead, the feeling irked her, like a familiar tune she couldn’t name.

  When Lahvja set her packs down beside the others, Joar shook his head.

  “You have all brought too much. Get rid of everything but what you need to fight and for sustenance.”

  Nimhea folded her arms across her chest. “What about our tents, our bedrolls?”

  “I have sleeping gear you will use,” he replied. “Do not bring your tents.”

  “But we need our tents,” Ara protested. “How will we have protection from the rain?”

  Ara imagined trying to sleep while pellets of rain slapped her entire body. It made her want to scream.

  “You will have protection,” Joar said, though it did little to reassure her.

  Teth had pulled a few things from his pack and began stuffing them into a satchel.

  “We won’t need the packhorses, but I’ll get our mounts.” Lahvja started to walk away.

  “I’ll help you,” Nimhea offered.

  “No horses.” Joar stopped them. “Horses are worthless in the deep jungle.”

  He paused, rubbing his chin. “Except to give you a chance at escape. Many things will stop to eat a fallen horse while you are running away. I would not treat an animal thus, but it is your decision.”

  Teth stared at Joar, as if trying to decide whether the huge man was serious or making a terrible joke.

  “We won’t bring the horses,” Ara said.

  “Hmmm.” Joar grunted, assessing their group. “Can all of you fight?” He pointed to Nimhea. “You look like a warrior.”

  “Good.” Nimhea smiled at him. “Because I am.”

  When his eyes fell on Lahvja, he frowned. “You do not.”

  “She has other talents that aid us,” Nimhea said quickly. Lahvja threw her a grateful smile, blushing a little.

  When Nimhea smiled back at her, an open, affectionate smile, Ara’s worries about the pair faded away.

  “What do you do?” Joar turned to Teth.

  Teth said in a flat voice, “I have a magic bow.”

  “Hmmm.” Joar squinted at him. “You want me to think you are jesting, but I think you are not. May I see this bow?”

  “Maybe later,” Teth answered.

  Joar held Teth’s gaze a moment and then laughed. Teth didn’t join him.

  To Ara, Joar said, “I told you last evening that being small can be an asset. Are you an assassin?”

  Ara choked on her own breath. An assassin?! I can’t attack anyone, let alone kill them!

  Lahvja and Nimhea burst into laughter, while Teth smirked.

  “Ara is like me,” Lahvja answered with a smile that wanted to become a laugh. “She has other talents.”

  “But I’m not an assassin,” Ara blurted, having regained her composure.

  Joar looked at Ironbranch. “A quarterstaff is more than a walking stick. Were you never taught to fight with it?”

  “It’s complicated.” Ara turned to pull necessities from among her belongings.

  Teth came to her defense. “She’s skilled with the stave. You needn’t worry about her.”

  Ara gave him a sidelong glance, once again missing the lessons he’d given her.

&nb
sp; Apparently satisfied, Joar dropped that line of questioning. Instead, he pressed an oxblood leather waterskin into her hand.

  “Spread this on any bare skin,” he said. “The rest of you should do the same. The insects are vicious in the deep jungle.”

  Pulling out the stopper, Ara sniffed, and a bright herbal scent filled her nose. It seemed familiar. She poured a little of the contents into her palm and winced, not because the liquid stung, but because it was the oil she’d seen Joar rubbing on his skin.

  Her stomach tightened. I thought he was glossing his muscles out of sheer vanity, but instead it’s protection.

  She should have known better than to pass judgment upon someone she hardly knew.

  “The villages heat this oil on posts that ring its boundaries,” Joar continued. “It keeps the swarms at bay.”

  That’s how I know the scent, Ara thought, remembering the posts that circled the pools she and Teth had visited. Memories of the night before flooded her, making her hands tremble.

  Joar gave her a puzzled look, and Ara rid herself of thoughts of Teth—his hands, his lips, gods—as quickly as she could.

  “Thanks for this,” she told Joar.

  Ara hadn’t noticed any insects on the ride to the village, but that was probably due to the rain. This oil spared them from buzzing and bites in the village. She wondered just how bad the swarms would be once they were beyond its boundaries.

  While Ara applied the oil to her skin, the others went to rearrange their packs.

  “Don’t forget the ears,” Joar told her. “It would be very bad if something crawled inside to lay eggs.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, willing those words forever out of her mind.

  * * *

  When they’d finished changing out their supplies, Joar whistled. It was a bright, warbling sound, the perfect imitation of a bird’s song. Loud rustling came from the trees to their left, followed by a flash of white fur. Where Joar had been standing alone, a great wolf now sat beside him.

  “An ice wolf,” Ara breathed.

  Larger than the wolves of Fjeri’s forests, ice wolves roamed the mountains and coasts of the inhospitable north, elusive and wary of humans. Only the few people who’d glimpsed them could confirm their existence outside of myth. But here an ice wolf sat companionably with Joar, watching them with its silver eyes. Its gaze wasn’t threatening, but curious and intelligent.

  “By the gods, how is this possible?” Ara asked the huge man.

  “A pair of cowardly and cruel trappers baited barbed hooks and put them into the den where her young pups were hidden.” Joar’s voice thickened with emotion.

  Lahvja drew in a quiet gasp of horror, and Ara’s stomach twisted at the wickedness of such a snare.

  He continued, “The pups had no chance of survival, but the trappers used them to draw out the pack. Fools they were, thinking that even a small pack of ice wolves could be bested by a pair of men.”

  With a grimace, he said, “The pack returned and found the pups. But even in their rage, they eluded all the snares the trappers had laid for them. They killed the men, ripped them to pieces, and left their bodies in the snow, not eating a single scrap of flesh. Ice wolves would not taint themselves thus. But the mother, who had the most fury, must have reached the trappers first, and was dealt a fatal blow from one of their knives.”

  Joar paused and looked at the wolf beside him. “I believe only Wuldr’s hand stayed the other wolves from killing her as they normally would, preferring swift mercy to a lingering death.”

  “You found her?” Ara asked. The tale mesmerized her, and her voice was barely more than a whisper.

  He nodded. “In a pool of her blood mingling with that of the trappers. I carried her until I found a cave to shelter in. It took many weeks to nurse her back to health. When she was restored, I expected her to seek her pack, but she would not leave me.”

  The wolf gazed up at him, and he turned to meet her silver eyes. “That was many years ago.”

  The back of Ara’s neck prickled as she tried to take the measure of this man who wore a butcher crow skull for a helmet and had won the loyalty of one of the most elusive creatures in Saetlund.

  “That’s who you are!” Teth smacked his palm against his forehead.

  The wolf bared her teeth at his loud exclamation.

  “Easy, easy.” Teth lifted his hands and glanced at Joar. “Can you tell her I’m a friend?”

  Joar’s brow furrowed. “You are not yet a friend. Only an acquaintance.”

  Groaning, Teth said, “Could you ask her not to do that?”

  With a shrug, Joar replied, “She will not harm you unless you attack me. Her teeth only mean she finds you annoying.”

  “Well, that hurts my feelings.” Teth folded his arms over his chest and turned to Ara. “Could you tell her Eni likes me? Maybe that would help.”

  Ara’s glare told him he’d said more than she should.

  “Eni?” Joar asked. “What does the annoying one have to do with Eni?”

  “Nothing,” Teth answered quickly. “It was a joke.”

  A growl joined the wolf’s bared teeth.

  “I promise to be less annoying,” he said to the wolf.

  She stopped growling and lay down, resting her head on her forepaws.

  Nimhea looked from the wolf to Teth and jerked her thumb at Joar. “What did you mean you know who he is?”

  With a wary glance at the wolf, Teth said to Joar, “You’re Koelli, aren’t you, one of the people of the Ice Coast.”

  Ara drew a sharp breath. That’s why I thought I knew the armor.

  Some of Imgar’s old stories told of Koelli warriors who wore armor crafted from the near-impenetrable scales of the great sea monsters that lived in far northern waters—farther than Saetlund’s fisherfolk dared to sail. It was the sort of armor any blacksmith would give a fortune to lay hands on and search for the secrets of its rare workmanship.

  Before Joar could answer, Ara said, “But they’re all gone. Only a few stayed through the conquest, and those that did were killed along with the Hawk’s rebels.”

  At the mention of the Hawk, Joar’s eyes glittered. “My father returned to the Northern Isles, but my mother remained to fight beside the Hawk. She was a fierce warrior and did not want to return when an enemy marched on the horizon.”

  To Ara, he said, “I am Koelli. When the Vokkans came, I still toddled on my feet. It would be another three years before I could wield an ax or draw a bow without aid.”

  An interesting measure of time, Ara thought.

  “Your mother?” Lahvja asked quietly.

  Joar’s voice was solemn. “She died as she wanted, on the field of battle. The other Koelli died alongside her. They sent word to my father to return and take me to the Northern Isles, but he never came.”

  He sounded neither sad nor angry.

  “After the conquest, I was taken in by one of the rebel fighters who survived the Vokkan invasion. He brought me to his village in the forests to the west of Wellseeker’s Landing and raised me as his own,” he continued.

  Ara’s heart warmed toward Joar. Wellseeker’s Landing was on the eastern edge of the Fjeri Highlands, which meant his homeland was also hers.

  “I’m from Rill’s Pass!” she exclaimed, then bit her lip, wondering if she’d revealed something she should not have.

  Joar smiled at her. “You have a northern look about you.”

  Ara thought it was probably the endless sweating and blotchiness she suffered in this hot place that gave her away.

  “I consider Fjerian highlanders my kin.” He clapped her on the shoulder. She had to steady herself against the weight of his arm. “You are my sister.”

  She couldn’t stop her smile. “Thank you.”

  Lahvja knelt beside the great white wolf. “Does she
have a name?”

  “Is it ‘wolf’?” Nimhea asked with a sideways glance at Teth.

  “Why would I call a wolf ‘wolf’?” Joar snorted. “All creatures deserve the honor of a name.”

  Teth grumbled under his breath.

  Nimhea burst into laughter. Lahvja tried to hold her laughter in, failed, and threw Teth an apologetic smile.

  Ara leaned over and whispered, “I’m sure Fox doesn’t mind.”

  Joar rested his hand on the wolf’s head and scratched behind her ears. “Her name is Huntress, for she has dedicated herself to pursuing with me my quest for Wuldr’s blessing.”

  “Why would she do that?” Nimhea asked.

  “That same question troubled me,” Joar told her. “I thought perhaps it was because I saved her life, and that may be part of the reason, but I am more inclined to believe her service is not to me but to Wuldr. She carries the weight of grief. I wonder if she does not also carry guilt. Wolves do not usually leave their cubs alone. The omega wolf remains behind to guard them. But her pack was small and needed all its hunters to make a kill. Believing the cubs would be safe in their den, she left them. She sojourns with me to make amends for that choice.”

  Teth raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s quite a bit of projection—don’t you think?”

  Huntress growled at him.

  “It would be better if you did not talk so much,” Joar said.

  Grumbling again, Teth fell to the back of the group. The wolf caught Ara’s curious gaze. Those silver eyes were shining, as if full of laughter.

  10

  Whether or not it was true, the jungle acted as though it wanted no visitors. Their pace through the dense forest felt glacial. They followed what Ara assumed were game trails, as she, Nimhea, and Eamon had done when they left Rill’s Pass, but the paths along which Joar led them were almost invisible. Snaking vines and twisting roots caught at their feet. Branches and broad leaves reached down to block their way. It was too easy to imagine the nightmare it would have been to attempt this trek without a guide.