Sea of Shadows (5 page)

Seven

A
shyn awoke feeling cold ground under her fingers. She leaped up, only to feel another jolt of cold—this one from a blade at her neck.

“Don’t,” a voice in front of her murmured.

“You’d better be talking to
her
, boy,” said an older voice behind her—the man holding the blade.

Her eyes adjusted to the semidark and she saw the first speaker. He was her age, perhaps a little older. He looked like a typical Edgewood villager, with light brown skin, and dark hair curling over his ears and tumbling down his forehead. She’d never seen him in the village, though. She tried twisting to see the older man, but the blade tip pressing into her neck stopped her.

“I didn’t expect to see you out here,” the boy said.

“Who are you?” she said.

When she spoke, he frowned as if her voice sounded odd.

“You knocked me out—” she began.

“Payback.” The boy grinned. “You aren’t nearly as alert as the last time.”

She stared at him. “The last time?”

“When you . . .” He looked over her shoulder, presumably at the man behind her. “Um, when I got the blade.”

She blinked, clearing her head, throbbing and still fuzzy from the blow. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He only smiled. “Ah, so that’s your story.” He winked. “I’d stick to it. Something tells me you’d get in trouble for letting this go.”

He pulled a dagger from his belt. The blade shimmered in the lantern light, but it wasn’t the steel that caught her attention—it was the filigreed handle.

“That’s . . . that’s my sister’s dagger.” She glared up at the boy. “You stole the Keeper’s blade? Do you have any idea what the penalty is for that?”

Behind her, the man laughed, and the steel finally moved from her neck. She twisted to see her other captor, and when she did, her breath seized in her chest. He was at least twice the boy’s age and almost double his size, with thickly muscled arms and a barrel chest. Scars crisscrossed his face. It wasn’t the scars that stopped her breath, though. It was the look of him—the tangled hair and beard, the dirt creasing those scars. He was bigger and healthier than poor Cecil, but seeing that filth, there was no doubt
what
he was. One of the exiles. One of the damned.

Ashyn turned back to the boy. He wasn’t nearly as filthy, but on closer inspection, she saw dirt on his clothing and under his nails. There was a gauntness to his cheeks, though, as if he hadn’t been quite so thin a few moons ago.

She remembered the noises she’d heard when the governor had been interrogating Cecil. She remembered seeing a blade flash, deep in the trees. These two had been watching. Seeing what happened to Cecil, they’d realized that they weren’t getting out of this forest by prancing over to the governor and saying, “I survived.”

So they’d taken a hostage. A valuable one.

“I’ll not mention the dagger,” she said quickly. “Moria told our father she lost it. That’s all that needs to be said if you treat me kindly.”

“Treat you kindly?” The man laughed again.

The boy didn’t smile. He was watching her with that same look of confusion he’d had when she spoke earlier.

He lifted the dagger. “You say this is your sister’s?”

“Yes.”

“You lie. Why?”

“What’s this?” The man lifted the blade to Ashyn’s neck again.

“It’s the same girl,” the boy said. “I swear it. She’s making her voice sound different, and she’s acting different, but it’s the girl I got the dagger from.”

“No, I’m Ashyn. You met Moria. My twin.”

“Twin?” He said the word as if it was foreign.

“Born of the same mother, at the same time. My wombmate. We look exactly alike.”

Now the man stepped around her, getting a better look at his captive. He slid the blade around, too, the tip digging into her throat. Ashyn tried not to wince.

“Boy’s right. You lie. Twins are curse-born. Not allowed to live. Unless . . .” He turned to the boy. “She said you stole someone’s blade.”

“The Keeper,” Ashyn said. “He stole the Keeper’s blade.” She looked down at her bare dagger sheath. “And now you’ve stolen the Seeker’s, too.”

The man stared at Ashyn. Then he shook his head sharply. “You cannot be.”

“No? A Seeker hunting for the spirits of the vengeful dead, to give them peace? Isn’t that a Seeker’s task?”

“The dog,” the man said quickly. “You don’t have a hound.”

She plucked pale hairs from her breeches. “These are his. He’s back at camp. He was injured on the way in.” She turned to the boy. “If you met my sister, I’m sure you saw her wildcat, Daigo.”

The boy nodded, still looking confused.

She turned to the man. “You’ve kidnapped a Seeker. That is not—”

Her gaze fell on the blade in his hand. She’d presumed it was her dagger, but now she could see the long, curved blade of a sword. It had a boar’s head just above the hand guard, marking it as a blade of the Inoshishi clan.

“That’s Faiban’s sword!” she blurted, startling the man. When the blade fell from her throat, she leaped forward. “What have you done with Faiban?”

“Who?” the boy said.

“The guard you took that sword from. He—” She stopped. “It was you.”

“What?”

“You killed the bard. And the volunteers who were recovering bodies. The heart.” Her knees weakened at the memory. “By the spirits,” she whispered.

“Heart? What are you talking—?”

“She’s mad, Ronan,” the older man said.

He stepped toward her, but the boy—Ronan—blocked. The man let out a low warning growl. Ronan moved closer to Ashyn. As she turned away, she spied her dagger in the moss. She aimed toward it while she backed away from Ronan.

“I don’t know what heart you’re talking about,” he said. “But that guard with you is fine. We knocked him out and bound him.”

“And the two villagers who just disappeared? Or the two by the stream earlier, collecting the first body? They never returned. First the bard, then—”

“Body by the stream? We passed that. It was still there, on a blanket. We wondered what had happened.”

“You know exactly what happened,” she said. “You killed the villagers and the guards. Picking them off so they couldn’t fight—”

“The only people killing anyone are the ones who came with
you
. We saw what happened to Cecil.” Ronan’s voice took on a growl, not unlike the older man’s.

“He wasn’t infected, and they knew it,” Ronan continued. “That’s why we took you hostage. To make sure we get out of here alive. So, yes, we knocked out your guard, but he’s right over there. We have no cause to kill the others.”

Ashyn took another step toward her dagger.

“Don’t argue with her, boy,” the older man said. “We’re wasting time.”

“No. It’ll be easier if we’re not fighting her every step of the way. And if something
is
killing the villagers—”

“Nothing’s killed them. They got spooked and—”

Ashyn dove for her dagger. Ronan was closer and lunged with her. She managed to get her fingers on the handle, but he slapped his hand down on the blade, pinning it there. She looked up. Their eyes met. Then he drew his hand across the blade and fell back with a yelp, cradling his fist. She snatched the dagger and scrambled up.

As Ronan shook his hand, she could see a small line of blood on his palm. Too tiny to excuse the cursing he was doing. He clenched his fist against his chest and, grimacing, turned to the other man.

“Sorry, Uncle. I—”

The older man cuffed him hard enough to make Ashyn wince. But Ronan shook it off and looked at Ashyn.

“You have a blade, but so do we.” He waved Moria’s dagger and gestured at Faiban’s sword. “So don’t bother running. Now, bring your lantern. We’ll go find your guard, and you’ll see he’s fine.”

Eight

F
aiban was gone.

“Where is he?” Ashyn demanded.

“Not here, obviously,” Ronan said as he prowled the clearing. “You said some of your party vanished. What—?”

His uncle cut in. “The guard escaped, boy. Vines must have been weak. Or someone freed him.”

“Then where are the vines?”

His uncle waved at the forest. “Everywhere.”

As they argued, Ashyn glanced at her hands, one holding the dagger, the other the lantern. She was armed and she had a light. She could fight or she could run.

Her sister would attack the moment she got the opportunity, whatever the odds. How many games of capture-my-lord had Ashyn lost after composing the perfect strategy, only to have her sister make some bold, mad move?

Now, watching the boy and his uncle argue, Ashyn wanted to make that bold move. They were distracted, having decided she wasn’t a threat.

As she considered it, a drop fell from the treetops, hitting a leaf with a soft
plop
. The droplet shone red in the lantern light.

“Blood,” she said.

The two stopped arguing.

Ronan walked over just as another drop fell from above. He touched the leaf.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “It’s blood.” He peered into the dark branches. “There must be something up there.”

Ronan took her lantern. While he lifted it overhead, the light blinded them to everything beyond its glow. His uncle snatched the lantern and held it up. It reached a little higher, but that didn’t help.

“There’s nothing there,” his uncle said.

Another drop fell, landing squarely on the lantern and dripping red down the glass.

“It’s from a dead squirrel,” he said. “Or a bird.”

He handed the lantern back to Ashyn, who stared after him as he walked away.

“Is he mad?” she whispered to Ronan. “There are no birds here. No squirrels. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Ronan said. “We saw things last night, and again today. In the forest. Shadows. Noises. After the blood moon.”

“Blood moon?”

“When the moon turns red. It signifies—”

“—a breach in the spirit world. I know.” She remembered last night’s cloud-covered moon, the tinge of red in the sky. Then she shook her head. “If there was truly a blood moon, someone would have noticed. Moria and I have to perform a ritual.”

“We saw a blood moon last night. Didn’t we, Uncle?”

At first, his uncle pretended not to hear. When Ronan repeated the question, the older man shrugged.

“You said you saw it, too,” Ronan pressed.

“Then perhaps I did. It’s a nanny’s tale. Doesn’t signify.”

“I think it—”

“Doesn’t signify. We need to get the girl to her camp. Move out.”

Ashyn looked around the camp. A clearing had been cut in the forest, and four small tents had been erected for the villagers. Sleeping blankets lay on the bare ground for the guards. In the middle, the campfire still smoldered; the smell of it had led them the final stretch. Packs lay against tents. But that was all she saw: objects. No people.

“Must’ve gone looking for the girl.” Ronan’s uncle stamped through the clearing. “She was late. They went searching.”

“All of them?” Ronan said.

“She’s the Seeker. Valuable.”

“They’d leave someone to guard the camp,” Ashyn said. “That’s the rule.”

“Doesn’t signify.”

Ronan turned on his uncle. “Stop saying that.”

His uncle raised a hand to cuff him, but Ronan ducked out of the way and lifted Moria’s dagger. His uncle looked at it, blinking, as if his nephew had rammed the blade into his back.

Ronan lowered the dagger. “It
does
signify. You know it does. Something happened to the villagers.
All
the villagers.”

“What do you want to do about that?” Ronan’s uncle stepped toward him. “If there’s someone—or something—out there, then there’s not a blasted thing we can do except be careful. Now grab supplies. We’ll follow the ribbon back to the village.”

Ronan’s uncle rooted through packs, grabbing food while Ronan stood at the clearing edge.

Ashyn stepped closer and lowered her voice. “You said you’ve seen things in the forest. I ought to know what I’m watching for.”

“Shadows, mostly. Sometimes a noise. It’s always gone when you look.”

Ashyn nodded and reached for her pack. That’s when she heard a sound in the woods. A soft whisper like the wind. Except she felt no wind.

Then the ground vibrated beneath her feet.

When she glanced over, she saw Ronan looking up into the trees, frowning as the noise came again, closer now.

“Do you feel that?” Ashyn whispered.

“I heard—”

“No.
Feel
.”

She bent and put her fingers to the ground. When she lifted them, she could still sense the vibrations strumming through the air.

“What is she—?” Ronan’s uncle began.

Ronan motioned for quiet. Ashyn closed her eyes, her fingers out as the air thrummed. The sound in the woods whistled around them, darting closer, then away.

It’s watching us,
she thought.
Whatever’s out there is watching us. Stalking us.
But something’s keeping it back.

She
was keeping it back. She had no power to banish evil spirits, as Moria did, but her very presence was supposed to keep them at bay.

“What do you sense?” Ronan’s voice startled her.

“I . . . don’t know. The air. It’s . . . vibrating. Something’s here.”

“Grab the packs. The lantern—” his uncle said.

A dark shape shot from the trees, so fast Ashyn had only time to yelp and fall back. It went straight for the lantern, swirling around it, and for a moment, she saw black smoke. And eyes. She was sure she saw eyes. Then the lantern went out, plunging them into darkness.

“Run!” Ronan’s uncle bellowed.

Ashyn looked toward him. In the dim light of the smoldering campfire, she saw his sword flash as a shadow swirled past. The blade cut through the smoke, dispersing it for a moment.

Ronan stood there, staring. He lunged toward his uncle, but she caught his elbow, yanked him back, and gave him a shove toward the marked path.

“Run!” his uncle shouted again.

Smoke encircled the man. As Ashyn dragged Ronan, he tripped and staggered, looking back as if transfixed by the sight of the sword cutting through the smoke. That’s all they could see—the occasional flash of a blade. Ronan turned, starting back for his uncle even as Ashyn yelled no, they had to go.

Then his uncle roared. A terrible roar of rage and pain. Blood sprayed from inside the smoke.

Ronan stopped. He gave a choked sob. Then he stumbled back to Ashyn, pushing her ahead of him as they fled.