Sea of Shadows (9 page)

Fifteen

A
shyn and Ronan crept along the barrack wall. Ashyn could barely see—the village lights were out and the moonless sky offered little help. But Ronan seemed as surefooted as Daigo and equally adept at seeing in the dark. He padded along as quiet as a thief.

She tried to emulate him but kept stepping on pebbles and stumbling in the dark. Tova’s nails clicked along the stone.

As they moved, Ashyn squinted into the night and listened, but there was nothing to see, nothing to hear.

She focused on Ronan’s back, tapping him with directions as they moved. They passed the barracks and two more buildings before he stopped. Something lay on the road ahead. Ashyn squinted, then swallowed.

It was the guard. Facedown on the road.

Ronan knelt a few paces away, as if he could check the guard’s condition from there. Ashyn started forward. Tova caught her cloak in his teeth, and when he did, she saw why Ronan hadn’t gotten closer. The guard lay in a pool of blood. His face was turned toward them, his eyes wide and empty. His throat . . .

He was dead. There was no doubt of that.

It couldn’t have been those smoke spirits. You don’t try to converse with smoke.

As they circled the blood, she saw footprints leading away from it. Bloody bare footprints.

Ronan followed her gaze. “Someone must have stolen from the body.” He said it casually, as if looting a corpse was a natural occurrence. “His blades are still there, though. Both of them.”

Ronan skirted the puddle and picked up the sword. He hefted it. Then he leaned over the guard again and eyed the dagger. It lay under the guard, covered in blood. He took a careful step into the pool and snatched it up. Then he wiped it clean on the guard’s back as Ashyn stared, horrified.

Ronan slid the dagger into his belt, and pointed the sword. “Onward.”

When they neared her house, Ashyn darted ahead. Ronan caught up at the door, and shot his hand out to stop her from opening it.

“I’ll go first,” he said, lifting the sword.

“You’ve seen Moria throw her dagger. If anyone but me opens that door . . .”

Ashyn expected he’d square his shoulders and say he’d take that risk. Apparently, she’d been in a garrisoned town too long, with warriors who’d never let her step first into danger. Ronan waved for her to go ahead.

As she reached for the door handle, Tova whined. She looked down to see his nose twitching.

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “If they aren’t here, we’ll find them.”

She opened the door. It was dark inside. Tova pushed past hard enough to nearly topple her.

“Father?” she whispered. The closing door stole the gray glow of the overcast night, plunging them into black. “Moria?”

She felt her way to the table and lit a lantern. It hissed, then flared. Ronan cast an anxious look at the window.

“Cover it,” he whispered.

She frowned at him.

“Hide the light.”

She turned the lantern down as much as she could. Tova was at her father’s bedroom door, his nose at the base, whining louder. She walked over and grasped the handle. Tova spun, hitting her hard and knocking her back. Then he planted all four feet and growled. Warning her back, as he’d done in the forest.

She stared at the door, her heart thumping.

Ronan came up behind her and snatched the lantern. He opened the bedroom door just enough to squeeze through. Ashyn tried to follow, but Tova knocked her down, then planted himself over her, growling.

She stared up at him in shock. He ducked his head, whining, as if in apology, but when she tried to rise, he pinned her cloak with one massive paw.

Ronan stepped from the bedroom. The door clicked shut behind him. He held the lantern low, and she couldn’t see his face.

“We have to leave,” he said.

“What?” She scrambled up, knocking Tova aside. “Where’s my father? Moria? Are they gone?”

A pause. Then, “Yes.”

“All right. We’ll find them. I have a few ideas where—”

He caught her cloak as she turned to the door. “We need to get out of the village.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“We have to leave.
Now
.”

“We . . . we can’t. We’re in the middle of the Wastes. I’m not permitted to leave. I’m the Seeker. And . . . and Moria, my father.” She took a deep breath. “You can go. I’ll tell no one you’ve escaped. You’ll need to grab supplies.” She waved at the kitchen. “Take what you want. Tova and I will find my—”

He stepped in front of her as she turned. “There’s no one to find, Ashyn.”

“What?”

He laid his hand on her shoulder. “When I said they’re gone, I meant—”

She didn’t let him finish. She pushed past him, yanked open the bedroom door, ran inside, and tripped over something. She fell face-first, her chin striking the floor, teeth catching her tongue with a sharp blast of pain. She flipped around to see what she’d tripped over.

An arm. There was an arm stretched from a dark heap on the floor. She struggled for breath as she scrambled over, still on her hands and feet, getting closer.

When she saw the misshapen fingers and thick, clawlike nails, tears sprang to her eyes. She looked at that ugly, monstrous hand and thought she’d never seen anything more beautiful in her life.

“It’s not them,” she whispered. “It—it’s a—”

“Shadow stalker,” Ronan finished as he reached down for her hand. “I didn’t want you to have to see it, but now you have, so come on and we’ll get out of here.”

“But you said my father and Moria—”

“They’re gone. Not here. We should go. This one is dead, but the light might attract others.”

He took her shoulders and steered her past. “Don’t look at it. You’ve seen enough.”

If it was a shadow stalker, she should see it, know exactly what she faced. She looked. Ronan pulled the lantern away quickly. Not quickly enough. Not before she got a look at the face. It was horribly disfigured, but not disfigured enough to disguise the features. Features she knew well. A nose that had been rendered permanently crooked when a warrior tried to negotiate a better price with his fists. A mouth always quirking at the corners, ready to burst into laughter.

“F-Father?” She dropped to her knees and yanked at the thing’s tunic, ripping it open to see the scar on his chest bone. Then she screamed, a wail of horror and grief wrenched from deep inside her.

Ronan grabbed her, his hand slapping over her mouth to silence her. She fought him, kicking and twisting. Tried to bite him, too. But he held his hand there, tight, whispering, “I know, I know. But you can’t scream. You can’t. Shhh.”

She caught sight of Tova now. The hound was lying beside her father’s body, his muzzle on her father’s arm, not interfering with Ronan, just waiting, eyes pleading with her to stop screaming.

She did. And the moment Ronan released his grip, she shoved him aside and looked around. There, next to her father’s body, was what seemed like another figure. As she fell on it, she felt the soft fur underside of a cloak identical to her own.

Moria’s cloak.

She would have screamed again, if she could. But when she opened her mouth, the pain doubled her over and stole her voice.

It can’t be. If she was hurt, I would have known.

The cloak was sticky with blood. She snatched it up and—

There was nothing beneath the cloak. She scrambled over on all fours, looking about wildly. Then she raced to the sleeping mat. She looked all around it before turning to Ronan.

“She’s not here.”

He paused, then said carefully, “There’s blood on the cloak, Ashyn. Quite a lot. It was clutched in his hand. He must have attacked her.”

Her heart stopped as she imagined the scene, their father going after Moria. Attacking her. Trying to kill her. Moria going through that, alone.

No, not alone.

“Daigo wouldn’t leave her,” she said as she walked back toward the door.

“He might have gone with her, if she turned into one of those.”

It took a moment for his words to process. He thought Moria had become a shadow stalker. That’s why he hadn’t questioned the lack of a body.

No. There was an equally logical explanation. Her sister had been injured but escaped, shucking her cloak and running.

Running where?

There was no question where she’d go.

“She’s headed back for me, and we’ve missed her.”

She started for the door. Tova finally rose from his place beside their father.

“Ashyn . . .” Ronan said. “There’s a
lot
of blood.”

“Then take supplies and go. I’m finding my sister.”

Sixteen

E
veryone’s dead.

The thought looped through Ashyn’s mind as she walked down the dark and empty lanes.

As they’d made their way to the barracks, she’d insisted on checking each house they passed. She listened for survivors while Ronan looked.

“One man in his third decade and a younger woman,” Ronan reported as he walked from a bedroom of the last house.

“You don’t need to spare me. I asked for a thorough accounting, and you haven’t given one yet.”

“What?”

She marched to the second bedroom. He didn’t make a move to stop her. She threw open the door to see two small sleeping mats. Unmade but empty.

She turned to him. “Where are the children?”

He looked perplexed for a moment, then he nodded. “I haven’t seen any. That’s odd . . . Unless . . . Are children more susceptible? More likely to become shadow stalkers? Or perhaps they’ve been taken—”

Now he paused, obviously realizing what he was suggesting. Shadow stalkers were predators. If they took the children, it would be no different from a bear carrying off what it could easily drag back to its den for . . .

“We’ll figure that out later,” he said. “We’re almost at the barracks.”

Moria wasn’t in the barracks. There was no sign she’d been there in their absence—the door was ajar, as they’d left it.

“She’s rescued the children,” Ashyn said as they stood in the empty barracks hall. “They escaped and ran to her. They trust her. She’d take them someplace safe.”

“Without fetching you?”

“She must have had a reason. I know a few places she might hide with them.”

Ronan stepped into her path. “That doesn’t make sense, Ashyn. If she was looking for a safe place, why not bring the children to us, in the cells?”

She skirted past him. “There’s no escape route down there. If the shadow stalkers came, we’d be trapped. And she might lead the stalkers there. She’d take the children someplace else and return for me when she could.”

Ashyn kept going until she reached the wall of the livestock enclosure. From within, she heard silence. No cackle of chickens or grunt of pigs.

She ran along the fence, past the village’s main gate. On reflex, she looked for the guard on duty. Of course there wasn’t one. She could see his empty post. No trace of him. Not even blood. Just . . .

Empty.

She ran around the livestock enclosure. The heavy gate was closed. Ronan helped her push it open, all the while muttering, “She’s not here, Ashyn. You know she’s not.”

Ashyn squeezed through. Behind her, Tova whined. She turned to see him trying to push his massive head through the narrow opening. Ronan heaved the gate a little more.

When Ashyn tried to run again, Ronan caught her. He motioned for silence as they looked and listened. Nothing. Then, as they were about to move, a whisper came from the barn. Ashyn smiled at Ronan, but his expression stayed grim, and his grip on her cloak only tightened.

“Slowly,” he whispered. “Get behind me and stay there.”

She didn’t appreciate being given orders, but he
did
have the sword.

They crept along the fence until they reached the barn. The sounds from within became clearer: first rustles and whispers, then finally voices.

“I heard something,” a young girl murmured. Someone shushed her quickly, but Ashyn smiled. She’d been right. The children were here. Moria was here.

Ronan nudged her into the lead, whispering, “They ought to see you first. I’ll wait here until you can explain.”

Before she could argue, he slid off into the night. Ashyn opened the barn door. An excited cry. A scrabble of shoes. Tova tensed. A small figure shot out from the darkness as someone whispered to stop, to come back. The figure launched herself at Ashyn. It was Wenda, the girl who’d walked with Ashyn to the temple.

Ashyn hugged her and motioned her back farther into the barn, where a woman leaned out. Someone closed the door behind Ashyn, making her jump. A lantern swung up. A guard stepped forward. Ashyn didn’t recognize him—he looked like many of the others, around thirty summers, brown-skinned, dark braids, no tattoos. A warrior, but not from the highest families.

Ashyn
did
recognize the woman. One of the farmer’s wives. Beatrix. She was older—her children had grown and left Edgewood for something better, as many did.

“Where’s my sister?” Ashyn asked. “Did she leave to look for me?”

Silence. Another figure shuffled from the shadows. An elderly man, past his days of working. Quintin was his name, as he reminded her. The guard was Gregor.

“My sister,” Ashyn repeated after the introductions. “She was here, was she not?”

“No, miss,” Beatrix said. “I haven’t seen her.”

“But the children. They’re here?”

Ashyn already knew the answer. If there were children here, they would not be so silent.

“Where are the children?” she asked. “They aren’t in their homes. There are no . . . signs they were hurt.” She started for the door. “They must be with Moria. I need to find—”

“You won’t, miss.” The old man moved into her path. “The little ones were taken.”

“With Moria,” Wenda piped up. “That’s what I said, and no one believed me, but if you’re here and she isn’t, then I was right.”

Beatrix cut in. “The child thought she saw the Keeper, but we did not. The children were taken, miss. Rounded up and taken. There was naught anyone could do. There was naught anyone could do about any of it. It happened so fast.”

“
What
happened? What did you see?”

“Nothing. My husband was here, in the barns, so I was alone. I woke when Wenda came to my door. I went out and . . . and the village was . . .” She swallowed. “Silent. Empty.”

Ashyn turned to the child as Tova padded to the door to stand watch.

“I heard a noise,” Wenda said. “I woke and went to see my parents, but they were gone. Everyone was gone. It was so dark and quiet. I ran next door. Beatrix was there. We went to her other neighbor and . . .”

“They were dead,” Beatrix whispered. “All of them. I didn’t let the child see, of course. I took her, and I was running to the barracks, and that’s when we heard old Quintin, coming out his door, gibbering about monsters.”

“Then I found them,” the guard said. “I was patrolling the road outside the village. I came back and found the gate unguarded. I ran into the village, but whatever had happened was over. I met these three. Then we heard the children.”

“They were being taken down the road,” Wenda said. “They hardly made any noise. Like they were walking in their sleep.”

“They were alone?” Ashyn said.

“No, there were men,” Wenda said. She paused. “I think they were men.”

Ashyn glanced at Beatrix. “Did you see . . . other things in the village? Not men.”

“Shadow stalkers,” Quintin said. “I saw one. I live with my son and his wife, and I heard her cry out. I walked from my bedroom and . . .” He inhaled sharply. “My son. He was . . . one of those things. He’d killed her and he was eating—”

Beatrix cleared her throat loudly. He mumbled an apology and withdrew, his gaze dropping.

“It all happened so quickly,” he said. “We’d barely gone to bed and then . . .”

“They weren’t shadow stalkers with the children,” Beatrix said. “They were riders on horseback. Wenda meant that we couldn’t tell for certain they were men, but I’m sure no woman would steal the children.”

She turned to Wenda. “You saw Moria?”

The girl nodded. “She was hiding behind the rocks. I think she was trying to save the children. But the men captured her and took her along.”

Ashyn turned to the others. “You saw none of that?”

“There
was
a commotion,” Beatrix said. “I heard it
.
But my eyes are not good. Nor his.” She gestured at Quintin.

“And yours?” Ashyn turned to the guard, Gregor.

“I had gone back to the barracks, looking for more survivors.”

“
After
you saw riders stealing our children?”

Gregor squared his shoulders. “There were many riders. Only a fool would chase them.”

Only a coward would not try,
Ashyn thought. Her sister was not a coward. Moria wouldn’t be foolhardy enough to engage the entire party, but she would have tried to follow them. That’s how she’d been spotted and taken.

“Which way did they go?” she asked.

“Following the road across the Wastes,” Beatrix said.

“Then so will we. I’ll need you to gather what you can while I conduct a quick ritual for the dead. They deserve more than that, but it’s all the time we can afford.”

As they left the barn, Ashyn remembered she needed to warn them about Ronan. When Gregor saw that she’d brought the exile, armed, he would—

Before she could explain, she saw paper pinned to the barn wall. A note? Ashyn hurried over and pulled it down.

The characters were written in a neat, precise hand, almost as good as her own. Not Ronan’s, then. Most of the empire was illiterate, leaving books and writing for the priests and scholars. She read the note. Blunt and simple, despite the perfect calligraphy.

Follow the road. Take care.

It was signed
Ronan
. She read it twice, to be sure, as if there were any mistaking his intent. There was not. She’d freed him. He’d repaid her by helping her find other survivors. Then he’d left.

Ashyn crumpled the note. As she did, though, it made her think of something she should do before they left the village.