Shadowmark (The Shadowmark Trilogy Book 1) (34 page)

“So why aren’t you working for the Glyphs anymore? What made you stop?”

Doyle shrugged. “Various reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Maybe the Condarri made a mistake. Maybe I am more human than they think. I have seen how humans have struggled to survive. Obsessed with personal accomplishment and glory, they lack the ability to unite under leadership. Most have done poorly at survival and could not put aside their differences in time to work together. Except you. You didn’t know anything, yet you were willing to learn. And you kept trying to survive even after you realized you had nothing to live for. The Condarri make decisions based on logic, and they would have given up by now if the situation were reversed. But not you. Why?”

Mina was spared having to answer when the humming of the ship changed. Doyle stood and said, “We’re here.”

He led her back to the cockpit. Ahead of them, a vast body of water shone in the starlight. The Nomad glided over it, skimming the gentle waves.

“Is this the ocean?”

“Yes. The North Atlantic.”

They stopped. Mina gasped as the craft hovered over the water for a split second before sliding down into its depths. The murky water turned deep blue, then grey as they plunged deeper and deeper, until only darkness surrounded the ship.
 

“It can go underwater, too?”

“If the Condarri wanted to find us, they wouldn’t have any trouble, even if we went into the deep mantle of the Earth. We could do that, by the way, if you wanted.”

“What? No, that’s okay. This is fine.”

Doyle smiled. “Hungry?”

Doyle insisted Mina take his cabin. After a simple meal she could not identify—something that tasted like cardboard with a hint of chalk, which Doyle took from little vacuum-sealed packets—she gratefully said goodnight and lay down on his bunk. Thinking of the last twenty-four hours, Mina feared she would have trouble sleeping. But she drifted off immediately, her weary mind shutting down as if it, too, needed to hide.
 

“Calla. He’s here.”

Calla said nothing. She had sensed him for the last hour. He had answered her summons, as she knew he would. The others feared him and were jealous. Calla did not fear him. And she would question him now as she would any other hybrid. With the death of a Condarri, they were all in danger.

“Doyle,” she breathed as he walked into the camp at last. The starlight did not penetrate the canopy, but Calla could see the expression on his face. He smiled as he walked past the three male hybrids, holding Calla’s gaze until he reached her. He had cut his hair and shaved since last she saw him. And he smelled of soap and water. Where had he found a place to shower?

“It’s Doyle, now, is it?” he said when he reached her.

“What took so long?”

“A Condarri is dead.”

“We know.”

“Did you do it?” Doyle studied her face.

Calla frowned even though she had expected the question. “Did you?”

“No. The Condarri are combing the hills, but they won’t find him.”

Calla stepped toward him in anticipation. “We have been searching,” she hissed, “ever since it happened. But you know who did it, don’t you?”

“Trying to claim the prize, Calla, and make them forget your blunder?”

“You will tell me.”

“No. I will catch him, and we will turn him in together.”

“They already blame all the hybrids. We will be questioned.”

“Not if I can bring them the assassin.”

“You will not leave my sight.”

Doyle looked at her coolly. “Don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone. Not even you.”

Doyle smiled. “What are we waiting for, then?”

“So who is it?” asked one of the hybrids as they hiked. His voice seemed overly loud in the silent forest. Calla frowned.

“He doesn’t know,” taunted the second. “Or he would have brought the murderer to us already.”

Doyle stopped walking and knelt down to look at something on the dark ground. A boot print. Calla took the opportunity to check Doyle’s tread. It was different from the murderer’s. She knelt down to look at the same print Doyle examined and spoke quietly to him. “We have to get this right. We were the only known hybrids in the area when it happened.”
 

“If they thought it was you, they would have questioned you already.”

“Have they questioned you?”

“No.”

Calla scrutinized Doyle’s face. He was telling the truth. But his answer bothered her. The Condarri knew he was hunting rogues in the area when it happened.

“Where’s Halston?” Doyle asked as he stood. He said it louder, so the men would anticipate her answer, undermining her authority.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she said, unfazed. “You were in the camp. Why didn’t you get him?”

“He got out right after the fighting started. Coward. I was on the trail of another rogue at the time.”

“Who?”

Doyle didn’t respond as he followed the trail further into the trees.

Calla motioned for the men to fan out. The third one hesitated, unwilling to leave her alone with Doyle. But she wanted to speak freely with him.

“Dar Ceylin.”

“Yes?” Doyle stopped and turned to Calla. She felt the familiar rush of adrenaline when he looked at her, but she swept it aside.

“I want a name.”

Doyle leaned in close. <
Is that really what you want?>
he asked through the adarre.

Calla refused to be sidetracked. “Yes,” she said aloud.

“We’ll do this together. I want credit.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“No more than you trust me.” He leaned in and planted a kiss on her cheek. Teasing.

Calla placed a finger on his lips. “Fine. We’ll play it your way for now, until I get tired of you.”

Doyle broke contact and turned away into the woods, back on the trail of the other hybrid. Calla allowed him to lead—he always had been a great tracker. She did not doubt Doyle would catch the killer, but she had to ensure she was present to share the glory when they turned him in to the Condarri. Dar Ceylin would not get the better of her this time around.

By dawn, Calla imagined she could smell the hybrid they sought, and before long they came upon the remains of a camp halfway up a mountain, near a fallen tree. The ground where he had lain was still warm. Clearly, their quarry knew he was being hunted. They had failed to surprise him.

Doyle calmly analyzed the ground nearby. The others, catching up with them, shook their heads—they had not seen anyone. Then Doyle crouched down, suddenly intent. Calla surveyed the trees in the growing light. Undergrowth had taken over the deadfall, reaching out for the spot of sunlight left by the missing tree. She silently directed everyone to fade into the trees.

.> Doyle warned.

she questioned again.

Instead of growing lighter, the new day began to darken. Clouds must be moving in, Calla thought. But the increasing darkness was wrong. The light was fleeing.
 

Calla broke out in a sweat.
They’re here
. Doyle remained perfectly still as he stared at the underbrush near the tree.

,> he called out through the adarre. Darkness pressed down on Calla, sucking the oxygen from the mountainside. It was a presence she associated with the Condarri, but they had not summoned her. She sensed the other hybrids’ consternation. She looked again at Doyle through the oppressive darkness. He remained clear-headed.

Above them, one of the hybrids shouted and a scuffle broke out. The darkness lifted abruptly. When she looked around, Doyle had disappeared.
 

No. She couldn’t lose him. She heard his voice join the fray above and ran to catch up.

“What are you playing at?” said a new voice.

“You are a poor excuse for a hybrid,” said Doyle. “Did you think you could use tricks to hide from us?”

When Calla arrived on the scene, her three were struggling to hold down a new hybrid. Doyle held his hunting knife in his hand.

“Thompson,” said one of the hybrids.
 

Thompson made another attempt to disentangle himself, but his struggle only earned him a blow to the face from the hybrid who had named him.

Thompson spit out blood and looked at Doyle. “What was that trick with the aether?” he asked. Calla looked at Doyle, too.

“Justice for your betrayal,” said Doyle.

“My betrayal?” Thompson’s face turned red. “What about yours?”

One of the male hybrids looked at Thompson eagerly, waiting for more. Doyle remained stone-faced. “You have killed a Condarri.”

“What?” Thompson’s face drained of some of its color.

“For your treasons against Condar, you will be turned over for execution and your body burned,” stated Calla.

Thompson addressed Calla, but never took his eyes off Doyle. “I thought the five of you handled that?”

“You murdered a Condarri. Condar will personally see to your execution!”

“No! You must hear me—.”

Doyle interrupted, “You are rogue. You waived the right to defend yourself when you abandoned Condar.”

“You can bet I’ll have my say first, though. You’re not so blameless, you and that woman!”

At this, Doyle hit Thompson so hard his head snapped back. His body, still supported by the three hybrids, went limp. They let go when they realized Thompson would not move again.
 

“He’s dead,” said Calla, turning on Doyle. What was Thompson referring to? What woman?

“He’s not dead,” said one of her hybrids.
 

Calla looked back at Thompson.
 

.>

Calla narrowed her eyes in disgust. <
You don’t deserve a clean death, traitor
.>

.> Doyle walked over to Thompson with his knife. Before Calla could speak, blood was soaking the ground at their feet.

“You fool! Now who do we take to the Condarri?” said Calla.
 

“They will accept his body.”

“They will question us. You have brought death on us all!”

Doyle sheathed his knife as he said, “How so? You were going to be questioned anyway.”

“As were you.”

“Maybe. Thompson killed the Condarri. They will accept that.”

“We have no proof!”

“Did you think Thompson would roll over like a dog and confess?” Doyle stood dangerously close to her now, his previous charm gone, replaced by something else. His demeanor disconcerted her—she had always been able to read him. Except for the day he had bested her on the dais.

“No,” she said. <
Seize him
.>

The three moved toward Doyle, quickly and silently, like raptors circling for the kill. Calla expected Doyle to resist. She lunged toward him, blocking his escape, and raised her fist to strike. But he grabbed her arm and twisted her in front of him, faster than she had ever seen him move.

,> she told him. <
I will not take the fall for this
.>

Doyle put his gun to Calla’s head. The others stopped advancing.

“Kill him,” she ordered aloud. But the three knew Doyle would kill Calla first. She felt his smug smile from behind. <
Coward.>
Doyle twisted her arm a bit more, approaching her pain threshold, bringing her in closer to him.

.>

Calla sensed the Nomad soaring toward her. She had not summoned it. <
What are you doing? How dare you summon my ship!>

Doyle pointed his gun at the three hybrids. Three shots rang out. Calla seized the opportunity to elbow Doyle in the face, but he blocked her, wrestling her to the ground and pinning her with his body. A few feet away, the bodies of her loyal three lay dead. Calla fought back. In another moment, she would be free.

he said. Then Doyle struck the back of her head, and Calla knew only darkness.

DAY 83

M
INA
DREAMED
THAT
D
OYLE
CAME
in to check on her a few times and even woke once to look out at the dark, empty room. She rolled over and slept until she could not sleep anymore. When she woke for good, the room was still dark.

She found Doyle standing in the cockpit, looking at something round in the air in front of him—a shimmering projection of Earth. He turned to her when she walked in. The globe floated toward her at Doyle’s touch.

“Go ahead.” He nodded.

Mina tentatively brushed her fingertip against the globe. It warbled in the air and scooted away. Doyle grabbed it and placed it in front of her. It was like a beach ball, only smoother, and almost transparent. Mina put a hand on either side of it. The smallest pressure made it shrink, and Mina squeezed it down until it was the size of a basketball.

Mina instinctively expanded her hands while gripping the ball, and the globe followed her movement, growing larger, filling the cockpit.
 

Doyle stepped aside. “Very good. Now try something else.”

“Like what?”

“Anything.”

Mina released the globe, and the hologram floated in the air where she left it. She spun it slightly with her hand, and Earth rotated on its axis. When the eastern US came into view, she stopped spinning. The mountains looked real. No, not just
looked
real—she could touch them. When she did, the hologram shifted. The round planet disappeared and a three-dimensional representation of a mountain replaced it. She could even view individual trees.

“Imagery is current,” Doyle said.

Mina’s heart skipped a beat. “I can see . . .?”

“Anything. What it looks like now.”

Mina wasn’t certain she wanted to continue. She pushed the globe off to the side and looked at Doyle. “How long was I asleep?” she asked.

“Eighteen hours.”

“Where did you sleep?”

“On a bunk in the back.”

“Oh. Umm. Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.” Doyle smiled—not the grinning smirk he used when he was being condescending, but a genuine smile that crinkled his eyes.