The Keeper's Shadow (6 page)

Willum gently nudges Stowe awake, then points to a village gate in the distance. The purple haze of sunset glints across its surface as if off a mottled gem. “This is where I spent the summers of my youth,” Willum says, “with my sister. Some of her people, my people, are still there. We will be welcomed.”

“You never told me you had a sister.”

“There were moments I feared you might never learn anything about me.” Willum's eyes sparkle and he's smiling broadly. Why is he so happy? It's unsettling. “It's good to return here,” Willum says, as if reading her thoughts. “It's been almost fifteen years.”

As they draw closer, Stowe can see that the town's walls are fortified with scrap metal—rusting car fenders, steel barrels squashed flat, angular pieces of iron plate. From a battery of watchtowers, helmeted warriors aim crossbows at them. But when Willum looks up, they lower their weapons. One whistles loudly. The gate slowly opens and the four dusty travelers ride in from the plain.

Several of the tower guards leap from their posts and rush toward Willum. Tugging off their helmets, Stowe sees that the soldiers are tall, muscular women. And they all know her guardian well. Very well.

“Willi Boy!” A broad-shouldered woman with plaited hair is giving Willum a good-natured poke in the ribs.

Boy?

“Torin! It's been too long.” Willum's poking her back while his other arm wraps around yet another brawny warrior. “Resa!”

This one hugs him so tightly, Willum groans in pain. “Whoa, Resa, you don't know your own strength!” he says and as soon as she releases him, he punches her hard in the arm.

They're giggling. Like silly schoolchildren. Appalling.

“Let's get you and your friends cleaned up and fed,” Torin says, giving him a good pound on the back. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

As Willum lifts Stowe from their horse, she asks as casually as she can, “Those women…are your ‘people'?”

“Yes,” he answers with a wide grin.

“They seem quite strong,” Stowe comments wryly.

“They are Apsara,” says Willum, his eyes penetrating hers. “They are the descendants of the rebels Darius set the plague upon.”

“Only the women survived it,” adds Mabatan, as she moves past Stowe. “Rage and sorrow and necessity forced them onto the path of the warrior.”

If these are his people, Willum is Apsara. That means Willum is descended from the rebels who escaped Darius's clutches. What is she to him, then? Simply a means to attack his enemy? Stowe's breath catches in her chest; her heart beats wildly.

Gently placing Stowe on the ground, Willum bends to look inquiringly at her. “There is no need for anger.”

“I am not angry!” shouts Stowe, desperately trying to remain standing as Willum meets her glare with a smile. “Smile all you want, Willum, I am not a child and I will not be charmed. If you have betrayed me, if your Apsara are using me, I'll…I'll…” But her head spins wildly and as dozens of Willums reach out for her the world fades to black.

AN UNEASY ALLIANCE

MANY THREADS BOUND ROAN TO THE BROTHERS: HIS PAST BOUND HIM TO SAINT; HIS SWORD BOUND HIM TO WOLF; HIS SCAR BOUND HIM TO STINGER; AND HIS DESTINY BOUND HIM TO THE FRIEND.

—ORIN'S HISTORY OF THE FRIEND

R
OAN HAS TO ADMIT,
Kira's quarters in the Caldera were the sensible choice
.
Saint had been her mate, and she'd kept many of his things, mementos the Brothers revered. Feeling their Prophet's presence will make Wolf and Stinger more comfortable. If they are at ease, the meeting will have a better chance of going smoothly.

Or so the theory goes.

Inside the black stone walls, Wolf, acting head of the brethren, and Stinger, their authority in matters of the spirit, are seated under a mural of the Friend, god of the Brothers. Both are studying the map Lumpy and the Apsara draftswomen have been laboring over these last few days.

“The northern territory provides the City with coal, iron, and wood,” says Lumpy, proud of his research. “The south focuses on agriculture; that's where the City's food is coming from. The west: sulfur and salt and what little oil they can produce. East is where the Masters go for the children they…” Lumpy sighs. Gathering his composure, he continues, “We need to drive a wedge between the Governors and the City. Interfere with their production, interrupt their transport. If we can control—”

Lumpy stops abruptly. Brother Wolf is no longer looking at the map. His eyes are riveted on Roan, who stands stock-still at the threshold, with Ende and Kira equally solid at his side.

Wolf rises from his seat. He looks more fearsome than ever, his shaved head gleaming, his hand falling almost lazily over his hook-sword. That sword had taken part in the annihilation of Longlight. It had been used to train Roan in combat. Once, Roan had even battled it for his life.

In a silence that quivers with tension, Lumpy clears his throat and grins nervously. “Roan, welcome!”

Kira and Ende smile at this effort but Roan cannot allow himself to acknowledge his friend with more than a brief nod. Wolf would interpret breaking his gaze as weakness, and Roan's instincts warn against anything but a show of strength.

It is Brother Stinger, rising to stand beside Wolf, who breaks the impasse. Pressing his dusky palms together, he waits patiently until Brother Wolf also adopts the ritual posture. Observing the cost of this action on Wolf, the effort of control in body and voice, tells Roan a great deal about the predicament the Brothers have found themselves in—much more than the words that follow.

“In the name of the Friend, in the name of the Prophet, we swear our fealty to you, Roan of Longlight. We will follow you into battle. Give our blood. We will serve you as we serve the Friend, Brother Roan.”

The title cuts into Roan like broken glass. Words blurt from his mouth before he can stop them. “I will never be a Brother.”

Ende sighs, all too audibly. Kira grips Roan's arm, as if to hold him back.

Wolf's hands clench. “If you will not be a Brother,” he snarls, “why have we been summoned?”

“To join us in bringing an end to the City's rule.”

“We do not join,” hisses Wolf. “We lead. And you were born to lead us,
Brother
Roan.”

Again it is Stinger who intervenes. “You have many reasons to feel hatred toward the Brothers—”

“The Brothers will always have my people's blood on their hands.” Roan finds himself rubbing the starlike scar he'd received from the Hhroxhi. From the moment he came into the room it has tingled uncomfortably.

“We do,” agrees Stinger. “Our actions caused you and your people great harm. But these deeds were fulfillment of a prophecy. The fall of Longlight—and its willing sacrifice.” Staring pointedly at Roan's chest, he adds, “We are not the only ones who have been scarred by spilling innocent blood.”

Has Stinger read his unconscious worrying of an old wound as guilt? Or does he know the Hhroxhi? Mhyzah? Has he heard of the justice she and her kin exact for the murder of one of their own?

As Stinger's eyes meet his, Roan drops his hand to his side, embarrassed that he cannot deny the Brother's challenge.

“We adopted you. We trained you. We baptized you. You successfully completed every trial of your initiation. Whether you wish to avow it or not, you
are
a Brother.”

Roan looks bitterly at Stinger. “I did not complete the final trial. I refused.”

But Stinger has anticipated this response. Roan can see the satisfaction in his eyes, his sardonic grin. “You refused to put to sacrifice two Fandor. But you took the blood of the Prophet, and that action assured your ascendance as leader. After that moment, Saint began preparations for your rule. The Prophet's last instructions were that we should set about the liberation of the Farlands, first and foremost by keeping its innocents out of the City's clutches. This purpose, he said, would be one with your own.”

“You've seen the children here, Roan,” confirms Kira. “There are two sanctuaries in the north. We save all we can. Many more this past year with the Brothers' support.”

Though Brother Wolf is still bristling from Roan's affront, he bows his head and holds his hook-sword out to Roan. “In the absence of our Prophet, I have been leading the Brothers. I now cede my place to you.”

“I do not accept your place,” insists Roan. “I would not be as able a Captain to the Brothers. It is best that you lead our efforts in the Farlands.”

“Me? You mistake my abilities for those of Saint's. He had the confidence of the Governors, gave their shipments safe passage through the Farlands to the City, protected their towns, resolved their petty rivalries. Now that we are no longer aligned with the City, I cannot defuse their panic. They are as afraid of us as they are of Darius and his henchmen.” Wolf pauses to snort in disgust. “They deal with smugglers. They bribe marauders. I cannot stomach them and I am no diplomat.”

“That may be, but to win this war we must put aside our personal antipathies and look to the goals we share. And if Governors deal with smugglers, so much the better. We'll need one to help us get into the City.” Wolf glares at Roan stubbornly. Shifting his attention to Stinger, Roan asks pointedly, “Are there no Governors who might be sympathetic to our cause?”

Brother Stinger lets out a weary sigh. “There may be one. Selig.”

Wolf's hand wraps around the handle of his sword. “The Brothers need no allies. The prophecy says we will fall upon the City in a Visitation like a cleansing wind.”

Roan raises his voice, to make sure Wolf understands the stakes. “Seventy-five Brothers? You would be slaughtered before you passed the gates. There will be no ‘cleansing wind.' We will fight, Brother Wolf, but only when we have found a way to win with as little bloodshed as possible. And I need you to lead that attack because there is a second battlefield that must be won, where you cannot walk. If I lose that battle, all our efforts will be wasted. I cannot go there unprepared and there are precious few who can help me.”

“Are you saying you seek an alliance with those who eat Dirt?” The edge in Wolf's voice is as threatening as his sword's.

Lumpy steps bravely forward. “I would look to my own house before leveling accusations.”

Wolf, eyes flashing, glares at Lumpy. “You dare insult our Brotherhood?”

“We have reason to believe,” says Lumpy, standing his ground, “that Brother Asp was sent by the Dirt Eaters of Oasis to spy on Saint and Roan.”

“Impossible,” whispers Wolf.

“My warriors are with him now.” Ende's voice is quiet, reasoning. “He is a Brother under your leadership and so, in deference, I ask your permission to search him and his quarters for Dirt. When we find it, you will know.”

“
If
you find it, he is dead,” Wolf hisses.

“No,” Roan interjects. “I want him alive. I do not mistake the Dirt Eaters for allies, Brother Wolf, but Asp may have useful information.”

Wolf, bristling, glances at Brother Stinger, who locks eyes with him and nods. Turning away, Wolf silently mulls over Roan's order. After a moment, he shrugs his assent and Kira strides from the room.

Wolf squints, examining Roan with what seems a grudging respect. “You knew this when we arrived. That is why Asp is not here. How? How did you know?”

“Dirt has a scent which it leaves on those who eat it.”

“It is possible to smell a Dirt Eater?”

“Would that we all had Roan's talent.” Ende catches Wolf's eye and Roan observes the silent understanding between them. “But the Dirt Eaters have many spies who do not eat the Dirt; they will not be so easily detected.
You
will need to keep a watchful eye.”

Wolf bows as Kira arrives followed by four Apsara forming a circle around Asp. For a moment the air is electric with the possibility of violence. Dealing with Wolf will be like wrangling a wild horse.

Opening her hand, Kira loosens the ties on the pouch she's holding and reveals the Dirt. Wolf snorts, angrily turning his head away. Stinger and the Apsara remain impassive, while Lumpy leans forward trying to get a better view.

Roan considers what he knows of Brother Asp. This was the man who healed any who came to him, who used Roan's knowledge to detoxify large tracts of land, so hundreds, even thousands of people could grow healthy crops. And all the time he was a Dirt Eater, spying; spying and probably making sure the Brothers didn't kill Roan. All the time lying. How is he going to distinguish Asp's truth from his lies? He couldn't then. I've grown, Roan thinks, I've changed. But will it be enough?

Ende steps forward. Cinching the pouch shut, she takes it from Kira. “I will destroy the Dirt so that no trace of it remains. Will you require my warriors for your interrogation, Roan of Longlight?”

Roan declines, as he knows he was meant to, and one by one the Apsara gracefully exit, leaving Asp standing alert but calm.

“I am sorry for this, Brother Asp. I wish it were not necessary. You were a trusted friend. But that was pretense, wasn't it? All along you were a spy. A Dirt Eater spy.”

Before Asp can respond, Wolf has put a blade to his neck. “You betrayed your Brothers, your Prophet, and the Friend. My only wish is to see you burned alive.”

In an instant Roan is at Wolf's side. “Please put down your sword, Brother Wolf.”

Wolf looks down at the blade point of Roan's hook-sword, poised to pierce his heart, and slowly backs away. “As you wish.”

Meeting the man's barely disguised rage with utter calm, Roan continues, “Perhaps it would be best if you left me and my…Lieutenant alone with the prisoner.”

Without discernible hesitation, Wolf pivots and, with a bow, Stinger follows. Roan might have had Stinger stay, but as the door closes behind the Brothers, he knows it is best this way. Facing back into the room, he almost smiles at his friend's startled expression. He'd just blurted it out, but he likes the idea of Lumpy having a title the Brothers can understand—after all, Lumpy is the only person he really trusts.