Wyshea Shadows

by Geoffrey Saign

  “What does it mean?” Sparks arched her neck to stare at the clouded sky. “Why did it happen now?”

  Her questions intrigued Jennelle, but she had no answers.

  Malley sighed. “Back to Hope Citadel?”

  “Finally.” Jennelle regarded the dark clouds again. She had observed them with curiosity all her life, but now they seemed threatening.

  ***

  Camette peeked around the tree trunk, spying on Jennelle, Malley, and Sparks as they rode west. Running south of them, parallel to their direction, she moved faster than their cantering maqal.

  Usually Jennelle kept herself safe, but the potential danger of this battle had gnawed at Camette. She had suggested they bring her along to help with the camp food, and Jennelle had agreed.

  Jennelle was smart to stay out of the battle. Camette admired the commander for protecting her Northerners so fiercely. After the battle, everything appeared safe. But when Basture’s messengers had arrived in the morning, and Jennelle had accepted the invitation to meet the finance minister in his camp, Camette had secretly followed them.

  She had guessed, as Jennelle had, that Basture wasn’t going to kill her in the tent. And Jennelle’s preparations for the attack on the way back had impressed Camette. The commander was clever.

  Camette was also surprised when Jennelle spared the wyshea in the meadow. She had wanted Jennelle to kill the wyshea warrior, but the burst of sunlight proved Jennelle’s choice right, and her anger wrong. Camette knew she was missing something in this game between Beloved and F’ahbay.

  Still, F’ahbay had planned this war, she was sure of it, and he planned to kill all of them. Beloved was trying to stop him with a last feeble effort. She would fail. In over a thousand years, F’ahbay had never lost a battle.

  Camette remained ahead of Jennelle and the others, dashing around norre trees and bushes, while keeping them in sight. Basture’s attempt to murder Jennelle agitated her. It wasn’t clever, and from the rumors she had heard about Basture, he should have been better prepared. That had prompted her to track them all the way back to the Northerner camp.

  She flinched when she rounded a tree. In the distance she spied three archers hiding behind a massive norre, arrows strung and aimed at Jennelle and the others.

  Panicked, she realized she should have planned this better. She ran faster, her legs moving in blurs, her blond hair blowing straight back. At most she had five seconds. Drawing the dagger from her belt, she silently cursed herself for having brought only one. Stopping, she threw it across a hundred yards. She bolted after it, watching the blade sail through the air.

  The dagger hit one of the archers in the back and he collapsed. Whirling, the other two archers saw her. She expected them to flee, her speed obviously beyond any human’s ability, but instead they turned and aimed their bows at Jennelle.

  Camette panicked. She felt her features shift and she snarled, hoping to distract the assassins again, her fangs against her lips. It didn’t work. They ignored her, obviously believing they could deal with her after they killed the commander.

  They sighted along their arrows.

  Camette leapt the last thirty feet, landing behind them, her claws flashing at their heads. One archer toppled over dead, his arrow released into the ground, but the second released his shaft into the air before he died.

  “No!” Camette gripped the tree and stared after the arrow. She relaxed when it flew high into the trees, unnoticed by Jennelle and Malley. But Sparks looked up for a moment.

  Staring at the bodies, Camette waited as her contorted features slowly faded. Her throat and stomach burned. Weakened, she leaned against the norre, her claws shifting to hands. She would never make it back to camp without water. It was a long walk and she had exerted herself too much. She didn’t like her options, but she had no choice.

  Stumbling out from behind the tree, she waved weakly, barely able to manage a whisper. “Help. Help.” She kept shuffling toward the riders, hoping they would see her.

  After a few seconds, Jennelle did. They changed course and galloped toward her as she swooned and fell to the soft ground. Staring up at the dark sky brought back memories of distant days spent with Sontay, watching stray white clouds drift across a blue sky filled with sunshine. Her heart ached thinking about it.

  Jennelle’s face appeared above her. Malley knelt next to the commander.

  “Water,” whispered Camette.

  Sparks carefully lifted her head, while Jennelle emptied two flasks into her mouth. It was enough, and Camette stopped asking for more.

  Jennelle’s brow wrinkled. “What are you doing so far from camp?”

  Camette smiled weakly. “I was gathering some herbs for dinner and lost track of where I was. I get weak sometimes and faint. Then I need lots of water.”

  Jennelle said gently, “It’s the last time we take you along to cook for a battle, Camette.”

  Camette blinked at her kindness. “Probably a good idea.”

  “For now on, I’ll find whatever herbs you need, Camette.” Sparks helped her sit up. “I know a lot of plants.”

  Malley smiled. “We don’t want to lose the best cook we’ve ever had.”

  “And we don’t want to lose a good friend.” Jennelle rested a hand on Camette’s shoulder.

  “Blessings.” Camette’s smile broadened. They acted like family. Sontay’s bright image came to her and a tear filled one eye.

  19

  F’ahbay

  Ison remained alert, but he wasn’t frightened.

  A moment before, he had stood inside a watchtower in the Order’s keep, facing the ancient northern mountains. Now a darkened great hall surrounded him. He sensed someone’s presence in the shadows at the end of the hall. A quick check over his shoulder revealed two iron doors, twenty-five feet high and closed with a thick iron bar. On either side of him in the hall were massive pillars and shadows.

  Wondering who had the power to pull him from the Order’s fortress, he threw his sight in all directions. Nothing came back. He had to be beyond the borders of the Wild Lands. Intriguing. Somewhere else on the Pangaea continent. Possibly in the Dead Lands.

  “I’m going to rule the Wild Lands, Ison.”

  Power filled the deep voice coming from the shadows at the other end of the hall. Ison didn’t detect a heartbeat or any scent. He tensed at the implied threat. “Interesting.”

  “You can rule them for me, while I go elsewhere. If you do as I ask.”

  Ison controlled the taunt he wanted to hurl back. “Who are you?”

  Laughter. “You think my name will help you?” Silence. “F’ahbay.”

  Rustling.

  One naked brilliant-blue foot slid out of the darkness, and then another until a tall, blue-skinned figure faced Ison. Well-built, the man wore a blue tunic of fine cloth, with a red sash across his torso. Deep blue hair hung to his shoulders, his eyes also blue. He had slayer features, but his strong, defined face showed no obvious malice. “Destroy Famere and lead your people.”

  The mention of Famere made Ison wince. He often reflected on why he had been so harsh with her when he had visited her. But Harken and the Order’s laws had disillusioned him over their chances to ever pledge to each other. Famere was naïve, clinging to dreams for the two of them that didn’t exist anymore. He also resented that she was the wyshea guide, a position promised to him by her father, Darkas. Still, he would never kill her and it angered him that anyone would ask that of him.

  F’ahbay continued. “After all, you’re the one with power. A seventeen-year-old who wants to rule the world.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me what I already know.”

  “With my help you’ll control more than the wyshea.”

  The ability to bring him to this great hall triggered a realization, and Ison clenched a fist and took a step forward, his gray robes rustling over the stone. “You hid the slayer attack the night Darkas died.” When the silence continued, he said sharply, “I almost di
ed that night.”

  Famere could have died too. He wanted to kill this slayer who had destroyed his chances of becoming the wyshea guide and Famere’s pledged life-mate. But when the silence continued, it made him cautious. “Why do you need Famere dead?” Asking the question made his throat dry. He wasn’t a murderer and wouldn’t become one for F’ahbay.

  “Do you believe the wyshea will follow you as long as she lives?”

  He had considered that question many times, but concluded that if he could be free of Harken, and demonstrate his power, his people would choose him as guide. Especially since Darkas had picked him as his successor. Famere would step down if her people asked her to. A tiny hope inside said she still might bond to him. He hadn’t said any of this to her on his last visit because he had been afraid Harken might have a way to spy on him. Not wanting to reveal anything, he answered, “Harken won’t allow it.”

  F’ahbay chuckled. “The Order’s falling apart. Harken needs you. He trusts you.” He laughed again. “He’ll make allowances.”

  Ison hesitated, intrigued and threatened that F’ahbay knew so much. Still, the blue slayer was trying to manipulate him to do what he wanted. “Why should I help you?”

  “So I don’t destroy you.”

  Angry words filled Ison’s throat and sahr poured into his hands. He wanted to flood the hallway with silver fire, but he hesitated. F’ahbay’s words and eyes revealed power. It wasn’t prudent to risk an attack when he didn’t know this enemy. F’ahbay wasn’t a weak slayer. Besides, if F’ahbay helped him gain power, along with Harken, then for now it served his needs.

  He relaxed his body and his sahr receded. “What do you want?”

  “In the other races are two allies I’ve also brought here. Sahr Lord Raeleen of Greenbliss, and Finance Minister Basture of Prosperus. Talk to them, and kill Famere before her influence becomes too strong for all of us.”

  Ison felt a rush of air and he blinked. He again stood in the watchtower of the Order’s citadel. It was as though he had been dreaming, but the shift from inside the great hall to seeing the northern mountains was fact.

  F’ahbay. He would research the citadel’s library for information about him. Like Power Mageen Harken, F’ahbay wanted to control him and couldn’t be trusted, but it benefitted him to find out what F’ahbay planned, and why.

  It made him curious that F’ahbay considered Famere a threat. If F’ahbay was so powerful, why didn’t he kill Famere himself? It meant he wasn’t as powerful as he claimed. F’ahbay wasn’t a mageen, otherwise he would be able to travel to Famere at will. It meant another powerful mageen hid the slayer army the night Darkas had died. Ison wanted to find that mageen and kill him.

  He cast his sight south, hunting for Sahr Lord Raeleen. He already knew where to find Finance Minister Basture.

  20

  Prophetess

  Famere sat against a norre tree, her aching side covered with healing leaves, her torn bodice replaced. Her thigh wound had healed.

  Shir rested his head on her legs. With one hand buried in his neck mane, Famere used her other to stroke Lor, who lay beside her.

  Small brethren scurried in the woods and the forest sang its gentle melody. A red mink stopped by Famere’s feet, glancing at her, and then brushed against Lor, who licked it.

  After three days, the haze of the healing mushrooms had left Famere’s mind, yet her thoughts were still confused. Goflin and Mereeth had been present when she woke in Song’s cave, but she had refused to talk to anyone, and when strong enough she had left. Thoughts of Ison still haunted her, but other things were worse.

  The last battle was the greatest victory in her people’s history, but it had given her shame. She never wanted to fight staves again or kill their suns. Many shadow guard riders expressed regrets over killing staven suns and only talked about it among themselves.

  Just as unsettling, the Coyote had spared Bosho. That one act shattered her belief that all slayers were heartless killers. Another of Darkas’ rules floated into her mind; Show mercy. With guilt she recalled killing the injured slayer in the campsite. Ison’s question haunted her; Did she enjoy killing? She wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

  A pillar of yellow and red flames appeared, burning in front of her and rising six feet in the air. Wearing a simple shift of white cloth, a tall, slender female slayer stood inside the column of fire, her golden hair falling over pale shoulders. She had a small-featured face and blue eyes, and her thin arms were wrapped around her middle.

  Famere leaned forward. The woman’s small writhing movements implied the fire caused her misery, yet she didn’t burn, nor did the fire burn the leaves on the soil or warm Famere’s feet. She also couldn’t detect a heartbeat. That reminded her of Power Mageen Harken. Perhaps the slayer was a mageen too.

  Shir and Lor stared at the pillar, but didn’t rise.

  The slayer’s trembling words echoed her obvious pain. “Seek peace, Famere. I’ve suffered many years for helping you. Honor the light of the meadow.”

  The pillar of flame vanished with the woman, leaving no evidence it ever existed.

  Settling against the tree, Famere looked to the shadows for a sign, but they gave none. Had her waking dreams created an illusion? But the slayer had spoken to her directly. Maybe it was a vision.

  She wanted to forget the slayer’s words, but they troubled her, along with the slayer’s pain. For some time she considered the apparition, eventually signaling for a nearby messenger to find her mother.

  Later in the day, Mereeth walked through the trees toward her, her long, thick green hair braided with a grass weave and scented with flowers, her emerald skin glistening with herb oil. Her expression showed inner peace, something Famere longed for.

  When Mereeth extended her hand, with red berries in her palm, Famere held out her arms. Kneeling, Mereeth clasped her and kissed her cheek, and then sat beside her. Taking the sweet berries in her mother’s palm, Famere tossed them into her mouth, chewing listlessly.

  “What’s bothering you, Fam?”

  It was several moments before she could speak. “Do you think I’m mad?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I haven’t told anyone about my waking dreams of the last nine months.”

  “And I’ve never told anyone of the wild dreams I have at night. What do you see, Fam?”

  “The races walking through a sunlit mrilwood. Staves, melders, slayers, and others I don’t recognize.”

  “Asleep or waking, all dreams are valuable and come from Beloved, Fam.”

  Famere considered that. Perhaps her anger had made it easy for her to interpret her wild visions as a curse. Even more confusing, the visions had allowed her to kill a staven sun.

  Mereeth continued. “A story passed down between our seers tells of an ancient race called raethe that used mril and sahr to create wyshea, melders, and staves. Melders were formed from stone, staves from norre, and wyshea from wolves. That’s why the brethren aren’t afraid of us; we’re part brethren. Long before the war, the wyshea were friends to all races, and the common language the races share proves this. You’re either learning of the past or a possible future for mrilwood. Is that so bad?”

  Famere’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “I sent for you because of something else.” As she described the apparition, Mereeth released her hand and sat stiffly against the tree.

  When she finished, Mereeth said, “When I bore you, I often had dreams of a woman screaming in a pillar of fire. This slayer is the Prophetess and she’s your friend.”

  Famere’s eyes widened. “No slayer is my friend!”

  “Why did the shadows wake you, when you were close to death?”

  “Because I’m She of Two Shadows.” Famere winced over the pride in her voice. The word meadow had materialized in her mind when she was near death. The shadows had spoken it to her. Her hands became fists. “They woke me to witness the Coyote sparing Bosho’s life, and the light in the sky afterward.”

&n
bsp; “On your bonding day you saw the sun’s light twice. I believe those were omens for your goodness. I also believe that when the Coyote saved Bosho, the light that appeared was an omen for a slayer’s goodness.”

  “Maybe the light shone because Bosho and Basir escaped.” When Mereeth didn’t reply, Famere continued. “So what if a slayer spared Bosho, and the Prophetess asks me to seek peace. They’re slayer tricks!” When her mother didn’t respond, she asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “You’ve decided war is the only choice. Why should I argue with you?”

  She hung her head. “All right, mother, I’m listening.”

  Mereeth gripped her hand. “Stone tester is more than a symbol for She of Two Shadows. It represents something deeper I don’t understand.” She paused. “I never told you a slayer mageen gave it to Darkas.”

  Famere gaped at her. “I’ve worn a slayer gift all these months?” She suddenly loathed the gray stone lying against her chest. “What if slayers gave it to father to weaken me with pain and misery? How come you didn’t tell me?”

  Mereeth winced. “We didn’t tell anyone. Our people wouldn’t have accepted it and you were too young to hear it.”

  “Why are you telling me now?”

  “The mageen who gave it to Darkas saved his life in battle. Afterward, she asked him to have you wear stone tester on the night of bonding. Darkas didn’t want to grant her request, but he owed her a life-debt. The mageen was the Prophetess. I believe she’s connected to Beloved’s energy with visions.”

  Famere believed Darkas would have obeyed the mageen to repay a life-debt. Even Bosho said he owed the Coyote a life-debt. She recalled the night of bonding. Had stone tester influenced her then too, and brought the shadows to her? Even if true, she would never want a life without the shadows.

  Mereeth gently held her arm. “I believe the slayer attack in the bonding meadow was meant to kill you. I’m not the only one who foresaw that you can end this war. Someone else knows it too, and doesn’t want you to succeed.”