Idriel's Children (Odriel's Heirs Book 2)

by Hayley Reese Chow

  “Aza!” Makeo barked. “Are you all right?”

  Hanging on by little more than her fingernails, fear clogged her throat. With numb fingers, she inched her body back to solid ground, her heart pounding. “I’m okay.” She risked a peek at the drop below and queasiness rolled through her belly. This was a fool’s errand.

  “Should…” Witt’s nervous eyes darted to Makeo and Shad. “Should we turn around?”

  “Go ahead.” Aza felt for her next handhold, and to her surprise, found a deep groove in the stone. The inside was smooth, as if many hands had touched it. Interesting. Gripping it firmly, she stretched out her other hand as far as it would go. The groove continued like a smooth snake etched into the jagged wall. She looked back at the others with a hard smile of gritted teeth. “I’ve found the bloody trail.”

  ✽✽✽

  Aza dropped from the final handhold onto a polished stone landing just as the sky lightened with the first signs of dawn. One by one, the others descended the cliff to stand beside her.

  The landing cut into the cliffside was broader than it would appear from above or below. On their left, a three-story wooden building grew up alongside the cliff. Past that, she could make out other narrow structures of various shapes and sizes crawling up the mountain in a chain. On their right side, the green roofs of yet more buildings crawled down toward a narrow valley floor far below. Polished stone landings, like the one they were on, separated the structures, with spindly stairs winding from one to the other.

  Shadmundar growled as Makeo put him down on the smooth white stone. “So, this is the place we’ve crossed the land to see. It looks just lovely,” he said, the words coated in thick sarcasm.

  A grizzard’s beak clacked from the nearest roof, and Aza’s focus snapped to the figures in front of her. A woman with golden skin and deep-set eyes stood before her. A long black braid ran down one side of her head, while the other side was shaved short, and she hid her hands in the wide sleeves of her robes. Behind her, two muscular young men stood, long hair tied into knots atop their heads and staffs in hand.

  “Somisidas Abbey welcomes you, Aza Thane.” The woman’s silky voice slid through the mountain silence.

  Aza froze, her ears buzzing. Was this the whisperer from the Shadow Plane?

  The woman continued on, “We’re pleased to see you found your way. However…” Her narrow chin dipped at the others. “I’m afraid your companions will have to depart. They don’t belong here with the Called.”

  Aza’s eyes skimmed over Witt, Shad, and Makeo. Dirty. Exhausted. Hungry. And now defeated. They’d traveled hundreds of miles to be here with her, and she wouldn’t let this woman dismiss that for no reason other than haughty indifference.

  “They belong with me.” She crossed her arms. “If they aren’t welcome, then I’ll leave with them.”

  It was… mostly true. She wouldn’t stay without them. But she wasn’t leaving without answers, even if she had to wring it from this woman’s long neck. Another grizzard landed with the clack of talons on wood.

  The woman said nothing. Still and expressionless, she waited. Was she expecting Aza to change her mind? To come up with a different answer? Aza mirrored her stiff posture. After pushing hard for weeks, she could stand here for as long as they wanted.

  Two more grizzards landed somewhere in Aza’s peripheral. Their black bodies lined the spines of the buildings, big wings tucked behind their backs like they, too, were waiting. Makeo took a step closer to her, whether in solidarity or in concern for her well-being, she wasn’t sure.

  Aza’s shadows coiled in her center. She was ready to disappear in a moment if they decided to attack. Her body might be tired, but her yanaa was brimming with disuse. She could take on a flock of ugly bald birds.

  Finally, without a word or a nod, the woman turned her back on them and glided toward the staircase. Aza’s patience slipped away.

  “Why did you call me here?” she shouted across the landing.

  The two warriors moved to protect the woman, and Aza flung herself into the Shadow Step, the yanaa embracing her like an old friend. She swept the feet out from under the first, then rolled away from the other’s staff crashing down on her. Jumping to her feet, she blocked the surprisingly accurate blow to her face and delivered a kick to the man’s jaw. With two more swift punches, she ran past the downed bodyguards.

  She put her invisible body between the stair and the woman. “Why are there screams on the Shadow Plane?”

  Although she couldn’t see Aza, the woman’s dark gaze pierced through her. She cocked her head ever so slightly. “Why don’t we get properly acquainted, shall we?” She pressed her hands together, then slid them apart with a sharp jerk—and disappeared.

  Aza’s shock only lasted a single heartbeat, her parents flashing before her eyes as she deepened the shadows around herself. The euphoric surge of the crossing flooded her mind, submerging her senses in its familiar, tantalizing power. Breathing deep, she opened her eyes in the gray fields of the Shadow Plane. Her head whipped around, but the Somisidas woman was the only person there. No parents, no shadow dwellers, and no wind whispering her name.

  Aza’s eyes narrowed, her muscles tense. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Seela, the Master of Somisidas.” She took long, even breaths as though it didn’t tax her at all to be there. As if the Shadow Plane were the most natural thing in the world. With smooth steps, she began to walk through the long gray grass.

  Aza followed her, every step an effort while her yanaa flittered away. “How are you here?”

  “The same way you are. My yanaa takes me here.” Her voice was soft but matter-of-fact. “It’s impressive that you found the Shadow Plane on your own. For many of our novices it takes years of training.”

  “Well, I’m not exactly a novice, but thanks for asking,” Aza said through gritted teeth.

  Seela considered her beneath long lashes. “And yet, you seem to find it difficult to control yourself here.”

  Aza swallowed. Had Seela purposefully lured her here to weaken her? Cool sweat beaded on her temple. Is that why they’d tried to get Makeo and the others to leave?

  “Why have you been calling me?”

  “The Plane can be a dangerous place.” A frown curved Seela’s thin lips. “Silvix asked us to find you.”

  Aza shook her head, her breaths coming harder now. How was this woman so calm? “Silvix is dead.”

  Her arched eyebrows rose. “So you truly don’t know what this place is.”

  “I know it’s tied to the Lost and Carceroc and maybe even my parents.” Pain wrenched through her limbs. She had to leave, but she couldn’t let this woman best her. “And I want to know why.”

  Seela watched her struggle, her face still.

  A slight breeze ruffled the air, but it wasn’t Seela’s voice this time. “Teach her.”

  Seela’s lips parted, and an emotion Aza couldn’t quite recognize flashed across her face. She pressed her mouth firmly closed. “So be it.”

  With that, Aza’s last strand of yanaa slipped through her fingers, and she passed out.

  ✽✽✽

  Aza’s eyes snapped open back on the cliffside, her head pounding. Dawn’s gentle fingers played over the polished stone of the landing, but a shadow fell over her. She looked up to see Makeo’s hulking form standing between her and a knot of the Wraith-Called in their gray robes. He held his huge broadsword out in front of him and bared his teeth, growling fiercely. Gone was the gentle Keo of her childhood, and before her stood the snarling Maldibor the villagers feared.

  Witt stood on his right side, his sword also drawn, but with nervousness pulling at his jaw and brow. Shad peeked out behind Witt’s ankle, fur on end, hissing something to placate the Wraith-Called and their sturdy wooden staffs. Aza squeezed her temples and tried to focus on his words.

  “We’re just here to ask a few questions.”

  “This is a sacred place,” one of the robed men replied, his ha
nds folded behind him. “Not one for the gawking of bored minds.”

  Shad laughed dryly. “Is that so? Do you get many bored minds willing to crawl over bare wet rock in the dark to be in your esteemed presence?”

  One of the other stockier men stepped forward, his hands tightening around his staff. He opened his mouth when Seela reappeared like a ghost in the half-light. Her eyes flicked from Makeo to Shad to Witt to Aza on the ground behind them.

  “The visitors will stay.”

  The stocky man’s eyes widened. “All of them?”

  “All.” She straightened and slid her hands into her deep sleeves. “But you will adhere to our rules. You will learn our ways. And you will keep our secrets.” She lifted her chin. “Understood?”

  Aza sat up with a hiss, and Makeo looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes still half-wild. She nodded, and he turned back.

  “Fine,” he growled. “But we’re keeping our weapons.” Makeo offered his paw and helped Aza to her feet.

  She winced. “And we want answers.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Somisidas

  Hours later, bathed, fed, and clothed in the simple gray robes of the Wraith-Called, Aza knelt on a circular cushion across from Seela in an otherwise bare room. The stone floor and cliffside that comprised one wall chilled the air in a way that raised goosebumps on Aza’s arms. Talons clicked above them, announcing the presence of the grizzards that perpetually lined the rooftops.

  Aza shifted on the cushion, her muscles creaking beneath her. Outside the window, the gray-robed novices crossed the landing in near silence. She could’ve easily slept the day away like the others, but then her thoughts churned to Zephyr across the mountain, maybe fighting off the same Lost that had killed her parents. And she knew she couldn’t waste time on sleep. She needed to learn what was going on in the Shadow Plane and find a way to stop it.

  And even though Seela had agreed to let them stay, an undercurrent of tension pulled taut in her gaze. Their tenure here was probationary at best. She’d have to prove to this woman that she was worth the answers she needed. That she was worthy of trust—worthy of the Shadow Plane. Seela wouldn’t give her a word without it. The task towered over her like the mountain itself. Where did she begin?

  “All of our novices start in the lowest building in Somisidas,” Seela said as if reading Aza’s thoughts. She gestured to the room around them. “As your skill in the Plane progresses, you will ascend the mountain.”

  “But I can already walk the Shadow Plane. Doesn’t that mean I should start higher?”

  A smile curved the edge of Seela’s mouth. “Could you cross to the Plane at this moment?”

  “Of course not. It takes days to recover after using that much yanaa.”

  “Oh, does it?” Seela’s smirk deepened, and she disappeared.

  Aza’s eyebrows shot up. Seela had walked the Plane for even longer than she had. How was that possible?

  Seela reappeared with a smug grin. “After you, most advanced Shadow Heir.”

  Carefully smothering her irritation, Aza looked away to the rough wall of rock. “I already told you. I can’t.”

  “That is because you’re going about it the wrong way. Like calling yourself a swimmer when you are merely floundering to survive. Your mind is weak.”

  “It isn’t weak.” Aza’s jaw tightened, her words slow and deliberate. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

  “As the Shadow Heir, you have a great deal of power. And you have used that power to force your way into the Plane with brute strength.”

  “So, what would you have me do instead?”

  “The Plane is found through the mind. If you lead with your mind, then your body will follow.”

  “So you want me to think my way into the Shadow Plane?” Aza slouched back onto her hands, the stone cold under her skin. “Are you saying anyone can enter into the Plane then?”

  “Not at all.” Seela’s thin eyebrows tilted with disdain. “The wraiths allow only a chosen few, and the physical crossing still requires a small amount of yanaa.” The ghost of a hard smile glittered in her eyes. “But it takes much less yanaa to open a door than to break it down.”

  Aza ran her tongue across her teeth. It was more than obvious this woman had no love for her or her companions. So why had she called her in the first place? She inhaled deeply, her impatience swollen and red with irritation. It didn’t matter. As long as she was willing to teach her, Seela’s reasons didn’t matter. She shifted on her flat cushion. “All right, then. How do I open the door?”

  “If you wish to open a door, you must first know the door you wish to open.”

  Aza pressed her lips together. Why was this so difficult? “I want to open the door to the Shadow Plane.”

  “Why?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course.”

  Standing, Aza paced the floor. “Dead-eyed Rastgol hunt me, Carceroc rebels, and the Plane screams.” She flicked a knife out from its sheath and twirled it between her fingers. “It’s connected. And I need to know why.”

  “Perhaps,” Seela mused idly, as if pondering when the star blooms might flower. “The Shadow Plane is the space between the living and the dead. Here, we strive to follow in Odriel’s footsteps as he guides souls from one to the other, and we seek wisdom from those who have already passed.”

  Aza stopped, a buzzing filling her ears. The space between the living and the dead. So, Dorinar’s books had been right.

  “It is possible,” Seela continued, “that something in the Plane could be affecting the living, or the living could be affecting the Plane.”

  Suddenly cold, Aza crossed her arms and leaned against the smooth wooden wall opposite the mountain. “But for the living to affect the Plane, they’d have to be connected to it somehow, right? They’d have to be from Somisidas?”

  “Yes, the person would have to be a Wraith-Called, but not all of the Called are here at Somisidas.” She laced her small hands in her lap, blue veins visible through her nearly translucent skin. “Some ignore the call, and others do not stay.”

  “How do I figure out who it is, then?”

  “By taking the first step.” Seela gestured to the cushion Aza had abandoned.

  With a sigh, Aza sheathed her knife. She crossed the room on silent feet and sank down in front of Seela, mimicking her posture—legs folded, hands in lap, face blank.

  “Close your eyes and breathe deep. Empty your mind, Shadow Heir. Think nothing. Feel nothing.”

  In the silence, Seela’s words echoed through Aza’s thoughts, dredging up an old memory of her mother and brother doing this very thing when he coaxed fire to his fingertips for the first time. Aza had never needed instruction. The shadows had come to her as easily as breathing. Even now they pulsed in her with every heartbeat, weak from her last foray into the Plane, yes, but always present. Cool and soothing like the air in her lungs.

  “Now, think of the Plane,” Seela said, her voice soft. “Focus on it, but do not try to enter.”

  In her mind, Aza found herself in the gray fields. The dark sky above her. The wind through her hair. The unnatural silence. A prickling of dread as she wondered once more if she would meet her parents there. Or if the Hunters would crawl down the cliffs to find her instead.

  “Your mind is wandering,” Seela said. “Leave the emotions behind. Think only of the Plane. The grass between your fingers, the soft ground under your feet, the quiet in your ears, the scent of dust and ancients.”

  The picture was so clear in Aza’s mind now, she wondered if she had slipped into the peacefulness of the dream. It felt like the Shadow Plane, but she wasn’t struggling. She was just… there. But she wasn’t.

  “Now, see the door.”

  In her mind, Aza scanned the field, and there behind her, was a door. Obsidian black but without the shine, like it swallowed all light—a hole in the air with a curved handle.

  “Reach out and grasp the handle.”


  Aza curled her fingers around the cool black handle and pulled. But the door wouldn’t open. She tugged again. This was all in her head. So why wouldn’t it open? The little yanaa she had left bunched within her. Not even enough to Shadow Step, much less cross into the Plane.

  “Let your yanaa trickle into your mind. Let it drip from you into the door. It is the key that will open the door.” Seela’s words were hypnotic and monotone now. Almost as if it was Aza’s own voice, instead of someone else’s. “But remember. Here, you are a mind. Not a body.”

  Aza let her reserves of yanaa flow into the door, the handle smooth under her fingers. She pulled again. Still stuck. Not enough yanaa? She scraped more from her core, her muscles tensing.

  “No.” Seela’s voice jarred her thoughts. “Not your body. That is the Heir’s way, not the wraith’s. The key is in the lock. Open it with the strength of your mind.”

  Aza pulled harder. It didn’t budge. This was stupid. You couldn’t just think your way somewhere completely different. This woman just wanted to make a fool out of her—waste her time with impossible nonsense.

  As if Aza had spoken aloud, Seela’s words cut through her thoughts. “To enter, you must first accept that the door is already open. The real barrier is the one you are creating in your mind.” Aza took a deep breath. “Every thought you have. Every untamed emotion is another plank in the door. To weaken the door, you must strengthen your mind.”

  I am not weak. Aza wiped the thought away as soon it popped up. She was strong enough. She could do this. Don’t feel. Don’t think. It is possible. Just open the door. Aza focused on the long grass swaying against her waist, the hard metal under her fingers, the scent of age and soil. She was a part of the Shadow Plane. She belonged there. The intoxicating draw of the shadows itched at her skin, begging her to enter. Fingers on the handle, her gaze bored into the darkness of the door.

  For a moment, she thought of nothing, the shadows and her heart pulsing together in rhythm. Then, with certainty, she opened the door. It swung ajar with aching slowness, and she stepped into the other side. In that one step, the Shadow Plane’s power poured into her, not with the uncontrolled rush of before, but in a steady stream of strength. As if, instead of fighting to dive to the bottom of the ocean, here she was already on the ocean floor, the weight balanced evenly on her shoulders.