We will get nowhere following Min-Yu on this trail, she thought. She is too ready and too cunning. It is clear she does not want to be pursued—how many have been snared in her trap? Could Verandert have sent Mordenari here to look for her, only to have them die at the hands of these ambushes?
The flow of Momaentum passed from the west, where the sinking sun was in its proper place, and went on eastward to the sea. The illusion, for whatever reason, no longer seemed to affect her. They were closer to the sea than she had thought—much closer. A cascading feeling of relief flowed through her, and a moment after came a great crashing wave of fatigue. They would not have to linger in these blasted woods a day longer, so long as they increased their pace. She sat, cross legged and hunched forward, every one of her limbs aching from the recent exertion. Only Wilhelmina will know enough to help with Blood Magic this powerful, she thought. It is a simple matter of deciding how much to tell these two.
Chapter 13
Roos and Choson came to their senses amid a puff of blue Waker powder blown into their faces by Amelia. While the cloud hung over them, Amelia inhaled from it deeply. It brought a surge of strength to her limbs, and made her chest hum with pent-up energy as though a lightning bolt was trapped within. Roos sprang up to his feet while Choson stood more slowly, though his eyes darted rapidly around and his nostrils flared wide with each breath. Injuries all but forgotten, fatigue obliterated, Amelia beckoned them on to follow her eastward. They spent the waning of the sun beating a path through the woods toward the sea, semi-delirious from the effect of the Waker and the hot-blooded frenzy that lingered after the battle. To Amelia it felt like the world was thrown into sharp and urgent relief, and that every twig snapping or leaf rustling was a new enemy taking aim—that every shadow was an armed man bearing down on her. More than once she started in surprise and nearly sank a dagger into a nearby tree. She felt clammy and stiff from the blood she had given Choson, but not nauseous or dizzy, so she knew that she had not given too much.
They spoke in hisses and whispers as they broke through the brambles and struck branches aside with violence.
“What happened?”
“How did they find us?”
“Will they find us again?”
“Keep moving! Go!” Amelia shouted.
She explained the illusion, or what she could guess of it—it was an alarm: a spider’s thread. The ambush was the spider coming to collect its fly. Choson complained of his shoulder being stiff and cold. The three of them ducked under branches and crashed through leaves, so fast they were almost running. With the Waker in them, they kept the pace up for over an hour without flagging for a moment.
“Keep moving!” Amelia said, over and over.
Soon they were all covered in scratches and drying blood from bramble thorns, and as the falling sun’s shadows were at their longest they heard the rush of the sea—the true sound of it. Amelia almost whooped with joy. The sand beneath their feet turned white and loose, and the woods grew sparser among rocky outcroppings. It was here the Waker began fade, and Amelia felt as though lead weights had been fixed to her feet. They hobbled over sand dunes stippled with stiff grasses, and then finally came to the shore. They took shelter in the middle of a curved hollow in the rock, close to the waves, and sat with their backs pressed to the cool stone. The sand in the center of the hollow was wet, and sometimes took on water from the more vigorous waves. The sun’s light was almost completely gone and everything around them was grey.
Amelia shivered uncontrollably shortly after they stopped moving. Without the warmth of the sun or the strength to go on running, she felt incredibly cold. Roos looked at her for a moment, heaved himself upright, and dumped an enormous bear-skin on top of her. She wrapped herself in it, grateful. Roos then moved to the front of the hollow, dragging his feet through the sand heavily, and made a crude wall of sand to stop the waves from coming in.
Roos wordlessly took Choson’s hands and heaved him up, and they left Amelia alone. It was dark now, and the moon began to rise. The two men returned with large armfuls of bleached-white driftwood. Amelia watched them pile it in the center of the hollow and struggle to light it for some time before she wordlessly managed to get their attention and hand them a Sparker. She had not had the energy to call out to them. The fire was lit at last and some blessed warmth bathed her toes. Soon it was roaring, burning lavender and green from the driftwood salt. She reached her hand out to it, muttered the spell for the smokeless fire, and they all sat watching the flames in silence. Amelia felt like her joints had fused together and were only now easing apart. The central, largest log in the fire that Roos had carried in had not yet set alight.
“Three against thirty-two,” Roos muttered. “And we lived. Never have I seen it. Never in all my days have I seen it.”
“Amelia is talented indeed,” Choson said. He looked at her.
“Not talented enough,” she said, her throat so dry that every word burned. “I cannot help you find Min-Yu.”
“We found her trail,” Roos said.
“What she does with that illusion is beyond my understanding,” Amelia said.
“But you can do so much as well. Moving like that in the battle, my eyes could not follow you,” Choson said. “Is Min-Yu’s talent so different?”
“I think so.”
“And, you healed me—like it was nothing. I was surely dying.”
“A simple herbalist trick.”
Roos blinked slowly, then looked from the fire to Amelia.
“How did you heal Choson? I was helping, and then …” Roos said. “I forget what happened.”
“You fell in a trance. Part of the spell,” Amelia lied, biting her tongue and not trusting herself to say another word. To burst out laughing now would hurt her aching lungs.
Roos nodded long after Amelia had stopped speaking, running a hand thoughtfully through his beard.
Amelia drew out a flask of goud root tea. It was pungent and perhaps no longer any good, but she took a sip of the bitter stuff regardless. It reached the back of her throat and she felt the stab of it instantly, making her shake her head and wince. A minute later, a small tingling feeling settled on her scalp, and she took a longer draft. It was like the someone with long nails was scratching the top of her head. Wilhelmina used to do that.
“What is that you have?” Roos said.
The flickering cobalt-blue flames lit his face. Amelia tossed a different flask to him. “Goud. Have one yourself, Wittewolder.”
Roos caught it, sniffed it, drank from it, then sucked his cheeks in.
“The slavers steep it strong,” Amelia said.
“Do not drink too much,” Choson said. “The danger has not entirely passed.”
“The slavers carry it for a reason, since it calms the tremors and agitation of battle,” Amelia said. “They drank of it before they faced me, certainly.”
“It made me afraid,” Roos said, his eyes half-lidded. “And I was on your side.”
“Take some, Choson,” Amelia said. Choson shook his head, so she shrugged and drank more.
Roos swayed back and forth, seeming mesmerized by the fire and unaware of the others.
“How do we find Min-Yu?” Choson asked Amelia.
“We can’t. At least not now. She does not want to be found.”
“Then when?”
“I have a mentor, Wilhelmina. She knows a great deal more than I.”
“Where is she?”
Amelia raised her eyebrows and puffed up her cheeks before blowing the air out. “Near Pauloce’s Keep. Probably.” She laughed.
“Hm. I will ask again in the morning, when this stuff has left you.”
“It’s true, that’s where she lives,” Amelia said.
“I am in no mood for this joking and jesting, that is all.”
“I only laughed because I remembered Wilhelmina—things she said. She’s a character.”
Choson shook his head. “Even so, the morning is better. We are ex
hausted from the day.”
“Oh, we won’t be able to sleep properly tonight; the Waker was strong. There is no better time to talk than now,” she said. “I am going to her, to consult with her. Come with me, or go your own way and end up in Min-Yu’s chains.”
Choson shook his head again, and stared into the fire. They were silent for a time. Roos ran his fingers absentmindedly through his beard. His eyes had heavy bags under them, but they were still wide open.
“I am not who I say I am,” Roos said morosely.
“Who are you, then?” Amelia asked. Roos took some time in answering, so Amelia listened to the fire’s roar contentedly.
“I am no warrior,” Roos said. He held his head in his hands, and swayed back and forth with his gaze on the sand between his enormous feet.
“Go on. What are you?” Amelia said. She thought he was winding up for some jest.
“I am a poet,” Roos said. “A song-man and poet of my tribe, and I failed my father.”
Amelia stared. She had been ready to laugh, but Roos’ voice had broken and real tears had come into his voice.
“To be a poet is no failure, Roos,” Choson said gently. “Calm yourself. You have drunk too much of this tea, it is too strong—”
“My father wanted a warrior son. I failed him.”
Amelia felt queasy at the display of emotion, and thought it best to lighten the mood.
“You have greater bravery than any I have met,” Amelia said, and Roos looked up. “To fight with a sword that poorly honed is a sign of true courage.”
“Hmph,” Roos grunted.
Amelia continued, “Thank you both for helping me today. Had the two of you not charged in and turned them away from me …”
“The thanks are for you,” Choson said, though his expression was grim. “You saved my life, and I have not been sufficiently grateful.”
Amelia nodded. ‘You thought me a mere killer.”
“I did.”
“I see you are not so bad,” Roos said. “Beneath your act.”
“I have no act.”
“Aye. There is care in your eyes, though your words try to be careless.”
“Oh, go write a poem about it,” Amelia said, avoiding his gaze.
Roos grimaced, and they were silent for a time.
“Trying to find Min-Yu by wandering these woods is hopeless. I see it now,” Choson said.
“Come with me to Wilhelmina, then,” Amelia said.
“What good will it do? Even if we had an army we could not reach her.”
“I didn’t break you out of your cell so you could give up. Come with me.”
“Are we your prisoners?”
“No. I am not one of the Mordenari.”
“Then we are free to go?”
“It would be foolish, and you shouldn’t, but yes,” Amelia said, her voice heated now.
“Choson, peace,” Roos said, but he was ignored.
“I have been thinking with the clarity of a man who passed within an inch of death,” Choson said. “And I have looked forward along the path we are set on. First, I was wondering whether I trust you, and whether your mentor would be willing or able to help us. But then the thought came, like clouds parting to let in the sun: what good would it do me to find Min-Yu? None of the other questions matter. I do not want to kill her out of vengeance. What, then, am I searching for? It has been years since I began the search, and all the rage that burned within me has long since ebbed. I have merely been borne onwards because I know of no other way. So, in the morning I will leave.”
The others looked at him, saying nothing for a minute. Choson bent over his breastplate and set about repairing the puncture in his shoulder-armor as best he could.
“Fine,” Amelia said. “So that’s it.”
Without looking up, Choson said, “You will come with me, Roos?”
“Aye,” Roos said, but in a flat tone.
Minutes passed as the fire crackled. Some logs shifted and sent up handfuls of sparks.
“Do you have a good voice, Roos?” Amelia said.
“I do not know.”
“Would you sing?”
“It would be loud.”
“I can keep the noise from leaving the hollow. Sound is my specialty.”
Roos looked up at her and said, “Aye, though I do not know what to sing, let me think.”
Amelia stood and drew a line with her finger on the topmost parts of the rock, leaving behind wispy blue trails of Momaentum. As she passed Choson, he kept his head down, but shifted out of her way. Roos sat with a straight back and the soles of his feet touching, his hands on the flat sand in front of him. He began humming, then lightly patted the ground in time with the tune, growing louder and louder. He then sang it aloud, in his native tongue, and it sounded like a marching song to Amelia, yet it was mournful. It rose and rose to a strong and loud point, then hushed to a rhythmic verse that Roos almost whispered, then grew louder once more. His voice was clear and strong, nothing like the growl he spoke with, and when he boomed a particularly low note Amelia felt it ring in her chest. The song rose again and he beat the earth like a drum, sometimes clapping both hands on his thighs. He reached the high point, belting many long and loud notes that made the hairs on Amelia’s neck stand up, and suddenly he was done.
Amelia clapped enthusiastically.
“Well sung, Roos,” Choson said.
“It is better with real drums.”
“What did it mean?” Amelia asked.
“It is a battle song,” Roos said, then looked at Amelia out of the corner of his eye. “A farewell to the fallen.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Amelia said, and raised the flask of tea to her lips. She paused before drinking, whispering so that the others could not hear, “To Gillis.”
It had felt as though only a few hours had passed, but already the pink light of the rising sun was touching the horizon. The three of them stared out across the sea, none of them speaking for a time.
“It was a fine song for parting,” Choson said. “I wish you good fortune, Amelia.”
“And you,” she said.
“You are better than the killers you have left behind. I would call you an ally. You have opened my eyes where I was blind, and I thank you for that,” Choson said.
“Let’s not make a whole speech of it; it was a battle and a bit of Blood Magic,” Amelia said.
Roos, who had stood and looked around, tensed. “Who is that?” he hissed, looking inland. He took the handle of his sword and held it ready. Amelia peered over the rock and saw a dark figure walking in the distance, discernible only by the movement of their cloak in the grayish dawn light.
“Someone is coming,” Choson said. “Douse the fire!”
“It’s too late, they have seen us,” Amelia said.
They scrambled up and out of the hollow, weapons ready, looking about wildly on all sides for enemies in the shadows. The dark figure drew close enough that Amelia could see it was a bald man wearing grey Mordenari robes under their cloak. Together, the three of them backed away.
“Wait!” the figure called out to them, and waved.
Choson and Roos held their swords ready, but Amelia’s clattered to the rock. She knew that voice. It could not be. She had misheard.
“Who are you?” she yelled.
“It’s me!” he called.
She knew the voice—it was him. Her breath caught in her chest.
He threw back his hood, and soon drew close enough that they could see him clearly. Amelia blinked, not daring to believe it. Gillis, smiling, stood with his arms outstretched toward them, and said, “I found you! I found you.”
Chapter 14
Gillis took a steadying breath as the others saw him. The act must be perfect.
“Gillis!”
Amelia launched herself forward and collided with Gillis, nearly knocking him over in her haste. She held him tightly for a second, then leapt back as though stung. She drew her dagger and aimed its po
int at his chest.
“Who are you really?”
“I am not him,” Gillis said. “It is me.”
“Prove it! Quick!”
Gillis rolled back one of his sleeves, drew his knife, and gently ran the tip across his skin. The cut was a dark line in the gloom, and upon seeing it Amelia put away her dagger. Roos and Choson stood beside her now, looking from Gillis’ wound to Amelia.
“Why do you lower your guard?” Choson said.
“A cut on Verandert’s skin shows a blue network of tattoos,” Amelia said, her voice trembling with elation. “This man, this awful, wonderful bastard truly is Gillis. How are you here? Verandert was there … he froze the vial.”
“A lucky escape. Can I warm myself by the fire?”
Amelia rushed forward, drew shut his cut with her finger, and helped him to the fire. A dull alarm sounded in Gillis’ mind: To close a wound in that manner … that is Blood Magic. She was worse than he had thought.
“I am glad to see you again,” Gillis said.
“And you,” Amelia said, then suddenly she struck him with the back of her hand. “I thought you were dead! How dare you do that to me?”
“I did not mean it. Why did you think me dead? Were you listening through the oil?”
“Verandert said he knew everything, and that excuses would not spare you. I thought for certain you would have gone the way of Duvelt, of the robe hanging from that tree. Did Athers …?”
Gillis let his eyes fall to the ground, and then, wearing a suitably grim expression, slowly looked up at her and shook his head. Amelia was still for a moment, except for her eyes, which darted between his.
“Oh,” she said. “He was hanged?”
Gillis drew in a breath and hissed it out through his teeth, then buried his face in his hands for a moment, giving them all a show of despair that he did not feel. When he told his much-rehearsed story, he constricted the muscles of his throat so that his voice came out rough and halting. She must be consumed with sympathy, so that there can be no questioning the events as I tell them.
“No. After the vial was frozen, Verandert said that the crimes of a Dreyen could not be known. He drew Athers up by the chin, looked him in the eye … and cut his throat, there beside me as close as you are now. I backed down the stairs, though I couldn’t tear my eyes from Verandert, so I stumbled again and again. He did not follow me, not at first, so I ran. Got my things, thinking all had been lost. I tore through the corridors, made for the entrance, and every time I looked over my shoulder he was there with his dagger dripping. Verandert lingered just behind me, but never caught me up, though he could have seized me in a flash of Momaentum at any time. I didn’t know why, until I realized … he wants me to be consumed with fear before the end, always looking over my shoulder. He spoke over and over about our betrayal, about how we could run for the rest of our lives and yet would never be free of his pursuit. An immortal man has the luxury of an eternal chase. He promised that one day … the chase will end.”
The Tyranny of Shadows Page 16