Choson bit back the comment he wished to make, about his lack of trust in Gillis. For better or worse, however, they were bound on the same path. Showing hostility toward Gillis at this point would be unwise. What could he tell her: that Gillis had been feigning sleep to watch him? Whatever Gillis’ intentions, the man could turn Amelia against Choson if he perceived any hint of a threat. It was better to be quiet and watchful.
“Shall I get Gillis?” Amelia said.
“No, there is no need—”
“Get me for what?” Gillis said as he returned carrying an armful of flat white mushrooms.
“It is no matter,” Choson said.
“He wants to know how to find slaves,” Amelia said.
“Do not trouble yourself,” Choson said flatly.
Gillis smiled, and after they broke camp he invited Choson to walk with him. They spoke at first of how far they had come, and how much father there was to go. They were now closer to Pauloce Keep than the Monastery, and there near the Lord’s grounds they would hopefully find Wilhelmina. It would be two days to reach the nearest part of Pauloce’s vast lands, if they kept good speed.
“How do you feel about Wilhelmina? Since you are no longer a Mordenari, Blood Magic would be of no concern, yes?” Choson asked.
“Yes and no. I am still wary, truth be told.”
“It does great things, as I have seen.”
“Dangerous and foul things too.”
“Perhaps the sentiments of the Mordenari linger with you,” Choson said.
“Well,” Gillis said, grinning broadly, “you must understand: I am older. Changing these long-held ways is slow work.”
“I can imagine.
“So, the slaves. They were taken by Min-Yu from…?”
“Yu Village in the mountains of Gweidor.”
“Her own family village. Hm,” Gillis said, and kindly held a shoulder-height thorny bush out of the way so that Choson could pass. “They would be either in your Capital, or somewhere in the north of Pauloce’s lands.”
“Would many be alive?”
“Well, there is no coin in a dead slave. She would keep them healthy enough until selling—that is, if coin was her objective.”
“What other objective could there be?” Choson asked.
“She may have recruited some of the able as slavers. Had them kill the weak as a kind of loyalty pledge,” Gillis said.
“You have seen such a thing?”
“Many times. Slaving twists people. The brutality turns them on their own families and villages.”
“Then it is senseless to hope that we may find any we can save,” Choson said.
“No, friend,” Gillis said, again smiling. “Not at all. There is always hope. After all this is done, I could help you find them myself.”
“Truly?”
“Yes,” Gillis said. “If you’ll have me.”
Choson was speechless for a moment. He did not feel he wanted help, but the offer seemed to be born of sincere kindness. Gone was the oily air of Gillis’ words and smiles that Choson had seen—or imagined he had seen. He finally managed to mutter, “I will consider it.”
“Good,” Gillis said, and clapped him on the shoulder.
Gillis beckoned to the others, and they walked from there as four. The trees with hanging moss were long behind them, and the brambles give way to grass with soft, finger-width blades. The trees grew farther apart also, and the group made good time while the sun was high, stopping at streams to drink the clear but frigid water. There was an air of ease in the group that Choson could not share in. Where was the urgency? Verandert, the supposed terror that pursued them, was forgotten as Roos sang and Gillis spoke and Amelia jibed and laughed. The longer the warm-spirited walk went on, the more Choson felt that Gillis was the center of the mood. It was always him requesting another song from Roos or pulling Amelia into witty banter. Why keep us so well-at-ease, bald one? Choson would think.
In the early afternoon, Choson tapped Roos’ arm and waited with him until Amelia and Gillis were ahead and out of hearing.
In a low voice, Choson asked, “What do you think of Gillis?”
“He seems not so foul.”
“I am not so sure. There is something slippery about him.”
“He is happy, like Amelia, to be free of the Mordenari,” Roos suggested.
The others turned, noticing Roos and Choson’s absence, and asked if all was well. Choson waved them to go on and explained that Roos was helping him adjust his armor. Roos helpfully put his large hands on Choson’s left pauldron and pulled clumsily at the straps until the circulation cut off to Choson’s forearm. Amelia and Gillis went ahead without them.
“Gillis seems perfectly cheerful,” Choson said. “Could it be an act?”
“Perhaps it is that he puts on a brave face.”
“Hm. Perhaps,” Choson said.
“Amelia is my ally since she saved you,” Roos said thoughtfully. “And Gillis is Amelia’s ally. We are one tribe.”
“Yet I have an oily sickness in my gut that will not go away, and it tells me that Amelia is wrong about Gillis,” Choson said.
“Worry not. I will watch him with you, though I do not think there is anything to watch,” Roos said.
“Thank you. I am astounded, as always, by your faith in people, Roos.”
“My people say, ‘Walk long together.’ ”
“That is wise. Come, let us catch up to them.”
The afternoon went on and they were soon cast in orange light as the sun neared the horizon. They were picking their way down a steep bank rippled with rising tree roots when Amelia gasped as though stung by a sudden pain, and held up her hand. Roos nearly collided with Choson as they all came to a stop behind her.
“It is Min-Yu’s path again?” Choson asked.
She shook her head, then held her hands forward in strange, crooked positions. As she turned on the spot, she felt through the air like she was searching for something in the dark.
“It is familiar, but it is … something strange.”
“Blood Magic?” Gillis said.
“No,” Amelia said. “I felt this last in the Monastery, but now it is a lingering trace of something greater. Like the smell of a candle after it has been snuffed out…”
“What does this mean?”
“Is Verandert near?”
“No. I would know in an instant if it were him. I think we can go on. I will keep my senses—”
She had started down the bank again as she spoke, but stopped short the moment she came to the bottom. All in the same moment, the color drained from her face, and she gasped and trembled like one plunged suddenly into a frozen lake.
The others scrambled down the bank to her side, Choson’s hand on his sword hilt, ready to spring forward. The sight that had stunned Amelia was puzzling, and Choson could not guess at the reason for her reaction.
Gillis stared as hard as Amelia, but his expression was inscrutable.
Swaying slightly in the breeze, hanging from a tree on a long rope so that it just barely brushed against the ground, was an empty pearl-white robe with a single, large bloodstain around the neck.
Chapter 15
They ran.
Amelia explained the robe and its meaning to Choson and Roos in gasping bursts. It was the robe of the High Monk, and it meant at the very least that Verandert had been here. Unless it was put there to deceive them, she explained, it also meant the High Monk had been killed.
Gillis pondered on the robe with a cool mind as they ran. Was the robe for me to see, or to warn her? If it was for me, what was the message? A promise of reward?
Choson and Roos asked for more explanation, but Amelia’s frantic sprints between cover and breathless pauses as she surveyed the woods ahead for danger left no time for talk. The others followed her, Gillis last of all, not knowing where she would lead. At one such pause she took the last, small pinch of Sleeper powder from her satchel, trembling, turned it into blue Waker with some
words, and cast it upwind so that it burst into a cloud that covered all of them. Gillis felt his heart leap and his limbs fill with strength as the Waker powder dusted him. His lungs took in ever more air, and the effort of running seemed like nothing. It was like they were gliding through the trees, and there was no sound aside from their heaving breaths.
They fled through the undergrowth, far from any path, urged onward by Amelia’s constant shouts to hurry, one moment in a clearing that they tore across at a full sprint, the next pushing through reeds taller than Roos, weaving through them while seeing nothing but the back of the person in front, then bursting out of the reeds and facing an enormous fallen tree and helping one another to vault over. Soon Amelia’s voice was rough from urging them on. Gillis snagged his robe at the sleeve on the trunk, pulled it free, and then they were scrambling and sliding down a ditch lined with pebbles that cascaded after them, and headed up the other side where the dust of the stones turned their hands grey and for every few feet of progress up the steep bank they slid back just as far.
They were on top of the ditch now, and Gillis’ legs burned and throbbed with every heartbeat. The world slowed and its colors dulled around him, and he felt his strength leaking away like ink from a cracked inkpot. The Waker was done, and with its absence came the clammy weakness of its aftermath. There was a small breeze, but it was enough to sting Gillis’ sweating face. He was hardly aware of the others as he staggered, knees trembling, to the nearest tree and leaned all his weight against it. He gingerly sank to the ground and leaned on the trunk. Looking around, he saw that the others were exhausted, but less so, as they were still standing. Roos’ beard was wet through in places where his sweat had run down, but he stood tall with his hands on his hips.
“Are we safe?” Choson asked.
“I don’t know,” Amelia said. “I don’t know.”
“How could Verandert know we are here?” Roos asked.
“There is no way to be sure,” Gillis said.
They hoisted Gillis to his feet and staggered on.
“It’s all a game,” Amelia said to herself, loud enough for all to hear. “He could come at any time. He means to tell us running is futile. He means to make us despair. Well … he hasn’t caught Min-Yu, and soon we will know how she evades him.”
She had rubbed at her arms vigorously as she spoke. She went on, muttering about tracking enchantments and the flow of Momaentum. Soon she was repeating herself, and Gillis made no effort to listen. While she marched ahead of the group, still rubbing her arms and rambling, Gillis began to fall behind the others. His legs were failing him. For once he was not falling behind to watch the others; this time he simply could not keep up. They did not look round and see him falling behind, and he did not have the energy or will to call out. They were almost out of sight, oblivious and staring ahead with dead expressions.
I know what I should have done, Gillis thought. I should have fallen and hurt something. Hurt myself enough that Verandert could catch up to us. Broke my leg or arm. But is he even pursuing? It all seemed to depend on the meaning of the robe. Verandert could have meant one of a hundred things by leaving the High Monk’s robe there to be found. No, he thought, he would have caught us if he meant to. Besides, if I hurt myself, Amelia would surely have cast some foul Blood Magic to heal me.
What seemed certain, however, was that the High Monk was dead. There was an empty chair in those chambers now. Gillis could almost smell the desk with all the fading, dusty writs. Writs that could be signed with his own hand.
Soon.
The others finally noticed his absence and rushed back to support him, almost lifting him clear off the ground like he was some doddering old man. They muttered reassuring things to him, rubbed his back, and patted his shoulder, but he paid them no heed. His mind was far away. It was like he had left his body. He was seeing everything that might come to pass sooner than he had expected. He was exhilarated to think Verandert was so near, but then there were numb stabs of some other feeling, like something was wrong, like he had forgotten something crucial. He tried to place the feeling just as the world seemed to dim around him. A hand struck his cheek, and he was hauled upright on his feet.
The world suddenly returned to him—he had no idea it had been slipping away. He had been sagging in their grip, almost crumpling to the ground, when Choson had hit his face and hoisted him back up.
“Gillis, say something,” Amelia said.
“You are white as bone,” Roos said.
They crowded around him. Gillis could not say anything. How foolish that he should faint. It was that Waker, it must have been. He had run just a little too far and it had made him faint.
“I will get water,” Choson said. “He is in shock.”
They set him down. His head lolled back. He could not feel the ground—it might have been stone or mud, for all he knew. He hoped he was not wet, he did not like dewy grass or muck or anything sogging his clothes.
“We ran a little long today, didn’t we,” Amelia said very close to his face.
Gillis rasped some reply. Choson returned and they forced water down Gillis’ throat. The world sharpened in rolling waves, and so too did the pain that radiated throughout his body.
“How far did we run?” Choson asked Amelia.
“I would say we are east of Wilhelmina’s home now.”
“We are closer, then?”
“No, we added a half-day…” she said, looking at Gillis. “Maybe a full day’s extra travel.”
“Can we stop here?”
“Can we stop anywhere?” Amelia said in a bitter undertone. Then she went on, “Here in this spot, yes, we are fairly safe. We can get some small amount of rest.”
“No fires,” Choson said.
“No, no fires,” Amelia agreed. “Before we settled in, however, we must all prove ourselves. Anyone may have been … well, in all the confusion …”
“Any may have been replaced,” Choson said. “By him.”
A heavy air settled on the group. They looked from one to another, all meeting eyes and scrutinizing each detail. Gillis had not even considered it—could Verandert have taken one of them and replaced them? There certainly had been enough confusion. Which of them, then, would it be?
Roos volunteered first. Amelia had him bend down, then she slowly drew her dagger across his cheek. He bled, and thick drops ran into his beard. That done, he sighed in great relief and fell back in a heap, steam rising from his body in the cooling air. Evening was drawing near.
Choson went next, offering his arm to Amelia. She shook her head and told him she would rather they kept the wound in a visible location. Shuffling on the spot, with the others watching, he leaned forward with his eyes closed and let Amelia take hold of his chin and cut his cheek. He bled freely, much of it running down to his jaw.
The water had nauseated Gillis. They had made him drink too quickly. The thought of being cut knotted his stomach. But they suspected him the most at the best of times.
One did anything to play the part.
Amelia cut Gillis’ cheek—quickly, only glancing at him, as though to get it over with—and he bled.
Amelia raised the dagger, finally, to score her own cheek. Choson held her forearm.
“One of us should do it,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” she said.
“None of us cut ourselves. Give me the dagger.”
“You are being stupid,” she said, tensing.
“My reasoning is sound,” Choson said. “If he should hide among us, he would deceive us with a false cut.”
“Forget that nonsense. You’ll make a ragged scar—I’ll cut straight and clean,” Amelia said.
“Why are you reluctant?” Choson breathed.
Roos scrambled to his feet, growing tense as well. They all stared at her. Amelia looked around at each of them as the silence thickened.
Gillis knew already what the cut would tell.
Wordlessly, Amelia offered the
handle of her dagger to Choson, and she closed her eyes so hard that Gillis could see them twitching. As Choson approached, she shrank away from him. He adjusted the grip on the dagger, then paused for a moment. Roos nodded at him to urge him on. The longer the silence went on, the more agitation Amelia showed, with her nostrils flaring and lips tightening. Choson put a hand on Amelia’s shoulder to steady her, and she flinched.
Choson and Roos sprang back from her and reached for their swords.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Amelia said. “I won’t move.”
Choson approached quickly this time, and Amelia drew rapid, shallow breaths. He put his hand on her shoulder and slipped the blade against the pale skin of her cheek. Red beads welled up and ran down to her chin, where they fell away.
The others burst out in a frustrated clamor.
“What was all that for?” Choson said.
“I thought for certain you were … why did you do all that?” Roos growled.
“I told you I wanted to do it myself. It’s your fault.”
“You had nothing to fear. I cut straight and clean. You had us all—our minds jumped to…”
“My heart is pounding,” Roos said.
Gillis, of course, had known it was truly Amelia all along. She had a certain manner of speaking that he had become accustomed to, and Verandert had not truly sounded like her when he’d last worn her skin. Gillis almost smiled as he thought, Would Verandert ever use the word ‘nonsense?’ He banished the smile and the thought. He was being foolish, sentimental in his exhaustion.
“So,” Choson said. “He is not among us.”
“Let us rest, or my bones will shatter,” Roos said.
“I will keep watch,” Amelia said. The blood was smeared on her cheek where she had wiped it away.
“Good,” Choson said.
A wave of fatigue rolled over Gillis, and, head lolling against the rough bark of a tree, he fell asleep.
He awoke in the dark with all his joints stiff, his neck aching in particular. As he shifted where he lay, a tickling drop of sweat ran down his armpit and made him shiver. A large fur covered him. The cold stung his face even as the fur kept him uncomfortably warm, and he could not help a small feeling of gratitude from flowing through him. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and shortly after the pale light of the coming dawn suffused the camp. When the sun is full, it casts many shadows, he thought, but before dawn like this there are none. The light comes softly from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
The Tyranny of Shadows Page 18