The Wound of the World

by Edward W. Robertson

  Heart racing, she cut into the shadows and ran into the forest as fast as she could. Five minutes later, with her juice running low and no sign of pursuit, she dropped back into the world. Wind sifted through the snow-coated pine needles.

  She walked for what felt like forever. Just as she was growing certain she'd gone in the wrong direction, the house appeared ahead. It was silent, shuttered, but the smoke trickling from its chimney attested that Herrick and the children were still there.

  It was a couple hours before dawn, but it wouldn't be too outrageous to knock on the door. After the last few weeks, they'd be happy to wake up and see her. She could see their smiles, feel the warmth of the house spilling out around her, smell their hair. It would be so easy to make that happen. All she'd have to do was walk a few more feet.

  Yet she couldn't get her legs to move. She counted down from sixty, willing one of them to open a shutter or walk out for more firewood. But after a minute had passed, the house remained still. She lifted her hand, then turned and walked back through the forest.

  ~

  Feet crunched through the snow. Fear stabbed hard into her guts, but rather than lingering, it faded like a cramp. She knew why: whatever happened next, in just a few more minutes, it would all be over.

  Hidden behind a crumbling wall of the ruined fort, she peered into the darkness, picking up their movement within the trees. Three of them. As they neared, she got a clear look at their faces: Galand, Blays, and Cee.

  She drew her knife, tugged down her glove, and nicked the back of her hand. Shadows uncoiled from the rocks. Had they been left there by the blood of the long-ago dead? If there were shadows everywhere, did that mean there was nowhere in the world where a thing hadn't died?

  She stepped from behind the wall. "That's close enough."

  Down the slope, they looked up in surprise. Even Galand. Good. That meant he'd honored her demand that he not send spies ahead of himself.

  "No need to draw this out," she said. "Hand her over and let's get on our way."

  Galand gazed up at her. "Did you bring the book?"

  Raxa reached into her coat and withdrew the Cycle. She unwrapped the oiled canvas she'd used to keep it dry and set it on a flat piece of wall. "Send her up. We'll walk away. Once we're gone, the book's all yours."

  "There's one small problem." To his credit, he didn't smile. "I don't give up my people."

  A dark spear winged toward her chest. He was fast, unnervingly so, but she'd been expecting it. She grabbed the Cycle and jumped into the safety of the shadows. The spear sizzled past her, a bright but harmless shaft of silver fury. The two men drew their swords and ran up the hillside. Blays dropped into the nether.

  Seeing her there, he winked. "Don't suppose you'll come along quietly?"

  She grinned back at him. "Hold still and I'll give you all the quiet you could ever ask for."

  She backpedaled, drawing Blays ahead of Galand, who was high-stepping through snows that rose past his knees. Cee followed a ways behind the priest. She had a bow in her hands, but against the shadows, it was nothing more than a prop.

  Raxa vaulted a wall, landing lightly on top of the snow on the other side. Blays was closing fast. Galand was yelling out for directions, but unless Blays dropped out of the nether, he wasn't going to be any help. All of which was exactly why she'd chosen the snowy, maze-like site of the fort.

  She hopped a patch of rubble. Blays landed right behind her. Just as she'd been practicing since their first encounter where Galand had tried to do the same to her, she gathered the nether close, then shoved it into Blays as hard as she could. With an audible pop, he burst loose from the shadows, forced back into reality.

  Raxa grinned and followed him out into the dimness of the night. Where the nether could be deadly again. Galand was nowhere in sight. She shaped the shadows into a killing blow aimed for the soft part of Blays' throat.

  As she moved to unleash them, a woman stepped out of the nether right beside her. Something slammed into the side of Raxa's head. The night was cold enough to freeze the spit in your mouth, but all she felt was warm.

  14

  Dante crouched over the woman's body, wary that it was yet another ruse. Then again, if it was a trick, Raxa Dosse was doing an admirable job of not caring about all the blood pouring out of her head.

  He dumped shadows into her skin. To his utter lack of surprise, her skull was cracked. Her brain looked all right, but the trouble with brains was that they could appear perfectly normal even while the organ's owner was laughing at the clouds and pissing themselves.

  Deep inside the nether, he smoothed the crack in the skull and knit her skin back together. She was breathing deeply but peacefully. He turned her face to get her cheek out of the snow. She looked like a nice young woman. Nothing like the terror who haunted the streets of Narashtovik.

  He wiped a bit of blood on his trousers and swiveled his head to glare up at Minn. "What part of 'take her alive' was so hard to understand?"

  "I thought," Minn said in an annoyingly reasonable tone, "I would worry about hitting her with the correct level of force once she was no longer about to murder my husband."

  "Thanks for that," Blays said. He sheathed one sword but kept the other out. "I'd promise to return the favor some day, but I'd really rather you not get into any almost-murders in the first place."

  "Are you suggesting I should leave before she wakes up?"

  "No way. When she wakes up, we're going to need every sword, arrow, and scrap of nether we can get out hands on."

  As Cee climbed over a patch of rubble to join them, Dante checked Raxa's coat and found the Cycle. He opened the cover and discovered it was a fake. His first instinct was to strike her, but his second was to laugh. Fitting. They'd shown up with no intention of turning over Cee, and Raxa had shown up with a fake copy of the book. He checked her again and was unsurprised to find she didn't have the sword on her, either.

  He sat back on his cloak with a sigh. "We'll have to talk with her."

  "I've only got one word," Cee said. "'Die.'"

  "Duly noted. Now in the interests of not having to explode her like a rotten pumpkin, would you kindly stand way over there?"

  Cee gave him a dark look, then walked forty feet away. She kept her bow nocked, eyes fixed on Raxa. Dante focused on the nether around the sleeping thief. If she reached for it, he'd knock her out again, then repeat the process until she was spent and harmless.

  That was the idea, at least. In practice, trying to keep a sorcerer safely in captivity was about as effective as trying to imprison a rattlesnake in your mouth.

  Raxa's eyes opened, locking on Dante.

  "Don't even think about it." He summoned a hundred spikes of nether from the air, hovering them inches above her body. "If you so much as move, I'll impale you from head to toe. Then I'll heal you and do it again. I'll be happy to keep that up until you get the idea—or go so insane you can't get any ideas at all."

  Face stiff with tension, she glanced at Blays, then Minn. Seeing the other woman, Raxa made a face of sheer disgust. "Should have known."

  Minn looked puzzled, then her jaw dropped. "Saya?"

  "Saya?" Blays tipped back his face as if to beseech the heavens. "Don't tell me we have the wrong person again."

  "We got the burglar who can walk through walls," Dante said. "If she isn't the right shadowalking rogue sorcerer, we're in more trouble than I thought."

  "How do you two know each other, Minn?" Blays' eyebrows hopped upward. "Because she was at Pocket Cove. Where she learned to shadowalk."

  "That is correct." There was no missing the edge in Minn's voice. "She was young then, and seems to have used a different name. But there's no forgetting that look in her eyes."

  "The one where the caged tiger is imagining eating you bit by bit?"

  "If I remember right, she always struggled with the nether. Was that why you ran away, Saya—Raxa? Because you were ashamed of your weakness?"

  Raxa sneered.
"You're right, I should have stayed. Until your people got me drowned. Or you tortured me until I went mad and flung myself down from the Fingers."

  "We have to toughen ourselves. If we don't, Gask will destroy us. Who are you to complain? No one is taken to Pocket Cove against their will."

  "And no one would go there if they knew what it's like." Giving Dante a baleful glance, Raxa propped herself up on her elbows to get a better look at Minn. "Which makes it a problem when you're never allowed to leave. Except, apparently, for you."

  "That's different. My presence here helps keep Pocket Cove safe." Minn's face darkened. "I don't need to justify myself to you."

  Raxa stared at her long enough to unload another ton of contempt, then shifted her gaze to Dante. "You have a problem. You can't kill me. Do that, and you'll never see your book and your sword again."

  "Don't be so sure. I have powers you can't dream of."

  "Sure you do, priesty boy. That's why you're freezing your ass off arguing with me out in the darkest woods."

  He didn't know whether to sigh or to stab her. "What do you want?"

  "Told you. You give me Cee, and I'll give you the book. The real one."

  "What would you do with her? Kill her?"

  "You don't have to worry about that."

  "I'll take that as a yes."

  "I'll even throw in your fancy sword. It's a fair trade. More than fair." Raxa glanced across the ruins toward Cee, who stood alone, bow in hand. "She can be replaced. A year from now, you won't even miss her. But if you've got your weapons back, think how much better you'll be able to protect the realm. That sword's already saved my life more than once. And as for the book—where do you think I learned to do this?"

  She summoned a droplet of nether to her index finger. Dante tensed, preparing to beat it back with everything he had, but she blew on her finger, dispersing the shadows back to the dark places of the world.

  Dante glanced at Cee. She was upwind of them and he wasn't sure she could hear their conversation; if she could, she gave no sign of it.

  "No deal," Dante said.

  "Come on. There's no way her life is worth as much as your artifacts."

  "Probably not," he said. "But loyalty to your people is worth more than a mountain of gold. It's the glue that holds everything together. If I give that up, I'll lose the very thing I'm trying to protect."

  She sighed, shoulders slumping. "Kill me, then. But spare the Order. We didn't start this war—you did."

  Dante clenched his teeth. Even if he did have the stomach for torturing it out of her, if he tried, Blays would walk right out of Narashtovik. Threatening her children would likewise cause Blays to disown him; besides, if he did that, Raxa seemed like the type to throw herself at him in a mad frenzy, forcing him to kill her on the spot.

  If he killed her and took some of her blood, he might be able to use it to trace it to other places she'd left bits of herself, stray hairs and so forth. But it wasn't at all likely. The connection would be so faint he'd probably have to be right on top of her stash before he felt anything.

  He could send moths and beetles into the far corners of the city. But that could take years, and he'd have to be watching through their eyes all the while.

  There were no good answers. But they'd figure something out. They always did. Pursing his lips, he moved into the nether that still hovered above her, preparing to send it swooping down.

  "Wait." Minn held out her hand. "This is wrong. Those of the Cove don't kill each other. It's our most sacred vow."

  "Good news," Dante said. "I'm not from the Cove."

  "Does slaying her get your book back? Your sword? What does this solve?"

  "It gets the city's most dangerous criminal off of our streets. Maybe things are easier in Pocket Cove, where the most trying decision you have to make is whether to eat the flounder or the perch, but in the rest of the world, you rarely get a perfect solution. Most of the time, the best you can do is go with the option that makes you vomit the least."

  "She was one of my sisters. Even though she ran from us, that remains." She turned to Blays, making a sweeping upwards gesture. "He listens to you. Convince him."

  Blays snorted. "He listens to me like a rock rolls uphill."

  Raxa glared up at them. "Will you hurry up and kill me before I freeze to death?"

  "There has to be something more valuable to you than murdering that woman over there." Blays tapped the point of his sword into the snow. "This was about those kids of yours, wasn't it? Bunch of orphans or whatever? Give us back our stuff, and the Citadel will take care of them."

  "I take care of them myself."

  "Then it's a good thing you've never done anything to endanger your life and hence your ability to keep caring for them. Who are they, anyway? Cousins?"

  Raxa shrugged. "Just some kids off the street. The kind you see every day."

  "Ah. Well, you missed a few. What about them?"

  "Are you offering to house the others?"

  Dante swung toward Blays. "Are we? With whose money?"

  "The taxpayers, I suppose. I'm sure they won't mind throwing a few hundred silver at a project that'll result in the return of certain objects vital to the city's defense."

  "We can't possibly house every vagabond child in the city."

  "I know, it's an awful idea." Blays looked down at Raxa. "How many would it take?"

  She frowned. "Do you mind if I stand up? It's hard to negotiate when your ass is getting soaked."

  "The philosopher Kamrates said the same thing." Blays took a step back.

  Raxa stood, knocking the snow from her trousers. "An orphanage is a good start. But you're going to have to do better than that. The sword alone is worth a kingdom."

  Dante bit his teeth tight. "And how much is your life worth?"

  "My life? I gave up on that the moment I set up this meet."

  "Minn must have hit you harder than I thought. You seem to be forgetting the vital fact you're not selling me goods that you own. You stole them. From me."

  "They're not yours until they're in your hands, are they?"

  Her eyes widened. She reached for the nether. Dante grabbed for it, only to find that it was already surrounding him—that was why she'd drawn on it. If she decided to lash out with it, they were standing so close to each other he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop her.

  "Enough!" Blays glared daggers at Dante, then turned them on Raxa. "You think some stupid sword is power? This man can annihilate you down to the burnt ends of your hair, steal a piece of your soul and turn it into a demon, then send that demon to devour everyone you've ever loved. And after that, he can travel into the afterlife to hunt you down and tell you all about it.

  "With power like that, I'm sure it must be very tempting to abuse it. Gods know everyone else seems to. But we try to use it to make the world just a slightly less horrible place. You're currently delaying us from achieving that. For the good of the land, we ought to smear you and get on with our business."

  Blays' face was red with cold and rage. He took a step closer to Raxa, eyes sparking like the clash of two steel blades. "You've done some bad things, haven't you? Enough to know how it gnaws at your soul. Maybe you've done so much harm that a part of you wishes we would kill you. I don't want to do that. I have to protect my soul wherever I can. It's already thin enough as it is. But maybe it's thin enough that I won't care about gutting you.

  "We can find out. Or we can make a deal. You give back what you stole. We build you an orphanage. And the freakishly talented sorcerer over there trains you to wield real power."

  Dante choked. "You want me to train her?"

  "It's stupid to throw away a good tool. Besides, she's a thief and probably a murderer. We can't have her just running around the city, can we?"

  "Much better idea to teach her to use the nether!"

  Blays folded his arms. "She's a shadowalker. Apparently she's already on her way to becoming a nethermancer. You couldn't ask for a more perfect
spy to install in Bressel."

  It was Raxa's turn to gawk. "Spy? Bressel? I can't leave my people behind. I don't even speak Mallish!"

  "Then you'd better start brushing up. You want to protect your merry band of criminals? Your urchins? Here's your chance to learn from one of the most terrifying people this side of the Woduns."

  They all fell silent for a moment. Dante adjusted the clasp of his cloak. "Did you really learn to use the nether by reading the Cycle?"

  "At Pocket Cove, I was never any good," Raxa said. "But once I had the book, it seemed to open something up inside me."

  "That's how I learned, too. That, and a completely crazy old man."

  "You're talking about Callimandicus?"

  Dante nodded. "There wasn't another like him. That was the worst loss of the war."

  Raxa had a distant look in her eye, as if remembering something from her youth, or listening to a story around a campfire. As fast as someone falling down, she regained her pointed gaze. "How do I know I can trust you? That as soon as you've got your things back, you won't blast me apart and feed me to demons?"

  "That idea has occurred to me. But we need someone in Bressel. Other than Blays, you're the only shadowalker I've ever met outside Pocket Cove."

  "And you know how those people are," Blays said. "The last time we were able to talk them into helping us, it required calling in a thousand-year-old debt."

  Something moved across the stark field of Raxa's face. "What could I become?"

  "I can't even guess," Dante said. "Part depends on talent. More depends on the work you put into that talent. And some depends on fate, or luck, or the will of the gods. All you can do is try, every day, and see how far it takes you."

  "I need time to decide. Three days."

  "Three days? Do you really need that long to scheme up a way to murder us in our beds?"

  Raxa snorted. "You might be able to run off whenever you please, but I have people who depend on me. I have to make sure they're okay with me leaving them for a while."

  "And if they're not, you'd give up your chance at this?"

  "Dead truth is that I don't know. But I know I have to ask."