In Shade and Shadow nd-7

by Barb Hendee

  Domin Tilswith, Wynn's old master, believed the war had taken place well over a thousand years ago. No one was certain of this, even among the guild, and the large gap in time made determination of long-past events unverifiable.

  And Wynn realized part of why the guild was being so secretive.

  Without proof, including time frame, these writings could be dismissed as speculation or a mere collection of accounts from differing periods as well as places. And not from the same war that had devastated the known world.

  Varied ideologies and religions, including the major four of the Numan Lands, believed the war never took place. Or if it had, that it wasn't nearly as far-reaching as the catastrophe suggested by the guild. Wynn knew the royal family would take great pains to avoid anything that might cause unrest or discord—or open outrage and conflict. Even if solid proof were established, what could be more threatening than having one's beliefs shown to be in error?

  If anyone learned what Wynn believed—what Most Aged Father believed—that the Enemy was returning, even those convinced of the war's magnitude might turn on those who didn't, and in more than just heated disagreement. Fear would spread, and those who clung to unfounded beliefs or even incorrectly reasoned conclusions would in turn look upon others as the carriers of an incurable disease.

  Wynn quieted her wandering thoughts. Was this what the undead killer searched for—proof that the enemy was returning? But to what end? She put aside any conclusions. At least now she understood part of High-Tower's and Sykion's fears—as well as il'Sänke's warning.

  She began trying to determine which pages or volumes listed in the codex weren't present—the ones stolen by the black figure. She scanned section after section of the codex, taking notes on the breadth of the project. She turned to organizing and checking off volumes and pages of completed work, searching for what was missing.

  Within the catacombs, without a window or the sound of city bells, she had no idea how long the task took—but long enough that the twin columns on the pages began to blur before her eyes. She took a pause before continuing.

  Of course, she couldn't guess what was in those missing folios, but she could look at adjacent pages and sections that she did find. Perhaps therein was a clue to what the black figure had sought and stolen. She returned to inspecting more pages—and she found a gap.

  There were pages listed in the codex as worked upon that weren't in the loose stack in her hands. She flipped back to the last present page before the gap.

  She came upon something that made her cold inside.

  The page was covered in dots, much of the original being unreadable, though the words could be counted. There were also blanks in the right column for equivalent parts in the left one, indicating a section of text that had so far defied translation. From what Wynn could tell, the original had been written in one or more lost dialects of Sumanese. Of what had been translated, one term appeared a number of times.

  in'Ahtäben—the Children.

  What children? Whose children? And why the emphasis, as if it were a title? Baffled, she scanned the three pages that followed what was missing and then stopped. Her eyes fixed on another strange phrase within an incomplete sentence.

  …the Night Voice…..Beloved… of the Children.

  Wynn shifted to the left column of original text rendered in Begaine symbols.

  …in'Sa'umar…..Hkàbêv… myi in'Ahtäben…

  At first it didn't seem like the same phrase, but she was reading ancient Sumanese. She'd heard one of the Ancient Enemy's names spoken in more current Sumanese, as repeated by Magiere and Chap, and its translation had been the same: il'Samar—the Night Voice… in'Sa'umar—the Night Voice.

  By the similar prefix on in'Ahtäben, that also had to be a title—the Children. And here was one more title for the Enemy: Hkàbêv—Beloved.

  Wynn wasn't reading about actual children—they were some group who'd served the Enemy of many names. She began searching for other names or anything concerning who these Children might be. On the very same page, in the left column, she sounded out two Begaine symbols for a name she would never forget.

  Li'kän.

  The white undead had selected a tin scroll case from her castle's library—the same one that Chane had brought to Wynn. And Wynn found two more names near Li'kän's.

  Volyno and Häs'saun.

  She didn't know her hands shook until the sheets' upper corners began to shiver. She'd seen these names written on castle walls in the faded black fluids of Li'kän. Three guardian undead had once inhabited that place, but Li'kän was alone when Wynn and her companions had reached the castle.

  Wynn read further and came upon a reflexive proper noun. Volyno had written this passage. When she turned to the next sheet, the page's numbering jumped by three.

  She stopped, quickly checking her notes, and then scanned the codex for any date on which missing pages or selected passages had been sent out for transcription. When she found it, finally realizing the time frame, Wynn sank into depression.

  It was the night Jeremy and Elias had died.

  Whatever was missing had been in that stolen folio, and the black figure had willingly killed for it. Wynn returned to the loose stack, reading onward, and found two more strange titles aside from the Children.

  The Reverent and the Eaters of Silence.

  Upon her return home with the texts, Domin il'Sänke had been asked to extend his visit and assist with any ancient Sumanese dialects found therein. Likely he'd worked on these terms. Unable to stop, she read on and found more proper names scattered throughout the pages.

  Jeyretan, Fäzabid, Memaneh, Creif, Uhmgadâ, Sau'ilahk, and more…

  In places, she could tell where another person was referred to, but next to these were only a blank space or a margin note—"marks or letter system unknown" or "symbol or ideogram unknown." She counted these anyway, making note in her journal. It was impossible to tell if any name belonged to any particular group or none of them at all. But she found two closely positioned near another mention of Li'kän.

  Vespana and Ga'hetman.

  She didn't like the implication.

  In the very next sentence—or fragments of it—the white undead was referred to as "daughter of Beloved."

  Wynn froze.

  Daughter, as in a child—Li'kän was one of the Children. Vespana and Ga'hetman were mentioned with her as well. And Volyno and Häs'saun had been with her at one time in that ice-bound castle.

  The Children—like Li'kän—were all ancient Noble Dead.

  "Valhachkasej'â!" Wynn swore in a whisper, more from fright than anger.

  Vampires from a thousand or more years ago had served their «Beloved» in a war that erased the world's history. There were five, not one, not Li'kän alone, and that one had survived for so long…

  Wynn didn't want to finish that thought.

  How many of the other four still walked the world to this day?

  A vampire versed in one of the three magics, who had existed for a thousand years, might develop power beyond what any mage could hope for in one lifetime. Perhaps even the power to walk through walls, to become incorporeal at will, and yet physically tear out a city guard's chest.

  Was Rodian half-right concerning the black figure? She had even seriously entertained his notion. Was it a mage as well as a vampire—like Chane?

  Was it one of the other four among the Children?

  Wynn flipped to a blank page in her journal and began writing every name she could find.

  She marked the names of five of the Children. The rest remained to be identified as either the Reverent or the Eaters of Silence, or someone separate altogether. She scanned onward, reaching a place where the original text had decayed too much. Only fragments of Volyno's entry remained.

  …through victory sweet [unknown symbols/letters]…..world in tatters still and…..great numbers of the obedient chattel…..western force was destroyed. Beloved took refuge…..the Children divided.


  Wynn paused with her quill hanging motionless above her journal.

  The Children, the five, divided—what did that mean? Did they become at odds with one another? And why had the Beloved taken refuge, and from what?

  Volyno and Häs'saun had gone with Li'kän and the orb into the Pock Peaks, where the castle had been built by minions in that high frozen waste. Wynn knew too well what had become of those "obedient chattel." Magiere had seen hundreds of ancient skeletons, only some of them human, left crouched and curled in obeisance within small stone cubbies—left to starve in the cavern below the castle. The sanctuary they had built housed the orb that Magiere, Leesil, and Chap now attempted to hide somewhere in safety.

  But what had happened to Volyno and Häs'saun?

  It was hard to imagine that they'd simply left, since Li'kän seemed trapped there. Every time the white undead had tried to do anything, something unknown and unseen had reined her in. In over a thousand years she'd never left that place. Alone for so long, and sinking into her madness, Li'kän had even forgotten the sound of spoken words. It seemed likely that for whatever reason, Volyno and Häs'saun were no more.

  And if «divided» did mean "separated," there was still the question of where Vespana and Ga'hetman had gone. And why decrease their strength in numbers, as well as abandon their master? Three had gone with the orb, so what had the other two done?

  And most of all, where had their Beloved gone?

  Perhaps these answers were what the black-robed undead was searching for—other ancient servants of the Enemy. Wynn reached a disconnected phrase so puzzling it knocked out all other questions.

  …the anchors of creation…

  She checked the left column. Its translated part sounded like some kind of Sumanese, possibly Iyindu, but the rest was missing. If Domin il'Sänke had translated this, she would have to ask him. But when she scanned the rest of the column and looked to the codex for any further reference, she found nothing more. Surely if il'Sänke had any notion of its possible meaning, he would've noted it for others working on translations. With no other texts as old as these ever found, internal referencing was what would be leaned upon most.

  Volyno's writing grew more and more sketchy, more broken by untranslated or unreadable pieces. Soon Wynn found it difficult to distinguish between a possible name and just indefinable proper nouns. She did come across a word translated as «priests» near another reference to "those of the Beloved."

  She remembered the calcified remains Magiere had spoken of along the curving tunnels and cavern of the orb. Li'kän had walked between those long-dead worshipers in utter disregard. Again Wynn found herself understanding—sharing—the fear that drove Sykion and High-Tower to deception and subterfuge.

  Had a dark religion existed behind the force that sought the end to all sentient life?

  Wynn didn't care to think how people like Rodian would take that, coupled with an ancient history they denied. Had the Children also been a religious order?

  No, not with other groups mentioned. Those ancient Noble Dead might have been seen as holy, but by mere title, the more likely «priests» were the Reverent. So which of the other names belonged to the third group—the Eaters of Silence? And who or what had they been?

  Wynn bit her lower lip in frustration and turned the page. It was the last one in the stack.

  She dug through the piles, checking volume numbers for any section that followed, but she never found one. Further work on volume seven hadn't been completed yet.

  In the end, she had a list of seventeen names and nine blanks as possible names where the writing systems were unknown to the translators. Of the former, five were the Children of the Beloved—Li'kän, Volyno, Häs'saun, Vespana, and Ga'hetman.

  Wynn swallowed hard and then started at a grumbling whine.

  "Young Hygeorht!" Tärpodious croaked from the outer room. "If that animal has an accident in my archives, you'll answer for it! It is late for supper already."

  Had an entire day slipped by again? Wynn glanced down.

  The female looked up, not even raising her head from her paws, and a wave of guilt hit Wynn. Her new companion hadn't gone outside all day.

  She restacked all the pages as best she could and gathered her things. About to close her journal, she glanced once more over the names there. The majay-hì finally raised her head and sat up, peering over the tabletop.

  "Names and more names." Wynn sighed, carefully stroking the female's head, remembering the day she'd haphazardly named Lily. "And I still don't know what to call you."

  A quick chain of images shuffled through her thoughts—Chap alone, then with Lily, their heads touching, and finally the old wolfhound.

  Wynn groaned. "Stop that. It doesn't mean anything to me."

  But it didn't stop. The images merely slowed in repetition.

  She saw Chap leaning into Lily, slowly sliding his head along hers, as the majay-hì did in memory-speak. This time, when the wolfhound's image rose in Wynn's mind, it flickered with the image of a charcoal-colored pup tussling with her siblings.

  Again, and again, until the image of Chap speaking to Lily faded into the mother's memory of a dark-coated daughter—now sitting beside Wynn. That last memory wasn't Wynn's own.

  Wynn slipped from the chair, kneeling before Chap's daughter. She had no experience in memory-speak, so it had taken time for the meaning to finally sink in. Another instant of looking into the female's yellow-flecked eyes finally brought clarity.

  Wynn didn't need to find a name.

  Chap had already supplied one, taught to Lily, and through her to their daughter, in a way without words. A name called from his own memory of an aging wolfhound, honoring a simple animal who'd once saved him.

  Wynn carefully put her hands around the face of Chap's daughter.

  "Shade," she whispered.

  The dog didn't respond in any way. Wynn relaxed all conscious thought to let her own memory of the wolfhound rise. As an answer, she received a warm, wet lap of tongue across her face.

  It was going to take time and effort before they understood each other better.

  With that, she gathered her things to leave, and Shade followed her into the outer chamber.

  "Master Tärpodious, will everything be kept as I've arranged it? I didn't know if the materials would be secured for the night or left out for me."

  For a moment his wrinkled face softened, perhaps at the concern and diligence of her studies. He was an archivist, after all, dedicating his life to the catalogues of knowledge. Then he scowled at the "wolf's" presence.

  "I'll return it myself… to its safe place," he said. "But I'll pay heed to your arrangements when it is brought back out tomorrow."

  "Thank you," Wynn said, but she wondered where the translations were being kept.

  "Come, Shade," she said. "We'll have to hurry if you're going out to the gardens before the portcullis closes for the night. I don't think anyone would appreciate your relieving yourself in the courtyard."

  She hurried for the stairs, and Shade trotted beside her without being urged. As they neared the side arch of the common hall, Wynn began to fret. Better to take the main passage around to the front than go through there again. Before she even passed the entrance, Domin High-Tower came thumping down the passage from the other way.

  "Oh, perfect," Wynn grumbled, quickly grabbing Shade's scruff.

  No doubt the domin had heard about her new companion and came to put an end to such nonsense. But High-Tower barely glanced at Shade. His brow wrinkled, and he seemed agitated.

  "What?" she asked.

  "Nikolas is awake and…" High-Tower didn't finish, and his frown turned to a frustrated glower. "Captain Rodian has arrived… but Nikolas is asking for you."

  Chapter 15

  Rodian followed a brown-robed apprentice through the guild. As they reached the hospice ward, he spotted High-Tower and Wynn hurrying down the corridor behind him. High-Tower only nodded in greeting, but Rodian barely noticed
. He was staring at the tall, leggy wolf beside Wynn.

  It looked exactly like the one from the fiasco outside the Upright Quill.

  "Back to your studies," High-Tower told Rodian's escort, and the apprentice scurried off.

  Rodian turned his attention to Wynn. "You are a never-ending source of complications."

  "I'll explain later," she said quickly. "I'm here to see Nikolas first."

  Wynn pushed through the door before he could object, and the wolf stayed at her side.

  Rodian followed. Indeed, Wynn would do a great amount of explaining at the earliest opportunity.

  High-Tower was last to enter the long room with four narrow beds. A small table stood pushed against the back wall, with shelves above filled with glass vessels of herbs, powders, and other concoctions. Nikolas was in the first bed, and an aged man with bony features and a brown robe leaned over him. But the attendant straightened when he saw the visitors.

  His astonished gaze fixed on the wolf, but at a shake of High-Tower's head, the other sage said nothing.

  "Captain," Wynn said politely, "this is Domin Bitworth. He has been caring for Nikolas."

  Rodian merely nodded and looked down at the young man lying on the cot, conscious at last.

  Nikolas's hair was slightly laced with gray strands, but some color had returned to his face. He looked thin and haggard. Wynn settled on the bed's edge.

  "I'm glad to see you awake."

  The wolf paced over beside her, sniffing the blanket. To Rodian's surprise, no one stopped it. But Nikolas's eyes widened in fright. He weakly pulled up his legs beneath the blankets, shrinking back against the short headboard.

  "It's all right," Wynn assured him, placing a hand on his arm. "This is Shade. She's a majay-hì, not a wolf."

  Rodian didn't know what she was talking about, but he noted Domin Bitworth's stunned side glance at High-Tower. Typically, the dwarf just scowled and sighed.