Stories From the Shadowlands

by Sarah Fine

  Ana took a step back, disbelief etched into her expression. “What did she do to you?”

  “I don’t know,” he muttered, and began to run down the hall. They were losing time. If they lost the trail, they lost Lela. And for some reason he would have to figure out later, he couldn’t allow it to happen.

  The Dark Tower: A Scene from Sanctum, from Malachi’s Perspective

  When his palms hit the warm, slick metal, he knew he’d survived the dark tower yet again. His hand slid down, seeking the handle. His fingers curved around it desperately, and he yanked the door inward. As soon as he did, the crying and screaming and shouting quieted. The stench of burning flesh evaporated. The blood and the death and the bone-deep grief faded back into memory, still present, but not so fresh, not so now.

  He staggered onto the street, the damp silence wrapping around him like a moldy blanket. As always, he began to strip off his armor, needing to shed his weapons for a moment and be himself, just a man and not a Guard. His breastplate hit the sidewalk with a heavy thwock, buckles clinking. His satchel, belt, bracers, greaves… he stepped away from all of it and looked up at the tower.

  This time had been different.

  Every time—every time—Heshel’s voice had come to him when he’d needed it most. Like a rope tossed to a drowning man, his brother’s voice had pulled him from the churning sea of suffering. It told him he was strong enough, that things might get better if he endured. Always it told him to endure.

  He hadn’t heard Heshel’s voice this time.

  He’d charged into the tower, his heart pounding fiercely, taking no time to ready himself for what waited inside the mouth of the devouring evil that was this building. He’d only had one thought, one hope—to get to Lela, to pull her back, to prepare her. But as soon as the door had shut behind him, his own special hell had swallowed him like it always did. He’d fallen to his knees and begun to crawl through the horror of his worst memories, like he had done hundreds of times before. But when his hands started to sink through the floor, when his mother’s screams and that acrid, heavy smell threatened to pull him under… it was Lela’s voice that had filled his mind.

  Come to me, she had pleaded. I want to see you. I am so close, if only you endure.

  Like nothing ever had, those words had gotten him moving. But they had also terrified him. What had she become to him, that she’d replaced his own brother as the lifeline he needed? As he thought back to last night, the way her body had felt against his, how right it had been, how overwhelming and new, how hard it had been to let her go… he thought maybe he already knew. This was so dangerous. But he wanted to surrender to it.

  The door to the tower swung open with a muted pop. Ana stumbled out, eyes streaming. She fell to her knees on the sidewalk, her breaths coming in wheezy sobs. Malachi clenched his fists. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but he knew from experience she would push him away. Whatever she saw in there was the height of terrible. Takeshi had told him a little about what had happened to her, enough to help him understand her a little better. Ana was sharp edges and barely contained ferocity for a reason. But since Takeshi had died, Malachi wondered if it was worse, if what Ana saw in the tower included things that had happened in the dark city. He wondered if she might have to relive what he had done to Takeshi. The thought made it easier not to go to her. He didn’t want to add to her pain.

  Ana shoved herself up and wiped her palms on her pants. “Lela?”

  “Not yet,” he muttered.

  Her eyes met his. “I need to go. I’ll be back.”

  “I know. I’ll be here.”

  She nodded and took off, running at full speed. Malachi watched her disappear around a corner and then sat down to wait, his chest aching.

  Lela had been the first to go in. She should be out by now. What was she going through in there? He knew she’d been brutalized, that she’d suffered. He’d had to watch her relive it last night in the training room, and it had left him tense with rage and exhausted by sorrow. Especially when she’d asked him to play her attacker so she could conquer her fear. He admired her for that, but feeling her tense up when he touched her… he’d hated it.

  With every minute that ticked by, his heart beat faster. His palms started to sweat. Cold prickles of dread raced down his spine. He couldn’t do a thing for her. She was entirely on her own. Come out, Lela, I need to see you. Please. This is not the end for you.

  Almost as if she’d heard him, Lela pulled the door open, and Malachi jumped to his feet and lunged for her, relief singing in his veins. He caught her before she fell and scooped her into his arms. She was frighteningly limp, and the most awful, vulnerable sound came from her throat as her head came to rest on his shoulder. He strode away from the building, wanting to get her out of its oppressive shadow. She was breathing hard. Her hair was a mess. He sat down at the curb with her in his lap and ran his hands over her arms and legs, searching for wounds, needing to make sure she was whole. And when he got to her hands… No.

  He silently untangled strands of her beautiful hair from her curled fingers, then gazed at her palms. Bleeding. She’d hurt herself. Not badly, but even this felt like failure. He cupped her face and tilted it up so he could look in her eyes. He’d done it often enough now that he was prepared for their effect on him, but they still burned, amber-brown and deep. “Can you hear me?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

  She blinked slowly. “That really sucked.”

  He couldn’t keep his arms from tightening around her. “Yes, I think that just about captures the experience.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’ve been through there hundreds of times, so it’s not as bad as it once was. I get through pretty quickly. But I almost didn’t make it out the first few times.”

  “How did you get past me? I went in first.”

  “I probably walked right by you without either of us knowing.” Or crawled, more likely. He pushed back a wave of shame at his weakness. “You are always alone in there, left to fight your own worst memories. It’s why the Mazikin are so terrified of this place. They can’t handle both their own memories and those of their human hosts. They never make it through.” Many, if not most, of those bodies in the tower were Mazikin. Trapped forever in the belly of the beast. Which meant their victims were trapped in the Mazikin realm, a fate he would wish on no one.

  Lela’s eyes skimmed up the fearsome black façade of the tower. She stared at it for several seconds, and then her arms slid around Malachi’s neck. In a flash, her face was pressed to his throat, her breath warming his skin and blanking his thoughts. The heat cascaded through him, awakening his body, making him want things he absolutely shouldn’t. He let out a sharp breath and fought to control the power of this sensation. It took several seconds to master, but once he had… she wasn’t letting go, wasn’t pulling back. So he let himself hold her. Happy, he realized. Happy she was here, happy she was strong, happy she was touching him without fear or hesitation.

  “I was getting worried,” he murmured. “I went in after you. I tried to call you back and explain more about it, but you were already gone. I’m so sorry I didn’t explain it earlier. I should have tackled you when you bolted for the door.” If he had, maybe she wouldn’t be bleeding right now. He drew in an unsteady breath. “It took you a long time to get through.”

  “I almost gave up. And I saw…” Her voice quavered, terror seeping in at the edges of it.

  He caressed her curls, then realized how selfish he was being, enjoying the silken feel of them when she sounded so scared, and moved his hand to her back. “I know what you saw,” he said quietly, wishing he didn’t. “Some cannot bear to re-experience the worst parts of their lives. They lie down and give up. The building, it…”

  “Eats them?”

  “Well, yes.” He’d seen those faces and bodies in repose. He’d almost become one of them a time or two, had found himself wanting it b
efore he found his will to live again. “I don’t think it hurts.”

  “No, it looked like… nothing. Like not existing. It was really tempting for a few seconds there. I wanted all of it to stop.”

  It hurt to hear her say it. A million reassurances sprang to his lips before she added, “But then I heard you talking to me.” Her eyebrows rose as she read the surprise on his face. “You weren’t talking to me?”

  “You heard my voice? You’re sure it was mine?” Something giddy and jittery stirred inside him, and he recognized it as hope. Takeshi had begun to hear Ana’s voice in the tower before the end, and he knew Ana heard Takeshi’s, because right after he died, she’d gone in repeatedly, willing to walk through hell just to feel closer to her love again.

  The fact that Lela had heard his voice…

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s what got me through. You told me to keep walking. And you…” She bit her lip, and he stared at her mouth, barely able to contain the desire to see if it tasted as good as it looked. What was happening to him? He shouldn’t be allowing himself to think this way. Takeshi and Ana had shared a great love, and look what had happened to them. The memory made him shudder. And it was ridiculous to think that way about Lela, who only wanted to find Nadia and get her into the Countryside. Her plans—her future—didn’t include him.

  “Never mind,” she said, dragging him back to now. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He shoved his thoughts into the right order and tried to keep his tone light. “I’m better than I was, now that you’re through. I guess I should be honored that you came up with my voice to help you do it.” He was more than honored. He was fascinated. Horrified. Caught.

  She bowed her head, tucking it against his chest. “Sure, anytime. Where’s Ana?”

  “She always runs through and then needs some extra time to clear her head. She’ll be back soon.” But I wouldn’t mind if she took a few extra minutes, he thought selfishly. He was enjoying the weight of Lela’s body and the wild sea scent of her, the tickle of her curls against his cheek. It was intoxicating, yes, but there was also something reassuring about having her arms around him.

  She raised her head. “I think I’m all right now,” she said quietly.

  A pink tint crept into her cheeks, and he realized she was telling him she’d had enough, that she needed space. That she didn’t feel the same way he did. “Sorry,” he said, moving her off his lap and standing up quickly, fighting the urge to run, to hide from this girl who made him feel more out of control than he had in decades. He couldn’t leave her here, though, so he did the next best thing. He walked straight for his armor and began to put it on. He needed to remind himself of who he really was—a Guard. An indent8ured servant of the Judge, with no right to happiness or hope until he’d been deemed ready.

  “Ah, Lela made it through. Good girl,” Ana called out as she walked toward them. She swiped away a few tears and smiled grimly. “Glad to see you’re not fatally damaged,” she said to Lela.

  Lela winced, and Malachi looked away, searching his pack for… nothing, really. He reached inside and rearranged some of the knives as Ana congratulated Lela for making it through the tower. He glanced over to see Ana pull her from the curb, promising to rebraid her hair that night.

  Lela’s eyes widened as she touched her hair, and then she abruptly pulled the band from the braid. She bent and let the riot of curls bounce around her face, and the sight sent a chaotic tumble of wishes through Malachi’s head once again. She is so alive. So vibrant. So warm. So strong, and yet so in need of protection and comfort. I’ll give it to you, he almost blurted. I could do it. I could be that for you.

  She straightened, and her eyes locked with his. He would have given anything to know what she was thinking as a blush darkened her cheeks and her lips parted. Was that for him?

  Stop. Thinking. That. Way.

  He tore his gaze from hers. “Ladies, let’s go. We’ve got to make good time if we’re going to get to Harag tonight.” He shouldered his pack and walked up the street.

  An End and a Beginning: A Scene from Sanctum, from Ana’s Perspective

  The Mazikin lay at her feet, its blood filling the cracks between the cobblestones. “Were there only two?” Malachi asked, striding toward her, leaving the body of the other Mazikin in a heap on the sidewalk.

  Ana sheathed her knives. “I didn’t see any others.” She flinched as a shrill, agonized shriek pierced the damp night air. Even if she hadn’t recognized the voice, she would have known who it was by Malachi’s response. His eyes went wide and he whirled back toward the entrance to the warehouse, ready to charge into a nest packed with nearly a hundred Mazikin all by himself. Ana sprinted after him. “Malachi! Stop!”

  “That was Lela,” he growled as she caught hold of his arm and spun him around.

  “I know,” Ana replied, her frustration leaking out. Malachi was totally out of his head for this girl, and Lela was so determined to save her friend Nadia that she didn’t think twice about what Malachi might sacrifice to save her. When this was all over, she and Lela were going to have a serious talk. “Set the charges first, like we planned. At least give yourself a fighting chance!”

  Malachi’s jaw ticked. “Okay. One by the casement window, then the other by that corner.” He pointed toward the end of the block. “Mine will go off last.”

  Ana scrambled over to the tiny window, the weak spot in the building’s façade, and set the grenade down, pressing the button on its round face twice to set the charge, then repeated the sequence with a second grenade. “Count of ten!” she called as she ran to seek temporary shelter across the street.

  Malachi set his own charge and then took up position on the other side of the warehouse just before the first of the deafening explosions. The space between each boom was punctured by yowls and screeches from the Mazikin in the nest. Before the dust had settled, Malachi was charging toward the stairs with his scimitar drawn. Screams and snarls filled the air as the Mazikin poured out of the building, flowing up from the basement like vermin.

  Ana drew her long blade, taking out two Mazikin as they fled across the road. Malachi was by the stairs, fighting like a demon. Every time he downed a Mazikin, he searched the faces of the others, calling Lela’s name, growing increasingly desperate as the moments ticked by and the flow of bodies from the mouth of the stairway slowed to a trickle. Ana rushed forward, determined to take over so he could go in, but just as she raised her blade to take out a skinny blond straggler, Malachi shouted, “No! That’s Nadia!”

  Ana squinted at the grimy face of the girl while Malachi dispatched the final few escapees. Nadia’s stringy hair hung over her forehead, and she stared at the street, her fingers fluttering at her sides. Malachi appeared next to them. “Please take her. Get her away from this. I have to—”

  “I know,” said Ana, putting her arm around the scrawny girl. “Go.”

  Malachi nodded and started for the staircase, and Ana couldn’t stop herself. “Malachi. Be careful, all right?”

  His gaze softened as it met hers. “You, too.” And then he dove into the darkness of the stairway, headed down to save the girl he’d fallen in love with, even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself yet.

  “Come on,” Ana said, trying to gentle her tone as she led the unresisting Nadia down the block, searching for a place she could stash the girl so she could go help Malachi.

  A white-clad figure stepped from the alley across the street. “Ah, the female Guard,” said Ibram, drawing his scimitar from the stolen belt at his hip. “Sil told me your existence had been confirmed. No longer a myth. Still, I thought perhaps he was making a joke.”

  Ana shoved Nadia toward a pile of rubble next to the building and stepped into the street. “You probably won’t think it’s that funny when I cut your head off.”

  Ibram grinned, showing off his glistening teeth as ten more Mazikin stepped from the murk of the alley behind him, making Ana’s heart rate soar. “We’ll see,” he pur
red, then barked in the foul, guttural Mazikin language. She understood enough of it to know he was telling them to go after Malachi. And sure enough, instead of running for her, the Mazikin sprinted for the warehouse.

  Ana leapt forward, forcing Ibram to block her blade, hoping to take him out quickly. But he was deadly fast and brutally strong. Every collision of their blades sent bone-shaking vibrations up her arms. She clenched her teeth and poured everything she had into the fight. She struck and parried and spun, almost smiling as she realized Ibram’s strength might not compensate for her speed and cunning.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a distinctive movement, the gleaming arc of Malachi’s staff over by the stairway. He’d come out. And he was fighting. Whether he had Lela or not, he was all right. The relief of it sent a wave of determination through her body, and as Ibram jabbed at her, she dodged out of the way and shot a kick to his ribs, causing him to stumble back. She advanced on him, ready to end it, and—

  Her head snapped back as someone yanked hard on her braid. Hands closed over her pinwheeling arms as the stench of rot and incense filled her nose. She tried to wrench herself free, but couldn’t move fast enough. A huff of rancid breath skated over the skin of her throat just before the Mazikin who had hold of her hair buried its teeth in her neck. Ana arched back, dropping her scimitar and reaching for her knives, but bright, hot waves of pain blasted up her limbs as two more Mazikin sank their teeth into her hands and arms. Their growls were in her ears as arms coiled around her waist, her ankles.

  Distantly, she heard Malachi shout her name. With a smirk, Ibram slipped a knife from her thigh sheath as the others held her in place. He plunged the blade into her stomach, just below the edge of her armor, before ripping it out again and tossing it to the street. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” he whispered silkily as the blistering agony penetrated her gut and wound down her spine. “I want it to, Guard. I want it to hurt forever.”