Nightshade

by Andrea Cremer

  Despite my roiling nerves, I giggled at the image of Shay slipping out late at night from the sleepy halls of an elite prep school.

  “But why would you move?” I asked. “If you were already at a boarding school . . .”

  “That’s what you’d think, right?” He began to pace through the clearing. “My uncle said familiarity breeds sloth, claimed I needed to see more than one part of the world. I think I’ve seen more than my share.”

  “Sounds like,” I agreed.

  “But moving is tough. I have no roots. No real friends. So I think he kind of owes me,” Shay mused. “I also hold very strong personal convictions against censorship. I don’t believe in forbidden knowledge.” His words were so self-assured I felt queasy. He had no idea what thin ice he stood on.

  “So you’re a big fan of Eve?” I asked.

  “She gets a bad rap. I’d take the Tree of Knowledge over Eden any day.” He grinned. “I’ve been to Eden. I thought it was overrated.”

  “I have a feeling the original was better than Efron’s version,” I muttered, half shielding my body behind the tree trunk.

  “But even with the temptation of breaking and entering aside,” Shay continued, “I thought my uncle’s request was ridiculous and kind of insulting. We’d been moving all over the world, I was always stuck in some lame dorm, and this was the first time we’d been in his family’s original house—and then he set up this rule. I love books, especially old books. I wouldn’t mistreat any of them. This one caught my eye. I think it’s early modern, maybe late medieval, but I can’t quite put a date on it; it doesn’t have a publisher’s imprint or anything.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” I murmured.

  “You’ve read this book?” he asked.

  “No.” My hands began to tremble again. “I have not.”

  “But you recognize it.” He stepped toward me.

  I flashed fangs at him. “Stay back. Don’t bring that book near me.”

  He turned it over in his hands so that the cover faced him.

  “You’re afraid of it.” He stared at the book and then looked at me. “Why are you afraid of a book you haven’t read?”

  Can I really tell him the truth? Too many pieces of a puzzle I had no idea how to put together were piling up all around me.

  He opened the book. I whimpered and he snapped the cover shut again. “Okay, no looking at the book; I get it. I just wanted to show you the map.”

  “The map?” I asked.

  He nodded. “There are four maps. They seem totally random, places from all over the globe.” His voice grew wistful. “I’m sorry you won’t look; they’re unbelievable. You have no idea how surprised I was to find a map of the North American West in a book this old. I guess it’s no wonder my uncle didn’t want me messing with it; if there’s evidence in this book that medieval Europeans knew about this continent’s interior, that’s pretty big stuff. This text is probably worth millions.”

  He hefted the tome as if weighing its value. I grimaced, waiting for him to speak again.

  “Of course, it doesn’t have any contemporary place-names. The whole book is in Latin. But the geography is recognizable. When you found me and that bear, I was looking for the cavern system. I’ve been toying with the idea of spelunking for some time.”

  My skin grew cold. He looked at my face, frowning. “Spelunking is cave exploration.”

  “I know what spelunking is,” I said. “You were looking for Haldis?”

  He blinked in surprise. “That’s the name on the map, Haldis.”

  I thought about running.

  “So if you haven’t read this book or seen the maps, then how do you know about the cavern?” he asked. “I’ve read all the hiking guides and topographical maps, and the only place I’ve found a reference to this cavern—or this mountain—is in my uncle’s book.”

  His gaze moved back to the book. I could see how much he wanted to open it, to review the images he had just described.

  I didn’t take my eyes off his face, making my decision, wondering what sort of fate I’d seal for myself. “My job, the duty of all the Guardians here, is to protect Haldis Cavern from our enemies. The Searchers.”

  I stared at the book’s title, a single Latin phrase seared black onto the cover.

  Bellum omnium contra omnes.

  I closed my eyes, but I could still see the ebony lettering, as if the brand had been scorched on the inside of my eyelids. The forbidden words echoed in my mind.

  The war of all against all.

  FOURTEEN

  SHADOWS POURED INTO THE CLEARING, turning the bright green of the ferns to muted blues and grays.

  “You thought it was Hobbes, didn’t you?”

  I glanced into the darkness of the trees, afraid that someone might be lurking there. “That’s why you picked up the book.”

  I heard Shay’s feet stir along the ground. “Yes. I thought I’d found an unpublished treatise.” He sounded a bit mournful. “I was pretty excited, actually. But I have to admit I haven’t read it yet. I got caught up in the maps. Plus my Latin isn’t that great. Translating this beast is going to take a while.”

  I heard his fingers drum on the leather cover. “It’s not Hobbes, is it?”

  “No.” I smiled in the growing darkness. “It is definitely not Hobbes. Put it away.”

  “So how do you know what it is?” There was an impatient edge to his voice.

  “Because I’m forbidden to read it. On pain of death. Put it away now.” My throat closed up.

  “How could reading a book merit a death sentence?” he asked, stuffing the book into his backpack.

  I reached for his hand. “We can’t talk about this here. Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” He stumbled over a rock, bumping into me as I pulled him back through the garden.

  “My car.”

  “You want to go to your car?” His fingers tightened on mine.

  “Not for that,” I said, but I didn’t let go of his hand. “We have to be sure no one hears us.”

  When we reached the Jeep, I opened his door and went around to the driver’s side. I climbed in and put my head on the steering wheel.

  “What’s going on, Calla?” I heard him unzipping his backpack. “What is this book?”

  “It contains knowledge that is too powerful for anyone but the Keepers. It’s their most hallowed text.”

  “So we’re back to the Keepers again,” he said. “Are you going to tell me who they are now?”

  “I’m going to tell you about the war.” I lifted my head, staring out the windshield at the darkened parking lot. “You seem to have fallen into the middle of it. But I don’t know why.”

  “Is that why everything is so weird here?” He leaned from the passenger seat toward me. “Because there’s a supernatural war that I don’t know about? That humans don’t know about?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But you’re only caught up in the war because of who you’re associating with.”

  “You?” I could hear a wry smile in his reply.

  “Not just me. Your uncle.”

  “Bosque?” he blurted. “What does a millionaire business consultant have to do with your world?”

  “Specifically, I’m not sure.” I ran my fingers along the edge of the seat. “The first time I met your uncle was Friday night at Eden. But it was made clear to me that he is important in my world. He’s a Keeper. A powerful one. Powerful enough to give orders to those who give me orders.”

  “What are you talking about?” I turned my head at the sound of his alarm. Even in the shadows I could see his face whiten.

  I sighed. “I’m sorry, Shay. Your uncle. He’s not human. And he is not your mother’s brother. I don’t know why you’re with him. None of the Guardians have ever heard of a human living among the Keepers—until you showed up.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said. “I’ve known Bosque almost my whole life. He may not have been around much when I was growing up, but he’s de
finitely human.”

  “I’m not wrong,” I said. “Keepers look human, but they’re not.”

  The veins in his neck stood out. “If they aren’t human, then what are they?”

  “Old Ones. Creatures who embody both the earthly and divine; full of magic. They are witches.”

  “Witches aren’t human?” He stared at me. “I mean aren’t Wiccans witches?”

  “Humans are relatively new occupants of this world. And there are some who keep pagan rites, call themselves witches, but it isn’t the same thing.” I kept my eyes on him as I spoke. “The Old Ones have been in power much longer. Humans are mortal, fragile. The Old Ones are not. They were here before humans kept time or wrote histories. They move between worlds, this one and the spirit world. The Keepers are the wardens of the earth; they have the power to protect it. The witches rule the world, keep it from falling apart; they just let humans think they’re in control now. The interests of the Old Ones lay in different places than human pursuits.”

  Shay braced his hands against the glove compartment. “Okay. For the sake of argument, I’m going along with this. You’re calling them Old Ones, or witches, but you said my uncle is a Keeper. What’s the distinction?”

  “Keepers aren’t the only witches. The war broke out, and still wages, because aeons ago the Old Ones split into factions. Keepers and Searchers.”

  “And the Searchers are your enemies?” He opened the glove compartment and began rifling through my CDs, as if seeking something normal to counter this strange conversation.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “When humans entered the world, the Old Ones were asked to protect them.”

  Shay dropped the Sea Wolf disc he’d pulled out. “Asked by who? God? Is there a God?”

  “I really don’t know,” I admitted with a frown. “Theology isn’t a big part of a Guardian’s training. Maybe God . . . maybe gods or goddesses. All I know is that whatever force brought humans into being set up the Old Ones as their protectors, to guide them, help them thrive on the earth as part of creation.”

  “So the Old Ones were angels?” He sounded skeptical.

  “No, not really. We’re not talking choirs of heaven here. The Old Ones move between the material and spiritual dimensions, but their origin is a mystery . . . at least to most of us. Whatever religious traditions humans have invented throughout history, none of them can pinpoint the Old Ones and their place in the world.”

  “I’m not really buying this, Calla,” he said, picking up the CD. “It sounds like muddy religious fantasy. Smoke and mirrors.”

  I reached up to toy with the seat belt. “I’m just telling you what I’ve always been told. And isn’t this stuff always kind of murky?”

  “If you say so,” he grumbled. “So what was the problem? Why did things go badly?”

  “Some of the Old Ones didn’t want the job,” I said. “They had other ideas about how they should use their power, and babysitting human beings didn’t hold much appeal.”

  His brow furrowed. “See, this is exactly what I meant; that sounds biblical. Fallen angels, big egos, jealousy, and retribution against God—I know this stuff. Some of the boarding schools Bosque sent me to were Catholic.”

  “You already said you like Eve, which means you weren’t a very good Catholic.”

  “I said he sent me to the Catholics.” Shay went back to examining my music collection. “I haven’t converted . . . yet. So fallen angels, war on heaven—am I on the right track?”

  “I didn’t say that humans haven’t had some close ideas,” I said. “But it’s still speculation. I’m trying to tell you what’s actually going on. And the war is here, not in heaven.”

  “So the Old Ones who didn’t want the job . . . those are the Searchers? That’s what the war is over?”

  I glanced in the rearview mirror, still paranoid that we might be watched. “The Keepers watch over the sacred sites of the Old Ones. The sacred places of the earth grant the Keepers their power, and they use it to protect humanity. The Searchers want to control the sites, to take that power from the Keepers for their own gain. If they managed to win, humans would be subject to the whims and cruelty of the Searchers. They would be slaves while the Searchers dominated the earth, and the natural world would no longer be held in balance. All the good intention, the hope of creation would be unraveled and the world would be destroyed. The sites must be protected.”

  “And Guardians like you fend off the Searchers.” He shut the glove compartment. His features were etched with weariness.

  I touched his face in the dark cabin. “Shay, are you all right? Do you want me to stop talking about this?”

  He shook his head. Stubble on his jaw rubbed my palm. “No. I want to know this, but honestly, it doesn’t make sense. I sort of wish I could believe you were crazy or lying. And then I remember that I’m looking at a girl who can turn into a wolf whenever she wants.”

  I offered him a weak smile.

  “So the Searchers are trying to get to the sites.” He took my hand from his face, twining his fingers in mine.

  It was easier to speak when he was touching me; I felt safer.

  “Historically, yes. But they haven’t been successful. About three hundred years ago there was a major turn in the war. We refer to it as the Harrowing. It was the last time that an army of Guardians was called upon to fight for the Keepers. We won, barely. Then the Searchers were hunted down and almost annihilated.”

  “Then why are you still here?”

  “Our numbers are smaller now; the Keepers don’t need an army of Guardians. But the Searchers represent a threat even though they are weakened. They attack in guerrilla fashion, ambushes, hit-and-run.”

  “Do you have to fight them often?”

  “They actually hadn’t made an attack on this site for almost twenty years.” I bit my lip but forced myself to continue. “Until three nights ago.”

  “Three nights ago?” My fingers tightened around his and he took a deep breath. “You mean on Friday?”

  I nodded. “The men who were following us outside the club. They were Searchers.”

  He dropped my hand, leaning against the passenger window. “What did they want?”

  I hesitated. It didn’t seem fair to tell Shay the Searchers had been hunting him until I knew why.

  “I’m not sure.”

  He tapped on the glass. “My uncle said they were taken into custody. I thought he called the police.”

  “No.” I gripped the steering wheel. “I killed one. The other went to the Keepers for questioning.”

  “You killed one of those men?” He shrank against the passenger door.

  I glared at him, watching his hand move to the door handle. “I’m a warrior, Shay. That’s what I do.”

  He became very still and stared at the book, which sat in his lap. His fear and judgment pricked at me. I crossed my arms over my chest and continued to watch him, my mood darkening with each passing moment.

  “Look. I don’t know why you’re here, but it’s clear that the Keepers want you safe. The Searchers may be hunting you, but now you have Guardians and Keepers watching over you. You’re safe enough, but carrying that book around is very dangerous.”

  He pulled the text against his chest. “This book is the only source of information that I have about Bosque, who you have just pointed out cannot actually be my uncle. And it might contain all I can learn about you and your kind. I want to know what your world is. I’m part of it now.”

  “No.” I loosened my grip on the wheel. “You can’t be part of it. You’re only a human. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  When he didn’t speak, I looked at him. He was watching me, but the fear in his eyes was gone.

  “It’s not just about me,” he said. “It just doesn’t seem you know as much as you should about these masters of yours. The witches who rule the world.”

  Now it was my turn to stare out the window.

  “That’s
why I wanted to show you this book,” he said. “I wonder why they used Hobbes for the title.”

  I faced him, a cold laugh spilling from my throat. “They didn’t. Hobbes poached the title from the witches.”

  “What?” I could tell he didn’t believe me.

  I shrugged. “The story, as I’ve been told, is that in earlier centuries the Keepers sometimes kept philosophes in their company as a form of entertainment. Sort of like holding court with the best and brightest of the human world. Hobbes was a particular favorite.”

  He leaned forward, interested.

  “Okay.”

  “The Keepers liked Hobbes so much that they told him about their world. Offered to elevate him.”

  “Elevate him?”

  “Make him one of them. Like turning a human into a Guardian.”

  Shay thumbed the book’s pages. “That’s incredible.”

  “But the revelations of the Keepers horrified him. He was too invested in the idea of human autonomy. He rejected their offer and began to write against them.”

  “Are you saying that Hobbes wrote Leviathan because he had a psychotic break about the existence of witches?” This wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped.

  “No, not psychosis. More like spite, or at least major-league denial. Hobbes wrote against witchcraft because he couldn’t accept the reality of the witches’ war. Of how much power the Old Ones do wield on earth.”

  Shay winced. “So what did the Keepers do to him?”

  “Nothing. Hobbes was like a favorite pet to them who behaved badly. That’s the way they treat all humans,” I said. “Well, I guess they did something. He managed to get under their skin. They’ve made his name a dirty word among our tribes. His books are censored, like you’ve seen. The Keepers can definitely hold a grudge.”

  “So the war of all against all isn’t a social theory?”

  I tried to offer a sympathetic smile. His world had crumbled to pieces. I knew how he felt. My world didn’t make sense anymore either.