by Lori M. Lee
I close my eyes. None of this turned out the way it should have. I didn’t make the Nuvali and Kazan hate each other, but I certainly didn’t help. All I can do now, though, is finish what I’ve started.
The sun has begun to set, and I’m glad for the dwindling light. Clutching my bags, I race through the next row of tents.
Shouts echo behind me, voices calling for me to stop. But within seconds, I dash past the last few tents and make for the hills. The sounds of pursuit trail my heels. I glance over my shoulder as a drake and rider bear down on me.
I draw one sword just as an arrow whizzes past me, striking the rider’s shoulder. He shouts and tumbles off his drake in a tangle of limbs and cursing.
“Sirscha!” Just ahead, Saengo is already mounted on a drake, her next arrow nocked. She releases it, and, somewhere behind me, a woman curses in Kazan. “Hurry!”
She smoothly nocks another arrow, releasing it in the same motion. Yandor waits beside her. I reach them in seconds and swing both bags onto Yandor’s saddle before leaping onto his back. Saengo looses a third arrow, which strikes the flat of a sword, jarring the weapon from the shaman’s hand. Then, she rests her bow, grips her reins, and kicks her heels into her drake’s flanks.
We take off through the hills, unsure of where we’re going.
Drakes and dragokin tear through the grass as the Nuvali pursue. We weave through the trees, an arrow narrowly missing Yandor’s leg. The ground begins to shift beneath our feet, the earth rumbling and splitting open. Somewhere behind us is an earthwender. Saengo raises her bow again, loosing three arrows with lightning swiftness. Shouts ring out, followed by the sounds of bodies crashing to the ground.
Suddenly, a roar reverberates through the branches, and a shadow sweeps over us. Saengo aims her next arrow skyward, but the creature doesn’t plunge to tear us from our drakes. Instead, it lands with a teeth-jarring thud between us and our pursuers, scattering them and their dragokin.
Maybe it’s because I was recently on its back, but I recognize the creature as Theyen’s wyvern. It roars again, extending its wings to its full length to stall the riders. I whisper a quick thank you and a prayer that I haven’t demolished his alliance with House Yalaeng.
Then Saengo and I continue through the trees, leaving the others far behind.
FIFTEEN
We follow a stream westward, hoping it will wash away our tracks. When it grows too dark, we’ve no choice but to find shelter for the night.
Shadowblessed have excellent night vision. So we do our best to shelter from searching eyes and take turns keeping watch until dawn.
Our food lasts only a few days, so I take to hunting. Now that we’re not at risk of anyone discovering my craft, I’m free to use it for the task.
The way I lost control on the ship haunts me, that soldier’s soul a memory of heat and light against my fingertips. An entire being, snuffed out with the clenching of my fist. The thought shudders through me every time I rip the soul of an animal shuffling through the underbrush, or a bird alighting on a branch.
But if I’m to find some semblance of control, I must try. I didn’t dare practice in Mirrim. Doing so within the shaman capital, even if I believed we were alone, would’ve been too risky.
During the day, we stop only to hunt and rest our drakes. We don’t say it aloud, but we both know exactly where we’re heading—to the one place our pursuers won’t follow.
The Dead Wood.
I wrestled with the decision for days, talking myself round and round in circles. But the truth is we don’t have any other option. I need to know how to destroy the Soulless’s talisman. Spinner’s End is our best source for information that hasn’t been either tampered with or destroyed altogether. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ronin kept a private archive apart from the main library.
I don’t know how much time Theyen bought us, or how much distance we’ve managed to put between us and our pursuers. Either way, I would rather take my chances against one shaman, albeit a powerful one that terrifies me, versus the armies of the Nuvalyn Empire, Kazahyn, and Evewyn, all of whom wish me dead or captured.
I close my eyes, leaning forward in my saddle to rest my forehead on Yandor’s smooth scales. Yandor snuffs, throwing his head back and nearly bashing my nose. He can sense my anxiety, and I give him a pat on the shoulder.
“You’re right,” I say, as we draw nearer to the black stretch on the horizon. “Focus on what lies ahead of us.”
“Are you talking to Yandor again?” Saengo asks, drawing up beside me.
I smile weakly. “It’s a habit from when I used to take him on my tasks for Kendara.”
“I’m sure he’s a perfect traveling companion.”
“And an excellent listener.” I rub his neck, and he gives a happy toss of his head.
“Dare I ask what you were talking about?”
I sigh. “Just about what lies ahead. But also … I can’t stop thinking about why I couldn’t reach the soul inside the talisman. How can that be possible?”
Our first night out here, I told her about Queen Meilyr possibly possessing the Soulless’s familiar, and she’d agreed it made the most sense, given what we learned in Mirrim. From the start, we’ve known that cutting off the Soulless from his magic is the best means of defeating him. And now that we know what happened to his familiar, we need to learn how to destroy it. Actually acquiring the talisman will have to be a problem for another day.
Saengo watches the trees ahead as she considers my question. Her hand creeps over the troll-bone talisman around her wrist. “Talismans are fashioned from the bones of magical creatures. Whichever beast that talisman was made from must be protecting the soul inside.”
“Well, whatever it is, it must’ve been powerful. Troll bones protect against magic because living trolls were resistant to magic. But what sort of abilities would lead to a creature’s bones being able to cage magic?”
“Not just cage magic, but deflect against a soulrender’s craft,” Saengo says.
Her words send a jolt through me. “Sisters, I’d forgotten. Sunspears!”
Saengo angles me a puzzled look. “What’s that?”
I explain the suits of armor on display in the Hall of Heroes. They were fashioned from the bones of sunspears as full-body talismans to protect their souls against the Soulless’s craft. Evidently, the Soulless found other uses for their bones.
“I don’t know much about talismans,” Saengo says. In truth, I don’t either. What little I know, I learned from Kendara’s books. “Can’t you just … break it? Smash it with your sword or toss it into a fire. It’s just bone, right?”
“I doubt it’ll be that easy. Why go to all that trouble for a vessel that could be so easily broken?”
“A fair point. How are talismans even made?”
The making of them matters less than the destroying of them. We could experiment with the troll-bone bracelet, but the talisman has proven useful. Besides, it was a gift from Kendara.
“Can you even imagine what the Empire must’ve put his familiar through?” Saengo asks, voice hushed. “And after that talk of sacred bonds.”
The bond is meant to be one of mutual benefit. Trapping a familiar inside a talisman would protect it from attack and make the shaman less vulnerable, but it would also presumably change the nature of the bond and rob the familiar of their end of the agreement.
“He must have been terribly powerful to be able to … to rip his own familiar’s soul and place it within a talisman.”
“Do you think he did it himself?” Saengo asks.
“I suppose it could’ve been someone else, but only another soulrender could’ve done so.”
Had he always been that powerful, or had the Empire made him so? The talisman only reveals what was done to his familiar. I haven’t yet fully considered what was done to him.
As the hours pass, the Dead Wood grows from a dark stain into a looming shadow, and my unease grows with it. There’s no telling how the trees
will behave without the leash of Ronin’s power, and the Soulless’s awakening. At least I’ve some idea of where we are, which will be all we have to go on.
That night, we make camp near the border of the Dead Wood, agreeing that we should wait for dawn before entering the forest. We make do with eating a hare Saengo shot after I failed to focus my craft on a single creature. Then we put out the fire and sleep with our drakes for warmth. Neither of us is willing to risk a light to signal our location.
“You’re certain you can make it through the Dead Wood?” Saengo says, voice quiet in the dark. We sleep facing one another, hands entwined, our drakes pressed to our backs.
The last time I tried, Saengo was dying, and I could barely summon my craft. Now, my magic is a constant hum beneath my skin, eager and willing. This doesn’t change the fact that the Dead Wood terrifies me, but at least I’ve got a ready weapon.
“We’ll make it,” I say. Hopefully.
“The Soulless will be there.”
“I know,” I whisper. My eyes are closed, but my fingers tighten around hers.
“What’s your plan?”
Despite the hour, the forest vibrates with sounds of life. Insects sing, hidden in the wild grass. Nocturnal birds hunt through the trees and something small leaps from branch to branch above our heads. The restless creatures are comforting, given we’re to enter the oppressive silence of the Dead Wood in the morning.
“He’s weak. He can’t even leave Spinner’s End yet. So we sneak in, search Ronin’s archives for information, and then get out before he knows we’re there.”
“How do you know you’ll find anything?”
“You said it yourself back at Spinner’s End, remember?
Ronin kept meticulous records. The Empire altered information to suit the story House Yalaeng wants to tell. They’ve destroyed or hidden evidence of what they did during the conquest, including the truth about the Soulless. If anyone else still has records from that time, it would be Ronin. He lived it after all. And there has to be something in that library about how to destroy talismans.”
The truth is that there are no good options here. This is the only path that will take us closest to our goal, and it’ll hide us, at least temporarily, from the contingent hunting us.
“And after?”
I shrug one shoulder. “I haven’t quite worked that out yet.”
Saengo is silent, her breaths slow and even. I wonder if she’s fallen asleep when she whispers, “I’ve been thinking. To defeat the Soulless, Ronin, and his familiar—”
“No,” I say, my eyes flying open. I know what she’s about to say because the thought has already crossed my mind.
“Sirscha—”
“No. Don’t even think it. We’re doing this to save you. Sacrificing yourself doesn’t help.”
“It does if it makes you strong enough,” she says, sounding infuriatingly reasonable. Still, a tremor races through her. The idea scares her as much as it does me, yet she’s still suggesting that we … I can’t even think it. It’s horrific—and likely desperate—what Ronin did to his familiar, and I refuse to entertain the idea.
“Nothing is worth that. Besides, Ronin didn’t defeat him. It was only a respite.”
“But you’re a soulrender. Ronin wasn’t. Theoretically, it could make you powerful enough to, well, to kill him. I’ve been avoiding that word in my head, but we might as well be clear about our intentions if we’re considering all possible avenues.”
“I’ve considered it, and my answer is no. Who’s to say I would even survive the trauma? Ronin is the only known success. It’s off the table, and we’re sticking with the plan. We find out how to destroy the talisman, and then we retrieve it from the queen.”
Saengo sighs, but doesn’t argue. Slowly, I allow my body to relax against the hard ground. Our blankets make for a poor sleeping pallet.
Several minutes pass before Saengo says, “I don’t think I should come with you.”
My eyelids, which had begun to feel heavy, snap open again. “What?”
Her thumb sweeps along my knuckles in a soothing gesture. “To be honest, I’ve been considering this since we left Mirrim, but I think I need to return to Falcons Ridge.”
I frown. “We don’t know who’s still behind us. We can’t split up.”
“It hurts, Sirscha.” Her words are only a warm movement of air between us, but they fill my lungs like a gasp of icy breath.
I rise onto my elbow, trying to pull my hand from hers so I can reach for her collar. “Has it spread more quickly than usual?”
She tightens her grip and pushes me back. “It hasn’t changed since you healed it last.”
Panic flutters in my gut, but I lie down. Despite my exhaustion, I’m wide awake. “Tell me what you mean, then.”
“I think it’s the proximity to the Dead Wood. It hasn’t hurt like this since the last time we were here, except, maybe worse. Sharper. Like it’s trying to force its way into my heart.”
Every word is a dagger in my chest. “Then I’ll come with you. We’ll make our way north and remain close enough to the trees to deter any Empire scouts—”
“No,” Saengo says. Her voice is gentle but firm. “It’s like you said. Spinner’s End gives you the best chance to find what you need. But what I need is to go to my father and convince him to help Prince Meilek take the throne. I’m his heir. He’ll listen to me. Then, when you’ve finished at Spinner’s End, you’ll have a safe place to find refuge. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Saengo—”
“This is what I can do to help. So let me help.”
Drawing a deep breath, I shut my eyes and curl my body around our linked hands. We used to be a team, she said at Spinner’s End. Now all I am is apiece of you. A shadow tethered to your soles, looking at your back.
But she isn’t. She’s my familiar, but she is also her own person, and she is free to make her own choices. She has to do what she believes she must, just as I do.
Besides, she isn’t wrong. If Prince Meilek can get the support of House Phang, it could make all the difference when he challenges his sister for the throne.
“It’ll be dangerous. The Empire—”
“Is looking for a lightwender. I’m just a human girl.”
I hate the idea of not being there to protect her. She’ll have to follow the border of the Dead Wood north, straddling Empire territory. Once she reaches the grasslands, she can cut west into Evewyn. The grasslands are the only direct land route left between the two kingdoms. At least she’ll be close to Phang lands, and once she reaches Falcons Ridge, she’ll have the protection of her House.
It’s a dangerous journey, though, and at least a week’s worth of travel if she keeps her pace. I wish I could go with her.
“I’ll miss you,” I say at last. “Promise me you’ll take no chances and travel as swiftly as you can.”
“Of course. You too. I’ll miss having you at my back.”
“You’ll make it to Falcons Ridge,” I tell her because saying the words out loud feels like a promise. “You’ve good instincts, and you’re an accomplished rider.” She’s been riding drakes all her life, after all. I only learned at the Prince’s Company. “You would’ve made an exceptional soldier.”
“I would have,” she agrees, and I laugh because it helps to ease the fear.
The next morning, when we’ve cleared evidence of our passing and stalled for as long as we dare, we’ve no choice but to part ways.
“Don’t take longer than two weeks,” Saengo says. Her bag is secured to Yandor’s saddle, along with her bow, wrapped to protect against the elements, and her quiver of dwindling arrows.
I’d insisted she take Yandor. He’s brave, fast, and I trust him not to leave her behind should they run into trouble. We’ve already set the other drake free.
“I’ll be at Falcons Ridge well before then,” I say, frowning at her collar and the small bundle of blue veins hidden beneath. Two weeks is as long as we dare be a
part before the rot spreads too deeply, or our bond grows too weak.
I open my mouth to say something else, but the words elude me. A roiling knot of anxiety sits low in my belly, but not because I think Saengo can’t take care of herself. The desire to protect her stems from my own guilt. Saengo has always been strong and solid, even now with the rot.
I pull her into a hug, fear lending urgency to our embrace. But there’s hope, too, and it burns far brighter than any uncertainty.
“I’ll see you soon,” she says fiercely.
Nodding, I pull away. “May the Falcon Warrior protect you.”
She cups my face, eyes bright. “May the Twins lend you favor.”
We press our foreheads together, breathing the shared air for a moment more. Then, as if by mutual agreement, we release one another. Saengo turns to mount Yandor, who bumps my shoulder with his head. I give him a firm pat and press my lips to his cool scales.
“Keep each other safe,” I tell her. “Travel quickly. Hopefully, Millie finds you before you reach the north. She’ll make a good scout.”
Saengo smiles one last time. Then, she jabs her heels into Yandor’s flanks, and within moments, they disappear into the green foliage.
SIXTEEN
The Dead Wood looks different. The branches still block out the sky, and the roots still twine into a tight thicket. But the trees seem … stretched, all in the same direction, as if the souls within have been pushing against their wooden prison, straining to get away from something.
Chills skitter across my skin. Once, the souls had warned me to run, to escape the presence I hadn’t known was hiding within Spinner’s End, something they’re not capable of doing themselves.
I grip the strap of my bag and take a deep, steadying breath to summon my courage. My magic warms beneath my skin and skips across my fingertips. The trees are generally quiet, with only the crackling of a branch here or the shifting of a root there. They’re always deceptively still until they’re not.