The Shadow Rises: A Morgan Rook Supernatural Thriller (The Order of Shadows Book 5)

by Kit Hallows

  “Healing potion?” I asked.

  “No. It’s just essence of hazledim in gin. For the booze. It's pretty sharp but it helps. Want some?”

  I shook my head, remembering the revolting concoction her mother had given me. “I don’t suppose you have a stout, or a dram of whiskey in there?”

  “Shhh. Why’d you have to go and say something as wicked and cruel as that?” Samuel asked, his eyes almost haunted, “I’d give anything for a pitcher of Old Fang’s Best right now.”

  I gazed back at the porthole as the glow faded, and it sank into the shadows. “So who do you think sabotaged my mirror?”

  “Well, I doubt it was Stroud,” Samuel said, “but someone figured out where you live. Maybe they followed you out of the Hinterlands? I expect they’d have come through if they could have, but we placed some pretty strong binds on your side.”

  I shivered. "So, while I was sleeping, God knows what could have lurking on the other side of my bedroom mirror?”

  Samuel nodded. “Oh yeah. I remember, once when I was a kid…"

  “Let’s go,” Astrid said, shaking her head as she set off down the stony passage, just as her mother had done a few long weeks ago, “before the darkness draws in.”

  Our footsteps echoed through the tunnels and twisting passages for miles until we stumbled into a cavern so immense that the orbs of light Astrid and Samuel summoned barely lit its walls. We sat and rested on an eroded stone platform and caught our breaths. The place was freezing and persistent drips hidden in the gloom produced rivulets of green and silver liquid that ran between my shoes. “Are we close to the portal to Penrythe?” I asked, hoping for a solid yes.

  “Not in the slightest,” Samuel replied, “but we’ll make our way there just as soon as we’ve found you some new clothes and had our meeting.”

  “Meeting?”

  “Yes.” Astrid took a sip from her flask and handed it to me. This time I took a swig and did my best not to wince as the burning sensation overwhelmed my mouth and shot down my throat.

  “We did mention that we had a meeting, didn't we?” Samuel asked.

  “No, but I wish you had. Who with?”

  “Don’t worry,” Samuel replied, “what you're wearing is fine for now. It's nothing formal, they're just a band of cutthroats.”

  23

  Samuel pulled a compass from his pocket and Astrid conjured an orb of light above it while they conferred. Finally, they settled on a direction. “Ready?” Samuel asked as I stood at the edge of the magical glow, peering warily into the darkness.

  “Oh yeah, I can hardly wait to meet these cutthroats,” I said.

  “Be alert,” Astrid said, “they’re allies, but only because we’re paying them.”

  “What are they doing for you?”

  “They’ve been keeping an eye on the portholes while we’ve been away, hunting down Endersley,” Samuel said, “and now it’s time to settle up because if we don’t, they’ll come and find us, and we wouldn’t want that. Besides, it’s only right, a contract’s a contract.”

  He was oddly principled for a thief. Far more than some of the people I knew who were supposedly on the side of the law. I followed as they set out, the orbs of light bobbing along and illuminating the narrow bridge-like formation of rock ahead. As we crossed, I looked down into the darkness below. It seemed to stretch into eternity. My head began to spin, and then I got a terrible compulsion to throw myself in, as if a gloaming ghast was calling to me from the depths.

  Wake up! My other’s voice was enough to jolt me from the strange call to self destruction. As I snapped out of it, Astrid studied me closely. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Sure.” I fixed my gaze upon her back as we continued on, one foot after the other until we arrived at three diverging passages set into a rock wall. Samuel chose the one to our left.

  We walked on and slowly the natural form of the passage merged into a tunnel that was hewn by ancient hands, and then we descended staircases carved into porous rock. The other travelers we passed all seemed to have a tendency of keeping their heads down and muttering greetings as they headed off into the darkness.

  I recalled what Hellwyn had told me about the Hinterlands, of how it was a crawlspace between worlds, the place where forgotten things went. It was a forbidding realm, heavily steeped in the haunting eeriness of things wantonly lost or buried, the ghosts of which still seemed to whisper down the side tunnels from time to time. I was keen to find fresh air and light, even if it might only be gotten by taking a leap of faith and entering a strange new world.

  Finally, we reached a large cavern with a bright campfire burning like a sacred heart in the desolate darkness. Seven figures sat around it, gazing into the flames.

  My senses bristled and I turned to face a scrawny man with milky-white eyes and a nasty, pinched face. He held a dagger but lowered his hand as I met his gaze, but I couldn't shake the feeling he’d been about to plunge it into my back, until he’d been caught.

  I seized his hand and was on my way to breaking his wrist when a voice called out, “Stop!”

  “Let him go,” Samuel said, his voice low.

  The pinched faced man smirked as I released him.

  “Excuse me,” he said with a slight lisp, and then he grinned up at Samuel, “I mistook you for strangers.” As he slipped past Astrid he gave her a long, leering look. She ignored him and joined Samuel as he strode toward the group that had settled around the campfire. There was something wooden in their pace, and it took a moment to realize they were worried.

  Flickering light revealed men and women, scarred and bruised, their faces as hard and stony as the ground they rested upon. Several glanced from us to the swords and knives laid out beside them, making sure we understood the consequences of any transgression from the razor thin line we were walking.

  The largest one among the four brutish men had to be part troll. He grunted as he grinned at Samuel but there was no warmth in the gesture. I watched him closely as he brushed the long slick black hair away from his narrowed eyes and the slight green glow that emanated from them highlighted his yellowing fangs. I almost lunged for my sword when he reached for the spoon in the large cooking pot before him.

  As he stirred, some of the boiling boney grey soup splashed into the fire with a hiss, and then he turned toward the wooden cage beside him. It writhed with a number of small pearlescent shelled creatures and he smiled at me as he plucked one out of the hatch and I glanced down at its thin, scurrying black legs. Then he bashed the blunt end of a knife into its face, and tossed it into the pot. “You wanna to try some,” he said to me as he gestured to an upended shell sizzling in the fire. Six charred legs curled upwards like giant burnt matchsticks as he plunged a fork between them and held it out toward me. I gazed uncertainly at the chunk of grey steaming meat.

  “Thanks,” Samuel said, taking the fork and stuffing it into his mouth. “Mmm. There’s nothing tastier than roasted chizzleskree.”

  The man laughed. “You still skirt the truth as deftly as ever, Samuel.”

  “Indeed, Aardglass,” Samuel said.

  “And you are?” Aardglass asked, meeting my gaze and holding it. He scooped out another fork full of meat and offered it to me. Astrid gave me a tiny nod so I took the food. The meat was lean, stringy and moist, somewhat reminiscent of crab but the aftertaste was bitter and pungent.

  “Drink?” Aardglass offered. He nodded to one of the women and she tossed him a large flask.

  “Not today, thanks” Samuel said, “we’ll have to be on our way soon. We’ve just stopped by between jobs.”

  I was already uneasy, but Samuel saying that made me even more so. I’d never known him to pass up a drink. I glanced around the group and found more than one assessing us with sharp, appraising eyes.

  “And who’s this?” Aardglass asked, his gaze on me, his smile as cold as the stony floor.

  “This is Morris,” Samuel said.

  “Morris?” Aardglass asked
, his thick brows knitting. “He doesn’t look like a Morris to me.”

  “Well, you'll have to take that up with his mother,” Astrid said, her voice light but firm. “Have you had to detain anyone?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “No,” Aardglass said, “no one of any importance has passed through the portholes. No spooky shades, no other folk of interest, just the usual riffraff.”

  “The shade we’re looking for used a direct portal back to our lands,” Samuel said, “but we got his man, Endersley.”

  “The matter’s settled then,” Aardglass said, “hence, I assume, your unexpected visit?”

  “Perhaps,” Astrid said, “but it seems you already stopped manning the portholes before you knew this. Why was that?”

  “We didn’t,” Aardglass replied. A hard look crept into his eyes.

  “We passed through one not an hour ago,” Astrid said, “and I didn’t find any of your people watching.”

  “Well you wouldn’t, would you?” Aardglass said. “Not if they didn’t want you to see ‘em. That’s how we work, that’s what you paid us for.”

  The cluster of mercenaries eyed Astrid intently. I knew she was aware of it, and that she was determined not to show it but a slow, nervous tension filled the air.

  “So,” Aardglass said, breaking the silence, “as I was saying, I take it our contract’s concluded.”

  “I suppose it is.” Samuel nodded to the group. “Thank you for your help.”

  “Good, good,” Aardglass said. “Now settle up and we can return to our feast, it’s been a long day.”

  Samuel delved into his cloak and threw down a pouch. Aardglass opened it and stuck a long finger inside. “Seems light.”

  “It’s exactly what we agreed on,” Samuel said.

  “And what of my people who were slaughtered by your enemies?” Aardglass asked. “It only seems right for us to be reimbursed for those losses.”

  Samuel glanced at Astrid and she nodded. He reached into his cloak and threw down another pouch. “There, that should more than cover your losses.”

  “Good man.” Aardglass took another sip of wine. “So where are you off to now?” His voice was personable, but I saw the cold steady look in his eyes.

  “Here and there,” Samuel sighed. He nodded to Aardglass and then the group. “Until next time.”

  “Until next time,” Aardglass repeated with a strange jerk of his head, “and safe travels.”

  24

  We made our way through the labyrinth of caves and passages, occasionally passing other travelers, most of them crooked figures swaddled in hooded cloaks.

  The tunnels were eerily quiet until we reached a junction of passages and I heard a scrabble of claws on rock. I pulled my sword, but whatever had made the sound seemed to scurry away. Finally, we emerged into a vast chamber dotted with campfires, standing torches and a crowd of disparate races; elves, trolls, ghouls, men, women, and vampires. It was the market I’d stumbled on from my second visit to the Hinterlands. “What are we doing here?” I asked, as Astrid led us through the throng.

  “You need new clothes, something that’ll make you look less conspicuous when we get to Penrythe.”

  I slowed as I spotted a group of dwarves huddled around a wooden casket. They were drinking wine and laughing, their voices loud and raucous over the hubbub. A couple of them had been at the Leery Leper’s Wife when I’d dragged Bastion away from his night of karaoke and drunken debauchery. I recognized the female from her neatly plucked eyebrows, which were nearly as arch as her smile, as well as the stout black dwarf, his bushy white beard almost shining in the flickering lantern light. I wanted to head over, to ask if they’d seen Bastion, then I turned and realized I’d lost Samuel and Astrid. I rushed through the market as I searched for them.

  The air was punctuated with strange, foreign smells, but the pungent familiarity of the sea helped to calm me when I passed a stall filled with fish. They hung, gaping from hooks as their scales shimmered blue and red and their round lifeless eyes glinted in the glow of candlelight. Their glassy gazes followed me as I hurried past plump purple pumpkins piled around a vegetable stall, and a butcher’s table overflowing with heads, ears and rumps. He grinned my way and called out something I was happy not to catch. I hastened on until I spotted Samuel knocking back a beer with much enthusiasm.

  “Want one?” he asked.

  “I most certainly do.” I smiled with relief.

  “Ask for a pint of the stout, and maybe a shot of the Penneymay on the side. You look pale. It’s probably just the cave air.” He pointed back toward the bar and handed me an archaic looking coin just as Astrid caught my eye. She was waiting at a nearby stall with a bundle of clothing in her arms, and she was looking impatient. The short, plump seamstress standing next to her seemed to be talking a mile a minute but she paused, appraising me with a slow, creepy look as I approached the stall. “Is this the one?” she asked, flashing her long painted lashes as she gave me a slow, lascivious smile.

  “Yes.” Astrid handed me the pile of clothes, all of them black.

  “You can try them on in here,” the merchant said as she pulled back the ragged blue curtain that hung over the doorway of her makeshift dressing room. I rounded up as much enthusiasm as I could, marched over and pulled the curtain closed behind me with an overcompensating smile.

  The hide leggings were a good fit, as were the black tunic and boots. And then I noticed the shimmer of magic in the mirror and realized the clothes had fitted themselves. I wondered if there was a way of bringing the magical technology to the blinkered world, and retiring on the profits…

  “How you doing in there?” the merchant called in her sing-song voice.

  I took another look at my reflection. Black top, black pants, black boots, a bit heavy on the leather but not a huge change. “Just fine,” I called as I slipped on my coat, gathered up my sweater and jeans and yanked back the curtain. “Do you have a trashcan?” I asked. The merchant gave me a quizzical look. “A place where I can dispose of these.” I smiled as I held out my old clothes.

  “Oh certainly. Here,” she took the bundle from me and threw it into a burning barrel beside her stall. “Around here we find it’s best to incinerate unwanted things, lest they fall into the wrong hands. Or feet.” She looked me up and down as her overly fussy hair shimmered in the firelight. “May I say you look quite scintillating? Scintillating! Black is your color.”

  “It matches my soul.” I fished around in my coat for my wallet.

  “We’ve already paid the lady,” Astrid said.

  “Thanks.” I glanced over at the burning can and watched as a part of my past went up in flames. It seemed fitting.

  “Well, look at you!” Samuel handed us both a tankard filled with foaming ale. “Here’s to one for the road.”

  Astrid clinked her tankard against ours and drank it down fast. I followed suit, thankful to be away from the watchful gaze of the seamstress. The beer was good and carried a serious kick.

  “We should probably eat something while we're here,” Astrid said, “it might be awhile before we’re in the vicinity of a hot meal again.”

  Samuel raised his nose into the air, held a finger up and pointed ahead. We pushed through a rabble of drunken ogres and stopped by a food stall where a sprightly young cook dashed from wood stove to wood stove, expertly pulling roasted meats from spits. He placed generous slices on plates brimming with potatoes and what looked like black rice.

  We took our food and sat at a small table beside the stall and dug in. The meal was delicious; the meat tender and peppered with hot spices, and the rice-like dish was studded with mushrooms, chopped garlic, herbs and had a sticky bread-like texture.

  I’d almost finished my meal, when I spotted a familiar figure loitering at the edge of the market. “I don't believe it. Is that the mugger I was chasing when we met in the tunnels?” I muttered as I rose to my feet.

  His eyes roved beneath his curly black hair and I watc
hed as his gaze followed a pair of young women dressed in fine robes. They looked lost and not a little terrified as they made their way through the crowd. The thief was almost upon them, a winning smile prepared, when I slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Hello friend,” I said, “remember me?”

  He was about to bolt when Astrid stepped into his path, one hand poised under her cloak.

  “What do you want?” he demanded.

  “I’m just making sure those young ladies never have the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Now I suggest you get the hell out of here, before I break your legs,” I said, “and then your arms.”

  “I’d do as he says,” Samuel added, “because when he gets punchy, she tends to gets stabby.”

  The thief caught the flash of a blade in Astrid’s hand, sprinted to the end of the cavern, and merged into the crowd.

  “A good deed,” Astrid smiled “but we shouldn’t be drawing attention to ourselves. And that’s especially important to remember once we arrive in Penrythe.”

  “Sorry,” I said, “I guess old habits die hard.” I followed them across the market as we made our way to a tunnel and descended a flight of narrow, wonky stairs that led to the deeps. We passed through dank passages with cryptic chalk markings and brackets of green glowing fungus hanging from the walls.

  I flinched as something scuttled past my foot; a startled sinewy rat. Thoughts of the mercenaries and the lisping man popped into my head, and as I glanced back I caught sight of a figure lurking by the edge of the tunnel. It seemed to watch for a moment before moving off into the gloom.

  “Morgan?”

  I turned to find Astrid and Samuel had gotten ahead. I hurried to catch up. “We’re being followed,” I whispered.

  “We know,” Samuel said as he gave me a gentle push onward, “and the chances are high it’s not a good thing.”

  25

  “If you knew we were being followed, why didn’t you say something?” I asked as I glanced back down the tunnel. There was no sign of the shadowy figure, but it did little to settle my nerves. The entire place was full of twists, turns and gloom, making it an assassin’s paradise.