Sanctum (Guards of the Shadowlands, Book 1)

by Sarah Fine

  He let out a bark of laughter. “It’s harder than it sounds. It is impossible to fool the Judge.”

  “I don’t get this place. The only way out is through the Sanctum, but what if you die?”

  “If you die, you appear at the Gates of whatever place you belong, and you’re ushered in.” He raised his eyebrow. “This is the place for the suicides, but there are other places, I have heard. For people with other…problems.”

  I mused for a moment about the kind of horrific place a person like Rick would wind up. It made me feel better to think he’d get what he deserved. “I guess that makes sense. And the Countryside is…”

  “Just another place. A place where most of us would like to end up.” His gaze rose and drifted beyond the distant city wall to the dim outline of snowcapped peaks rising above the beautiful landscape. “When we’re judged ready.”

  “So why don’t you just, I don’t know, let one of those Mazikin people kill you? Why didn’t you let yourself die after Juri bit you? Not that I’d ever root for that guy, but it would have been kind of a heroic death. Wouldn’t it have earned you some points?”

  He shrugged. “I really don’t know, and I don’t want to take the chance. If you die before you’re ready to get out, you have to start over. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.” His face reflected a secret pain. “And I’d like to get out of here as soon as I can.”

  A warm, unfamiliar feeling filled my chest. He’d known there might be terrible consequences if he died, but he’d been willing to risk it to keep me safe. I glanced up at the swirling scar on his neck, remembering the moments my fingers had been running over the otherwise smooth skin. My face got hot at the memory, and at the knowledge that I’d done it without his permission. And yet the whimsical quirk of his mouth and the searching curiosity in his eyes as he stared down at me told me he might have given me permission if I’d asked.

  I quickened my pace, shaking my thoughts back into the right order. “Are you going to let me in on your plan for finding my friend?”

  “Sure,” he replied, lengthening his strides and hitching up his pants for the fiftieth time. “We’re going back to the Station to change into something acceptable. We’re going to look at a map. And we’re going to get you some gear.”

  “Can’t I just wait outside while you go in?”

  He stopped and turned to me, scowling. “What did they do to you when you went to get Raphael?”

  “Nothing. Well, nothing that bad. I just…I think most of them probably hate me.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Did I ask the wrong question? Should I have asked what you did to them?”

  “Look,” I said defensively, “they weren’t listening to me. You were in serious trouble, and they were just standing around. I may have…punched Hani in a very sensitive place.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “You’re incredible.” He gave me a wry smile when he read the puzzlement in my expression. “I mean that in the most complimentary way, Lela. Thank you for being willing to go back to the Station after everything that happened to you there. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have survived.”

  “I owed it to you.”

  “You owed me nothing.”

  I looked away from the intensity of his gaze and started walking again. “I guess we’ll have to agree to differ on that one. But if you want to show me how thankful you are, just make them keep their hands to themselves.”

  “Done.”

  I was behind him as we entered the Station. Four Guards, Hani included, stepped from the darkest corners of the room and closed in quickly. Their glowing eyes were focused on me. I took a few steps back, preparing to bolt.

  “We’ll escort her to a cell, Captain,” Hani said. His hand was inches from my arm when Malachi’s voice, cool, clipped, and precise, froze him in place.

  “She’s with me.”

  It was instantly obvious that whatever they thought of him, they were totally afraid to say it to his face—despite the fact that they were all twice his size. They backed off quickly and cautiously. Without another word, Malachi turned to me and gestured down the hall. Then he stepped in behind me, putting himself between me and the Guards. I walked down that hallway slowly, wondering if his eyes were on me, trying to decipher the skipping, unsteady rhythm of my heart.

  Malachi’s quarters had no windows, no decorations. His room was just like everything else about him—nothing unnecessary, nothing wasted. His narrow cot rested in a corner, right next to something that looked like a hat rack. He walked straight to it and hung his bloody, stained armor over it. A small desk stood across from the rack, but the only things that sat upon it were a fountain pen and a single book, like some kind of journal. Neatly stacked in a corner rose a tower of identical books as tall as I was. A lot of journals. Two of the walls were lined with a small arsenal of blades and staffs of varying length, and a giant map covered most of the far wall.

  I watched him move silently around his room. Once on his feet, he had recovered quickly from his injuries. He walked over to a trunk at the foot of his cot and started pulling out clothes. I forced my eyes away from him and turned to the map.

  It was the city, hand-drawn in painstaking detail, with tiny notations scribbled all over it in some sort of foreign alphabet. I knelt, finding the spot at the southern edge of the map where the Suicide Gates were drawn. My fingers hovered over the worn surface as I tried to trace the path I’d taken, but my eyes quickly got tangled in the labyrinth. Even as a map, this city was impossible. I was so absorbed that when Malachi’s hand closed around my elbow, I jerked away reflexively.

  “Sorry.” He held up his hand to show he meant no harm. Now dressed in fatigue pants and a form-fitting dark shirt that had me staring at his chest a few seconds longer than necessary, Malachi focused his attention on the map. He put his finger on a small, rectangular unit at the level of my waist. “That’s the Station.” His finger moved down and to the right. “That’s where you were when Amid found you.” He jabbed his finger at a spot west of the center of the city. “And that’s where Sil had you when Ana and I caught up.”

  “Where were they taking me?”

  “Probably to their nest.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. That’s something I’m supposed to figure out.” His brows pinched together as his gaze dropped to the floor.

  I looked at the map, not wanting to pry. “You drew this?”

  “Yes. But it changes. It grows. The city is walled, but it expands like a living thing. I try to keep track of it.”

  “Where are we going to look for Nadia?”

  “That’s going to be up to you,” he said as his eyes wandered over the map. “Can you describe your dreams to me? The ones you had after she died, I mean.”

  “I think I only have to describe one. You’ve seen her, Malachi. You talked to her.”

  His eyes widened. He reached out to pull my arm into view but stopped short. He looked at me carefully. “Could you hold your arm up for me?”

  I obliged. As he stared at it, I explained. “I saw you through her eyes. You fought a guy named Ibram.”

  Malachi touched his left shoulder and looked at me in surprise. “You saw me?” He closed his eyes in memory. “That’s why you didn’t want to tell me why you were here. Why you were so ready to believe I was going to kill you. Why you thought I might go after Nadia. You saw what happened, but you didn’t understand it. You thought I was killing innocents, but they were all Mazikin.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like you were Mr. Sweet-and-Friendly when we met in person. You did threaten to cut off a sizable chunk of my arm.”

  His gaze dropped to the floor again. “I never would have done it, but it had to be a good bluff because you were not easily intimidated. I was surprised you believed me so quickly, but I guess it makes sense now.”

  “Nadia thought you were going to kill her. We both did.”

  He nodded. “The girl in the al
ley. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize her before. The girl bore a resemblance to the face on your arm…but she looked…different.” He read my expression and shook his head. “Nothing drastic, but she was…well, she looked like all the people here do. They don’t take very good care of themselves. But when I first saw her, I thought she might be Mazikin, because she was so close to the fight.”

  “How did you know she wasn’t?”

  “Mazikin have a particular smell,” he explained, returning his attention to my arm.

  “Incense. And something rotten.” I shuddered, remembering Sil’s face so close to my neck.

  Malachi nodded as he eyed my spastic fidgeting. “I’m sorry they got close enough for you to discover that.” He stepped around me and pointed at a scribbled notation in the upper left quadrant of the map. “It was here. The Harag zone. I’m afraid your friend wandered into a very bad part of town. The Mazikin have been massing there lately. We think their newest nest might be in that area.”

  When he saw my how wide my eyes had gotten, he said, “If she got into an apartment unit, she would be safe as long as she stayed there.”

  “I saw her—she did go into an apartment. There was someone stalking her, though. I think it was a Mazikin.” My heart rate kicked up, thinking of that cackling laugh just behind her.

  “It probably was. They roam the halls of those buildings sometimes, looking for recruits. But as soon as Nadia crossed the threshold, they couldn’t have followed her in.”

  “And if she leaves?”

  The look on his face said everything. It made my chest hurt. “The apartment building had orange walls and pink doors. Could that help us find her?”

  He shook his head. “All the buildings in that zone do. That just confirms she was in Harag.” He walked to his desk, opened the book, and flipped through it until he found the page he was looking for. His eyes scanned the incomprehensible writing, and then he pointed to one entry. “I fought Ibram only seven days ago,” he said. “You must have seen this right before you…”

  “It happened the night I died.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. Had I really been here that long? Those freaky nightmares and visions had been my only real link to Nadia, but I hadn’t been inside her head for a whole week. As frustrating and crazy-making as it had been, I would have given a lot to have that connection back. It took me several seconds to blink back the tears and get control of myself. When I succeeded, I looked up to see Malachi watching me with a tenderness that made me swear he wanted to reach out to me, to touch me. I was startled to feel a twinge of disappointment as I glanced down at his hands and saw they were fisted at his sides.

  “We’ll go soon. We’ll find her.” His voice was soft but firm. He walked to the door of the room and opened it, calling down the hall. “Rais, please summon Ana. Tell her to come to my quarters.”

  “You seem certain she made it back.”

  “She always does,” he said. “But I doubt she was able to catch Sil. He’s annoyingly fast.”

  “Is she coming with us?”

  Malachi had traversed the room and was buckling a belt around his hips. “Yes, we’ll need her for this. But also, she has things that might fit you.” He approached and stood next to me by the desk. “Lela, I know you’re impatient to leave, and I agree we need to move quickly, but there are some preparations we have to make if we want to be successful. We have a place to look, and that’s a great start. More than I expected to have. But that area is the most dangerous part of the city, the worst possible location. If you don’t mind, I’d like to give us the best chance of coming back alive. Can you be patient if we don’t leave until tomorrow?”

  Here it was, a decision point. He was asking me to trust him, but not in so many words. I gazed at his face, translating the messages there, looking for a lie or a trap. Again I saw nothing but determination and sincerity. “Yes,” I replied.

  He smiled and I kept staring, caught by the way it transformed his stark, fierce face, rendering it whimsical, beautiful.

  “Malachi,” interrupted a smooth, lethal voice.

  Malachi didn’t take his eyes off me, but his smile widened. “Ana. Glad to have you back.”

  “I could say the same. Raphael told me you were in bad shape.” Ana strode into his room like she belonged there. For all I knew, she did. And with that thought, an uncomfortable stab of…something sliced through my chest. I rubbed away the ache and turned my full attention to her.

  Without her bulky coat to conceal the curves, Ana’s body was very feminine but emanated an animal strength and confidence that caused my fingers to twitch in readiness for an attack. Her smooth, brown skin glowed with amber undertones, framed by the stark black of her hair, which hung in thick ropes from a ponytail high at the back of her head. Her eyes were tilted up slightly, like a cat’s, and their dark depths were fixed on me.

  “You must be Lela.” She turned to Malachi. “Was she worth it?”

  Malachi made a noise in his throat that sounded distinctly like a growl. Ana smiled but didn’t look happy.

  “I guess so,” she murmured.

  “Lela needs clothes,” he said. “We have a mission, and I’d like you to outfit her. We leave tomorrow morning for the northwest quadrant, Harag zone.”

  Ana’s eyes went wide. “You’re taking her to Harag? Didn’t we just break our backs to keep her away from there?”

  “Ana.” There was nothing but warning in his voice.

  Her mouth snapped shut, but she looked at Malachi with disgust.

  My gaze bounced between the two of them as I tried to figure out what could lie behind his tone and her expression.

  Malachi’s voice was tight as he issued his instructions. “She’ll bunk with you tonight. We will train this evening. Distance weapons only. Please get her settled and properly clothed while I go see Michael.”

  He turned to me and his face relaxed noticeably, as if he was making a conscious effort not to scare me. “Michael is our weapons supplier. I’ll be back after dinner, and we’ll have a training session. You were able to handle the small Mazikin on your own, but there are a few things I’d like to show you before we go, in case you have to deal with something more challenging. Will you stay with Ana until I come back?”

  He actually seemed to be giving me a choice. Another decision, another request for trust. “I will,” I said as I looked at Ana, who crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Malachi with narrowed eyes. Assuming she doesn’t kill me before then.

  But Ana, too, relaxed as her gaze met mine. “Come on, girl, let’s get you out of that ugly green shirt.”

  She marched from the room. As I turned to follow, Malachi winked at me. It took all my concentration not to stumble over my own feet as I headed for the door.

  FOURTEEN

  ANA’S ROOM SMELLED FAINTLY of cinnamon, welcoming and warm. In spite of myself, I relaxed a little. Compared to Malachi’s impersonal, spare quarters, Ana’s room was an oasis of color and quirk, the most appealing space I’d come across since arriving in the city. She had a similar arsenal of deadly looking accessories, but her walls were covered in paintings, all done in the same style. Though the colors were muted and dull compared to those on Earth, the strokes were lush and bold, curves and strikes and stabs of paint. They looked like war. Or love. I wasn’t sure which, but they made my chest ache.

  “Sit down, Lela. Let’s work on you. What happened to your hair?”

  My hand traveled automatically to my head. I hadn’t looked in a mirror since I’d died. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh. It’s always that crazy? We need to get it under control before we go. It’s asking to be grabbed.”

  I eyed her spill of ebony hair. “And yours isn’t?”

  Ana smiled. “Maybe. But those who try lose limbs.”

  In that instant I decided I liked Ana. I smiled back. “Maybe you could teach me how to do that.”

  Ana shook her head as she opened the trunk at the foot of her cot, wh
ich was carved with intricate markings that looked like Chinese. Or Japanese. Something like that. “Malachi said distance weapons only.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he doesn’t want anyone’s limbs to get close enough for you to have to slice them off. And he doesn’t want you accidentally slicing off your own limbs, either.”

  I tilted my head, remembering how I’d nearly cut off my leg with Lacey’s scimitar. “I guess that’s hard to argue with.”

  “Malachi often is. Here we go!” Ana straightened, brandishing a thick wire brush. She circled me, and I turned in place, not letting her at my back. Ana’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “It’s just a brush, honey.”

  I shrugged apologetically. “Habit.”

  Ana pulled a chair away from the wall. “Sit.”

  I obeyed and focused on a large painting hanging on the far wall. From a distance, the chaotic strokes of paint came together, and an Asian man’s face, deadly and handsome, stared back at me. Ana followed my gaze to the painting.

  “Takeshi,” she said softly as she picked up a section of my hair and brushed the ends. “He taught us most of what we know.”

  At the tight, hoarse sound of Ana’s voice, my eyes flicked from the painting back to the trunk. “Is that Japanese writing?”

  Ana laughed, but it sounded a little sad. “Malachi said you were observant. Yes, it is. And yes, the trunk was Takeshi’s.”

  The sorrow in her voice and her use of the past tense were enough to silence me. I sat quietly while she brushed the tangles out of my hair, reducing it from gravity-defying curls to bobbing waves.

  “So,” she said, “want to tell me what you did to Malachi?”

  I closed my eyes, praying that my cheeks weren’t turning red as I thought of all the things I had done to Malachi. I wondered which of them Ana was referring to.

  I swallowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Ana kept brushing, her fingers deftly separating my hair into sections, attacking each part systematically. If she noticed a blush, she didn’t comment on it.