The Crowded Shadows

by Celine Kiernan

  She could see the man up ahead, flitting through the shadows. He had flung the child over his shoulder and was dashing easily through the trees. The little girl, silent with shock, was looking back at Wynter, her pale face bobbing in the dark. The man glanced back. Wynter saw him grin and to her horror realised that she had been drawn alone into the forest. Oh God! She glanced behind her. Already there was nothing but trees. She looked ahead and there was no sign of the man or his captive.

  Wynter stopped dead, listening. All around her there was shushing and sighing, and then the yip and call of animals communicating to each other. She crouched, her knife up, and the night flowed about her like a living thing.

  Move! she thought, and turned to run.

  The first blow came from nowhere, a fierce punch, striking her cheek. Her head rocked sideways. Her body spun. She brought her knife blindly upwards, and felt a bright spark of satisfaction as something yelped. Then a second blow hit her in the kidneys, and pain bloomed like paralysis up through her body. Something slammed hard between her shoulders, hurling her forward, and her head smacked against a tree with stunning brutality. Her eyes filled with sparks, her ears buzzed, and she fell. The world rolled over on her as leaves filled her mouth and eyes and nose.

  Something grabbed the back of her tunic and Wynter gagged, her collar choking her as she was hauled up from the ground. Unbreakably strong arms clamped around her and someone chuckled as she was pulled tightly in against a strong body. There was a furnace rush of breath in her ear, and the feel of sharp teeth and fur against her cheek. Then a shape flew through the air towards them, long and high and fast. Everything fell backwards and the ground drove the air from her as she went down again. Sparks exploded in her head once more and then darkness closed over her.

  There was only sound for a moment, grunting and scuffling. Then a solid, painful thump as something rolled over her, and the sound of heavy footsteps running away.

  “Come on, lass! Come on!” That voice. His voice. His lilting Northland accent urgently hissing in her ear. The trees swooped and swung around her as she was pulled up from the darkness and she felt his hard arms close around her waist as he tried to get her to her feet. “Oh God!” he murmured. “Come on, girly! Stand up! They’re all around us!”

  Her legs were wild. They’d gone off on their own and she had nothing left to stand on. Every time he pulled her up, empty space opened beneath her and she was sucked back down into the leaves. Where had all her bones gone? She felt herself dribble through his arms, flopping to the ground again as soon as he tried to get her moving forward. I’m terribly sorry, she thought, I don’t seem to be working properly.

  “Oh God, Oh God!” he moaned, and there were tears in his voice now.

  It’s all right, she thought, don’t worry, love. Razi will fix me.

  He made a desperate noise in his throat and clutched her in against his chest, crouching low. Wynter tried to lift her arm to pat him reassuringly, but he made that desperate noise again and put his hand over her mouth.

  They seemed to be huddled against a tree. Wynter laid her head back against the pale fabric of his undershirt and looked up at the clean slope of his jaw. He was staring out into the darkness. His hair was falling into her eyes.

  He looked down at her suddenly and said, “Shhhhhhh.”

  Animals howled somewhere in the trees, and he jumped and moaned. Darkness moved over her like a buzzing cloud and the world swung again, rolling. Her stomach rose up and she clenched her jaw against a mouthful of heat. She was lying on her side and he was kneeling in front of her, anxiously gazing into her face.

  I’m going to be sick, she thought. She shut her eyes.

  “… long coming to find you,” he whispered and she rose up from the buzzing dark to find him pressing something into her hand. He peered into her face again. His lips were moving. His lovely pale face, glowing. “… so just don’t make a sound, sweetheart.”

  She frowned. What?

  He put his hand on the side of her face. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I can run like a bloody rabbit.” She looked down at her hand and found she was clutching his black knife. What? Something yipped and shushed through the trees, very close by. Then darkness again. Like a long, held breath.

  She gasped and opened her eyes. His boots were striding away from her. His pale shirt. Too pale, too obvious.

  Darkness again.

  A whistle. Her eyes floated open. He was standing a short distance away. Blatantly standing there in the moonlight. Waiting.

  Then footsteps, moving fast, ran towards him. Still he waited. Then he turned and dove into the trees, haring away from her, his pale shirt glowing in the shadows like a beacon, his dark hair flying. Blackness exploded from the bushes and chased him—one, two, three shadows running low, yipping. Then they were gone.

  Wynter pushed her useless arm into the leaves, trying to roll, and darkness took her eyes from her again. It dragged her down into sparks and noise and sucked his knife from her hand.

  A fizz and whistle of bright shapes and glitter filled her head as she was pulled from the leaves again and turned. She opened her eyes and the world groaned and twisted, spinning. Arms closed around her, and she gasped as she was heaved upwards. I’m going to be sick.

  She flopped, useless and loose-limbed, as someone gathered her to them like a doll. Her head lolled against a warm neck. Then she felt soft beard against her face and was looking up into Razi’s curls as he stared out into the trees. He held her to him, unbearably tight, and she opened her mouth to say, Christopher is gone.

  Razi glanced at her, his eyes enormous. “Shhhhhhh!” he hissed.

  But Christopher, Razi! Christopher is gone! She tried to reach for Christopher’s knife, to show Razi. But her stomach lurched and she flung out an arm as her mouth filled with bile.

  He released her just in time to let her roll, and her dinner finally escaped in a scalding flood onto the forest floor. She scrabbled in the leaves as lightning went off against her eyes and in her stomach. Then the trees did a lazy circle around her and the forest turned on its head for a moment. The ground bounced alarmingly under her, bumping her up and down as if she were in a cart on a rutted road. What’s happening? she thought in panic. What’s going on? But it was only Razi, running with her through the trees, his breath coming in panicked little moans. The light and shadow of the moonlit forest flashed against his desperate face like fireworks.

  It was bright then. Orange light everywhere, blurred and too hot. There was a smell of smoke, and men were shouting and scuffling. They passed into dim coolness and then out again into that hot orange light. The world fell sideways. Straw pressed against her cheek, and she was watching through a warped mirror as Razi’s tall shape ran from her into the orange light. Black shapes moved. Horses screamed and stamped. Smoke burned her throat. She felt her stomach rise again and she closed her eyes against the fury of the fire.

  Something cool pressed to her mouth and she opened her lips to strawberry cordial. Oh bless you, she thought. Bless you, whoever you are. She swallowed and opened her eyes to find Razi, smoke-blackened and grim, holding the beaker to her mouth. He smelled of wet ashes and sweat, and his hands were shaking.

  Dim light pressed into Wynter’s brain like a rusty needle, and she squinted stiffly against the nauseating pain in her head. She groaned and lifted a heavy hand to her forehead.

  “All right,” murmured Razi. He stared anxiously into her face, pulling her eyelid up so that she winced. “All right,” he said again. His hands were shaking so badly that Wynter could see the tremors in his arms. People were scuffling behind him. She looked over Razi’s shoulder at them—they were nothing but shapes in the painful light.

  Razi rose to his feet and walked towards the sound. Wynter tried to get her eyes to focus. The barn was a reeking, sodden mess of smoky darkness. Near the centre, a tight knot of Merron was standing in flaring lantern light, their swords drawn, their faces hard. The landlord, the cook, the
ostler and his two stable boys were facing them down with pitchforks and cudgels.

  “Where are they?” screamed the landlord. “Where are they, you bastards? Give them back!” The Merron regarded him in silence, their eyes skipping from man to man.

  Outside, the warhounds were baying. Wynter looked blearily towards the sound and was shocked to see the sky showing grey through the big barn doors. Horses moved and stamped in the yard. There seemed to be many people out there, milling about. Someone called out in Merron, and the small knot of warriors at the centre of the barn began to edge warily around the landlord and his frantic, staring men.

  “No!” screamed the landlord, leaping forward. “No! You come back here!” He raised his cudgel at the departing Merron and they jerked their swords up, their faces threatening. The landlord howled in impotent fury and slammed his cudgel down onto the swiftly raised shield of one of the men. The knot of Merron surged forward, and the poorly armed tavern staff fell back, their faces desperate.

  Razi ran up behind the little group and snagged the tunic of one of the Merron. “Please,” he said in Hadrish, “my friend is missing. Please! Help us find him.”

  The man whirled, his sword raised, and Wynter saw that it was Wari, dishevelled and black with smoke. He stared blankly at Razi.

  “Please!” cried Razi again. “He’s one of your own! Won’t you help me find him?” Wari just continued to back away, his eyes wide, his sword raised.

  Wynter pushed herself forward on shaky arms and slid to the floor. Her legs buckled and she held herself up against the feedbags, watching as Razi’s hand fell to his side.

  The Merron circled around the fuming tavern staff, their weapons up, then they backed towards the door. The landlord followed them all the way, begging now for the Merron to please, please give his daughters back. Razi watched helplessly as the Merron backed out into the yard. Wynter took a few tottering steps towards him and grabbed his arm.

  There was a flurry of violent movement outside. Then a large body of horses clattered into sudden action, their hooves ringing out in the quiet morning. The sounds diminished quickly into the distance and silence descended on the smoky barn as the Merron left them.

  Ashes

  Razi led the way through the dim and misty trees. In the distance, the men from the tavern called for the little girls. They had taken the opposite direction to Wynter and Razi, following some other trail through the forest, leaving the Arab and his girl to make their own way.

  Razi was looking for the place where he had found Wynter hidden against the base of the tree. He was looking for the telltale patch where she had thrown up, hoping that, from there, he might find signs that would lead him to Christopher. Wynter staggered along behind him, her stomach rolling, her head thumping in time to her heartbeat. She squinted at the dark ground, looking for anything that might help, hoping against hope that Christopher would just pop out of the bushes, grinning and safe.

  Razi shot forward to crouch in the misty gloom, his fingers resting lightly on a little patch of leaves. Wynter shivered, looking down at the dark patch of ground under his hand. She smelled vomit, faint but definite. She shuffled her foot in the leaves by Razi’s boot and Christopher’s black dagger rose to the surface like a body exhumed. Razi stared at it expressionlessly. Then he shoved it into his belt and got to his feet, wiping his hand on his britches. He stalked into the forest, scanning the ground.

  For a while the tracks were easy to follow. Heavy and rucked, they told of three or four big men, running fast. But then they petered out, and Wynter and Razi were left wandering, clueless and desperate in the shadows. It seemed as though Christopher had outrun the men. There was certainly no sign that he had been caught.

  Razi kept going, pushing his way deeper into the trees, searching the ground for clues. Perhaps we should call out, thought Wynter as the distant shouts of the tavern men drifted to them across the brightening air. But Razi just kept walking, slowly scanning the ground, and she stumbled after him, her head buzzing with pain.

  About fifteen minutes later, Razi came to an abrupt halt, staring at the ground. Wynter shuffled to his side. She followed his eyes, gaping blankly for a moment before realising that she was looking down at one of Christopher’s boots. It had been flung under a bush. A moment’s searching found its companion at the base of a tree on the opposite side of the trail. Wynter took the boots and clutched them to her chest, watching as Razi examined a wide, violent scattering of leaves in the centre of the trail. It seemed to have been kicked up in the course of a fierce struggle. He bent and retrieved one of Christopher’s socks from the leaf-litter, balling it in his hand as he looked off into the trees.

  Christopher’s trousers lay buried in the leaf-mould on the far side of a clearing and his underthings were a few yards further on, next to another, smaller area of disturbed leaves. Razi gathered these up and continued into the trees, following a line of deep, skidding footprints that spoke of further pursuit.

  These tracks did not tell of many people, two men, perhaps, and Christopher, but they ended in another big, ragged circle of disturbance, the golden surface of the leaves kicked aside to expose the dark rot beneath. Christopher’s undershirt was cast to the side here, all the laces broken. Razi picked it up and held it with the others against his chest.

  Wynter looked at the bundle of clothes in Razi’s arms and tried not to picture what they signified. She tried not to imagine Christopher struggling and being held down while his clothes were pulled from him. Christopher being chased, naked, through the dark. She tried not to imagine the fear and the humiliation this would have brought.

  There were more prints—long, desperate tracks in the soft leaves—and they led to a wide clearing.

  It was a much bigger disturbance this time, a massive, sprawling explosion of leaves, the ground flung about and rucked up from one side of the clearing to the other. Razi stood looking over this devastation, his breath coming fast, shallow and misty on the damp air. Wynter pressed close to him, not sure what they were looking at. She began to shiver again.

  A pale flicker of movement to their right made them jump, and they reached for their daggers. It was Christopher, ghost-white in the gloom, drifting towards them through the trees. His slim body was covered in scrapes and painted with mud. His long hair was a tangled mess of leaves. He wandered towards them with an aimless sort of vacancy, his face dazed.

  Wynter slumped with relief at the sight of him. Thank God! she thought. Oh thank God! There were purple bruises on his neck, and a long, deep trio of scratches running down his left arm. He was limping and his beloved bracelets were gone, but apart from that, he seemed fine. Wynter had seen worse injuries at a stick and ball match. She began to stagger forward, meaning to put her arms around him, but Razi stepped between them, holding her back.

  “Christopher,” he said, “are you with us?” His wary tone stopped Wynter in her tracks, and she looked between them, cold creeping into her stomach, wondering what she had missed.

  “I got away,” said Christopher. He stopped drifting towards them and stood looking about in puzzled confusion. He’s in a dream, thought Wynter. He thinks he’s in a dream.

  Christopher blinked. “They took my bracelets,” he said.

  Wynter hung back while Razi dressed Christopher. She watched for a moment as he helped their friend into his clothes, but in the end she had to turn away. There was something terrible about the numb way Christopher just stood there and let Razi pull his filthy clothes onto him. Even with her eyes averted, it was difficult to bear. She could hear Razi say, “Lift your leg, Chris. Good man. Now the other one. Good fellow. I’m just going to tie this now, all right? Chris? Is it all right? Straighten your arm, Chris …”

  She stood looking off into the brightening trees as Razi’s voice went on. The light began to rise, slanting through the fluttering leaves, and the pain in her head grew with it. She slit her eyes against the sun and fought not to get sick.

  To her amazeme
nt, Razi never once asked to examine Christopher, didn’t once try and ascertain the extent of his injuries. He just dressed him and then straightened, wordlessly drew his sword and began to stalk back to the tavern. She watched his retreating back in shock, and then turned to Christopher. He stood for a moment, looking at his feet, and then he fell into stumbling step behind Razi.

  Razi’s deep voice snapped at her from the trees, “Wynter! Come on!” And she had no choice but to stagger along behind as he led the way back through the trees.

  * * *

  At the tavern, Razi paused at the tree line, tensely scanning the silent buildings. Smoke dribbled from the open barn doors and the kitchen was firmly shut. There was no sign of life. Christopher and Wynter stood gaping mindlessly at Razi’s back, waiting for him to tell them what to do next.

  “Take out your knife, sis,” he said quietly. “Keep it in your hand where it can be seen.” He looked anxiously into her face. Wynter tried to keep eye contact. “Try and look as though you know what you’re doing, all right?” She nodded and instantly regretted it, pressing her hand to her temple and clamping down on the nausea that rolled up into her throat.

  “Chris,” said Razi softly. “There’s going to be trouble in here. I need you.”

  Christopher’s eyes wandered to his.

  “Can you understand me, Chris?”

  He didn’t answer and his expression didn’t change. Razi reached to the small of his back and slipped Christopher’s black dagger from his belt. “Here,” he said. Christopher looked at his hand. “Here,” insisted Razi. He tucked his falchion sword under his arm, took Christopher’s hand and pressed the handle of the black dagger into Christopher’s palm. Christopher blinked for a moment, then his hand closed around the knife. Razi nodded, patted his shoulder and led the way into the tavern.

  He took them through the smouldering barn and into the kitchen. The landlord’s men were all there, pressed silently around the walls. The landlord sat at the head of the big table, all the pitchers flung to the ground and shattered in pieces under his feet. No one looked up when Razi’s long shadow fell across the room. All their eyes were on the table and the pale body of the little girl that lay, motionless and broken, on the damp wood.