by C. R. Daems
"Give me your hand, Ryana."
I reached out my hand, and she grasped it. I could feel her power. Only the senior Sister had the power to make a student a Shadow Sister and to imprint her rank. It was burned deep in the palm where no one could see it. But any Shadow Sister could feel it when the two joined hands. I felt it as it was being burned into my flesh. First, she drew a circle. Afterward, a straight line was drawn near the top and a parallel line at the bottom—the mark of an apprentice Spy. The rank I had longed for. While I reveled in the thought, she drew two more lines to form a box—the mark of a senior Spy. That confused me. She continued, drawing a diagonal line through the box—the sign for an apprentice Assassin, which I hadn't been interested in. Finally, she drew another diagonal line forming an "X" within the box, designating a senior Assassin/Spy—the highest Shadow Sister rank. My head spun. I didn't understand. I didn't want rank, only to belong.
"What I'm going to tell you now is for you alone. You're not to repeat it to anyone." She paused and waited for me to nod. "Five of our Sisters have been murdered over the last two seasons. An Assassin/Spy and a Spy employed by Lord se'Dubben in Calion Province; a Spy with Lady wu'Lichak in Araby Province; and an Assassin/Spy and a Spy with Lord zo'Stanko in Tuska Province. Our Sisters in Saxis and Dazel Provinces remain alive as well as three Spies and one Assassin on training excursions with their apprentices. I'll tell you their names and locations before we leave."
My head whirled with conflicting thoughts. As far as I knew, that information was never disclosed. If a Shadow Sister was captured and tortured, she couldn't disclose what she didn't know. I'd know far too much. I'd want Kasi and Anil to kill me before I could divulge anything of value, but it was probable I was immune to their poison. I'd have to think of another method before I left Ahasha Valley.
"I'm afraid to contact them since I don't know who's to blame for our Sisters' deaths. I would hate to think it a Sister, but it's possible." She paused.
Why was Mistress…Sister Morag telling me about the deaths?
Although I was willing to be bait to attract the killers, I would know too much to risk capture.
"I should send a senior Assassin/Spy with extensive experience, but I fear a senior Sister might be too easy to recognize. Whoever's responsible has some knowledge of the Sisterhood and will be waiting for an older, experienced Shadow to investigate. You, on the other hand, will be difficult to identify. You're too young to be considered a Shadow and not well known among the Sisters. On the other hand, you've no experience."
Morag was right. I lacked experience and would be facing killers, not mercenaries with toys. My mind raced with questions, doubts, and excitement. It would be an opportunity to prove myself, to help…my Sisters—or to fail.
"The only way I could make that decision would be to test you and the effectiveness of your unorthodox approach, familiars, and weapons." Morag reached up and ran her finger across her hawk's feathers. I hadn't realized I was being untraditional—good thing—I suspect I would have failed if I had tried being traditional.
"I decided to combine the Spy and the Assassin tests. The combination made the test four times more difficult and came closer to approximating the stress and decision making you might encounter in the field. Telling you that I wanted four killed and four identified increased the difficulty of the task, added stress, and restricted your approach. A terrible thing to do but better you fail here than in the field."
I almost didn't hear her last words. They were but a whisper. The enormity of Morag's dilemma became clear. A wrong decision could place the Sisterhood in jeopardy.
Maybe it would have been better if I had failed.
"The unpredictable circumstances surrounding your fourth Kill answered a serious concern I had about you. You've fanatically followed the Sisters' instructions. You never deviated. I worried you would take my parting advice as orders, not suggestions: find the information, return safely, and try not to kill anyone. Actually, if you survive, that will be a bonus. Getting the information is the assignment. If you need to kill to do that, you must. You can't run back to me for advice. You must be willing and capable of making your own decisions. Only you'll be there and only you can decide what should be done. By not disabling the fourth mercenary, you demonstrated you're capable of making independent decisions." Morag paused. I laughed.
"Did I say something funny?"
"... I've worried myself sick for the past ten cycles desperately wanting to belong but never sure what I must do to stay. Today, I desperately want to help my Sisters but again I'm not sure what I must do to succeed. I succeeded before because I didn't know what was traditional; therefore, I guess its best I don't try to understand what I should do," I said. Morag laughed.
"I've decided to send you, Ryana. I know I'm throwing you to the wolves, hoping you can somehow learn to outrun them, before…" Her glaze softened, and she lapsed into silence for several minutes. "I wish I didn't believe you had the best chance, although slim."
I took a deep breath before venturing a comment. "I'm honored. The Sisterhood's my family. I'll gladly give my life if dying can save it." No more worrying, I promised. I'll do my best. It's all I can do.
"Give me your hand Ryana." Morag reached toward me.
Now what? A secret I had never been told?
As she grasped my hand, I felt a searing pain and almost collapsed. When I could think again, I had Sister Morag's sigil burned into my palm.
"Why?" I stuttered.
"I suggest you trust no one, including your Sisters. Of course, the decision will be yours. If you do, you'll need the authority I've given you. You've my authority to give any Sister orders. I don't need some well-meaning Sister telling you what you should or shouldn't do. This assignment is your sole responsibility. As for the Assassin/Spy rank, if you fulfill this assignment, you'll have earned it. If not, it won't matter. You'll be dead."
I smiled mentally. This was another phase and another test. The difference was that before, I fought to belong. This time I belonged and fought for my family.
"Get your things, Sister Ryana. We leave within the hour."
CHAPTER FIVE
Sebec—Saxis Province
As we rode away from Ahasha Valley, I tried to memorize every bush, tree, and bend in the river. I couldn't know when or even if I would see it again. Soon I would be alone. My education had given me extensive knowledge of the people and cities. I had learned how to fit into any environment and play any part, but knowing and doing weren't the same. Morag broke into my thoughts just in time. I had been ready to turn around and race back to Ahasha.
"Within the next few days, a gypsy caravan will visit the city of Sebec, a three-day ride southeast of here. They perform there every two cycles at this time. You and I will meet them there. The clan leader, Marku, is a friend of mine. He will let you accompany them. You'll pretend that you've been asked to leave because you weren't suitable for the Sisterhood. Marku will claim he's providing you transportation to the city of Scio in Araby Province, where your parents live. Over the next cycle, Marku and his clan will perform in each of the provinces. Traveling with them, you'll have an opportunity to visit every major city in Hesland. In addition, it'll give you a cover you wouldn't have traveling alone," Morag said.
"Am I to avenge them?" I asked. Although I had been trained in weapons and knew how, I hadn't been groomed to be an Assassin. Those who planned to be Assassins trained longer and were required to be expert in all weapons. Those who planned to be Spies, like me, were required to be expert in only two. But now, I found myself both Spy and Assassin.
I pondered my recent test. What if my darts had been dipped in rocktail or my rockberry hadn't been diluted? The three mercenaries would have been dead not sedated. I felt sympathy for them. Although to capture me, they would have beaten me into submission. But could I kill someone who wasn't trying to harm me even though they had killed my Sisters? I realized that I didn't know and wouldn't until the situation aros
e.
"Your task is to find those who are killing our Sisters, the reason they were killed, and get that information back to me," Morag said. "We must stop the killing. Everything else is secondary. Having said that, you must decide how to achieve that goal. You're not to sacrifice your life to avenge our Sisters. Get the information back to me, and together we'll avenge them."
I had too many unknowns to even ask an intelligent question. Ironically, when I knew the question, it would be too late to ask.
As if Morag had been listening to my thoughts, she added, "The only advice I can give you, although I'm loath to say it, is to trust no one. Place your trust in your intuition and don't linger on things you can't change. Stay focused. Don't look backward. What you should have or could have done can't be changed. You can affect the future not the past."
I felt overwhelmed. I had been taught to obey any Sister without question. And as an apprentice, I should trust and obey any Sister my senior. Morag's words were an antithesis—trust no one, take orders from no one.
"I've sent a message by swift-wing Kite to our Intermediary in Adak, informing her that I'm sending a Shadow to investigate the murders and to notify Shadow Karsa, our Spy there. I'm hoping that will get to the killers and spur them into action. It's a dangerous gambit but necessary if you're to have any chance of discovering who they are."
* * *
Enough of this doubt. Sister Rong would be ashamed of me. She has taught me well and declared me ready.
I shifted in my saddle and ran my eyes over the pack mule loaded with gear. On top was my kit, looking like a typical cloth carrying case with wood handles. It held my everyday clothes and a false bottom, which could only be opened by twisting the small, wooden rests in the right direction. Under the false bottom lay my blacks, blowtubes, darts, drug compounds, and face scarf with the rune, Perthro, which declared me a Shadow Sister. Perthro suited the Shadows well. Its sign stood for mystery, occult abilities, fellowship, knowledge of one's destiny, and things feminine. Most saw the sign as something dangerous—rightfully so.
I nodded to myself. My gear was prepared. So must I be.
I'm Ryana, a girl who was unsuitable for the Shadow Sisters and has been told to leave. I had been accepted because I had an affinity with animals. I only agreed because I wanted the prestige of being a Shadow. I made it through phase one because my father had me tutored on how to read and write. I faked my way through the second phase by appearing to have found a familiar—although in reality that would be impossible. In the third phase, I did poorly. About halfway through phase three, they discovered my animal wasn't a familiar. I would have failed anyway, because of my poor performance with weapons. Except for the embarrassment, I wasn't upset with having to leave. It was too much work. Besides, no one would know I was a Shadow, as they kept their identity secret.
If I had really failed, I would have died. Not of embarrassment but of a deep, burning loss. There must be two Ryanas, the one everyone saw and her shadow—the real me. The visual Ryana must be independent of her shadow.
"Mistress Morag, it isn't right that you're asking me to leave. I'm not good at weapons, but it wouldn't matter. I want to be a Spy," I said.
"Now Ryana, you know you aren't suited for the Shadow Sisters. You'll be much happier with your father."
"Why did I need a familiar? I wanted to be a Spy. How much of a secret would it be with a dumb bird sitting on my shoulder? Some disguise I'm going to have with bird crap all over my clothes." I glared at Morag. Her lip twitched and her eyes sparkled. I kept my eyes narrow and lips tight. A smile or small twitch would be uncharacteristic for someone whining. "I'll be the laughingstock of Scio."
"Your father will be delighted to have you home. You know he didn't like the idea of you leaving."
"I have to leave here because the Shadow Sisters are jealous. They can't be beautiful like me if they hide behind masks."
"That's right, Ryana. You deserve to be seen, not hidden behind a mask."
The exchange went on for three days, day and night. Morag helped me refine the visual Ryana with her answers: your wealthy father, the boy who wants to marry you, your love of clothes…
On the way, I was discovering a new world. We had exited the valley onto a large plateau. At first, it appeared to be flat lowland; however, the occasional steep drop-offs revealed we were still high in the mountains. This was all new, and I couldn't help shifting in my saddle to capture it all. As the days wore on, we descended into leagues of rolling hills. For two days, Morag led us along dirt trails that seemed to go on forever with little change in the landscape. I was sure that I could never find my way home again. So far, the trails had been little more than animal paths.
Morag had casually pointed out the Whitedox Mountains on our left and the Blackdox Mountains on the right, which led to Sebec. As we neared the outskirts of Sebec on the fourth day, the land flattened, and small farms began to appear. The town's primary income came from exporting cattle, wheat, corn, and a variety of vegetables.
By the time we reached Sebec, the new Ryana had been born, weaned, and grown into a young woman.
Morag wore the traditional garb for a Shadow on public display: pants, shirt, and sash made of black cotton, soft black leather boots, weapons, and a head scarf, which covered her entire head and face except for the eyes. The Shadow's Rune, a red Perthro, appeared on the scarf. Morag's hawk rode her shoulder. I wore clothing appropriate for a girl of moderate means: a rough cream-cotton shirt, brown pants, leather boots, and a dark brown wool jacket.
Just before entering Sebec, we encountered a large market with twenty or more tables loaded with meats, fruit, and vegetables, surrounded by crowds of shoppers. The scene fascinated me. For the past ten cycles, my life had been devoted to training to be a Shadow Sister. In Ahasha, I had no social life or exposure to the outside world. I had learned about the world but had never experienced it. Normally, it wouldn't have mattered. I would have been assigned a senior Sister to guide me for my first cycle or two. Without a mentor, it was going to be a difficult adjustment.
I would have loved to stop and wander through the stalls and watch the people, who were staring at us. Morag appeared not to notice and continued though the market into the town. The roads were packed dirt and the buildings old and spread out, making the town appear much larger than it was. The local businesses catered to the nearby farms, selling feed, seeds, clothes, work animals, and farm equipment. There were three inns with attached taverns. Morag stopped at a two-story one with a large frothy mug carved into a piece of rough wood and "Happy Mug Inn" painted in white at the bottom. Inside the inn, a few customers sat with large steins at sturdy wooden tables. Morag paid for a room with two beds, a small table with a bowl and pitcher, and one stool. The room was sparse but clean. I thought it no better than my room at Ahasha. Each bed had one sheet made of a rough cloth and a blanket of coarse wool. I didn't want to break character, but…
"Sister Morag," I said, still uncomfortable with the idea of her being only my senior Sister. She had been Mistress for too many cycles. "How much did this cost?" I needed to understand what things cost because I would soon be on my own. I knew money and how to do sums but not what I should pay for food, lodging, and personal needs. A gold tora equaled twenty silvers, a silver equaled twenty coppers, and a copper four bits—so what?
"Eight coppers. The innkeeper is afraid of cheating a Shadow or her feeling cheated; otherwise, he would have charged ten or twelve. He gave us a double room with an evening and a morning meal tomorrow."
"Do the Shadows generally get money to live on when they are on assignment?" I had many questions and too little time. But I was Shadow trained and would survive.
"Normally, no. Those who hire us pay very well for the information we give. They know not to cheat us." Morag smiled. Clearly she thought the idea funny. "Yes, I find the idea amusing. The Shadow Sisters started with one young woman, who had been abused and left homeless to fend for herself. She lived in the
streets and survived by doing menial jobs. By luck or chance, one day she subdued a thief who had tried to steal the few coppers she had earned cleaning floors and collected a reward for his capture. She came to realize that she could earn more money hunting thieves than cleaning floors and washing clothes. She became so good at it the city guard began using her to find people. Over time, other women joined her and together they perfected the art of spying, which has made the Shadows sought after by the wealthy and influential. Most don't know how or why we were formed, but they know we can be helpful and dangerous."
"Do you think someone is seeking revenge?"
"Or, power."
"Why power?"
"I believe one of our Sisters discovered something that threatens a group or organization. Rightly or wrongly, they feel that the Shadows can or will discover their secret and use it against them. They're trying to eliminate the threat. I say again, trust no one." Morag opened the door, and we went downstairs to the main room.
When we arrived downstairs, all eyes turned to her. The tavern was a large open space with three small tables, which sat four or five, and six long tables, which could accommodate ten to twelve. The barmaid, a thin girl of no more than fourteen cycles, led us to one of the small tables. It remained empty, although the room was crowded. I suspect the barkeep had kept it free for Morag. Our meal consisted of a watery stew of meat and vegetables, which I found tasty. The Sisters ate little meat and used few spices. Halfway through the meal, a tall man dressed in colorful mismatched clothes approached. Men and colorful clothes were new experiences. Men weren't allowed at Ahasha, and the Sisters wore traditional clothing tailored for action not show. This man wore clothing made for show: an orange bandana, yellow silk shirt, purple pants tucked into snakeskin boots, and a large curved knife tucked inside a red sash. Although fascinated, I avoided staring. I continued to glare at Morag, maintaining my image of a girl sulking.