Shadows of Uprising (Guardian of the Vale Book 2)

by Tamara Shoemaker

  Daymon paused before dragging Tarry toward the door. “I'll be back as soon as I can, Layne. Don't do anything stupid until I get back, okay?” His gaze held hers for a moment. Then he and the others were gone.

  * * *

  Alayne moved toward the bed, sitting next to Jayme, turning his head to face her. His brown eyes stared lifelessly beyond her into nothing. Soon, Alayne. Daymon just has to get Tarry far enough away. Her fingers itched with anticipation.

  She tried to imagine Daymon's progress. She was pretty sure he would find an open window and go out that way instead of down by the chute; there was more risk of discovery in the center of the spire. Marysa and Rachyl and the others would be waiting to help him; they would take Tarry, Malachi, Sprynge, and Pence to Grenton, far enough away that the Caster's hold would break.

  “Jayme?” she tested. Still nothing. The brown eyes twitched once.

  She paced to the window. The blackness outside told her nothing. She wondered if Kyle had gone back to the others yet. They won't suspect a thing; he's always been part of us, part of the group. She went back over the last year with Kyle, analyzing every scene, every word she'd shared with him. His pain that she had never loved him as he wanted, his hope that she would eventually come around, the anguish in his tones when he'd spoken of his parents. Could that be it, then? she wondered. Was Daymon right? Kyle loved me, but not as much as he... wanted—needed—his parents' approval.

  She shivered and turned from the window, returning to the bed.

  Jayme's fingers rubbed the seam of his pants. Alayne's heart stopped. He used to do that, when he was nervous or uncomfortable. “Jayme?”

  Jayme's head hung low on his chest. With an effort, he moved it. His hands went to his temples, clutching the brown waves with white-knuckled agony. A low moan issued from his throat.

  “Jayme!” Alayne flew to him, knelt before him. “Jayme, what's wrong?”

  His face was white, bloodless. Pain etched his expression as if someone had taken a marker and written it there.

  “Jayme, what can I do to help?” Alayne put her hands on either side of his face. Come on, Vale, if you're gonna heal, heal now. The pain didn't leave his face; it stayed put. Alayne managed a garbled shout. “Why?”

  Jayme's body slid from Alayne's hands, flopping down onto the bed with a groan. Alayne glanced desperately around the room. She hadn't expected this. She had imagined everything but this. When the Cast was gone, he was supposed to snap to attention. His voice should have said, “Al!” Recognition and relief should have rung through his tones.

  But they didn't. The brown eyes slowly bloomed with recognition, but the pain dampened any other emotion. But at last, her name.

  “Alayne.”

  It came out as a croak.

  “Jayme.” Tears rained down Alayne's cheeks. “Jayme, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. If I had only been faster, stopped the knife, done anything but what I did. And then I thought—I thought you were dead—” Alayne sobbed too hard for speech now.

  Jayme watched her listlessly. At last, his mouth moved. “I am dead,” he said, nonsensically, Alayne thought.

  Alayne straightened. “No, no, you're not, Jayme. I came back for you. And I'm going to take you somewhere safe. I promise. We'll get out of here, go start a new life far away from Clayborne, from the Capital, from all of it. Do you hear me?” She grasped his shoulders, willing life back into his expression. “Jayme?” His brown eyes no longer had the blank emptiness of the Shadow-Casted, but they looked dull, weak, insipid.

  A measured tread sounded in the hallway. Daymon's back already? Alayne twisted toward the door just as it flew open with a bang against the wall.

  Sprynge stood in the opening, Tarry just behind him. There was no time for Alayne to process the situation. Sprynge raised both arms and hurled his element at her. All the power from his years of experience went into the bend, and the force of it would have destroyed anyone but a Quadriweave. Alayne desperately threw up a shield of air, struggling to yank the fire element from Sprynge's grasp. Her fingers wrapped through it in a tug-of-war with Sprynge as the flames seared the room and hit the shield with a crack of thunder. Before anyone in the room could blink, the flames rebounded and jetted back at Sprynge, engulfing his form.

  His scream pierced the air around them, and he writhed in searing pain, his eyes wide and crazed. Insanity spilled from his face. Instead of wrestling for the element with Alayne, he bolted like a possessed flame, stumbling for the window. He launched himself into the night sky, his flickering body flailing out of Alayne's view.

  She stared, horrified, at the window. The whole episode had happened in less than two seconds. A step in the doorway reminded her that the danger was not done yet. Tarry moved toward her now, anger writhing across her face. Her fingers gripped a powerful Shadow-Cast; Alayne could feel it vibrating in the woman's hand.

  With a gasp, Alayne snatched the air element from her reach, and with a monumental effort, she threw it around herself and Jayme. She vaulted them both across the room and through the open window where Sprynge had disappeared only a moment before.

  Tarry hurled the Cast after them; Alayne twisted herself around Jayme, covering his body with as much of hers as she could.

  The Cast missed Jayme and hit her own head. She felt the pressure, the tendrils of tightness wrapping themselves around her temples, pressing, pressing. Tightness and pain shot along her spine to every nerve ending.

  Tarry's shout of rage rang through the night, echoing through the darkness.

  The ground approached quickly, and Alayne tightened the air element enough to keep her ankles from shattering when she hit it with both feet. To her right, she could see the still-flickering clothes of Professor Sprynge where his body lay, broken, on the entrance steps to the spire.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, leaving Jayme in the envelope of air, and pulled him along beside her as she sprinted toward the willows in the far distance. Her breath came in gasps.

  She could hear shouts behind her at the spire. They're after us was her first thought. Her second followed instantly. What have they done to Daymon?

  Chapter 29

  The others were waiting as Alayne dashed through the grass toward the trees. She could see their outlines, could hear Marysa's panicked call, “Hurry, Layne!” Alayne glanced back over her shoulder. Sprinting figures, back-lit by lights from the spire, hurtled across the prairie after her.

  “Where's Daymon?” Desperation writhed in her voice.

  “With you, I thought.”

  “Tarry and Sprynge escaped.”

  “Tarry?”

  Alayne drew even with the trees. “Let's go, let's go, let's go!” Marysa and Rachyl ran beside her. The rest of the students surged in front.

  “Did Kyle come back?” Alayne's eyes swept the running figures in front of her. She hadn't decided yet what she would do if and when she saw him again.

  “I haven't seen him.”

  Jayme hung limply in the air next to Alayne, keeping pace with her.

  Marysa threw a panicked glance over her shoulder. “As long as the element's bent, Layne, they're going to know where we are. We can't get far enough ahead of them to lose them.”

  Alayne strained as she held Jayme's element in the air. “Then they'll just have to know. Meanwhile, make yourself useful.”

  Marysa turned backward and sent an arc of fire through the air; it sped like quicksilver into the grass, forming a barrier.

  Just that quickly, a Water-Wielder from the group behind pulled a massive trench of liquid across the fire. It doused instantly, and the soldiers splashed through it.

  Rachyl shook her head. “They're gaining on us.”

  In desperation, Alayne notched Jayme in the air, turned around and raised her arms. The earth began to shake as she ran her fingers along the elements, testing each one, feeling where in the earth element the pursuers were. She had to be exact or she would miss them; if she pulled an element strand too close to her, s
he would nail herself and the rest of the students.

  She grasped an earth element strand that thudded with the vibrations of footsteps. She didn't have time to rethink it. She clasped it in both hands, heaved upward, and released the element from its anchors.

  A huge outcropping of land jutted upward, sky-high, the land dividing her from those following her. The vacuum sucked the grass from the earth. The earth continued to grow, to shift, to rumble. Alayne stumbled after the others. She could see their forms in the moonlight, twenty or so of them, fleeing for their lives. She grabbed Jayme's notch and dragged him behind her.

  She lost track of how far they ran. She ran until her bare feet blistered and cracks split her heels. Then they walked, always looking behind them, always checking their backs. The sun began to tinge the horizon with a gold hue, and Alayne searched behind her for any sign of the spire. There was nothing; they had left it far behind.

  Exhausted, she called for a halt and sat, staring over the waving grass as far as she could see. She lowered Jayme gently beside her. Sometime through the long night, he had fallen asleep. Still, he had not said one word to her of recognition, of relief, of anything since he had voiced her name in the spire. Now he lay there on the ground, his face tight with tension even in his sleep. Every now and then, a groan would leave his lips.

  Marysa sank slowly beside Jayme, resting her hand on his forehead. “He's feverish, Layne.” Worry darkened her icy blue eyes. “His skin burns me.”

  Alayne nodded. Her heart cried. Where is Daymon? She had left her protector, her Guardian, in the hands of the wolves. He would have moved heaven and earth to save her, and she had run away. She felt broken, empty, drained. Her exhausted body screamed to rest, but her gaze searched the horizon, watching the way they'd come. If only she had figured out some other way, some other plan, maybe Daymon would have made it out with her. She wondered for the thousandth time that night what had happened when Daymon had led Tarry and the others away.

  As time wore on and the sky grew lighter, Marysa finally stood. “We need to keep moving, Layne. Find someplace to shelter. We're sitting ducks in the middle of this field.” Her usual bounce was missing.

  Alayne nodded. She pushed herself up and wrapped Jayme once again in his air pocket. He still hadn't awakened.

  One of the students shouted.

  Alayne turned to where the First-Year pointed.

  A tiny figure ran toward them. As he drew closer, Alayne realized he was carrying something—or someone—over his shoulders.

  “It's Kyle.” The name felt dirty on her tongue. Anger shot through her, and then alarm. She recognized the person he had on his shoulders. “Daymon!” she shouted and broke into a run.

  After about fifty feet through the grass, she tumbled headlong on the ground, tripping over her own feet. Kyle struggled toward her under the weight of Daymon's body.

  “D—Daymon.” Her face went numb as she stuttered his name. She pushed herself up, one foot stepping in front of the other, and she broke into a run again.

  Kyle staggered to a stop in front of her, his breath hissing in and out of his lungs. He flopped Daymon onto the ground and bent double, his hands grasping his knees as he gasped for breath. Alayne hit the ground, her eyes zeroing in on the split skin across Daymon's eye, his broken nose, and the massive abrasion across his temple.

  “Oh, Daymon, what did she do to you?” Lightly, she traced her finger along the slit on his eye, watching as the red line disappeared, a tiny scar the only evidence that he had been hurt. She laid a hand carefully across his nose and felt it straighten and stabilize and then brushed her hand across the bloody pulp that was his temple, watching in satisfaction as it disappeared, his flesh weaving together into perfection once more.

  Daymon's eyelids fluttered open, taking in Kyle's and Alayne's gazes as they hovered over him. The next second, he struggled to sit up.

  “Shh, lie down, Daymon.”

  “What happened?” he snapped. “Tarry got the drop on me, and I fought her, and then...” He stopped, confused.

  “She and Sprynge came back, thinking to re-Cast Jayme.” Alayne shrugged. “I got us both out the window. She Casted, but I got in the way, and it hit me instead of him.” She paused, her fingers twisting together. “Sprynge is d—dead.”

  Kyle and Daymon stared at her. “What happened?” Kyle asked.

  “He tried to roast me, and I threw up a shield. His element rebounded on himself. In his pain, he went mad and jumped out the window.” She shoved the horrible memory to the back of her mind and sighed. “And then we've been running all night.”

  Daymon watched her closely. “So is Jayme all right?”

  “He's not Casted anymore.” She looked out over the empty prairie before glancing back at Daymon. Sympathy was written across his face. And understanding.

  But understanding of what?

  “What do you know?” Her voice was sharper than she intended.

  He pushed himself up into a sitting position and crossed his legs. He shrugged. “I don't know anything for sure, Layne. But I did wonder.”

  “What did you wonder?”

  “How much of Jayme would be left after spending a year under a powerful Shadow-Cast. If he made it back at all, his mind was going to be severely affected.”

  Alayne pushed herself to her feet and walked away from the other two. When she stopped, she could only see the rest of the students as tiny dots in the distance.

  Except for Kyle. He made his way slowly toward her.

  Alayne wanted to hit him. She didn't even want to use the elements. She wanted to pull together all the betrayal and anger she felt and pack it into her fist and drive it into his silver-tongued mouth, maybe even knock out some teeth.

  She kept her fists clenched carefully in her pockets. Not yet. If she outed him now, who knew how close their pursuers were. He could easily lead them right to their helpless group. No, it would be best to wait.

  When Kyle reached her, he placed heavy hands on her shoulders, turning her.

  Alayne pasted on a smile. “I was worried about you, Kyle.” She kept her mask carefully in place. “You were gone a long time.”

  “I know, I'm sorry, Layne.” His hands dropped to his side as Alayne took a tiny step backward. “I—I was upset and hurting. I needed time to think.”

  “Did you?”

  Kyle's eyes flickered. “What do you mean by that?”

  Alayne shook her head. “Nothing.” She folded her arms over the crushing ache of betrayal in her chest. “Let's get back to the others. We need to come up with a game plan, and I could use a little sleep.”

  She brushed past Kyle and started back through the prairie grass.

  “Layne.”

  She turned, surveying Kyle's somber expression. “You know I only ran away because I love you so much, right? You—you shocked me when you said you were going in for Jayme. I didn't know if I could take it.”

  Alayne took a deep steadying breath. “Yes, I know. It's truly mind-boggling what we'll do for someone's love and approval, isn't it?” She turned her back once more and waded through the grass.

  * * *

  The group traveled all day. By evening, exhaustion had set in. None of them had slept for at least two days. The endless prairie stretched on and on; no shelter was visible. Rachyl had at last decided to bend the elements. She pulled the earth upward into a circle that surrounded them, sheltering them from the sight of anyone who may have been passing by.

  A couple of Earth-Movers had trapped some rabbits in grass traps on their trek through the prairie, and the rich smell now floated across the camp area as they roasted over a fire. Some of the Water-Wielders in the group had pulled an underground river to the surface, and Alayne was surprised at how refreshed she felt after a satisfying drink. She pulled together a large bubble of water and carried it through the air to the edge of their temporary camp where Jayme lay on his back in the grass, staring at the clouds above them.

  “Hey.”r />
  His eyes flicked to hers once before returning to the darkening sky. He said nothing. Alayne shifted uneasily. He wasn't quite as empty of a shell as she had feared; she had been worried that he wouldn't even recognize her, but he'd said her name when the Cast left him. Still, he wasn't the Jayme she'd known.

  Alayne took a deep breath and sat down next to him. “I brought you some water. Do you want a drink?” She laid a hand carefully on his forehead. He flinched and turned his head away. She jerked back as if stung. “I—I just thought it might help your fever.”

  He didn't move. Alayne studied his jawline, the place where his brown hair curled on his temple. She reached to smooth it and then pulled her hand back, sliding it under her leg and pinning it to the ground. With a sigh, she let the water bubble hit the ground and soak into the earth.

  “Jayme, what's wrong?” Desperation tinged her voice.

  Slowly, Jayme turned his head to look at her. In his brown eyes, Alayne read what she had been dreading to see since the rescue. Pity. Lassitude. Tears immediately stung her eyes, and she jerked her head away, glaring at the students who stood talking together in small groups.

  “Is there nothing left, Jayme? Nothing at all?” She was afraid to look back at him, knowing what she would find in his expression.

  After a moment, she heard his breath pull in, softly spoken words spill from his mouth. “I'm sorry, Alayne.” Not Al. Alayne.

  “Will it ever come back?” She wished she could grab the words back even as they came out. They reeked of desperation.

  Jayme shrugged, perspiration creating a sheen on his forehead. With an effort, he spoke again. “I don't know, Alayne. I—I feel like I'm dead, like there's nothing left in me.” His brown eyes raked over her face and then the sky. His voice was soft, flat, monotone.

  Alayne shuddered at the blow. She swallowed hard and looked away again. After a moment, she asked, “What was it like? Being Shadow-Casted? Do you remember anything?”

  Again, a short shrug. “Not much. It's like a dream. Surreal. I remember vivid shapes, explosions of color. Lots of blue. Like it correlated to my color wheel when we had our assessments. Every time she would bend the elements through me, I could only see blue.”