SHADOW WEAVER

by Claire Merle

  Thirteen

  A wall of heat and a babble of voices hit us as we enter the tavern. It is like stepping into a now-time representation of the mind-world. Incomprehensible noise and movement. Too many smells all crushed together—pies, drinking ale, sweat, meat. Tug expertly guides me through the raucous crowd to a dark passage with a wooden stairway. Either he has an excellent sixth sense, or he has been here before.

  I check back to see no one has taken an interest in us and catch the expression on Tug's face. I'm learning to read the tattoo-distorted features. He doubts anyone capable of paying one hundred Carucan gold pieces would slum it here.

  “He doesn't want to be found,” I say. But as I mutter the words, my insides contract with anxiety. Surely even a Prince in disguise would not live in such unimpressive quarters. Unless he has been stripped of all coin during the assassination attempt and has no intention or means of returning to his former status, in which case he is useless to me.

  We stop on the first floor landing. Four doors, two on either side of the corridor. Grunting and moaning float through the nearest one. Blood rises to my cheeks. Oblivious, Tug moves along to the next and presses his ear against it.

  “It is too late to withdraw your brother from the sale,” he says quietly. “It is not how the Pit works. I cannot say I've changed my mind and leave with him.”

  “So hire someone. Pay them to put in a higher offer. You advance him the gold and once the exchange is made, he will bring Kel to an arranged meeting point out of the Hybourg.”

  “We are in a town of thieves and mercenaries, Mirra. If I hire a man to buy your brother, give him ten Carucan gold for the purchase, he will either vanish like the wind, or take the money and the boy and run.”

  Discouraged, I puff outwards. His logic is infallible. If Tug or Brin had any reliable connections in the Hybourg, they would have asked them to help escort Kel to the Pit.

  “The identity and destination of Kel's buyer,” Tug continues, “is the best you can hope for. Cooperate and I will find out the name of the man who has bought him and where they are headed.”

  This is no better than the deal I thought I could wheedle before I discovered the whereabouts of the Prince! Frustration pounds me like a kick to the stomach. I halt in the corridor, planting my feet on the wooden floor, folding my arms.

  “What assurances do I have you will share the buyer's identity? You said it yourself, I cannot trust you.”

  “It is the best offer you'll get.” He watches me serenely, knowing my decision before I've even made it. I should have stayed in the Pit. Close to Kel. The Gods are not helping me. The Prince is a distraction, a decoy.

  I point to the furthest door where I sense the ravaged mind, and raise two fingers to show there are two people inside. Tug edges close, listens at the keyhole, then twists the handle.

  “Who's there?” a voice calls.

  “Tell him you've come for the sheets,” Tug whispers.

  “I have your word about Kel?”

  “My word is worth nothing.”

  “Who's there?” the voice asks again.

  If his word was worth nothing, he would not refuse to give it. “Your word,” I insist.

  The door swings open. Before either of us can react, the hilt of a sword hits Tug in the throat. He grips his windpipe, spluttering and staggering sideways.

  Instinct makes me reach for his knife to defend myself, but I stop halfway. With the King's soldiers hunting the sword-wielding Prince, and an assassination attempt on his life, he is bound to be edgy. As I do not wish to give away my combative nature, I resist the impulse. I do not want him to watch me as militantly as Tug and Brin once I'm in his hands. But I'm heartily disappointed the Prince shows skill enough with a sword to disarm Tug. A sword, which I now find myself at one end of—the tip digging into the flesh between my collarbones just below the bloodstained rag.

  “You'd better come inside,” the young Prince says, twisting a fallen lock of dark hair behind his ear.

  I step into a room that, though large, is bare-boned and devoid of luxury. I cannot glean much more because I'm staring down the shaft of a sword pointed at my throat, gazing into hazel eyes.

  The Prince's olive skin remains bronzed despite the sunless winter months. Gone are the bushy eyebrows and whiskery beard, though his chin is a little red from where he has pulled off his disguise. He is not plain and inconspicuous, but poised, almost handsome. If I didn't sense the distinctive shape of his blighted mind, I would think I'd made a mistake. He resembles a distant cousin to the man in the Pit. Even the way he walks and holds himself has altered.

  “What is your business here?” The Prince's southern accent rolls the vowels.

  I edge off my hood and lower my gaze. But not before I see uncertainty flash in his oval eyes. He must recognize us from the Pit, but it seems he did not realize I was female. Tug enters, rubbing his throat with one hand, surrendering up his knife with the other.

  “We come here wishing you no harm,” he says, voice strangled from the blow, but also from kowtowing instead of fighting back. I smile to myself at his humiliation.

  “Put your knife and any other weapons on the table,” the Prince orders. Tug does as he is told. “Now sit.”

  The Prince prods me with the tip of his sword until I sink into an armchair. Tug sits down opposite me. The blind man from the Prince's memories appears in the doorway of an adjacent room. He closes the door to the hall, and locks us all in together.

  The Prince circles around me, studying my face. I inspect his scuffed boots, the cut and lacing typical of the north. Not only is he agile with a sword, but masterful in the art of disguise. Able to mingle with the thieves and criminals of his kingdom as though one of them. Admiration sparks in my chest, but wariness too. Is this what they teach princes in Caruca?

  “You are no boy,” he says.

  I pretend muteness, relieved I had the good sense not to reach for Tug's knife. The Prince's memories may be desolated, but he has a keen mind.

  “Speak, Mirra,” Tug says.

  I press my palms together in my lap, directing my voice at the Prince, but still looking down.

  “It appears that you are familiar with disguise,” I say, trying to sound soft and feminine.

  “I saw you in the Pit,” he says. “Why have you followed me here?”

  Tug pointedly takes in the half-packed bags on the bed. “It would be a shame to leave the Hybourg without buying what you came for.”

  “And what did I come for?”

  “Mirra?” Tug prompts. Half of me wants to turn Beast-face into a fool by refusing to speak. He has come here knowing only the scraps I have told him. He has no idea he is face to face with the Prince of Caruca. He doesn't even know about the assassination attempt on the Prince's life. Tug, who has always been one step ahead, is for once in the dark. I revel in this for a few seconds, pretend I'm not ensnared by the hold he has on me because of Kel.

  “You came,” I answer softly, “to solve your own enigma. Why would a man raised in privilege and wealth, with freedom and power, wish to give it all up? Why would a man whose life was in extreme danger, choose a spiritual cleansing before the long-sleep that would wipe away his past and all knowledge of his enemy? You,” I say, raising my eyes and locking gazes with the Prince, “came here looking for an Uru Ana whose eyes have settled and who can help you discover the traitor responsible for what has happened.”

  The room stills. Tug appears relaxed but there is something sharp in his tattooed face. The Prince rubs his top lip, scanning from me to Tug and back again.

  “What is your relationship?” he asks.

  “She is mine to sell.”

  The Prince crouches beside me. His eyes take in the bruise on my face, the cut to my neck. Then he takes my hands. I am so surprised by the simplicity of the gesture, the gentleness in his touch, that I flinch. He inspects the roughness of my palms, then pushes up a sleeve, revealing the red welt around my wrist.

&nbs
p; “How did you catch her?” he asks, eyes never leaving me.

  “It is of no importance.”

  “It is of the utmost importance to me. If her face is known anywhere, I must be aware of it. If you have purchased her from someone else, I must know from whom.”

  Tug straightens. “Her parents kept her hidden in Blackfoot Forest at the foot of the glacial mountains.”

  My chest rises and falls. The fewer people who know of my family's existence, the safer my family are. Especially Kel. Silently, I beg that Beast-face will say nothing more of them.

  “And where are they now?”

  “Dead,” Tug says.

  I feel a flush of confusion and gratitude.

  “There is no one to come after her,” he continues. “No one but myself and my associate who know her true nature.”

  Well, maybe gratitude is too much. In reporting my family dead, he is only covering himself. Still, it is to my advantage that the Prince knows nothing of Kel, and believes I am alone in the world. He will assume being in the service of a Prince more favourable than wandering the dangerous outland forests with no family to return to. He will not anticipate the risks I will undertake to escape.

  The Prince crosses the room to the blind man, who hunches beneath the weight of long furs, his face pale and heavily lined with age. Words are discreetly exchanged. Then the Prince nods and turns back. My eyes flash down to my feet.

  “How old are you?” he asks.

  “Sixteen.”

  “And you have spent every one of these sixteen years in Blackfoot Forest?”

  “I lived in the Sea of Trees until I was four and a half. Then we moved to Blackfoot Forest.” I omit to mention the two years we spent farming in Polek, fifty miles from here—after my eyes settled, before Kel was born.

  The Prince's gaze seeks his attendant again. He says nothing, and the old man cannot return his look or even be aware of the Prince's silent consultation, but whatever the Prince sees, he seems to come to a decision. I wonder how he lost his whole escort and gained a blind septuagenarian in its stead.

  “I will need to test her skills,” he says.

  “Ask her what you will.”

  “Under circumstances more in keeping with those she will have to perform under. There is a tavern at Bowen Hill, twelve miles south west of here on the western border road. I will wait for you there until midnight.”

  Tug rises smoothly, brushing invisible flecks from his furs. “You have not asked my price.”

  A spark of amusement lights the Prince's eyes. “You doubt my ability to pay?”

  Tug's gaze roams across the sparse quarters and rests on the blind man. Not much of a servant.

  The humour in the Prince's expression transforms to confusion. He glances over at me, realising Tug does not know who he is dealing with. “And you have not asked where she is to perform her test,” he says, strolling to the mantlepiece. “Name your price.”

  “One hundred Carucan gold.”

  The Prince takes up the fire poker and prods the flames. His brows wrinkle together. “You and your associate will be in charge of bringing her with us to the fort of Lyndonia.”

  “But that is a week's ride from here,” Tug objects.

  “When we all arrive safely at the fort, I will pay you one hundred Carucan gold. In Lyndonia, she will be tested. If she passes her test, you will receive another hundred and be free to leave her with me.”

  Tug's composure falters at the promise of two hundred Carucan gold. It is, I believe, enough to live well for the rest of his life. “And if she fails?”

  “It is a crime against the King to harbour a shadow weaver. If her true mind-reading nature is discovered during the test, she will be executed. Anyone suspected of knowing and protecting her sight will be tried and executed alongside her. I, of course, will deny all knowledge of her abilities.”

  His words are like a cold stone sinking in my chest. I look to Tug, wondering if he will accept such dangerous conditions. Beast-face gives nothing away. Coin chinks as the Prince takes a purse from his tunic pocket and counts three gold coins. He places them on the ledge above the fireplace. They glimmer in the faint daylight, no mistaking they are solid.

  “For considering my offer,” he says. “If you accept, be sure to buy thoroughbred horses. I would not want you to be cheated. There will be a long ride ahead of us and it is imperative we travel fast.”

  The blind man unlocks the door and steps to one side, showing it is time for us to leave.

  Tug gathers up the coins in his large hands. “I like to know who I'm dealing with,” he says.

  The Prince nods. “At present I go by the name of Ule. If my true identity is what you seek, perhaps your girl here will give it up in exchange for a proper meal.”

  Avoiding the death stare Tug is undoubtedly shooting my way, I scuttle across the room.

  “I will wait no later than midnight,” the Prince says as Tug follows. “The King's soldiers are rumoured to be shutting off both roads out of the Hybourg. Once you've made your decision, I advise you leave without delay.”

  He is confident Tug will say "yes", I think, as we hurry down the wooden stairs and out onto the cobbled street. And I'm scared the Prince's assessment is right. Though I'm not sure it is the promise of so much coin that will decide Beast-face. I have a feeling he will not be able to walk away from such a risky challenge.

  If Tug agrees, and he and Brin accompany us to this fort, I have little hope of escaping my new owner for days, perhaps weeks. Time that will take me further and further from Kel. Time where my little brother is in danger of giving up hope, and I am in danger of losing his trail.

  Fourteen

  Back in the lodgings where we slept the previous night, Tug ties my hands and feet to the bedpost and goes to stand by the dark slatted window. He has his knife out, flicking it back and forth in his wrist.

  “This is a dangerous game,” he mutters. I do not know how to answer. He could end it now. The power is in his hands. All he'd have to do is take Kel and me back to the forest. But I know he will not. “Who is he?”

  I bite my lips together. I cannot decide whether the Prince's identity will encourage or dissuade Beast-face. Better to say nothing.

  Surprisingly, he does not force my answer. “I must return to the Pit.” He gathers a piece of cloth and comes and kneels before me. His thick fingers untie the gut string holding the bloody rag to my neck. He tears another piece of cloth from some fabric with his knife.

  “The man is too unpredictable,” I say, hoping to plant a seed of doubt. Tug's steady eyes stare at me. I open my mouth to water the seed further, and his large fingers stuff the cloth against my tongue.

  Once he is gone, there is no use struggling against the ropes around my feet and hands. Tug's knots are the kind you'd have difficulty cutting your way through with a knife. I watch the candle whittle down, leaving a creamy pool on the round table.

  Two hours pass, perhaps longer. And with the hours, worry and hunger fester, rising in me until I am fraught and desperate. I fear Kel's reaction to his sale. I fret Tug will discover nothing about the man who buys my brother, and his and Brin's memories of the transaction, if I can find them, will be useless: a nameless face, one of millions in the Carucan Kingdom. Isn't that the whole point of the Pit? Isn't it designed to protect the identities of investors as well as sellers?

  I long for anything to break the silence and darkness, even the sound of Tug's boots thumping up the stairs.

  Eventually, they come.

  He enters along with the mouth-watering odour of rabbit and leek stew. My stomach clenches with hunger. Tug lights a candle in the sconce by the door. I scowl at the thought of him and Brin spending the last hour or two drinking and feasting, celebrating the money they have received from trading my brother, like they would the pelts of hunted deer. Like he could ever belong to them!

  The stiff leather of Tug's boots creaks as he lights candles about the room. Then he crouches beside m
e and unties my hands. It is unsettling how he does not meet my glare. Fear crawls through me. Did something go wrong? Has Kel been hurt?

  I watch him rise and walk towards the door. He returns with a large platter of breads and cheeses and a wooden bowl of the rabbit stew. My parched mouth salivates until I'm practically dribbling.

  I should resist. Tug is clearly taking up the Prince's suggestion to bribe me. But it has been too long since a proper meal passed my cracked lips.

  I raise the soup in shaky hands and slurp. It is still warm! My taste buds explode with the mix of rich meat, tangy leek, thyme and nuts. I savour this small happiness, forcing myself to eat slowly. After the bowl is half-empty, my stomach almost full, I notice Tug is gathering our packs and stacking them by the door. The soup in my stomach turns into a messy, uncomfortable slosh.

  He has made his decision. We are leaving.

  I nibble on bread until he comes to untie my feet.

  “Sit,” he says, gesturing to the edge of the high double bed. A lump lodges in my throat. My heartbeat begins a wild dance in my chest as I push up on shaky legs. Images tumble through my mind like they're scrambling to get away. The bed, alone with Beast-face, the coupling of the man and woman we heard near the Prince's rooms.

  I want to fold my shaking hands out of sight, but dare not, in case I need them to claw him off. He stands an arm’s length before me, six-foot two inches, shoulders as wide as a river.

  “What took so long?” I ask, hoping I sound calmer than I feel.

  “You'd better tell me who he is,” he says.

  “Kel...” I croak. I need information about Kel, but his name is all I can utter.

  An image bright and vivid appears in the mind-world. A shadowy cave-like room. Four giant guards with metal bands around their necks and arms. A tall man with brown and gray-peppered hair empties a velvet pouch onto the black table. Glimmering gold coins roll out. Kel stands in a corner shaking, but he holds his head high, chin jutting out in defiance.