by W. J. May
The woman leaned forward, sniffing the air. "Alright, get in." She shifted in her seat, moving slightly so Jinji could step up next to her on the bench.
The woman smelled of the earth, like dirt and grass after a fresh rain.
"I can take you as far as the market, no farther. I have to sell my vegetables, the ones the castle didn’t want for their fine banquet, full of it they are."
"Thank you," Jinji mumbled, settling into her seat, feeling uncomfortable under the woman's sharp gaze.
"You've got some nice clothes," she said, touching Jinji's arm, leaving brown spots on her white shirt, "very fine indeed."
Jinji shrugged, looking away, wondering what the spirits were actually trying to tell her. But the silence paid off, because the woman kept talking.
"The name's Elga, short for Remelga, but that was my mother's name, rest her soul." She jerked on the reins and the horse trudged forward again, pulling the weight of the cart very slowly behind. But it was a direction, the right direction, and that was all that mattered to Jinji.
Elga looked ahead, watching the road, but kept chattering. "I work in the fields outside the walls, have all my life. My husband is too old to sell anymore, so I come in, do his work, little money that it is. Castle takes all the good crop, leaving barely anything left to bring to the market. But the people still buy it, and I take whatever money they can offer. They love my vegetables; best there are everyone tells me. The plants love me, that's what they say. Silly, isn't it? Thinking like that, but that's what they say."
"I don't think it's silly," Jinji said softly, almost surprising herself, but the words popped out, beyond her control.
Elga smiled and the somewhat wary tilt to her gaze disappeared. She leaned in. "That's what I tell my husband, but he says to stay quiet. To mind my tongue, little help it gives me. Talk like that is dangerous, he says, gets people hurt—killed these days."
Jinji turned sharply toward Elga, eyes widening.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh nothing, nothing, I really shouldn't." She bit her wrinkled lips, fighting the urge to speak.
"Please," Jinji said breathily. Her heart quickened. Her grip on the seat below her tightened. She was on the verge of discovering something—she could feel it.
Elga looked over, lips pursed, and then leaned closer. "Well, people have been noticing odd disappearances, deaths even, but it's real hush, hush. They say it’s the king, that he's killing off people who might be, well... But not me, bless the spirits. King Whylfrick would never do nothing like that, he's a good man."
"It's not the king." Jinji frowned. Was this really happening? After so long, had she really just fallen into the answers? All this time, could the spirits have been waiting for her to get the courage to leave Rhen, to follow her own path?
Elga straightened quickly, eyeing Jinji with caution, her old brown eyes lightening with wisdom.
"Course not, that's what I said," she spoke louder, pushing the words out onto the street before her, "King Whylfrick loves his people, he would never."
"People who might be what?" Jinji asked, still stuck on Elga's previous words. What had the woman meant? Was it the ramblings of a crazy person, or was it the answer Jinji had been searching for all along?
But Elga shook her head, using her voice to urge her horse onward.
The streets had grown busier, louder. They had moved through the second wall without Jinji realizing. The people around here wore dull garments of thick wool, dark brown and black with none of the fineries Jinji had almost grown accustomed to seeing. Men stumbled around, holding cups aloft. Their faces were red, eyes glassy. It reminded Jinji of the tavern Rhen had taken her to so long ago. Madness.
Voices rose over the crowd singing songs that Jinji didn’t recognize. The lyrics spoke of Whyl the Conqueror.
And that's when she realized that the people were celebrating. The nobles had the Naming Ceremony, locked behind their walls standing in formal processions, and the city had this—chaos.
Jinji focused on Elga, noticing that the woman was determinedly not opening her mouth.
"Please, people who might be what?" Jinji repeated, pleading.
But instead of answering, Elga pulled hard on the reins, muttering something under her breath—big mouth, trouble, and other words Jinji couldn't make out.
"I'm sorry, boy, but I can't say, now run along, I—I have to go back, I left something that my husband won't forgive me losing, his favorite blanket you see, and I need to get it."
"Elga," Jinji urged, reaching for the woman's arm, but she was swatted away.
"Now go," she said louder. "I said leave. Get off my cart and go!"
Men turned, hearing the shriek in the woman's voice. They narrowed their gazes on Jinji, taking a second too long to try to place her clothes and her darker skin. One man stepped forward, eyeing her with distrust, a big drink sloshing in his hand.
For the first time since Roninhythe, Jinji felt different. Her skin crawled under their lead gazes.
"Who are you boy?" One man asked, his voice deep and slurred.
"Where are you from?" Another asked.
"Where'd you get those clothes?" Still a third pressed.
More turned, eyes brightening at the sign of a commotion. The energy shifted, darkened, narrowed on her until it felt suffocating.
Elga continued to yell nonsense, even after Jinji had slipped from the cart, landing hard on the uneven cobblestones.
A hand gripped her sleeve, pinching her skin.
Without turning to see who it was, Jinji ran, wincing at the sound of cloth ripping. She looked down at the tattered shreds of her shirt, gone from the elbow down, torn free. Her arm was thin and womanly, not bulging with muscles. She kept moving, praying no one noticed. Praying to the spirits that she moved fast enough for the rest of her clothes to stay intact.
Jinji remembered what her father had told her. Old lessons died hard. And she knew without a doubt that it was much safer to be a boy in this world than it was to be a girl, especially a copper-skinned girl that no one could lay claim to—not even the man she would name her only friend.
Shouts followed in her wake, urging her forward.
Turning down a street, she risked a glance over her shoulder, cringing as an angry crowd came into view behind her. Four men in hot pursuit.
Jinji pivoted to the left, down another street, then to the right, to the left—not caring as she dove deeper into the maze of the city. As long as the cries behind her grew quieter, she knew she had traveled in the right direction.
But there was one problem, they weren't disappearing.
Jinji looked back again, but no one was there. Just ghostly voices, still yelling after her. She kept looking behind, waiting for someone to appear, to recognize her, to—
Jinji cried out as her body smacked into stone and her wrist crunched, caught between the wall and her body.
Dropping to the ground, her vision blurred. She blinked into the growing darkness, trying to dissipate it, hearing the voices raise ever louder. Seeing gray blocks of rough rock, Jinji flung an illusion in front of her, praying to the spirits that it looked enough like the wall she had run into—the one she still couldn’t properly see.
Moments later, the men ran into view, huffing, surveying the dead end with the intelligence of natives, of those who had lived there for years.
As her eyesight cleared, Jinji tried to slow her breath, to quiet it. The pain in her wrist seethed out, spreading up her arm. She shifted back, wincing as her boots scudded on the dirt covered side street, stopping when her spine met resistance. Even though the illusion hid her, Jinji felt exposed. She hugged her knees closer, pulling the shirt down as far as it would go, hiding the skin that differentiated her—skin that she had never before felt the need to conceal.
Tears came unbidden, slipping down her cheeks, and her body started to shake as shock set in.
Fear. It crept down her body, strong as any she had ever felt before. Fear of a
world she had never experienced alone—a world she didn't like.
The four men walked closer, confused, and then stopped. One man complained that his drink was gone. Another agreed. The third one shrugged. And the leader, taking one last look at the wall—at the illusion Jinji knew was far from perfect—spat on the mud, then turned his back to her.
It wasn't until they disappeared around a building that Jinji let herself relax, let a sigh of relief ease from her lips. But she kept the illusion up, a safety net until she regained her poise.
If that was Whylkin without Rhen, Jinji didn’t know what she would do. Was that to be her fate? To be hunted, to be the outsider, the one everyone blamed with no more proof than a crazy woman's ramblings?
Was that what the spirits had planned?
She dropped her head back against the wall behind her, gazing up at the sky. The spirits didn’t heed her prayer. They remained hidden, out of sight, even as Jinji demanded the comfort of seeing their ever evolving weaves. The little strands of life that made her feel unafraid, that made her feel a little less lonely, a little less abandoned.
At the exact moment the spirits relented and zipped into view, a scream filled the street.
Jinji's head jerked forward.
A boy appeared, small and cowering as he looked through an open door, into the home to Jinji's right side. Around his figure, waves of fire spun—just like Rhen, a living flame.
Jinji gasped and stood to help, but a man stepped into view, stopping her.
His eyes were white.
And they looked straight at her.
Covering her mouth to catch a gasp, Jinji's mind flashed back, back before Rayfort, before the sea, before Rhen—back to where it all began. Her small home, decimated.
Back to Maniuk—to her taikeno—with a knife at his throat as the shadow clouded his eyes, stealing his free will. Everything she had been through, every obstacle she had overcome, was for this moment, this confrontation.
The shadow was here.
In Rayfort. In this alley.
But it hadn't come for her.
The blank eyes passed over her, sparing a glance at the wall, studying it for a moment, and then returned to the little boy on the street. His small fingers were clutched over his face, praying for mercy. The word papa escaped his lips, over and over again, coated in confusion.
The man stepped forward.
Steel caught the sun, flashing like a beacon into Jinji's eyes. He held a knife. Lifted it. Stretched it toward the boy. A boy who made no move to save himself, whose actions were paused by incomprehension.
"Stop!" Jinji yelled.
The illusion crashed down, revealing her hiding spot. But the man did not listen.
"Stop!" She cried again and sprang forward, moving to yank his arm.
When her fingers were an inch from touching his skin, the man jumped backward and his face whipped in her direction, as if only just noticing her.
Jinji smacked the ground, creating a barrier between the shadow and the small boy it was trying to murder. She lifted her gaze, meeting those soulless white eyes with pure hatred. A snarl curled her lips. And even though she held no weapon, had no way to defeat it, she lunged.
The man dodged, escaping her touch.
With an Arpapajo war cry, Jinji ran forward once more.
The man retreated—his feet propelled backward while his hands reached toward her, as though for a hug, as though his body was at war with itself.
Jinji paused, watching the figure twitch as it fought the urge to move closer and farther away from her at the same time.
He blinked. The shadow of an iris appeared—brown—only to be quickly covered by white, dispelled.
Realization hit fast. The shadow was afraid of her, and that fear had allowed the man it possessed to fight back.
If she could only touch it, could only fight it herself...
Jinji stepped cautiously forward, arm outstretched.
Before she could move another inch, the body dropped to the ground—lifeless.
Behind her, the little boy cried out, running around Jinji's legs and crumpling onto the body of his father. The man groaned and turned over, human once more, looking at her with confusion while he hugged his crying child. Confusion turned to distrust. Distrust turned to accusation.
Jinji ran, knowing where accusation would lead.
Her mind raced even faster than her feet.
The woman Elga spoke of people dying, special people. It was clear to Jinji now what that meant. People kissed by the spirits were disappearing—people like her, like that little boy she had just saved on the street.
People like...
Jinji skidded to a halt.
A gear clicked into place. Suddenly it was all clear.
The spirits hadn't been sending her away from Rhen, they had been telling her to save him. They were trying to open her eyes, to make her see.
Their fates were tied.
All this time, Jinji had thought that the shadow was hers to fight alone. But it wasn't. It was their destiny—they needed to defeat it together.
And Rhen was in danger.
The shadow feared her, but without Jinji nearby, Rhen was vulnerable. The shadow would take him, like it had taken everyone and everything else in Jinji's life.
But this time she would beat it.
She would kill it.
Jinji looked around at the empty street, listening to the echo of celebrations filtering toward her, and wrapped an illusion around her body. To the outside world, she was nothing more than commoner, dressed in dull garb, nothing out of the ordinary.
But inside, she had never felt stronger, more true to herself.
I'm coming, she urged—for Rhen, for the shadow, for vengeance.
I'm coming.
The labyrinth of Rayfort was the only thing standing in her way.
18
Rhen
Rayfort
––––––––
"All hail!" Rhen said. But what he really meant was, bless the spirits the ceremony was almost over. He wasn't sure how much more standing his feet could take.
Whyllem had pulled him to the taverns last night, and using his trusted sleeping potion, Rhen spent half the night searching for any signs of an attack. But there was nothing. No signs of any Ourthuri infiltrators. No rumblings by the docks. No gossip. After a while, he had even searched for signs of Jin's mysterious shadow, but still nothing.
An evening of empty wanderings had turned into a sleepless morning, and it had all been in vain. In fact, all Rhen had managed to do was arrive late for the ceremony and further annoy his father.
Just what he needed.
Shifting his gaze to the side, Rhen looked at the babe being held aloft before the throne by King Whylfrick. Red robes of the kingdom of Whyl draped around his tiny body, cascading all the way to the floor. His curious hazel eyes were open, darting around the room. Not a single cry had escaped his lips, and it filled Rhen with a sense of pride.
Whyllean.
He had been named.
Whyllean, Rhen's nephew, the future king of Whylkin.
"All hail!" Rhen repeated with the crowd.
The baby had been dipped in the spiritual waters, blessed with the prayers of Whylkin, and told the story of his ancestors for the first time. But most importantly, Rhen and his brother Whyllem had just renounced their claim to the throne, ensuring the proper line of succession, thereby ensuring the future of the kingdom.
"All hail!" Rhen yelled for a third time.
Even as his spirits were high, fed by the energy in the throne room, a pit gnawed at his stomach. Rhen knew he had been right. The Naming. Everything centered around the ceremony. But all of the nobles in the kingdom had been sequestered in the throne room for hours and not a single thing was amiss.
He scanned the room. His father beamed. Whyltarin shone with pride. Whyllem with love. Farther into the crowd, everyone wore cheerful smiles; not a single person hinted bitterness at t
he ceaseless reign of Whyl.
It was perfect.
Too perfect.
And it made Rhen's skin crawl.
"All hail!" He shouted for a fourth and final time. One call for each of the spirits, as was tradition.
The king lowered Whyllean and stepped back to sit on the throne, resting the babe in his lap. He spoke the closing words, but Rhen was too busy shifting his feet and looking anxiously around the room to pay attention.
Slowly, starting from the very back of the room, the nobles entered in a procession line, waiting to kneel before their future king and swear loyalty to their kingdom. Rhen searched every face for Ourthuri skin, every wrist for powdered over tattoos and every hand for a concealed dagger, but there were no enemies hiding amongst them today.
Before he knew it, it was his turn. Rhen stepped forward, raised his right hand to his heart, and bowed deeply before his nephew.
"I swear my undying loyalty to Whyllean, Son of Prince Whyltarin, Son of King Whylfrick, and the newly named future king of Whylkin. May the Sons of Whyl forever watch over this land and protect its people from all who wish them harm. In the name of Whyl the Conqueror, who united the lands, may the spirits watch over and protect Whyllean from harm, may he know the joy of seeing his sons become kings, and their sons after that. All hail."
Bowing once more, Rhen stepped forward to place the ceremonial kiss on his nephew's brow—a right reserved for the royal family alone. Flicking his gaze up, Rhen met his father's glare. It sent a chill down his spine. He looked away, quickly grinning at the dribble of spit leaking out of the baby's lower lip. You're almost done, he wanted to say. Instead, with love in his heart, he knelt down.
But right as his lips were about to touch Whyllean's brow, his father pulled back on the child. Not enough for anyone to see, not enough to cause alarm, but enough for Rhen's armor to crack.
Still bent down, he looked his father in the eye. Heat singed his chest, painful and raw. The man was daring him to act out, to misbehave, to refuse to take his punishment like a Son of Whyl should. But now was not the time, and Rhen, ignoring the despair weighing heavily on his shoulders, stepped aside to let his brother Whyllem give his own blessing.