Shade’s smaller hand grasped his, tugging Sarn into the dreaded infirmary to a cradle. The glow of his eyes had lit a tiny thing with stubby arms. Turning its lemon-shaped head, the baby looked right at him.
Those milky green eyes said in the language of blood and magic—I’m yours, and you're mine—then the baby howled. Tiny fingers reached for Sarn, then he was sliding down a wall clutching the baby in his shaking arms. One thought beat in his brain—hold onto the baby. And he had.
Nearby someone was talking, the healer maybe. He was saying crazy things. How could his son have been dying before he’d come to the infirmary? It didn’t make sense and he couldn’t focus on it because the baby’s pale green eyes were locked onto his and nothing else mattered.
Sarn blinked away the memory. Somehow, his presence had saved his son's life. He still didn’t understand why. Maybe it no longer mattered. Still, he owed Shade an unpayable debt.
Once he had the red lumir stones stowed out of his son’s reach, Sarn brought the stew to his friend. He traded food for his son and collapsed onto the mattress.
“I haven't seen you in three months.” His head felt stuffed with metal. There was something off about Shade, but he was too exhausted to figure out what. “Fine keep your damned secrets.”
“You didn’t ask my name.”
Something in Shade’s quiet reply made Sarn bite back the scathing retort he'd had ready. Playing the usual game might net him the answers he sought. If he could stay awake long enough to play it to its conclusion.
“Fine. How are you called tonight?”
“I’m the whispered word the wind sends forward. I’m the rumor scored by a dive downward.” Shade paused and mimed someone falling from a great height.
It took a moment for Shade's words to click. Sarn had almost forgotten about going AWOL last night and the seven witnesses to his swan dive. “Who saw?”
Shade waved a hand. “Seen by those who’re bored, reported and stored, word of angel soared—”
“What? No, I fell. I can’t fly. What are you talking about—” but Shade had run away with the rhyming and ignored him.
“Eye of green not sky, you fell from on high; gravity denied, you swim but stay dry—”
“No, water soaks me while it tries to drown me like everyone else.” Sarn glanced at his son, the calm center in all this. The boy listened with half-closed eyes as Shade continued to wax poetic.
“Angel they all sigh, man’s only ally, he who cannot die. Though many do try, no one can say why—the Green Eyed can’t die.” Shade regarded Sarn, and a strange emotion crossed his friend’s eyes. Was it fervor?
Sarn looked away. Weights pushed on his eyelids trying to close them. “They’re wrong. I’m not any of those things.”
“A fall doesn’t break you.”
“Who saw me jump? Did they belong to a gang? Which one? And what were they doing there? There’s nothing over there.”
“I told you—the bored and rumor has soared. Soon it will be lore. All know you are poor—”
“Speak sense damn it.”
Sarn fought the urge to kick his best friend. He missed the old Shade, the one he could talk to about anything and nothing. But that Shade was gone thanks to Aliel or Angel’s Dust or whatever they were calling the powerful hallucinogen now.
“I can’t fix you.”
Fates knew he had tried. Sarn looked away not caring if his friend heard. Likely not, since Shade was prattling on about angels. But Ran heard, and he curled into Sarn, reminding him not everyone needed fixing, just care.
“Wake me when you’re ready to make sense.”
Lying flat felt good, too good. Muscles tense from running ached for relaxation and release. But Shade’s rhyme rattled around in Sarn's skull, making his jaw clench and his teeth grind. The Lower Quarters had too many eyes to see stupid stunts. And too many tongues ready to blab to too many warlord wannabes who listened for such tall tales. Maybe nothing would come of this. A yawn broke the vulturous thoughts picking Sarn apart and sleep snatched him away before anger could congeal into harsh words.
“They’ll come to your door, seeking for a sword. They search for one to lead the horde out of chains debt scored to their reward,” Shade warned. But only the gathering shadows and a dozing child heard the warning.
When Shade’s story ended without a proper ending, Ran frowned at Shade. He opened his mouth to ask what happens next but stopped when Shade touched Papa’s boot.
Magic sang its sleep song. A deep thrum vibrated Papa’s bones, and emerald light pushed past his skin, wrapping Ran in bright wings of power and protection. It excluded Uncle Miren as usual. No playing with the magic now, Papa slept too deeply to allow it.
Where Papa’s fingertips brushed the ground, emerald light welled. Sparks leaped up his fingers and streaked across his arm, jumping from him to Ran. It worked its way into muscles, bones, and organs, making Ran’s skin tingle as magic dripped into a reservoir carved at birth to store it. Papa’s magic filled him up, but he still didn’t glow. Maybe tomorrow he would.
Yawning, Ran listened to Papa’s heart beat a tattoo to accompany the magic’s song. Rhythmic beating changed to voices swelling as they chanted the same word. Ran tried to parse the word syllable by syllable, but each repetition dragged sleep a little nearer.
Movement in the corner of his eye startled Ran. Someone else was awake. Turning his head, he blinked tired eyes at Shade, who held one of Papa’s boots. Shade should stop. The magic preferred people to keep their hands off Papa. While Shade removed a sock spotted with red, the magic readied itself to strike.
“What’re you doing?”
“Sleep little one loved. Fly to dreamland dove. There to soar above, little one so loved.”
Ran yawned. “You didn't answer me.” Though the rhyme did tell a lovely story, especially the ‘little one loved’ part. It made the corners of Ran’s lips turn up.
“Making amends, friends to the end, I do defend.” Shade gave a mock bow then
dipped a corner of his—her—its cloak into the pail collecting their water.
“Papa said not to touch.”
Ran tried on one of Uncle Miren’s glares, but his eyelids sagged sleep-ward ruining the effect. Papa made a comfy pillow and the magic, a warm blanket. But his tummy twisted, and he opened his eyes as cold air buffeted him.
Behind Shade, the strange boy coalesced. A pile of clothes Papa had forgotten to tidy up poked through the boy’s transparent feet. The specter pointed at Ran, who struggled to sit up. But Papa’s arm snugged him in close, and the magic wove a cocoon of protective light around him.
“What is he?” Ran asked around a yawn. He pointed at the boy-thing, and it mimicked him.
Shade ignored his question and touched Papa’s foot. But the magic had tolerated Shade’s presence for long enough. It extruded a green tendril and slapped the interloper’s hands away. Shade yelped and withdrew to a safe distance.
“I told you not to touch Papa.” Ran shook his head. Adults should listen to him. He always spoke the truth.
Ran rested his head against Papa’s chest and listened to the magic rushing around inside Papa. He wondered what it was doing until the luminous bubble lengthened to include all of Papa. Craning his neck Ran looked to see where it ended and nodded when he saw Uncle Miren, the not-boy-thing and Shade remained outside the magic.
“What are you doing?”
Shade rooted around in a pocket and withdrew a box. Ran rubbed his eyes. Had he just seen a claw where a five-fingered hand belonged? Ran looked again, squinting through the magic’s barrier and Shade’s fingers fused into three digits ending in talons. They scratched something onto the floor then blurred as a gray five-fingered glove replaced the claw. A small box rested in Shade’s hand.
Before Shade could open it, the not-boy-thing batted it away, and the box flew from Shade’s hand. White powder puffed out as the lid opened spilling the box’s content
s.
“You dropped bad stuff.” Ran pointed to the eddies of white powder kicked up by the not-boy-thing blowing to disperse it. “You told Papa you don’t eat bad things anymore.” This had spiraled into the adult realm, and either Papa or Uncle Miren should wake up and deal with it. Ran shook Papa’s arm, but he didn’t wake.
Shade yelped and tried to scoop the powder back into the box but gave up when the task proved impossible. The not-boy-thing made certain of it, and Ran gave the translucent thing a nod of approval.
“What are you?”
The creature ignored Ran’s question. Behind it, a shadow rose and dove at the not-boy-thing.
“Look out!” Ran hid his face in Papa’s chest and bit his lip as his stomach roiled in sudden nausea. Something bad had come into his home. He strained to reach Bear, who had fallen between Papa and the wall.
Bear’s button eyes reflected the glow of Papa’s magic, calming Ran. But he still wanted Bear. Staring at his stuffed companion, Ran wriggled, but Papa held him too tight to permit escape.
“Bear!” Ran willed Bear to come to him. Bear extended a fuzzy arm and Ran pulled him into a hug.
Papa jerked in a sudden spasm. His magic flared, and green light obliterated the shadows.
“Damn it, I’m trying to sleep.” Uncle Miren threw out an arm and shook Papa’s shoulder. “Enough with the light show already. Knock it off.”
When Uncle Miren quit muttering about inconsiderate brothers, Ran dared to look. Scanning the cave, he saw no trace of the shadow or the not-boy-thing. How rude, it was the second time the thing had disappeared without answering his questions.
“We’ll ask Papa tomorrow.”
Bear’s head tilted in a slight nod. Ran closed his eyes as a gray silhouette slunk into the tunnel, and the door clicked as it settled against an uneven jamb.
Chapter 14
Orange-robed men stalked through the enchanted forest, and it ignored them. They prowled, eyes darting here and there seeking out magic to destroy. Sarn fled, but they followed. He had to reach—somewhere to do something.
Inside him, a restless white fire rattled its cage in quiet rage. What did it want him to do? He had to get away from those Seekers. They’d kill him if they caught him.
Rooted to the spot, he watched those orange-robed fanatics melt into a river of ichor. Black waves surged toward Sarn as he turned and fled. Through the trees flashing by, he caught glimpses of hikers. A boy turned, and his pale green eyes met Sarn’s, freezing him in place. The viscous black fluid flowed around his ankles, screaming for his blood as it sunk claws into his flesh. But he could not move. The boy held him hostage with a glance.
I can’t fix you—his words from last night replayed and their horrible truth slammed into Sarn, knocking him down into the receding ichor. The earth groaned and heaved, raining dirt and corpses on him. Sarn rolled and scrabbled for a handhold as the ground sloped into a ravine and the dead boy tumbled into it. His pale eyes begged for help.
Darkness fountained out of the ground in a frigid torrent. It clawed at the sky, scratching until it tore a hole in the shimmering fabric underlying all unleashing a swarm of cockroaches. Every tree they bit darkened and turned on Sarn as he climbed out of a ravine. Branches sliced through the air missing him by a hair’s breadth as he twisted and tumbled.
Overriding every other sound, a million bees droned—eam’meye erator—until he stuffed his fingers into his ears to block it out.
Broken circles gleamed and hovered in the air, sketched by a different type of magic. They sought to trap him, but he evaded them and ran on trailing glowing gossamer. More circles appeared. Some floated, and others extruded from the ground. Sarn veered around one set arcing up in his path and skidded to a halt as the enchanted forest divided.
She waited at the other end of a sylvan gauntlet—the Queen of All Trees. Her light extended silver hands to him in welcome. Come deeper into the magic’s thrall.
No—Sarn woke with a start and scanned his immediate surroundings for threats. Two icons glowed—his son asleep in his arms and his brother moving about the cave. A third icon stained his map. It was so dark, he almost missed it.
Ran stirred, but Sarn held the scamp still. What had he sensed? Ran poked him, but Sarn didn’t react. The third icon was small and moving. He almost had a lock on it. Ran giggled and poked a sore spot this time, making Sarn wince. Ran froze, but his apology was muffled by Sarn’s chest.
“I know you’re awake.” Miren threw something—a book maybe—onto the floor.
Sarn glared at his brother. “What’s with the tantrum? Are you four or fourteen today?”
Ran opened his mouth to add his observation, but Sarn covered it.
“I got this. You go wash up for breakfast, okay?” His assurance earned him a nod and a much too compliant child gained his feet. Sarn accompanied his son, still searching for the source of the third entity in their room. Was it the ghost boy? His head map had not included the specter before. Why would it start now?
“I’m still waiting for an answer.” Sarn scanned his cave. Nothing looked out of place. But something was watching them, and it raised his hackles. “Are you mad at your school work or at me?”
Miren glared at Sarn as he and Ran passed within range of a fist. None swung at them. White knuckling the book in his hands, Miren stoked his anger, building up to an explosion, but why?
“Do you want to go fishing? I’ll get a Sunday off, and we’ll go—just the three of us. After yesterday they owe me, and I owe you. You do so much for me.” And I do so little to repay you, damn the Rangers.
Miren stood there with his mouth hanging open for a moment longer before his whole manner changed. “You mean it? But you hate fishing—”
Sarn suppressed a shudder at the thought of gutting and eating fish. “But you enjoy it, so we’ll go as soon as I can wrangle a day off.”
“And swimming?” Ran bounced up and down, smiling when Sarn nodded.
“Yes, we’ll go swimming, and maybe my brother will teach you a new stroke.”
Miren nodded, pleased with the plan. “Sure, I can show him the backstroke or the breast stroke.” Miren’s eyes narrowed as he ran through the list of swim strokes he knew.
“Anything, to make him a strong swimmer—you decide.” Sarn glanced around for the remains of last night's dinner and found only empty jars—no watchers damn. “Did you already breakfast?”
“Yeah, I ate the last of the stew and peaches. They weren’t bad cold. Sorry, but there wasn’t enough left to share.” Miren shrugged. “There might be a piece of flatbread left, but it tastes like sawdust.”
Miren had left Sarn with a dilemma: go back to his not-so-secret stash or trek upstairs for breakfast. Ran gave the white crumbs dotting the table a longing glance. Upstairs won since stolen food required no preparation and the walk might shake loose an overlooked fact or reveal a spy.
“Sorry,” Miren offered as he limped to the door, rucksack and crutch in hand.
Sarn waved off the apology. “Not your fault there wasn’t enough for us all. We’ll get something upstairs.”
Miren nodded and headed out for class. Since his brother refrained from slamming the door, his mood must have improved. Now Sarn had to wrangle a Sunday off to keep his brother happy. Sarn rubbed the bridge of his nose where the beginnings of a headache prodded him.
“We get breakfast and go on an ad-ven-ture now?” Excitement caused Ran to bob up and down because the boy already knew the answer was ‘yes.'
Sarn regarded his son. Had he changed the boy’s clothes last night? The tunic and trousers adorning the child looked clean enough. His clothes needed a change, but later out of sight of his son. Bad enough Ran could see the scar marring the left side of his face.
“Breakfast first, then we’ll see.”
Sarn swirled his cloak around his shoulders. Maybe the watcher would follow them and give him a good look at it. It would be easier to prot
ect his son if they were on the move. “Put your cloak and boots on. I’ll tie them for you.”
Ran scampered off to find both articles while Sarn pulled his boots on and tied them. After picking up the books and papers discarded during Miren’s tantrum, he stepped through a floating cold spot. His skin prickled, and he shivered. Sarn set the pile on the table and scanned the cave for the source of the cold. Was it connected to the watcher? A finger of foreboding dragged its icy claw up his spine. In response, his magic flared, and his eyes blazed, eradicating the shadows. What the hell was watching them?
Ran paused, caught in the act of stuffing his sock covered foot into a boot. The boy threw a curious glance at Sarn who shook his head. In the last thirty-six hours, he’d stumbled across multiple homicides, been kidnapped, stalked by a ghost, chased by trees and mud creatures and party to all manner of odd happenings. And he still had no idea why. It was time that changed.
Sarn consulted his mental map seeking the route freest of pedestrians since his son’s safety hinged on secrecy. If he kept a firm mental grip on his goal, the magic would bend his path to reach it leaving him free to watch for spies.
His son's hand was so small, yet it extended a trust bigger than them both. Did the ghost trust him to investigate its death? Like he had a choice since he’d gotten tangled up in the fallout. Sarn set the mystery aside for now and concentrated on his backtrail. There—a hazy icon almost indistinguishable from the map’s darkness followed them.
Turning a corner, Sarn held a finger to his lips signaling for silence. Ran’s eyes widened, but he nodded. Sarn scooped up his son, rushed up the wall and crouched on a shield-shaped formation. With his eyes squeezed closed and his cloak wrapped tight around them, they should be invisible. Below, the spy paused.
“Lift up the hem of my cloak slowly and look down, but don’t make a sound,” Sarn whispered into his son’s ear.
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