The Night Voice

by Barb Hendee

  “Our water is low,” he said, and Leesil looked up for an instant. “If I can find a hidden well, I will return for assistance.”

  No one questioned this, as all were too concerned for the sage, and so he slipped away. But Khalidah only searched for a place out of their sight, in case someone followed him too soon. Alone again, he crouched and prepared for another “peek” at Chane and Chap’s position.

  The pebble he had given Chane was common knowledge to all involved. It had been meant to help them all find one another again. However, “finding” Chane was what the pebble could do for him. And he had his own vested interest in the success of the vampire and gray majay-hì.

  Beyond gathering the orbs through these fortunate and unwitting companions, he had his own search to complete. His first goal was to learn where Beloved awakened. Until that was confirmed, along with the gathering of the orbs, he needed to foster Magiere’s belief that all “anchors” were necessary to face their “Ancient Enemy.” The others would follow her, willingly or not.

  But he—not they, or even Magiere—would be the one to finish Beloved.

  In ancient times, he had known the whereabouts of Beloved’s hiding place to the far east. That had been a torturous thousand years ago, perhaps more, and the exact details had long since faded from memory. For now, he did not want Magiere finding such a place until all five orbs were present.

  Khalidah blinked, and noted the much lighter sky. He had lingered too long and turned to his reason for slipping away. Closing his eyes, he blanked out all thoughts but one.

  The pebble.

  There was no sensation of crossing great distances; he instantly touched it with his emptied mind. Space and time meant nothing, and it was almost as if he were there . . .

  Everything suddenly appeared darker than where he had settled in the foothills.

  He was standing nearby but unseen next to Chane, though Chane was running.

  A sled drawn by dogs raced through the near dark and tall trees and over snow-crusted earth. Chap was barely visible, running on the sled’s far side. A dark-skinned man bulked up with heavy furs ran behind the sled, gripping its reins and occasionally shouting to the dogs in a strange, awkward language.

  At first, Khalidah thought they were in search of the two orbs hidden in the wastes.

  “Chap!” Chane tried to shout in his rasping, broken voice. “Find a clearing . . . quickly.”

  The majay-hì bolted ahead into the trees, distracting Khalidah for an instant.

  “We stop,” Chane added. “Set camp fast!”

  Khalidah glanced aside in time to see the sled driver nod. Then he noticed the faint lightening of the darkness. Dawn would be coming, though later than here where his body sat among the foothills.

  Then he realized the sled was aimed westward rather than inland.

  It was burdened with three chests, as expected, but as he looked closer, two had locks on their latches. The third was not locked.

  Hope expanded within Khalidah, for two out of three to be locked implied only one thing.

  Chane and Chap had already recovered the orbs of Water and Fire. They were returning to the coast—and in their haste, pushing the limit of Chane’s safety against the dawn.

  Amid relief—and hesitation—Khalidah opened his eyes to dawn in the foothills of the Sky-Cutter Range. He would check on the undead and the dog again in several days, but for now he sat there on the edge of ecstasy.

  To kill a god was to become a god . . . at least in the eyes of one’s inferiors.

  Without warning, a hissing voice rose in his thoughts and eradicated his joy.

  My servant.

  It had been so long since he had heard it that he froze, unable to answer immediately.

  Yes, my Beloved?

  You guard the dhampir as instructed?

  Khalidah weighed his answer carefully in keeping his thoughts shielded. He knew that his god believed him to be bringing the child of its making—Magiere—for some purpose only it knew. As of yet, though, Khalidah had not uncovered that purpose, and Beloved had not been forthcoming on precisely where to bring her.

  Yes, she is in my company, Beloved. He wavered, uncertain, and then thought a sliver of truth was the best lie. I have two of the anchors in my possession. Three are still being gathered. I thought to wait until all five were in my possession before asking where to bring all with the dhampir to you.

  Khalidah lingered, waiting for a response, and . . .

  That is acceptable, servant.

  Yes, Beloved, as is my joy in serving my god.

  No sooner had those carefully contrite words passed through his thoughts than he heard one final command.

  See that you do not fail . . . again . . . as in Bäalâle.

  Khalidah swallowed down spite with fear as silence filled his mind. He hated groveling to this betrayer but comforted himself in knowing he would have his revenge. Briefly touching the chain around his neck, he wondered about contacting Sau’ilahk for a location report, but he had already been gone for too long and stood up to return to the camp.

  When he rounded the tall hill, a shadow fell across his path.

  Khalidah looked upslope as Brot’an descended to face him. The elder elf studied him.

  “You were gone so long, we grew concerned,” Brot’an said.

  Khalidah kept his expression passive. Leesil was the one who accompanied him on water raids, and he knew the half-blood was beginning to grow suspicious as to why they had not been spotted, let alone caught, even once. Of course, Khalidah had used his sorcery to hide them from anyone’s awareness, and his own power exceeded that of his internal captive, Ghassan il’Sänke.

  Might Leesil have mentioned his suspicions to Brot’an?

  “I am safe, as you see,” Khalidah said with a warm smile. “I saw no one else in my search.”

  “Did you find water?”

  “I fear not. Is Wynn better?”

  Brot’an did not answer at first. “She is awake and coherent.”

  Khalidah brushed past, eager to end this conversation. “Then let us return.”

  He led the way, but even more than before, he felt a need to know the assassin’s true agenda here.

  • • •

  Several evenings later in White Hut, Chap sat alone outside the tent on the fringe of the settlement. Inside, Chane sat alone with all three chests, two containing orbs. They had been unsuccessful in attaining passage south, for no new ship had arrived . . . until now.

  Chap lingered in watching an arriving vessel until certain it had anchored and longboats were headed out to exchange cargo. Then he whirled, nosed through the tent’s flap, and snatched up the talking hide in his teeth. Chane had his full attention before he even dropped the hide, clawed it open, and began pawing out the news.

  Chane ducked out of the tent to take a look before Chap finished.

  Chap followed and had barely stepped outside when Chane rushed back into the tent to begin their preparations for departure. It did not take long.

  “I need to hire a few boys to help carry the chests,” he said.

  Though the thought of this delay tried Chap’s patience, he knew it was necessary that they transport everything to the shore at once. Whether this ship granted them passage or not, they had to be ready and waiting.

  Soon enough, Chane returned with three strong-looking boys. Chane carried the chest with the orb of Water. One of the boys carried the empty chest, and the other worked together to half carry, half drag the chest with the orb of Fire—as it was heavy and their going was slow. Chane never let them out of his sight, but in the end, he set his orb on the shore for Chap to guard and jogged back to carry the orb of Fire for the final stretch.

  Once on shore, all three boys ran as soon as they were paid.

  Chane then spoke briefly to a sailor
in a longboat, and when that boat was emptied, he climbed in and rode back over the waves toward the ship to see if he might arrange for passage.

  Chap remained behind to guard the orbs, and while waiting alone on the beach, he had too much time to think as he sat between the two locked chests. He had not realized how much the sight of them being unearthed would haunt him . . . as if the memory of Nawyat were a ghost he would never escape.

  He almost wished he could open one of those locked chests. While in the simple guide’s body, in handling the orbs, he had to remove the man’s glove. He had touched an orb for the first time with his own . . . with Nawyat’s flesh.

  There was a presence trapped inside each one—a Fay, singular, like himself. And still he had not stopped. He buried alive two of his kin in a frozen grave. At the time, he had told himself that all he had done had been for the good of the world. And now?

  Now he had taken company with a Noble Dead, gone into the northern wastes, and unearthed the same orbs. And again, he believed this was necessary.

  He could not call it right or good—only necessary.

  How many more great but lesser sins would he bear next to Nawyat?

  Closing his eyes, he pictured Magiere, Leesil, and Wynn, who trusted in him, and yet he no longer truly trusted himself. He did only what he hoped was right in the end even though many things he had done felt wrong.

  Questions built like whispers in the depths below his thoughts.

  There was only one—and the many—who had answers: his kin, the Fay. Part of them—like himself—had somehow been trapped inside those orbs. If he touched one again, could he find answers?

  To do so he would need to have Chane unlock the chests, and Chane would want to know why. Chap could never tell any undead what was hidden inside the orbs.

  A rhythmic splash shook him to awareness, and he looked out over the water. The longboat was returning to shore, and quickly enough, Chane leaped out to rush up the frozen beach.

  “The ship sails south at dawn,” he rasped. “Let these sailors load the orbs. We need to board now.”

  The longboat’s prow ground to a halt on the beach, and two sailors hopped out to approach.

  With some reluctance, Chap huffed once at Chane in agreement. He did not like the idea of letting the sailors handle the orbs, but even if Chane loaded all the chests onto the longboat himself, it would still take several men to get them onto the ship.

  Chane lifted one chest himself. A young Numan sailor gripped the handles of another one and attempted to heft it up. Chap had worried about this. Although the orbs were about the size of a helm, they were unnaturally dense and heavy.

  “What have you got in here?” the sailor asked, trying a second time with more effort.

  Chane glared at the man without answering. The sailor said nothing more and managed to lift the chest with both arms while his companion carried the third, empty chest.

  Moments later, they were on the water, and then it was not long before they boarded the ship . . . with a darkened, bloodstained deck and huge hooks on chains coiled along its side.

  “Whaling vessel,” Chane said in a half whisper.

  They were shown to a cabin below and provided with help to get all their belongings stowed safely inside. Upon entering the cabin, Chap could not help wrinkling his nose. The entire place stank and felt too closed in. However, Chane’s normally stoic expression vanished, replaced by some mild relief.

  Chap looked the cabin over. Without a small, wide-based lantern set upon the floor, the place would have been dark, for there was no porthole.

  Still, Chap understood. Chane must have dreaded those days lying dormant with nothing between himself and the sun but the tent. Chap pushed such thoughts away, for after all, the vampire had died years ago and now existed in an unnatural state. Such things deserved no understanding or consideration.

  They passed the night in silence.

  When the sun rose, Chap managed to lever the door’s handle with his teeth while Chane lay dormant, and he slipped out into the passage, pushing the door closed behind him. That he had to guard the nature of Chane from discovery did not mean he had to sleep anymore in the monster’s presence. He felt the ship move and headed up on deck for a quick look.

  When he climbed the steep steps and looked out across the deck, a few sailors paused to look over. They gave him no further notice and went back to their duties, and he walked over to the starboard railing. Rearing up with forepaws on the rail, he looked out over the sea. They were not far enough north to have to deal with breaking through frozen water, but large flats and chunks of ice were visible.

  Now that he was alone again, Chap’s thoughts turned to their next destination: Dhredze Seatt.

  He had never been to this dwarven city before, and Chane had. Not only had Chane spent time in Dhredze Seatt, he apparently had connections to several religious figures living in a local temple. Even more unthinkable, he was . . . connected to one of the stonewalkers, a guardian of the honored dead.

  How any of this had come about was still baffling, but the end result was that Chane would be leading the way through the seatt, and Chap was going to have to trust him to deal with the stonewalkers in order to retrieve the orb of Earth. Trusting—and depending—on Chane in any capacity went against every instinct inside him.

  And yet, there was no choice.

  Dropping his paws from the rail, he heard a crack as the ship’s prow broke through an ice floe.

  • • •

  Wynn walked as straight and rigid as everyone else into dusk. Today, they had started walking in the late afternoon once the sun dipped low. She was still embarrassed by having fallen unconscious a few nights ago. Maybe the others watched her or not; either way, she wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  Leesil had joked that it was dumb luck that no one else had gone for a “sand dive” on the trek. Wynn didn’t laugh and only flushed.

  Without Shade or Chane, she had no one with whom to betray a hint of doubt or weakness. Why was that? It hadn’t always been so with Magiere and Leesil, but it was now. So she pretended her collapse never happened, wouldn’t speak of it, and pressed onward.

  And why hadn’t she awakened when—according to the others—she’d hit the ground face-first?

  That wasn’t right, and it was suspicious.

  Tonight, she brought up the rear and watched her companions ahead. She couldn’t help thinking that the five of them were a bizarre quintet.

  Brot’an nearly always led the two camels, and walking behind those was not pleasant. By nature, camels were often bad-tempered, though they obeyed the master anmaglâhk. Ghassan walked beside the animals in comfortably long but slow strides. From what Wynn knew, he had spent part of his life in the desert. Magiere and Leesil were six or seven paces ahead of Wynn and off to the other side. But they were always close together, which made Wynn even more uncomfortable.

  At times, she had reconsidered the sleeping arrangements.

  With only two tents, she shared one with Magiere and Leesil, while Ghassan and Brot’an took the other. This had simply . . . happened. By now Wynn couldn’t help worrying about Leesil and Magiere’s lack of privacy.

  Eight mornings past, as they began to set camp before another burning noon, she’d mentioned that they might prefer to sleep by themselves. This implied she would rest in the other tent.

  Magiere scowled. “You . . . in a tent with the domin and Brot’an? I don’t think so!”

  While Wynn appreciated her friend’s protective nature, she still couldn’t help feeling like an interloper. She never thought she would miss another night in that overcrowded sanctuary, but at least there she had slept on the floor with only Shade watching her.

  And she missed Chane.

  Now trudging after the others, Wynn wondered if they would find anything to support the reports Ghas
san had received from the new emperor. What if they found nothing, no matter how far they went? Had it been a mistake for Chap and Chane to go after the other three orbs? Were they risking something worse by bringing all five together . . . perhaps for nothing?

  When the choice had been made, she’d been certain; now her doubts continued to grow.

  Brot’an’s sudden halt caught her off guard. She wasn’t the only one to take more steps before stopping.

  “What is it?” Magiere asked, circling in.

  Ghassan had frozen as well, while Leesil glanced back and held out a hand to Wynn.

  “Come on,” he said.

  At another time, she might have been annoyed at his “older brother” attitude. Now she didn’t mind and quick-stepped forward to take his hand. Together they gathered with the others, but Brot’an still gazed ahead. Then he pointed.

  “There—ground level at the base of that hill.”

  Wynn squinted. Encroaching dusk often made anything at a distance difficult to see. As her eyes adjusted, she saw what appeared to be a set of legs, half covered, as if the individual they belonged to had burrowed into the sand.

  Leesil released Wynn’s hand and pulled at a cord around his neck, drawing an amulet from inside his shirt. It had once been Magiere’s, gifted to him.

  Wynn stared at the rough crystal that would glow in the close presence of an undead. It was still dull and lightless.

  “Magiere?” Leesil asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t sense anything.”

  “Neither do I,” Ghassan added.

  Wynn wasn’t certain exactly what he might sense. “So, we are alone?” she asked.

  No one responded, and she decided to take action, for they needed more light. She drew the cold-lamp crystal from her pocket, rubbed it between her palms, and a soft light grew within it.

  “Stay here,” Magiere ordered, pulling her falchion from its sheath.

  “No,” Wynn answered.

  Ghassan ignored them both and stepped onward, followed by Brot’an and the camels. Leesil loosened a tie on a winged blade strapped to his thigh but didn’t pull it out. Once again, Wynn brought up the rear as they approached.