Shadowscent

by P. M. Freestone

  A servant shows us to our rooms, positioned on opposite sides of the main hall in the guest wing. Rakel opens the door to her chamber. The candlelit room beckons, a large copper bath positioned in the center. Steam rises from the tub. “I took the liberty of asking Esarik to have it prepared, I hope you don’t mind. I just knew how much you wanted one and—”

  “Mind? It’s glorious,” Rakel breathes.

  Warmth spreads through my chest at the sight of her genuine pleasure. It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, but it’s strange to me nonetheless. “Good night, Rakel,” I tell her, not sure what else to say.

  She flashes a grateful smile. “Good night, Ash.”

  Dawn is yet to break when I awake to a knock at the door. Esarik slips into the room without waiting for a reply. I sit up, drawing my hand from beneath the pillow without the dagger I’d stowed there.

  “Ash?” he whispers urgently. “Ash, get up. One of the cooks has just returned from the morning markets. She said there were several strangers in the village questioning folk.”

  “Tro’s stones,” I curse, swinging my legs out of bed and grabbing my trousers. “They must have tracked us from Koltos. I knew it was a foolish idea to linger there.”

  “This dangerous game has claimed us all.” Esarik laments. He hands me a heavy purse and a folded parchment packet. “I’ve done what I can with the rest of the formula. You’ll see I’ve marked the site of a cave system a couple of days’ travel from here. Centuries ago, the locals referred to it as Azered’s Grave. If I were seeking Azered’s bones, that would be my wager.”

  He plunges on. “‘Riker’s heart’ almost certainly refers to the traditions of the Edurshain people, who still revere the sagas and romances of the Great Bloom. But I haven’t gleaned any specifics, and I don’t comprehend a great deal about their venom work. You’ll have to do your own research once you get there. I expect finding a camp will be your biggest challenge—the Edurshai Basin is constantly shifting.”

  “Shifting?”

  “The rainy season in the Hagmiri Mountains floods Edurshai each turn. The land—lands to be technically correct—are predominantly peat islands. They float when the waters are high and settle in a different arrangement when the floods recede. So don’t trust your map.”

  “Understood. And the other line? In the different script?” I ask.

  Esarik grimaces. “Whatever it says, everything else indicates it’s not part of the original formula. It’s an afterthought. And the smudging suggests haste or little respect for the document. Possibly even defacement.”

  “It’s graffiti?”

  “Scribes are only human, they get bored, too. I’ve seen similar in other pre-Empire texts, few and far between as they are. I’m sorry, Ash, I wish I could do more. You can’t imagine how much I wish for that. But please, for the love of the Prince, you must go. Now.”

  I gather my things and find Rakel, dressed but a little wild-eyed, in the hallway.

  Esarik leads us to the servant’s entrance. “I’ll return to the capital as soon as I can, but knowing my father’s predilections, this wedding extravagance will drag for a moon or more. If I arrive in good time before you, I’ll make some inquiries into sourcing some amber. Discreet inquiries, naturally.”

  I clasp his arm. “Until then, stars keep you, my friend.”

  “And you.”

  The heavy oak door shuts behind us, leaving a pang of hollowness in its wake. I push it aside—going our separate ways to Esarik is the right thing—far more useful than having a friendly face around.

  Rakel and I set out across the manicured gardens and climb the first stone wall between the manse and the fields. Beneath clear skies, the finches and blackbirds continue their song as we pass; anyone could be forgiven for thinking nothing is amiss. It’s only when we’re about to emerge from the last of the Mur family vineyards that I spot them. Three farmhands rounding a corner farther down the lane. Only farmhands don’t wear swords.

  “Down,” I hiss. “Lil, too.”

  Rakel gives her horse a quiet command, and the beast folds her legs and sinks to the ground. I crouch next to them, sending a silent prayer to Esiku that we blend into the shade of the vines.

  “Are they … ?” Rakel whispers.

  I nod. I don’t recognize any of them, but I’d recognize their ilk at twice the distance.

  The three Rangers draw nearer, only their legs and boots visible beneath the leaves and bunches of grapes. But I can imagine the way their gaze will be roaming the vines, their ears alert for the barest out-of-place sound. I focus on controlling my breath, on keeping my heartbeat steady and even.

  Rakel rests one hand on her horse’s cheek, but the other is white-knuckled around the hilt of her knife. I’m reminded of when the three of us last huddled like this during the sandstorm, when she was the calm presence I needed, the one that kept me from trying to flee headlong into the arms of danger. I reach over and gently pry the blade from her fingers, covering her hand with my own, willing her not to spook.

  The Rangers draw level with us, their hushed voices just out of earshot.

  And then they’re disappearing over the next rise.

  Still, we wait there, in the vines, not daring to move for some time.

  Finally, Rakel slips her hand from mine. “Are they gone?”

  I nod.

  For now, I want to add. But I keep my thoughts to myself.

  On the second night after leaving the Mur Estate, we sit examining Esarik’s notes alongside the ancient scroll. The evening air is mild, and with cheese and cold cuts from the Mur kitchens, supplemented with bunches of fat red grapes I’d cut from vines overhanging the road, there’s no need for a fire.

  I gesture to the map. “If the caves are beneath this ridge, we should reach their western entrance tomorrow, all being well.”

  Sure enough, during a golden Trelian sunrise, we cross the Ekasya river at a natural ford. Despite never having seen anything more than an oasis pool, Rakel’s horse stoically bears us both across the rushing water, the current churning well above her knees.

  As we near the map marker for the caves, the land turns rocky, the vineyards to olive orchards. Rakel dismounts, letting her horse crop at the grass tufting between the stones. We spread out to search for an entrance to the underground caverns.

  “Here,” Rakel soon calls.

  I find her at the mouth of the cave, the entrance hidden behind a rocky outcrop.

  She points to the ground. “The previous resident wasn’t exactly a housekeeping champion.” A trail of bones leads to the cave, bleached white in the sun so they blend into the chalky dust. They’re far too large to be anything other than aurochs—the huge bovines used to plow the Trelian fields since the edge of memory.

  “Could wolves have done this?” Rakel asks.

  “Unlikely. A bear, possibly.” I peer into the cave entrance. “It’s blacker than shadow in there.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.”

  “I’m just being cautious,” I snap. “I doubt bone-crunching carnivores appreciate visitors.”

  “Whatever it was, it’s long gone. I’d smell it if it were still here. This place is nothing like that. It’s almost”—she sniffs the air—“clean. Minerals, moisture—that’s about it.”

  She clinks around in her satchel before withdrawing a small jar. “Good thing Esarik’s servants were generous with my supply requests.”

  I choose a torch-length bone from the pile and hold it out to Rakel.

  “Oooh, city boy’s learned a thing or two.” She smirks, dripping contents from the jar onto one end of the bone. She sparks it, then blows gently to coax the flame to life.

  I realize I’m staring at her lips and avert my gaze.

  “When we get in there,” I say, clearing my throat, “give me a moment for my eyes to adjust. I don’t have your nose, and I’d rather be sure nothing sneaks up on us. Wouldn’t want a repeat of the mountains, would we?”

/>   Honestly, the blackness does unnerve me. The palace and the city of Ekasya below are never truly dark. There are torches along the main boulevard, lanterns lining the riverbanks.

  Rakel shrugs. “The sooner we get in there the sooner we can adjust and see if we’ve come to the right place.” She disappears into the cave.

  Tro’s stones. How does this girl keep managing to get me to follow her?

  It’s as if we’re entering the jaws of a giant limestone beast. Fang-like rocks jut up from the floor. Their twins arrow down from the ceiling, drops of water hanging for impossibly long moments before plunging to the spike below. The last light coming from the entrance casts it all in shades of milky gray.

  The entire cavern is silent, except for the occasional drip of water.

  My eyes adjust just fine. But while I can see perfectly well, my palms have begun to sweat.

  “Over there,” Rakel says, torchlight flickering over her face. She points deeper into the cave. Incongruously, it seems less dark, even though it’s farther from the surface. “That’s got to be the way. Come on.”

  There’s definitely some kind of light beyond this cavern. Perhaps a shaft leading to the surface. Rakel’s probably right.

  The walls of the cave narrow as we press on. Soon, it’s not much more than a tunnel. The next thing, we’re walking in single file. Then we’re turning sideways to squeeze through the gap.

  The close confines, the stone scraping against my skin, triggers a memory.

  I’m small, younger than when I met Nisai. A trapdoor is closing at the top of a ladder, plunging me into darkness. I don’t know when it will open again. It’s damp down here. It’s near the river and the water finds ways to seep through the rock. Something flutters against my cheek and I cringe away.

  Voices argue above me. A man’s shouted curses. A thud. A woman’s shriek. My mother’s.

  Then silence.

  Is she hurt? I want to call to her, but she told me not to.

  Can you do something for me, my little hero?

  I press my hands to the stone of the cave, my heart beating faster.

  Can you be quiet? Quiet as a dockmouse? No matter what you hear?

  It’s so dark in here. As dark as the cellar—

  But it’s not dark. Not utterly, completely.

  Light beckons.

  I was following the light.

  And Rakel’s ahead, carrying it. We’re here together. I’m not alone.

  I take another step, the movement pressing my swords between the limestone wall and my chestpiece. They bring me back to the here and now. Steel and leather—protection. For me. For those I’m sworn to.

  I push the memories away, into their own dark hole in the rock, and slam the trapdoor in my mind shut.

  “Ash!” Rakel’s voice echoes back to me.

  One foot at a time, I edge forward.

  It probably isn’t much farther, but it feels like a mile before the cavern yawns wide again. Any lingering unease is stripped away at what lies before me. I balk, blinking in amazement.

  I’ve never seen anything like it.

  The floor of the cave gives way to a pool of water, its surface so unblemished it could put a polished gem to shame. But what’s truly wondrous is the sapphire glow that emanates from beneath.

  Rakel picks her way around the edge of the pool, her face lit, as if she’s standing over blue fire. The color reminds me of the fireflies that dance at dusk through the Ekasyan summer. Except the light behaves like no fire I’ve ever seen. It’s a steady illumination, like moonslight, not the flicker of flames.

  Once my eyes adjust, I realize the light is coming from the plants growing on the bottom of the pool. They’re shaped like small, leafless trees, with stubby growths instead of branches.

  “What are they?” In the silence, my voice sounds uncannily loud.

  “Bones, hopefully,” Rakel says. “Living bone. They say it grows along some of the coasts in the color of rainbows, but I’ve only ever seen it sold in white powder. It’s meant to help heal breaks and fractures.” She pauses on the other side of the pool and produces a vial from her satchel. “This isn’t the stuff you get in the markets. I’d bet on Esarik’s theory. A place doesn’t get called Azered’s Grave for nothing.”

  “I’d wager you’re right.” And I would. I’d not have managed even half the things Rakel has figured out.

  Kneeling at the water’s edge, she reaches for the nearest plant. “Here goes nothing.”

  Through the ripples, she grasps the end of one of the branches.

  “It’s stronger than it looks.” She frowns and shifts her weight, getting a better grip. “Easily as strong as bone. Maybe it’s rock? Ow!” With a yelp, she draws back, shaking her hand as if something still clings to it. The vial splashes into the water and sinks into the bed of glowing bone plants.

  “Rancid-reeking-Rot, that stings.”

  I’m about to move closer when something behind her catches my eye. The ripples caused by the dropped vial are doing something to the light.

  It’s changing.

  “Ah, Rakel?”

  She ignores me, too intent on examining her stung hand.

  It’s becoming more and more obvious. The light isn’t changing; it’s shimmering and pulsing.

  Dancing, even.

  And, one by one, the plants—whatever they’re called—are going dark.

  An inky cloud moves toward me as they shrivel and blacken, the die-off spreading like blood in water, like the tincture I take nightly and am running so low on, too ashamed to ask Esarik without the cover of Nisai’s “migraines.”

  Rakel curses. “You’re going to have to bottle it!” She’s rummaging in her satchel again. “Don’t disturb the water, and for your Prince’s sake don’t let any air in.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “ The breath of blight. It’s air! I let air in when I disturbed the water. And now it’s dying. You’ll need to get it from your side. I’ll throw a vial. Catch!”

  Instinct kicks in. I hear and feel the vessel hurtling toward me as much as I see it, and my muscles react. With a thwack, I’ve snatched the vial out of the air. Though it probably would have hit me in the chest if I’d done nothing. She’s a good shot.

  I struggle to uncork the stopper. Decay seeps nearer, relentless, unstoppable. It’s like a game of shnik-shnik—the stone pieces falling into one another until none are left standing.

  Then the vial is open and I’m dipping it slowly, slowly, ever so carefully below the surface.

  “Make sure you submerge it at an angle!” Rakel calls across the water. “The bubbles will do you in otherwise!”

  The advice comes just in time. One bubble surfaces and the tiny eddy stains the nearest glowing plant black. I tilt the vial so water rushes into the mouth, filling it to the brim before I lower it beneath the surface.

  “It’s submerged,” I tell her. “Now what?”

  “Guide the vial over a branch. Careful, now, you don’t want to get stung more than you need to.

  “Branch in the vial. No touching. Got it.”

  I try to position the vial over the next nearest branch. But the water is rippling now, glowing reflections wavering around the cavern walls. It’s hard to pinpoint what’s real beneath the surface and what’s a trick of the light.

  My hands threaten to shake, but I force myself to picture this as a battle, as facing down an armed opponent. One false move and their sword will open me from mouth to midsection.

  It works.

  The lip of the vial clears the delicate glowing branch.

  “Great,” Rakel calls. “You’re doing great. Now, break off the stalk.”

  I move my other hand slowly, steadily, holding my breath.

  The cascade of die-off still spreads, but I’ve got time. There’s still time.

  I pinch the stalk between my thumb and forefinger. It smarts and smushes against my skin and doesn’t disconnect. Next thing, it’s dying in my hand.
Then the plant beneath it dies, and I’m left with one stung hand, the other holding a vial of blackened sludge.

  I curse.

  “No good?”

  “It was fine until I tried to pick it.”

  “Wait there” comes her only answer. I hear more rummaging in her satchel before she speaks again. “I’m going to throw you some pincers. Use them to sever the stem—clean, in one pinch. But be careful of the tips. They’re sharpened like razors.”

  “If I can manage to not cut myself on my swords, I think I’ll be able to handle them.”

  “Ha-ha. Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  This time, with both hands submerged in water that I’m at pains not to disturb, I can’t lunge for the object hurtling toward me. The air moves over my shoulder and the plink of metal against rock sounds one, two, three times behind me. The tools have come to rest somewhere off to my left.

  The plant beneath the jar is already black and decaying, the once-ethereal branch now sludge against the bedrock. I figure I’m not going to cause any further damage, so I lower the vial and let it rest on the bottom of the pool. Moving a finger with each heartbeat, I time the retraction of my hands from the water. Only the one plant seems to have died in the near vicinity, though the death from the other side of the pool is rolling ever closer.

  I crawl along the rock ledge. My scrabbling fingers find sharp metal, and I withdraw them with a hiss, sticking my finger in my mouth and tasting copper.

  “Ash? What’s taking so long?”

  “Lay off, would you?”

  I reach out over the water again. Darkness rushes toward me, dread clawing up from the pit of my stomach in its wake.

  I clench my jaw. Careful, so painfully careful, I submerge my hands again. One picks up the vial, the other poises Rakel’s dagger-sharp pincers between thumb and forefinger.

  The cloud of die-off has reached me now. The final plants are about to wink out, Nisai’s only hope with them. I draw a breath, holding it in to hold myself together.

  Somehow, I get one of the last blue branches into the vial. The pincers sever the stalk. I bring both to the surface, free the stopper from my teeth. The vessel is safely sealed.