Shadowscent

by P. M. Freestone

  I climb onto Lil’s back. “Let’s get on with it, eh?”

  Ash tightens the strap of his pack and starts down the hill.

  His steps are the lightest I’ve ever seen them.

  When Riker’s heart faced the eternal plight

  After the incident in the caves, I’ve increased my dose of Linod’s Elixir—chagrined that my need seems to be growing faster than ever, yet thankful the higher dose takes effect quickly. Panic no longer simmers beneath the surface of every moment. I’m back in control. Where I need to be.

  It’s as much relief to my body as confessing to Rakel has eased my mind. I never imagined I’d be able to tell anyone else without them turning on me. Aside from Nisai, I’ve never felt inclined to trust anyone as easily as the way the understanding between us has unfurled. Perhaps because I’ve never met anyone who looks at the world as Rakel does.

  We spend days crossing the fertile lands of Trel bound for Edurshai. The Basin comprises over a third of the Empire’s landmass, but for the most part remains a mystery. The Edurshain people don’t often travel outside their lands, and I can’t imagine many outsiders would have reason to risk entering the Basin’s ever-shifting landscape. It means that when Rakel peppers me with questions about the province at camp each night, I find myself woefully unequipped to answer.

  “So the Edurshain like old stories of heroes and maidens and whatnot. Is there anything else we know about them that could help? Do they have an Eraz?” she asks over our well-concealed fire. “And what do they eat?”

  “They’re herders; they have milk and meat.”

  She shakes her head. “A person needs more than that to survive. If the Basin is as vast as you say, don’t they grow crops?”

  “I’m not an expert on the agrarian habits of every corner of the Empire.”

  “You seemed to know a lot about Trel. And even some about Hagmir. Why choose not to learn about Edurshai?” She pins me with her gaze. “Because they don’t supply the capital with wine or kormak or precious-smelling dahkai, is that it?”

  She’s right, but she also seems on edge, each day’s urgency wearing on her as much as on me. We blessedly haven’t encountered any Rangers since the close call near Esarik’s, but that’s not the only force against us. With each passing night, time itself has become a pack of street dogs, snapping at our heels, just waiting for us to stumble down a blind alley while Nisai’s life ebbs away.

  “I guess I’d never thought about it before,” I admit.

  “Typical.” Rakel sniffs.

  I look to the stars. I can’t help but think her newfound geographical curiosity is her way of avoiding the conversation returning to more personal topics.

  I’m surprised when I realize that pains me.

  Eventually, we crest the last of the Trelian hills to look out over the vastness of the Edurshai Basin. Heather grows shoulder-high, each branch covered with hundreds of tiny spiked leaves. A breeze sends the whole vista rippling from here to the far horizon.

  The sight is double-edged. We’re getting closer to the next ingredient, but first we need to battle through a veritable sea of thorns.

  We decide to follow the myriad streams coursing between the heather-covered mounds, where lower-growing gorse and tiny blue wildflowers line the banks, making for easier going. Still, I soon end up with red lines crisscrossing my arms above my gauntlets, swallowing a curse when a thorn scratches my cheek deep enough to draw blood.

  It’s a strange feeling, walking on land that shrinks beneath our steps, cringing away from our feet only to spring back when we’ve left. Every so often, one of us sinks up to the ankle or knee, a sharp reminder we’re far from solid ground. Beating back just enough brush to make camp each dusk and not being able to see more than a few arm spans in each direction unnerves me.

  In contrast, Rakel seems calm. I suppose it’s not all that different from the desert—open sky above but limited vantage points on the ground.

  To me, it feels like we’re ambush bait, and as the days pass, I begin to withdraw into myself, all energy spent on avoiding sinkholes, on trying to detect the presence of others—whether we’re being followed by Rangers, or if we’re on the trail of what we’ve come here for: the help of the Edurshain.

  A distant noise, like vegetation snapping underfoot, snares my attention. Rakel’s sensed something, too. She halts her horse so abruptly the mare tosses her head.

  “What is it?” I ask, hands edging toward my swords.

  From the saddle, she points out over the plain. “What are they?”

  I’m forced to stand on my toes to follow her gesture.

  Ahead, a swathe of heather parts before a herd of animals. They’re four-legged, just like a camel or a donkey, and they’re grazing, but that’s where the similarities to any other beast in Aramtesh ends. Twice the size of Rakel’s horse, their legs are long and graceful, short-haired coats pale and gleaming like liquid silver in the late afternoon light. Horns twist up from between the ears of the largest creatures.

  Rakel drops her arm back to her side. “Are those … tulda? How big do they get?”

  “Big.” I’ve never seen a live tulda before, but I’ve seen plenty of their spiral-horned heads on the walls of Ekasya’s most ornate mansions. Trophies from the sport of noblemen. Though just like the lion hunt back in Aphorai, I see nothing noble about delivering any of the creatures before us the same fate.

  “They’re beautiful,” Rakel breathes.

  I burst into laughter.

  She balls her fists at her hips. “What’s so funny?”

  “You should see your expression. A few days in the Basin and you’re already as swoony as an Edurshain.”

  “I’m not,” she huffs.

  We draw nearer to find a girl of about twelve or thirteen turns wandering among the tulda, completely unconcerned at the prospect of being crushed beneath a giant hoof. She looks like she’s made of moonslight, with pale skin, blond hair, and a white dress that flows to her ankles, the full sleeves billowing past her wrists. It hardly seems a practical ensemble for working livestock.

  In one hand, the girl holds a herder’s stave tipped with streamers of blue cloth. The other stretches up on occasion to pat a silver-pelted flank—the only substantial part she’s tall enough to reach. Occasionally, one of the animals will bend down to press its nose to her shoulder in a way that resembles Rakel and her horse.

  When she catches sight of us, the girl smiles and waves.

  “Is it just me,” I murmur, “or is she grinning at us like we’re dear friends returning after a long journey?”

  Rakel gives a one-shouldered shrug. “One of those things is almost true. Guess we’re about to find out if we can make good on the second one.”

  “Greetings!” The girl beams at us. “I wonder if you could help me?”

  “Someone doesn’t waste any time,” I mutter.

  She rests the pole against her shoulder. “Please, this is my first venture with the herd by myself.” Her sigh verges on the melodramatic. “Alas, they won’t listen to my songs.”

  “Won’t listen to your songs?” Rakel asks.

  “I thought they would. Truly! I’d practiced around camp for moons. Mother was doubtful, but I insisted. Now the two youngest calves have gone missing. If dark comes and I’m not home …” The girl appears forlorn. “I’ll not be trusted to lead them again. I’ll be stuck at camp cooking for the rest of my turns. Or cleaning.” She shudders at the last.

  I spread my hands. “I’m sorry, but—”

  “Of course we’d be happy to help you,” Rakel finishes.

  I shoot her a frown.

  She beckons me over. “Esarik said we’d find the fifth ingredient with the Edurshain. You’re no expert on this place, but even you know they keep to themselves, right?”

  I incline my head.

  “Then here’s a chance to meet them on friendly terms.”

  “The Basin stretches over more land than any other province. We could b
e searching for this girl’s tulda for days. And if we start and then don’t complete the mission, what will we do then? Better to simply get directions to her camp and send one of her own people to help.”

  Rakel glances at the girl, who has retreated far enough along the trail for the rustling of the heather to cover our whispers, and politely turned her back. “Mission? We’re helping a girl humble enough to ask for our aid.”

  I study her, my thoughts momentarily turning inward. “I think you and Nisai would get along well.”

  She seems taken aback. “Would we?”

  “Indeed. I look forward to the day you meet.”

  “Did I just hear you”—she leans down from her horse, eyes squinting as if she’s having trouble seeing—“being positive?”

  “Does it suit me?” I turn to the side, one hand on hip, nose to the sky.

  She snorts. “Too early to tell. Maybe I’ll have a better idea by the time we find this girl’s strays.” She clucks her tongue and Lil walks forward. “I’m Rakel. This is Ash. We’ll help you.”

  The girl beams at us. “I’m Mish. The calves were over here last time I saw them.” She disappears into the heather, the blue streamers on her herder’s pole flapping above.

  Rakel’s horse proves an asset in the search. She moves easily through the scrub, seemingly unbothered by the prickles, her hooves and broad chest cutting a new trail that gives Rakel a vantage neither Mish nor I can command.

  “There!” Rakel calls. “A stream’s up ahead. They, ah, seem to be playing in it?”

  Mish giggles. “That will be them.”

  She leads the way, and we soon pick up the trail of flattened gorse left by the calves. Then she begins to sing. It’s a wordless tune in a minor key, her voice high and pure. Soon, there’s an answering call, somewhere between an aurochs’s lowing and a goat’s bleat. Two tulda calves, all legs and knock-knees, come cantering down the path toward us.

  Rakel smiles at the trio, clearly satisfied. “I think you were wrong, Mish.”

  “Oh?”

  “They do listen to you.”

  “That’s kind of you to say, but …” She catches herself and straightens, holding her herder’s pole upright as if she’s a soldier on the parade ground. “You must accept my family’s hospitality tonight.”

  Of the few travelers that do return from Edurshai, all speak of their festivities as if they were from the heroic sagas. They could last for days. “We couldn’t impose—”

  “We would be insulted if you didn’t.” She regards us with wide-eyed innocence, but there’s a mischievous lilt in her voice.

  Rakel laughs.

  I resign myself not to argue the matter any further. I know when I’m outmatched.

  We follow Mish into the fading light of dusk. Occasionally, she pauses, using her pole to test the ground ahead, leading us around what are presumably sink holes. She seems unbothered by the hazards of the landscape, chatting animatedly, asking questions of us. Though she nods sagely and subtly changes topic whenever the answers Rakel or I give seem strained. She’d be a natural at the imperial court.

  The camp comes into sight just before sunset. We emerge into a clearing where a lower-growing type of heather is dotted with fat red berries and a stream meanders in an almost full loop. A herd of tulda, double the size of Mish’s calves, line up to drink, some of them frolicking in the shallows, spraying water across silvered coats.

  Not far from the banks, a score of round tents dots the clearing, their sloped roofs high enough for the likes of Iddo to stand upright inside. The exterior of the dwellings are decorated in green, as if they were merely another mound in the shifting landscape.

  Mish invites Rakel to leave her horse grazing among the tulda, assuring her the land there is safe. Lil seems happy enough alongside the calves, so our guide leads us through the camp.

  The evening bustles with activity. Women and men—clad in the same billowy-sleeved fashion that could have sprung from a historical epic—smile and wave at our approach. We pass pots being scrubbed, spices being ground, and a haunch, large enough that it could only be tulda, slow-roasting over a bed of coals.

  My stomach rumbles audibly. Our guide claps her hand over her mouth with a giggle and ushers us toward the largest of the tents.

  Rakel whistles through her teeth as we step inside. The interior is decorated in tapestries as intricate as those from the Ekasya palace. Scenes of strength and beauty, violence and romance play out across the walls, and above us, the domed ceiling depicts the constellations of the starwheel.

  Such artistry is the last thing I was expecting in the depths of the Edurshain Basin. Rakel was right about my ignorance.

  Mish points at a pair of floor cushions as other members of the camp begin to file in. Everyone sits in the round, so I’m challenged to identify any leaders.

  “Elelsmish, won’t you introduce your guests?” asks one of the women. Her accent is lilting and her tone strangely formal, like the troupes of theater players who visit the Ekasyan palace. The creases about her eyes suggests she’s old enough to be Mish’s mother, but the spray of freckles across her nose gives her a youthful visage.

  The girl cringes at the use of her full name. I’ve done that more than once or twice.

  “This is Rakel. And this is Ash.” She lifts her chin. “They’re on an important mission.”

  The woman nods. “I warmly anticipate discussing this matter of great import.” Merriment shines in her eyes. “Once hunger has been vanquished.”

  The last members of the camp enter the tent, bearing platters. There’s roasted meat, cheeses shaped like the Edurshain’s domed tents, and a stew made from unfamiliar greens I discover are a fresh and herby accompaniment to the richness.

  Rakel chews enthusiastically. “Best meal I’ve had in a moon,” she mumbles between mouthfuls.

  “Are you criticizing my cooking? Think you could come up with culinary masterpieces over a campfire in the middle of nowhere?”

  She elbows me and grins, then pops another chunk of cheese into her mouth.

  After dinner, the woman who questioned Mish rises from the circle. “I’m Ziltish, Elelsmish’s guardian. Would you perhaps desire to see more of our home?”

  Rakel and I both nod, and our host beckons to the tent’s exit.

  Outside, the twang of stringed instruments being tuned competes with a growing chorus of insects. The Edurshain woman smiles. “We will have songs this evening. Once the crickets seek their slumber. Perchance you will join us?”

  I find myself warming to these people. “Very well.”

  Rakel pales, her smile wan.

  “Not musically inclined?” I murmur.

  “Let’s just say I’d rather bathe in the rotten-egg reek of a Losian sulfur pool than sing in public.”

  “Noted.”

  The evening air is cool as we follow Ziltish between the stream and the camp.

  When we reach the last tent, our guide turns to face us. “Your mission,” she begins without preamble. “It wouldn’t concern the ill fate that has befallen the First Prince, would it?”

  My footsteps slow. I wonder if the Edurshain in the meal tent are the only ones here. If the situation deteriorates, I might have a chance. After all, I didn’t see any weapons on any of them. Though hidden arms wouldn’t be the first thing about this camp to surprise me.

  “Please do not be perturbed. News reaches us from time to time, especially when it is of such magnitude. One has to admit the reward is a handsome sum.”

  Rakel bristles. “Reward?”

  “For your capture and surrender into the custody of the Imperial Rangers.”

  I draw a breath.

  “Worry not,” Ziltish continues, “we’ve agreed your aid to our daughter warranted our respect.”

  My shoulders slump in relief.

  “We?” Rakel asks.

  She gestures around the camp. It seems most of the Edurshain have now gathered around the fire and the musicians.

/>   Rakel frowns. “You didn’t even discuss it.”

  “When you are close to others, it only takes a glimpse to know their mind.” Ziltish pulls the tent’s entrance flap aside. “Please, after you.”

  The interior is as close and warm as the Ekasya library after a summer heat wave. Between braziers of banked coals, waist-high baskets of dried and woven grass line the walls.

  Ziltish opens one of the baskets and lowers her arm in past the elbow. “If your Prince was bitten in Aphorai, you’ve come to the right place.” She straightens, a slender python now coiled around her wrist.

  Rakel takes a hasty step back, hands up in surrender.

  “Do not fear.” Our host chuckles. “Old Kab was defanged turns ago. She helps train the new diviners.”

  “Diviners?”

  “Members of the herd who inherited Dallor’s divine blessing. When a tulda can survive a snake’s venom, then their blood can help save the bitten.”

  Rakel lowers her hands. “No offense, and not that I’m a templegoer, but I’ve never heard of a god called Dallor.”

  “That’s because there isn’t one,” I say, striving to keep my voice level. Have we wandered into a camp of heretics?

  The snake flicks its tongue against Ziltish’s shoulder. “Dallor wasn’t always divine. Before the edge of memory, the god Riker wandered in all his beautiful youth. He came to the Basin and heard a young woman singing beside a stream. He knew such a voice could only come from the purest heart. Disguising himself as a trader, he began to court her, court Dallor.”

  Rakel rolls her eyes.

  I scowl at her.

  Ziltish seems oblivious as she paces the room, her gaze softly focused. “But Dallor was already in love with an Edurshain woman, Trishaw. Riker promised she would regret rejecting his advances, and when she had learned her lesson, she would sing for his return. Turns later, Trishaw was bitten by a river snake. Desperate to save her love, Dallor sang for the god.

  “He appeared in his mortal guise as a young man, swaggering because he had won the object of his obsession. But rather than fall into his arms, Dallor begged Riker to save Trishaw. Certain Dallor would refuse, Riker offered to turn her into a tulda, whose blood was able to resist venom, and could save Trishaw. Dallor agreed, willing to do anything for her love, even sacrificing her human life.”