I Walked with Shadows (Sightless Book 1)

by K. C. M.

  His head bent for a moment, but not fast enough before she caught the truth in his eyes.

  “You do know.”

  He didn’t reply, simply turned and led her away.

  The shadows were eerily silent. It worried him more than he let on. He was certain now that there were multiple werebeasts following him. Of even more concern was the precision and control in the destruction at Pharo. It wasn’t the work of wild beasts. It was the work of a master.

  Now he knew for a certainty who the Den had sent after him and Sirus was known for his cunning.

  It made him tense, but no matter how hard he strained, he couldn’t hear or see anything out of the ordinary.

  Until a scream pierced the air.

  He whirled, checking on Holly first, although that was foolish, as the scream had clearly come from far away. She had jumped and stared around with large eyes.

  The scream came again.

  “It’s coming from the village!” She burst out. “Someone’s alive!”

  “Wait—no!” And he went to grab her, but she was already on the move, turning and sprinting back the way they had come. He was going to go after her, but another scream split the air. He paused, listening to its echoes.

  The scream was a pitch above panic and filled with disproportionate terror.

  He drew one of his throwing knives and took off after Holly.

  When he broke free from the trees, he could see her running across the field, heading towards the smoking village.

  “Holly, stop!” He called, but if she heard she gave no indication.

  He ran faster. She was surprisingly quick now and he couldn’t help but ironically wonder why they weren’t traveling faster. He caught up with her at the edge of the village and grasped her elbow. He jerked her to a stop so quick that her head jerked forward.

  Wincing, she rounded on him, “Someone’s hurt!”

  “You don’t know that.” He pushed her behind a lone standing building and forced himself to stay calm, even though his heart was racing.

  “They were screaming.” She countered immediately. One had to admire her humanitarianism.

  “Not everything is what it seems here.” His voice was reasonably calm. He kept one hand on her shoulder, making sure she stayed against the wall of the building, while he peered around the edge.

  Another scream pierced the air, much closer. He felt her jolt. When she spoke again, her voice was strained, torn between confusion and her desire to help. “Then what is it?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  The shadows were still quiet which jarred him a moment. There should have been something…

  “We should leave.”

  Her eyes were intent, boring into him. “Someone’s in trouble. I know it.”

  “You don’t know it.” He sighed and released her. “But I thought you’d say that.” He freed a small dagger from his boot and pressed it into her hand. “Take this.” Her hand was sweaty as she took it. “Stay right behind me.”

  He kept a light hold on the shadows, just in case, as he stepped from behind the building. As he moved stealthily, he was increasingly aware of how Holly’s steps echoed. He forced himself to ignore it. He’d rather have her with him than leave her behind.

  “It was coming from over there.” Holly whispered and pointed.

  He spared her a look over his shoulder “Know it all,” She muttered.

  Turning back to the deserted side street, his lips stretched into the semblance of a smile. His left hand found his curved knife and he drew it. He stalked down the street with the intentness of a predator.

  The screams had fallen silent now.

  Mentally, he went through a list of possibilities. Several different beasts could mimic screams. Certain types of birds used mimicry as a defense to scare predators away. At least three intelligent predators used the screams as a lure. He preferred the birds, but planned on the predators.

  A loosely hanging door on his right burst open with such ferocity that it broke clean off the hinges.

  It was all over in just a few seconds.

  His arm shot out, knocking Holly off her feet, while his left hand sliced with the knife. It thumped into flesh and he used the force of that strike and the momentum of the animal’s jump to redirect the beast. Turning, he let his weight follow the knife down.

  The beast scrambled, its claws ripping at the ground and his body as he pinned it to the ground. He felt it rake his lower stomach.

  His right hand came up with the throwing dagger and he slid it quickly across the animal’s throat.

  There was a gurgle and then the life spilled free of it.

  Dead…it was dead.

  He eased up off it, wincing a little. There were cuts on his stomach, but he could tell they weren’t serious. Just flesh wounds, really.

  Holly was on the ground, not far from him. She stared at him with wide eyes.

  “Are you alright?” He asked, wiping and sheathing both blades.

  Her mouth opened and closed.

  He held out his hand. After a moment, she took it.

  When he started to turn away to leave, she caught his arm. He waited as she found her voice. “What was that?”

  “Nemean lion.”

  “Was it hurting someone?” She moved to peer into the building it had leapt from.

  He caught her and dragged her back. “Nemean lions mimic cries and screams of distress to lure their prey in.”

  “What?”

  He sighed and let her go, clasping his hands behind his back. How did humans survive in such ignorance? “Many animals and creatures are social. They instinctively feel empathy and a desire to help other members of their race who are in trouble. Several clever predators, including Nemean lions, have learned to mimic sounds of distress, thereby drawing in their prey.”

  She licked her lips, looking disturbed. “That’s awful.”

  He shrugged. “At least they don’t wage war on each other. That particular atrocity belongs entirely to the hominoid races.”

  Her eyebrows drew together as she thought about that. “That’s awful, too.” She agreed softly. “I’ve never understood why the races fight so much.”

  He held out his hand again and she took it. He led her away, replying, “Poverty, greed, lust for power, jealousy, and hatred; ever since the beginning of time, some group has been fighting. Even within the races there are wars. Humans fight other humans just like gnomes battle other gnomes and elves kill other elves.”

  “It just seems so pointless.”

  “Not to the people fighting. Every race is convinced that they are justified.”

  She paused just outside the forest and looked back. “Nothing justifies this.” She swept her hand towards Pharo.

  As Connor looked out over the town, he felt himself grow lost. Watching the smoke billow reminded him of other people and other places. “It’s always the innocent who suffer the most in war.” He finally replied. “You ought to know that. What have the people of Myre ever done to the other races? Yet, they’re constantly attacked. Farmers are attacked and murdered. They lose all their crops and their families starve. Merchants lose their businesses and they starve. Inn’s lose their business because no one wants to visit a war torn region. No one prospers in war.” Then, attempting to lighten the mood, he added as an afterthought. “Except perhaps the smithies.”

  She stared at him startled and he had to turn away to stop her from seeing his smile.

  8 It Takes Two to have a Conversation

  “What was the stuff the elves used that paralyzed me?” When Connor didn’t answer immediately, she pressed. “They said it was a trap of your own making.”

  “It’s called Templa en’Tessa.” Holly listened intently to his voice as he explained. The loss of inflection in his voice used to scare her, but now it made him seem steady, as if nothing would ever faze him. “During the war, an ancestor of mine created it. It’s a poison in powder form. When thrown or ingested, it causes paral
ysis.”

  “But it didn’t paralyze you.”

  “I was fed Templa en’Tessa repeatedly as a child until I built up a tolerance.”

  She stared at him horrorstruck. “As a child?”

  “Mmm,” He grunted as if it didn’t really matter.

  “That’s awful.”

  “Worse things have happened.”

  Holly studied him, noting again the sharp angles of his face. She could easily believe him, but she couldn’t even begin to imagine what other horrific things had happened to him.

  He switched topics. “We’ll stop here for the night. See that tree?” She followed his gaze to a thick trunked tree. Her frown was telling and she saw a flicker of a smile cross his face. “Practice strikes on it.”

  She moved slowly, delaying as long as possible. Connor claimed this new practice was a way to build up her strength, resistance, and calluses so she wasn’t so sensitive to blows. She was convinced it was torture.

  She faced the tree.

  “Hard. It doesn’t do any good to go easy.” Connor called to her.

  With her back to him, she could make a face. She shrugged her shoulders a few time, loosening them.

  “Widen your stance.”

  Frustrated, she whirled. “Connor! I haven’t even started yet!”

  He looked up from unpacking the bedroll. “Were you going to widen your legs?”

  Her chin ducked and she glared. “I might have.”

  “But you didn’t.” He went back to unpacking.

  “If you would have given me a chance, I would have.” She argued, annoyed that he had known she wouldn’t.

  He looked up at her, face emotionless. She noticed again how his eyes were such a brilliant green that they seemed to glow. “Stop stalling.”

  Still irritated, she turned back to the tree and took the stance he’d taught her. She made sure to keep her legs wide, firmly planted, and stayed low as she struck the tree. She alternated between striking with her hands, forearms, and punches. As her arms and knuckles started to sting, she gritted her teeth. If she kept it up long enough, he’d come stop her. Sometimes the only thing that kept her going through the fierce training was the relief when the end came.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, he let her keep going longer.

  Her breath was coming too fast and she evened it. Focusing on breathing helped lessen the pain.

  “Harder.”

  She imagined his face and grunted with the force of her next punch. Her knuckles slipped along the rough bark.

  “Ow, ow, ow,” She chanted, shaking her hand as if she could shake off the pain.

  Connor caught her hand, next to her almost instant. “That was better.” He complimented drily as he inspected her knuckles.

  “If you wanted to skin me, can’t you just use your knife?” She whimpered as he probed the raw knuckles.

  He ignored that, leading her back to the fire.

  She sat, holding her hand out to him as he pulled out the salve he always used after she’d finished. It tingled, but after the first night, she’d realized that it sped up the healing remarkably. It had also worked on her other cuts. The one on her shoulder was just the sliver of a scar and the one on her ribs was nearly healed.

  “Did one of your ancestors invent this too?”

  “Hardly. My people are far too violent. I got this off a hedge witch.”

  “What’s a hedge witch?” She asked, watching as he finished slathering a generous amount of the stuff on her hand. It smelled like the new growth of plants and she drew in a deep breath, loving the scent. There was something living about it.

  He settled back on his heels. “Hedge witches are connected to the earth. They’ve a wonderful green thumb for growing things and are quite talented at creating natural concoctions that produce effects on the world around them.”

  “So…like potions?”

  “Sometimes and other times it’s salves or powders or even spells.”

  “They’re basically normal witches.”

  “No. The powers are similar, but hedge witches are solitary humans, preferring the company of their gardens and animals, while other witches are much more sociable.”

  Holly blew out a frustrated breath. At Connor’s raised brow, she explained, “There’s so much I don’t know.”

  “When you don’t know, just ask me.”

  For a second, his emerald gaze caught her. Her stomach tightened. She thought she ought to ask a question, but for once she couldn’t think of one. Or perhaps it was that she couldn’t decide where to start. Then he rose, and the moment passed. She shook off the uncomfortable feelings.

  “We’ll just train a little with hand to hand tonight. You need your rest.”

  Her nose wrinkled at the reminder of her weaknesses. “You rest sometimes, too.” She grumbled.

  He reached out and tugged a curl before she could block him. “Faster, sleepyhead.”

  She tried to keep a frown on her face, but her lips twitched. She didn’t see his next movement, but somehow her arm came up, instinctively blocking him.

  “Better,” He complimented.

  Her mouth stretched in a real smile. “Can you tell me about the different races?”

  “Which races?”

  She caught another blow, but then took a blow to the ribs. She winced, but knew he hadn’t struck her even remotely close to how hard he could have. “I’m not…sure…I don’t think…I even know…all of them”

  “The races developed over a long time and in thousands of years, they’ll probably be completely different from what they are today. They’re constantly changing, new ones are born, old ones die out.”

  “How did…they…develop?” She panted.

  She had to admire that he could shrug while fighting. “Every race has their own stories and beliefs about that.”

  “Which one’s true?” She grunted at the force of one of his kicks.

  “I don’t know.”

  She stepped back and bent over, hands on her knees. “You don’t know…something?” She might have teased him more, but she was having a hard time catching her breath. How did he manage to move so fast and strike so hard and yet not even break a sweat? She could feel drops sliding down her back.

  “No one knows everything.” He pointed out.

  “I’m just…shocked.”

  “You’re stalling again.”

  She straightened and closed an eye at him. “I hate how you know me so well.”

  There was the slightest tilt to his mouth and he raised his brows. “You’re completely transparent.”

  “Eh,” She waved a hand through the air. “I’ve never been a good liar.”

  She stumbled back to avoid his strike, barely keeping her balance. He advanced with predatory grace. The force of his next blow knocked her from her feet. She winced and rubbed at her hip where she’d hit the ground.

  He held out his hand and she took it. “Was there anything else you wanted to know about the races?”

  She squinted at him. “Are all the races part of the war?”

  “The war isn’t really definable like that.” He leaned against a tree, his arms folded across his broad chest casually. “Ever since the concept of race started, people have been arguing and fighting. Everyone thinks that they are better or that they should have this plot of land or this gold mine.” He shrugged. “But the fighting grew to a much larger scale several thousand years ago. That was before the fairies left this world. The fairies claim they are guardians of the earth. They thought it was their duty to protect and preserve the world, but a small group of fairies revolted. They formed the Unseelie court. Those fairies thought they deserved to be more than guardians. They wanted to be rulers. It wasn’t hard to convince certain other races to join them. That was when the war really started to grow. It wasn’t just occasional skirmishes. It was all out battles. Entire races were destroyed or nearly destroyed.”

  “I was always taught that the fairies fled because of the w
ar. The only ones left are those that cause trouble, like brownies and pixies.”

  He gazed off into the distance. “There were some fairies left behind…but the most powerful ones are gone.”

  “I was also taught that fairies are selfish, evil creatures.”