“We gather here today in celebration of the nine hundred, ninety-ninth anniversary of Nameless’ glorious reign. May he live forever,” the Voice said.
“May he live forever,” the crowd intoned back.
“As it was then, so it is today,” the Voice continued. “In return for his protection and shelter from the Shadows of the world, all Nameless asks is that you support his disciples and obey their guidance without reservation. May he live—“
“Oh no.” Rickon fished into his pocket as the crowd intoned again and pulled out a pair of silver coins. He climbed down from the wagon.
“What are you doing?” Aeryn asked. He had a little coin? Saving up two silver as a stable hand would have taken a year. Unlike her and Will, Rickon had not stolen as much as a loaf of bread in his entire life.
He looked back and frowned, clearly misreading Aeryn’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ll ask for the Voices to have the Shades protect you as well.” With that, he was off, wiggling and pushing his way through the crowd towards the dais. All so he could give up months of hard work in return for what? Protection? If anyone protected street urchins, Aeryn had yet to hear of it. She had seen too many cold, stiff bodies, many of whom had given their last copper in tithe rather than buying a pittance of week-old food that would have kept them going for another few days.
As the Voice droned on in a steady monotone, Aeryn remembered why she never came to these things; listening to someone you could not see, a disciple of Nameless or not, was bloody boring.
She drifted off to more pleasant thoughts, one of treading lightly in darkened alleys with Jynx prowling at her side. She smiled as she saw the draven. Here, in her mind, Jynx was alive, unscathed, and filled out to his full, muscular potential. She would give anything—not that she had anything to give—but she would give it all anyway, to see the image come to pass.
Rickon’s noisy return sometime later broke the spell. Aeryn squeezed her eyes shut and faded back to her thoughts, willing them to be real. She was not foolish enough to believe that it did anything, but sometimes it was nice to pretend.
“In light of the massed attack by Shadows last night—“
Aeryn’s eyes popped open in the middle of a mental game of cat and mouse through the streets of Maerilin with Jynx. The world was dim, almost as though a giant roof had been placed across the sky, heralding a premature night. She looked to the dais. She did a double take, squinting to see better.
Surrounded by a half circle of blurry-gray soldiers stood a sharply distinct trio of simple-robed, hard-eyed men. When had those men come in? She had not fallen asleep, that much she knew. She had just been a mouse, hiding from Jynx, the cat, as he prowled the streets trying to find her.
Her jaw dropped. Forget the strangely obscured soldiers and trio of newcomers. Who was the misty figure that stood at their fore, right up at the front edge of the dais? Wrinkled, with white-hair and skin to match, he spoke offhandedly through lips twisted as though he was coaxing a drove of pigs to the butcher’s knife. Aeryn looked around, but no one seemed to notice. Rather, the entire crowd stared at the man in rapture, Rickon included.
“—which was defeated only feet from breeching Protector’s Gate, through the heroic efforts of a score of Shades. As it is, the fire started by the Shadows tragically took the lives of a Lord, his Lady, their entire retinue of servants, and their estate. Nameless asks that everyone double their tithes in this time of hardship. Maerilin’s safety—its very survival—rests in your hands.”
“What a load of bloody fish-guts,” Aeryn said. There was no doubt the older man was referring to the fire that started from the soldier’s dropped lantern. Though they had been called for, she had not seen a single Shade last night. Nor had the fire spread fast to trap the nobles and their household in the growing flames. “Do you want to know what actually happened Rickon? Well I’ll tell you.”
“Show some respect,” Rickon quipped over his shoulder. “A Voice is talking.”
“What are you talking about?” Aeryn wondered if they were looking at the same person. “It’s just some guy making up fanciful tales.” Just like Will was no doubt doing right now, Aeryn thought. Only, Will’s audience likely only included Brin and Bran, who were both just as likely rolling their eyes at every second word.
Rickon whirled, finger pressed to his lips. He froze halfway through shushing her. His mouth dropped open. “Aeryn! You’re— You’re a—”
“What are you stuttering about?” She turned toward the pudgy boy that would no doubt starve himself to death, tithing all his coin if asked to do so. He looked indistinctly gray too, just like everyone else in the crowd. She had been so preoccupied with the newcomers she could hardly believe she had missed it.
She rubbed her eyes and tilted her head back. There were no clouds in the sky. No fantastically large roof obscuring the black sun, no fog, or canopies or—
Wait. The black sun? Aeryn’s hands grew clammy. It had to be some kind of dream. She had fallen asleep while thinking about Jynx. That was it. What other explanation was there?
“Shadow!”
Only, that shout sounded all too real. Aeryn snapped her eyes to the accusing finger. Rickon stood still as a post, mouth agape.
“Shadow!” This time the cry was further back in the roiling crowd.
What the bloody hell is going on? The only answer that came was one born of instinct. Run. She had to put as much distance between herself and the square as quickly as possible. Then, and only then, could she slow and try to sort things out.
Aeryn jumped off the wagon. Shouts turned to screams. Farmers, merchants, serving women, shopkeepers and a few thousand others that had moments ago been calm and docile flashed into a stampeding herd of frenzied boar. She turned and sprinted, threading her way through the seething confusion that rapidly gained momentum, spilling over into the streets.
A few blocks later, she angled sharply away from the Slum’s Gate coming into view ahead. A darkened alley rose up to greet her. Aeryn dashed in, panting. She stopped halfway down, put her hands on her knees and gathered her breath, focusing on the present. Her mind worked in overdrive, frantically trying to figure out what had happened.
She shook her head. She was at a complete loss. She had been daydreaming, not harming or threatening anyone. The next thing she knew, fingers were pointing at her, accusing her of being a Shadow.
Bloody fish guts! She needed help to figure it out. But from whom?
The answer hit her as she recalled the fanciful tales the “Voice” on the dais had been telling. Will. The only thing Will loved more than boasting about himself was relaying whatever tidbits of gossip and rumors he had picked up. Typically for his own gain. He prided himself on being the first to know everything. It was, after all, how he had managed to blackmail Jins into leaving him alone. She was not sure if his information extended to her present circumstances. Even if he knew anything, she would need to boil down his grandiose fabrications to get at the kernel of truth. Aeryn saw no other option.
Stepping out into the street, she looked up and noticed that everything had returned to normal: the light, the indistinct, gray people, the black sun. . .
What had happened? Was she going crazy? Would she even know if she was crazy? She had after all, seen her fair share of beggars and lunatics raving gibberish from street corners to anyone within earshot. She shook her head. Crazy or not, she had to keep moving; standing here would solve nothing. She took off at a brisk walk, just fast enough to make good headway, but slow enough not to draw attention.
A few minutes later, she stepped between the tall, rotting warehouses that made up two of the four walls of Will’s “lair.” Underneath a heavy, fog-like layer of refuse, the sharp scent of copper hit her nose.
Aeryn froze and sank into the shadows, head cocked to the side. She heard nothing. Not a mouse or rat, whisper or curse, or the feral yip of a mangy street dog, just the pitter-patter of people going about their business back in the street; the p
anicked confusion had not spread this far yet. As unnerving as the silence was the absence of Brin and Bran standing guard. Despite how much Will grumbled about their fees, he trusted very few other strongarms to keep him and his lair safe.
Carefully and quietly, Aeryn placed one foot in front of the other. She slunk forward, fading deeper into the perpetual twilight between the tall buildings. She stepped around a set of overturned barrels filched from the back of a tavern by one of Will’s larger cronies, Hale, who was beyond strong but lacked so much as a single fiber of stealth in his entire body. When you could wield a bloody wagon axle as easily as most people did a spoon, you did not have to rely on stealth as Aeryn did.
Her left foot hit something solid. Liquid seeped into her right. She looked down. Bran. Running from ear-to-ear beneath his chin, the boy wore a permanent red smile. Brin lay scant feet away. Devoid of the mocking smile her twin brother wore, she sported a gaping hole where her throat had been. Both pairs of eyes were wide open, as if one second they had been chatting without a care in the world, then the next they had been sagging to the ground while their lifeblood seeped out. Both the twins’ weapons sat undrawn in their sheaths.
Aeryn knelt and closed their eyes. She felt a stab of pity for them, but at least they died quickly; it was vastly more than most on the streets could hope for. Finding a cloak, blood staining her arms as she worked, she dragged the two together and laid covered them up.
With Brin and Bran taken care of, Aeryn performed a quick inventory, and noted that nothing was missing. Odd, that. She was just delaying the inevitable and she knew it. Eventually she would need to open the door to Will’s lair.
Aeryn crossed the final few feet to the door. Taking a deep breath, she opened it and stepped in. She made it all of six inches before she turned and heaved, emptying her stomach of the meat pie Rickon had bought her. Will was. . .everywhere. The floor, walls, and even dripping from the ceiling. Nameless himself would not be able to sew the poor boy back together.
Before the first tear fell from her eye, a single thought seared across Aeryn’s mind. Jynx.
Heedless of stares as she emerged from the alley covered in blood, she sprinted with every ounce of strength she had left. Facing south and wedged against the back of a burned-out house that everyone swore up and down was haunted by Shadows—though she had never seen a sign of any—she burst into the small hovel she called home.
She slid to a halt.
Jynx was there, lying curled up, head on his haunches atop the straw stuffed canvas bed that they shared. The draven was not alone. Atop a tin bucket that served triple duty as a chamber pot, water pail, and stew pot, sat a man garbed in long, simple woolens. Woolens Aeryn recognized from the night before.
Lord Merek rose, completely unsurprised and obviously unperturbed at her hasty entrance. He fixed his gaze on her. “You have something that belongs to me.”
Unconsciously, Aeryn’s hand followed the flicker of his eyes to her belt. It rested on her new knife. Or rather, his old knife. “What have you done to Jynx?” she asked, studying the draven’s form in the dim light that filtered in from the cracks between the rotting boards slowly turning to dust. Jynx’s chest rose and fell rhythmically, but for all she knew, he could—and probably was, considering he let a stranger get so close to him—be lying in a sticky, matted pile of his own blood.
“The draven?” Lord Merek shook his head. “Nothing. I did not cause his wounds. He actually led me here.” He gestured to the slanting, poorly constructed walls. “I never would have found this place without him.”
Looking around, he seemed to fade to a dark gray just like those in the square had earlier. He casually stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled forth a small purse.
Aeryn silently cursed. How had he found that? She had cleverly concealed it in a dark crack between the walls.
Merek emptied its contents, a delicate silver necklace, each link etched with meticulous scrollwork and outlined in gold, into his palm.
Aeryn sighed. No merchant she had approached had dared buy the damn thing. Each and every one had turned her away cold, fearing reprisal if its original owner found it. She had been meaning to give it to Will last night—he had contacts that would melt the thing down—but had forgotten it when she had left to meet him. With him dead, it looked like she would not get the chance now.
“This,” Lord Merek said, holding up the necklace, “is Lady Mareen’s. I recognize the scrollwork. That and she complained bitterly about losing it. Yapped my ear off for a week solid.”
“Who are you?” Aeryn asked, pretending not to know his name to buy time to think.
He completely ignored her and dropped the necklace back into the purse. Cinching it tight, he tossed it over. Stunned by the action, the bag sailed past Aeryn and clanked against the door.
“I’ve returned what I’ve stolen from you. Now if you would return what you’ve stolen from me?”
“I’m not a complete bloody fool,” Aeryn said. Just because he had given back the necklace did not mean she trusted him one bit. Perhaps if she kept him talking, she could figure some way that ended with neither she nor Jynx slaughtered like Brin or Bran. She shuttered. Or butchered into a grotesque pile of offal like Will. “What makes this blade so blasted important that you’re willing to kill for it?”
“I’m no ‘bloody’ fool either,” Lord Merek said. “You know exactly how important that blade is. Otherwise, why would you have taken it? And no one said anything about killing for it.”
“Oh right.” The man did think her a fool. “Let me guess: you didn’t kill Brin, Bran, or Will. You just came here to nicely ask for your blade back?” She pulled out the blade and turned it over in her hand. The scripting on the steel caught a ray of light that seeped through the boards. “Just like you think I have any idea what I and B mean.” If she knew anything about Lords, they were probably initials of his Mistresses.
“Stop playing games.” Lord Merek growled and narrowed his eyes. “The letters aren’t what makes that blade so important and you very well know it.”
“I do?”
“Of course you do. Why else do you have one so similar?”
Aeryn laughed. Both blades were plain. That was where the similarities ended. She had a simple one because she lived on the bloody streets, scavenging for food. What was his excuse? He was too cheap to spend the coin on a real Lord’s dagger? She opened her mouth to say so. The man’s eyes went wide.
“Lord Merek,” said a raspy voice from behind. Aeryn jumped to the side. A figure cloaked in black mist took her place. The newcomer did not spare her so much as a glance. “You’re a long way from your estate.”
“I was just out for a walk—“
“Don’t play games with me,” the man said. His calm, cold voice was more harrowing than if he had shouted loud enough to rattle the walls. “Thanks to a few helpful friends I met earlier, I know everything I need too. It did take me a while to figure out why you had done it, but then it all snapped into place. Your late wife and daughter; your one-time son-in-law-to-be. I suspect the Voices will be very interested to hear what I’ve learned.”
“Girl,” Merek hissed, “if you don’t give me my blade, the Shade will kill us both.”
The Shade? Aeryn jerked her head from one man to the other. She felt like a rat caught between two growling hounds.
The Shade chuckled. “Oh, I’ll kill you alright. You are, after all, Shadows. Before I do, you’re going to tell me exactly how you stayed hidden for so long. That,” a blade, every bit as simple as Aeryn’s and Merek’s, jumped into the Shade’s hand, “and where you learned what you did.” He—his tunic, breeches, and the knife—faded until all that was left was a hint of dusty smoke.
Merek faded to match. “Girl! My knife! Quickly!” came a shout from his disembodied voice.
Opposite, the door slammed shut. Blackness descended.
The hollow clang of a tin pot blocking steel vibrated between the narrow walls. Sparks dance
d and flew like crazed fireflies. Aeryn’s night vision was better than everyone she knew, but even she could not make heads or tails of the flickering fight occurring inches before her face.
She pressed into the corner, straining to be one with the false night. The room brightened enough for her to make out two partially opaque figures. One stabbed and slashed with a blade, the other blocked and parried with the leg of her sole, now-broken stool.
In moments, the wood had whittled down to nothing. Merek slipped on the debris and fell backward against the wall. His head hit with a solid thunk and he slid down into a sitting position.
The Shade loomed over the Lord’s head, poised to make good on his word.
Aeryn knew she had no chance fighting the Shade once he turned his attention on her. She pulled out both knives and sprung forward.
She landed on the Shade’s back, knife tips leading the way. One sunk in, deep. The other skipped off bone and rattled to the floor as she struggled to maintain her balance.
The Shade let out a scream and flailed wildly. In the confines of her tiny shack, the cry was ear-shatteringly loud. Blood seeped from the wound and slicked the smooth wood hilt, still embedded in his back. Aeryn lasted another dozen frantic heartbeats before she lost hold of her remaining blade and flew to the floor. Her head hit hard. Whatever Aeryn had done to lessen the darkness vanished.
A growl from Jynx followed closely by snapping teeth elicited another scream from the Shade.
“Jynx!” Aeryn shouted, her thoughts cleared in an instant by an agonizingly loud yelp from the draven. She put her hands on the floor, fighting to rise against wobbly knees. She had not been reunited with Jynx just to hear him die!
“Bloody drav—“ the Shade trailed off into gurgling, followed by what sounded like a sack of grain being thrown to the ground from a wagon.
Shadowborn Page 4