Shadowborn

by Joseph DeVeau

  “How much for this one? You said it never rusts, right?” asked the youth, holding up a short sword.

  “A fine choice, lad,” said the hawker. “That sword there was wielded by a Voice himself, who only parted with it after being called through the God’s Gate to serve Nameless himself. He charged me with ensuring that I only sold to someone worthy of it. This I fear,” the hawker held up a smaller, narrower sword spotted with nicks and scratches, “is more your type.”

  “What? No.” The youth shook his head. “I’m worthy of the Voice’s blade. I swear it!” He whipped the sword back and forth as though fighting an imaginary foe.

  The hawker narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure? I mean, absolutely, completely sure? If that Voice ever found out I sold his blade to some random commoner. . .”

  “I’m sure,” the youth exclaimed. “Now how much?”

  “Well. . .” The hawker looked off into the distance. “The Voice did have it custom forged at great personal cost, but I suppose I could part with it for say, ten gold?”

  Aeryn almost choked on her tongue. The thing was not worth half that, and in silver. Nevertheless, oil glistened along the blade, scattering the sunlight and blinding the fool youth into missing the blade’s flaws. The lad jabbed with the sword, slaying his imaginary creature. He obviously had no idea what he was doing. Probably just some fool that thought carrying a sword would impress some other fool—or more likely—a woman.

  “I really like the sword, and I just know Leaile would squeal in delight at seeing it on my hip, but I only have one gold to spend,” the fool said, lips turning down as he set the sword back on the table. “I’m tithing the other three so the Shades will protect Leaile and bless our union.”

  “Ahh, laddie,” said the hawker over a barely concealed smile, “I bet your Leaile is a doll. But don’t you think your sweetheart would be more impressed if you had a sword on your hip to protect her with? The Shades have their hands full slaying Shadows. Wouldn’t she be better off if you were there, sword in hand, when the Shadows came? The alternative is running off to find help while your Leaile is cut down, screaming.”

  “I guess so,” the fool boy said.

  The vendor’s lips split into a hawkish grin. “I’ll tell you what; you seem like an honorable man, the perfect match for that sword, the perfect man to protect your delicate Leaile. Perhaps I could part with it for. . .“

  Aeryn saw her chance as the fool’s eyes gleamed, mirrored by the hawker’s. Snaking her hand out lightning quick, she snatched up a slender dagger near the back edge, one of the only pieces on the table without glaring flaws marring its blade. She made it two steps from the table before a shout rose at her back.

  “Girl! Hey! Thief!” shouted the hawker. “Somebody stop her! She stole my dagger!”

  Streaming through the crowd before the furious string of curses, Aeryn tucked the dagger into her belt and smiled. Curses were a far sight better than hired guards, sellswords, or soldiers, and precisely why she chose a street hawker with cheap wares over ones whose wares could actually fetch a few gold. Whether he realized it or not, she had just done the fool youth a favor; the hawker would be too furious to budge from his obscenely high prices now.

  Using the last of the coin she had gotten for hawking Lady Mareen’s necklace, Aeryn bought a pair of hard, stale week-old loaves of bread and headed back to the narrow alley she had left Jynx in earlier that morning. She had finally found a silversmith to melt the thing down, but he had only paid her a pittance compared to the weight of silver he had gotten from the melt. Desperate and needing food, she had had to accept. Unlike street hawkers, there were only so many bakers in the city, and once they knew your face—which did not take long if you stole from someone frequently—you could not get within ten paces of them without a sturdy wood rolling pin waved menacingly at your head. And those hurt, especially when wielded by thick-armed, barrel-chested women.

  Back in the narrow alley, Aeryn ate one of the loaves and tossed the other to Jynx, who opened a heavily lidded eye at her interrupting his rest. After devouring it, his tongue lolled out to lick a few of the now scabbed over cuts Aeryn had received from Merek. He then promptly went back to sleep. Gods how she envied the draven sometimes.

  Aeryn moved to wipe her side as best she could; an open, unclean wound while sleeping on a refuse pile made for an agonizingly slow death as infection and gangrene spread across your body like slow-moving fire ants. She drew in a sharp breath at the sight. Too lost in thought to notice before, she looked like claws had raked her repeatedly. As if that was not enough, one stiff gust and her torn and shredded clothes would float away on the wind. No wonder Merek’s serving women had giggled at the sight of her.

  Petting the draven on the head with a sigh, Aeryn curled up at his side. Unlike Ty, who had been pulled off the streets because of his size, and Rickon, who found work with a stable master who was every bit as pious as he, Aeryn’s skills would never be put to use in a workshop. That meant that both her and Jynx had a long night of hunting coming up: Jynx for something more substantial than a loaf of bread, and Aeryn for some clothing.

  “I’ll meet you right back here in the morning,” Aeryn said hours later as the sun dropped beneath the horizon to bask the city in twilight.

  Jynx let out a soft yip and nuzzled her scratched and torn arm.

  “Oh please.” Aeryn gave the draven a little shove. “I can take care of myself for one night.”

  Jynx hopped back and latched onto her arm with his gleaming white fangs, soft enough not to draw blood, but hard enough she could not free herself without tearing skin.

  She whipped out her new knife. “I have one of those too,” she said, tapping him on the muzzle with the flat of the blade. “Besides, it’s not as if I’m going into another Lord’s house. It’ll just be a shopkeeper’s place to find something to wear.” With her other hand, she pointed off into the distance. “Now get out of here and find a meal before you decide to eat my arm instead.”

  Cocking his head to the side and perking his ears, Jynx released her and loped off toward the Slum’s Gate where the rat hunting was best. Guarded by soldiers punished for one reason or another, forgotten about, of no skills, or quite frequently, all three, the Slum’s Gate was less a gate and more a latticework of rusted steel. Not only would the guards not bother to look up from their dicing for a herd of stampeding boar, but even Nameless himself could not budge the gates. Whatever the Voices were doing with the city’s tithes, they certainly were not spending it there.

  Aeryn began to walk perpendicular to the draven’s path. Large enough to do middling business, but small enough not to afford night watchmen, she headed toward a merchant’s shop she had noted the day before. Seamstresses, weavers, chandlers, jewelers, bankers, and scores of others all kept their goods stored behind iron bound doors, chests, and locks.

  Merchants were key. It was the one profession anyone with a bit of money and no skills would try their hand at. Better yet, even if their coins were well hidden or stored someplace inaccessible, their goods were easy to filch, easy to forget, and even easier to turn around a few days later. And Aeryn needed to buy or filch clothing sooner rather than later. Already the night’s chill was beginning to seep into her bones. The morning fog would no doubt be worse.

  In and out in a few minutes without problems or even having to Drift, Aeryn carried a small armload of looted whetstones, fire-steels, and full needle cases. In short, perfect, extremely commonplace items to sell to someone on the other side of the city or exchange for an old pair of trousers or shirt she so desperately needed.

  Wrapped around her neck and hanging over her shoulders hung a fluffy white shawl made of silky smooth rabbit fur. She had gotten lucky with the fur. She had not thought this merchant prosperous enough to dapple in some of the more luxurious goods like ink, incense, rugs, and peppers. Making her way down the street, she counted the night’s haul, estimating how much it would bring in, hoping it was enough to buy a ne
w set of shirts, trousers, and underclothes.

  “Well, well, well, lads,” said a deep voice. “Look who we have here. Someone working our territory.”

  Aeryn looked up. Jins and another boy stepped out before her, the former eyeing her armload, while the latter slapped a cudgel made from a broken wooden post against his palm. She turned back the way she came. A pair of meaty forms wielding similarly crude weapons barred her path. Aeryn spun back to Jins.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “What do we want?” Jins laughed, chorused by the three others. “We want our cut. That, or,” he eyed her from head to toe, “something worth just as much.” The boy at his side rubbed his hands together as a wicked grin split his face.

  Swiveling her head back and forth, Aeryn searched for a way out. Jins and his gang of street toughs were not known for their patience. Or their kindness. Gifted with brawns instead of brains, their preferred method of operating was to beat whatever they wanted out of those they wanted it from. Right now, that meant Aeryn. Unfortunately, she could not use Will’s blackmail against the brute; she had never learned the specifics from her now-dead friend.

  “She don’t want to give it to us, Jins,” said one of the boys at Aeryn’s back. A crunching set of footsteps cut down the distance.

  “Then take it from her Mic,” Jins said in the closed off-alley. “I want to get back to my bosomy Marilyn. She’s waiting for me, wet and warm.”

  One of the boys closing from behind snickered. “I think Jins is in love, eh Hal?” Mic said.

  Hal joined in by pretending to sound like a woman swooning, complete with a hand pressed to his forehead.

  “You would be too if you had them breasts,” Jins said sharply. At his side, Aeryn saw a set of hungry eyes fixed on her—not her loot.

  “Aye, big enough to use as pillows, they is,” came the reply from behind. “Should we pound her or just take out cut?”

  “No, no need to ‘pound me,’” Aeryn said. So she knew Jins was in love with a girl named Marilyn. Too bad that did not help with anything. She handed over half the items in her hands to the boys behind her in an effort to appease their hungry stares.

  “Our cut is all of it, girl,” Jins said, greedily eyeing the rest of the contents. With a resigned sigh, Aeryn handed the rest over to the gang’s leader.

  “He said, ‘all of it,’” came the too-eager voice of the boy next to Jins. Still rubbing his hands together, he licked his lips. “I want to see what’s under that shawl.”

  Aeryn backed up to his step forward. She had nothing beneath the shawl but a few strings of loose cloth. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that that was not what the boy was interested in.

  She had to escape. She tried to Drift. Nothing changed. No telltale brightening of the night, no gray-black forms, nothing. Not that it would have saved her, boxed in on either side as she was. Doubly so considering she was not good enough to disappear entirely like Merek, and even if she was, Merek had clearly demonstrated that just because she was invisible did not mean she could not be beaten to a pulp.

  “Well? You going to take it off or you going to make me do it? I promise I’ll be nice,” Jins’ companion said with a wicked grin.

  Aeryn would not lie down and let that brute had his way with her. She took the only route left. She whipped out her knife in one hand and brought the other to her mouth to let out a shrill whistle.

  The boy stopped in his tracks. “What’d you do that for?”

  She whistled again, fervently hoping Jynx was not so far away hunting that he did could not hear it. She had a distinct sinking feeling he was. “You better run; they’ll be here in a second,” she said, stalling for time.

  Two of the boys spun to face the darkness beyond, clubs and cudgels clinking against the stolen goods.

  Jins laughed. “She don’t got any friends coming to help her. She’s playing you for fools.”

  The pair spun back even faster, faces tight, eyes narrowed. They began advancing on her once more.

  “Friends? How do you know I wasn’t signaling soldiers?” Aeryn asked. Her back bumped against the wall.

  This time, all four of the boys broke out in laughter. “Ain’t no soldiers coming for you, girl. Only Shades are out at night, and they don’t give two bags of fish guts about you unless you’re a Shadow. I know. Why, I bet you haven’t even been paying your tithes, now have you?”

  Aeryn grimaced as the boy with the hungry eyes ripped off her fur shawl. She desperately changed tactics. “If you don’t leave me alone, I won’t be able to get you more things like that.” She nodded to the fur the boy was now burying his face in, snorting heavily. His head popped up and he reached out.

  “Wait Brys,” Jins said. Brys froze, fingertip inches from caressing Aeryn’s face.

  “Well,” Aeryn said, thinking rapidly, “you boys aren’t exactly the stealthy type. All the sounds of glass shattering and wood splintering under your thick arms has to draw a lot of attention.”

  “Go on,” Jins said.

  Aeryn drew a deep breath. “If you leave me alone, I’ll give you a quarter of everything I steal.”

  “Why would I want that when I can just take it all?” Jins asked, gesturing to the armload of goods carried by his gang.

  “Because then I’d have no reason to keep working for you. I’ll give you half.”

  “All of it,” Jins shot back, face brightening.

  “Two-thirds,” Aeryn countered.

  Jins shook his head. “You work for me, then I get all of it.”

  Aeryn thought for a second—only one—before saying, “Deal.” Jins was just smart enough to know he had her on the ropes, but too stupid to not understand—or care—how bargaining worked. Besides, it was not like he would be able to follow her around all the time; she would only have to hand over her purse when she bumped into him. Something she would avoid from here on out like the plague.

  Jins nodded. “We’ll be sure to include your name in our tithes. The Shades will be ever-so-happy when I tell them we have a new recruit on the streets.” Cackling madly, he turned and sauntered off, followed in lockstep by two of the other. “Come on, Brys,” he shot over his shoulder.

  Brys’ fingers, still inches from Aeryn’s face, trembled. “But I want her,” he stammered like a boy whose mother had just taken away a new toy.

  “Aww, forget it, Brys,” said Mic.

  Hal followed closely saying, “You don’t want flat breasts like them anyway. They aren’t any fun.”

  Aeryn crossed her arms over her chest in defiance. Just as she breathed a sigh of relief at Brys turning to leave sourly, Jins called back over his shoulder. “We’ll be watching you, girl.”

  Great. Just great. As if she did not have enough to juggle already, now she had to keep Jins and his gang in the air as well.

  Turning, she ran off into the darkness. How the bloody hell was she supposed to continue moving forward in the grand mess now bogging her down? On a whim, she tried to Drift. This time she easily melded with the darkness. The night light up until she could see into the deepest shadows.

  Jynx came galloping up a moment later. Ribs straining against his fur, he panted heavily, lathered neck to tail from a long, hard run. He looked up at her curiously, as if asking, “Why did you call me away from my meal?”

  Figures. What she wouldn’t give for things to go her way for once. That wasn’t too greedy, was it? Just once? Aeryn shook her head and sighed, trying to figure out what to do now.

  6

  Schemes

  Through some miracle of dumb luck, Jins and his gang managed to find—blunder, really—into her every blasted day from then on out. It did not matter where she slept. From the warehouses near the docks, whose alleys were infused with the scent of tar, salt, and the refuse of drunken sailors, to the shade of houses crumpling into dust pressed up against the low, Slum’s Wall, Jins somehow found her. Aeryn was rapidly convinced the thug had singled her out as an easy, fattening meal, and
as such, spent all day looking for her. When he was not in bed with his full-breasted Marilyn that was.

  Always taking everything Aeryn had on her and then some, Brys always greedily wanting more, they forced Aeryn to start anew each time they met. The end result was that between struggling to fill her and Jynx’s stomachs, finding a new place to sleep each day, Drifting at night to put clothes on her back and keep Jins—and Brys, quite literally—off, the following weeks rapidly altered between crawling or flying by. All in all, it felt as though her life was circling the drain.

  After one particularly restless night spent at the base of the Lord’s Wall, near to the stable Rickon worked at, Aeryn woke determined to put things right with her friend. She may not have much longer to do so.

  “Hello?” Aeryn called out after rapping on an oak pillar with her knuckles. “Hello? Anyone?” She peered around, searching for Rickon’s familiar face.

  It was a full minute before a boy ran up. Panting, covered in straw, and smelling like dung, he sported a wicked deep-purple bruise on his left cheek.

  “What do you want?” the boy asked with a slurred lisp.

  Aeryn squinted. The boy was not who she had expected by a long shot. “Who are you?” she stammered. Surely the pudgy, pious stable hand that had known her for so many years was not hiding in the back, avoiding her and still harboring a grudge.

  “I’m Mat,” the boy said. “What do you want? I’ve five horses to shoe yet today and, it ain’t going well. So if you ain’t got a horse to stable, or ain’t picking one up—and by the looks of your ragged clothes, you ain’t doing neither—then I ain’t got no time for you.” The boy turned to leave.

  Aeryn grabbed his arm. It felt spongy beneath her fingers. Apparently, the bruise staining his cheek was not the only kick that had landed. “What I meant was; where’s Rickon?” At Mat’s frown, Aeryn described the pudgy stableboy.

  “Oh, Rickon. He’s gone,” he said matter-of-factly. “Now if you’ll—“

  Aeryn squeezed harder. Mat winced at the extra pressure. “Gone where?”