Shadowlands (9781101597637)

by Malan, Violette

  All at once, a flash of bright silver sliced through the limb that was still wrapped around Nik’s ankle. The thing howled, blood fountaining from its cut wrist. Not a light saber, Nik thought, trying not to giggle as he turned to fire point-blank at something else that was getting too close.

  This isn’t a movie, was the next thought he had. Alejandro’s sword wasn’t a light saber, and his gun was going to run out of bullets. If someone didn’t come to help them soon, he and Alejandro were goners.

  In a moment Moon was able to stand back with those around her and take stock.

  Below them, and to the left, she could see two figures fighting, back to back. The gra’if blade one held was so bright, and moved so quickly, that even her Rider eyes had difficulty following it. The other figure had a weapon like the one she held herself. It did not stop the Hounds around them, Moon saw, but only slowed them. If something was not done, and soon, these two would be overwhelmed.

  “Wolf?” she asked.

  “Lady, no idea. Gone, you know?” The one who answered clapped her hands sharply, and Moon understood this was the sound of Movement. That gave her an idea.

  “I will go for help,” she said. “Be steadfast.”

  The cuts and scratches on Alejandro’s arms were too numerous to number. More serious by far was the slice along his left calf, and the puncture, low in his belly, close to his right hip, that had missed the abdominal artery only by virtue of his quick reflexes and the long training he had had in the bullring. And it was that training, along with all his years in arms, that allowed Alejandro to ignore the pain—and the knowledge that while the injury would not kill him quickly, a slow death was the best he could hope for if help did not come soon.

  Out of nowhere a rock struck the flank of the twisted Chimera that menaced him, throwing it off its stride, and allowing Alejandro the opening he needed to slash its throat while its scaly lion’s head turned to seek out the new menace. Rocks and debris were dropping and falling all around them, flying out of the darkness—darkness which slowly increased as the day outside darkened into night, and the few windows left unboarded became nothing more than pale shadows.

  Without this distraction from the Outsiders—their rock throwing punctuated with the sharp pop of a pistol, or the boom of a shotgun—he and Nik would long ago have been overwhelmed. He knew exactly where the boy stood at his back, could almost feel with him the recoil of the gun as he fired. Almost the first thing Alejandro had done was to take off his jacket and he now held it in his left hand, shaking it sometimes gently and sometimes with force. When the eyes went to the jacket instead of staying on him, he struck.

  On the defensive as they both were, they would lose this battle soon. Only the gra’if blade could kill, and Alejandro was expecting at any moment that one or both of them would be bitten, he to Fade forever, and Nik to be emptied. He was doing his best to keep them off the boy, but why he had not succumbed himself was more than he could guess at. It was important to defend the boy. Valory would wish it. They did not need to win, only to die on their feet.

  Alejandro’s blood sang and in the distance he could hear the crowds cheering him. He looked around him for the bull.

  Moon lost too much time finding a working Portal to allow protocol to delay her further. She Moved directly to her sister’s pavilion.

  “Max,” she said, her sides heaving. “Where is Truthsheart?”

  “Take a breath.” Max came round the table with hands extended. “What is it?”

  Moon tried, but her throat was still too tight. She coughed, her lungs painful as she dragged in air. “Max, I must have a squad of Wild Riders, now, immediately.” She was afraid he would waste time with questions, but she should have known better.

  “Wings of Cloud,” he called. The Moonward Rider appeared in the doorway, with a smile for his Prince that faded when he saw Moon. “How many Wild Riders in camp?” Max asked.

  Frowning, Wings thought for what felt to Moon like several minutes. “Five, perhaps six,” he said finally.

  “Any more who bear gra’if,” Moon asked. “Anyone? It is Hounds we must kill.”

  “Perhaps one or two more,” Wings said. “But—”

  Max held up his hand. “Have them in front immediately.” He turned to Moon. “Where’s the problem? Can you Move everyone there directly?”

  Moon shook her head and held up her hands. “The Shadowlands.” She coughed, and braced her hand on her belly.

  “The Shadowlands? Moon, you know that Cassandra isn’t sending anyone there.” Max turned away from her, as if to recall the orders he’d issued.

  “Wait.” She took him by the sleeve. “We have the Hunt, all in one place. The Horn was blown.”

  Max stared at her, blinked, and smiled. “Now that, as they say, is a horse of a different color.” He began running for the exit.

  The Wild Riders, accustomed to sudden alarms, were already gathered in front of the pavilion when Moon followed Max out. Other Riders, most in the colors of someone’s household, began to appear. All three Wards mixed together freely: Star, Moon, and Sun, and all bore gra’if of one kind or another.

  “Gra’if weapons only, if you please,” Max called out. “Those of you who don’t bear actual weapons can stand down.”

  Moon waved her hands in the air. “By no means,” she said. “Those who bear gra’if cannot be eaten by the Hunt, so any and all will be useful.”

  Max looked at her, brows raised. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said, turning back to the troops around them. “Everyone,” he said. “Gather round.”

  Wings of Cloud appeared at Max’s elbow. “That is everyone,” he said. “And I am myself the senior Wild Rider present.”

  Max patted him on the shoulder. “Riders,” he called out. “I have need of you, and of your gra’if. I ask that you follow Walks Under the Moon to the Shadowlands, where you’ll find a nest of the Hunt.”

  “A Hound hunt!” called out a voice from the back of the group, and there were grim smiles, but little laughter.

  “Moon says even those of you without weapons can help, as the Hunt cannot Fade someone who bears gra’if.” The smiles became slightly less grim.

  “Can you tell us anything more, Lady Moon?” called out a Wild Rider, pushing her way to the front of those assembled. She was a Sunward Rider, her red-gold hair cut short and shaggy around her head, and kept in place with the crownlike circlet that was her gra’if helm. She leaned against the long spear that was the favored weapon of many among the Wild Riders.

  “There looked to be at least thirty,” Moon said. “The Fourth Portal has collapsed, and so we must use the Fifth, and then a crossroads. Once at our destination, I can Move us directly to the location of the engagement.”

  “Any allies we should look out for?” Wings of Cloud asked.

  “Stormwolf is there.” Moon said. There were nods and murmurs among the Wild Riders. “As well as Graycloud at Moonrise, a Sunward Rider who has been living these long years in the Shadowlands. There may also be several humans,” she added. “But you will know them as soon as you see them, from their dress if nothing else. You may kill any other.”

  Now there were more smiles, straightening of shoulders, and hefting of weapons.

  “They are not many,” Moon said, almost under her breath.

  “Then the glory will be greater,” Wings said. “Come.” He clapped his gra’if-covered hands. “Spear Circle, with Lady Moon as our focus.”

  With the Wild Riders to show them how, the troop formed a tight circle around her, two deep, each with one hand on the next Rider, and one hand on the Rider behind. Those in the outermost circle kept a free hand for their weapons, those in the inner circle reached in to take hold of Moon herself, touching her on shoulder or arm.

  “When you are ready, Lady Moon,” Wings of Cloud called out from his position in the outer Circle.

  Moon took a deep breath, focused her concentration, and Moved.

  Fox still had hold of m
y wrist [giddiness; the kind of nausea you get from eating too much; he’d wanted to be a Wild Rider when he grew up] and swung me around behind him as he turned to face Wolf, and I went limp, thinking I would drag his arm down and keep him off balance. The ploy might have worked on a human, but my weight was nothing to a Rider. Fox jerked me back into an upright position so sharply that my teeth snapped shut and I bit the inside of my lip. He probably could have held me in the air for a couple of hours without feeling the strain.

  Too fast to follow, Wolf spun in, his gra’if blade flashing bright, but Fox was just as fast, swinging me forward again, and Wolf had to hold off, or cut me instead of his brother.

  “Good, now we know how important she is.” Seeing he could use me as a shield, Fox curled his arm around me, keeping me close up against his chest with his hand on my throat. Maybe I could flail my arms a little, but I found myself reflexively hanging onto his wrist, though I was in no danger of choking. Yet. Keeping his eyes directly on Wolf, Fox dropped the Horn on the ground and stamped on it, crushing it under his heel. Pain flared in my left hand, leaving me gasping as the heat of it passed through my entire body. For a second, I thought it would actually choke me, and Fox’s grip was the only thing that kept me upright.

  “Is this why you won’t come back to me, brother? This human thing? So how can I change your mind? What might persuade you, I wonder?” Fox turned his face into mine and breathed in, as if he was trying to inhale me. Somehow I knew his eyes were still fixed on Wolf’s. “What if I say I’ll kill her if you don’t come back? Or maybe I should promise she’ll live if you do? Hmmm? What do you think? Which would work better?”

  Wolf looked at me. My head had cleared, though my hand still felt as if it was burning. I could taste blood from where I had bitten myself. I moved my head from side to side, just a centimeter or so each way, but Wolf was looking for it, and caught it. To be honest, I didn’t know whether Fox was lying or not. Apparently, sufficient pain was enough to dampen my talent—temporarily, I found myself hoping. I shook my head not because I knew Fox was lying, but because I knew that it didn’t matter, that Wolf would have to deal with him regardless, and I didn’t want to be the thing that stopped him.

  “Let her go.” Wolf said. “You will do what you will do. Whatever may happen, may happen. But if you do not let her go, I will kill you myself, right here and now.” I couldn’t be certain, because of the angle my own head was at, but I was pretty sure Wolf wasn’t looking Fox directly in the eye. Do not look them in the eyes, and keep striking, no matter what. I didn’t know where that thought came from; I only knew it wasn’t mine.

  “No, I don’t think so.” I could feel Fox’s voice rumbling in his chest. Suddenly I was choking as Fox’s grip on my throat tightened. Wolf stepped forward, his blade up, and Fox must have seen the determination in his eyes because he relaxed again, not letting me simply drop to the ground, but tossing me to one side. I tried to curl, to protect my hot and throbbing hand, but I landed hard against the arm of a chair, and felt something give in my side.

  “I don’t need that,” Fox said. “You won’t kill me. You’re still a Hound.” From his tone you would think we were all sitting in the lounge, having a nice conversation as we waited for our train. “That’s your only value to them, and they’re using it, and you. How does it feel to be the thing of no account? The unimportant one?”

  “I am of the High Prince’s fara’ip.”

  “Oh, sure, along with every bird in the sky, every fish in the water, every mouse and every rabbit—every vegetable. Everyone and everything in the Lands belongs to the High Prince, and the High Prince belongs to each and every one of them.” Fox took a breath, spreading out his hands like he was welcoming Wolf in. “And not a single one of them is ever going to let you forget that you once ran with the Hunt. Come back to us, Wolf. Come back where you belong. I’ll let you be second to me. That’s got to be better than what you are now. They all see you as tainted, and you’ll never be one of them.”

  Wolf’s face had been calm, assured, waiting for his moment to speak, right up until Fox said the word “tainted.” Then I saw Wolf’s face change, and I knew that Fox’s words spoke to him in a way maybe no one but me would understand. And not only because I’d felt this in him, this fear that there was a taint in him, never to come clean. That was the real chink in his armor, not just his love for his brother—you can kill the thing you love, if you really need to—and not just the guilt Fox made him feel.

  It was the fear that he might never belong anywhere else but the Hunt. That’s what was stopping Wolf from speaking. The fear that Fox was right.

  “You don’t need to be one of them,” I managed to gasp through my bruised throat. “This isn’t the only choice you’ve got—either Ride with the Riders, or Hunt with the Hunt. There’s another option.”

  “Oh, really? Now dinner has an opinion?” Fox was letting me speak because he didn’t believe anything I could say would influence Wolf more than he could himself. But Fox didn’t realize that I knew Wolf better than he knew him. I knew Wolf better than he knew himself.

  “You can wolf with the wolves,” I said. He needed to belong—something I understood all too well. Would he be brave enough to stop looking to belong to someone else, and start asking people to belong to him? I shifted until I was sitting up, hissing at the stab in my side, sharper now than the dull ache of my maimed hand. “You don’t need to be one of them, either a Rider or a Hound. You can be one of yourself. Hell, start a new Pack, a fara’ip of your own. So you have a talent that other people value and use, and maybe without it you would have been left to yourself, living an uneventful life, and that makes it hard for you to accept it.” Again, I knew that I was speaking for more than Wolf now. I was also speaking about myself, and about the life I might have had if I hadn’t been Collected.

  “But your talent also made you important to people, kept you alive and safe when circumstances might have overwhelmed you.” Still talking about myself. “Sure, other people use the talent, but don’t you see? You can use it, too. It’s yours. It’s valuable to you. You can make it work for you.”

  Wolf was looking at me now, and his face changed again, as I had hoped it would, and it seemed that my pain faded away as his gray eyes grew warm and his lips began to smile. But I wasn’t the only one who saw the change, and knew for certain what it meant. With a howl of the darkest rage and despair, Fox struck.

  Nik had gone down to one knee, and Alejandro found himself almost leaning against the boy’s shoulder, unsure which of them was propping the other one up. How many bullets can he have remaining? Alejandro thought. As he parried yet another slash, he became aware of the numbness down the right side of his body, the burning in the muscles of his arms, and the growing weight of his sword. The end was here. Now. Help would not arrive in time.

  The noise of the other gunshots, the falling of the rocks, was already fading away. The number of the Hunt around them increased, notwithstanding the ones he had killed. Some of these—in Rider shape—had gone up into the higher sections of the arena, attacking the Outsiders. There would be empty humans now, emptied again.

  Alejandro gripped Nik’s shoulder just as a monumental CLAP! of air rocked them both, followed by an astonishing brightness, brighter by far than the beams of sunlight that had earlier illuminated the darkness. The space around where Alejandro and Nik stood gripping each other in a failing attempt to remain upright, was suddenly filled with figures in black, in greens and reds and purples, and with bright, swift gra’if. Alejandro sank to his knees, and Nik went down with him, barely softening his fall until he was lying on the cement floor.

  “Healer!” He thought he had bellowed the word, bellowed it in the voice he would have used in the bullring. The voice he had many times used to call “medic!” in other battlefields. He looked around and thought he saw Moon running toward him. Nik, the gun still in his hand, was saying something, but Alejandro could not hear him.

  “Bring th
em,” he told the boy. “Bring your friends. I have dra’aj. Let them take it.”

  He smiled and saluted the cheering crowds. He would get both ears today, and perhaps the tail.

  I should have been terrified, but I think all my terror circuits were burned out. Either I was just too tired, and too hurt, or too many things had frightened me too recently for me to feel very much more. Like Wolf said, whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. Que será, será. That’s what the song meant. I’d wondered. I rubbed at my forehead with my uninjured hand, as if that would make my thoughts more orderly. I knew I should be feeling more, but every time I tried to take a deep breath, my side stabbed at me.

  There wasn’t a lot of room in the Lounge, and they were circling each other in a narrow aisle, Fox with a chair he had grabbed up, and Wolf with his gra’if blade poised, left hand raised for balance. I looked around me for a weapon, something I could use to help, but Wolf and Fox moved so fast that they were mostly a blur, with every now and then something coming suddenly clear, like watching bad stop-motion.

  —the chair was on the floor and Wolf slashed at a unicorn covered with sores and scraps of scales, its horn broken off.

  —Wolf ducked under the belly of a dragon with hairy wings, cutting upward as it tried to grab at him.

  —a bank of chairs exploded into shards of metal, bits of wood, and upholstery smeared with blood and ichor.

  —they stood chest to chest, Wolf’s sword arm trapped under Fox’s arm, each gripping the other in a fierce hug, Fox’s teeth growing out to bite Wolf in the throat.

  Wolf was trying not to kill him, I realized. Did he still think that somehow he could force his brother to be cured?

  —Wolf, bleeding from a wound in his shoulder, with a thick green snake looped around his body, left hand holding its head away with a grip on its throat, right hand with blazing sword raised.