The Shadow Watch

by S. A. Klopfenstein

  The trap dropped.

  Darien plummeted through the platform.

  The noose seized.

  The stage shuddered, coming apart at the seams. Darien tumbled to the ground, unharmed; the guards went flying through the air. The spikes that had once held the gallows together shot out, veered direction, and pierced the guards. Dozens of nails ripped through each of their chests. The entire gallows launched into the foundations of the White Citadel with a cacophonous crash.

  Darien was alive, kneeling on the stage, in shock; two dead guards lay beside him; the gallows was reduced to a heap of splinters behind them.

  Maro Square was silent, as though the old gods themselves had drawn their breaths. Tori’s knees went weak at the energy she’d expelled. The crowd dispersed around her, many knocked to the ground from the energy she’d released. Tori looked up, cold terror washing over her. Oh gods, what have I done?

  The chancellor’s eyes fixed upon her, and for the first time, an expression spread across his face. A smile. The chancellor was smiling at her.

  Screams filled the city, shattering the stillness. Madness overcame the crowd. Everywhere, servants went running, scrambling over one another, trying to flee the square as fast as they could. But not because of Tori.

  The creatures had come.

  The chancellor’s magic hunters.

  The infamous Metamorphi.

  Tori knew them only from horror tales, but she knew what they were the moment they changed their skins. The monsters moved nimbly amidst the chaos. One launched from the city walls, morphing from its human form in mid-flight. It soared on black wings protruding from its human back, bony arms outstretched, fangs flashing. The second creature morphed and bounded through the crowds, snarling, snapping its massive jaws, lumbering toward Tori with a body like a warg.

  The Metamorphi were upon her before she could react. Tori did not run or fight back. Her entire body was spent from the destruction of the gallows, as though all her strength had been drained from her. A calm acceptance came over her. Somehow, this was meant to be. Tori only hoped that, in the madness, Darien might escape. That her death would not be for nothing.

  Talons clamped around her shoulders, tearing her flesh. The flying creature descended upon her, knocking her on her back. The warg leapt and laid its claws into her sides. Pain rushed through her. Her vision blurred. Tori held her breath and waited to die.

  But once the creatures had her pinned to the ground, they did not tear her apart. They held her still.

  The chancellor stood over her. How did he get here so quickly? Tori thought dimly. Somehow, in the madness, he had crossed the entire square and come straight to her. The Metamorphi eased their hold at their master’s command. Claws and talons and wings retreated, and suddenly, the creatures were two human men once more.

  Blood seeped from Tori’s shoulders and side, drenching her cloak, her wounds burning with excruciating fury.

  The chancellor knelt beside her and smiled. “There you are.”

  And then, the world slipped away.

  4

  Tori’s limbs felt as though they were disconnected from her body by a vast sea. Sounds were muffled, rushing upon distant shores. Slowly, she swam back to reality, drawn by something real, something tangible. Drawn by pain.

  Searing pangs shot up her right arm and into her bones, as though a blade were lodged there, weaving through sinew to her marrow. Tori reached out to remove whatever it was, but her hands were rendered immobile. There was a ringing clank, and more pain coursed through her. A pair of iron shackles bound her, holding her wrists fast to a ring in the floor by a length of chain. Cruel pain rushed through her body anew, and Tori cried out; it felt as though she were being hollowed from the inside out. She held still, terrified of bringing the pain upon herself again, and slowly, the pain subsided.

  Tori saw nothing but darkness. The air smelled of gangrene and decay. She lay still, orienting herself to this dank reality. There was constant dripping somewhere behind her, each drop echoing off the stone. The cold seeped up from the ground into her bones and left her raw and aching all over. After some time, the pain ebbed enough she could remember how she’d wound up in this wretched state.

  The gallows. The Metamorphi. The chancellor.

  But why am I alive? she wondered. Why didn’t the chancellor let the Metamorphi kill me right there in the square?

  Tori realized with strange clarity that she had performed magic. She did not understand how, but the knowledge came to her like a haunting image that triggers the memory of a nightmare.

  All of it—the power she released, the bodies flying through the air, the attack of the Metamorphi—took her back to the day her mother abandoned her. But there was something more, something buried deep in her mind, something nearly within her grasp…

  But she couldn’t place it. She felt as though she should be able to. And that feeling made no sense to her at all.

  There was a clank and a screech of metal that made Tori’s head throb. A pair of guards entered her cell, bearing lanterns. The sudden light blinded her, but she could not shield her eyes. One guard knelt beside her, setting down a large glass vial. He jerked at her right arm, and the pain returned full force.

  The guard shoved a needle the length of her finger into the crook of her arm, and Tori screamed. Attached to the needle was a long tube made of something like animal innards. In the lantern light, Tori could see the tube turn dark as blood drained from her fragile body and filled the vial.

  “Won’t be working any more sorcery now,” said the guard.

  The ordeal lasted about a minute. When he finished, the guard tied a cloth around Tori’s arm, tight, so that it throbbed, then he unlocked her chains from the ring in the floor and jerked her to her feet. Her knees buckled, and she slumped forward.

  The guard yanked her up again, sending sharp pangs through her body. “You’ll remain standing,” the guard grunted.

  Tori had never felt so weak in all her life. Her body felt lifeless, the detached fogginess returning to her mind, but she managed to slump against the walls of her cell and stay on her feet.

  Another form entered. The guard handed the chain to the looming figure and left. The figure stepped toward her, a mere shadow against the flickering light, and a warm hand touched her arm, gently.

  “D-Darien?” Tori said, delusional. The pain was wracking her in waves. It was all she could do not to keel over.

  “I’m afraid I am not Darien,” said Commander Scelero evenly.

  “Oh, Master,” she said. “H-he isn’t…”

  “No, Tori, Darien isn’t dead.” A rush of relief swept over her. She might have broken imperial law, but at least she had succeeded in keeping him alive. “He’s on his way to the Shadow Camps. After the events in the square yesterday, he was taken away. He and the other drafted soldiers left the city this morning.” The commander’s voice sounded strained, as though he spoke through heavy cloth. His face was drawn tight.

  One of his servants defected. And another destroyed the chancellor’s gallows and killed two of his guards with magic. Tori was overcome with shame. The commander had rescued her from the Fringes, had been nothing but generous to her, and she had shamed him in front of his master.

  “I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what… came over me.”

  “I do,” he said. And that was all he said for some time. Tori felt her mind drifting away again, separating from her body. Then, a hand brought her back. Scelero gripped her wrist and whispered, “I’m sorry, child, but this will have to sound convincing.”

  When her master’s fist struck her gut, Tori felt as though she would pass out. She screamed as tremors swept over her.

  “The gods damn your treachery!” Scelero shouted. And then, he struck again. Tori moaned and slumped to the ground, sobbing. He stooped beside her. She flinched away, but he took her hands in his own. Somehow, through the pain, Tori understood. Scelero had to save face, but he found no pleasure in this assault. T
he knowledge was strangely comforting.

  “W-why am I still alive?” Tori whimpered. “What does the chancellor want with me?”

  The commander shook his head. “I’m afraid you will find out soon.”

  The door rattled as the guard pounded from the other side.

  “I must go.” The commander stood, and then the final blow came, knocking her back against the wall. Tori shrieked in pain. “I wish I was the chancellor so I could kill you myself!”

  Then, Commander Scelero helped her to her feet. “I’m sorry it happened this way.” Scelero pounded on the door. The guard returned, and the commander disappeared. The guard yanked her forward, and Tori stumbled out of her cell.

  “Come along, Gallows Girl,” he growled. “It’s time to meet the chancellor.”

  Tori was led up winding staircases from the dungeons all the way to the uppermost halls of the White Citadel, to the chancellor’s inner palace. Before she was brought before him, she was led to a fine chamber, where she was stripped and bathed by beautiful maids. The girls were gentle with her, softening their touch when she winced. The wounds in her side and shoulder were dressed, and the aches in her arm from the bloodletting began to fade.

  By the time the maids dressed her in fine silver linens and adorned her shorn black hair, Tori could almost stand straight. There was still a sting in her arm where the thick needle had pierced her, but the blood had clotted quickly and the pain was fleeting. The maids touched up her tawny skin with cosmetics, which Tori had never worn before. All of it was much finer than anything she’d ever experienced.

  Tori barely recognized her own likeness in the ornate mirrors that lined the room. The linens left her shoulders exposed the way the noble girls wore their gowns at palace balls. Tori felt conscious of the faded tan lines from her sleeveless summer uniform and the slave’s tattoos that wrapped her arm. But otherwise, if not for her darker hair and complexion, she might have passed for a highborn girl. A look she did not like. Why is the chancellor bothering to dress me up this way? Does he dress all his traitors in fine clothes before he kills them?

  Tori’s stomach churned when she was finally led into the inner palace. She had heard tales of the White Citadel’s splendor, but no tale could match the sight of it. Every inch of the inner palace glistened, pure crystal that shone bright with a million shimmers, reflecting and bending the light. It shone as though the palace were set in the heart of a star. Cyrus Maro, the sixteenth Chancellor of Osha, wore all white. In his halls, his pale skin shone with ruddy youthfulness, a stark contrast to his ghostly appearance in Maro Square. He descended from his crystal throne with long, resolute strides. He was smiling, and Tori’s jaw clenched at the sight of him.

  “Tori Burodai,” a palace attendant announced, looking up from a scroll etched with elegant gold filigree.

  “Astoria,” said Tori, unsure why her true name had come to mind. Her mother had been the last person to call her that, but somehow, it felt right she should use her true name before she was executed. The attendant glared at her obstinance.

  The guards escorting her halted and knelt before their ruler, heads bowed. Tori remained standing. When the chancellor reached her, he lifted her chin so their eyes met. His were blue like glaciers.

  “Astoria,” said the chancellor, examining her. “An interesting name for a servant. The name of an Old World goddess, the defender of the weak and the destitute.” His tone conveyed mild amusement.

  Tori thought it strange that the chancellor would know such a thing. Even she had not known the origin of her true name. She felt uneasy when he looked her over, as though he could see through her clothes and skin to her very thoughts.

  The chancellor smiled, holding her gaze. “Green eyes. And yet the rest of your features are that of the Yan Avii horsemen.”

  “My mum was Oshan,” said Tori. “She had an affair with a tribesman who came from tribe Burodai. We lived on the Steppe for seven years. Then my mum sold me into slavery.”

  Was that truly what happened? Something stirred in her memory. Perhaps it was the acknowledgement of her true name, of her old life. She could not be sure, but she suddenly recalled the image of a small boy with bronze skin and thick dark hair. A Yan Avii boy. From my childhood?

  “You’re a mutt, then,” the chancellor said.

  “Did you summon me to talk of my race?” Tori knew she shouldn’t have said anything, but she was getting irritated with the pleasantries. If she was going to die for using magic, she would just as soon get it over with.

  The chancellor smiled, his white teeth glistening in the vibrant light. “Spirited. I like that. Unbind her,” he said to the guards. And then, “Leave us.” His voice was steady, as though every syllable were set to an exact rhythm and tone. It was not harsh or angry. It was the voice of unquestionable power.

  The guards removed Tori’s shackles and left without argument about leaving their ruler alone with a sorceress. The chancellor held out his hand to her, still smiling. Tori stared at it.

  The chancellor chuckled. “Bloodletting is painful, I know. But it renders you too weak to wield magic, which is necessary. You are still feeling weak, Astoria, are you not?”

  Tori nodded, confused at his gesture, but she took his hand. His skin was warm, inviting, yet her fingers trembled at her ruler’s touch—hands that could sentence her to death with a single motion. They had done exactly that to Darien yesterday. And soon, she would be next.

  “You’re trembling,” the chancellor said. “You fear me?”

  “Everyone fears you, milord.”

  The chancellor laughed again. Tori had only ever seen him on drafting days from afar. Up close, the ruler of Osha was strangely personable. “Good answer,” he said. “Though I prefer the term reverence.”

  This was not the meeting Tori had expected at all. She should have been dead by now. “Why am I here, milord? Why am I still alive?”

  The chancellor had not let go of her hand. “I want to show you something.”

  Cyrus Maro led her across the inner palace hall to a sprawling balcony that looked out across the city. In the streets, smoke rose from buildings in little pirouettes. The streets were in shambles, littered with splinters and upturned carts and bodies.

  Dozens of bodies. A crew of servants was busy sweeping the square clean. Carts were being loaded with the dead.

  “The servant uprising lasted only a few moments,” said the chancellor. “But I think you know how much can happen in only a few moments, don’t you?”

  Understanding slowly dawned on her. “Riots… because of me.”

  “Because of the mere idea your magic represents. The Watchers… Of course, it’s all futile. There are no Watchers, and they serve no gods. But weak people need something to keep them going, I suppose. At the sight of your power, the lowborns grasped for hope. But look where it got them.”

  The chancellor stared off at the great city, and for the first time, Tori realized how exposed the Oshan ruler had left himself. She wielded magic. If she tried, she could cast him from this balcony.

  But I can barely move, let alone summon the power I showed in the square. Tori had not felt that other sense since she awoke in her cell. Whatever power it was had left with her blood. “My power…”

  “You’re the first to display magic so publicly, and so powerfully, in quite some time.” Still, the chancellor was smiling.

  All her life, Tori had been taught to despise him. In private, the Oshan servants often let slip their contempt for the chancellor, yet here in person, there was something appealing about him, and Tori felt it was more than his beauty. He was fearsome, but captivating. It made sense the lords and ladies served him so faithfully. He treated them well, gave them power and wealth and glory.

  And now, here she was in the inner palace, dressed in fine linens and cosmetics, standing on his balcony. She detested him all the more for his niceties.

  The chancellor gestured to the carnage in the streets below. “For a moment,
you became the symbol of the servants’ hopes and prayers. But that hope was poorly founded. If you are the hope of the New World, then things are in a sad state, indeed. Oh, their precious Gallows Girl. Their Watcher sent by the gods.” For the first time, the chancellor’s tone turned dark. “You are nothing, Tori Burodai. A moment ago, you looked like a dog in the gutter. I made you beautiful. I drained your blood, and with it, your magic, and I can give it back if I choose. I am the source of hope. But weak people, for them it is not enough to see me capture you, nor to see you without your strength, as I see you now. No, in order to rule over the weak, you need something much more convincing to dispel their… hopeful notions.”

  Tori’s body tensed. This is it. He’s going to kill me. Finally.

  The chancellor’s grip grew firm around her wrist. A twinge of pain returned, and he led her to the parapet overlooking the square, stretching out from the citadel like a great tree limb. At the edge of the parapet stood a giant graven image of Cyrus Maro. The statue stood at least fifty feet tall and could be seen from all corners of Maro’El.

  “This is the convincing weak people require,” he said, gesturing up at his own statue.

  There was something hanging from the graven chancellor’s outstretched arm. A message for all of Osha to see—a body, strung up by the neck, swaying in the wind, the noose tearing into the flesh.

  A girl’s body. A girl with matted dark hair shorn short like all servant girls. Like Tori’s own hair. Pain surged through her again as she glimpsed the face. The green eyes and tawny skin.

  The body did not belong to another Yan Avii servant girl.

  It was Tori’s body.

  5

  Bile rose up in Tori’s throat, and her knees buckled. She had seen many corpses during her years in the Fringes, but it was much different to see her own corpse while she was still alive to see it. Tori thought of the bizarre out-of-body sense she’d felt when she first woke in her cell. Am I still alive? Or is the chancellor some sort of spirit summoner?