The Shadow Watch

by S. A. Klopfenstein

  In the distance, the silhouette of a patrol boat drifted past her, toward the Oshan shore. Tori paddled on, trying to move as fast as she could, despite her growing fatigue. At long last, the Fringes grew larger on the horizon. The waves shifted and began to bear her toward the other side. Steely skies were bleeding hints of yellow and orange.

  Tori was a few hundred yards from the Fringes when a bell rang out from the Oshan shore behind her.

  It did not ring once. Nor did it ring out the hour.

  The bell rang furiously.

  An alarm! Tori glanced behind her for the first time. To her horror, she saw the patrol boat bearing straight toward her. It soared across the harbor, leaping from wave to wave at the power of its rowers. With every stroke, they came nearer and nearer.

  Tori had never worked so hard in her life. She paddled with everything inside her. Her breaths were desperate gasps, and her heart thundered in her chest. She could feel every beat, sense the contractions of her heart pumping blood to her paddling arms, sense the tiny liquid particles being fed air that coursed through her body. The world was large, yet it was small, everything a microcosm of the grander, larger thing. Infinitely complex particles composed everything. Between the particles, Tori could sense something binding them. The energy at the heart of the world!

  It flowed in the water, danced upon the air, surged through her blood. Beyond physical plausibility, the paddles of Tori’s emaciated body grew faster, and the swells of sea expanded. Her qayaq raced upon the waves. Tori crossed the final stretch of harbor, and the vessel caught sand. She leapt out and sprinted up the bank and into the Fringes.

  Shanties formed a vast maze that stretched for several leagues in all directions, and Tori lost herself in the masses. At sunrise, the narrow lanes were already teeming with Fringe rats vying for a day’s labor with the taskmasters. At first, Tori ran, weaving her way through the throbbing mass of scrawny bodies in tattered clothing, but then she realized her rotting clothes smelled of waste, her limbs looked more like dying willow branches than human arms and legs…

  I look like any Fringe rat. Tori slowed her pace, pulled her hood up over her grimy hair, and blended in with the crowd. The shanties all looked the same—thatched roofs on a four-post frame. Some had the luxury of walls. Pyres littered the squares in the housing districts, where Fringe rats burned the bodies of their dead. This was a dark celebration in winter. Burning days meant the warmth of a fire. The poorest and most desperate rats would pile atop one another and sleep in the square near the warmth of burning corpses. Tori had not thought of this ritual in some time, and it made her queasy to think on the memories. The pyres were growing large. Fires would soon be lit.

  There was commotion behind her. Shouts of guards and scrambling people. Tori pressed forward, trying with all her strength not to break out in a dead sprint. The crowds were thinning. The farther south she went, the fewer people there would be to hide her. Most of the workhouses were on the northern waterfront.

  Tori’s body grew weaker with each step. Her head felt light. She needed food desperately. Ahead, a small square teemed with vendor carts. She could not journey through the Forest of Ghen without provisions, but she had no money. She would have to steal them. The vendors are crooks, anyway, she told herself.

  The square was crowded. A nearby cart was loaded with stale bread, probably overflow from Maro’El. The vendor argued with an elderly woman, though Tori knew it was likely the woman was little older than her own mother had been. The harshness of the Fringes aged people quick. No one lived long under those conditions.

  “No, not enough,” shouted the vendor. “Ten coppers apiece, no exceptions.”

  Tori inspected a loaf in the cart while the woman pled her case. “Please, sir! I need two ter feed me family. Please.”

  The vendor slapped her with the back of his hand. “Away! I do no business with beggars!”

  The woman wailed. In the commotion, Tori snatched two loaves, slipped them beneath her cloak, and stole back into the crowd, unnoticed.

  “One loaf, then. Okay,” whimpered the poor woman.

  “One loaf! And make it twelve coppers for begging!”

  Tori wanted to kill the vendor right there in the square. The old woman’s eyes filled with tears as she handed the vendor twelve coins and took her loaf. She trudged to the edge of the square, sat against a building in the thawing slush, and wept.

  How many children will she be feeding with that one loaf? If their father was alive, he was likely working to death in the labor camps or salt mines. Tori was overcome by pity—as well as guilt, for having been chosen by Scelero, for having so easily forgotten how much worse it was in the Fringes. Even slaves had it better than a single Fringe rat.

  Tori pressed her way through the crowd, knelt down, and handed the woman one of her stolen loaves. “Feed your family,” said Tori.

  Kindness was no virtue in the Fringes, for kindness did not exist. It was everyone for themselves. The woman eyed Tori for only a second, then she snatched the loaf and ran from the square without looking back.

  Tori found a trough and scooped water with her hand. Probably she was sharing water with pigs and goats, but she didn’t care. She nibbled at her loaf, resisting the urge to devour the entire thing at once. But with every bite, she felt more revived, and the loaf was soon gone. The Forest of Ghen would take a week at least to cross, and hunting and gathering would be scarce this time of year. She would need much more sustenance to begin the journey.

  A cry rang out somewhere beyond the square. The soldiers were close again. Tori needed to be quick. She spied one vendor speaking jovially with a customer. This time, she did not pause to check out the vendor’s wares; she walked right past, drawing as close as she dared. The vendor cocked back his head and laughed at something the customer said. Spit dribbled from his chin as he shook with cackling. With a motion so swift it was nearly invisible, Tori snatched a pair of apples off the vendor’s cart and continued on her way. Weaving through the throng, she made for the southern entrance of the square.

  “Yeh gods-damned thief!”

  Tori kept her head down and pressed on. The crowd began dispersing around her. She looked back in time to glimpse the vendor’s fist heading for the back of her head. She ducked, her senses flaring. The vendor missed and lost balance, but with his other hand, he latched onto her coat.

  “Steal from me, will yeh? I’ll ruddy kill yeh!” The man pulled out a jagged blade the length of Tori’s arm and swung at her—missed. He jabbed it at her chest, and Tori dodged it. The man staggered forward with the empty motion, and Tori struck back.

  Her palm connected with the vendor’s nose, launching him off his feet. Energy rushed from her, and the man sailed across the lane, struck a shanty wall, and landed on his back in the snow, blood pouring from his face. He didn’t move, but Tori didn’t have time to see whether she had killed him. As she turned to run, a shriek pierced the air.

  Shadows streaked across the sky. Black wings loomed against threatening clouds. It was an army of Metamorphi.

  Cries filled the air, and people ran in terror as the creatures bore down upon the shanties. Tori’s heart raced. Her fingers shook from the memory of her last encounter with the monsters. A pair of wingless Morphs entered the square, sending anyone in their way soaring with a swing of their massive, mangled heads.

  They turned without hesitance, and bounded straight toward Tori.

  8

  Tori did not freeze up as she had the day of the Gallows. She snatched up the vendor’s shoddy blade from the snow and ran faster than she’d ever run in her life. Weaving between shacks and narrow passageways, fear and desperation propelled her on. Shrieks filled the sky, echoing through the Fringes as though the Metamorphi were attacking from all directions. Three Morphs circled high above, but they did not descend upon her.

  It’s only when they sense magic! Tori willed herself not to access the energy again. But her senses were on fire. She could feel the two
wingless beasts closing upon her. The ground trembled with the jarring thuds of their massive paws. Hot, putrid breaths warmed her neck. The beasts were about to pounce. Tori dropped to her knees and spun to face them.

  The creatures leapt through the air, and Tori thrust out with the vendor’s blade. Blood sprayed from the first beast’s chest, the blade lodged deep in its heart. The Morph collapsed, shifting back to its human form. But its comrade landed safely beyond, turning with a roar.

  Tori leapt back to her feet, but now she had no weapon.

  The beast stalked forward. A grin stretched across its wide mouth, revealing fangs the size of spikes. Tori knew she could not kill this creature, not without using her power and bringing the whole army of Metamorphi down upon her.

  The beast leapt. Tori dodged to the side, rolling, and sprang back to her feet. It was all she could do to suppress the energy raging within her. It was as though she were denying every instinct inside of her. She sprinted down a narrow lane lined with empty crates, knocking them down behind her as she passed. The creature bounded after, barreling through the barricades. If only there was someplace to hide, some nook where I could disappear.

  Tori recognized this place. She was in one of the poorest and most run-down slum districts at the southern end of the Fringes. One tall teetering structure towered several stories above a wide stretch of shanties. Tori remembered the tall building vaguely from her years here. She and Darien had been jumped by one of the many street gangs that lurked in the slums. Tori recalled looking up at that ramshackle tower from the ground as a vicious girl twice her size pounded her face and then snatched the few coppers Tori had and ran.

  Tori had never ventured there again. All she remembered was the tower, but she knew she was at the heart of the Fringes. The muddy lanes were so rough they could barely be called roads, and so narrow it was hard to tell where one ended and another began. The lanes weaved nonsensically between hundreds of rusty dwellings. A few scrawny Fringe rats cowered in the corners of their homes and sank into the piles of rags they called beds as Tori shot past. Tori lost herself in the maze of shanties, hoping to find somewhere to hide. She rounded a corner, and her heart sank.

  An impasse. A fifteen-foot wall isolated the slums from the factories at the heart of the Fringes. Tori had forgotten all about it. There’s no way I can reach the top, she thought, eying the jagged surface of the stone. Factory walls were often lined with shards of glass and metal to ward off thieves. Even if she could leap that high, she’d cut her hands to pieces. Tori felt a swelling of energy inside her, ready to burst out. The warg paused at the end of the lane, blocking her only route of escape.

  It laughed—a menacing growl, but it was unmistakable. “You can’t escape me.” The creature’s voice was a seething, guttural purr. “You have no power over me, Gallows Girl. I can smell your fear.”

  Tori backed toward the wall, and the Morph crept forward, its head low, teeth dripping with thick, foaming spittle. “You will die,” it said. “Just like your mother.”

  Tori’s stomach sank. “W-what are you talking about?”

  “I never forget a kill. It’s not every day you find a sorceress on the Steppe. Your mother tasted like stale venison at the end of winter.”

  Tori’s back brushed against the wall. The creature crouched, only a few yards away from splitting her open. Tori swelled with rage, the energy coursing through her veins. The Morphs killed Mum?

  The beast shook with laughter. “I doubt you’ll taste much better, but I am going to enjoy—”

  “Enjoy what?” said a strange voice.

  A man strode toward them from the end of the lane. He was tall, dressed in fine obsidian garb—the garments of a noble. He looked absurd in contrast with the drab surroundings. His hair was long and as dark as his clothes. His skin was pale as the snow—an Oshan noble. The creature turned to face the intruder.

  “You won’t be tasting her,” said the Oshan man. “The chancellor wants her alive. Any fool can tell that.” His voice was airy, as though he stared down Morph beasts every day. What is this idiot’s play? Is he here to turn me in? Collect a reward?

  The beast growled. “Perhaps you’re right.” It stalked toward him, turning away from Tori.

  She did not move. Was this man crazy? He didn’t even brandish a weapon at the creature. But perhaps she could get past while he distracted the Morph.

  Suddenly, beside her, a second man appeared, leaping from the edge of the wall. He landed with the grace and precision of a hawk. He was dressed in ragged leathers. His long hair was dirty brown, and his eyes were like sapphires on a noble’s amulet. His face curved in a permanent scowl, skin tight and weathered. He touched a finger to his lips and drew a silent blade.

  The Morph was only a few yards from the cocky nobleman at the end of the lane. His rough-clad comrade crept toward the unwitting beast from behind. With all of them distracted, Tori considered leaping the wall and making a run for it, but something held her back. She watched the two Oshan men, curious.

  The creature growled. “The chancellor may want the girl alive, but I think he couldn’t care less about you.”

  The nobleman laughed, the beast mere feet from him. “Ah, but that is where you’re wrong, my friend. We are all that matters to the chancellor.”

  The beast crouched, then leapt at the nobleman. But in the same instant, the rough-clad man dashed forward, swinging his saber. The warg’s head severed from its body, inches from the nobleman’s face, and rolled in the snow. The body collapsed in a steaming heap. Tori breathed with relief, her magic energy subsiding within her. She realized her fingernails had been digging into her palms.

  “Shenzah!” The nobleman cursed in Yan Avii. A strange language for an Oshan. Was he some sort of merchant? “That was closer than I would have preferred, brother.”

  The rough-looking man inspected the Morph’s head. Slowly, it shifted back to its human form, eyes lolled back in its skull, empty. “If you were worried, Ren, you’d have drawn your blades.” He wiped his saber on his leathers and returned it to the sheath on his back.

  Tori still had not moved from the end of the lane. She was not sure if she should thank these men or make a run for it.

  The noble-looking one named Ren strode forward, smiling. “There’s no need to fear, Astoria. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Y-you what?” She was certain she had never seen either of these men in her life. “How do you know who I am?” Her senses surged back to life.

  A Morph flew high over their heads and shrieked. The three of them ducked into the shadows of the lane, crouching low in the muck of melting snow and pressing close to the shanty walls.

  “We don’t have time for pleasantries,” growled the rough-clad brother. “And this kid is so tense she might explode with magic at the next sight of them.”

  How does he know? Tori thought, trying to calm her senses.

  “If we move now, Kale, the creatures will spot us,” said Ren. “We must wait for them to move on.”

  “That Morph sensed us, Ren. I told you we shouldn’t have flown here.”

  A strange understanding dawned on Tori. In all her mum’s tales, the Watchers had been able to do more than just wield magic. “Wait a minute! Y-you can fly?” she said, picturing the rough-clad one named Kale landing effortlessly from atop that wall.

  Kale granted her a nod. “And you have been locked up in a tower for a year, haven’t you?”

  “You’ll have to pardon Kale,” Ren said. “My brother wouldn’t know how to greet a goat. Let alone the Saint of Osha. The Gallows Destroyer. The Last Watcher.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Tori.

  Ren smiled. “That’s what the common folk call you under murmured breaths. But I like to think of you more as the First Watcher. Or at least, the first one to be publicly known across the New World. Whispers have crossed the entire continent of what you did the day of the Gallows. The tales of the Watchers are being murmured all across the
empire.”

  “I’m not a Watcher,” said Tori.

  Kale grunted, looking at the sky. “The Morphs have moved on. We should too.”

  “Yes, yes, you’re right—he’s always right, I’m afraid,” Ren said, for Tori’s benefit. “Even if he acts like an uncouth beast from the Old World.”

  Kale rolled his eyes and pointed down the lane. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are you taking me? How did you know where I was? Why are you helping me? Were you the ones who drugged those guards in the citadel?”

  Ren shook his head. “So many questions. I’m afraid we’ll have to give you answers when we are out of this cesspool. Know that we are here to help, Astoria.”

  Tori did not like the idea of trusting someone she’d just met, even if that meeting had involved these men killing the Morph that was hunting her down. But what choice do I have?

  Ren pulled a fine dagger out of a sheath on his hip and handed it to her. “This will serve you better than that nasty shard you used back there. Though you made fine work of that Morph under the circumstances.”

  “Ren, now!” hissed Kale.

  The two brothers led the way down one narrow passage after another, and Tori followed. She felt wary about these men, and particularly their talk of Watchers—Is that what I am? What this magic sense is?—but she felt a need to follow, to find out more.

  Avoiding the squares and the main lanes of the Fringes, they led her farther south. Two Morphs circled above, and in the distance, Tori made out the shrieks of lowborns. She wondered, darkly, how many were dying because of this hunt for her.

  Kale led the way, moving lithely upon long legs, each footfall landing soft and sure. Ren kept by Tori’s side, a long dagger in his hand. Tori liked the feel of her own blade. It was finer than any she’d held, perfectly balanced.

  As they reached the edge of the Fringes, Kale slowed his pace. Tori and Ren followed suit. Before them lay the South Road, and beyond that, a wide stretch of field, and past the field, the Forest of Ghen loomed dark and ominous against the foothills of the Crooked Teeth.