The Shadow Watch

by S. A. Klopfenstein

  “Were your parents Watchers?” said Tori, thinking again of her mum.

  There was an awkward pause. Kale would not meet her gaze, and Ren’s face turned to an unnatural scowl. “Our family is a… rather unpleasant subject, I’m afraid,” said Ren. “But yes, they were Watchers. They suppressed their gifts, like many others in Osha.”

  “People never had good things to say about House Andovier in Maro’El,” said Tori.

  “Yes, the Cursed House, they called us. They blamed our demise on a plague. It wouldn’t have gone over well if it got out that an Oshan Lord House practiced sorcery, would it?”

  “I guess not.”

  “When I betrayed Cyrus Maro to form the Shadow Watch, three years ago, they made up all that shenzah about the plague. They murdered my cousins and aunts and uncles, and called it a bloody sickness.”

  “You betrayed him,” said Tori. “And where were you, Kale?”

  “Banished,” he said curtly, “years before any of that.”

  “You’re the one they called the Exiled Lord,” said Tori, recalling the old rumors. The Cursed House had always been a point of gossip among nobles, and the fact they had fallen from favor in Maro’El made them especially interesting to the servants as well.

  “Exiled myself actually. Found out what our family was…” Kale’s voice drifted off. His eyes appeared sad. “I ran away. Couldn’t be in that city anymore.”

  “And now here we are,” said Ren.

  “So, this resistance… it’s about revenge, then,” said Tori.

  Ren shook his head. “No, Tori. This is about liberation. For our kind. For the lowborns. The chancellors are evil. They sit in their citadel while their Morphs, who were created by magic, hunt down and kill those blessed with the gift. And the High Council is filled with corrupt nobles, who live in their luxurious estates while thousands of lowborns toil in their fields and workhouses. This is about much more than revenge.”

  “But they killed your family,” said Tori.

  Kale looked away, and Ren scowled. “Yes,” said Ren. “As they killed yours… and many others.”

  The brothers were silent for some time. There was more, Tori could tell. Something Ren and Kale were hiding about their past. And Tori was struck with the unnerving realization that she was entrusting her future to complete strangers. Yet what other choice do I have? Where else would I go?

  Tori had known few friends in her life: a pair of young serving girls in the Trium’vel, a thief or two in the Fringes—if anyone in the Fringes could be called a friend—and Darien... But out here, Ren and Kale Andovier were her only allies. Scelero must have trusted them, and Commander Scelero was about the only person in the world Tori had left to trust. I wish he were here. I wish I understood why he helped me. Why he chose me when he knew what I was… Is he even still alive?

  “Tell me about the Watchtower,” Tori said when she’d tired of the silence.

  Ren spoke, and Kale seemed content to let him. “The Watchtower is like no place in the New World, Astoria. Not since the ancient days have so many Watchers been united. There, you can become the Watcher you’re meant to be. We are the future of the New World. The chancellor is not nearly as invincible as he believes.”

  “He may not be as weak as you want him to be,” Tori muttered. She had told the brothers about the source of Cyrus Maro’s power. They did not imagine hers was the first Watcher blood to be harvested. Tori might have been only one of many locked away in the depths of the citadel. If there were dozens at the Watchtower, there could be dozens elsewhere for the chancellor to hunt and feed upon.

  “But he has lost you,” Ren said. “And that makes him weak. Perhaps not physically, but there is a power far greater, even than magic. Your act of defiance was a sign of hope the New World has waited centuries for. The lowborns are angry and defiant. There are Lord Houses tired of the corruption of the High Council. The empire is thirsty for a new government. The time is ripe for revolution.”

  Tori recalled the riots in the square after the day of the Gallows. The time was ripe for revolution then, as well. The lowborns had revolted, and they had died. Am I a source of hope? she wondered. Or a pathway to destruction?

  “What if I don’t want to join your army?” said Tori. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done. But I never asked for this. What if I don’t want anything to do with this revolution?”

  Part of her was torn. She was free. She could run off to the Southern Isles, or Parjha, or the Trium’vel. She could forget about magic altogether. A notion that seemed more and more appealing each night the ghosts came to her. After all, Tori had lived most of her life in ignorance of her gifts. She could run far away, live free from any memory of the chancellor.

  But what about Darien? She pictured him in the Night Legions, blood on his hands, as in her dream. Could she really run away and leave him to rot in the chancellor’s service? And could she really pretend to be something else, now that she knew what she was? Her senses had only been growing. The past few days she had longed to use them. It was like a child learning to talk who can barely resist the urge to babble on and on. Tori wished her mother were alive. She wished she had anyone left she could confide in.

  “Long ago,” said Ren, “the Watchers were the aides to kings and queens across the Old World. The Order helped keep peace, helped protect the world. My mother believed in the creeds of the Order. She used to tell me that we were given these gifts by the gods. And since they are gifts, we must give back. We are fighting the cruelty of the empire. Soon enough, the chancellor’s time will end, and the Watchers will rise again.” As he spoke, Ren looked up at the stars, his voice strong and determined. “If you do not wish to bring justice to the world, Astoria, then you are free to go. But I’ve a feeling you want the chancellor dead as much as anyone.”

  It was true. Tori hated Cyrus Maro. He was cruel, and he perpetuated the system of violence and injustice Osha held so dear. Tori thought of Darien and Ol’ Merri suffering in the Legions, and she longed to free them. But she also thought of her mum’s head wagging limply. The vendor, the guards from the gallows. The images made her sick.

  Kale kept silent through the conversation. He did not seem to possess his brother’s enthusiasm for the rise of the Watchers. Though, in truth, Kale did not seem to possess enthusiasm about much of anything.

  “How have so many Watchers remained hidden from the Metamorphi?” Tori asked, happy to change the subject from revolution.

  “The Watchtower is protected by ancient enchantments,” said Ren. “The Metamorphi cannot detect the use of our power there, even if they cared to venture that far north.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous in the Crooked Teeth?”

  “We live in a stronghold leftover from the ancient days. Near the village of Ytala, in the central Teeth.”

  “Crooked folk,” said Tori warily. She had heard tales of them impaling Oshan soldiers on stakes if they marched too far north. Ancient savages, gone mad with cold and starvation, it was told.

  “It is true the mountain folk show no kindness to Oshans. But neither do we. We are mountain folk ourselves in their eyes. And the monsters of the mountains live on only in legend. The Rulaqs died out with the Old World. There is nothing to fear for us in the Teeth.”

  The Crooked Teeth filled Tori with nervous excitement. Even Oshan nobles spoke superstitiously of the monstrous, two-headed Rulaqs of the Old World. The Teeth were a realm of mystery and terror, but Tori felt strangely eager to see it. When Tori was a child, her mum had told many stories of the creatures of the Old World. It made more sense now, why her mum had known so much.

  “You said there are other Lord Houses involved with this Shadow Watch.”

  Ren nodded. “Like Scelero, they have been biding their time. No one knows of their treachery. Even I did not know of Scelero’s until shortly before your escape. But when the moment arrives, the others will join us.”

  “Are they like your House? Are there others in Osha who are Watch
ers?”

  “She is wondering about her mother,” said Kale, suddenly.

  Tori nodded. How did he know?

  “Your mother was Oshan,” said Ren. “But sadly, I do not know what House she came from. Just as no one knew about our House until the end. I wish I knew, truly. But you were named for a goddess of the Old World. I imagine her House also held on to the old stories, the old ways.”

  Tori said no more. She did not want to think further about her mum just now.

  As the Sisters set and the horizon began to glow with the approaching dawn, they reached the eastern edge of the Forest of Ghen. The Fields of Pendra welcomed them from the realm of nightmares and ghosts. The open fields stretched for leagues in all directions, and Tori had never been so happy to see a wide-open plain. It reminded her of her childhood, her people, her mum. Beyond the fields stretched the windblown hills of the Western Steppe. And to the north lay the jagged foothills of the Crooked Teeth.

  At the tree line, Kale held up his hand. He crouched, focusing, his head down. The wind shot up from the plains, tossing the tall grass to and fro. It sounded like waves crashing. After several moments, Kale stood. “The way is clear, for now.”

  “Of course it is,” said Ren. “The creatures expect we’ll flee south. It is the quicker journey through the forest. No one would expect us to flee to the Teeth. They’ll be watching the ports along the western coast and the roads across the Green Sea.”

  Kale shook his head, but Tori sensed a disgruntled fondness toward his brother. “We must be swift, nonetheless.” He waded through the thigh-deep grass.

  “Do you listen for them?” Tori asked Kale. “The Metamorphi?”

  “He’s a Cerebro,” said Ren. “The order of minds. He can sense magic across leagues. That is how we found you back in the Fringes.”

  “And what about you?” said Tori. “What’s your ability?”

  “Besides being devilishly handsome and charming?”

  “Well, that’s more a curse, isn’t it?” Tori shot back.

  Ren laughed, his mouth gaping. He grasped her shoulder. “It is, yes, it is a curse! Finally, someone who understands. It’s a heavy burden, in fact. You hear that, brother?”

  “Sorry, I tend to tune out shenzah.” Kale smirked.

  Ren laughed all the more, and Tori let a smile spread wide. She enjoyed sharing the brothers’ company, even Kale’s, despite his somber disposition. But there was something very appealing about Ren—youthful confidence, courage, lightheartedness. It was a welcome change from the darkness she had known so long.

  “Besides my charms, though, Astoria, I am a Conjuri. The manipulators of matter. We are paired in this ability.” As he spoke, Ren summoned his dagger from its sheath. It floated alongside him as he walked and then flew to his hand. This was followed by the satchel of lead balls. As Ren continued walking, he fired them at a lone tree in the distance, hitting his mark every time. Then, all of his weapons returned to their place on his belt.

  Kale glared at his brother. “We are not nearly far enough north for such carelessness. The Morphs are still searching for us.”

  Ren nodded, though with a smirk. “If they were near, you would sense them.”

  “Why didn’t you use your power when you faced that Morph in the Fringes?” said Tori. “The one that had me trapped in the streets. Surely you could have simply shot it.”

  “Well, for one, that would have drawn more Morphs to us, using magic. And it wouldn’t have been as much fun.” Ren grinned mischievously.

  “Conjuri,” said Kale, “have a reckless thirst for theatrics.”

  “And I’m a Conjuri?” said Tori.

  “Only a Conjuri could do what you did on Gallows Day,” said Ren. “And that was theatrical in any sense of the word.”

  “Gallows Day,” she muttered.

  “The rumors have spread all across the New World,” said Ren. “Your act of defiance has given many a brief bit of hope. Imagine the hope when word spreads you are still alive?”

  Tori did not like the thought that she was some mythic sign for the masses. “Hope of what? More war? More bloodshed? Another War Between the Worlds?”

  “Restoration,” said Ren. “In the Old World, the Watchers were the last link to the gods. The thought that they may not have been vanquished... Tori, you are the first Watcher to reveal power so publicly in over three hundred years.”

  “There are dozens of others.”

  “And we have lived our entire lives in fear of being tortured and killed by the Metamorphi. You were the first to reveal your power, and you survived the chancellor’s wrath. This is something larger than you, whether you like it or not. You’ve given hope to us as well.”

  They traveled on in silence for some time. Tori kept thinking back to her fall after stabbing the chancellor. The pain that had smothered her, and then, the almost immediate relief. “Do Watchers only have one gift?” she asked.

  “To wield more than one was rare in the Old World, and unheard of in the New,” said Ren.

  “You both can fly,” Tori ventured.

  “All Watchers can fly,” said Ren. “You flew in the Fringes. Enough to survive your fall, that is.”

  Did I fly? It had all happened so fast. Thinking back, nothing seemed clear. Only that she had survived. She’d felt searing pain for a moment, and then it was gone, and she had sprinted to the Forest of Ghen as though nothing had happened. But it made no sense. The magic of the Watchers seemed to be so ordered. A Conjuri would not be able to heal.

  Kale turned back to her briefly, and Tori felt uncomfortable in his gaze, as though he could sense she was hiding something. A scowl creased his brow, and he turned away.

  “Haven’t you heard the tales of the Watchers?” Ren went on.

  “I heard them,” Tori said, trying to recall her mum’s stories, but they were all faded, as though they had been told to her in an old dream. Ever since she became a slave, she had tried not to remember anything to do with her mother. “But you never know what’s myth and what’s truth as a child. I thought the Watchers were only legends from the Old World. Something to give children hope.”

  “Well, Tori, let me assure you. The Watchers are no lost legend. We have endured the chancellor’s purging. The time has come for the world to remember us. Soon, we will not need to hide in the Crooked Teeth like thieves.”

  At dawn, they neared the village of Hatia, set amongst the craggy foothills of the Teeth. Kale ventured alone, and Ren waited with Tori outside the village, so not to spread rumored sightings of the Gallows Girl. It was at Kale’s insistence.

  “Your face was well known amongst the lowborns after Gallows Day,” said Ren after his brother had gone. “The girl from the Steppe with green eyes. It’s been over a year, and I doubt the chancellor has publicly admitted your escape, as it would expose the lie of your execution, but I suppose it is better to be safe.” But he spoke with some reluctance, and Tori could tell he did not like to be the one waiting around.

  The Hatian horseman could only spare two steeds, no matter the price, which meant Tori was left to ride double. “I think Ren may have that honor,” said Kale as he led the steeds from the village. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

  Tori did not mind either, if she was honest. She wrapped her arms around Ren’s waist, noting his broad shoulders and the muscles of his back, which were clearly defined beneath his tight-fitted tunic. He’s charming, strong, handsome, and a rebel leader… but those are foolish thoughts right now.

  Nevertheless, Tori found her gaze falling upon his sharp, smooth features more than once as they rode on. This was remedied, though, for as they climbed into the foothills, the air grew thinner and much colder, and they all quickly donned heavy cloaks.

  They traveled by day and camped by night. For the first couple days, Tori could tell Kale was tense. He often closed his eyes, sensing for signs of their hunters. Once they entered the high mountain passes, he relaxed. His scowl softened, and he stopped riding with o
ne hand at the hilt of his saber. The wild mountains appeared to be his element.

  Though Tori had felt excited a few days ago, the mountains had the opposite effect on her. The higher they journeyed, the more she thought of her mum’s tales of Rulaqs and Nosferati. When night fell and they huddled together for warmth inside a canvas tent, every sound made her tense. More than once, she was certain she heard howls echoing off the towering peaks, though Ren insisted it was only the wind.

  On the fifth day, they reached the mountain village of Ytala. Even in spring, the lanes were thick with snowpack. The villagers were bundled in thick fur-lined parkas, and the men all bore voluminous, nest-like beards. Mountain folk were a mixture of races that fled to the mountains at the dawn of the New World. Their skin was coppered and weathered by harsh high-altitude exposure, and this spread to their countenances. The Crooked folk were known for no kindness in Osha. But at the sight of Ren, their expressions softened. Children pointed and grinned at them, running alongside their horses. Ren waved them off with a charming smile. “I told you, we are mountain folk.”

  “You offer them blessings from the gods,” said Kale.

  “Blessings?” said Tori.

  “To the people of Ytala, our tower is a monastery devoted to the old gods,” said Ren. “And on occasion, the High Priest will come down and offer blessings to the Crooked folk.”

  “That surely helps their dispositions.” Kale did not seem impressed.

  Ren grinned. “Undoubtedly, brother, undoubtedly. Helping them construct a glass house so they can grow crops year-round surely helps, as well. I’m a regular saint among the mountain folk.”

  Tori was still trying to read Ren. For his talk about the injustices of lowborns, he sure didn’t mind fooling them. Though she had to admit, these people lived in better conditions than any in Osha, and he had helped them grow more food. Ren gave the impression that he was some sort of idealist, but Tori still could not shake the sense that this revolution was personal for him.

  They rode for another hour, leaving the village and ascending a steep, narrow path cut into the side of the mountain. How high have we climbed since Hatia? Tori wondered. Thousands of feet? And yet, still, the peaks towered thousands more above them. At the edge of a clearing, they approached a sheer cliff wall. Tori saw no path until they faced it straight on; a narrow cleft was cut into the rock, and they filed through one at a time.