The Shadow Watch

by S. A. Klopfenstein

  Ren’s heaving breaths subsided. His expression softened. “I’m sorry, Tori. I expect too much of you. You’ve been through unfathomable horrors. Seen things far worse than I could believe. It is no wonder you are afraid.” He took her by the arm. “Enough for today. You should rest.”

  Ren turned to head down the mountainside, but Tori shrugged away his hand and spoke through gritted teeth. “No, again!”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Tori confided to Mischa that night. The two of them sat on their beds. Vashti was in the library. The princess spent a lot of time there lately, probably because she knew Tori couldn’t read old scrolls, and so would have no reason to go there. Zaya was off studying anatomy with the other Medicis. Sahra insisted this was as important as any healing ability, and it kept Zaya busy most evenings.

  Alone, Tori felt she could speak more openly. “I can’t control it. I’ve never been able to.”

  “You expect too much,” said Mischa. “This is normal. The captain knows that.”

  “But I’m the Gallows Girl. You’re thinking it. Everyone else is thinking it. I’m supposed to be different. I’m supposed to be strong.”

  “You are strong.”

  “I’m letting everyone down. I’m letting… him down. Ren tries to hide it, but I can tell. He wanted me to rest today!”

  “Maybe you need to rest.”

  Tori sighed and flopped back on her bed. “I’m not a resting sort of person.”

  “Who are you trying so hard for?” Mischa asked. “I’ve been trying to figure it for a while. You just don’t strike me as the revolutionary type. All this… it’s personal for you, isn’t it?”

  Tori thought of Darien. Pictured him marching, killing in the name of the chancellor, because of her. She pictured Ol’ Merri. Her mum. Commander Scelero…

  Their ghosts would not leave her dreams. They taunted her failure, her weakness.

  “I don’t know, Misch. Maybe that’s the problem. What are any of us fighting for? The return of the Watchers? None of us were alive then. So, what’s it matter to us? For safety? We could hole up in the Teeth forever, and the chancellor would never find us. You tell me, what are we fighting for?”

  “We’re fighting to be true.” The answer did not come from Mischa. Vashti had slipped in and leaned against the doorframe. There was a flash in her eyes and an edge to her voice. “We are fighting because our world tells us we have to hide who we really are. And that is shenzah! You never knew what you were. You didn’t have to live your whole life pretending to be something you’re not. You didn’t live in suffering every single day, fearing Morphs or watching eyes… or jealous fathers.”

  Suddenly, the frustration that had been building up inside Tori exploded. Vashti didn’t know the first thing about Tori or what she’d suffered—or how she’d made others suffer.

  “Don’t talk to me about suffering,” said Tori bitterly. “You strut around here like the world owes you some damn thing. You think you’re the only one who’s had a hard life?”

  “Tori!” Mischa said, appalled.

  “No, please, let her finish,” Vashti said scathingly. “Share your wisdom, Gallows Girl.”

  Tori fumed. “I spent most of my life hungry and cold. I never knew fine clothes until I came to this gods-forsaken place. My father never cared about some bastard daughter. And my mum sold me into slavery. But you don’t see me moping about it. I suffered. You suffered. We’ve all suffered. The world suffers! That’s the way the world is. So spare us all your sob story.”

  Vashti did not respond right away. Her expression remained cold as the face of Orran’s mountain. She spoke each word like it was an arrow, drawn slowly and methodically. “Well, we’ve all wondered what it was that drew the captain to you. Obviously, we knew it wasn’t your abilities. Turns out it was your way with words.”

  Tori shot to her feet, ready to pummel the sneering princess, but suddenly, there was a great ball of flame separating them. Tori and Vashti leapt back from the searing heat.

  Mischa stood with her hands raised, tears streaking her cheeks, little flames fluttering around her skin like butterflies. “Enough, both of you!”

  The flames went out, and all three of them were silent for a moment. Tori had never seen Mischa get emotional like that, and she felt guilty, not for saying what she’d said, but for upsetting the one true friend she’d made at the Watchtower.

  Vashti stood. “I should go.” She opened the door and then stopped. “Oh, I nearly forgot. The captain asked me to fetch you, Gallows Girl. Looks like he has something… special… planned for you in the courtyard.” With that, the Yan Avii princess left.

  “The courtyard?” said Mischa, wiping at her eyes.

  “I’ve no idea what she’s talking about,” said Tori.

  The two of them descended the spiraling staircase of the central spire. The courtyard was lit by torches, and at the center, an immense gallows had been erected. It was nearly identical to the one Tori and Darien had built for the chancellor’s drafting ceremony. Tori felt like she might retch. Dozens of other Watchers had gathered around, all wondering what was going on.

  Ren stood upon the platform, a noose wrapped around his neck. All eyes were fixed on Tori as she approached.

  “What is this?” Tori shouted.

  Ren motioned her closer. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about what to do about our situation, Astoria. You are powerful and strong, but your mind is bent on convincing you otherwise. And all the other Watchers doubt you too, and to be honest, I can’t blame them. They have not seen you in action, as I have.”

  “D-don’t do this, Ren!” Tori stammered. Her whole body was trembling. She clutched Mischa’s arm in a death grip. “I-I can’t do this! D-don’t make me do this!”

  The little Fieri, Jann, was on stage with Ren. His hand was on a lever connected to the trapdoor of the gallows.

  “You are afraid, Tori. Afraid of the things you’ve done. Of what you might do, what you might become. Who might get hurt, who might… die—because of you. You’re afraid to have any other life in your hands because even when you’ve tried to help those you love, you believe you’ve failed. And I think it all comes back to this.” Ren gestured at the rope around his neck.

  Tori pictured Darien hanging from the gallows, his neck cockeyed, his legs stiff. She pictured his ghost in the Forest of Ghen, blood dripping from his hands. She had saved him from one terrible fate, but she had turned him into a soldier, a killer. She knew the ghosts had spoken truth. Every night, she dreamed of it, and it ate away at her insides.

  “Captain, p-please,” Tori managed at last. “I-I can’t—there’s no way I can—”

  “You don’t have a choice,” Ren said. “My life is in your hands.”

  “Ren, no, please. I can’t—”

  “Don’t think. Just react!” Ren nodded to Jann.

  “THREE!” Jann counted down.

  “No, please!”

  “TWO!”

  “Ren, no! Gods!”

  “ONE!”

  “I believe in you, Tori!” Ren shouted.

  Jann pulled the lever.

  20

  For the first time, when she desperately needed them, Tori’s powers failed her. There was no time to focus or harness her power. It was supposed to be instinct. That was what Ren was counting on. Every other time, desperation seemed to compel her abilities, like a dog compels a hare to run for its life.

  Every other time but this—

  Ren shot through the trapdoor, and the courtyard filled with a splintering sound as the rope drew taut around Ren’s neck.

  Tori screamed, helpless. For a moment, she froze. Surely Ren had foreseen this possibility. Surely he had rigged the noose somehow, or had used his Conjuri powers to prevent the rope from actually drawing tight. Any moment now, Tori thought frantically, he’ll open his eyes and demand someone get him down.

  But Ren did not move. His body hung at the end of the rope, still swaying with t
he momentum of the fall. No one in the courtyard dared even to breathe. All eyes were on the Gallows Girl.

  Tori snapped from her catatonic state and rushed forward. “Cut him down! Somebody cut him down!”

  But no one moved. It was as though a spell had been cast over the entire Shadow Watch. They were in shock, all of them, even Sahra, their trainer, the toughest of them all. Jann had collapsed to his knees upon the gallows platform; he stared blankly at Ren’s head, floating in the open space of the trapdoor. Ren’s eyes were still closed. His face was contorted from the pressure of the noose. It reminded Tori of the way dead bodies became bloated in the summertime in the Fringes.

  Tori snatched a blade from a nearby Watcher and rushed up the gallows steps. It took her two hacks at the rope before it frayed and released Ren’s body to the ground. Tori leapt from the platform and landed hard, pain shooting up her leg, but she didn’t care. Ren’s eyes were wide, unblinking, his limbs lifeless. She felt at his neck and tilted her ear over his mouth, but there was no pulse and no breath.

  “Ren! You can’t die!” Tori pounded her fist on his chest, as though somehow this might shock him back to life. She was shrieking, her words drowned in sobs, but still, no one had come to help her. “What’s the matter with you people? Somebody help him!”

  But they all stared at her in shock.

  Tori’s tears drenched Ren’s tunic. “Why? Why would you do this? I told you I couldn’t do it!” She pounded his chest a few more times and then slumped over him, her body shaking with sobs. “Gods damn you! You can’t die! You can’t die! You can’t die!”

  His body was limp beneath her. In time, her sobs slowed and her breathing steadied. She had remained slumped over Ren’s body for some time, when she noticed the awareness.

  It was as though she was connected to Ren. She could feel inside him, feel life. Blood did not run through him, and his lungs drew no breath, but still, there was… a sense coming from his mind.

  Her own senses honed in on Ren’s body. She became aware of the makeup of it—the organs and tissue that filled him—and she could feel something wrong. She could feel where his spine had snapped, and she knew that if only this could be undone, he could live. She focused her sense further, to a more complex level, and she felt the tiniest elements that made Ren who he was, the infinitesimal components of his bones, his blood, everything. And then, it came to her: If I can manipulate the rest of the world, I can manipulate Ren’s spine. I can make it right again!

  Slowly at first, and then all at once, as a trickle becomes a downpour of rain, the elements of Ren’s body began to rearrange themselves with her Conjuri power. It was subtle. There were no jarring movements, as when Tori healed after a fall from Orran’s mountain. It was strange how such diminutive changes could take or grant a life.

  Carefully, Tori righted what had been wronged until all the parts were aligned as they were meant to be. But still there was nothing. No pulse. No breath. But Tori was no longer frantic. Peace had settled over her, a deep inner focus. Ren needed breath in order to breathe, and so, she needed to give it to him.

  Tori leaned over, spread open his mouth, and blew breath into his lungs. One, two, three breaths. His lips were cold, but with her sense, she could feel life spreading, air filling his lungs. She reached out with her Conjuri sense and, knowing his heart needed to beat, she compressed his heart from within. His chest spasmed as it brought air and blood to his body once again. There was spluttering and a desperate gasp.

  He’s alive! Tori sobbed with joy. She brushed his cheek with her hand. She had never been so relieved in all her life. “Oh, thank the gods!”

  Ren coughed. There was a trace of blood. But he managed to speak in a whisper. “I-I thought you wanted the g-gods to damn me.” Ren shook with coughs again. Or was he laughing? A sly grin stretched his swollen face.

  “Even in death, you’re a bloody idiot,” said Sahra, kneeling down beside them. Sahra ran her hands over the captain, checking him over. She was a Medici, checking to be sure he was all right. Tori filled with rage. Sahra could have helped. She was a healer.

  “You were going to let him die?”

  For a moment, Sahra did not answer. She was focused on Ren. When she was content, she sat up. “You did well, Tori. Not the work of a Medici, but a few days with me, and his spine will heal.”

  “Why didn’t you do anything? What if I hadn’t saved him? What if your captain had died?”

  Before Sahra could respond, Ren spoke between violent coughs and deep, wheezing breaths. “I... commanded them not to... help you... I... believed in you, Tori... though I... expected to be saved... before the rope got me.” Ren chuckled, and then he was thrown into another violent coughing fit.

  “You need to shut up for once, Captain,” said Sahra sternly. “Your body needs rest. Your spine is back in place, but the bones and tissue still need to heal. Or your neck will snap right back again.”

  Sahra called for Zaya and another young Medici to retrieve a stretcher from the infirmary.

  “Tori, that was… incredible,” Zaya whispered as they prepared the stretcher. The Klavash girl brushed her shoulder and smiled with wide golden eyes.

  “Th-thanks.”

  Ren was loaded up with a brace fixed firmly against both sides of his head, though not without protest.

  “Come now... I can get myself to my own... chambers. Sahra, I don’t need... to be ferried around like some... cripple.”

  Sahra seemed to find satisfaction in the captain’s weakened state. She shook her head. “Captain, you were just a moment from death, and your spine is fragile as a porcelain doll. Until my healers are finished, I don’t want to see you out of your bed. For three days.”

  “Three... days?”

  “At the very least. And I will hear no more of it. Medici orders.”

  “Perhaps the gods are... damning me after all,” he muttered to Tori as the young Medicis carted him off. He chuckled, then fell into another coughing fit.

  Tori was still for a moment, finally catching her own breath, overwhelmed by the energy she had used up. She stirred at Mischa’s hand upon her shoulder.

  “You should rest too,” Mischa said, kneeling beside her. “You’re trembling.”

  It was then Tori realized that the entire Shadow Watch was still staring at her, their mouths gaping.

  “What are they gawking at?” Tori asked as Mischa took her by the arm and helped her up.

  “The Gallows Girl,” Mischa said, smiling.

  Tori had been so overcome by relief about Ren that it hadn’t sunk in exactly what she had done. Or how she’d done it. She had worked her magic, at her own will, for the first time since she had arrived at the Watchtower. She had saved Ren.

  And all the Watchers had seen her do it. There could be no denying Tori’s abilities now—not by Tori, or anyone else. Tori smiled with relief. Even Vashti’s mouth hung wide as the Gallows Girl left the courtyard.

  Part VIII

  The Slave’s Blade

  The Great Soltayne was chosen by the sun goddess, Arayeva. The chieftain who was chosen became like a god in the eyes of the people of the Steppe, with unquestionable influence and power. The chieftains of the twelve tribes vied ruthlessly to become the Chosen of Arayeva. Anyone who stood in their way gambled with death.

  —from Dawn of the Third World

  21

  Get up, Sky Blood!”

  A jarring kick to his ribs startled Kale from sleep. His senses were on high alert. In his dream, his brother had nearly died, and he had been overwhelmed by the darkness surrounding Ren’s mind. Kale shot up, hands reaching for the attacker. But the Ilya woman was too quick. She snatched his wrist and twisted ruthlessly.

  “All right, all right,” said Kale. “Sorenyi!”

  Ashi let go of his arm with a shove. Kale cradled his wrist. She had nearly broken it. Kale was not the strongest Watcher, but he could usually hold his own in a man-to-man fight. This Ilya woman was something else altogether.r />
  “Get dressed. My prince has need of you.”

  Kale stretched out his strained wrist, then rose to his feet. At last, he thought.

  It had been over a month of waiting for the Yan Avii to complete their arduous mourning rituals for the Great Soltayne, over a month of living beneath the city in the secret Den of the Ilya under Ashi’s vigilant watch. She was the lone woman in a man’s world, and it did not make her pleasant. She always seemed to be out to prove her worth. The host of assassins in the Den changed each day, coming and going from the gloomy tunnels at all hours of the day, but each day, the Ilya woman remained.

  Kale had not seen Salla since the prince had revealed his plans to use Kale’s and Kirra’s gifts to ensure his place as the next Great Soltayne. Though Salla, by inheritance, took his father’s place as soltayne of the Burodai tribe, the leader of all the tribesmen was chosen by lots, and the honor had never before passed to the son of the previous Great Soltayne. Salla would need more than the help of fate, or Arayeva, to gain the throne. He needed Watcher magic.

  Salla had remained in the world above, performing his princely duty in the palace, and in the short time they’d spent together, Kale had been unable to discern Salla’s true schemes. Salla was practiced in the art of protecting his mind, and Kale had been too preoccupied with thoughts of Kirra.

  Though Kirra was part of Salla’s plan, Kale had not seen her. He had not sensed her since the day he’d arrived in the Red City. This fact drove him nearly mad, but as long as Kirra was in Salla’s hands, Kale was forced to comply with Ashi’s brusque nature.

  “Dress quickly,” said Ashi, holding out a set of clothes. “We must be to the palace before evening prayer.”

  Kale took the bundle of clothes, but Ashi remained where she stood, arms crossed over her chest. “No privacy?” he muttered.