The Shadow Watch

by S. A. Klopfenstein

  As Jerrah and Mynah’s two assassins bled out in Salla’s bedchambers, the room filled with Ilya. And Kale found himself pierced, once more, by an Ilya blade laced with a sleeping draught.

  23

  When Kale woke, he found himself in Salla’s chambers, chained to the statue of Arayeva at his eastern window. The sandstone room was radiating with the light of the rising sun. With Ashi at his side, Salla watched as Kale stirred. Salla’s eyes lit with rage, and he was upon Kale in an instant. His hand gripped Kale’s chin like a blacksmith’s clamp and shoved his head back against Arayeva’s stone thigh. Pain shot through his skull.

  “You are a bastard, Sky Blood!”

  Delirious from the fading draught and the jarring impact, Kale’s body did not resist but merely tensed, anticipating the next blow. Would this be his end? Bludgeoned to death in the Red Palace?

  Ashi must have told him everything. How Kale had fabricated Jerrah’s treachery. How he’d not known—or not revealed—the identity of the true assassin, Pelah. Salla would kill him, right here.

  The next blow, however, did not come. Salla stepped back, breathing heavily, but his anger seemed to have subsided. “You should have told me there would be a third assassin, old friend. But Ashi assures me it was all part of your plan, so that Pelah would not suspect anything. And since it worked, I suppose I cannot be too angry, can I?”

  Behind Salla, where she had remained statue still while Salla assaulted him, Ashi now met Kale’s gaze and nodded curtly. She lied for me? he thought.

  “Pelah was by your side every moment in your chambers,” lied Kale. “If I had asked to reveal the third assassin in private, the boy would have suspected, and Mynah would have changed his plans.”

  Salla knelt before him, his eyes boring into Kale’s. Then, he clapped Kale on the shoulder. “You damn well cut it close enough last night, old friend. Look at my robes!” Salla held up his tattered, bloodied robes from when Pelah fell upon him with the knife.

  “But you survived the night,” said Kale. “That is all that matters.”

  Salla nodded tersely. “Yes, well, that is one task complete, at least. The Choosing will begin shortly. And I must ready myself. Ashi, cut him loose, and both of you, get cleaned up. The day is far from done.”

  Salla retired to his bedchambers, accompanied by two Ilya, leaving Kale and Ashi alone. Ashi fiddled with the lock on Kale’s shackles, and then she stopped and met his gaze. The slap was sudden and unexpectedly forceful, throwing his head back against Arayeva’s thigh once more. His head throbbed.

  “Gods!” Kale moaned.

  The lock released, and the shackles fell from his wrists. As he stood, Ashi jerked him close. Her breath was hot on his ear, each word like a hissing snake. “Did you know?”

  “About Jerrah?”

  “Pah!” Ashi glared. “About Pelah!”

  “No, Ashi. I did not know he was the third assassin.”

  Ashi eyed him for a moment, and then her gaze softened. “Third assassin? You are a fool. And even more to take me for one. You knew Jerrah was never working for Mynah.”

  Kale did not react. His head began to clear, and it was his turn to grab hold of Ashi’s wrist. She tried to wrest herself free, but he held tight. “Did you know that Kirra was a Morph, Ashi?”

  “A… a Morph?” Her voice sounded puzzled, but her eyes betrayed her.

  “I thought that Morph was part of Mynah’s scheme to turn me into the second assassin. I bear no love for your prince, but it would have done me no good to kill him. So, I let Jerrah take my place as the second assassin in Salla’s eyes. I never saw Pelah coming. But if the Morph was not Mynah’s, then she was Salla’s. Which means you knew Kirra was a Morph all along.”

  Ashi nodded. “Yes, I knew, and I am sorry.”

  Kale released her arm and leapt to the edge of the window behind Arayeva’s statue. “Well then, there is nothing for me here. You might tell your prince, he should know better than to trust the chancellor’s creatures.”

  Kale looked out at the vast city and readied himself. The draught had mostly faded. He ought to be able to reach the edge of the city at least. It would be enough of a start to evade pursuit. He crouched, ready to fly.

  “Wait!” Ashi shouted. She looked up at him, desperate. “Why shouldn’t Salla trust the chancellor?”

  Kale smirked. “Because Salla’s little Morph asked me to kill him last night. I thought it was Mynah’s scheme, but if not, then whatever alliance Salla has managed with the chancellor appears to be crumbling.”

  Ashi’s face went ashen. “You cannot leave, Sky Blood.”

  “Oh, I am leaving. And I will never return to the Red City, I promise you.”

  “If you leave, then you condemn Kirra to death!”

  Kale froze. Even at the thought, Kale’s hope surged anew.

  “You are right,” said Ashi. “The woman Salla brought to you last night was not Kirra. She was one of the chancellor’s servants. But that does not mean Salla does not have the real Kirra.”

  “You expect me to believe that? On good faith?”

  “How do you think that Morph matched her likeness so convincingly, if it had never seen her before?”

  Kale had not thought of that, but still, he was skeptical.

  Ashi approached the window. “There is a way you can know without doubt that I speak the truth.”

  “You would let me inside your mind?”

  “I will hold nothing back, if it means you will stay until Salla is chosen.”

  Kale dropped from the window’s ledge and took hold of her outstretched hands. Ashi’s mind swept over him like a rush of wind. Kale saw everything:

  He saw a young slave girl, clinging to her mother’s apron. Her mother being taken away by men of the soltaya, and young Ashi whimpering until she returned. He saw Ashi taken away to pleasure highborns for the first time. He saw Salla through her eyes. Her prince was like a ray of light. He kept her close, but did her no harm. Salla protected her. Kale saw the time Ashi saved Salla’s life. Saw her help him fake Vashti’s death. Saw the day Salla welcomed Ashi to his Ilya.

  And then he saw Jerrah. Felt her hatred, and the deep struggle within her to remain loyal to her prince without defying his vile captain. Kale saw a secret meeting between Salla and the chancellor. And finally, he saw Kirra, the real Kirra, being exchanged with the Morph in a dark passage. Kirra was unconscious, but alive, and being carried away by a strange woman.

  Kale released Ashi’s hands, and she stumbled back. She was trembling. Her face was hardened. “Salla is, above all things, devoted to his people,” Ashi said. “Believe me when I tell you that he made an alliance with the chancellor only to preserve the Yan Avii. If what you say about the Morph is true, then the chancellor has betrayed him, and I fear for my prince’s life now more than ever. We need your help, Kale. And if you help us, I promise you, Salla will keep his word.”

  Kale leaned against the window’s ledge for a moment, taking in all that he had seen in her mind. “I believe you,” he said, wishing he did not.

  “Thank you.” Ashi moved away from the window. “Come along then, Sky Blood. We must prepare ourselves for the ceremony. Kirra is yet a part of Salla’s plans for the Choosing.”

  Kale did not argue. He followed the Ilya woman to a small servant’s quarters. The room was but a nook filled with a single washbasin beside a pair of stacked bunks.

  Ashi handed him a rag. “There are fresh clothes on the bottom bunk. We are slaves, so we are afforded no privacy. But if you will show me the courtesy of turning away while I wash Jerrah’s blood off me, I will do the same for you.”

  Kale nodded. As hardened as the woman was, he had come to respect her.

  “You first,” said Ashi, turning away.

  Kale stripped his bloodied slave’s garments. He grimaced as he washed his hair. The back of his head was tender from when Salla and Ashi had hit his head against the statue of Arayeva. “Why did you lie?” He glanced over as he dipped t
he rag in water. Ashi remained with her back to him, arms crossed.

  “I will answer your question once you’ve answered mine, Sky Blood. Last night, you thought Salla did not have Kirra. You should have fled. Yet you delayed your escape. You knew Jerrah was not a traitor. Which means you stayed to kill him. But why?”

  Kale finished scrubbing and donned fresh slave garb. “Your turn,” he said.

  Ashi turned around. Their eyes met briefly, and she stared at him as though his eyes would let her inside his mind. She motioned for him to turn around. He faced the wall and heard her clothes fall in a heap, followed by the trickle of water from her rag. “Well?” she murmured.

  “I have made the mistake of letting one too many bastards live in my life.”

  “You’ve got to do better than that,” said Ashi. “Jerrah may have deserved it, but you are no hero, Sky Blood. You killed him for you.”

  “You remind me of her,” said Kale, staring off at the sandstone walls. In here, there were no carvings, no designs. Only enough room for two slaves to sleep and wash. Ashi had lived in such conditions all her life. As Kirra had for so many years before he’d met her. “You remind me of Kirra. I killed Jerrah because I wish I could have done the same for her. I did it because she would have wanted me to.”

  Ashi’s hand brushed his bare shoulder. Kale wished it was her hand. Kirra’s skin was warm, and when he had felt her touch on the Isle of Jallaa, it had felt like the world might one day be made right, that his past might finally be forgotten. Ashi’s touch, however, was cold… and wet.

  “You can turn around.” Ashi was clothed, and holding a jar. She began oiling his upper body for the second time. It stung his shoulder, and he realized that he had been cut by Jerrah’s blade. When she finished, Ashi handed the jar to him. “Believe me, Sky Blood, I wish someone else were here to do it.”

  Kale managed a slight smile. He rubbed the oil in his hands and spread it on her shoulders. “Why did you lie to Salla?”

  Ashi did not hesitate. “I lied because if Salla knew you’d wrongly killed Jerrah, he might have killed you on the spot. Which would be unfortunate, since I suspect there is more to Mynah’s plan than you have revealed so far.”

  Kale had to hand it to her. There was one final piece that he had withheld. “Since Salla survived the night, Mynah’s final plan takes place during the Choosing.”

  “I couldn’t very well let Salla kill you, then, could I? And if the chancellor has broken our alliance, it is even more fortunate I kept you alive.”

  Kale finished the last of Ashi’s oil and set the jar aside. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  Ashi turned to him, but her face had hardened again. “Jerrah paid me little attention until I was made an Ilya. Then, suddenly, he was relentlessly in need of my… services. For two years, I endured him. I am glad that Jerrah is dead, Sky Blood. But that is not why you are alive. I am not ruled by emotion like you.”

  The door flew open, and Salla entered the slave’s quarters. “You’re ready?”

  Ashi and Kale nodded.

  “Good,” said Salla. “The Choosing is about to begin.”

  Ashi nudged Kale in the side, hard. “Go on, Sky Blood, tell us what Mynah has planned for the Choosing ceremony.”

  Part IX

  Creatures Of The North

  Few people believed in gods or monsters in those days. They were lost tales from the Old World, passed down through the generations from ancient superstitions. They were tales told to children. Fables. Ghost stories. Nothing more…

  —from New Histories of the Old World.

  24

  While Ren recovered in his chambers after the gallows incident, Tori joined the rest of the Watchers for their regular training exercises. Long forgotten were the whispers of her inadequacies. She continued to struggle with midmorning flight lessons and her afternoon practice with the Conjuri, but after she saved Ren from death, the other Watchers had all developed an evident respect for her, perhaps even more so because she struggled. It made the Gallows Girl seem less like an ideal and more like a fellow young Watcher. At least, that was what Mischa Sufai claimed.

  Either way, things began to go more smoothly at the Watchtower for Tori. The other Watchers spoke to her more freely in the dining hall. Vonn Elra—the Conjuri leader, and Sahra’s husband from Malai—offered Tori tips from when he had learned to focus his own senses. A few days after the gallows, Tori managed to move a clay jar several inches across a table, to cheers from Vonn and the other Conjuri.

  That was also the first day Sahra would allow Ren to have any visitors. Ren’s chambers were located at the very rear of the castle. Ren sent for Tori as soon as the Watchers finished their evening sparring session after supper.

  He was out of bed when she arrived, kneeling on a woven rug in the cool air of his balcony, which overlooked the courtyard. Wisps of incense smoke swirled from three burners on the ground. He’s praying, Tori marveled.

  Tori stood in the doorway and watched for a moment. She had only known two people who actually prayed to the old gods. Ol’ Merri had prayed to them in her closet at Scelero’s estate, though she’d burned no incense. Tori’s mum had prayed the Old World way, the way Ren was praying now, burning incense and reciting ancient prayers in their tent back on the Steppe. As a child, this had seemed normal, but thinking back, Tori realized how odd it was. Her mum had been Oshan, after all.

  Serving the old gods, or any gods, was strictly forbidden in Osha. Many swore by them still, though this seemed to survive out of tradition more than belief. They were spoken of in the same way mothers scared their children with tales of Rulaqs. No living person had seen the great white monsters of the North, as no person had seen gods come down from the heavens to answer prayers. They survived in myth. Yet here was the captain, praying as dutifully as Vashti prayed to Arayeva each morning and evening. It surprised Tori. Ren had never struck her as a particularly religious man.

  Without turning, Ren broke the silence. “Are you going to join me, or are you going to spy on me while breathing like a winded horse?”

  Tori chuckled and entered the room. She was still worn from sparring. She’d been matched against Dajha, which was exhausting, as he was so swift with his Enduro gifts. “I’m sorry, er, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “There’s another rug at the foot of the bed. Join me.”

  Tori found the roll and spread it on the cold stone. The smell of incense reminded her of her mum, a thought that filled her with guilt. For so many years, Tori had despised her, only to discover that Morphs had killed her long ago. Her mum often haunted her dreams. Celene Burodai was always mortally wounded, torn apart by the Morphs. An image that fueled Tori’s fears that, somehow, she had gotten her mum killed. She could not remember the details, but she was convinced she had practiced magic that day so long ago. The day her mum sold her into slavery.

  Tori knelt on the rug and took in the scent of incense with deliberately slow breaths, and her body began to relax. Ren stared out at the valley, his breaths calm, his back straight. Tori tried to match his form, but she was too distracted. She had been dying to speak to Ren ever since he had come back to life, and now he just wanted to pray?

  “I’ve never done this before,” said Tori, shifting awkwardly, a little annoyed. Her knees seemed to be sinking into the stone, sending pangs up her thighs.

  “You kneel in humility and pray with sincerity. My mother taught me to always begin with thanks. It reminds us all is not within our control, and it reminds us of times the gods have been good. Since the gallows, I have begun each prayer by thanking the All Mother and the All Father that I am still alive. And I thank them that you are here with us at the Watchtower. So start there. What are you thankful for, Tori?”

  Snow-capped peaks towered on all sides of the Watchtower like a crown. The evening skies glowed orange and red, making it look like the Teeth were ablaze. It was beautiful. Tori kept her eyes open and spoke to the open air.

&nbs
p; “I am, er, thankful to be alive and free from the chancellor’s dungeons. I’m grateful to be here at the Watchtower with other Watchers like me… gods, this sounds stupid.”

  “My mother also said the gods are not impressed by fancy words. They already know what’s inside you. They know what you think before you say it.”

  “Then why pray?”

  “Prayers are more for us than they are for the gods.”

  “Your mother say that too?”

  “That was my own witticism.”

  Tori smiled. Ren turned to her for the first time since she’d entered. His dark brown eyes were bright amidst the wafting incense smoke. He took her by the hand, and her skin tingled. “Nothing sounds stupid to the gods, Astoria. Now, what do you want to ask them?”

  Tori pondered a moment. Of course, she knew what she hoped for. And wasn’t that rather like praying? She let go of Ren’s hand and looked out at the majestic mountains. Does Ren really believe the gods made humans, like in Mum’s old stories? Shaping them like clay in the hands of children? Why would gods mold the world and then leave it?

  Tori had believed the stories when she was a child. But belief in gods had disappeared with the betrayal of her mother. She had never renounced their existence the way Darien used to, but she had stopped thinking of them. If she needed something, she had trusted herself, and she had trusted Darien.

  But Tori supposed it couldn’t hurt to try. Her prayer was short and feeble, but it was true, whether anyone out there was listening or not. “I pray that Darien and Merri are alive. That they’ll escape the Legions. And that I’ll see them again. That I can… rescue them from the chancellor someday.” When she finished, she realized Ren was studying her. His eyes locked with hers, and he smiled.

  In return, Tori managed only a crease of her lips. Her thoughts lingered upon Darien.