The Shadow Watch

by S. A. Klopfenstein

  The Crooked folk reminded Tori, in many ways, of her own people, her childhood upon the Steppe. The Tomb fights were not unlike the wrestling matches and saber duels that often rose up around evening fires in the Yan Avii tent cities. The people of Ytala were close in a way that Oshans were not. Oshan families were an entity unto themselves, consumed with their own familial accomplishments, but here in Ytala, much like the Burodai tribe of her childhood, the people felt like one big family, with all the bickering and hard work and laughter to go along with it.

  A broad-chested man approached a girl with straight black hair who was bustling around serving drinks. Dajha’s eyes had been following her every time she returned with another gnasch, and Dajha eagerly mocked the man as he made his move. “Ar, little love, look a me. Ima big an’ strong. I can break this ’ere table with me own head!”

  “Well,” said Mischa, imitating the girl’s husky voice. The serving girl gestured at the wall of mugs and shook her head. “Tell ye what. If ye can break this ’ere log bar-top, I’ll leave with ye right now.”

  Tori chuckled at the enactment.

  The broad-chested man followed the serving girl’s tattooed hand. And then, he took hold of it and beseeched her. “Ah!” Dajha exclaimed. “On second thought, these logs be a mite thicker than me skull. Reckon I’ll need me wits about me to handle a night with ye. Why don’t we skip the show, whadda ye say?”

  The serving girl wrenched her hand free of the man’s grasp, shaking her head and scowling, and Tori and Vonn erupted in laughter.

  “Ah, please!” cried Dajha, clutching at his chest. “Me heart tis breaking.”

  “Ye’ll break more than that, if ye don’t beat it!” cried Mischa, as the woman gave him a good shove.

  The man staggered away, tripping on an outstretched leg in the aisle. The man rolled. A scrawny boy tried to help him, and they both collapsed. The whole room erupted in laughter, including the rejected Crooked man, who rose to his feet and bowed.

  “All part o’ the show!” cried Dajha. “All part o’ the show.”

  Tori smiled and took another long pull from her mug. She was glad she’d come. She discovered that, though the taste of gnasch was rather bitter, it had managed to completely lighten her mood, and helped push away thoughts of her confusing interactions with Ren that night. It’s stupid to think about, anyway. We have a war on our hands. A war Tori was eager to begin, and which seemed to be placed on hold with the death of Vashti’s father.

  Vashti… she thought with disgust.

  “Think you got an admirer, Tori,” Vonn said, pointing to a handsome young village boy across the room. Tori had caught him staring only a few minutes ago. He turned away sheepishly as Vonn called him out.

  “The Crooked men love a woman who can kick their ass,” said Mischa, patting Tori’s shoulder. “Every boy in this room has his eyes on Tori.”

  “Not like this one,” said Vonn. “He’s got it bad.”

  “Ah, please,” said Dajha, with a laugh. “We all know Tori’s got eyes for only one man.”

  “And who would that be?” said Tori defensively.

  “The captain, obviously,” said Mischa.

  “I don’t have eyes for Ren.” And he certainly doesn’t have eyes for me.

  “Ah, Ren,” Dajha said in a sing-song voice. “Sweet Fly-Me-Up-the-Mountain Ren. Aha! Sure as the gods are dead, yeh know none o’ us are on first names with the captain. Nothing to do with those late-night lessons, yeh don’t suppose?”

  Everyone laughed but Tori.

  “Come on, Tori,” said Mischa, poking her. “You’re telling me there was nothing going on when I came to bring you here?”

  Tori fought off a blush. It was all shenzah. Even if Tori entertained the idea, Ren had no eyes for her. He’d sent her here to this madhouse, where the Crooked boys were mighty handsome. What did Mischa care, anyway? She wasn’t usually one to pry into Tori’s love life. And Tori had given her the same courtesy. She had not inquired about why Zaya Shalvar seemed to frequent their room less often lately. Nor had she pointed out that the girl had not joined them at the taverns after the fights.

  “They’re just lessons,” said Tori irritably.

  “Aha! What sort o’ lessons, I wonder?”

  “Gods, enough!” said Tori. “There’s nothing going on between me and the captain! Just leave it alone, will you?”

  “Shenzah!” Vashti took up a chair at their table, smirking darkly. She hadn’t been at the fights. Likely, Ren had just told her about her father, and she had the humor to show for it. “Tell me, Gallows Girl, has Ren flown with you up the mountain? Has he kissed you in the ruins of Orran’s temple?”

  “No! He hasn’t!” Tori flushed with anger. But Vashti had hit her mark.

  Vashti smiled spitefully. “You are not the first to be thrown from Orran’s mountain, or fly to his balcony.”

  He trained Vashti the same way? Suddenly, Tori felt even more foolish for entertaining thoughts about the captain. “It doesn’t matter how he trained you, because there’s nothing going on!”

  “Prove it,” said Vashti.

  Perhaps it was her anger. Perhaps it was because Vashti was speaking directly to Tori’s fears about Ren. Or perhaps it was the effects of the gnasch. But Tori didn’t think about what she did next. The Ytalan boy across the room was staring again, and this time Tori held his gaze and smiled. He grinned back foolishly.

  “All right, I will,” Tori said.

  Tori crossed the room to join the Ytalan boy. A little flirting couldn’t do any harm, and the Crooked boy was mighty handsome.

  The boy’s face was coppery and smooth, but when he spoke, his voice was deep. He was a man grown, sixteen or seventeen at least. He spoke the Common Tongue well for a Crooked boy, and with charm and confidence for his youth. “That cage move, that was good,” he said.

  “Glad you enjoyed it.” Tori smiled, letting a hand brush his shoulder.

  “I’m Fallon.”

  “Tori.”

  “Want another drink?”

  Tori shouldn’t have done it. She knew she shouldn’t have. She should have pecked Fallon quick on the lips, made her point, and headed back to join the others. But she was already feeling light from the gnasch and the adrenaline from the fight. She was frustrated with whatever was or was not going on with Ren—whether she wanted him to have eyes for her, whether she was just the next Vashti to him, or worse, less than Vashti. He’s not looking for me to be his queen, and Ren was the one to suggest a Crooked boy in the first place!

  Tori took the seat beside Fallon. She wanted to forget about Ren, about being the Gallows Girl, about everything. Fallon was grinning expectantly, his eyes only on her. And it felt good for someone to have eyes for her, without any wondering. Tori laughed and took hold of Fallon’s hand. “I’d love another drink!”

  One gnasch turned into three, and Tori’s walls slipped farther away with each drink. She had never had so much liquor in her life.

  “Didn’t think monks were supposed to drink so much,” Fallon said, handing her a fourth.

  Monks? Tori wondered foggily. Of course, that’s what Ren lets the villagers believe we are. The Watchtower was a monastery in service to the old gods in the eyes of the people of Ytala. It made the superstitious folk revere the Watchers and keep their distance at the same time.

  Tori’s words were growing more drawn out, but she liked it. Becoming more carefree made her feel good, made her forget about all the things that had been weighing on her mind. Tori thought she would play into the monastic role a bit more. “Well, we’re not exactly s’pooosed to come down here, yuh know. But sometiiimes monks have to let looooose.”

  This got Fallon rocking back with laughter. His arm was draped around her, and they laughed and talked some more about monk life, which he found fascinating, though not nearly as fascinating as the rebel girl who snuck away from the monastery to fight and drink.

  Tori basked in the boy’s attention. It was nice, for once, to
be fawned over for something other than the bloody gallows, even if it was all a fraud. She let herself slip more and more into the rebel monk persona. Let herself move closer to Fallon, her hands wandering from her mug to grasp his hand, which was already on her knee. Then her fingers ventured up his back, lingering at the soft, brown skin of his neck. Fallon was beautiful, there was no denying it. His curly black hair drifted across deep brown eyes. I bet he’s got some Yan Avii blood in him. Fallon’s hands were smooth as they teased her neck and tangled in her hair. He reminded her of Darien in a way—a boy of the mountains.

  The rest of the room was loud and raucous around them, but all of it was slipping away in the background. All Tori was aware of in the world was Fallon’s warm hands, which somehow managed to induce shivers.

  “Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he whispered in her ear. His breath was warm and made her skin tingle. “I thought monks were supposed to be peaceful.”

  “Maaybee…I haven’t aaalways been a monk,” she said confidingly. “But yuh know what, Faaallon?” He drew nearer. Tori hiccuped. “I’ve never beeeen this drunk before. I feel like I’m floooating.”

  “Well, gnasch is very—”

  “And yuh know what else, Faaallon?” Tori interrupted.

  “What?” His lips brushed her ear as he spoke.

  “I’m tiiired of all this taaalking.”

  Tori moved in so quickly, the boy almost fell over in his chair. His lips were warm and tasted of gnasch, but Tori didn’t notice the bitterness. She pulled him in, and they kissed in the corner of the Ytalan tavern. His hands pulled her closer. Tori’s whole body rushed with warmth, and suddenly, she wanted to sneak away from the tavern and be alone, and forget everything else. They were in another world, warm and light, like a good dream that didn’t let any of the cold, bitter real world slip in. Tori wanted to feel warm and light and desired like this forever. She never wanted this to stop.

  She didn’t know how long they spent kissing in the dream world. But it ended abruptly, with a jarring, intrusive voice.

  “Tori!—Gods!—TORI!”

  And then the voice became a hand, jerking her back to reality.

  It was Mischa.

  Tori pulled away from the Ytalan boy, slowly, as though woken from a deep slumber. Her limbs felt detached, floating around the room without control. As she tried to stand, her legs buckled. Fallon caught her, but his mug of gnasch spilled in the process, and the two of them fell into foolish hysterics.

  “We have to go back to the monastery. Now!” Mischa sounded like she was speaking underwater.

  “I don’t wanna gooo,” Tori protested. She held onto Fallon’s arm as Mischa tried to pull her away. Fallon was grinning drunkenly at the whole ordeal.

  Tori pulled back so hard she and Mischa both went tumbling to the floor. Tori kept jerking her arm away as Mischa held tight. But then, a sharp pain in her cheek caused her body to slacken. Mischa had slapped her. Several of the villagers whooped, thinking a brawl was starting. Mischa slapped her again.

  “Quiiit it!”

  “Come back home with me now, or I’ll slap you all night!” Mischa slapped her again. Tori tried to block it, but her movements were slow and stupid.

  “Fine! Fine! Fiiine!” Tori shirked her friend’s grip, and Fallon helped her to her feet.

  “Will I see you again?” he said, a boyish grin stretching wide.

  “I doubt it,” said Mischa.

  Tori shot her a glare, then gave Fallon a final kiss on the cheek, before Mischa yanked her away. Mischa’s breaths were heaving as she dragged Tori along after her, out of the tavern and into the cold night. Tori quit fighting and followed obediently. The sharp bite of the wind awakened her some. Her legs began to regain their sense, and her face stung in the cold. At the edge of the village, they passed a trough.

  “Should I throw you in, or are you ready to act your age?” said Mischa.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Gods, I can’t believe you, Tori!”

  “What? Am I the only one who can’t have fun? Dajha ran off with that serving girl, and I didn’t see you dragging him away.”

  “You made a fool of yourself, Tori. You’re the Gallows Girl.”

  “So, the Gallows Girl is the only one who can’t have fun.”

  “Let’s just get you home, all right?”

  Tori didn’t answer, but she followed Mischa out of Ytala. They were well up the pass before Tori realized they were alone and not riding back in the sleigh. She was more out of sorts than she’d thought. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “They left, Tori. Everyone else has already gone back.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Mischa turned to her, fire teasing from her fingertips like angry butterflies. “I stayed because I wasn’t ready to face Zaya! All right?”

  “What?”

  “I… I ended things with her,” said Mischa, the fire dissipated, her lip trembling. “You’d know that if you hadn’t run off. I wanted to get drunk with my friends and forget it all. But you left, and then Dajha. And Vonn went home to Sahra. And Vashti was acting strange as ever, and…”

  “I’m sorry,” said Tori. “I didn’t know.” I didn’t ask. I should have asked.

  Mischa stopped in her tracks. “That wasn’t you in there, Tori.”

  “I wanted to forget too,” Tori said. “I know it went too far, but I… I wanted to make my point to Vashti.”

  “Well, you damn well made it, didn’t you? Gods, what are you going to tell Ren?”

  “There’s nothing to tell, because there’s nothing going on. So, I’m not going to tell Ren anything.”

  There was a soft thud behind them, and both girls spun around with a start.

  “What aren’t you going to tell me?” It was Ren.

  “Don’t sneak up like that!” said Mischa, clutching at her chest. She’d released more flames, and the cuffs of her cloak were singed.

  “Sorry, I came looking when the sleigh returned with three missing. Vashti said she lost you in the taverns. Where’s Dajha?”

  “He found a… distraction for the evening.”

  Ren didn’t notice when Tori shot Mischa a look, implying her double standard.

  “Well, then, I’ve found who I’m looking for,” said Ren, leading the way down the path. “So, what weren’t you going to tell me, Tori?”

  “About how she… can’t hold her gnasch,” said Mischa, returning Tori’s glare. “I found her spewing in the troughs. That’s why we missed the sleigh.”

  Ren laughed and took Tori’s arm. “Well, if the Crooked folk know one thing, it’s how to brew a bloody drink. Believe me, you’re not the first to make that mistake. Come on, let’s get you home.”

  Tori didn’t protest and was ready to return to the Watchtower, when a cry echoed up the canyon. All three of them spun. There was no one in sight.

  “Must be Dajha,” said Mischa. “Hey, Daj! Up here!”

  There was another cry. Though unintelligible, it was most certainly human.

  “We’re up here!”

  “Hey-ooo!” The voice was youthful and deep, and distinctly not Dajha’s. A young man stumbled into view, trudging through the snow, nearly falling as he approached. “Toooriiii!”

  It’s Fallon, Tori realized with horror.

  “Oh gods!” said Mischa.

  “Who’s that?” said Ren, a dark tone rising in his voice.

  “I’ll explain later,” said Tori. “I’ll handle him.” She ran back down the canyon, nearly stumbling herself. The speed made her head feel light. I am never drinking gnasch again!

  “Toooriii!”

  “Fallon, what are you doing?”

  “I came back for you.”

  “Go back to Ytala,” Tori said firmly.

  “Only if you come with me.” He grabbed her hand. “Just for tonight. We had so much fun. Just a bit more fun.”

  “I can’t go back with you. Look back there! That’s my cap—er, that’
s the High Priest of the monastery. Now, go! Do you want a curse placed on you?”

  Fallon looked taken aback. “A curse?”

  “The High Priest is very angry with me. You don’t want him mad at you too.” Fallon looked a little hurt as he let go of her hand. “I’m sorry, Fallon. I shouldn’t have—”

  The still night was pierced by an ear-splitting shriek. The sound was unlike anything Tori had ever heard in her life, echoing off the mountains, seeming to come from all around. Her first thought was a kendrak bear. But she had never heard a bear sound like that. It came again. Closer. High-pitched and thunderous and filling every void of silence, it reminded Tori of the time a man had been burned alive in the Fringe pyres. He had been deathly sick, but not quite deathly enough, and his dying shrieks had filled her with the same sickening dread that came upon her now.

  The trees around them shook violently, some of them toppling over like saplings in a summer storm. The creature emerged from the woods, a hundred-foot snowpine crashing down in its path. It was larger and more terrifying than any of the tales could capture. But at the sight of the massive white monster, there was no doubt in Tori’s mind what it could be.

  Its shriek pierced her ears, reverberating from two sets of jaws large enough to snap her in half. Tori’s vision filled with the flash of fangs at the end of two furry, serpentine necks.

  It’s a Rulaq!

  Part X

  The Casting Of The Lots

  The ritual by which the Great Soltayne was chosen was performed by the priests of Arayeva. Through a series of divinations, the twelve tribal chieftains were narrowed to one. This way, the Yan Avii priests could ensure that the leader of the tribesmen was the one chosen by the will of the sun goddess.