The Shadow Watch

by S. A. Klopfenstein

  It all happened so fast, Tori could hardly make her brain comprehend the truth: Merri’s dead. She died so I could live…

  Merri had endured unspeakable horror in the Legions, killing and letting her masters believe they had changed her. But they hadn’t. All along, she had been waiting for her moment.

  Tori just could not believe that she was the moment Merri had been waiting for.

  And Scelero? He had been sentenced to the Old World for conspiring against the chancellor, only to come back to his own world a monster. Tori imagined her old master stumbling around that hellish nothingworld, growing numb and hollow, forgetting all the beauty that made the real world worth living in. Until eventually, he stumbled upon some colony of Old World cannibals, like the Rulaqs at the gates of the necropolis, waiting for their chance to return to the real world. And it seemed he had joined them. How did the Nosferati show up at all? Tori wondered dimly as she and Mischa pressed on through the catacombs.

  The sight of her old master, transformed into a demon, haunted her thoughts. She prayed Merri had died in the explosion, that she had not joined the ranks of the Nosferati.

  For hours, led by torchlight and a quickly fading hope, Tori and Mischa staggered through the labyrinthine catacombs, weak from the bloodletting and the long march and all the horror they’d been put through. But none of it matters now. Merri is dead. Scelero is a monster. And the others?

  The tears kept flowing, and words would not come. Mischa kept silent. Occasionally, she brushed Tori’s shoulder, but she never broke the silence weighing down upon them. It was as though Mischa could feel the gravity of the loss, even though she’d never known Merri or Scelero. As though, somehow, Mischa felt everything Tori felt and knew that no words could express the sorrow plaguing her. Of course she does. She lost Zaya…

  The caverns stretched on and on. Tori did not have the willpower to choose their path. It was all she could do to keep going. And Mischa sensed this too. As they reached divide after divide in the winding pathway beneath the Crooked Teeth, Mischa paused, giving Tori time to find her voice if she wished—though Tori never spoke—and then, Mischa pointed with the torch, and they continued on.

  Tori was too weak and too ravaged with loss to care what happened to them next. In all likelihood, Merri was but one of many of Tori’s friends who had died in the Nosferati attack. She had seen at least a dozen of the demons bounding through the chamber toward Merri. And she had heard the horrid wails of what must have been dozens more. We might be the only ones left.

  Vonn and Sahra and Ren, all of them were too weak to fight, even if they weren’t in chains. Tori knew they were probably dead. And if they weren’t, what good was it? They were in the hands of the chancellor. All was hopeless, and this truth enraged Tori even more. Merri died for nothing.

  Mischa led them on and on. If she was filled with dread, she did not show it. She held onto Tori’s arm and pulled her along. After hours of plodding—after Tori’s legs felt like they might give out at any moment—they came to yet another divide, and this time, Mischa did not choose a direction.

  Finally, Mischa’s fortitude gave out, and the tears struck her as well.

  “I don’t know where to go,” Mischa said. “We’ve been here before.” She pointed at the ground with her torch. “Those are our prints.”

  Tori did not know what to say. She felt as though all this was a dream, some dark effect of the bloodletting. Any second, she would wake up, back in her chains. Maybe back in her cell in the dungeons of the White Citadel. Perhaps she’d never left, and all this was an illusion. Some trick of her mind to keep her alive. She did not care anymore. She was so weak, and all she wanted was to lie down and sleep.

  Suddenly, Tori was jarred from her stupor by a cold fist. She staggered back. “Y-you hit me?”

  “Wake up, Tori!” Mischa cried. “I need your help!”

  “I-I don’t know anything… I-I can’t help!”

  Mischa hit her again. “Shenzah!”

  “Quit hitting me!” Tori swung back, but she missed and her momentum carried her into the damp cave wall. She crumpled to the ground, landing on soft dirt.

  The ground is soft! Tori’s fingers closed around fine grains of dirt. There had been no loose earth in all their march through the catacombs. It was all smooth, hard cave stone. But here, the ground was soft enough they had made footprints. Soft enough, she could feel the grains between her fingers.

  “W-we’re near the surface, Misch,” Tori said. “The dirt. We could only leave prints if we were near the surface!” Tori scrambled back to her feet, a surge of renewed hope rising in her. She took Mischa’s arm and led the way down the path they had not yet taken.

  There was another divide a short distance off. Tori analyzed the ground carefully. She could feel the slightest movement of air coming from the passage to the right, and she knew that was the way.

  It was midday when Tori and Mischa tumbled from a small opening in the side of the mountain, out into the snow, somewhere in the endless passes of the Crooked Teeth. They collapsed in the light of the high sun. With the cold and the Rulaqs roaming free once more, sleep could mean death. But exhaustion won over, and they slept.

  Tori woke, shivering in the faded light, her stomach wringing with hunger. But she felt stronger. Her blood was beginning to fill her up again. Her senses were sharpening, her power making her more aware of the complexity of the world around her. But that world was nothing but snow and rock and cold for leagues in all directions.

  Mischa did not stir beside her. Tori nudged her. Already, Tori’s fingers felt stiff and achy from the cold. Night had come, and it would be getting far colder. Mischa moaned, but did not sit up as Tori shook her again. “Misch, we’ve got to move. We’ll freeze to death if we don’t.” Tori tugged at her friend’s arm, and finally, she rose from the snow.

  “If I w-weren’t so weak, I c-could make a f-fire,” Mischa stammered, flicking the flints at her wrists helplessly. A mere breath of flame flickered around her fingers and faded.

  Though the thought of a fire was the most glorious thing she could think of, Tori said, “Fire would just bring the Rulaqs straight to us, anyway. Come on, we’ve got to move.”

  Tori reached out her hand, and Mischa managed to get to her feet. “D-dying as Rulaq food doesn’t sound all that b-bad anymore.” Mischa chuckled darkly.

  “We’re alive, Misch. We made it out. We’re not going to die.” Tori did not believe it, but she had to keep Mischa’s spirits up.

  Mischa smiled, though her lips trembled with shivers. “That sounds m-more like the Tori I know. G-guess I knocked some sense into you back in that c-cave.”

  They trudged into the darkening night. The sky was clear, and the stars began to creep out from their hiding places. It was true, they might be devoured by Rulaqs, but at least they wouldn’t freeze in a blizzard.

  Tori fixed her gaze on the Eldest, the brightest star in the northern sky. It would lead them east, out of the Teeth to the rocky plains of the Grey Waste. Though Tori had no idea how far they would need to travel.

  It was nearly daylight when Mischa finally dared to voice the wrenching question that had been eating away the silence between them for so long. “Do you think the others survived?”

  Tori trudged through the thick snow, grateful for all the hard exercises Sahra had put them through. That hard-earned stamina kept them going now, through their weakness and the cold. It had been a long night’s march, but the horizon was beginning to turn grey with the coming morning, and the sharp wind was dying down. Tori had needed to focus so much on moving forward, on surviving the night, she hadn’t let her mind settle long upon the thought of what the Nosferati might have done to the others. “I… I don’t know, Misch,” said Tori, at last.

  “The chancellor wouldn’t leave them to die, right? They’re too valuable to him.”

  “Nothing is as valuable to the chancellor as his own life and power.” Tori knew this all too well. A sick dread pick
ed away at her hollow stomach.

  “We can hope they’re alive,” said Mischa. “We have to hope.”

  Tori nodded. She thought of all their friends in those caves, of Sahra and Vonn, even Dajha and the others who had turned. She thought of Ren… how foolish it was to think that only a few nights ago she had been stupidly worried about his attention. Now, all she wanted was to know he was alive.

  Tori thought of Darien… what she would give to go back to the day of the Gallows. Yet Tori knew she could never take back what she’d done that day. It meant he was still alive. Even if he was a monster now, Tori could never have chosen otherwise. Merri had sworn that the real Darien was still in there, beneath the uniform and the morphing skin. And Valeria said the same thing…

  Tori hoped it was so, but even more, she hoped that Darien had survived the attack in the catacombs, whether still a monster or not. She hoped that the chancellor would not take her escape out on him, or any of the others.

  “I feel torn about the others,” said Tori, after some time. “As though my heart’s been ripped in two. If they all died in those catacombs, then all is lost, Misch…”

  “All is not lost,” said Mischa firmly. “Merri told you as much before the end. ‘The Gallows Girl is the hope of the New World.’ That’s what she said. There are people who will help us.”

  “But where?” said Tori. “We’re all alone in the middle of the mountains. Rulaqs are ravaging the world, and the others…”

  “Some survived,” said Mischa, determined. “They had to survive.”

  “I hope they did too, Misch. But the Shadow Watch is done. They betrayed us. And…” Tears began to well up in Tori’s eyes. “And I don’t blame them.”

  Mischa stopped and took her hand. “You did the right thing, Tori.”

  “Our friends died because of me. Zaya died… I’m so sorry, Misch.”

  Mischa pulled her tight, and Tori sobbed into her thick cloak. Mischa held her for some time before she spoke. Her voice was firm. “Zaya died because of the chancellor. Maybe the others can’t see it yet. But it is true. And don’t you dare believe otherwise, because I don’t.”

  Tori nodded, and they pushed on silently toward the crest of a steep pass. Tori did not know where they were going. They were bearing east to leave the Teeth, she knew that much. But beyond that? With Osha in the west, and the Yan Avii now allied with the chancellor… their paths were virtually blocked anywhere to the south.

  Perhaps the North? Tori pondered the idea. Sahra had spoken highly of the Alyuts of the Great White North, but little was truly known about them in Osha. They were a mystery. Old World savages, according to Oshan lore, supposedly the original inhabitants of the western continent before the arrival of the Elyan races, driven north during the ancient conquests. Tori had once seen an Alyut trader in the Trium’vel when she was a young slave girl. His hair had been formed into long, thick locks, and his beard had been immense. He dressed in strange white furs and spoke of bear riders and cities of ice. Tori pushed the thoughts aside. Once we’re safe, we can figure out what to do next. First, we have to stay alive, which means we’ve got to get out of the Crooked Teeth as soon as possible.

  Her fingers felt raw, and Tori knew the cold would kill them both if they spent another night exposed to the elements. It had been a warm night for the Teeth. She doubted they would be so lucky again.

  Mischa was quiet for some time, before she voiced a painful question. “Do you think Vashti is still valuable to the chancellor?” Her voice quavered.

  Tori cringed at the thought of the Yan Avii princess, especially after her betrayal of the Watchers. A dark part of her hoped Vashti had died in the catacombs. But she could not hope that, for Mischa’s sake. Vashti might have betrayed them all, but it was not out of spite. Tori knew that. She had sensed the pain when Vashti explained to Mischa what she’d done.

  It was out of desperation for her people, and even for Mischa and the others, that she’d betrayed them. If she was honest, Tori wondered if Vashti had been right, that all this was truly a hopeless war. And Tori hated the princess all the more for this.

  Regardless, Tori felt sure Vashti was alive. Tori knew more than anyone how much the chancellor valued her Regenero ability, how much he needed her to cross between the worlds. And besides, if Vashti were dead, Tori would have to feel more guilt for still hating her so much.

  “I think,” Tori said at last, “if there was anyone the chancellor valued in those caves, it was Vashti. I’m… well, I’m sure she’s still alive.”

  Mischa nodded, and Tori could tell she was holding back tears. Tori felt a kinship forming between them, something deeper than before. She gripped Mischa’s hand. Tori knew exactly how it felt to be betrayed by someone she loved. She knew the confusing twist of emotions that surfaced, hating them and yet praying they were alive. She’d learned first from her mum, and now Darien.

  “How did you…” began Tori. She was not sure how to say it.

  “How did I come to love someone like Vashti?” said Mischa. “Someone you despise so much?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “I know,” said Mischa. “I don’t blame you for hating her, Tori, but… well, you two had a lot more in common than you were ever willing to see. You were just set against each other from the start. Vashti was different when she first came to the Watchtower. She was strong and brave. We… we got on from the start…”

  Mischa’s voice faded into memory. When she spoke, her voice croaked. “But—I mean, everyone liked her. Especially Ren. He wanted to make her his queen when the Watchers rose up. He thought she’d be perfect. A phoenix rising from the ashes. The girl who came back from death. And she…”

  “She thought it would be best for her people,” Tori finished. “She sacrificed her love for you, for the sake of her people.”

  Mischa nodded. “I couldn’t hold that against her, but… it hurt. Like nothing I’ve ever felt.”

  “But after I came, why did she hate me so much? I mean, why couldn’t you two…”

  “After the hope of an alliance with the Yan Avii dissolved, Ren moved on,” said Mischa. “But things couldn’t be the same. It started as something for her people, but Vashti fell in love with Ren. She was crushed when it ended. We just… we couldn’t go back. She broke my heart. Ren broke hers. It never felt right. You saw how we were. Things were always strange between us after she decided to become Ren’s queen.”

  “And now she’s going to be the chancellor’s queen…”

  “You can’t choose who you love. I wish I could. I tried. I liked Zaya…” Mischa kept her head down as she trudged on through the deep snow. Tori could only imagine her friend’s tangled web of emotions about Zaya.

  “All hope isn’t lost for Vashti, you know.” Tori could barely believe she was saying it, but she was trying to see Vashti through Mischa’s eyes, and she knew Mischa needed hope. Tori’s body was healing itself, and despite the cold, she was feeling stronger, but Mischa was moving slower, growing weaker the farther they trekked. “She doesn’t have to be his queen, not if we kill the chancellor. And we’re going to, Misch. We have to kill him.”

  Mischa squeezed Tori’s hand. Her fingers trembled. “Maybe we should focus on surviving another day in these mountains, before we plot any assassinations.”

  That was exactly what Tori feared for Mischa, though she tried not to let her concern show. They needed food, shelter, fire, but the world stretched out white and bleak before them, and Tori feared for Mischa’s survival.

  The girls spoke little as they trudged on. It was morning, but the sun still hid behind the towering mountains for several hours before they finally felt its warmth. As the sun rose over the jagged peaks, they reached the edge of a great valley. Below, the remnants of a Crooked settlement lay scattered in the snow like branches splayed out across a meadow after a summer storm.

  “Oh gods,” said Mischa. “They’re dead. All these innocent people.”

  Tori
felt guilty, but she saw the ruined settlement for the blessing it was. “There may be provisions left in the rubble.”

  The settlement was a crushed skeleton of splinters and debris. No bodies. It seemed the inhabitants had all been devoured by Rulaqs.

  How many did I let through? Tori wondered, a pang of heavy guilt pressing in her chest. It was more than the Rulaqs. She had been avoiding the thought ever since she had seen the first Nosferati, but now, looking at all these ruined homes and the blood staining the snow, it overwhelmed her. Where did those creatures come from in the catacombs? Were the Nosferati hidden all these years? Or did I let more than Rulaqs through, somehow?

  Tori’s experience in the Old World felt like a faded dream. She remembered the horde outside the gateway to the New World. She remembered how poor and timid the Rulaqs had seemed there. She remembered them roaring back to life and stampeding when she tried to close the portal. Could she have let something else through in the madness?

  Tori knew that was where the chancellor had banished Scelero. The Nosferati must have come from the Old World. But how?

  As she walked through the devastated settlement, Tori wondered whether the stories had gotten it all wrong. Perhaps the Old World was not the paradise of magic and freedom it sounded like in all her mum’s stories. Perhaps the First Chancellor had made the right decision to rid the world of magic and monsters.

  Tori and Mischa searched through the rubble of several buildings with no luck. Finally, they found the remains of a tavern. The storehouses in the North were always underground, and after some effort, they cleared away the trapdoor. A ladder led down to a vast storeroom. With hope reviving her strength, Mischa managed to tease a flame and let it hover in front of them, lighting their way. The room was stocked with shelves of potatoes and unleavened bread and jars of preserves and, best of them all, barrels of water.

  “Thank the gods!” Mischa cried, lapping it up from cupped hands. Tori had been so cold, she hadn’t realized how thirsty she was, and she, too, drank greedily.