Ink Adept

by TatiAnna Tibbitts

  They reached the first settlement eleven days after leaving the Marble Hall, while the sky hung low and dripped misty rain. Munayair had been allowing Tel to chase bees and peer into hollow logs and around moss-covered boulders. They were filling the waterskins where the stream swung around a rocky outcropping. Tel was peering down into the deep water, in danger of falling in and being swept away. So Munayair called him back to her hand. His forehead glyph was beginning to dim, a sign she needed to recharge his energy, so she tucked him away in her pocket to tend to later. Then she glanced across the river and the breath halted in her throat.

  One side of the bank had been cleared for a rough collection of thatched huts. In the dimness of fast-falling twilight, there was not a soul to be seen. No running children, no gossiping girls gathering water at the river, no lights in the windows.

  Anjita had seen the village, too, and her brow furrowed. “Do you see anyone?”

  Munayair couldn’t move or speak. Crowded into every corner of the village, surrounding every house, were dozens of motionless grey shapes.

  Tachoul. The silent grey demon.

  Most were vaguely human-shaped, although others resembled some species of four-legged animal. Their forms were almost clear, like silty water, and they made no sound. The air thickened around Munayair until she choked on her own breath.

  “We should go,” she whispered.

  Anjita glanced at her. She had seen nothing. “We’re almost out of food,” she said. “Perhaps the villagers are out hunting.”

  “Tachoul can only harm you if you fear them,” Dame Savra had said many times. “Pay them no mind. Never speak of them.”

  So she said nothing as they waded across the river, gorge rising as they walked through the desolation. No smoke escaped from the huts, no babies wailed, no dogs barked, no women chattered. Only the babble of water, wind in the trees, and a lingering stench of decay. All too familiar, and her stomach twisted with fear.

  Worst of all, tachoul in their hundreds, blank eyes and silent mouths moving. Anjita strolled unawares through the midst, and Munayair forced herself to follow, trying to avoid attention. She held her facade with difficulty, especially when she had to skirt around the mute, unmoving spirits without appearing to.

  Her disquiet grew with every faltering step. She had not seen such numbers of tachoul in a long time, never outside of a battlefield, certainly not since she had entered the Marble Hall. Even Tel clung, half-hidden among the folds of her skirt.

  Anjita scowled. “Something’s not right. We should look around.”

  They set the packs on the ground. Anjita strode into the woods, the hem of her grey cloak whispering through the dead leaves. Munayair found herself tiptoeing, wincing at every crunch under her boots. She crept up to the first house, Tel leading the way up the steps. The smell of something wrong, something sick, made her gag. She pressed her sleeve to her nose, but it did no good. She nudged the door, peering into the dark room.

  I’ve smelled this before, Avlingai said. It’s never a good omen.

  “Hello?” she whispered.

  Her voice fell dead and she paused on the doorstep. Still, Tel darted inside, so she shoved the door open and followed. The low-ceilinged room, a circular space with firepit and rough wooden furniture, lay empty. She ran her finger along the top of the dusty table. A ladder led to a loft, the sleeping area for whatever family had once called this home.

  Once again, the curious chelka scampered ahead. She cursed herself for leaving Seek on his forehead as she climbed the creaking ladder and peered into the loft.

  And almost pitched backward, muffling a scream with both hands.

  Upstairs swarmed with tachoul, dozens upon dozens of them, crowding towards a corner. Through the cloudy forms she caught a glimpse of a transparent figure crouched against the wall. The ghost’s eyes had been a deep brown in life, a woman with handsome features and a strong body. The shadows pressed against it, cold fingers prowling all over the shivering thing. Everything drained away as the tachoul feasted.

  Get out of there, Avlingai growled, rousing in the back of her mind. If they see you—

  Frozen with terror, Munayair watched as the color ebbed from the ghost’s eyes, leaving grey blankness.

  A gasp escaped from behind her hands and echoed around the room. Without waiting to see if she had been discovered, she flung herself down the ladder. Then she bolted from the house, out of the choking dark, away from the reek pervading this village.

  Cursed, she thought as she shoved her way out into the sunlight. Tachoul drifted towards her, sensing her fear. If she showed weakness, they would latch onto her and drain every bit of color and life out of her, like the poor spirit above. She bent over, sucking in air, to control the dangerous pressure building inside her.

  Control, sister, Avlingai urged, caught in helpless fear. Remember to breathe.

  Not now, she cried inwardly. You’re safe. Nothing will happen. Breathe in, out. In. Out. Don’t let them see.

  Something tugged at her skirt, startling her. Tel’s face glinted up at her in the dying light of the sun. She gasped and pressed a hand to her heart. Insistently, he tugged again, and she stooped to pick him up.

  Enemies. Enemies. Enemies. He tapped over and over and over against her hand. If he had not been made of wood, she might have called it fear.

  Her hands tightened instinctively around him. “Shhhh, little bold one. These grey ones are no more than shadows. You’re too pure for them to touch.” He calmed in her hands, falling still. The tachoul had begun to drift away again.

  Well done, Avlingai whispered.

  Her spine tingled again with the unmistakable feeling of someone watching. Straightening, she scanned the surrounding forest. Nothing to be seen apart from blank leaves and beams of afternoon sunlight.

  Loud crackling announced the reappearance of Anjita covered in leaves, scratches, and annoyance. “I hate woods,” she declared. “There might have been a legion hiding in those trees and I never would have spotted one. How do people live here, anyway?” She glanced at Munayair’s face and spoke sharply. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

  Munayair shook her head in denial of the panic bubbling up at the lingering smell of smoke. She could not voice her fear without losing control again. “It’s the smell,” she muttered finally. “That ... stench. Smells of rot or worse.”

  That scent can’t be detected with mortal senses, Avlingai said darkly. It’s unnatural, an abomination. We need to leave, quickly. It was rare for the great bear to show such agitation, compounding Munayair’s already-overwhelming fear.

  Anjita sniffed. “I don’t smell anything,” she said finally. “Perhaps you came near something in the house gone bad. Did you find anyone?”

  “No.” Munayair tried not to think of the unfortunate spirit in the loft and failed. She tucked Tel into her pocket. “What now?”

  Anjita frowned. “Well—”

  A long howl rose from the nearby woods, gliding into the sky and down again in a haunting arc. Twilight had fallen, a grey haze over the woods, and the wolf moon grinned at them from above the trees.

  Anjita went rigid, blood draining from her face. “That ... that’s a fox, right?”

  Munayair considered lying until a chorus of howls joined the lone voice, drawing closer. The tachoul, sensing Anjita’s fear, began to close in.

  Chapter 12: Local Trouble

  Munayair grabbed Anjita and towed her down the slope and into the river, focused on the road they had left. The tachoul halted on the shore, and Munayair expelled a breath. “Unbodied spirits may not cross running water.” Dame Savra’s voice cracked across her mind. “Nor abide the touch of salt or iron.” Before they could reach the road, howls erupted from the woods again, closing in from the other side of the path. Munayair swallowed hard, keeping to her course.

  “Wait.” Anjita’s voice squeaked. She gazed back at the shadowy houses. “Wouldn’t it be safer to stay in the village? We could board up
some windows—”

  No, Avlingai growled inwardly.

  “No.” Munayair gripped tighter and pulled her onward.

  “Naya, there are wolves,” Anjita hissed. “There haven’t been wolves in Thinavaru for centuries, remember?”

  Munayair listened to the twilight air. The howls had stopped, for now, and behind them tachoul were massing along the shore. “I’d rather face the wolves.”

  Anjita groaned. “Well, I wouldn’t,” she said. “Is this one of your weird Sayakhunii things?”

  “Yeah,” Munayair said. She dropped Anjita’s hand and began jogging down the road. Anjita glanced around once more, then with a resigned sigh picked up her skirt and followed. They hurried away from the dreadful silence of the village as fast as Munayair’s feet would carry her. While running, she took Tel out of her pocket along with a grease pencil. His glyphs flickered. His energy wouldn’t last long without recharging, but she didn’t have time to waste. She wrote Scout in a shaky hand on his forehead, then let him clamber down her dress to the ground. “Check the way ahead,” she snapped.

  Responding to her urgency, he darted ahead through the twilight gloom. Munayair followed, Anjita hurrying after muttering under her breath and lighting her witchlight. Tel’s quick little legs soon took him out of sight, into the twilight woods.

  Good, Avlingai approved. Keep moving, and do not look back.

  Nodding agreement to spare her breath, Munayair plunged on. Trees encroached on the path with low-hanging branches and grasping roots. The air clung hot and sticky, while not far away some monkeys howled. Eyes glittered from the underbrush. Paws pattered around the path. Heavy bodies forced through the bushes. These wolves were each the height of Munayair’s shoulder, with silky reddish fur and a thick ruff. Anjita prayed as she ran between breathless sobs.

  Munayair took her hand. “Chin up. These wolves aren’t hunting. They’re herding us toward something. Or,” she continued, “away from something.”

  “Oh, they’re taking us somewhere!” Anjita’s anger took the form of sarcasm even while her hand shook inside Munayair’s. “Well, now I feel better. Silly me, I thought these were wild animals. Hungry wild animals.”

  Munayair didn’t bother to answer. Walking through roots among double-shadows cast by the rising moons took all her concentration. A single misstep could end in a twisted ankle. She shuddered at the thought of trying to flee the tachoul while hobbling on one foot.

  Anjita’s hand tightened. “Do you hear that?”

  A smile crawled across Munayair’s face. Through the trees came the sound of rhythmic tapping. “Faithful Tel,” she said.

  “What’s it saying?” Anjita eyebrows drew together. “It’s not making sense.”

  Enemies this way. His warning rang through the forest, frightening roosting birds into the sky. Not chelka. Not animal. Not alive. Not dead. Run.

  “What in the names of the—” Anjita muttered.

  Something tells me you don’t want to know, Avlingai said. Those kinds of riddles never have a pleasant answer.

  “We’ll find out later,” Munayair said. “Let’s go.”

  She yanked Anjita into the twilight woods. The wolves sent up a chorus of howls, closing in from all sides.

  “Naya. Naya!” Anjita yanked against her sleeve. “What are you doing?”

  “Tel said we can’t go that way,” Munayair said. “So we aren’t.” She shoved her way through hanging vines and down the slope, skidding on slippery leaves.

  Like shadows themselves, wolves raced among the trees on silent paws. Musk hung in the air, wild and potent. Munayair and Anjita ran as well, part of the pack. The wolves grinned, tongues dangling, eyes flashing. Even Anjita’s death grip loosened, eyes widening with the beginnings of joy.

  “I see a light!” a human voice yelled nearby.

  Everything changed. Horns rent the air. Hounds bayed. Horses screamed. Human voices shouted, crashing through the underbrush.

  “An uncanny light, right enough.”

  “I see his beasts!”

  “Don’t lose them,” someone else roared.

  Anjita jerked her hand away and whirled. “People!” she cried, cupping her hands over her mouth. “Hey, we’re over here!”

  As if responding to a prearranged signal, the wolves rushed into the trees. In less time than it took Munayair to draw breath, they had all vanished like smoke in the wind.

  A moment later, hunters with hounds and horses burst from the trees. The forest echoed with the thunder of hooves and barking. Swords clashed against shields and horns bellowed. Voices echoed through the trees.

  “The wolves changed into people this time.”

  “Is it him?”

  “Who else could it be?”

  “Archers, ready!” a voice commanded.

  Arrowheads gleamed in the moonslight. Munayair activated a shield chelka, and a glowing barrier appeared around them. The light also illuminated twenty people. All dressed in dark hoods and masks, and armed with longbows and swords. Each had a metal disc hanging around their neck. They stared at the two young women, breathing hard.

  Curious weapons for a hunt, Munayair thought.

  And yet they let the wolves go, Avlingai said.

  A horse thundered to the front, wheeling between the hunters and the two young women. Disguised like the rest, the rider carried himself erect. He rode a roan horse so fine Munayair itched to go and inspect it. Graceful and high-hocked, glimmering silver in the moonslight, inward-curving ears quivering.

  For a long moment, they looked at each other. Munayair sought the eyes of the mounted leader. She found him surveying her in turn, expression hidden by overlapping moonshadows. Cold crawled over her skin. How long could the shield hold against so many attackers? Bowstrings creaked.

  When one hunts a fox, one needs bait to lure her from her den, Avlingai said.

  What does that mean, she wondered. Av? The bear didn’t respond.

  “Hold!”

  The leader held up a fist, and the archers lowered their bows. He made a bow, graceful even in the saddle. “Beg pardon, milady.” His voice was low and cultured. “Your beauty so astounded these backcountry rubes they forgot their manners.” He gestured. “You—boy, and you. Escort them to safety.”

  A voice objected. “My lord—”

  The horseman whipped around. “I gave an order. The rest, with me!”

  The hunters raced away, apart from the chosen two. These approached, hands held out in peace. One, with the slight build of a youth barely out of childhood, appeared weaponless. The man was rangy and walked with a long-legged gait. A brace of throwing spears was strapped to his broad shoulders.

  That was very odd, Avlingai said. I suppose you’re going to trust them?

  I’m not sure we have a choice, she replied. We’re lost in unfamiliar woods, and Tel’s not here to find the way.

  Hesitant, Munayair retrieved her chelka and the protective barrier fell away. The boy watched with curious dark eyes, blushing when she met his gaze. The spearman cleared his throat. “These woods aren’t safe after dark, even for an adept. You’d best follow us.”

  Anjita’s eyebrows drew together. “What’s the trouble?” she asked as they turned down the hill.

  The spearman took a moment before responding. “Trouble,” he nodded. “Of a sort. It’s a local matter, milady. We’ll soon sort it out.”

  Howls shivered the air, answered by the deafening noise of the hunt. Munayair glanced around. High on the slope, wolves milled around a figure outlined against the night sky. Its eyes glinted as it looked back at her. Terror gripped her by the throat. Her feet faltered and she stuttered to a halt until a hand closed around her arm and jerked her onward.

  “Don’t look back,” the man hissed, averting his own eyes from the sight.

  They walked through the forest, making no attempt at conversation. The boy watched Anjita and Munayair sidelong, tongue-tied. The man set a grueling pace, humming as he clambered over rocks and t
ree trunks with his long legs.

  “My chelka was scouting ahead.” Munayair worried at her lower lip. “Might we stop for a moment while I call him?”

  The older man didn’t slow his pace, while the boy avoided her gaze. Anjita shrugged, eyes still wild with fear. No matter which way Munayair looked, the forest remained silent and still. No glimmering glyph light. No patter of feet scampering back to his pocket home.

  I’ll call him when we’re safe, she told herself. No point putting everyone at risk for a construct made of wood. She shoved down a pang of sorrow at the thought, and felt Avlingai move with compassion in the back of her mind.

  The way dropped, slippery with sand. The trees were thinner here, but the undergrowth grew all the thicker. Moonslight threw confusing shadows, only partially clarified by the witchlight. A constant annoyed muttering came from behind as Anjita fetched her sleeves away from clinging twigs and thorns. “It’s full dark,” she complained. “Shouldn’t we make camp?”

  The man didn’t respond, so finally the boy volunteered a few words. “Almost there, milady. Ain’t safe to camp this close ...”

  The man’s head jerked up and he held out a hand. Snapping his mouth shut, the boy closed ranks, walking in line with Munayair and Anjita in the middle.

  Defensive position, Avlingai said. Keep your eyes open.

  Nodding, Munayair pushed her sleeves back to reveal her tattoos. She was suddenly grateful for the darkness that concealed her movements. She kept her eyes on the spearman’s back, ears attuned to the slightest rustle and shift in the breeze. After a moment she caught a faint rumble. Dozens of human footsteps, coming from behind. Her breath froze.

  Why so many humans in these woods at night? Avlingai wondered.

  “Do you hear that?” Anjita murmured.

  The man pointed to the witchlight. “We’ll go by the moons for now.”

  Anjita frowned but didn’t argue. Her light winked out, and they walked blindly until their eyes adjusted. A soft sound came from behind Munayair. She craned around, dizzied by confusing moon-shadows.