Forest of Souls

by Lori M. Lee

“Trolls are slow creatures but wickedly strong,” she says. So I’m to decipher the bracelet’s purpose on my own. “Anyone with the misfortune to be caught by one isn’t likely to survive long enough to speak of it.”

  “But you speak as if from experience.” I pop open the segment of bone fastened to the metal lotus and fit the jewelry around my wrist before snapping the piece back in place. I barely feel its weight.

  “I’ve had a great many experiences, none of which are any of your business.” Kendara flits restlessly around the workroom, returning vials of unknown substances to cupboards and books to shelves.

  “Fortunately, you’re not likely to encounter any trolls in Evewyn. Nor anywhere else in Thiy. The last colony died out some time after the shamans claimed the eastern lands for their own.”

  How old must the bone be if no living troll has existed in Thiy for nearly a thousand years? It must be extremely rare as well. “I suppose that means you’re not sending me out to bring you a fresh rib for a matching necklace.”

  “Trolls were known to be highly resistant to magic,” she says, completely ignoring me. Another of her many talents.

  Although I’ve no idea what use she has for books, I’ve read every volume she’s crammed into her numerous shelves. I recall a passage that explained how the remains of powerful creatures, such as trolls, retain certain magical properties that the creatures possessed when they were alive. Shamans often fashioned the bones of such creatures into objects like this bracelet. But not as jewelry.

  “It’s a talisman,” I say, twisting the bracelet around my wrist. It’s still cool, despite that it should have warmed from my body heat.

  Depending on the creature a talisman is made from, the bones not only protect against outside magic but dampen one’s own magic as well. Or amplify and change it. Those sorts of talismans are rare.

  But a troll’s bone? “Protection against magic.” My smile broadens and my heart sings with a longing bordering on desperation. “Will I need such protection?”

  Has the moment I’ve longed for these past four years finally arrived? Will she at last name me as her apprentice?

  “Most of you do,” she mutters. I mentally curse at the way I flinch—not only for the implied insult that I should need protection beyond my own abilities but also for the reminder that I am not her only pupil. The knowledge—the fear—that I could so easily lose all I’ve worked for to some other nameless competitor is never far from my thoughts.

  Kendara scratches at the bottom of her handkerchief. For all that she’s taught me, she’s revealed almost nothing about her past. I don’t know if she has family, where she grew up, if Kendara is her real name, or even what the upper half of her face looks like.

  But I’ve come to know her in other ways. Although she demands the respect and honor owed to her as my elder, she loathes mindless obedience. She encourages my curiosity even as she insults my intelligence. She constantly challenges my limits, but only ever within the parameters of her rules.

  Her fierce independence and abrasive honesty are what first convinced me to trust her those years ago, qualities that would have offended others but to me were admirable. Something to aspire toward.

  In the four years I’ve been her pupil, her training has been harsh and unforgiving. I’ve stolen fruit from the queen’s orchards. I’ve been shackled and dropped into a flooded well. I’ve crept through a den of sleeping rock scorpions with bells woven in my hair.

  Every assignment tested my skill and my resolve. After all, a Shadow is tasked with whispering to the queen the secrets of allies and enemies alike, and with quietly extinguishing any powerful opponents. Kendara has never underestimated me. She is one of the few people who do not equate my upbringing with my worth. And when I am the queen’s Shadow, who I was will matter less than nothing compared to who I will become.

  “I heard you’re to accompany the hatchlets to the Valley of Cranes today.” Her lip curls. It isn’t the first time she’s expressed disgust with the prison. While I agree with her, I’m not bold enough to say so. It would mean criticizing the queen, and no one except Kendara would dare.

  So I only say, “I am.”

  She makes a shooing gesture. “Get going. They’ve already gathered in the Company yard.”

  The disappointment strikes swift and brutal, as all her blows do. I’ve less than a month in the Company before graduation, before the Royal Army ships me off to who-knows-where. Less than a month to prove to Kendara that I deserve to remain here and to study as her official apprentice. Every day that passes without her decision is a kick to the gut.

  Swallowing back the protests that crowd my throat, I push to my feet, my braid swinging against my back. I tug the sleeve of my gray uniform over the bracelet and ask, “Where did you even get this?”

  Kendara retrieves her dagger and whetstone from the floor, but rather than reclaim her seat by the balcony doors, she settles into a rocking chair before the fireplace. “A Shadow must keep her secrets.”

  “Only some.”

  “But all of them today. Now get out, witless child.” She sits so close to the hearth that I worry she’ll catch fire. But she seems to cow even the flames, which don’t dare do more than lick at her toes.

  My steps are silent as I cross the room. A single creak of the floorboards, and she won’t call me back for days. In her presence, to be anything less than what she has made me would be an insult.

  “Thank you for the gift.” I reach for the door, scratched and marred by the heavy locks. Before leaving, I grin and toss over my shoulder, “Ill-tempered crone.”

  TWO

  Saengo is waiting for me. She sits astride her drake, beside where I left my own mount. When she sees me, her dark brows crash together in a scowl.

  “Do you know what time it is?” she snaps, already turning for the gates. “They’re about to leave. Do you want to be punished?”

  “Sisters, save me. Not you, too,” I mutter. I greet Yandor, my drake, with a firm pat to his neck.

  The huge lizard gives a pleased shake, the motion rippling through his dark-green scales. Gripping his saddle, I pull myself onto his back. The old leather groans. I brush hair from my face, inky strands that have come loose from my braid. My fingers trace the thin scars that line the top curves of my ears, a mindless action born of repetition.

  With a flick of my reins, Yandor’s powerful legs take off running after Saengo’s drake, who’s already halfway down the path.

  “I only have enough patience for one relentless grouch today,” I say. Despite Kendara’s nature, I’m always reluctant to leave her.

  “And I’ve used up all my patience waiting for you,” Saengo calls over her shoulder.

  The path takes us around the Outer Court before exiting the palace grounds. Within minutes, we plunge into the winding, cobbled streets of Vos Talwyn. We head eastward, away from the Grand Palace with its tiered roofs and sharp spires, dipped in gold leaf and sunlight.

  I fell in love with this city from the moment I arrived seven years ago. It had been like diving into cold water, a breathtaking shock after the drab orphanage. Houses capped with curling clay tiles huddle together like hooded old men, exchanging secrets through traceried windows and paneled doors. Our mounts weave through gilded carriages clattering along on oversize wheels and laden carts pulled by teams of drakes. We skirt around some reiwyn lady’s palanquin draped in turquoise silk. Patrons crowd outside a popular noodle shop, and raucous children gather excitedly around a theater cart on the street corner.

  The sights of the city don’t hold my attention for long today. My hand finds the shape of the troll-bone bracelet beneath my sleeve. Soon, Kendara will name me as her apprentice. Soon. My fingers tighten over the talisman, clutching it close, like a promise.

  We turn onto a private lane, lined with buildings belonging to the Grand Offices. It’s quiet here, only a few soldiers chatting off to the side. The lane leads first to the enclosed grounds of the Prince’s Company. We pass i
t by, continuing along a shaded path lined with plum trees. The path ends at the doors to the Queen’s Company. The gates open directly into a sizable training yard. Long two-story buildings enclose the yard on three sides. Those are where students sit for lessons on subjects like history, religion, and military strategy.

  Currently, students fill the yard in neat rows. They move in synchronization, shifting through the familiar forms of the Wyvern’s Dance, the fighting style of our armies. Near the entrance, already divided into two lines, are the first-year hatchlets. They’re always easy to spot because of the yellow sashes around their waists and their shorn hair. Was I that small at fourteen? I remember wanting to cry tears of self-pity every time I looked at my bald head in a mirror.

  “Wyverns! You’re late!”

  My spine snaps straight at the voice. Dread spills into my ribs. No, no, no. I dismount and drop immediately into a deep bow as Officit Boldis breaks away from the supply wagon.

  He isn’t supposed to be leading us today. His name wasn’t on the duty report. There must have been a last-minute change. The officit he replaced is one of the few who likes me. She would have scolded me for being late and, at most, assigned me to cleaning after the drakes during the trip. If I’d known Officit Boldis would be here instead, I would have endeavored to arrive early.

  “Our deepest apologies, Officit Boldis,” Saengo says, her voice pitched low, appropriately contrite. She hates him as much as I do, but she would never publicly disrespect an officit. “I was delayed by one of the falconers, and Sirscha was good enough to fetch me. It won’t happen again.”

  Officit Boldis eyes me with suspicion. Saengo comes from one of the oldest reiwyn houses in Evewyn, House Phang. They’re renowned for producing the best falconers in the kingdom. Saengo is often approached by the capital’s falconers to discuss some matter or another about the messenger birds.

  “Even so,” Officit Boldis says, sneering. “Your tardiness has cost us time. As penance—”

  There’s a light cough from behind us. Saengo’s eyes go wide as we both turn to see who’s dared to interrupt an officit. I’m unsurprised to find Jonyah Thao climbing off his drake. I clasp my hands behind my back, fingers clamped tight together, as Saengo and I share a glance.

  Jonyah bows first to the officit and then to Saengo. Saengo is Jonyah’s cousin and the future leader of his House. Although he doesn’t spare me even the vaguest acknowledgment, as he is my elder in age and my superior in station, I’m still expected to show respect. My head twitches in what could arguably be a bow.

  Jonyah says, “Officit Boldis, it is my duty to inform you that Phang left the Company grounds a mere half hour ago. My friends and I witnessed her departure.”

  Saengo’s gaze darts to mine, her nostrils flaring. I imagine the look on Jonyah’s face if I punched him right now.

  The corners of Officit Boldis’s mouth pull downward as if imitating his drooping mustache. His heavy brows hang low over his eyes, his expression thunderous. “Lying to an officit,” he all but spits out. “Cane!”

  I tuck in my chin, lower my gaze, and mentally swear in three languages. My legs just finished healing from an encounter with a thorneater last week when Kendara sent me north to retrieve one of its tusks.

  Saengo tries to catch my eye, but my gaze remains firmly on the ground. Neither of us speaks. Our pleas would be useless. As the child of a reiwyn lord, she is above physical penance from even the officits of the Company.

  I am no one, the child of nameless people who left me at an orphanage when I was two. Whatever memories I might have once had of them are long faded. This will hardly be the first time I’m punished for something involving us both, but as I’m the reason why we were late, it’s my fault, anyway.

  Officit Boldis says, “The penance is usually fifteen lashes. However, as you’ve already caused us delay, I will allow five strikes to the legs.”

  I wait, knowing there’s more. He isn’t the merciful sort.

  “Thao,” he says, addressing Jonyah. “Would you administer her penance?”

  My eyes close to conceal my murderous thoughts. At my side, Saengo gasps. Even Jonyah can’t hide his surprise. This breaks protocol. To be punished by a fellow wyvern is a grave insult, especially in front of nearly the entire Company. Kendara will hear of this within the hour, and she will scrutinize my every action, my every response. So I allow myself only a heartbeat to control my face, and then I nod.

  Jonyah and Officit Boldis march me past rows of students who continue to shift from one fighting stance into the next. Their eyes follow us. It never gets any less humiliating.

  A single wooden pole stands ominously at the front of the yard, visible to everyone. Public humiliation is only effective when witnessed, after all. Without having to be prompted, I lift my arms and wrap my fingers around a rope knotted to a hook that’s been driven into the wood. I grip it tight and stand so that I’m facing Jonyah.

  Officit Boldis steps away to give us room. “Don’t break anything. She still has an assignment to complete.”

  “Yes, Officit,” Jonyah says. He slaps the bamboo cane lightly against his leg, testing its weight and where it will fall against my skin. And then—

  I inhale sharply as the first strike finds my left thigh, sharp and sudden. I hold Jonyah’s gaze, taking what satisfaction I can in the curl of his lip. His next strike falls harder, the pain brilliant, streaking up my hip. I remain silent although my fingernails nearly tear through the rope. I don’t cry out, and I don’t allow my legs to fold. I am used to pain. I have lived with it for four years, sometimes delivered at Kendara’s hands, sometimes by the Company’s.

  When another student suffers penance, I always avert my eyes out of respect. Many students do the same now, continuing in their stances. But plenty pause to watch as well. I can stomach the pain, but the sense of helplessness, of being exposed, never becomes any more bearable.

  The third strike nearly takes out my knee, but I wrap the rope around my wrist and shift my weight to my other leg. Kendara’s words repeat like a mantra in my head: “Bite your tongue. Play your role. Do not lose your place in the Company, or you will lose your place with me.”

  Less than a month, I tell myself. Just a few weeks more, and maybe not even that, if Kendara makes her decision before the month’s end.

  The fourth and fifth strikes fall in quick succession, nearly in the same spot. My lips pinch, jaw clenched. The bruises will be impressive. As Jonyah steps away, I release the rope, willing my legs to hold. When our eyes meet, I lift my chin in triumph over this latest attempt to break me. Jonyah’s nostrils flare with rage.

  “Good,” Officit Boldis barks. “Let’s get going. You’ve wasted enough of our time.”

  Jonyah backs me against the pole as he returns the cane to its usual place on the hook. He’s an entire head taller, and his height is another tool he uses to intimidate. As he shifts on his feet, close enough that his breath falls sour against my hair, something crinkles lightly in his pocket. He jerks on my braid, forcing my head back so that I have to look up at him.

  His voice is a growl. “You should give up. You are a pebble beneath my boot, annoying but insignificant enough to be crushed.”

  I allow the venom in my eyes to answer for me. Although I’m hardly his only target at the Company, I’m his favorite. Hatred roils between us, so fiercely palpable that I wonder if he’ll strike me again, just to prove that he can. But then Officit Boldis makes an impatient sound. Jonyah releases my braid before stalking away. As soon as Officit Boldis passes her, Saengo rushes forward to offer me a shoulder.

  I shake my head, waving away her help. Instead, I grit my teeth and place one foot in front of the other.

  Officit Boldis is already astride his drake, alongside the hatchlets who will make the trek on foot. Although my legs burn, I refuse to limp. It’s a relief when I finally reach Yandor and take hold of his reins. Yandor nudges my shoulder with his head. I lean into him, accepting his support.
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br />   “You will walk,” the officit says, which makes me pause with one foot in the stirrup. Slowly, I turn to look at him. He smiles at me and then shifts the smile to each of the wyverns, six in all, including Jonyah. “You will all make the journey on foot, with the first-years. You may thank Ashwyn’s disregard for her duties.”

  My fellow wyverns shoot me glares as they dismount. The journey to the Valley of Cranes is an entire day’s march. I fall into position at the rear with Saengo, leading our drakes along by their reins as we at last file out from the yard. We head for the nearby gate kept exclusively for the use of the two Companies. It’s purely functional, free of the ornate carvings and brushed gold that accent the public gates into the city.

  There are two sets of doors, the first an iron trellis that can be raised and lowered like a portcullis and the second made of wood and iron that can be swung shut and locked with a series of heavy deadbolts. Currently, both are open. Outside, a dirt road cuts through a stretch of grass that dips downhill and then curves into the woods.

  The welts on my legs have settled into a steady ache. I always carry medicinal herbs with me, but I don’t know when I’ll have the opportunity to apply them.

  “Are you all right?” Saengo murmurs. Her drake tries to lick her hair, and she swats at it.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say.

  A fourth-year wyvern walks on either side of the marching hatchlets. Two more are stationed at the front with the officit. Leading our whole party are four soldiers and a large wagon pulled by four drakes. The wagon is filled with supplies for the prison: simple but clean clothing, bushels of herbs and vegetables, sacks of rice, and even a couple of pigs that snort merrily as they jostle along.

  When we reach the bend where the path passes through the woods and joins with the main road, I turn to look over my shoulder. The walls loom, green-clad sentinels patrolling behind the crenellations. Beyond, peering out over the stone are the shining marble domes of the Temple of the Five Sisters and each of their massive statues—the Demon Crone, the Mother Serpent, the Falcon Warrior, and the Twins. But they all cower beneath the spires of the Grand Palace. The structure rises from the city in gilded tiers of sculptured jade roofs and ornate gables, its towers and extravagant finials like lances that spear the clouds.