Chasing Shadows (Saving Galerance, Book 1) (13 page)

“It’s stupid, I know,” Norabel admitted. “I should just get
over it. But we were so happy when we were kids. I keep thinking one of these
days he’s going to remember. He’ll just go up to me and start talking and
joking as if nothing had happened, like he remembered how to be that fifteen
year old kid that I miss so much. That he’ll remember he was my best friend.”

“Come here,” Aleta said soothingly, pulling Norabel to her
in a hug.

“So, you won’t say anything?” Norabel asked, her voice
muffled into Aleta’s shoulder.

“Not if you don’t want me to.” Pulling away, she gave her a
smile, adding, “Your secret’s safe with me Norabel. Now, let me help you put
something on that.”

Hunter looked gravely outside of the mess-hall window to the
courtyard below. In the distance, he could see the charred wooden structure of
the stage that had been half-burned down last night. Two officials chopped away
at it with axes, and Hunter could hear the faint echo as their steel hit the
dull wood.

“Hunter,” his uncle’s voice called to him from behind. “It’s
time.”

Hunter took one last look at the village square, hoping that
no one he knew had been hurt, and turned from the window to face his uncle.
Lorcan waved him forward and began to lead him through the mess hall, past the morning
commotion of noisy men eating their breakfasts.

“Hey Hunter!” a voice called out to him from across the
room.

He didn’t turn to acknowledge it. He knew Fletcher’s voice
when he heard it.

“I hear you’re going on a little trip!” he yelled out,
determined to grab his attention. “That’s a shame. I’m planning on being real
busy while you’re away.”

Hunter bit down on his tongue as he silently followed his
uncle. Lorcan glanced back at him briefly, as if to make sure he wasn’t about
to engage him. When they finally made it out of the mess hall, they turned down
the hallway and headed towards the portion of the stronghold set aside for the
senior officers.

The first door they came to belonged to Chief Auberon
himself, and Lorcan knocked on the wood, waiting for a reply. When they heard
their Commander and Chief respond for them to come in, Lorcan opened the door
and swiftly ushered his nephew inside.

“Here he is, Auberon,” Lorcan announced, looking proudly at
his nephew. “The best horse rider this side of Valor Wood.”

Hunter stood up straighter as he looked across at Auberon.
The older man was standing over a map, and only briefly looked up to
acknowledge his presence.

“I trust you chose him on merit,” he said, addressing Lorcan
while still examining the map. “If it had anything to do with his relation to
you, you’d be doing him a disservice.”

“Hunter is the best rider I’ve ever seen,” Lorcan affirmed
with a nod.

It seemed that this was all Auberon required, for he looked
up at Hunter, saying, “Good,” before promptly returning to his map. Then
pointing to a spot on it, he said, “Come here, boy. I want you to see your
destination.”

Hunter took a breath. The air in his lungs cleared his head
a little. Striding over to the table, he looked down at where Auberon was
pointing to. He had to twist his head to get a better view, for at first he did
not believe he had seen the name right.

“Liadrel, sir?” he asked respectfully. “Isn’t it forbidden?”

“Not for long.”

Auberon raised his hand and brought it back down on the part
of the map near Breccan. Then he traced his finger up along the dotted line of
a path, saying, “You will travel this route. Take the main road as far as here,
and then cut across to the mountain path. I’m told it’s a little worn, but you
shouldn’t have any problems if you’re the horseman Lorcan says you are.”

Hunter nodded and waited for him to continue.

“This new route will cut your travel time by a few good
days. Once you reach the borders of Liadrel, Amias’s men will find you and give
you instructions from there. Make sure you tie a white flag around your horse’s
tail before you get there. Otherwise you might be shot.”

Clearing his throat, Hunter asked, “I take it I won’t be
travelling with a cart?”

Auberon shook his head. “The cargo is small, but it is
precious. I’ve been lax on a lot of these Harbinger attacks, but this is
something we can’t afford to lose.” He looked up at Hunter as he added, “You
understand the price should you return here without it.”

Hunter gulped and clasped his hands behind his back. “Yes
sir.”

Glancing at his uncle, he shot him a look as if to say this
wasn’t the way he wanted to start his assent up the ranks.

Lorcan just gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and
then turned to Auberon. “Everyone thinks it’s very commendable the way you
handled the incident in the square last night. All the villagers I’ve talked to
are calling you a hero.”

Auberon did not seem to appreciate Lorcan’s praise, for he
merely glanced up at them, saying, “You two may go now.”

“Very good,” Lorcan said, clearing his throat.

When they were both outside and walking down the hallway,
Hunter turned to his uncle, asking, “Why are you praising him? There wouldn’t
have even been an issue last night if he had kept his men in the village square
like there normally is. But they were all along the perimeter, watching their
shadows and doing a fat lot of good!”

Lorcan harshly jerked back on Hunter’s arm, giving him a
stern look. “Never talk like that,” he warned in a low voice. “Especially not
now.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked,
staring down at where his uncle held onto his arm.

Lorcan released him, saying, “All you need to know is that
it’s important for you to do well. Now get to the stables and get saddled up.
You’ve got a long journey ahead of you.”

Hunter sighed and started to walk back through the hall.
“Goodbye uncle,” he called out, taking a glance behind his shoulder, but Lorcan
had already turned away. Though he knew his uncle had his best intentions at
heart, he was never very good at affection.

Turning away from his uncle’s retreating form, he saw there
was a window cut into the stone hallway where he had stopped. He took a step
closer to it and could see, in the distance, the very tops of the homes that
rested up against the side of the western rock mountain.

“Goodbye,” he whispered, before turning away and starting
back down the hall once more.

*

Norabel awoke suddenly that morning, gasping for breath as
she came out of a nightmare. When she was little, she would constantly have
nightmares about dying from a Jotham attack. The threat of death by suffocation
was so real and inevitable that the thought was forever at the back of her
mind. As she grew up, she learned to forget by concentrating on little things—the
beams of sunlight in the morning, the cool feel of cotton in the summer, the
warm smell of bread. However, no matter how good she got at mastering these
fears during the day, she could never stop them from ruling her dreams.

As she laid stiffly in bed that morning, trying to catch her
breath, she decided to occupy her mind on other things. The sun coming in
through the window cast the shadow of her bed on the western wall, and she
turned to it, focusing on its outline.

Good morning,
she greeted her guardian.
Did you
sleep well?
There was silence.
Do you even sleep? Is that a silly
question?

A bird flew by her window, causing its small shadow to
flitter across her room.

What’s your name?
She quieted her breathing so she
could better listen.
Please tell me your name.

However, instead of hearing the sacred whispering of an Albatross,
the sound of approaching hoof-beats pounded in her ears. Her heart shot to her
chest, and she immediately rushed to get changed out of her night clothes. The
second she was ready, she ran to the front room of her house, peering out the
window. Outside, a Pax official trotted up dust in the morning air and stopped
in the road between her house and Iris’s. She held her breath as he dismounted
and then paused in the road, as if deciding which way he should turn. As he
looked in her direction, she recognized the young man as Fletcher, the official
that had been part of the house raid on Iris’s home.

Fletcher took in a large sniff of air and patted his horse
on the mane. Then, finally making up his mind, he turned away from Norabel’s
house and marched up the street to Iris’s. She watched with dread as he wrapped
loudly on their door, the harsh sound biting into the sleepy morning air like a
starving wolf catching its prey.

Iris’s father, Keaton, opened up, offering the young man a
stiff greeting. The proper thing would have then been to let the official into
the house, but Keaton stood fixed in the doorway, refusing to let Fletcher in.

Norabel knew that there was trouble brewing, and so she
quickly raced towards her front door and out onto the street. As she crossed
the road, she could hear the two men’s conversation.

“Are you aware of what we found in your house not too long
ago?” Fletcher asked, leaning his arm against the door post. “I thought you
might like to know that I chose not to report it.”

“You’re a very forgiving man,” Keaton commented tersely,
clenching his jaw.

“I’m not that forgiving,” Fletcher said, putting his hand on
the door and opening it up wider. “But maybe I can be made to forgive again.”

Keaton blocked him once more from coming inside his home.
“If you…”

“Good morning Keaton!” Norabel called out pleasantly,
stopping him from saying something that would have most certainly gotten him in
trouble.

Keaton’s eyes flashed to her, and he gave her a little nod,
saying in a voice quieted by worry, “Morning, Norabel.”

“Well, good morning,” Fletcher said, throwing her a smirk as
he spun around to face her. “I remember you from before.”

She took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice from
shaking as she addressed Keaton, saying, “I have some left-over breakfast
rolls, and I was wondering if you and your family would like some.”

“Ooh! Breakfast rolls,” Fletcher commented, trying to bring
the attention back on him. “That does sound tempting.” His dark eyes seemed to
pierce through her skin as he stared down at her, peeling through layer after
layer the longer he stared.

Trying to swallow down the resentment she felt for the Pax,
she reminded herself that Fletcher was just a person with feelings too. He even
had his own Guardian Albatross, just like her. So a little kindness wouldn’t
kill her.

“You’re welcome to them too, if you’d like,” she told him
politely.

“Hey, just show me the way!” he said, waving his arm.

She nodded, silently relieved that she was able to distract
him from Keaton, and gladly turned around, saying, “It’s just right across the
street.”

Fletcher stepped away, making like he was about to follow
her, when he suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, but wait! I forgot. This man here was
just about to give me something.”

Norabel closed her eyes and clenched her jaw at her near
victory. Turning back around, she gave Keaton an apologetic look, as if to say
sorry it didn’t work.

“If you’ll just wait right there,” Keaton said, struggling
to control his temper.

He came away from the door, leaving Fletcher to happily drum
his fingers against the wood as he waited.

“It…it’s a lovely morning, don’t you think?” Norabel
ventured, silently hoping that she wasn’t making things worse by being there.

Fletcher seemed a little surprised that she was trying to
make conversation with him, but he tried to act as casual as ever. “I suppose
so.”

“I,” she pointed up to the east where the sun was coming up
over the rooftops. “I just love how the sun comes up in the summer. It’s just
north enough that it comes through my kitchen window in the morning and casts a
big warm square of light at the center of my table.”

“Sounds charming,” he muttered, looking back into the house
for any sign of Keaton.

“Do…do you ever watch the sunrise from where you are?” she
asked timidly.

“Hmm?” he mumbled, showing more interest in watching the
house.

“Well, it just seems a shame to me, is all.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, finally giving her his
attention.

“Well,” Norabel said, looking down to her hands and linking
them together in nervous energy. “There you are, up in the stronghold, up on
top of the world. In the morning, you’re even taller than the sun. I just
wondered,” she shook her head. “I thought it must be beautiful, seeing that and
knowing that no one else can greet the sun from above like you can.”

Fletcher studied her intently as he thought about this.
Sending her a smirk, he commented, “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

The sound of creaking footsteps came from inside the cold,
dark house, and a moment later Keaton appeared at the doorway. He had a small
pouch of coins in his hands, and he shoved it roughly towards Fletcher.

“Here. My family would be honored if you would take this,”
he said. His voice sounded dead and emotionless. Norabel knew it was the only
way Keaton could keep from outright exploding.

“Well tell your family,” Fletcher said, taking the pouch in
one hand, “that they are very hospitable, and I look forward to seeing them
again soon.” Then, turning away from him, he looked to Norabel, saying, “Now,
how about those breakfast rolls?”

Twenty minutes later, Norabel was hurrying down the street,
trying to make it to the Potter’s Workhouse as fast as she could. She should
have been there five minutes ago, but Fletcher had kept her at her house so
long, eating roll after roll until nearly the whole batch was gone.

When she rounded the street corner and saw the checkpoint,
a small flutter of anxiety rose in her stomach. She had almost forgotten about
her and Hunter’s interaction yesterday. It had seemed like so long ago when so
much had happened in between. She didn’t quite know what she’d say to him.

Stepping up into the checkpoint, she decided on a simple
and cheery, “Good morning!”

“Name,” the emotionless voice on the other side of the checkpoint
greeted her.

Norabel paused in confusion, looking at the face of the man
in front of her. He had dark hair, hard eyes, a frowning mouth, and was most
certainly not Hunter.

Trying to get over her shock, she stuttered out, “Oh, uh,
Norabel. It’s Norabel.”