Chasing Shadows (Saving Galerance, Book 1) (22 page)

Norabel waited to hear the sound of his keys locking the
door shut before she ventured out from the closet. Glancing briefly at the
door, she turned to where the box stood, almost staring her down. She knew that
she had done what she needed to do; she found where Auberon slept. But the
sight of the box made her shiver, chilling her blood like a piercing attack of
hail on a warm summer day. She couldn’t just leave it; she had to look inside.

Moving swiftly, she crouched down by the side of the bed so
that she would be hidden from view should anyone come in through the door
unexpectedly. Reaching up for the box, she lifted its lid and discovered
something dark and grainy inside.

Black Powder.

Norabel felt her whole body stiffen at the sight. Ashlin had
said that any FPS that was colored black was lethal. For whatever reason it was
here, one thing was clear: Auberon meant to kill someone.

For a moment she held it in her hands, thinking that she
should take it with her, but then she realized that it would be a bad idea.
Auberon would find out very quickly that someone had stolen it, putting the
stronghold on high alert and ruining their chances of doing the Harbinger job.
Plus, it would be naïve to think that he wouldn’t be able to get more Black Powder
after she took this one.

Setting it back down on the table, she got up and backed
away from it. She just had to hope that whatever Auberon was planning, he
wouldn’t do it before tomorrow night. If that was the case, they could nick it
while everyone was sleeping, and hopefully buy themselves a little more time to
figure out why he had it.

Stealing back to the closet, she slipped into the passage
and closed the stone slab back in place. Picking up her torch once more, she
walked down the way she had come. For a few minutes, she explored the tunnels,
opening a few doors that led out into the castle. The doors were usually
located across from a coffin, and were covered up by a Pax flag on the other
side. Norabel always chose to promptly close each door after taking a quick
peek outside, but finally decided to venture out when she found a door that led
into the kitchens.

The door opened out into a separate wing in which the food
was stored—a kind of hallway that contained shelves and cupboards of pickled
vegetables, sacks of flour, dried meats, and barrels of fruit. It seemed to be
kept dark and away from the heat of the kitchen fires in order to preserve the
food. Taking a few steps out, she listened intently for anyone that might be in
the main portion of the kitchen. Luckily everything was silent, and when she
peeked out around the corner, she found that the kitchens were, in fact, empty.

Staying low and moving quickly, she ran to the door that had
been chained up, and replaced its lock with her broken one. Now if the team
came to this door from the outside, all they would need to do would be to give
it a hard tug, and the lock would fall, releasing the chain and letting them
in.

Slipping through the kitchen the way she had come, she went
back to the food hallway and into the hidden passage once more. She re-traced
her steps all the way down the tunnels and to the opening that led to the
barrack stairwell, but just as she was about to open the stone wall, she heard
a voice coming from the other side.

“Drat it! Who stole the torch again!”

Norabel stopped breathing and quickly snuffed out the flame
on the torch, not wanting the light to slip through the cracks on the hidden
door. She could hear the sound of the stairwell door opening, and the same man
shouting out, “Oi! Which one of you tunnel rats stole the torch on this wall?”

There was no response from the barracks. Perhaps none of the
guys were in yet. But if that was the case, then the man looking for the
missing torch would grow even more suspicious. What if he knew about the secret
passage way? What if he opened it right now to look for the culprit?

Norabel took a few steps back at that thought, staring with
horror at the dark wall in front of her, begging it to remain closed. A moment
later she heard the sound of a door opening, and realized that another officer was
coming into the stairwell.

“Oi, Sander,” the officer said, “You know who took this
torch?”

The officer Sander seemed annoyed by his question as he
said, “I dunno, Deagon, probably one of the guys. What’s the big deal?”

Deagon had to call out his response as Sander was walking
away in disinterest. “I’m the one that has to light these wretched things every
night! It’s my head on the line!”

Norabel could just hear Sander’s distant voice comment,
“It’s a wretched piece of bark! Get over it!”

A few seconds later the barrack door slammed shut, and she
could hear Deagon walking down the steps as well. She wondered if both boys
were in their rooms now, making it safe for her to come out. Before she could
risk it, she heard the stairwell doors open again, and another officer went
down to his rooms. Now the chances of her being caught were that much greater.

She looked away from the wall and wondered if she should try
to sneak out another way. She might be able to go out through the kitchens. She
would just have to be careful about closing the door so that the broken lock
stayed in place. Turning around, she was about to blindly walk down the passage,
when a thought struck her. If she was able to sneak out and go back home—then
what? Fletcher would be there waiting for her. As much as she was in danger
here in the stronghold, she would be in more danger if she went back home.

Going back to the stone door, she sat down in front of it, resting
her ear against the wall so that she could hear anyone that might pass by.
Though it would take a long time, the safest way to get through the night would
be to wait there until she was sure Fletcher came back to his rooms. If she
left any sooner, she would be sure to run into him.

For the next few hours she sat huddled in the tunnel, her
side pressed up against Lord Rodion’s coffin, trying to force herself to stay
awake in order to keep track of everyone that came by. It wasn’t until around
midnight that she heard a drunken set of footsteps stumble down the barrack
steps. She couldn’t be sure it was Fletcher, but she could hear the man
mumbling about something, and at the end of his sentence, she could make out
her own name. A mixture of fear and relief and resentment washed through her as
she realized that this was Fletcher, and that he had, in fact, been waiting for
her.

Her body was weak, and her mind exhausted by the time she
finally crept up to her own bed that night. Collapsing down on her thin
mattress, she allowed sleep to take her, filling her dreams with muddled nightmares
of the coming day.

The work-day was well underway as Hunter looked down from
his window, high up in the castle. Normally he would be at his checkpoint
right now. He could see it all so clearly in his mind. The sun would be shining
just behind his head, casting his long shadow over the road and heating up the
wood of his shack, causing a warm pine scent to fill his nose. The ink from the
quill and ledger would have already stained the fingers on his right hand.

In several hours the work day would be finished, and he
would hear that familiar buzz of humanity as it came down the road towards him.
And before long he would see that dizzying halo of snow, and those silver, pale
blue eyes that seemed to notice everything that he could not. And he would
probably make some bumbling remark about the weather and feel like an idiot,
but as long as he gave her a smile, she always smiled back.

There was a knock on Hunter’s door, and he sighed in
resignation. He ran a rough hand through his hair, trying to knock those
memories from his head because they muddled with his thoughts and never let him
think straight.

“Come in,” he called out, turning away from his window and
resting his back against the cold stone wall.

His Uncle Lorcan walked in and shut the door behind him.
Hunter could tell that he had been out in the village, for the tuffs of hair by
his neck were sticking together with sweat from the afternoon sun.

“Catching up on your sleep?” Lorcan asked, motioning to his
bed.

Since his bed was neatly made up and Hunter was fully
dressed, it was a bit of a stupid question, but he still thought it was nice that
his uncle made the effort to ask.

“I’m good,” he replied. He folded his arms over his chest,
but then lifted his hand to scratch an itch on his head.

“Good, good,” Lorcan nodded. “Well I, uh,” he cleared his
throat and clasped his hands behind his back to regain a sense of authority. “I
came to tell you,” he cleared his throat again, “that you did a good job. And,
uh, I’m real proud of you. Your father would be real proud of you.”

Hunter looked down at the floor and nodded his head. He
didn’t know how to respond to that. He was touched, but he didn’t really feel
like they should be proud of him. In fact, he was beginning to feel guilty. He
hadn’t told Auberon about the camp of rebels in the woods. He knew he should
have, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to give them away. If he
did, that young boy he met might have been killed, and that would have been all
on him.

And the more he thought about it, the more he felt that
maybe the camp he ran into wasn’t a rebel group at all. The way they kept watch
and handled their weapons, it was almost as if they had received training, like
they were more than just farmers that ran away from home.

“So,” Lorcan stated, looking uncomfortably around the room.

He had never been one for handing out praise or talking
about the past, and Hunter knew he should put his uncle out of his misery and
strike up some sort of conversation.

Flicking his head towards his window, he asked, “Do you know
who got my old post?”

“Oh,” he said, happy to have something to respond to. “Some
officer or other. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Will I be going back?”

“Oh no,” he answered proudly, thinking that his nephew would
be happy about this. “No, I think you’ve moved beyond that.”

Hunter nodded, trying hard not to let his pain show.

“What will I be doing now?” he asked. His head felt heavy,
as if he was in a dream and the concrete objects around him kept slipping away.

“Something’s being lined up for you, don’t worry. I can’t
tell you too much now, but just give it some time. Your transport job to
Liadrel really impressed Auberon.”

Hunter looked back to the floor and leaned his arms against
the wall. “Uncle, do you know what’s going on in Liadrel?”

“What do you mean?”

He scuffed his boot on the ground and admitted, “When I was
there, I saw signs that something was being developed. A lot of horse and cart
traffic. And,” he lowered his voice and motioned to his door, saying, “last
night I dropped off a box of Black Powder in Auberon’s hands. Now what would he
be wanting with that?”

“It’s not your place to know!” Lorcan snapped, his cheeks
growing red in anger. “If you value your position here, your cushy room above
ground, then you will do what I taught you. Don’t speak, don’t ask questions.
Not now. Especially not now.”

“Uncle, what aren’t you telling me?” he asked, taking a step
forward.

“Did I not just say to stop asking questions?” he scolded. His
face was pinched with anxiety, but it soon relaxed, and he spoke in a gentler
tone. “Don’t question,” he repeated. “If I should come up to you in the future
and speak the words Dead Sparrow, you are to get out of here as fast as you can
and meet me in the back courtyard. No questions. Now let me hear you say you
understand.”

“But,” he started to protest.

“Hunter!”

He sighed and nodded his head. “Yes uncle, I understand.”

*

Norabel hid in the shadows of her street, stuffing herself
between two of her neighbor’s houses as she waited for the night to tick by.
Earlier that day, the whole team had met at Mason’s. She had told them about
the secret passageway, Auberon’s rooms, and the side kitchen door with the
busted lock. Then they had left, agreeing to all meet back up at eleven.

Norabel had hoped to stay at their place, not wanting to be
alone, but Logan had gone straight to Aleta’s, and Mason and Ashlin had taken
off to the woods. Archer was sullen that Ashlin paid him no attention, and so
went storming off home. That left her, once more, all by herself.

When she had gotten home, she had rushed to get ready,
changing into a simple dress that wouldn’t hinder her movements, and had scarfed
down a meager helping of bread for dinner. She wasn’t much hungry with the
thought of committing treason fresh in her head.

Now, as she waited in the darkness of her street, she began
to feel silly for having rushed so quickly to get out. It was nearly eleven at
night, almost time to leave for Mason’s, and Fletcher had not shown up. She
could have been inside her house, comfortably waiting away the hours until
their job, instead of crouching in the shadows, tensing for the worst.

She was just about to come away from her hiding spot and
start down the road towards the north end of town, when she heard the sound of
a trotting horse. A hot flash of fear coursed through her, and she darted back
into the shadows.
It’s not him
, she told herself.
It’s not him
.
But not one part of her brain believed her, and her fears were confirmed as she
watched the horse stop in the road in front of her house.

Fletcher slopped out of the saddle and stumbled over to her
front door in a strange stupor. Norabel realized that the reason he hadn’t been
here earlier was probably because he had been over at the pub, getting himself
drunk.

Ramming his shoulder into her door, it gave way, and he
charged inside her house. Norabel could hardly breathe as she listened to him
raging about inside, knocking everything over, crashing and breaking and
stomping. When he had finally satisfied himself that she was not hiding inside
her home, he stormed back out. Her terrified eyes followed him across the
street as he stopped in front of her neighbor’s house.

“Keaton!” he bellowed out, an angry drunkenness ruling his
words. “Keaton! Get out here, Keaton!”

He came up to their door and started pounding on it, making
the entire structure shake in frightening tremors. After a moment, the door
finally opened, and Keaton took a brave step outside, putting more space
between the angry official and his family.

“Fletcher,” he stated, trying to keep a firm tone in his
voice.

He was cut off from speaking any further as Fletcher rammed
his fist into his jaw. Norabel clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to
stifle a scream. Fletcher grabbed Keaton by the shoulders and was about to hit
him again, when a scream came from the house.

“Daddy!” Iris cried.

A second later she burst out the front door, wanting to come
to her father’s aid.

“Finally!” Fletcher mumbled.

He let go of the father and grabbed ahold of Iris. Keaton tried
to grab her from him, but Fletcher took a dagger from his belt and held it up
to her throat.

“I’d think twice about that if I were you,” he warned. Then,
spinning Iris around, he walked her back into the street. “Norabel!” he cried
out. “I know you’re out here!”

Norabel shut her eyes for a brief moment, trying to come to
terms with what she knew she must do.
I have a protector, I have nothing to
fear.

“If you don’t show yourself in the next…”

Fletcher stopped himself as he saw her step out from the
shadows.

“Norabel, don’t!” Iris insisted.

Norabel looked to the young girl, admiring how brave she
was, and then addressed Fletcher, saying, “I’m here now. You can let her go.”

Fletcher shoved Iris away from him, and she was immediately
scooped up by her father and carried back into her house. When Keaton put her
down, giving her to her mother, he stood in the doorway, debating on whether or
not he should try to do something.

Fletcher pointed his dagger at him, saying, “If you try to
interfere, I will slice both your wife’s and daughter’s throats.”

Keaton’s wide eyes turned to Norabel, and she gave him a
nod, letting him know it was alright for him to leave. When he shut the door,
Fletcher put his dagger back in his belt and turned to face her.

“Come closer,” he demanded. When she hesitated, he stamped
his foot on the ground, screaming, “Now!”

Norabel gulped and took a few steps down the road, stopping
when there were still a few feet between them.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, pointing an accusatory
finger at her. “I told you not to do that. I warned you what would happen.” He
looked over to where his horse waited, and motioned to him with a flick of his
head. “Get on,” he ordered.

She looked to the horse with a sickening sense of dread. She
knew she shouldn’t get on. As much as she was afraid right now, she would be in
more danger if she allowed herself to be taken away.

“No,” she said, finally standing her ground.

She tried to keep her hands from shaking as Fletcher stepped
towards her. His face was oddly calm as he stared down at her. Then, before she
knew what hit her, the left side of her face was suddenly splitting in pain as
he sent his fist flying into her head. The impact was so great that she ended
up falling to her knees.

Grabbing her chin, he forced her to look up at him. “Get on
the horse!” he yelled.

It was hard to think straight through the throbbing in her
head, but she forced herself to say again, “No.”

This time she saw his fist before it hit her. She closed her
eyes and braced herself for the piercing pain. His knuckles made contact with
her mouth, and she felt her lip split open and a well of blood come rising up
from the back of her throat.

He grabbed her neck and forced her to look up at him again.
“Get on the horse!” he growled.

Her mouth was numbed with the coppery slick of blood, and
her lips were too sore to move. So instead she shook her head, waiting with
dread for the next attack.

Fletcher squeezed her neck and shoved her to the ground. A
moment later, the wind was knocked out of her as he rammed his boot into her
stomach. Norabel wheezed in pain, feeling her lungs tighten up. As she
struggled to breathe, she could hear Iris screaming from the front window of
her house.
Please stop this!
she begged her Albatross.
Why are you
letting this happen?

Another kick rammed into her stomach, and panic enveloped
her as she realized that she couldn’t find any air. Her head swam and her vision
started to go. Her hands were shaking from where they were grabbing onto the
dirt in a last futile attempt to keep her there.

It took only a moment for Fletcher to realize that he could
easily take her now. His arms wrapped around her middle, and Norabel couldn’t
even gasp for breath anymore. She was being taken. She was helpless to do
anything.
What good is having a guardian if he can’t even stop this from happening?

Fletcher hoisted her up on the horse, and her head fell
forward, dripping blood onto its leathery skin. She felt movement behind her,
and a second later an arm snaked around her middle. Her lungs were still not
letting air pass, and all she could do was struggle to breathe as Fletcher
kicked the horse into a trot.

As they passed her neighborhood, a kind of hot dread washed
over her skin, making her feel sick with fever. This was it; he was really
taking her away. The realization made her feel even worse, and she told herself
that she couldn’t think about it. She needed to breathe, and to do that, she
needed to calm down. Through the haze in her mind, a thought crept its way into
her head.
Mason
, it said.
He’ll come. He’ll come and save you when you
don’t show up at eleven. So there is no reason to worry. He’ll stop anything
bad from happening
.

A trickle of air escaped in through her lungs. Her chest
ached as it heaved for more. Another stream of air came through, then another.
Relief washed through her as she realized she had stopped the Jotham attack
from escalating. However, it was of little consolation when Fletcher was still
taking her away. If he tried to beat her again, the chances of another attack
coming on were extremely high.

Her head dipped and bobbed as Fletcher pushed his horse
through the village. Everything zoomed past her so fast that her eyes couldn’t
grab ahold of anything. She figured she must have been going in and out of
consciousness, for, before she knew it, the stronghold was in front of her.