Shadow Lands (4 page)

“Don’t know. She didn’t waste no time, though, from what I heard. Right off the ship. Didn’t even stop in the city.”

“Well…” A pause filled their conversation before a lowered voice continued. “If she had stopped there, they would’ve killed her, sure as I’m standing here. From what
I
heard, them Graygual want her something fierce. Probably safer in the trials than here or in the city.”

“Not anymore.” Leilius heard a throat clear. “Good mornin’. Er, afternoon, I mean.”

“That one’s always creeping around, that one is,” the other voice said a few moments later. He must’ve been talking about whoever passed.

“Yarm saw some men takin’ that Inkna-Chosen out of the bushes.”

“What’d you say?” came the other’s shocked exclamation.

“Shut up, if you know what’s good for you!” the first hushed. “Yarm done said it, and Yarm ain’t around no more. So you do the math.”

“What do you mean, though, takin’ him out of the bushes?”

“There ain’t no fence keepin’ around them trials—just some thorny bushes. Well, Yarm reckoned there was a hole in them thorns. He saw that damn Inkna walkin’ out.”

“Ain’t no way. Ain’t no way he did.”

“That’s what I heard he said. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

“They only get a knife,” the disbeliever scoffed. “I seen them thorns. No knife is getting through that, I don’t care how sharp.”

“He weren’t alone, you wool-headed son-of-a-goat! He came out alone, but there was a few men waitin’ for him…”

“Oh.” The squeak of the water spout sounded again. Water punched the bottom of a fresh bucket. After a moment, the disbeliever said, “That can’t be right. If they’re trying to get that Chosen thing, they need to finish the trials. Not sneak out of ’em.”

Another throat clear. “I don’t know ’bout that,” the first said. “But that’s what Yarm saw. He came running into the hut and blurted it out. Said he was going to go tell the Shadow people—thought he’d get sum’in for it. Only, his dead body was found strung up on that thorn fence the next morning. His tongue was cut out and dick cut off. Now, that could’a been them Shadow, right as rain, but they ain’t usually vicious. They’ll kill a man, but they don’t make a show of it. Naw, that could only be whoever he was tryin’ to tell on.”

“You think it’s
him?”

“
Now, I don’t know that he would be here, but he wants the violet-eyed girl. How do you get the girl, and keep your man? Well, you cheat. And we know that kinda guy cheats, so… Now, it probably isn’t
him
. No, don’t see how it could be.
He
wouldn’t be here. But he’s got lots of workers…”

“Hello Farley,” the disbeliever said in a cheery voice.

“What are you two hamming about?” came a third voice.

“Just taking some water and being on our way. Pity about the rain, ay? Awfully sloppy out here.”

“Get on whit ya. I gotta fill my bucket,” said Farley.

Leilius drifted away with a tingling in the base of his spine. He didn’t know who this
him
might be, or who these men were that waited for the Chosen, but cheating was bad news. So was this Inkna-Chosen not being in the trials when S’am was trying to kill him.

Rather than running immediately to the Captain, however, Leilius walked toward the outskirts of the camp. He needed more information.

He soon realized that the inhabitants in this Trespasser Village were nearly all men. A few women wandered around, but they had their bosoms almost completely on display, and led with their hips in a way that had Leilius’ face turning red.

He listened in on one conversation after the other, hearing “violet eyes” often. News of S’am’s arrival traveled really fast. It also seemed that the people in these parts hoped she would dispose of the Inkna-Chosen. Every one of them respected the Inkna if they passed one, and nearly fell over themselves bowing to a Graygual, but when they thought no one was around, they were rooting for S’am.

Yarm’s name came up a few times, but exactly what he was supposed to have seen was mostly conveyed with large eyes and lifted eyebrows before people looked at their feet. Few were brave enough to recount the story.

After a while, when nothing else noteworthy could be heard, he decided to head back up to the city. He was wet and cold and didn’t want to get sick. He hated being sick, especially because he wouldn’t be able to bitch about it with Sanders around.

He drifted toward the city with his unassuming walk when a group of men passed in front of him, heading toward the huts on the outskirts of the camp. Most huts out that way were vacant, and in bad shape. Still, this group was moving in that direction.

Leilius veered right so he would be able to see these men in more detail. There were five of them total. Four wore shiny, black material that kept off the rain—the same kind Leilius had seen often since they’d landed. Loose arms, hung from broad shoulders, swung at their sides. They moved, stealthily and quiet, their eyes sliding from one side to the other.

Leilius felt tingles crawling up his back as fear settled in his gut. He didn’t know these men, but the way they moved, the look of their swords, and the sharp edge in their eyes, made him think
killer.

In the middle of their group strode a man completely their opposite. Short and bald, he walked in a floppy sort of way suggesting he was no fighter. His skin was pale and he wore a shiny, blue shirt with shiny, red pants.

Leilius’ mind raced as he veered left again. This group was silent, and they were beyond dangerous. They were not the sort of men Leilius needed to get messed up with, even just to snoop. The Captain or Sanders could handle guys like that!

Then there was that guy in the middle. He was free to walk, so he was no prisoner. With men like these around him, he had to be someone important, like that Hunter stalking S’am. Or someone worse.

Fingers tingling and really wanting to run, Leilius remembered what S’am had told him about fear. If he showed it, it would alert the predators. Spies were in dangerous places all the time—the spies that lived were the ones that didn’t act like they were ever in danger. They acted like they
belonged.
Confidence would keep him alive. Hopefully.

Leilius adopted a dumb-puppy expression and a loose-limbed stride. He’d play up the young idiot persona that Sanders always strapped the Honor Guard with. It’s what people expected, which meant it was the best way to blend in.

Not a moment too soon.

The gaze of one of those men swung his way. Fear pinged through Leilius’ body as dead and hollow eyes honed in on him.

“What are you doing here, boy?” came a dry rasp.

The man broke away from the rest, walking closer with the smooth slide of a deadly predator on the hunt. None of the others bothered to glance Leilius’ way.

Leilius’ legs went numb as the fear overcame his senses. His foot hit something, tripping him. He fell, face-first, into the wet mud, scraping his cheek against a rock.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, not sure what else to say.

A hard boot smashed down on the center of his back, pinning him painfully.

“I said, what are you doing here, boy?”

“I-I was just trying to find my pa,” Leilius stammered, playing up a more rural speech. “He were supposed to be in one of these huts, but I can’t find him. He took the wine we was supposed to trade for our supper.”

The boot ground into Leilius’ back, grazing skin and bruising bone. He heard a
pop
before agony seared up his spine. He cried out, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please,” he begged. “I didn’t mean no harm.”

“Your pa isn’t around here. See that you aren’t, either.” Without warning, the weight lifted. Tears of pain dripped from Leilius’ eyes and coated his cheeks. He stayed frozen, not sure what to do. Not sure why the man was hovering over him. The cold seeped through his skin, making him shiver violently. His teeth chattered, crunching grains of dirt that had flown into his mouth when he fell.

After some minutes, still shaking with fear, Leilius finally looked up to see that the man was gone. He’d walked away through the mud and gunk without a sound.

A flood of relief washed through him. He dropped his head for a brief moment, thanking God for his life, not caring about the cold or the agony of his back. Just happy to be alive.

Slowly, painfully, he climbed to his feet, not caring about the whimpers of pain he couldn’t contain. Hobbling, he made the long way to the city, thankful to be alive. Only when he was almost at the Captain’s quarters, drawing eyes and pitying expressions, did a greater fear wash over him.

He was alive, but if they were responsible for helping the Inkna-Chosen, and for shutting up Yarm, how much longer would S’am be alive?

S
hanti opened her eyes slowly
. She’d been standing in the same spot, with her eyes closed, for an extended period of time. Listening. If there was anyone there, even a master at stealth, Shanti would either have heard him, or felt his presence. She didn’t have her
Gift,
but she’d grown up in the wood. She’d trained, snuck, spied and got up to mischief in thick trees amongst some of the best fighters in the land. The
Gift
could be a crutch, so Shanti’s people made sure they were well-versed in doing without.

The dwindling day remained quiet and serene. A lonely bird sang high in the trees. Raindrops fell in a smattering of plops. Nature produced the only sounds.

Mentally blind, Shanti continued on her way with soft footsteps. Knife in hand, eyes always on the move, she looked for signs of someone passing before her. A broken branch off to the right at shoulder height indicated someone unskilled in tracking or stealth had gone that way. The break was old, though. The exposed wood of the branch had darkened through exposure to the air for some time.

A few footprints filled with water from the rain were also old, made with a heavy boot with hard soles. The Shadow people had been wearing waterproofed, soft-soled boots. This imprint was typical of Inkna, but there was no telling if the full-powered Inkna-Chosen had made this tread, or one of the minions who’d been put through before him.

She reached a fork in the trail. Glancing first to the right, then the left, she couldn’t see any difference in the paths. Heavy trees crowded the walking space as branches reached overhead. Glistening moss grew on rocks and rough bark lined the outside of trunks. The heavy boot tread went left. Another, fresher boot tread went right. Both were probably Inkna.

Shanti went right.

Through the gaps in the trees overhead, rain sifted down. In other spots, the collected water on the high branches turned into plunks of fat drops. Still she walked, scanning. Listening. Noticing the slightest changes in the foliage.

Her stomach growled. Beyond the branches, the sky was darkening.

She needed to take care of the basics of survival in the wild while there was still light. The elements could kill as easily as the Inkna-Chosen—probably more easily.

With that in mind she increased her pace, identifying possible areas for shelter. Her garments would keep her warm thanks to the Shadow people, so she needed only the bare minimum, including a fire and a few provisions. Without delay, senses always alert, she sought out the things she needed.

A
s the day dwindled
, Shanti sat down under the tarp, which was strung along the tops of a shallow rock outcropping. Two large trees rose to either side of her with a thick canopy overhead. If the rain turned heavy, her open fire would remain mostly protected.

She boiled rainwater that she’d collected, cooking wild vegetables in it. A small bird roasting on a spit was almost done. The woman had been right: this wood was plentiful, and sustenance was not hard to find. With the gifts of the tarp, clothes, pot and firestones, surviving would be easy—at least until the trials began.

Shanti scanned the quiet wood. She hadn’t seen a boot tread in some time, but she
had
seen some soft imprints, crossing the path from the grasses beside it. Those, she bet, were made by Shadow people.

I can’t kill anyone,
she reminded herself as she stirred the pot.
Let’s just hope the Shadow know when they’re defeated. Otherwise, I’ll have to maim, and that won’t be much fun for them…

As she removed the bird from the spit, thinking about how she would do the same with the hot pot, a
snap
sounded away to her right.

Shanti froze, immediately closing her eyes to cut out the distraction of sight.

The tiny sound of a branch moving reverberated in the silence. A bird gave a shrill cry, announcing someone in its midst, before the beat of wings suggested it taking flight. Silence once again reigned.

Thinking fast, Shanti used her old, damp garments to remove the pot, setting it on some grasses and mud. In silence, she scraped up two handfuls of dirt and slid behind the rocks that made her shelter. After smearing mud on her face and tucking any visible hair back into her hood, she settled into a hiding place and waited.

A slushy sound of watery mud came from the left. A slosh of boot announced someone approaching. A small movement twenty paces in the opposite direction drew her attention. A branch wiggled, as if caught by wind.

But there was no wind. Not even a breeze.

Goosebumps crawled across her skin. She removed a knife slowly and waited, eyes scanning the area in front of her. Nothing stirred.

She let her awareness expand out behind her. Almost immediately, she was rewarded with a slide of soft material on rock.

Adrenaline dumped into her body as she spun and threw her knife. A
fffuuuwwww
sound reached her ears, making her duck out of the way. A dart bounced off the rock beside her. A body, a man, staggered into a tree five paces up the incline. His hand reached for the knife in his shoulder.

Shanti ran at him, leaping over any rocks in her way. The man brandished a knife in his good hand. She dodged his first strike, then blocked the next, her forearm clashing against his. He slid his hand away, aiming the knife down toward her. She flinched back, shifted, and pushed the hilt of the knife in his shoulder, driving it in further.

The man grunted. His lips pressed, fighting the pain as his knife slashed at her. Her tarp shook, as if someone was brushing by it in a hurry.

Help was coming, but not for her.

She yanked the knife from the man, blocked his thrust, dodged a strike, and stabbed him in the leg. He cried out and bent, but she didn’t pause to reflect on a solid hit. Clutching his tunic, she yanked him toward her, then used his momentum to use him as a shield.

Another
ffffuuuwwwww
announced the dart right before it lodged in the neck of the man, barely three inches from her face.

These people had great aim with their darts. Thank the Elders for granting her luck.

“If that is poisonous, you’d better see to your man,” Shanti called out in the Shadow Lands language before shoving the man down the hillside. He staggered forward, limping badly on his leg, as she ducked behind the nearest tree. “You shot it into his neck—he may not have long.”

That is not my kill!

“It’s a sleeping agent—you’ve passed this trial. Please, stand down so that we may collect him,” a voice echoed from behind her shelter.

Adrenaline pumping, not totally believing the words, Shanti peered out from behind the tree in time to witness a tall man with brown hair hook a shoulder under that of his countryman. The injured man leaned heavily before his head started to roll. The sleeping agent worked fast.

Another man, with flaming red hair and brilliant blue eyes, came around the rocks of her shelter. He assessed the damage to his countryman for a brief moment before wiping his hands and stepping closer to help carry him. Taking his weight, he looked up. His eyes, only ten paces away, were piercing yet sparkling, full of jest and humor. He winked. “Your bird needs salt.”

“Care to supply any?” she asked, still keeping most of her body behind the tree. She had no idea if these people could be trusted.

“Next time. Enjoy your wet night. You might use the rain to wash your face.”

“What if I hadn’t avoided the dart?” Shanti called as the men turned and started back the way they came. “Why not have it tipped with poison? Otherwise, you’re just promoting failure.”

The flame-haired man stopped the progression and shifted so he could turn his head toward her. “You’re the first outsider to avoid the dart. If it were poison, our fun would end shortly after it began. How can we train when we kill everyone right away?”

“Had I known I was helping you train, I might’ve devoted some time to following your trails and catching you unawares. You might step softer, if you want to stay hidden.”

A flash of smile crossed his face. “I see the old adage is true—women are infinitely harder to impress.” Laughing, he helped drag away his man who was now completely limp.

So the trials for the would-be Chosen weren’t so much about finding a future leader as they were for training. It probably hadn’t started that way, since the Chosen was prophesied, but the years of false-Chosen making their way through the trials had given the people of this land everything they needed to hone their skills. Since the Chosen couldn’t kill, there was no danger for the Shadow. Their only problem became the duration of worthwhile training. Hence the sleeping agent instead of poison.

An entire people had been given the task of making sure she failed.

“The woman at the beginning told me as much,” Shanti muttered, returning to her dinner. A large bite had been taken out of her bird. She shook her head. “Thieving fool.”

She’d be lying if she said she’d ever expected to make it through these trials. It had always seemed like too big of an undertaking for one person. But then, she’d never expected to make it this far, either. The important thing was finding the Inkna-Chosen and killing him. After that, she’d give ’em hell as best she could. They might’ve stacked the odds against her, but she’d traveled too far, and endured too much, to roll over and play dead. She’d follow the rules as long as she could, but when Death came to collect her, she’d take as many down with her as she could.

C
ayan caught
sight of the natural arch at the first light of day. After Leilius had limped painfully into Cayan’s room last night and revealed all he’d seen, a blast of fear had suffocated Cayan. That itching, clawing certainty that he should’ve gone into the trials with Shanti returned. The pull, the ache—he almost ran from the room straight away.

Instead, he’d used logic. Mistakes happened when decisions were made in haste, and mistakes would get his men killed.

Keeping his calm, he’d called a meeting of the company, explaining what he’d learned, what that might mean, and what he’d have to do. Everyone was allocated their roles. The chain of command would remain well-established.

He impressed upon them all that the most important thing was to stick together. Stay alive
together.
Against an army trained to be individuals, like the Graygual, Cayan’s men needed to be a tight unit, working for each other. Helping each other. Relying on each other. They were infinitely stronger that way.

As Cayan was leaving before the sun did more than lighten the horizon, Burson stopped him. “The choice you didn’t make yesterday was to go with Shanti. That choice led to a much harder road, fraught with death. The choice you make today rights the wrong. It tips the scale closer to balance. There will still be death, but you have made a wise decision.”

Cayan’s anger rose immediately. “Why didn’t you mention this yesterday?”

“The choice had to be made by you. If I had told you, it would’ve been disastrous. Keep her grounded. She is prepared for death—give her a reason to fight for life.”

Cayan would’ve loved to hang the man up by his feet and shake him, but that wouldn’t have solved anything. Instead, with the need to join Shanti clawing at his gut, he’d just shaken his head and started out.

He met the gaze of the man who’d greeted Shanti yesterday. With sleepy eyes and an untucked shirt, it looked like the man had barely made it here before Cayan. It meant the Shadow were watching the city closely, and word spread quickly.

He wondered if they were watching the Trespasser Village, too. It seemed unlikely, not with the hole in the thorn fence and the gruesome killing put on display. That was a level of viciousness that had been left unchecked. If it was allowed to continue running rampant, it would only grow into something nasty. The worst of the Graygual were in that Trespasser Village, Cayan had no doubt. And his sole purpose was keeping that danger away from Shanti.

“Why do you come?” the man asked as Cayan stopped before him.

“I seek entrance to the trials,” Cayan stated in a flat voice.