Reign of Shadows (6 page)

I
SLIPPED OUT
a little before midlight, knowing that the task would take more than a full hour. I'd rather be making my way in the dark at the beginning of this errand than at the end.

I studied the sky and then glanced around, feeling that familiar restless energy. The air always felt this way moments before midlight—when all manner of life, animal and man, was ready to burst free, and roam freely in the brief window of time that dwellers went to ground.

A snap sounded behind me.

I whirled, lifting my bow. I waited, staring into the gloom, my gaze darting over the terrain of trees and brush.

I held myself still, ears straining.

No other sound came. I didn't hear the sloughing, wet breath of a dweller. No dragging steps. Not even the rotting, loamy odor that signaled they were close.

A shape materialized, only slightly less dark than the ink of night. I pulled my arrow taut, the pull of string a sweet, faintly audible creak near my ear.

“Don't shoot.”

A shock wave rippled through me. “Luna?”

She stopped before me. She was garbed in trousers again.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice a low hiss.

“Coming with you.” She actually smiled.

“No. You're not.”

She propped a hand on her hip. “It looks like I already am.”

I lowered my bow and pointed beyond her. Shaking my head, I realized the motion was lost on her. I dropped my hand. “Go back.”

“No,” she answered evenly. “We've already covered this much ground, and it's almost midlight. Why send me back now?”

“Why are you even here? I said I would fetch the nisan—”

“Because we need to know where it grows. After you leave, we may have need of it again.”

“And you couldn't have pointed that bit of logic out sooner? So Sivo could have joined me and not you?”

At this, her smile broadened. “I could have.”

“You said nothing deliberately.”

She shrugged a thin shoulder. “I need to know these things
for myself, too. I can't rely on Sivo for everything.”

I cursed. She blinked as though my colorful speech was something new, and I supposed it was. Her guardians had spent all these years sheltering her.

I sighed and dragged a hand through my hair, scanning the horizon. She was right though. They wouldn't be around forever. What would become of her?

I ignored the voice inside that reminded me this wasn't my problem and snapped, “Fine.”

She smiled again, her lips curving wide to reveal bone-white teeth. “Stop smiling so much,” I grumbled, turning away.

She followed close behind me, moving noiselessly. “You walk like you're part of the night.” The words escaped me like an accusation. It didn't make sense to me. How could a sightless girl be so proficient at maneuvering this terrain?

“I am part of it,” she replied. “Aren't you?”

“I'm not a part of anything.” Not anymore. I started to think about those days when I was, but stopped myself from going there. I wasn't that boy anymore. I couldn't be him ever again.

“Will you be a part of Allu?”

My reply was immediate. “I have to be.”

“But what if you're not? What if it's not like you think?”

I held silent at the question, letting it drape over the night, sinking into the dark abyss through which we waded.

“How do you even know that place is real?” she pressed.

“Allu exists. It's on every map. It's always been there.”

“Yes, I'm aware. I've studied my geography and history. But
how do you know it's free of dwellers?”

I hesitated before saying, “It's all I've ever heard. Everything I've ever been told. That gives some weight to the stories.”

“Have you met anyone who's ever actually been there? And returned to tell of it?”

“Who would ever wish to come back once they reached Allu? Why would they risk themselves?” It was ironic hearing myself use Bethan's logic. She had been chipping away at my resolve near the end. I had started making plans for us to leave. A bitter irony now that it was too late for her.

“Hm.” There was a wealth of meaning in that single sound. She doubted. Just as I once had. “Childhood is full of fairy tales. I had my share, too. What makes yours real?”

“I knew someone,” I snapped. “She believed. She convinced me.” And yet her faith hadn't been enough.

“Where is this girl? Why isn't she with you?” Turning, I faced her. She stopped and tilted her chin, waiting for my answer.

“She's gone.” A flying beetle the size of my fist zipped over my shoulder, heading in her direction. She pulled her head to the side, dodging it as if it were nothing, as if she had seen it coming.

Her throat worked as she searched for words. “You mean dead.”

“Dwellers took her.” Which was as good as dead. Anyone dragged underground never came back. The details of that day weren't something I ever shared.

“I—I'm sorr—”

“If you apologize for every person I ever lost, we'd be here all
day.” I swung back around. “Let's keep moving.”

“What was her name?” she whispered at my back.

I expelled a breath and looked skyward. “What does it matter now?”

“Her name?”

I closed my eyes. It had been two years now, and the sound of her voice was a dim memory. She had been full of laughter. Even with monsters at the gate she could find happiness.

I didn't know what I was holding on for anymore. It was pure instinct that kept me moving. My lungs knew how to expand with each breath, and somehow I had mastered the art of not dying. Survival was an easy thing to accomplish when there was nothing left to live for.

“Bethan,” I bit out, experiencing a sharp release of pressure inside my chest at uttering it aloud.

“Bethan.” She rolled the name on her tongue as though she were testing it out.

“Satisfied? Now make haste,” I snapped, although she wasn't moving all that slow.

As midlight arrived, the tension ebbed from me. Or perhaps it was because she had ceased nagging me with her uncomfortable questions.

Secure in the soft glow of light, I increased my pace, caring less for the noise of my tread. I tried not to look over my shoulder. She had fallen back a bit and was struggling to keep up. I forced myself not to wait for her. The old impulse to be kind and courteous instilled in me by my nurse was still there.

She wasn't my responsibility. She had forced herself on me, and I was stuck with her. I should just keep walking. Follow the plan and keep moving east. She'd keep up with me. Or not. I had no doubt she could figure her way back to the tower. She had an uncanny sense of direction.

I turned to monitor her regularly. My compulsion to check on her was a weak thing inside me. It dawned on me that she couldn't see if I looked back. The knowledge that she wouldn't know that she had roused some kind of protective instinct freed me to glance back whenever I felt the urge.

Looking back frequently, I studied the way her head was always turning, her nostrils flaring as though she were some animal exploring her surroundings.

Her slim, pale hands looked like small doves, skimming trees and brush, memorizing with touch. She looked peaceful. The dark wisps of hair surrounding her face fluttered in the breeze as those unseeing eyes moved and flitted. As though she could see.

At one point, she stopped and looked directly at me, her dark eyes deep and penetrating, a bottomless well that seemed to hold so much. Impossible, I knew. She couldn't see me. She couldn't know I watched her, but then she spoke.

“I'm not going to stumble into a hole or run into a tree if that's worrying you.”

I blinked, unnerved. Facing forward, I said nothing and increased my pace.

“I've never been this far from the tower,” she called after me, her voice breathless as she attempted to catch up to me. “The
trees feel a little slighter here and the air less pungent.”

I didn't reply. Not that my silence seemed to matter. She continued talking, chatting like a magpie.

“Sivo always worries about straying too far from the tower.” She sighed as if someone worrying about her safety too much was her greatest grief.

She reminded me of Bethan in that moment, blissfully unaware of all the dangers in the world. Blissfully unaware that I was her greatest threat.

I kept going, lightly touching a fallen log and vaulting over it, biting back the reply that Sivo should worry. She should.

I didn't call back a warning, but Luna somehow knew it was there. She lifted one leg over the log, then the next, carrying on indifferently.

I adjusted my quiver of arrows hanging on my shoulder and faced forward again. Sivo worrying was probably what kept them alive so long.

The tower was safe, virtually undiscoverable within the thick press of trees, far from any road or path. If I were a different manner of person, I could try to steal the life they'd carved for themselves. It wouldn't be too difficult. A cut to Sivo's throat while he slept. Perla presented no threat. The only other real threat was Luna. I'd seen her at work.

She reminded me of a flower that used to bloom in Relhok. The scarlet buds once dotted the hills outside Relhok City. They were wrapped up in my earliest recollections, tangled amid memories of sunshine on my skin. The flower had faded from
existence a few years after the eclipse, like so many things since then.

From the moment I could walk, my nurse had taught me to avoid them when we went outdoors. I would lie in the tall grasses surrounding the castle, directly beside one such flower, and study the red petals. So beautiful and delicate in their seeming harmlessness. I would hover a fingertip over a petal, tempted to touch for myself, to delve into the deeper darkness nestled at the root of those petals. One day I did.

It was only the slightest brush of my finger, but the burn had been swift like a wasp's sting. My hand swelled and my nurse had clucked at me, shooting me fearful glances as she applied a salve to the injury. It was not that she thought the sting would kill me . . . but that
I
would kill me—a boy who had to touch and see for himself what danger felt like.

Luna was like that flower: innocent on the outside, but dangerous to anyone who got too close. Even me.

She kept up, following me as we ascended a steep crest. When we reached the top it would plateau to the exact place I had spotted the nisan weed. Was that only yesterday? It felt like a good deal more time had passed since I first met this girl.

“You're taking a long, dangerous journey based on rumors.” Her words circled me like an insistent gnat. She didn't know when to quit. “What if you cross the continent and find it's not even there—”

“It's there.” My steps hit the ground harder. “You talk too much.”

“You're angry,” she announced, her tread quickening to match my pace.

“No.” My tone and brevity didn't seem to affect her.

Usually a scowl worked. Or a look. It was something in my eyes. When I left Relhok City, Govin, the bowman who trained me and the only person left I felt compelled to say farewell to, had told me that my eyes were dead.

I'd seen a lot of dead eyes over the years. It was impossible to understand unless you witnessed it happening—the moment life departed and slid away like a wisp of smoke. The light in one's eyes, a light you didn't even realize was there, faded to nothing.

She'd never have to witness that. Scowls and dead-eyed stares were useless on her.

She pressed on, blithely unaware. Or indifferent. “What if it's not as you say though? What if dwellers are there?”

I stopped and faced her. “Then it won't be any different from any other place, will it?”

“Except you will have gone so far. . . . What about your home—”

“I'm trying to forget where it is I come from.”

We topped the crest. Sprawling bushes rose up before us. I stopped before the thick hedge of nisan.

“We're here.”

Luna reached out a hand to touch the wild bramble.

“Careful,” I warned. “There are thorns.” I squatted, flipping open my satchel. She followed me down, her hand reaching out and gently touching the flowers. A soft smile lifted her lips. I
couldn't remember the last time I thought about any girl's smile. Blinking, I looked away. I started to pull at the herb, stuffing it in my bag.

“Wait, stop. Don't pull up the root.” She removed a dagger from the sheath at her waist and carefully began to snip bits of the plant's flowers. “We want it to regrow.”

“Optimistic, aren't you? That it will ever regrow with so little sunlight? It looks as though it's barely hanging on as it is.”

“And yet it's here. Seventeen years after the eclipse.” She worked intently, her forehead creasing as she carefully snipped at the nisan and tucked it into her satchel. “The eclipse can't last forever.”

“It can't?”

She turned to face me. “There was light before. There will be again.”

“That's what the Oracle has been saying for years and it hasn't come to pass.”

“It will though. She's right.”

The Oracle was not right. Everyone could play tribute at her altar, but not me. She was a puppet for the king. As bad as he was.

She continued, “Maybe we won't be lucky enough for it to happen in our lifetime, but it will happen again someday. This happened before. I'm certain you heard the folk tales.”

“Yes. So.”

“Well, it happened before and it ended before. We merely need to hold on until then.”

“You're a fool to put faith in anything except what's before you.” Rising to my feet, I snapped, “Come. We need to head back.”

We moved swiftly, conscious of passing time.

I scanned the area. Just because it was midlight didn't mean it was safe to relax. This was the one time of day when people could move without fear of dwellers. Everyone came out of hiding, including the good and the bad, and there were more of the bad. Desperate times brought out the worst in people. Opportunists and scavengers abounded. The good were too trusting. They had perished first, many lost in those early years of the eclipse.