Sea of Shadows (13 page)

Twenty-four

W
hen Ashyn didn’t see Ronan the entire next day, she began to wonder if he was there at all. It would be a clever scheme. Promise to guard her from a distance, then hurry on ahead and find his soft mat and hot food, and wait for her to arrive. She trusted, though, that he wanted his freedom and a reward enough not to risk it. To be honest, she only suspected him of ill intent because she was disappointed not to see him. The others were hardly spirited conversationalists.

The next morning she sought Ronan out. For very good reason. They’d woken to find Quintin’s sleeping blankets empty. Empty and cold. Worse, she’d had to prod Gregor to hunt for him.

“He’s missing,” she’d said. “Possibly injured, out there in the Wastes.”

“My responsibility is with you, Seeker.”

Which he was doing a poor job of, as Ronan had said. She’d ordered him out to hunt and then gone looking herself—both for Quintin and for Ronan.

Finding Ronan turned out to be simple enough. She walked straight to the biggest outcropping of rock and he was there, settled into his sleeping blanket. He roused at her footsteps, as if he’d only just gone to bed.

“Quintin is gone,” she announced as he stood.

He peered at her, feigning sleepy confusion as if trying to determine what reaction would best suit the situation.

“You knew that, I presume?” she said.

A flicker of anger. “If you are accusing me—”

“Of harming him? Of course not. Of seeing him walk away and doing nothing? Yes.” She pointed at the rocks. “You were sitting guard up there last night?”

“I was, and yes, I saw him, and yes, I did nothing. He was not attacked, Ashyn. He walked away. He knew he was a burden, and he made his choice.”

She stared, stunned at the casual way he said it. “Abandoning elders is the mark of a primitive society. We’ve moved past that.
Long
past it.”

“Because we can afford to. Because we have an organized system of trade and communication that means a village never needs fear passing a winter without sufficient supplies. Do you think they used to drag the elders off to the forest as they kicked and screamed for mercy?”

“Sometimes.”

He paused, then nodded. “Yes, I’m sure sometimes they did. But for most elders, it was a part of life. A final sacrifice for their families. A way to die with honor.”

When she didn’t answer, he moved toward her, his voice lowering. “Every time you needed to stop for Quintin to rest, the entire group was at risk of being bitten by rattlesnakes or attacked by nomads and bandits. You were all at risk of running out of food and water because the walk was taking twice as long as it should. He knew that.”

“And you gave no thought to going after him?”

A pause. “Yes, I did. To offer a quick death.”

Ashyn stared at him.

He stepped back, his face hardening. “Did you want me to lie to make you feel better, Ashyn? Or are you hoping to make
me
feel worse? You’ve told me to be honest. So don’t ask a question if you don’t care to hear the answer.” A brusque wave. “Now, if you’ll leave me be, I might get a little sleep before I need to catch up with your party.”

That night, Ashyn lay shivering on the hard lava, her cloak and sleeping blanket wrapped tightly around her. It was still not enough to fend off the savage chill of night. She peered around. Under the moonlight, lava fields stretched to the horizon itself.

There was an end. They were following the “road”—a smooth, winding strip of lava, marked by piles of rock. It was not the fastest route through the Wastes, but it was the only safe one.

Safe
being a relative term,
she thought as she peered into the night.

Besides the poisonous snakes and giant scorpions, the Wastes were home to roving bands that called themselves nomads. There were only two reasons anyone would choose to live here. First, it was beyond the reach of the empire’s law, at least from a practical standpoint. Second, trade wagons passed through once a moon in the warmer seasons. So, too, did travelers or scholars who wished to see the Wastes for themselves. All were such easy pickings for “nomads,” there was almost an unspoken arrangement that wagon trains would bring extra goods and toss them out like honey cakes at a festival. Road tax, they jokingly called it.

They’d seen no one since leaving Edgewood. Ashyn had detected no spirits either. She could feel the lack of them, chilling the air. She supposed that made sense—what spirits would exist in a desolate land of rock?—but it still unsettled her. She longed for their whispers and their warmth and the soft buzz of their energy.

That’s not all I long for.

She blinked back the prickle of tears. She’d spilled enough of them onto the rocks at night. Tears for her father. Tears for her village. Tears of worry for Moria, thinking of her with the children, a captive.

Please, don’t do anything foolish, Rya. If I lost you . . .

Tova shifted, pressing his shaggy body against hers. She nestled into it, face buried in his fur. Then she lifted her head and peered around. Ronan was out there somewhere, watching over them. Protecting his investment—she understood that, but it didn’t change the fact that he was sacrificing his own safety for them. Just as Quintin had sacrificed his life.

If she’d gone ahead with Ronan, Quintin wouldn’t have walked into the Wastes. He could have slowed down, knowing they would have sent help when they reached the first town.

I failed him.

But it’s not too late for the others.

She pushed up from her sleeping spot, Tova rising beside her.

“Can you find him?” she whispered.

Tova grunted, as if understanding. She would go speak to Ronan now. She’d tell the others at dawn and then leave with Ronan.

Twenty-five

S
oon after Ashyn returned from talking to Ronan, she awoke to a scream. She leaped up. Tova was already on his feet, fur bristling.

It was Wenda. The girl stood by her blanket, sobbing as Beatrix held her.

A nightmare,
Ashyn thought, sinking down again. The girl had held up so far, but bad dreams had to come eventually.

As Ashyn settled, though, she noticed Gregor standing in front of Beatrix and Wenda, motioning frantically, saying something she couldn’t hear over the girl’s sobs.

Ashyn pushed up again. Wenda raced over and threw herself into Ashyn’s arms, head buried against her as she cried.

“What happened?” Ashyn asked.

Gregor turned to her. “The girl had a nightmare. She dreamed—”

“It was not a nightmare!” Wenda pushed from Ashyn’s arms and swiped at her tears. “You touched me.”

“Touched . . . ?” Ashyn began.

“He came into my sleeping blanket. I felt someone there, and I forgot where I was and thought it was my sister. I moved closer to get warm, and then I felt his hand on my leg. It was moving toward my . . .” She leaned and whispered the rest to Ashyn.

Ashyn sprang up. “Gregor!”

“No!” His face filled with what looked like genuine horror. “I swear on my ancestors I did not do this, Seeker. I could . . . I could not imagine such a thing. The girl is mistaken. She’s had a nightmare. I swear—”

Wenda howled and ran at him. Ashyn grabbed her, and the girl sobbed that she had not dreamed it. Beatrix took her, and she collapsed against the older woman.

“I did not do this,” Gregor said. “I am not saying the child is telling tales, only that she is mistaken.”

“How would she even imagine such a thing?” Beatrix said.

As Ashyn thought it through, the arguing and accusations gradually ceased, and she glanced up to see everyone looking at her. Waiting for her to give her opinion.

No, they don’t await your opinion. They await your verdict.

With neither the commander nor the governor in their party, the weight of authority fell to her.

She looked from Gregor’s horror to Wenda’s anguish, both seeming equally certain of what had—or had not—occurred here. Then to Beatrix, her glower and stiff back placing her firmly on Wenda’s side.

Ashyn was not qualified to make this decision. Yet they expected it of her. They needed it.

I can do this.

I must do this.

“Wenda,” she said. “I need you to tell me again what happened. Gregor? Please don’t interrupt her. You’ll have your turn.”

And so she proceeded, exactly as she’d seen the governor conduct trials. Each party told their story. The witness—Beatrix—told hers.

Wenda’s story did not change. She’d awoken to find Gregor in her sleeping blankets, his hand moving up her leg. Gregor simply said it did not happen. He was asleep in his own blankets. He awoke to Wenda striking him with her fists. Beatrix woke to see the two of them on their feet. She said they were nearer Wenda’s blankets than Gregor’s, but the two were separated by only a few paces.

There was, then, no easy answer. Gregor looked genuinely horrified; the girl genuinely traumatized. Could it have been a misunderstanding? Gregor rolling in his sleep, thinking it was a woman by his side? Or Wenda having a nightmare that seemed real?

Ashyn carefully suggested the possibility of an accident or misunderstanding, avoiding blame, but they vehemently denied it. Wenda said it happened; Gregor said it did not. Beatrix could add no evidence. The decision rested on her.

If she had any personal feelings on the matter, they sided with Wenda. She knew the girl to be good and honest. She barely knew Gregor at all, even after four days together. Yet that did not seem a valid criterion for such a judgment. Even were she to find Gregor guilty, his punishment would be imprisonment in the town where they now headed. She could insist he wait until the sun was high, then follow the same road, but if they were to encounter trouble, they would have no warriors to aid them. To punish Gregor could punish them all.

“I am not qualified to preside in a court of legal matters,” she said finally. “I must commend Gregor to the court in Fairview, where we now head. He will accompany us, but staying in the lead to scout our path. Wenda will sleep in Beatrix’s blankets. And Gregor shall give the child his dagger.”

The last part was, as she expected, the most contentious. Wenda was thrilled to have the blade. Beatrix was concerned and offered to hold on to it for her, but Ashyn said she’d show her how to carry it properly.

As they prepared to set out early, Ashyn excused herself to tell Ronan that they would not be leaving together.

The next morning Ashyn woke to Ronan’s voice whispering her name. She opened her eyes to see his face over hers, his eyes looking into hers, his lips over hers. She thought . . . Well, she supposed it was obvious what she thought. Not, she corrected later, that she actually believed he’d come to her in the night, driven by an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Such things happened often in songs, but Ashyn suspected they rarely did in real life.

What she truly thought was that she was dreaming.

“Ashyn?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”

She felt a dampness on her cheek. Not a kiss, but a . . . lick. Tova nudged Ronan aside. At the same moment that she realized it was not a dream, she noticed the anxiety in Ronan’s dark eyes and the tightness in his voice.

She started to scramble up, but he grasped her shoulder and whispered, “Shhh,” motioning for her not to wake the others.

She blinked and looked around. Tova was sitting beside her now, wide awake. Gregor’s snores said he was sleeping soundly. Across the campsite, Wenda seemed to be doing the same, in the blankets she shared with Beatrix. Except the older woman wasn’t there.

“Bea—” Ashyn began.

Ronan shushed her again. “I saw her go to relieve herself. But it’s been too long. I thought it better if you checked on her. It could be a . . . female problem.”

Ashyn suspected Beatrix was well past any such “problems,” but in any event, he was right—Beatrix would panic if a stranger came after her in the night, particularly after what had happened with Wenda. Remembering that, though . . .

“I can’t leave Wenda alone with Gregor,” Ashyn whispered.

Ronan cursed under his breath.

“I’ll go,” she said. “You wait here.”

He peered into the night. Even the moon’s light seemed to shun this place. They’d used the lanterns judiciously, but the last one had run out the night before.

“I’ll follow a bit, while staying close to camp,” he said.

She nodded and stood.

“You have your blade?” Ronan whispered.

She nodded again, and withdrew it. Then she set out with Tova.

Twenty-six

A
shyn headed across the plain. When her foot touched down on sand, the change came as such a surprise that her boot almost slid out from under her.

Yes, she remembered now—they’d stopped at one of the rare sandy areas, setting up camp on a patch where scrubby cacti had taken hold. It’d been two days since they’d passed the last oasis, and Wenda had spotted red flowers on the cacti nearly fifty paces off the road. She’d insisted they stop early so they could camp there, where the ground was soft. Ashyn had known she ought to refuse—they had to use every moment of sunlight, but the girl had been so entranced by the flowers, and Beatrix’s old bones had ached so much from sleeping atop rock. Ashyn hadn’t had the heart to refuse.

She adjusted her stride for the sand. It did feel better. Softer. Slower, though, too, as each step slid a little. There were patches of rock, and she found herself steering toward them, to pick up the pace. Tova figured out what she was doing and led the way across the rock.

As they walked, Ashyn squinted around for Beatrix. There were no cacti here, no piles of stones, so the old woman—standing or squatting—should be easy to spot. But Ashyn saw nothing. She tried calling to her. Her voice carried in the silence and no one replied.

How far did she go?

There was no need to go far. Since the scorpion episode, Ashyn had chosen camps carefully. Tonight, there’d been no obstacles to hide behind, so she’d told them to simply walk far enough that smells wouldn’t waft back to camp.

Ashyn sighed. Soon she wouldn’t be dreaming of dangerous boys, but of hairbrushes, and hot water, and toilets with doors that latched. And as long as she had none of those, she suspected there was little use in dreaming of the other either. She was rather grateful they hadn’t passed a still body of water in two days, so she’d been spared the horror of her own reflection.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that when Tova growled, she only reached out and absently patted his head. He grabbed her fingers in his teeth. She stopped abruptly to look around.

“Beatrix?”

No answer.

As Ashyn looked, she caught a rustle. No, not a rustle. This was just as quiet, but more of a rasping, sliding sound, like something moving across sand.

Tova’s growl drowned out the noise. She tried to shush him, but when he finally stopped with a snort of satisfaction, the sound was gone.

A snake. That’s what it had sounded like. They got them in the village sometimes, coming in from the edge of the forest. Little green ones, harmless, children scooping them up as pets. But the snakes of the Wastes could be dangerous. She’d seen men bitten by them, their fellow travelers rushing them to Edgewood for treatment. Some were merely ill, easily treated. Others . . . others were not.

“Beatrix,” she whispered. She reached for Tova. “Can you help me find her?”

He grunted, lifted his muzzle, and made a show of sniffing the air; then he shook his head and grunted again.

I’ve been trying all along,
he seemed to be saying,
but wherever she is, I can’t smell her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I know you’re already helping. I’m just . . .”

He walked behind her and butted her legs gently.

“And I won’t find her by standing here in the dark, worrying about
not
finding her.”

Tova took the lead again, steering her another way, sniffing the air more obviously now, as if to make sure she knew he was working on it.

Perhaps Beatrix was taken. That’s why we can’t find her. Bandits. Or something else.

What else? They’d seen no sign of shadow stalkers, bandits, or anything that moved on two legs.

Ashyn walked faster, calling louder. When she heard her own name on the wind, she broke into a run, jogging toward a distant figure—

It was Wenda, running barefooted across the rocky plain. Ashyn could make out Ronan following. Ashyn hurried over to Wenda, who ran into her arms with a sob.

“I woke, and you were gone and Beatrix was gone and Tova—”

“It’s all right,” Ashyn said, patting her back as she hugged her.

“But I was all alone with
him
.”

Ashyn hesitated. Time to end this ruse. “No, you weren’t. Someone was watching.”

The girl’s face screwed up in confusion as Ashyn waved for Ronan to join them. He approached with reluctance.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered over Wenda’s head. “It’s better this way.”

She introduced him as quickly as she could, keenly aware that Beatrix was still missing. Luckily, Wenda was still sleepy enough to simply accept that this boy was here and Ashyn knew him and he would help.

“No sign of Beatrix?” Ronan whispered as they began walking.

“Not yet.” Ashyn lowered her voice, so the girl wouldn’t hear. “I think I heard a snake.”

Ronan cursed. Wenda said something, but Ashyn’s attention was divided between scanning the empty landscape and watching for signs that Tova had scented the old woman.

Ronan and Wenda were talking when Tova stopped, his fur bristling. He was looking to the side, and Ashyn shushed the others as she strained to peer into the night.

The moon slipped behind clouds and the darkness seemed to wrap around them. Wenda crept closer. Ashyn put her arm around the girl’s shoulder. A gust of wind brought a blast of sand and icy cold. Wenda shivered and whimpered.

Then Ashyn heard it again. That dull rasp. Like scales on rock.

“Wh-what is that?” Wenda said.

Ronan lifted his sword and tracked the sound as Tova did too. Both halted, facing the same direction.

“We’re going to walk that way,” Ronan whispered, pointing his sword in the opposite direction. “And don’t be quiet about it. As I’ve said before, with snakes, you run the biggest risk if you startle them.”

As he said the words, something deep in her gut flared up, telling her no. She tried to push the feeling aside, but it only grew stronger.

“Ashyn?” Ronan whispered.

“I—I think we ought to be quiet,” she said. “I feel . . .” She swallowed.

“Is it the spirits?” Wenda whispered.

Ashyn shook her head. “I haven’t heard any out here. I just— I feel . . .”

“She’s the Seeker,” Wenda said to Ronan. “We ought to listen.”

Ashyn suspected that carried little weight with him, but then the noise came again, closer now, and when Ashyn looked over—

She stifled a gasp. Ronan wheeled, sword up.

They could see a dark shape moving along the ground twenty paces away, too far for them to make out any more than that. Far enough that they should not have been able to see a mere snake. This looked as big as a man, a creature slithering across the rock.

“Move!” Ronan whispered, pushing them ahead. “Go!”