Sea of Shadows (16 page)

Moria

Thirty-one

M
oria and Gavril had been walking through the Wastes for three days now. They were moving quickly, rising early, walking until they needed lanterns, and then stopping to conserve fuel.

They’d found signs that others had passed that way—a campfire by an oasis, footsteps in a sandy patch, an abandoned waterskin by the roadside. Signs of Ashyn and at least four others, including what looked like a child’s small footprints and an elderly villager’s shuffling ones. Moving slowly, then. Good. They would catch up before the party reached Fairview.

The third night, they stopped earlier than usual. Moria wanted to push on, but Gavril refused.

“You’re getting tired,” he said. “Keep this up, and you’ll fall by the roadside. I’ll not stop for you, Keeper.”

“Of course you won’t. You’ll carry me.”

He hadn’t even favored her with a scowl for that one.

“I’m stopping now,” he said. “If you go on without me, and if I find you collapsed by the roadside—”

“Yes, yes. You’ll leave me to die of thirst and let the buzzards and corpse dragons pick my bones.”

“There’s no such thing as corpse dragons.”

“Or shadow stalkers. Don’t worry. I’ll stay and protect you. I’ll let you rest, too. If you need that, you have only to say so, Kitsune.”

He stalked off. She smiled and set about finding a place to camp. She knew he wasn’t truly angry or even annoyed. It was a long walk, with little amusement to be had beyond needling each other, and the barbs had lost their poisonous tips after Edgewood.

As the sun began to drop, she found another amusement—practicing her dagger throws. They’d stopped at a spot that might be an oasis after one of the rare rainfalls in the Wastes. For now, it was only a patch of sandy soil big enough for two houses. No grasses or flowers. Just moss-covered rocks and a few stunted, gnarled trees. One of those trees was already dead, having been almost entirely debranched for firewood. So she felt no guilt using it as a target.

She practiced with Orbec’s blade to get used to it. There was far more variety in warrior daggers than swords. Some were almost as small as kitchen knives. Few warriors used those. Most preferred a blade nearly two hand spans long, similar to the short swords warriors had once paired with their long blades. Moria’s and Ashyn’s daggers were somewhere between the two, a model more suited to small hands—with a longer handle for throwing. Orbec’s dagger blade was slightly longer than hers, but not much, and the handle was perfectly weighted. It was, in short, a superior throwing weapon, suited to both the short distance technique—with rotation—and the more difficult non-rotational long-distance technique. Moria practiced both.

When Gavril returned, she saw him watching a rodent scamper past. They’d seen many of them—brown ratlike creatures with powerful back legs that sent them hopping over the lava plains.

“If you were better with those”—he pointed at her blades—“you’d get us some dinner.”

The challenge could not go unanswered, and she set off with Daigo toward an outcropping of rock that appeared to be a likely home for the rodents. It seemed Gavril did not expect her to actually return with a meal. Or so she presumed from his expression when she came back with two of the rodents, tails tied, slung over her arm.

“I’m hoping you know how to dress these,” she said as she dropped them in front of him.

“Hardly,” he said. “I didn’t grow up in this spirit-forsaken place. And you’d best not think you’re going to make me do it because it’s man’s work. If you didn’t wish to bloody your hands, you ought not have killed them.”

She scooped the rodents up. “I simply thought that if you knew how to dress them, then you should, or we’ll be eating hacked meat for dinner. I’ll figure it out while you gather wood and start the fire.”

“Fetch wood? I—”

“You’re a grand warrior, from a line of grand warriors. Fetching wood is, I’m sure, beneath you.”

“Give me the beasts.”

“Too late.” She started strolling off. “Make sure the fire is ready when I am, Kitsune.”

He said nothing for a moment, then called after her, “Take them back to that rock to clean them. I don’t want to sleep beside a pile of offal.”

Skinning rodents was rather like removing a too-tight garment—slit the beast from from nape to arse and then peel. She had no idea how to cut it up, though, so she left the beasts whole. They could put them on a stick, roast, and eat.

Daigo watched the process with a complete lack of interest. When she showed him the final result, he sniffed, unimpressed.

“Yes, I know, I ought to have gotten a third for you. A little help in that matter would have been appreciated.”

Another sniff, as if to say he was not a mere hunting cat.

As they neared camp, she could see Gavril ahead, with his back to her as he bent over a fire pit. They had materials to light it from the lanterns, and he’d managed with less in the forest, but he was obviously struggling now. The moss wasn’t dry enough to act as tinder. She could have told him that but . . . well, again, there was little enough entertainment to be had in the Wastes. So she hunkered down with Daigo behind a boulder and watched the show.

It was not a silent performance. There was plenty of cursing involved. Finally, as she was about to advise him to use his blades to trim strips from the dried wood, he stopped cussing. He crouched there, staring at the pile. Then he glanced over his shoulder. She ducked behind the boulder.

When she looked again, he was hunched over the fire pit, talking to it. That’s what he seemed to be doing—whispering a string of words so softly that she struggled to make sense of them. Then she realized why. They were not spoken in the common tongue.

The words came faster and stronger. Then his hands lowered over the pit. He crouched there, shoulders quivering slightly, as if with exertion. Finally, he lifted his hands. And there was fire.

Moria pushed to her feet and padded toward him. Daigo followed, equally silent. By the time they arrived, the blaze was devouring the dried wood.

“You started the fire,” she said.

He jumped. “That was my task, wasn’t it?”

She nodded and crouched beside it, warming her hands. Without looking his way, she said, “I saw you start it.”

Silence. Then, belatedly, “So?”

She looked over. “I saw how you started it. Not with tools. With sorcery.”

Panic lit his green eyes, but only for a moment before his face set. “Watch your words, Keeper. If you were a man, that accusation could earn you a blade between the ribs.”

“It’s not an accusation. It’s a statement. I wondered how you started the fire in the woods. Now I know.”

“You know nothing,” he said.

She straightened. “Your father was rumored to be a sorcerer. Apparently, it was more than rumor. I care not whether you are one or not. Whatever you may think of me, I’m not an ignorant village girl. I am the Keeper. My world—”

“—is filled with childish nonsense,” he said. “I’ve heard your stories. You fill your head with monsters and magic and—”

“I
saw
monsters,” she said. “And now I’ve seen magic.”

“You saw nothing.” He stepped closer, towering over her. “If you claim otherwise again, Keeper, you’ll wish you’d held your tongue.”

“Are you threatening me?” Her voice was edged with a growl that he seemed not to notice.

“I am warning you against spreading lies about me. I am suggesting you hold that tongue of yours or—”

Before he could finish the sentence, her blade tip was digging into the bottom of his jaw.

“I am the Keeper of the Forest,
boy
,” she said. “Do you think those pretty patterns on your arms give you the right to threaten me? They do not. Even if your father was still marshal, they would not. I will take your glowers. I will take your insults. I will take your warnings that you’ll abandon me by the roadside if I do not keep pace. But you will not call me a liar. And you will not threaten me.”

He’d gone still, his expression unreadable. She tensed, ready to defend herself if he reached for his sword. Even the spirits would not know if he left her here, gutted, in the sand. So she waited. But after a moment, he dropped his gaze.

“My apologies, Keeper.” His voice was low, his tone hard to read. It was not obviously mocking. Perhaps it was even genuinely contrite, though she doubted it.

She lowered her blade and stepped back. Gavril reached as if to rub his throat, before stopping himself. A bright red drop of blood fell on his tunic, but he didn’t look down at it.

“We have both seen things no one should see,” he said finally. “It is difficult for me and an immense tragedy for you. We are anxious and wary. You clearly thought you saw me light the fire by sorcery. I did not, but I accept that is what you believe you saw. I am overly sensitive to the charge, given the rumors about my father. With this situation and my current state—yes, I am tired, I’ll admit it—I overreacted. I do apologize. There is no excuse.”

On the scale of apologies, none was considered greater than that:
I have no excuse.
She made a noise that he could take as acceptance, though she intended no such thing. Then she lifted the rodents from where she’d dropped them by the fire.

“We’ll need sticks.”

“I’ll roast them,” he said.

“You only need roast your own. But save some for Daigo. He doesn’t eat scraps. He isn’t a house pet.”

“I know. I’ll share mine.”

He reached to pat Daigo, but the wildcat snapped at his fingers and then stalked off with Moria to find a roasting stick.

Thirty-two

A
fter that, Moria was quite willing to drop the subject of sorcery. Gavril would not. As they ate, he felt compelled to explain his reaction to the charge by detailing his father’s experience. How the accusation had dogged the Kitsune family even before his father became marshal. How it arose from the fact that their family came from the Katakana Mountains, said to be the birthplace of sorcery, so the charge was as inaccurate and offensive as saying all Northerners were stupid and lazy.

He explained how his father’s enemies had used the slander to belittle his accomplishments by saying he’d used enchantments to gain his position. How those same enemies whispered the rumor in the ears of all the court, season after season, and the Kitsune clan believed it was those rumors that had led to his downfall. Given all that, could Moria blame Gavril for reacting too strongly?

Yes, she could. Because she’d seen what he’d done, so she knew the rumors were not baseless. He insulted her intelligence by denying it. She ate as quickly as she could, saying little, then retired for the night.

The next day, their walk began in awkward silence. It did not last, though, no more than his angry silences would. They were too much effort to maintain, and as the day passed, he would usually reach the point where he forgot that she was the last person in the empire he’d wish to traverse the Wastes with.

That did not mean, of course, that he would launch into friendly conversation. Moria had begun to suspect that particular social skill was one he’d never mastered. Instead, their discussions would be much like the current one, which had begun when she’d noticed a flock of birds winging past and wished aloud that she were skilled in archery.

“Arrows are for hunters, not warriors,” he said. “Attacking an enemy from afar is cowardice.”

“And that includes the throwing of blades, I presume?”

“It depends on who’s throwing it. For a warrior in battle? Yes. That is why Orbec was not valued for his expertise. For you, though, it’s a wise choice.”

She was going to comment, probably sarcastically, but he continued.

“The dagger is a poor hand weapon. Most warriors rarely use theirs for anything more than cutting meat. It’s good for self-defense against an unarmed man, but otherwise nearly useless. The Keeper and Seeker aren’t warriors, though, and it isn’t as if they could properly handle swords.”

“Give me yours and we’ll see whether I can handle it.”

“You can wield it, but not well. It’s too big for you. That’s no insult, Keeper. It’s a simple fact. The sword”—he took his out and cut a loop in the air—“is intended for a man’s size and strength.”

“
That
sword is better suited to a man. Women warriors have thinner and lighter ones, which I will handle quite adeptly when my time comes.”

“Adeptly, perhaps, but against a true sword?” He lifted his. “A smaller one is like a dagger, an inferior weapon, which is why so few women become warriors.”

For Gavril, even discussion was a form of warfare. The trick, she’d learned, was not to take offense at his strong opinions.

She watched yet another flock of birds fly past.

“Ceding my point, Keeper?” he said after a moment.

“The birds,” she murmured. “We’ve scarcely seen any and now two flocks have passed within a hundred paces.”

“If you are unable to counter my point, have the courage to say so. Distraction is a coward’s gambit.”

A tremendous crack exploded in the distance, and they both froze. Moria looked down to see Daigo plastered against the ground, ears to his head. When she laughed, he gave her a baleful look, rose, and shook himself.

“Thunder,” Gavril murmured as he scanned the sun-bright sky.

“Is that what it sounds like?”

“Of course. What else—?” He paused. “I suppose you haven’t heard thunder before.”

And that, Moria reflected, was the difference between normal Gavril and good-tempered Gavril. There was still a snap to his words, but he skipped the ripe opportunity to mock and insult her.

“We do get rain in the Wastes,” she said. “Rarely, though. I suppose that’s what had the birds fleeing and the beasts cower—” Daigo cut her off with a growl.

Gavril made a noise that could be a laugh. “He does understand you, doesn’t he?”

“When he chooses. Usually only when there’s excitement or insult involved.”

“Like his Keeper.”

She glanced over. She wouldn’t say that Gavril was smiling. The curve of his lips was far too slight for that. But his eyes glowed with a rare light, one he did not extinguish when he caught her looking, though he did rub his mouth, as if to temper that sign.

Are you ever happy? Can you be? Or will you just not allow it?

She shook off the thought. Trying to understand Gavril’s moods was like trying to gauge the direction of whirling sand to avoid getting blasted.

“Speaking of excitement,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind getting a glimpse of the storm, if we’re close enough.”

He squinted up. “Looks like we might be, if that sky is any indicator. See how dark it is?”

“That means a thunderstorm is coming? There’s lightning, isn’t there? How dangerous is it?”

“It can kill a man if it touches him. It rarely does, though. Just don’t lift your sword over your head. I saw that once. We were having a mock battle in the plains and a storm blew in. They made us keep fighting, but told us not to lift our swords. It’s a challenge to the storm spirits. So of course one warrior had to issue that challenge. He lifted his sword clear over his head. A bolt of lightning shot from the sky. It hit the sword, lighting with a blast that blinded the two warriors standing beside him.”

“Did he die?”

“Exploded in a cloud of ash.”

“Truly?”

A twitch of his lips. “No, not truly. Nor were the others actually blind—”

She lifted her hand. “I’ll keep the first version.”

The twitch grew to a half smile. “I thought you might. Lightning is deadly, though, so—”

A blast of sand hit them, seeming to come from nowhere. Gavril let out an oath as he coughed.

“These thunderstorms come with wind?” Moria asked.

Gavril nodded, spitting sand.

“Then we’d best prepare for more than rain and lightning. I’ve been out in a sandstorm and—”

The wind whipped up again, and she quietly shut her mouth and eyes. It wasn’t just a single gust of wind this time. It swirled around her, blasting from all directions, and she fumbled with her pack, yanking out her cloak and putting it over her face. She peeked out to see Gavril circling, trying to get his back to the wind.

“Cover up!” she shouted. “You can’t avoid—”

A gust sent her stumbling. The wind howled now, sand battering them from every direction.

“Down!” she shouted. “Get down!”

She fell to her knees as Gavril struggled to get his tunic up over his face.

“Down!” she yelled. “Before—”

The wind caught him and knocked him clear off his feet. Moria crawled over. He tried to rise, but Daigo pinned him there. Moria reached him and slung her cloak over both their heads. She tried to stretch it to cover Daigo, too, but the wildcat snorted and burrowed between them, telling her he’d rather just keep his eyes shut.

The wind continued to whine and howl like a wild beast, ripping at their clothes and blasting every bare piece of skin. She tried to see Gavril under the tented cloak, but could only make out the whites of his eyes, then a flash of teeth as he hissed in pain.

“Who’d have thought sand could hurt so much,” she said.

He grunted and shifted, as if yanking his tunic down more.

“Is this part of the thunderstorm?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard.

He said something, but she didn’t catch it. The whine of the wind hurt her ears, and she gritted her teeth against it. While the wind seemed to grow stronger, she swore the sand wasn’t blasting as hard.

She was about to say so when a tremendous crack sounded again. Rolling thunder. She’d heard the expression and it seemed appropriate—great cracks of thunder, one after another. They grew louder and louder, as if the storm was closing in on them. Then she couldn’t just
hear
the thunder—she felt it, too—huge vibrations that seemed to push down from above with each crack.

Gavril’s head shot up. “That’s not—”

Daigo screamed, like a woman’s shriek, a terrible sound that ripped through Moria. His claw caught her in the side, tearing through her tunic as she grabbed for him. Her fingers brushed his fur. Then he was gone.