Sea of Shadows (17 page)

Thirty-three

M
oria threw off her cloak and leaped up. Wind beat down, waves of it buffeting her as if trying to push her back to earth. Only a smattering of sand still swirled around, and she squinted, daggers out.

“Daigo!”

He screamed, and she looked up and there he was, suspended in the air, all four paws lashing, tail lashing, too. Moria saw what had hold of him, and yet it took a moment to believe what she was seeing.

Huge yellow talons stretched clear over Daigo’s broad back, as if he were a newborn kitten in the grip of a hawk. She didn’t try to see the rest of the beast. She didn’t care. She ran and slashed the talons. Above her head, a deafening shriek rent the air. Again, she didn’t look, just slashed again until whatever had Daigo dropped down enough for her to get a better swing.

Her dagger hit bone, but the blade wasn’t big enough to do serious damage, and stayed buried in the talon, wrenching it from her hand. Dimly, she heard it clank to the rock as it fell free. The injured talon released its hold on Daigo. The other kept a grip, though, and the beast started climbing as Daigo struggled wildly, his blood flecking Moria’s face. She jabbed upward with Orbec’s dagger. She saw then what she was hitting. A feathered body. Green feathers. That was all that fit in her field of vision. A green-feathered stomach, two yellow talons, and Daigo.

She jabbed upward, but the beast was too high and her blade too short. As she swung for the other talon instead, the beast lurched suddenly, giving another earsplitting cry. Blood spurted from the beast’s gut, and Moria twisted to see Gavril there, his blade thrust deep in the creature. It dropped Daigo. As it did, its talons scraped the back of Moria’s head. They caught in her loosely braided hair, and then began shaking her wildly, trapped by her hair. Moria’s body flailed, pain cracking through her neck as she frantically reached up to free herself. She did—or the beast got itself free—and she fell to all fours on the lava rock below.

She saw Daigo spitting and snarling. Her fallen blade lay beside him. She grabbed it, clawed her hair from her face, looked up, and saw the very sky darkened by a bird. It had the shape of a hawk, but was covered in bright plumage, shimmering greens and reds and blues that nearly blinded her. She could just barely make out its head, with a long, curving beak and bloodred horns. With each flap of its massive wings, the air cracked like thunder, the force as mighty as a gale.

Thunder hawk.

A creature of legend, sending storms of wind and sand and rain in its path and in its wake, clapping thunder from its wings and shooting lightning from its eyes.

The huge head turned her way. She saw the glowing, yellow eyes, remembered the stories, and started to drop, her head under her arms, but knew it was too late and there was no place to hide from its gaze—

The beast shrieked again. She glanced up and saw it looking straight at her. No lightning bolts, just those yellow eyes.

She bounded up. Gavril was wrestling to pull his blade from the bird’s guts, but it wouldn’t budge and he was hanging from it. As she ran over to help, the bird’s talons headed for his raised arm.

“Drop the sword!” she shouted. “Let it go!”

Perhaps he didn’t hear her over the thunder of the bird’s wings. But she was sure he did. Yet a warrior never releases his weapon in battle. Apparently, not even to save his life.

The talons wrapped around Gavril’s arm as Moria struggled to get to him, fighting against the tremendous wind, loose hair whipping in her eyes. A black blur passed her. Daigo, leaping at the bird as it flapped its wings to ascend. Moria jumped, too. Daigo caught the bird in the side, all his front claws digging in. Moria did the same, using her daggers for claws, ramming one in as she jumped, and the other on the upswing.

The bird screeched. Daigo swung his rear legs up. They found purchase in the bird’s belly. As he dug in all four sets of claws, the bird began to flap its wings madly. Moria glanced down to see the earth dropping away beneath them.

She yanked one dagger free and stabbed the bird’s breast. It screamed and dropped a little, losing momentum. Daigo pulled back one giant paw and imitated her with a vicious slash. Blood sprayed. The bird shrieked. Another strike with her dagger. This time, she aimed it into the leg holding Gavril. She pulled it out and plunged it in again. A third time and the talons flexed. The bird didn’t release Gavril, but that flex was enough. He fell free, sword still gripped in his hands. She heard him gasp as he hit the rock below.

“Daigo!” she shouted. “Go!”

He understood her just as well as Gavril had. She was sure of it. But he was just as stubborn, turning away as if he hadn’t heard, and slashing the bird again. Then Daigo looked over and snarled, fangs flashing. Telling
her
to drop. When she hesitated, he aimed one of those swipes her way. She scowled but yanked out one dagger, braced herself, and pulled out the other. Then she fell.

Daigo dropped, too. He landed on top of her. Which, she reflected, might have been his plan all along, to soften his own fall. It hadn’t been as long a drop as Gavril’s, though—Daigo’s attack had made the hawk dip low enough. She supposed she owed him thanks for that. But she still booted him off her.

The bird was beating a fast retreat, its wings flapping up uneven spurts of wind that buffeted them as they stood. As they watched the beast ascend into the sky, the thunder and the wind became a mere distant boom and a strong breeze that whipped about their legs.

Moria stood there, heaving breaths, her arms aching. She glanced over to see Daigo twisting to lick at his back. His black fur gleamed wet.
Blood
.
The talons.

She raced over and pushed him down. She carefully moved the fur aside to see his skin. It was dark in color, but lighter than his fur, and she could see a puncture as wide as two fingers and as deep as . . .

She swallowed. She had no idea how deep it was, but when she remembered those talons digging into him, she knew it wasn’t a shallow gash. And it wasn’t only one wound. There were four on this side and, she was sure, a matching four on the other.

When a shadow passed over them, she jumped, but it was only Gavril.

“He’s hurt,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Badly hurt. The talons—”

She remembered then that Daigo hadn’t been the only one gripped in those terrible claws.

“Your arm,” she said. “Are you—?”

“Only scratched,” he said.

She could see long, bloody gashes through the tattoos on his right forearm. She started to rise. “Those aren’t
scratches
—”

“Little more,” he said, waving her down. “They’re shallow. Are his . . . ?”

“Not shallow,” she whispered as she turned back to her wildcat.

“Can he stand?”

“He shouldn’t. He needs—”

“Moria, there’s no healer here. If he can walk—”

Daigo answered by struggling to his feet. Three of his wounds gushed fresh blood.

“No!” she said, pushing him back down. “He’ll hurt himself more. They need to be sewn. I didn’t bring— Blast it, why didn’t I bring—?”

Tears sprang to her eyes. She wiped them away. “You go on ahead. Send someone back.”

“It’ll be days before I reach Fairview, Moria. Then someone has to return—”

“By horse. They’ll return by horse. We have water. I can hunt for food. We’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. Not with that creature hunting for
its
food. We need to go before it comes back. We have to find shelter.”

She sprang up. “And abandon Daigo? I do not leave him. Anywhere. Ever. If that monster comes back, it comes back for both of us, because—”

“Moria, calm yourself.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I know you won’t leave him. I wouldn’t ask you to. I meant that we need to figure this out.”

She took a deep breath, then peered over the landscape. There were piles of rock here and there, and gullies, too, where the earth had shifted. Were any nearby ones enough to shelter the three of them from the thunder hawk?

“They taught me battle healing,” she said. “Why didn’t I pay more attention?”

As she cursed herself, Gavril said hesitantly, “I might be able to help.”

She looked up sharply. Sorcery. Healing magic.

“I also had lessons in battle healing,” he said quickly, as if reading her thoughts.

And you didn’t mention this when your head was injured? Or when that beast shot quills in us? No, Gavril, that is not what you mean at all.

It didn’t matter. He could help Daigo. That was all that counted. She backed away.

“You ought to gather the packs,” he said. “Some items may have fallen out. You should go look.”

You want me to leave so I don’t see you use sorcery.

“I need to keep him still and clean his wounds. I don’t care what you do, Gavril. I’ll tell no one.”

He broke eye contact and shook his head, his jaw setting. “I don’t know what you mean, but if you don’t go and look around . . .”

He didn’t finish the threat, but she heard it clearly.
Leave me or I’ll let your bond-beast die.

She walked away, and she kept walking until she heard only the distant murmur of his voice, casting his spells. Then she lowered herself to the rocky ground, pulled up her knees, and waited.

Thirty-four

W
hatever Gavril did, it didn’t miraculously cure Daigo. Moria expected that. She knew a little about sorcery. When villagers told hushed tales of evil men who would murder infants and mutilate children, their father would take the girls aside, particularly Moria.

“I know you enjoy such tales, Rya,” he’d say. “But you must never soil an entire people with twisted lies. There are sorcerers. I’ve seen them. I’ve traded with them. They know small magics, helpful magics.”

“And nothing more?” she’d ask.

When she was young, he’d say no, nothing more. As she grew older, though, he’d said, “There are dark uses for sorcery. It is a tool. It can be a simple one, used for simple things, like a blade for cutting meat. It can also be more dangerous, like a sword, but even then, it is intended only to defend oneself against one’s enemies. Yet not every man who wields a sword is honorable, and so, too, with sorcerers.”

Whatever Gavril had done to Daigo, it had been that simple kind of sorcery. A magical stitching of his wounds. But it was enough. Daigo was on his feet and moving.

Moria kept scouring the landscape for places to hide, but they’d seen no sign of the thunder hawk, and as she grew more certain that the danger had passed, she sank into thoughts of her father, spurred by those reflections on his words.

She would never see him again. Never hear his voice. Never sit and listen to him gently instructing her, guiding her in the right direction. Had she appreciated that? Perhaps not. He’d had stories, too, endless tales of his adventures as a traveling merchant before they came to Edgewood. She’d liked those better.

She would never see him again. Not in this life. The thought seemed too much for her mind to even approach. It was like in winter, when they’d go to the spring to slide on the ice. Daigo would circle the edge, sometimes putting a paw on the ice, only to back off quickly. That’s what the truth of her father’s death felt like—her mind endlessly circled it, evaluated, considered, perhaps took a step toward acceptance, only to retreat quickly.

“So that beast . . .” Gavril’s words shattered her thoughts. “It was a thunder hawk?”

She made a noise he could interpret as assent.

He replied evenly, as if fighting the urge to snap at her, “I’m trying to understand the threat, Moria. If it comes back again, we need to be ready.”

She wheeled on him. “You would have let him die.”

“What?”

She waved at Daigo. “You were willing to let him die if I didn’t walk away back there.”

“I would never—”

“We jumped on that bird. Daigo and I. For you, because you were too blasted stubborn to let go of your sword. Daigo made his injuries worse fighting for you, and you would refuse to heal him to protect a secret that is not a secret at all?”

“I did not mean I wouldn’t treat him.”

“And if I’d stayed?”

He pushed his braids behind his ear. “You wouldn’t.”

So it had been an idle threat, knowing she’d never risk her wildcat’s life to simply prove a point.

She resumed walking. “We can’t keep doing this. If you have skills that can help—”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. They looked at each other.

“Was that . . . ?” Moria said.

“It sounded like it.” He turned quickly, scouring the landscape. “We need cover. Rocks. Or a narrow chasm.”

“I saw a pile of rocks over there.” She pointed left, in the direction they’d come. “But it didn’t look big enough.”

Daigo nudged her to continue forward and she ran alongside him. Gavril’s boots thumped as he followed. The plains looked flat, but the lava rose and fell in waves often too gentle to see. Moria crested one of those waves and looked out to a see a hillock in the distance, the sun shimmering off the rock, nearly hiding it.

As they raced toward it, the wind picked up, sand swirling from every seemingly barren nook and cranny in the rocky plain. Moria slitted her eyes and shielded them. Another roll of thunder, closer now. Then the sun vanished. She glanced over her shoulder to see a dark shape blocking it. The thunder hawk swooped over the plain, searching for its lost prey.

They reached the rise. It was nearly as tall as Moria. When the lava had swept over the land, it had plowed down almost everything in its path. Sometimes, though, it had met an obstacle unwilling to fall, even under molten rock. The lava had done its best here, but the obstacle remained—a heap that may have been a stone hut, one side crumbling now, as if it was finally giving way under the weight.

As Moria and Gavril scooped out the debris, Daigo paced and watched the sky. Finally, they’d removed all they could, leaving a cave-like hole. It narrowed in the back, better suited for Daigo’s flexible form. He wriggled in as best he could.

Moria and Gavril hid their packs under the debris. Then Moria went in. It was a tight fit, with barely enough space to crouch.

“Are you going to make room for me, Keeper?”

“I’m trying.”

Another long roll of thunder. The sky was so dark she could barely see. The sand whipping about didn’t help, especially after they’d unsettled it moving rocks.

“Come out,” he said. “There’s more room in the middle. I ought to be there.”

She shielded her eyes and slipped from the hole. Gavril crawled inside and turned around. Once he’d settled, Moria backed in and promptly bashed into him.

“Move back,” she said.

“I can’t. Just sit.”

He tugged her down, and she landed in his lap.

“Not there,” he said, his voice muffled as if he was talking through gritted teeth.

“Is there someplace else?”

He didn’t answer. She was still uncomfortably close to the cave mouth, so she shifted to get farther in.

“Stop wiggling.”

“My knees are sticking out. And I’m getting sand in my face.”

“Then cover it. Just stop—” He drew in a ragged breath, as if she was crushing him. “Stop wiggling.”

“I’m not that heavy. I just need to move—”

“I said, stop. Now.” His breath was coming harder and she could feel the thump of his heart against her back.

“Do you have a fear of small places?” she said.

“No.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know—”

“Yes, I have a fear of small places. Now stop—” He put his hands on her hips, as if to hold her still, then quickly pulled them back. “Stop moving. Please.”

“Fine. There. Better?”

A moment’s pause. “Not truly.”

“And you call
me
difficult.”

He made an odd noise, and she realized her hair was probably in his face, which may have explained his continued difficulty drawing breath. She leaned to the side, feeling him tense as she moved, then he relaxed as she swept her hair over and rested her head against his shoulder. He lifted his arms and seemed to be trying to figure out where to put them.

She grabbed his wrists and set his hands on her knees. “There. Now if the thunder hawk sees anything, it’ll be your hands. You’ll be taken again, and this time, I might not save you.”

“I don’t think the bird will get me out without taking you along.”

“Oh, I’ll find a way.”

He began to relax, his hands resting on her knees, his body shifting slightly, getting comfortable, his chin moving to rest on her head. Then a sniff, as if he was about to sneeze, and he reached up to move a stray piece of her hair aside.

“I know,” she said. “I ought to cut it off. It almost got me killed by that bird.”

“You can’t cut it off.”

Keepers and Seekers were not permitted to do more than trim their hair to elbow length. Ashyn said they ought to be grateful they weren’t like the spirit talkers, who weren’t ever allowed to cut their hair or their nails. Personally, Moria would be more concerned with the “eyes plucked out, tongues cut off, and nostrils seared” part of being a spirit talker, but she could see that the uncut nails might be inconvenient as well.

Even when Moria and Ashyn trimmed their hair or their nails, it had to be done at the shrine, and the leavings immediately burned, the ashes scattered. Otherwise supposedly they could be used against the spirits—and the village—by sorcerers.

“I don’t care what they say. As soon as we get out of here, I’m cutting my hair off.”

“No, you’re not,” he murmured.

“Care to wager on it? There are no spirits here to offend.”

“And no sorcerers to steal it?”

“Is that true, then? Do they use hair and nail clippings?”

He tensed. “I have no idea.”

“Then don’t bring it up.”

He relaxed again and she did, too, settled in against him, listening to the storm rage outside. He shifted his shoulder, making her more comfortable, and she felt the muscles of his chest, hard against her back, and saw his arm flex, too, muscles moving under his dark skin.

Her eye traveled down to the Kitsune tattoos. Perhaps it was their association with warriors, but they were, for her, as a woman’s jewels might be to a man. Gavril’s were among the best she’d seen, beautifully wrought, the dark-inked artwork amazingly intricate, the spot color bright green. There were few physical shortcomings a man could possess that could not, in her mind, be compensated for by good warrior ink.

She glanced over at him and had to admit there were blessed few physical shortcomings that needed compensating for. It was a shame to waste such a face and physique on such a surly—and, yes, exceedingly difficult—boy. Although, she supposed it was probably for the best, or being alone with him on this long journey might have pushed her to seek distractions they could ill afford. As it was, she’d be safer wooing a rock adder.

Speaking of rock adders . . . they did like to inhabit damp, rocky holes. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Stop that,” Gavril hissed.

“I moved my
head
.”

“Shhh!” Then, “Listen.”

She did, and picked up the distant
crack-crack
of the thunder hawk’s wings.