Sea of Shadows (6 page)

Moria

Nine

M
oria sat cross-legged on her sleeping mat, listening to the chatter from the main room, each burst of laughter raking down her spine.

“I wish they’d go away,” she muttered to Daigo.

He grumbled his agreement.

“Father doesn’t want them here. He’s only being polite. They ought to see that and leave.”

If her mother were here, would she send them scattering with a snapped word, a snarl? Was that where Moria got it from?

Don’t think of her. Not today.

The villagers had come to distract them with companionship, candied fruits, and honey wine. Moria took another gulp from her cup. The wine did seem to help. Less so the companionship.

In the next room, her father said something and the women laughed. It didn’t take much to bring them. At one time, even the imperial court had sought to provide their newest Keeper and Seeker with a mother. They’d sent a pretty nursemaid of marriageable age with each supply train. Each had been summarily returned. Finally, the court had stopped trying. The village women had not.

Their father was kind and healthy and strong, a good provider who loved his daughters and helped his neighbors and made people smile. Moria often heard the women whisper about how handsome he was, though she couldn’t see it herself. She wished they’d leave him alone. He clearly did not want to marry. He did have “friends,” and Moria was old enough to know that when he went to visit one of the widows, he was not playing capture-my-lord. That didn’t bother Moria. It was a perfectly sensible solution.

She scowled as the women tittered again. Then she noticed Daigo looking toward the window.

“You’re right,” she said. “We should be going.”

She hopped up and knelt where Tova lay. He was sleeping now, thanks to a brew from Healer Mabill’s husband. Still, it was a fitful sleep as the big hound twitched and moaned, worrying about Ashyn.

“I’ll watch for the flare,” Moria whispered to him. “I’ll make sure she’s all right.”

She walked into the main room, where everyone sat around a blazing fire. As tempting as it was to stamp through with a grunted “Going out,” she couldn’t quite manage it—too much time spent with her father and sister. She murmured vaguely polite greetings as she passed. When she reached the front room, her father appeared, closing the door behind him.

“I’m going out,” she said.

“To wait for the flare.”

She shrugged and pulled on a boot.

“She’s fine, Moria. The flare will come. It always does.”

She’d caught
him
at the fence at midday, watching for the signal. He’d pretended otherwise, of course—just out for a stroll. That’s the excuse she used now, which only made him sigh.

She leaned over and hugged him. It was a slightly awkward hug—she wasn’t nearly as good at it as Ashyn—but he never seemed to notice, embracing her back and whispering, “Stay on the ground, all right? Please.”

She nodded and slipped into the night with Daigo.

Moria did walk on the ground—all the way to the end of their street. But the road was crowded. She had to pass at least two people and a cart. So when she reached the village wall, she climbed onto it and Daigo hopped up beside her.

True, she had fallen before—once from the wall, once from the roof of the village hall. She’d broken an ankle the first time, a wrist the second. But she regretted neither because they had been lessons. Her father didn’t see it that way, and he swore his heart would fail him when he saw her running atop the high wall.

She didn’t run today. There was no need. The flare wouldn’t come until the moon reached its zenith. So she strolled along the fence top, lifting a hand each time a villager called a greeting.
They
never worried—she was the Keeper, as sure-footed as her wildcat.

“Off to watch for the flare?” The chicken-keeper’s wife peered from her window. “You needn’t fret, child. The flare will come.”

“I know.”

Before Moria could move on, the woman came out, apron drawn up. “I heard you thrashed the miller’s boy for tormenting the little ones.”

Moria shrugged. “He needed a thrashing; I needed the exercise.”

The woman smiled and held up a wineskin. “Chicken soup. To keep you warm while you wait.” She plucked two eggs from her apron and passed them up. “I didn’t forget you, Daigo.”

The wildcat chuffed. Moria thanked her and continued on.

Moria paced alongside the first tower. By now even Daigo had grown weary and was lying down, paws tucked in, feigning boredom. Yet at every flicker, he looked to the sky. The flare was late. And no one seemed to notice except her.

“It’s warmer up here,” the guard called from the tower. “I have furs.”

Moria bet he did. Levi was one of the youngest guards, just past his twentieth summer. After the Fire Festival, when she’d had a few too many sips of honey wine, he’d taken her behind the hall and offered to “make her a woman.” He apparently made the same offer to Ashyn after the autumn dance, perhaps hoping to double his chances.

In theory, Moria was not opposed to his proposal. She understood his offer didn’t come with heartfelt promises of undying love. Ashyn was the one who dreamed of romance. Moria’s interest in men was far more practical.

Although the Keeper and the Seeker were not permitted to marry, they could take lovers. While Ashyn envisioned ardent romances, Moria didn’t quite see the point. She did understand the
physical
allure, though. When she watched the guards strip off their tunics in the summer heat, she could feel her own body temperature rise. Sadly, given Levi’s fumbling embraces, he didn’t quite seem suited to the task. That hadn’t stopped him from trying. Nor had it stopped Moria from allowing the occasional kiss or fondle, in hopes that, with practice, he might get better at it. So far, though, he’d shown no aptitude for learning.

“Moria,” he called. “Come up. It’s too cold down there.”

“I have my cloak,” she said, pulling it tighter.

“It’s too dark.”

She lifted her lantern in answer.

“It’s too dangerous.”

That one wasn’t even worthy of reply.

“Quit your caterwauling, Levi!” yelled a voice behind her.

The newcomer was almost invisible under cover of night, dressed in a dark tunic, breeches, and boots, his skin no lighter. The only color came from his bare forearms, the ink-black tattoos spotted with green, like emerald-studded sleeves.

“No, Gavril,” she said. “I am not trying to sneak into the forest after my sister.”

“You’d better not, Keeper. I meant what I said.”

Daigo growled as anger warmed Moria’s wind-chilled face. “You told me once. That’s enough.”

Two days before the Seeking, Gavril had caught her on the other side of the first tower investigating a possible blind spot that would let her slip past the canyon wall. Gavril hadn’t simply warned her against going into the forest. He’d reminded her about the last party of the damned to enter the forest. How a young man carried her sacred blade. A non-warrior. An exile.

Gavril had been guarding the exiles that night, and he’d seen her give her dagger to the boy. Then he’d held on to that knowledge . . . to use against her.

She’d asked him to let her go into the forest. No, not asked. Shame heated her cheeks as she remembered. She’d begged him. Moria would only follow the party—she wouldn’t interfere. She would let Ashyn know she was there, so Ashyn could relax and do her job. That was all.

He’d refused. If she went, he’d tell the governor about the dagger, and her father would be punished. That’s how it worked—they couldn’t punish the Keeper, so her father took it in her stead. For such a crime, he might even be exiled.

How could Gavril make such a threat when his own father had been sent into the forest?

“You’d best hope your sister finds that boy’s corpse,” he said. “And that she has the sense to hide your blade.”

She looked at him, stone-faced. “You can leave now, Kitsune. You’ve done your duty, checking on me.”

“I’m here to make sure you stay within the walls and don’t go flitting after butterflies.”

She fought the urge to shoot her fist at him. She’d used that excuse once, when he caught her up to trouble.
I was only chasing butterflies
. Now he kept bringing it up, and she wasn’t sure if he knew she’d been lying or if that was truly how he saw her—a child chasing butterflies.

“The flare isn’t coming,” she said. “I’m going to speak to the commander.”

Ten

M
oria hadn’t been the only one watching the sky. When they reached the barracks, her father was coming out, the commander at his side. They were assembling a search party.

By the time the party was ready, there was little doubt that something had gone wrong with the Seeking. The moon was halfway from zenith to the treetops now.

“I’ll need a blade. I couldn’t find mine this morning,” Moria lied as she adjusted her boots. “If there isn’t an extra dagger, I’ll take a sword.”

The commander shook his head. “The Keeper is not permitted a sword until she passes her eighteenth—”

“Then a dagger will do.” She walked to Gavril. “I’ll borrow yours. The spirits demand it.”

He looked at her, as if surprised that she’d dare single him out when he knew she’d not misplaced her blade that morning. What she truly meant, though, was:
If you’re going to tell them what happened to mine, then do it.

“I can’t give you my dagger, Keeper, because I’m going into the forest.” Gavril turned to one of the sleep-woken guards. “I’ll take your place.”

“Then I’ll take
your
blade,” Moria said to the same guard.

The sleepy guard handed it over. Moria looked at her father and held her breath until he gave a slow nod. She hugged him and whispered, “I’ll bring her back.” Then she hurried after the others.

Moria strode through the dark forest, holding a frayed length of red ribbon.

“The rest has to be here.” She turned to see Levi, Oswald, and the other guard—Jonas—clustered around, watching her. “You have lanterns. Look for it.”

“We have.” Levi’s voice took on a whine. “The ribbon is gone. We need to head back.”

“The village is that way.” Moria pointed into the darkness. “Anyone else who thinks saving the Seeker and the governor is too much work can go with him.”

Gavril had not stopped searching for the ribbon. After a moment’s pause, the other three joined him, while following the trail of cut and broken branches.

It should have been dawn by now. The others were probably telling themselves that the rays of weak light were the rising sun, but Moria knew it was the moon. Night was her time. The Keeper. Bond-mate of the cat. Protector of the night. Daughter of the moon.

Moria had been in the forest before. Not far. It was the Seeker who ventured in while the Keeper guarded the mouth. But those short trips to the second guard tower had told her what to expect. The cold, hollow weight of death.

They kept walking until Levi said, “Does anyone else hear that?”

Before Moria could reply, something darted through the trees. She glanced at Gavril. His grip tightened on his sword. Daigo’s growl rose until it vibrated through the air.

A shadow bolted past, so close that Daigo spat, fur rising. Two of the lanterns flickered. The third sputtered out.

“Everyone back!” Moria said. “We just passed a clearing. Retreat to that. We can fight there.”

Fight shadows? With what? Swords?

When Gavril opened his mouth, she tensed for argument, but he barked, “Get back! Move!”

Moria and Gavril herded the others to the clearing. There they clustered in a ring, backs together, blades out. Shadows wove and dodged through the forest around them.

Moria channeled her energy and commanded the spirits to be gone. The men shifted and muttered under their breath. When one of the shadows passed close, Levi lunged at it.

“No!” Moria shouted. “Stay in formation!”

Oswald yanked Levi back. Then, from deep inside the forest, came a voice.

“Moria!”

“Ashyn,” she breathed. She started to take a step in that direction, then stopped herself and looked back at the others.

“You think it’s a trick?” Levi whispered when she hesitated.

No, but I think if I leave this clearing, you’ll all be dead.

She could hear someone crashing through the bushes. She looked down to see Daigo leaning toward the noise, ears up, tail swishing, poised to run.

“Go,” she whispered.

The wildcat shot off noiselessly through the woods. Moria waited, her heart thumping.
Please, please, please
.

“Daigo!” Ashyn called.

The sound of running footsteps resumed, and Moria had to fight to stay where she was. When she saw her sister’s pale hair, she relaxed. Then she saw her sister’s eyes, wide with terror as she ran. There was a shape right behind her. A dark shadow—

No,
not
a shadow. A flesh-and-blood being with a blade in his hand. Chasing Ashyn.

The moment Daigo and Ashyn stepped into the clearing, Moria hit her sister’s pursuer square-on, knocking him to the ground, pinning his arms as a blade flashed.

Her gaze flew to that blade first. It was her dagger.

“This feels familiar,” said a voice below her.

She looked down to see the young exile she’d given her blade.

“Moria,” he said, grinning, as if she’d knocked him down in a game of catch-me.

She wrested her dagger from his fingers. “Is this how you repay me, boy?” When he tried to get up, she pressed the tip to his throat. “You used my blade to attack my sister?”

“Moria, no,” Ashyn said. “He’s with me. We were fleeing whatever’s out there.”

“And you just happened upon him?”

Ashyn seemed as if she’d like to say yes, that’s what happened, but she could not lie to her sister. “His uncle captured me. Briefly. No one harmed me, though, and his uncle is dead. Now let him up. Please.”

Daigo padded over and stood guard as Moria rose. Her sister fell into her arms, head on her shoulder. Moria didn’t ask if she was all right. Physically, she seemed to be. In other ways? No, she would not be all right. Moria held her sister until Ashyn sniffled and stepped back, dry-eyed and fighting for composure.

“Save the tears, Keeper,” Gavril said, though she’d given no sign of crying herself. “We need to go.”

As much as his words and tone grated, he was right. Moria turned to the exile. “My wildcat is watching you, boy. No sudden moves.”

“My name is Ronan.”

She snorted as he rose and brushed himself off.

“May I have that dagger?” he asked.

“I think you’ve had quite enough use of it,” she said.

“Not yours. That one.” He pointed at the one she’d been using.

“No. Now walk in front of me.”

He sighed and started around her. Then he stumbled on a vine, his hand shooting out to brace himself against her. As she shoved him away, the lantern light glinted off a dagger in his hand. Her fingers shot to her belt, and she cursed.

“Give that back,” she said.

“Don’t, Rya,” Ashyn said. “You have yours. Everyone ought to be armed out here. He knows how to use it, so obviously he’s a warrior. He ought to have a blade.”

Ronan’s expression confirmed that, as Gavril had guessed, the boy wasn’t warrior caste. Yet even if she didn’t think a blade would help against the shadows, no one should be defenseless.

“What about the others?” Levi said. “The governor and the rest of the Seeking party.”

“They’re gone,” Ronan said. “Your governor. Your guards. Your villagers. They’ve vanished and all that’s left is blood.”

“Who attacked them?” Gavril asked.

“Those . . .” Ashyn waved at the shapes flitting through the woods. “Those things.”

“Shadow stalkers,” Moria whispered.

Ronan shook his head. “They’re black smoke.”

“Which is one form that shadow—” Moria began.

“It doesn’t matter what they are,” Ashyn cut in. “The Seeking party is gone.”

“Can we stop talking and start walking?” Ronan looked out at the forest. “Running wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”

Moria hesitated, then nodded. “Form a line. Gavril at the end. Daigo and I will— No, you—” She pointed at Ronan. “Get in front, where you can’t stab anyone in the back.”

His face darkened. “I wouldn’t—”

“I’m not taking that chance. Now move.”