The Keeper's Shadow Page 2

  Willum considers the situation pragmatically: time is of the essence. The bodies of the men must be disposed of. No trace of them or the method of death must remain. Stowe cannot travel in the state that she is in. She needs a healer’s attention. Alandra must be persuaded to help them.

  Softening his gaze, he pitches his voice to touch the Dirt Eater’s heart. “We are here at Roan’s request.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t believe that he would send someone to retrieve his sister?”

  “I don’t believe that he sent you. He would have come himself.”

  “If he could have come, then he would be standing here. Alandra. Look about you. At dawn this room must be clean and empty. No one must even guess at what transpired here. We must reach an agreement now or we will not get Stowe out of here alive. Would you be the cause of Roan’s sister’s death?”

  “And what did transpire here, do you think?”

  Willum takes a deep breath. The girl’s tone betrays bitterness and confusion. He must tread gently. “Stowe is possessed by another life-force. He is compromising her sanity in his attempts to control her mind. Look at this room, the bruises on her body. The nature of the damage indicates her struggle was not with the dead men but within herself.”

  “But she was cooperating with them. Why would the Turned—”

  “Not the Turned. She is possessed by a Dirt Eater.”

  Alandra shifts from one foot to the other. There it is. The hesitation he was waiting for. “That’s not possible.”

  “I have heard of your abilities as a healer, Alandra. Stowe sleeps deeply; if you awaken her body, you will find the Dirt Eater I speak of. You will see the proof for yourself.”

  “What you’re saying…it just can’t be.”

  “If what I say is true, will you agree to help us get her out of here alive?”

  The healer’s gaze is steady, calm. “Yes.”

  “Good. I will attend to the disposal of the bodies.” Seeing Mabatan about to protest, he signals that she is not to take her eyes off the Eater.

  As his friend glides past him to stand vigil over the healer, his eyes fall again to the colorful feathers at his feet. Beautiful but ominously identifiable—people will know Raven was here. Still…that very thing might serve them well.

  THRESHOLD

  WOLF, ASP, RAVEN, AND STINGER WERE THE PILLARS UPON WHICH SAINT CHOSE TO BALANCE HIS FAITH. RAVEN’S BETRAYAL WAS NOT UNEXPECTED BUT WHEN ASP WAS REVEALED A SPY, IT PROVED THE HARBINGER OF A NEW AGE FOR THE BROTHERS OF THE FRIEND.

  —ORIN’S HISTORY OF THE FRIEND

  THE SWORD THRUST NEARLY DISEMBOWELS ROAN. He spins back to avoid it, and in one fluid move brings his hook-sword down hard on the assailant’s blade. A whip kick to the neck and the warrior clatters to the ground. But eight heavily armed attackers are still standing. He leaps forward, trying to break the gauntlet, but they’re ready, swords held low, about to skewer him.

  He circles, fanning the razor-sharp hook-sword around him, forcing them back. But as he whirls, the vision replays in his mind. His sister consumed by fire. What does it mean?

  Cold metal whisks by his face. He lurches back, striking out, but he loses his balance and he’s down, rolling back and forth to avoid the eight swords plunging at him.

  Roan twists, jumps back on his feet, and feints to the left. He elbows one fighter in the neck, gets another attacker with a back kick. Only six warriors left but he’s already panting. Not good.

  His sister consumed by fire. Since the vision came to him late this morning he’s been trying to decipher its meaning. He remembers Stowe’s voice cutting down the panicked crowd like a scythe at harvest. In that state, how could she avoid being detected by the Dirt Eaters? Would Willum and Mabatan be able to find her before someone from Oasis got to her? And even if they did, Stowe was so out of control, she might not be able to distinguish between friend and foe. Then there were the Clerics. They were sure to be out searching for her. He’d almost rather see her captured by the Dirt Eaters than back in Darius’s claws.

  Reaching deep within, he leaps and with a flurry of kicks and a swipe of his hook-sword, he finishes off two more warriors. Four left.

  His sister consumed by fire. On their way to the Caldera, he could perceive her, feel her state of mind; but something in the rock here cloaks the sanctuary and he can sense nothing outside it. He grimaces in pain as a whip lashes him across the back. They’ve changed weapons. He steps forward, trying to get out of range, but another whip sings out, wrapping itself around his leg. He trips and feels the sting of another lash. Now they have his attention. He bolts up. Spinning, he twists the whips from his opponents and cuts them off before they can reach their swords. Chest heaving, sweat pouring off him, Roan stares at the eight Apsara warriors he’s just defeated.

  “Phew, that was almost embarrassing,” says Kira, shaking her head. She holds out her hand, helping one of her clan to her feet. “You really are out of shape.”

  Roan offers his hand to another Apsara. “I won, didn’t I?”

  Kira pokes him in the gut with an iron-hard index finger. “Against a bunch of striplings! And they would have eviscerated you if you hadn’t woken up. You’ve got to clear your mind. You should join the meditation tonight.”

  “If I survive the afternoon,” says Roan ruefully.

  “You will.” Kira signals, releasing Roan’s sparring partners. “Grandmother tells me your diplomatic skills are improving, so I doubt our guests will put your combat abilities to the test.”

  Roan laughs, embarrassed. “I think Ende has more faith in me than I deserve.”

  “Hope you’re wrong, or Wolf and Stinger’ll be eating you for supper.”

  “And Brother Asp?”

  “He’s receiving extremely detailed instructions in the setup and maintenance of our hydroponic gardens and will be unable to attend. Between you and me, he seemed relieved, can’t imagine why.”

  Kira winks, then smacks Roan hard on the back and leaves him toweling off his face, more than a little miserable. Earlier that day, when Brothers Wolf and Asp had appeared over the lip of the Caldera, he’d been so preoccupied with the dilemma of having to deal with them that he’d forgotten all about Lumpy’s suggestion that Asp might be one of the Dirt Eaters. But the moment he’d smelled the Dirt, he knew his friend was right.

  Roan had understood that if he accused Asp then and there, Wolf would cut the Dirt Eater down, no questions asked—and Roan had questions, lots of them. While he’d been considering his options, Brother Stinger had descended after a meditation at the summit of the Caldera and Roan had briefly considered seeking him as an ally. But putting his trust in one of the Brethren didn’t seem wise, so he’d waited until they were whisked away to be fed, then had gone to talk with Ende. He wanted to make sure that if Asp was kept without Dirt, the Caldera’s dark stone would cloak his presence from the Dirt Eaters, eliminating any immediate threat.

  Roan was quietly relieved to find he had the Apsara leader’s support, but that didn’t mean the next few hours would be easy—in fact, quite the opposite.

  The morning’s mist is now high above the Caldera, the sun a golden haze. The brightly painted rock face is vibrant in this light and children are out playing—it’s difficult not to be happy in the presence of so much color and life, but nothing could cheer Roan in the face of having to come to an agreement with the killers of his family.

  Walking from the training field, he passes a stand of tall bamboo. Here, carved into black stone, is the cavern-like room housing the elegant mechanical wings that brought him and Lumpy to this dormant volcano. Seeing his glider glistening in the half-light, he’s thrown back into the pure exhilaration of that flight.

  The cry of a child momentarily stops his breath, but he quickly realizes the distant scream is one of laughter, not of fear or pain. He’s jumpy. Ende’s probably right when she claims that an ally doesn’t need to be loved, that in times of war it is enough to be
on the same side. But no matter how many times he goes over the reasons and justifications, an alliance with the destroyers of Longlight rankles. All the coaching in diplomacy doesn’t make it any easier. Ende says “formality helps opposing parties reach agreement,” but to him, using this new language of compromise feels a lot like lying, and he’s not altogether sure that he’ll fool the Brothers with it.

  Edging closer, Roan glides his fingers over the translucent wings. Crafted to respond to his neural impulses, they were like an extension of himself…

  “Don’t even think about it.” Lumpy, his arms crossed, is blocking the entrance of the cavern.

  “I’m not,” says Roan, stepping away from the wings. “Though I admit I don’t like the idea of talking to those murderers.”

  “Yup, they’re scary, alright,” says Lumpy. “On the other hand, you did learn a lot from them.”

  “I don’t know how I should take that.”

  “It’s just…what they taught you could come in handy for what’s ahead…maybe.” Roan joins Lumpy out in the emerging sunlight. His friend’s ravaged skin so resembles the lava-pocked rock that he almost looks carved from the Caldera. But the impression fades as soon as Lumpy speaks. “Remember that amazing general you told me about, the one who was the same age as you? You said that even though his bloodthirsty father had taught him how to fight, he still was able to listen to the sense his philosopher-teacher kept talking to him. Well, who says you can’t fight alongside the Brothers, but use all you learned in Longlight to help you make the right decisions?”

  “Alexander the Great was four years older than me when he started leading armies. His father was a conqueror. It was in his blood. Still, all that killing made him crazy in the end. And he was really young when he died.”

  “Well, maybe he wasn’t such a good example.”

  “A fever paralyzed him so they thought he was dead. Some people believe his embalmers killed him.”

  “Yuck. But he did conquer a guy named Darius, didn’t he—before they…stuffed him?”

  “Let’s hope we’re as lucky with the first part…By the way, you were right about Asp.”

  “So I’ve heard. How’re you planning to break the news to Wolf and Stinger?”

  Roan stares out at the thick mist that cloaks this peak, wishing he were lost in it. He worries about what’s expected of him. The shades of his parents told him his loathing of violence was his strength. Maybe they’re right, but at the moment, he feels it’s making him indecisive and weak.

  “Guess you haven’t figured that part out yet.”

  “All I know is I’m not going to open the discussions with it.”

  “You’re not alone in this. You have powerful friends, like Ende—she wants to see you, by the way.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “There’s someone she wants you to talk to.” Before Roan can form the question, Lumpy shakes his head. “That’s all I know.”

  THE AWAKENING

  WHEN THE DIRT EATERS BETRAYED ROAN OF THE PARTING, WE WITHHELD OUR KNOWLEDGE FROM THEM. WHEN FERRELL BUILT THEIR GREAT WALL, WE OPENLY CONDEMNED THEM. BUT WHEN THEY THREATENED ROAN OF LONGLIGHT AND THE NOVAKIN, WE BECAME THEIR ENEMY.

  —THE WAY OF THE WAZYA

  THE BLACK METAL IS COLD BESIDE MABATAN’S CALLOUSED FINGERS. She has made a silent promise to Willum and will plunge the knife through the Dirt Eater’s heart if she must; but though she has imagined a moment like this many times, never once in these imaginings did her heart beat so fast or sweat slide over her skin like rain or her mind feel so angry and sad.

  Last year her father had been injured in a Dirt Eater trap; he would never again be able to wander freely. This was why the call from Roan had come to her and not him. It was why she was here, weapon in hand, ready to kill if she must. Perhaps too ready.

  Roan had believed this girl, barely older than Mabatan herself, would defend the Novakin’s safety. But she betrayed Roan and deserted the children. Unable to contain her feelings, Mabatan finds herself blurting out, “You’re a fool.”

  The healer twists awkwardly to look at her. “What?”

  “You left the children in the hands of their enemies.”

  The girl’s face becomes a stony white, ghostly like her cave-living Dirt-eating friends. “Terre would never allow the children to be harmed.”

  “She may not be the one who is called to kill them.”

  “All the people in Newlight love those children. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The Dirt Eater’s voice is light, dismissive, but Mabatan can read the anger in the flush at her neck. “Not only a fool, but blind too,” she whispers.

  “I’ve got work to do,” the healer snaps and reaches for her bag of medicines. Mabatan’s grip on her dagger tightens. The Dirt Eater shifts to ensure Mabatan can observe her every movement. “The herbs aren’t working. I have to try something else.” There is an urgency in the healer’s flicking fingers and the fear that rises in her shoulders, but Mabatan’s father has often warned her of the Dirt Eaters’ powers of persuasion; so she steadies her breath, alert for any evidence of deception.

  Carefully unfolding the bundle she’s taken from her bag, the healer thumbs through hundreds of shining needles before lifting one out and pushing it into Stowe’s palm. The Dirt Eater inserts needles, one after the other, into the girl’s feet, stomach, and chest. “This is the last one, the crossing point,” she says, pushing it under the skin between Stowe’s eyes. “Soon you will see that you are wrong. Dirt Eaters are not parasites.”

  As the needles begin to wave like grass licked by a summer’s breeze, Mabatan wonders at the healer’s arrogant certainty—she seems completely unaware of the malicious power she is facing. Mabatan, however, is not. She moves into the shadows, so that she will be well out of view when Stowe begins to stir.

  Bruised and battered, Roan’s sister groans; then, after taking a deep breath, her eyelids flutter, slowly lifting to reveal eyes that burn so bright it’s as if the sun shines behind them. “Alandra,” the girl sighs, but her voice is hoarse and strange.

  A hint of confusion creases the Dirt Eater’s brow. “How do you know my name? We’ve never met before.”

  “Of course we have,” Stowe replies, “many, many times, in Oasis. Who was the one who taught you mathematics? Who took you to the Dreamfield for the first time?”

  There is no doubt the healer’s shock is genuine.

  “August Ferrell? But I was told you were near death, in a coma, at Oasis.”

  “True. That is where my body lies. When I agreed to carry this burden, I knew I would never be able to return. My body will die. But thanks to you, my mission still has some hope of success.”

  “Mission?”

  “Didn’t they tell you, Alandra? Why else would you have come?”

  “I was only told to find Roan’s sister. To bring her to Oasis where she’d be safe.”

  “Well, at the moment she sleeps.” Ferrell laughs. “Her last escapade wore her out, I’m afraid. Sorry about the mess we’ve made of your former home. Stowe and I were having some…control issues.”

  The eyes dart around the room. But Mabatan knows how to hide and is sure he will not see her.

  “What did you do with Brack and Raven?”

  “Their bodies were removed.”

  “They were just a tad too greedy and stupid to survive Our Stowe,” Ferrell says. “Would you kindly take out these infernal needles, Alandra? You and I should be on our way before my charming little hostess wakes. She can be a handful.”

  “If we move her too soon, she could die and you along with her. The bruises in the body are deep. The needles are helping with the damage but she needs to rest awhile longer. I’ll give her something to make sure she does.”

  “That would be wise.”

  Reaching back into her bag, Alandra chooses some powders to mix into the cup of water at her side. Mabatan struggles to pick up the scent of the medicines, to detect their intent
, but the blend of flowers and earths is too complex.

  Just then she hears, barely discernible, the near silent padding of a man’s footsteps outside the door. Willum. Reaching out to her, radiating calm.

  Slowly Mabatan raises the knife close to her ear. One step, one leap, and she can sink the blade straight into the healer’s heart. If things go wrong, Willum must have the precious seconds he’ll need to save Roan’s sister.

  With one hand gently behind the battered girl’s back, the Dirt Eater supports Stowe so that she may drink the elixir.

  “Vile stuff,” winces Ferrell, coughing.

  “Drink it all,” the healer insists, keeping the cup at Stowe’s lips.

  “If I do, will you please take out those pins?”

  “Soon.” As Ferrell gulps back the drink, the healer smiles.

  “What did you give me?” The apprehension of the creature inside Stowe is plain.

  Mabatan’s knuckles whiten around the dagger, but the child’s breath is steady.

  “Something to make sure Stowe keeps sleeping.”

  “Then why is it making me drowsy?”

  Ferrell tries to shift out of the healer’s arms, but she merely tightens her hold and peers deeply into Stowe’s oddly luminescent eyes. “What you have done to this child is monstrous.”

  “You…you…betrayed me,” whispers Ferrell, grabbing the healer’s wrist. But he is obviously weakening and his grip slackens almost instantly.

  As Mabatan watches Ferrell succumb to the drug, she hears the healer sadly murmur, “No. No, I am the one who’s been betrayed.”

  For a moment all is held in suspension, as if none of them is able to believe the tonic has done its work. But Ferrell has been subdued, and as Mabatan sheathes her dagger the door opens.

  “I didn’t believe you,” says the Dirt Eater, turning to Willum, her eyes brimming with tears. “I couldn’t believe you. What was done to Stowe, invading her like a virus, is contrary to everything I was taught, everything we believe in.” The healer’s voice shakes with grief and anger as she deftly removes the needles from the sleeping Stowe. “Everything I’ve done, everything I am, is because of the Dirt Eaters, the result of their care. How could they do something like this, defile another human being in such a horrible way...”