He stopped. He squinted. He brushed a hand over his face, smearing mud.
"Moria?"
Beside her, Daigo chuffed and rolled his eyes. Who else would bother? he seemed to say.
Gavril staggered up, dagger raised. "You're a spirit."
"A spirit couldn't have hauled your arse out of the mud."
"You followed us." He cursed under his breath. "You child. Your duty is with the village, Keeper--"
"The village is--"
"Your duty, one you're far too immature and foolish to--"
All the fear and the grief poured out again, and she whipped her daggers. They whistled through the air, one on either side of Gavril, no more than a hand's span away, embedding themselves in trees.
"The village is gone," she said, her voice thick with rage and tears. "Everyone's dead."
"Dead?"
"Dead and turned into shadow stalkers. Now go on back to the village. Do your duty. Bury them. And then tell me what a foolish child I am."
His mouth worked. Nothing came out. Then he shook his head sharply and retrieved his fallen sword. As he pushed it into its sheath, he said, "You've drunk infected water. You're fevered--"
"I'm fine," she snarled. "The villagers are dead. My father is dead. Turned into--" She stopped fast. "He's gone now. I freed him."
"Freed him . . ." Gavril stared, as if he couldn't quite comprehend her meaning. "If you thought you saw shadow stalkers, then I'm sure that was terrible, but your father cannot be dead."
His eyes held something she'd never seen there before. Genuine concern. His voice was soft, and she wished he would shout. She wished he would snap and yell and call her a foolish child again, because somehow this was worse. Giving her hope where there was none.
"My father is dead. I watched him rise as a shadow stalker and try to kill me. I expelled the thing from his body, and then I ran through my village and there was nothing but bodies and blood, and that was no nightmare."
"Then why would you come back into the forest?"
"Because my sister--" She inhaled. "I thought I saw Ashyn and Tova, and we followed, but they were some sort of phantasm."
She steeled herself for Gavril's arguments, but he only stood there, an odd look on his face.
"A phantasm of your sister led you into the forest?"
"Yes, and don't tell me I was sleep-blind. I never went to bed. Ashyn and I were at the cells with the captive, Ronan. I went up and . . . I found what had happened to the village. To my father. I saw Ashyn and Tova running. Daigo saw them, too." She looked at Gavril. "He's a Wildcat of the Immortals. My bond-beast. If I were fevered or running from a nightmare, he'd know it. Now I need to get back to the village. I need to help Ashyn. I left her in the cells, and I can only pray she's still there, safe, and--"
"Moria . . ."
Her back tightened as he used her name. Call me Keeper, she thought. Shout at me. Curse me. It suits you better. This . . . It feels like pity. You called me a child before. Now you're treating me like one.
"Your breeches are wet."
"What?"
He eased back on his heels. "You've gotten wet in the stream. You should dry off. Build a fire. Rest a little. You're tired. You haven't slept since the Seeking. You're cold and you're wet and you think you've seen--"
"I have seen."
He coughed, as if physically choking back a response, then winced as if the cough hurt his head. "All right. But whatever has happened, you need to get through this forest, and for that, you must be dry and rested. Let me build you a fire."
She looked up at him. His words were kind, but his face was unreadable, as if he was struggling to be nice. Why?
Because he needed her. He was lost and wounded.
"I can't stop," she said. "Ashyn--"
"Whatever has happened, Ashyn needs you to get out of this forest. You can't do that if you collapse from exhaustion. I'll start a fire. It'll take a moment. Wash that mud from your face. You'll feel better."
Nineteen
Gavril had gotten the blaze going faster than she expected. She didn't see what he'd used--he'd put it away before she arrived. Now he poked at the fire to get it higher, but it was as if the dense forest devoured all the air. It was still blessedly warm. Daigo agreed, curled up so close he'd singed his fur.
"The path was still clear enough for me to lead them to where the other guards perished," Gavril said. "Levi--his body--was gone. I saw something moving in the woods. I saw those blasted boots of his and someone called his name. And then . . ." Gavril gripped the hilt of his sword. "There was a scream, and I didn't see anything until they had Levi on the ground. But it wasn't Levi at all. It was . . ."
"A shadow stalker."
He grunted. "That's what the others said. They killed it . . . or expelled it, I suppose. Then the forest erupted with smoke and shadows. It wasn't like with Levi. There wasn't even time to scream."
"Levi was their decoy. They're predators, not mindless--"
"I don't know what happened. I was at the back with Orbec. The shadows fell on everyone and . . . Orbec told me to run. I saw an arm in the fray, and I grabbed for it and . . ." He stopped, his gaze unfocused, trapped in the memory. "By the time I pulled, that's all there was. An arm. Orbec dragged me out of there. We ran. It felt like cowardice, and I know . . ."
He trailed off then. Moria knew his father had been exiled for cowardice. Instead of ordering his men to retreat, he'd supposedly escaped alone under the cover of sorcery.
Gavril poked the fire with a stick. "We found the stream. And then the shadows came and fell on Orbec. I ran to help him, but I slipped. I hit my head on the rocks. When I woke up, he was dead. I knew I had to get away, in case he came back as one of them. I crawled until I passed out."
After a few moments of silence, he said, "You're wrong about the village."
"Can we not talk about that?"
"You seem upset--"
"Seem upset? My village is gone. I know you didn't care about anyone there--"
His eyes darkened. "Of course I cared. I lived there for--"
"No, you existed there. You made no effort to get to know--"
"Shhh."
"Are you shushing me? I--"
He lunged and grabbed her, his hand clamping over her mouth.
While the temptation to bite him was overwhelming, this did seem an extreme measure to stop her talking, and thus suggested something else was wrong. Also, he smelled. Of filth and sweat and blood. She didn't want to discover what he tasted like. When he relaxed, she peeled his fingers away.
"I heard something," he whispered.
She glanced at Daigo, who seemed not to have noticed his Keeper being grabbed and silenced. Something else occupied his attention. Something in the forest.
Gavril quickly put out the fire. Daigo's tail was lowered, swishing. His whiskers were pricked, his pupils dilated. One ear was flattened, the other forward. Uncertain, listening. He looked back at her. He wanted to investigate, but he'd like her to follow.
She nodded and nudged him forward. When Gavril caught her tunic, she half lifted her blade. Then she pointed it at the forest and began easing forward, crouched behind her wildcat.
Behind her, Gavril made a noise. A rumble, almost like a growl. He didn't stop her, though. When a twig crackled, she looked back to see him following. She motioned for him to stop. He pretended not to notice.
When they reached the forest's edge, she heard something moving in the undergrowth. The sound was soft. Was that how shadow stalkers moved?
Daigo had stopped, muzzle lifted, nostrils flaring. She raised a finger. Yes, the wind was blowing their way, meaning Daigo could smell whatever was out there.
His nose kept twitching, like a dog's. His body language had changed little. Apprehension. Concern. He smelled something. He thought it might be a threat, but he wasn't sure.
He started forward, slower now, slinking. She did the same. The noise continued. It sounded familiar. Like rats in the hay barn
s. The scuttling of their feet over the boards and through the dry straw.
Daigo stopped again. His growl rose, then he choked it back. She slid up beside him.
His tail whipped against the back of her legs, as if in warning. Come closer, but stay low. Behind them, Gavril crept forward. When he snapped another twig, whatever was out there squeaked.
She slid along, staying as low as she could, making her way through the cluster of trees between her and the noise. She passed the largest and--
She stopped and stared. Daigo slunk up alongside her. Gavril snaked up on her other side. When he saw what she did, he exhaled a curse. Then they all just crouched there, staring.
The thing was a little larger than the rats in the barn. It had the same humped form and snakelike tail, but otherwise it was like no creature she'd seen. Long brown fur stuck up in every direction. Its eyes were huge and grotesquely bulbous. Fangs jutted down below a misshapen jaw. When it rose onto its hind legs, she saw long, curved claws. She could smell the thing, too, a rank odor that made her stomach churn.
It started toward them, head bobbing as it snuffled, teeth gnashing. Daigo sprang.
The thing rolled into a ball, and its fur seemed to shoot from its body. Moria lunged on top of Daigo, her eyes closed as she shielded him. The "fur" rained down like arrows. One jabbed her hand like a needle. Daigo yowled as another struck him. She heard Gavril's boots as he thundered past. A noise, like a snarl of rage. Then a high-pitched squeal.
Moria opened her eyes. Gavril stood over the beast. His sword skewered it.
"Don't move," he said when she started to rise.
There was a long dark pin stuck in the back of her hand. She looked to see more embedded in her tunic, hanging there harmlessly.
"What are those?" she asked.
Gavril pulled his sword from the creature. "If you don't know, then you shouldn't have leaped out. Were you going to protect your cat's life with your own?"
"It's the same thing."
He snorted. "You don't believe that superstitious foolishness, do you? That your lives are bonded? My father said--"
He stopped abruptly. She'd never heard him mention his father before.
Gavril bent and fingered the long needle embedded in her hand. "It's called a quill. It's barbed, and if you move when I'm pulling, it'll only make it worse."
"What did your father say?"
He worked at the quill. "Just that my grandfather once met a Keeper whose bond-beast died in battle. She was fine."
"She lived?"
"For a while. Then she took her own life. Apparently, she decided that would make a more tragic tale. You ought to appreciate that."
"Perhaps that means we don't die if the other does, but we cannot bear to go on living."
Another derisive snort.
"So you've seen those things?" she said.
"Quills? Yes. In the south there are creatures that bear them on their tails. But that's not the same beast. It's . . ." He glanced over at the dead thing. "Not like anything I've seen."
"Sorcery," she whispered. Then, "Oww!" as he jerked the quill free.
"I told you to be still."
"It must be sorcery," she murmured. "To make such a creature."
"You're as superstitious as an old nanny. Sorcery didn't make such a creature. Necessity did."
"Necessity?"
"Quills for protection? Jagged teeth for tearing? Claws for climbing? Large eyes for seeing in dim light? That makes the beast perfectly suited for living in a place like this." He eased a quill from her tunic. "Anything new is frightening to the superstitious mind. There are villages in the south that have never seen a Northerner. They would think pale skin and reddish-yellow hair a sign of sorcery. Your coloring is a product of your climate. As are your slow wits."
She twisted to snarl a protest and yelped as a quill jabbed into her side.
"Didn't I tell you to be still?"
She swore there was a lightness in his voice. Nothing pleases him so much as mocking me.
She glared at him. "If you're book-read enough to know why my skin is pale, then you know that Northerners' wits are not dulled by the cold climate."
"True. Your sister seems bright enough."
She resisted the urge to shoot her fist at him, and lay there, still on Daigo, fuming quietly.
Yes, that was the typical view of Northerners. Slow thinking, slow moving, lazy, as if they had ice in their brains and their veins. Her father had made himself wealthy using that to his advantage as a merchant. It worked best on the lower castes, those who'd never met people beyond the empire's middle realms. For Gavril, highborn and court-raised, such a belief would be as quaint a notion as her superstitions. He was goading her, and she was foolish for letting him.
As for the beast, it could indeed be an adaptation to an inhospitable environment. The exiled boy--Ronan--had survived the winter. He must have eaten something.
When a distant branch cracked, Moria's head snapped up. Daigo shot an accusing glare at the dead creature, as if it had brought friends.
As they listened, Moria heard the distinct clomp of boots on hard earth. She started to ease forward, but Gavril grabbed her collar and whipped her back so fast she gasped. He shoved her hard, pushing her to the ground.
"Down!" he whispered, as if she had some choice in the matter.
She hit the earth with Gavril practically atop her back as he held her there. When she opened her mouth, he slapped his hand over it.
"Quiet and stay down."
She wrenched his hand off. "If you want me to do something, try asking--"
"Shhh!"
He glowered, but there was fear in his eyes. Genuine fear. He leaned against her, hand between her shoulders, pinning her there, and she could feel the thud of his heart.
He thinks it's shadow stalkers.
They lay in a cluster of trees, nestled in undergrowth now. Daigo stretched out, his gaze fixed on the distant source of noise. She could still hear the clomp of boots, the rhythmic sound broken only by the occasional rustle of dead leaves or the crack of a twig.
How many are there? It sounds like an army.
An army of the dead.
Twenty
Moria shivered. Gavril's hand rubbed between her shoulder blades. She glanced over at him, startled. His gaze was fixed forward, straining to see whatever was coming, rubbing her back absently, as if in reflex to her shudder. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped and scowled, as if it was her fault he'd shown a moment's kindness.
You're always so angry, as hard as you try not to show it. Furious at being sent here, to guard this forest--the insult of it.
That tramp-tramp vibrated through the earth. The thunderous drumbeat of an army on the move.
It was a line from many a tale, but Moria herself had never heard the sound. The empire had been at peace ever since the desert hordes were vanquished in the war that had sent Gavril's father here.
But now, listening to the drumbeat of footfalls, the line came to mind, as did an image from another tale. The army of the night. A thousand shadow stalkers raised by a hundred sorcerers, long before the Age of Fire. The dead rose, and they moved across the land like a plague, killing army after army, the warriors falling, only to rise again. An unstoppable force.
But it had been stopped. By the warriors of the North on their snow dragons. They'd ridden over the battlefields and blasted ice on the shadow stalkers, freezing them so the armies of the living could shatter their corpses with a single blow, giving the shadow-stalker spirits no place to hide.
It was a story often singled out as proof that bards' tales were foolish nonsense. People would laughingly debate which part of the story was the most ludicrous: shadow stalkers, snow dragons, or clever Northerners. All three were equally mythical beasts.
As the footfalls drew closer, Moria calculated the distance to the stream. Could they outrun them on more open ground? In legend, shadow stalkers were relentless, moving with speed, yet
never running, as if their broken bodies couldn't quite manage that. But they had a second form, too--the fog, their spirit form.
She moved her lips to Gavril's ear. "Would you fight shadow stalkers? If they're in manifested form?"
"Of course." He looked offended and a little bewildered, as if there was no question.
"Good. If they come this way and there are fewer than it sounds, we'll fight."
He frowned. "You think those are shadow stalkers?"
"Don't you?"
He turned his gaze forward again. "It sounds like boots. But the search party is dead."
Or it was . . . and is risen again.
As the footfalls grew louder, the drumming lost its rhythm and became scattered boot clomps, as if distance had made it sound synchronous. Fewer feet than she'd thought, too. Perhaps a half dozen men.
"It was near the fresh stream," a voice said. "I heard a girl talking, then a shriek."
She began to rise. Gavril's hand on her back slammed her down.
"It isn't shadow stalkers," she whispered. "They don't speak--"
"Shhh!"
"It must be guards, from the village. They're searching--"
"Shhh!" His lips came to her ear, warm breath filling it, his voice harsh with anger. "Be still and be quiet, Keeper. For once."
Another voice, from the forest. "Do we even know this is the way to the fresh stream? Liam has already led us astray once."
Moria knew all the guards by name. All the villagers, too. There was none named Liam.
"Do you want to try leading us through this forsaken place?" a third voice said. "You should thank the spirits I'm here."
They heard many accents in Edgewood, which drew guards from all corners of the empire. She'd only heard this particular one once, from a tradesperson. It was a guttural accent, not soon to be forgotten.
So who were these men? Not a rescue party. Even if someone from the village had escaped across the Wastes, it would be many moons before help returned.
"I told you I heard a girl's voice singing," the first voice was saying again, as the others complained about tramping over rough terrain.
"I think you've been away from women too long," another replied. "You're hallucinating. Next you'll see a pretty maid skipping along the stream."
"Mmm," another said. "Is she swimming in the stream, too? Unclothed? If he is imagining that, I don't blame him. It has been too long. They should have let us loose on that village before--"