So they'd taken a hostage. A valuable one.
"I'll not mention the dagger," she said quickly. "Moria told our father she lost it. That's all that needs to be said if you treat me kindly."
"Treat you kindly?" The man laughed again.
The boy didn't smile. He was watching her with that same look of confusion he'd had when she spoke earlier.
He lifted the dagger. "You say this is your sister's?"
"Yes."
"You lie. Why?"
"What's this?" The man lifted the blade to Ashyn's neck again.
"It's the same girl," the boy said. "I swear it. She's making her voice sound different, and she's acting different, but it's the girl I got the dagger from."
"No, I'm Ashyn. You met Moria. My twin."
"Twin?" He said the word as if it was foreign.
"Born of the same mother, at the same time. My wombmate. We look exactly alike."
Now the man stepped around her, getting a better look at his captive. He slid the blade around, too, the tip digging into her throat. Ashyn tried not to wince.
"Boy's right. You lie. Twins are curse-born. Not allowed to live. Unless . . ." He turned to the boy. "She said you stole someone's blade."
"The Keeper," Ashyn said. "He stole the Keeper's blade." She looked down at her bare dagger sheath. "And now you've stolen the Seeker's, too."
The man stared at Ashyn. Then he shook his head sharply. "You cannot be."
"No? A Seeker hunting for the spirits of the vengeful dead, to give them peace? Isn't that a Seeker's task?"
"The dog," the man said quickly. "You don't have a hound."
She plucked pale hairs from her breeches. "These are his. He's back at camp. He was injured on the way in." She turned to the boy. "If you met my sister, I'm sure you saw her wildcat, Daigo."
The boy nodded, still looking confused.
She turned to the man. "You've kidnapped a Seeker. That is not--"
Her gaze fell on the blade in his hand. She'd presumed it was her dagger, but now she could see the long, curved blade of a sword. It had a boar's head just above the hand guard, marking it as a blade of the Inoshishi clan.
"That's Faiban's sword!" she blurted, startling the man. When the blade fell from her throat, she leaped forward. "What have you done with Faiban?"
"Who?" the boy said.
"The guard you took that sword from. He--" She stopped. "It was you."
"What?"
"You killed the bard. And the volunteers who were recovering bodies. The heart." Her knees weakened at the memory. "By the spirits," she whispered.
"Heart? What are you talking--?"
"She's mad, Ronan," the older man said.
He stepped toward her, but the boy--Ronan--blocked. The man let out a low warning growl. Ronan moved closer to Ashyn. As she turned away, she spied her dagger in the moss. She aimed toward it while she backed away from Ronan.
"I don't know what heart you're talking about," he said. "But that guard with you is fine. We knocked him out and bound him."
"And the two villagers who just disappeared? Or the two by the stream earlier, collecting the first body? They never returned. First the bard, then--"
"Body by the stream? We passed that. It was still there, on a blanket. We wondered what had happened."
"You know exactly what happened," she said. "You killed the villagers and the guards. Picking them off so they couldn't fight--"
"The only people killing anyone are the ones who came with you. We saw what happened to Cecil." Ronan's voice took on a growl, not unlike the older man's.
"He wasn't infected, and they knew it," Ronan continued. "That's why we took you hostage. To make sure we get out of here alive. So, yes, we knocked out your guard, but he's right over there. We have no cause to kill the others."
Ashyn took another step toward her dagger.
"Don't argue with her, boy," the older man said. "We're wasting time."
"No. It'll be easier if we're not fighting her every step of the way. And if something is killing the villagers--"
"Nothing's killed them. They got spooked and--"
Ashyn dove for her dagger. Ronan was closer and lunged with her. She managed to get her fingers on the handle, but he slapped his hand down on the blade, pinning it there. She looked up. Their eyes met. Then he drew his hand across the blade and fell back with a yelp, cradling his fist. She snatched the dagger and scrambled up.
As Ronan shook his hand, she could see a small line of blood on his palm. Too tiny to excuse the cursing he was doing. He clenched his fist against his chest and, grimacing, turned to the other man.
"Sorry, Uncle. I--"
The older man cuffed him hard enough to make Ashyn wince. But Ronan shook it off and looked at Ashyn.
"You have a blade, but so do we." He waved Moria's dagger and gestured at Faiban's sword. "So don't bother running. Now, bring your lantern. We'll go find your guard, and you'll see he's fine."
Eight
Faiban was gone.
"Where is he?" Ashyn demanded.
"Not here, obviously," Ronan said as he prowled the clearing. "You said some of your party vanished. What--?"
His uncle cut in. "The guard escaped, boy. Vines must have been weak. Or someone freed him."
"Then where are the vines?"
His uncle waved at the forest. "Everywhere."
As they argued, Ashyn glanced at her hands, one holding the dagger, the other the lantern. She was armed and she had a light. She could fight or she could run.
Her sister would attack the moment she got the opportunity, whatever the odds. How many games of capture-my-lord had Ashyn lost after composing the perfect strategy, only to have her sister make some bold, mad move?
Now, watching the boy and his uncle argue, Ashyn wanted to make that bold move. They were distracted, having decided she wasn't a threat.
As she considered it, a drop fell from the treetops, hitting a leaf with a soft plop. The droplet shone red in the lantern light.
"Blood," she said.
The two stopped arguing.
Ronan walked over just as another drop fell from above. He touched the leaf.
"You're right," he murmured. "It's blood." He peered into the dark branches. "There must be something up there."
Ronan took her lantern. While he lifted it overhead, the light blinded them to everything beyond its glow. His uncle snatched the lantern and held it up. It reached a little higher, but that didn't help.
"There's nothing there," his uncle said.
Another drop fell, landing squarely on the lantern and dripping red down the glass.
"It's from a dead squirrel," he said. "Or a bird."
He handed the lantern back to Ashyn, who stared after him as he walked away.
"Is he mad?" she whispered to Ronan. "There are no birds here. No squirrels. What's going on?"
"I don't know," Ronan said. "We saw things last night, and again today. In the forest. Shadows. Noises. After the blood moon."
"Blood moon?"
"When the moon turns red. It signifies--"
"--a breach in the spirit world. I know." She remembered last night's cloud-covered moon, the tinge of red in the sky. Then she shook her head. "If there was truly a blood moon, someone would have noticed. Moria and I have to perform a ritual."
"We saw a blood moon last night. Didn't we, Uncle?"
At first, his uncle pretended not to hear. When Ronan repeated the question, the older man shrugged.
"You said you saw it, too," Ronan pressed.
"Then perhaps I did. It's a nanny's tale. Doesn't signify."
"I think it--"
"Doesn't signify. We need to get the girl to her camp. Move out."
Ashyn looked around the camp. A clearing had been cut in the forest, and four small tents had been erected for the villagers. Sleeping blankets lay on the bare ground for the guards. In the middle, the campfire still smoldered; the smell of it had led them the final stretch. Packs lay ag
ainst tents. But that was all she saw: objects. No people.
"Must've gone looking for the girl." Ronan's uncle stamped through the clearing. "She was late. They went searching."
"All of them?" Ronan said.
"She's the Seeker. Valuable."
"They'd leave someone to guard the camp," Ashyn said. "That's the rule."
"Doesn't signify."
Ronan turned on his uncle. "Stop saying that."
His uncle raised a hand to cuff him, but Ronan ducked out of the way and lifted Moria's dagger. His uncle looked at it, blinking, as if his nephew had rammed the blade into his back.
Ronan lowered the dagger. "It does signify. You know it does. Something happened to the villagers. All the villagers."
"What do you want to do about that?" Ronan's uncle stepped toward him. "If there's someone--or something--out there, then there's not a blasted thing we can do except be careful. Now grab supplies. We'll follow the ribbon back to the village."
Ronan's uncle rooted through packs, grabbing food while Ronan stood at the clearing edge.
Ashyn stepped closer and lowered her voice. "You said you've seen things in the forest. I ought to know what I'm watching for."
"Shadows, mostly. Sometimes a noise. It's always gone when you look."
Ashyn nodded and reached for her pack. That's when she heard a sound in the woods. A soft whisper like the wind. Except she felt no wind.
Then the ground vibrated beneath her feet.
When she glanced over, she saw Ronan looking up into the trees, frowning as the noise came again, closer now.
"Do you feel that?" Ashyn whispered.
"I heard--"
"No. Feel."
She bent and put her fingers to the ground. When she lifted them, she could still sense the vibrations strumming through the air.
"What is she--?" Ronan's uncle began.
Ronan motioned for quiet. Ashyn closed her eyes, her fingers out as the air thrummed. The sound in the woods whistled around them, darting closer, then away.
It's watching us, she thought. Whatever's out there is watching us. Stalking us. But something's keeping it back.
She was keeping it back. She had no power to banish evil spirits, as Moria did, but her very presence was supposed to keep them at bay.
"What do you sense?" Ronan's voice startled her.
"I . . . don't know. The air. It's . . . vibrating. Something's here."
"Grab the packs. The lantern--" his uncle said.
A dark shape shot from the trees, so fast Ashyn had only time to yelp and fall back. It went straight for the lantern, swirling around it, and for a moment, she saw black smoke. And eyes. She was sure she saw eyes. Then the lantern went out, plunging them into darkness.
"Run!" Ronan's uncle bellowed.
Ashyn looked toward him. In the dim light of the smoldering campfire, she saw his sword flash as a shadow swirled past. The blade cut through the smoke, dispersing it for a moment.
Ronan stood there, staring. He lunged toward his uncle, but she caught his elbow, yanked him back, and gave him a shove toward the marked path.
"Run!" his uncle shouted again.
Smoke encircled the man. As Ashyn dragged Ronan, he tripped and staggered, looking back as if transfixed by the sight of the sword cutting through the smoke. That's all they could see--the occasional flash of a blade. Ronan turned, starting back for his uncle even as Ashyn yelled no, they had to go.
Then his uncle roared. A terrible roar of rage and pain. Blood sprayed from inside the smoke.
Ronan stopped. He gave a choked sob. Then he stumbled back to Ashyn, pushing her ahead of him as they fled.
Moria
Nine
Moria 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 contin
ued 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.