Wyshea Shadows Read online

  “F’ahbay,” she whispered. Fury swept her just thinking of him, and her claws returned. Basture had to be allied with F’ahbay. After so many centuries of hunting him, she had finally found her enemy.

  Her pulse raced. She might be able to find and free Sontay from F’ahbay’s imprisonment. But why hadn’t she sensed F’ahbay or Sontay here?

  She turned to the boy, gesturing to the citadel. “Anything is a better life than what you have with those idiots, isn’t it?”

  Gaping at her claws, he took another step back and swallowed. “They’re all I’ve got, miss. At least it’s something.”

  “Family.” She understood, and the reminder brought a pang to her chest.

  He straightened, as if proud. “We’re called scavengers. There are different groups. We’re the Westerners.”

  “You have to go back with a wound.”

  His eyes widened.

  “If you return unharmed they’ll hate you. Maybe kill you. If you have a scratch, you’re a hero.”

  He stiffened.

  “I’ll be gentle. Come here.” She put some force into the command and saw his resistance melt.

  He shuffled to her and she grabbed his wrist, lifting his arm with one claw.

  “Miss…” His lips trembled.

  “Shh.” She put a single claw across his mouth to quiet him. When his jaw clenched, she lightly dragged her sharp yellow nail along his forearm, drawing blood. “Pull your blade.”

  “But I…please don’t…” His blue eyes misted.

  “You have to have some blood on your blade to make it look real.”

  He shuddered and slowly drew his blade, letting it hang near his thigh.

  “Hold it level.” When he obeyed, she wiped her nail across the metal, smearing red on it. “That should do it. When you run back to them, carry your blade in your hand and act like you’ve been fighting. Tear your tunic. Mess up your hair.”

  “What are you?” he whispered.

  “Just a tired, worn out, mad girl.” She smiled crookedly. “Now back to your family. Go.”

  “Blessings, miss.” He stumbled backward, and then whirled and ran.

  “Tell a good story,” she called after him. Her claws changed to hands again. Belatedly, she regretted not asking his name. She felt ashamed. Someone who saved your life should never remain nameless.

  Dizziness made her sway. The amount of water the boy had given her felt like a drop when she needed a river, and the fighting had burned it up. Swinging an arm over the mare’s back, they shuffled together through the forest. Rustling leaves and footsteps filtered through the trees to her, but she was too tired to look.

  In a few minutes she reached the edge of the field. They were harvesting root vegetables. Small orchards of fruit trees and rows of berry bushes were visible in the distance. She hoped they had meat.

  “Help.” She barely raised a limp hand to one of the workers.

  He gave her a hard stare, and then bent over, trading his hoe for a blade he picked up off the ground. Others did the same.

  Arrows hissed into the soil near her feet.

  “Not another step or you’ll be next.” An older man spoke to her from the side.

  Too tired to look at him, the threat made her angry. Her claws didn’t appear because she didn’t have enough energy left to make the change.

  A dozen men and women stepped from behind trees, aiming bows and blades at her. She wondered how much they had seen or heard. If they were allied with Basture, they might also be allies of F’ahbay. The boy was right to run.

  “On the ground!” snapped the man.

  “Water,” she murmured. She collapsed face-first into the dirt. She hoped they wouldn’t kill her while she was unconscious.

  2

  Prisoner

  Camette woke parched, weak, and drowsy, her eyes blurry.

  She lay on a firm straw mattress, staring up at a stone ceiling. A clean sheet covered her, and she realized she didn’t have any clothes on. Someone had bathed her too. That made her blush, but it also made her thankful.

  When she turned her head, she saw eight-foot-tall metal bars covered with norre sap and glistening with sahr. She was in a cell. Outside the bars a narrow stone hallway ran in both directions. Her prison room was small and empty, save for a chamber pot in the corner. A set of clothes were laid out at the foot of the bed.

  She enjoyed seeing her blond hair shiny on her shoulders. Clean. But the cell had no windows to see the sky and made her jittery. She sensed she was below ground. That made her palms sweat. She had to get out.

  Footsteps.

  Shakily, she swung her legs off the small bedframe and sat up, placing her feet on the floor. She held the sheet in front of her, more for modesty than warmth. The air temperature was comfortable and a little stagnant. Glass bulbs, half-full with norre sap, topped sticks stuck into wall holders. The sahr energy in the sap provided soft lighting in the hallway.

  An older man appeared with a woman. Short and scruffily bearded, with alert eyes, the man wore dirt-stained black, flared trousers and his potbelly stretched his crumpled, short gray tunic. Gray hair and wrinkles gave away his sixty-one years. A signal horn hung from a string across his chest and cell keys dangled from his belt.

  The tall, slender young woman had freckles and bright eyes. Her blue blouse and trousers were fresh and clean, and thick red hair lay over her shoulders. Her blouse had billowy sleeves, and she had a strip of red cloth tied around one upper arm.

  “You’re awake.” The older man scratched his head. “I’m Tuffs and this is Sparks, one of our menders. You’re our prisoner until we know who you are and what you’re doing here.”

  “Water,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please.” She recognized the older man’s voice from when she was captured. She would kill him first.

  Sparks stepped to the side, where a clean bucket held water and a ladle. Lifting the ladle, she held it through the bars.

  Tuffs drew his blade, pointing it at Camette. “No funny business. We heard about you throwing those men around.”

  “How could I?” Camette staggered to her feet, clutching the sheet to her chest as she stumbled forward.

  The older man looked away. “You should cover yourself better, miss.”

  Surprised at his modesty, Camette gripped the ladle and shoved it at her mouth, upending it and losing half of it down her chin and front. The water cooled her throat. Eagerly, she held it out again. “More, please.”

  “Of course.” Sparks got another ladle for her.

  They repeated this six times before Tuffs barked, “Enough! Time to talk. Who are you?”

  Camette wiped her mouth. “Camette. From the Dead Lands. Escaping enemies. Where’s my one-horn?”

  “Your mare’s in the stables, taken care of. Your cart is there too.” Tuffs wagged his head. “You have some explaining to do. One of our scouts saw you throw scavengers around like they were heartfruit.” He peered at her. “Are you a monster from the Dead Lands? How did you get a one-horn?”

  “That’s foolish talk.” Camette stared at him, wondering if F’ahbay was waiting for her outside. She couldn’t face him until she had her strength back. She felt starved. “Do you have any meat?”

  “Answer my questions.”

  “I’m not a monster. The one-horn was a gift.”

  Tuffs held his jaw as if contemplating this. “We’ll bring you some food, but you’re not getting out until we have better answers. Sparks, get her some meat and soup.”

  Camette looked hopefully at the young woman.

  “The cook left this morning.” Sparks frowned. “Everything cooked was eaten at breakfast and lunch.”

  “Really?” Tuffs sounded disappointed. “What are we going to do for dinner?”

  “I can cook.” Camette stepped forward and grabbed a bar with her free hand. “Meat of any kind, soup, porridge, stew, baked bread, sweet rolls, pies, whatever you like.”

  Tuffs’ eyes widened and he looked like he w
as about to drool, but he shook his head. “You could be lying to get out.”

  “Guard me while I work.” She couldn’t believe escape would be this easy. She would kill these two when they let her out, and then find her one-horn and wagon.

  Tuffs scratched his head. “Are you denying you threw those men?”

  She gave a sweet smile. “Do I look strong enough to throw men around?”

  Tuffs eyed her. “So you’ll cook while we guard you, and come back here tonight to sleep?”

  She nodded, licking her lips.

  “All right. I’ll be back. And get your clothes on.” Tuffs hurried down the hallway.

  Sparks gestured to her. “Why don’t you put on the clothes? I think they’ll fit.”

  “Of course.” Camette returned to the bed and dropped the sheet. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Sparks looking away. Quickly she pulled the brown trousers and white blouse over her lean frame. Kicking the boots aside, she whirled. “Well?”

  Sparks smiled. “Much better.”

  Camette smiled too. It was pleasant to hear, even from a jailer. She wondered if Sontay would still find her appealing. She walked closer to the bars, gripping them to see if she could bend them apart. No.

  “I bathed you too.” Sparks blushed.

  “Blessings.” Camette didn’t feel gratitude to someone holding her prisoner, but she said it to be polite.

  “The cut on your chest healed before we got you into the citadel.” Sparks studied her. “I’ve never seen anyone heal that fast.”

  Camette smiled. “The red arm band means you’re a healer, right?”

  Sparks nodded. “I’m an understudy of our chief mender, Gess. We have five menders in the citadel.”

  Camette wondered if they were any good at healing.

  In minutes, Tuffs returned with five men and women holding blades. It made Camette reconsider trying to escape. From the confident way they held their weapons, they were real warriors. Not idiots like the hooded men she had fought in the forest. She needed meat to build her strength before she fought this many.

  They escorted her through the dungeon tunnels, going slow because she wavered on her feet. Two sets of stairs tired her further. When she finally stepped through the dungeon door into the outside courtyard, she took a deep breath, happy to see the sky, even though it was completely clouded. It was late afternoon. She paused to rest. “So beautiful, the clouds, don’t you think?”

  Tuffs looked at her with wide eyes. “Are you crazy?”

  Sparks gestured to her. “I can help her walk.”

  “Don’t touch her,” snapped Tuffs. “We can’t trust her yet.”

  Camette couldn’t wait to break his neck.

  Others in the citadel watched them march her across the crushed stone courtyard toward buildings on the far wall. She studied the large fortress, searching for weaknesses that would help her escape. There weren’t any. Tall walls. Strong and thick. The three equilateral walls of the fortress were made from ten-foot-diameter norre tree trunks, which must have been buried deep in the ground. Watchtowers with coned tops sat in the three corners. It was disappointing.

  If she climbed the stairs to the upper walkway, she could jump over the hundred-foot outer wall—but in daylight that risked arrows in her back. She would have to wait until dark. At least there was no sign of F’ahbay.

  When she entered the building that housed the mess hall and kitchen, she sagged. Dirty pots and pans were stacked high, piles of dishes were scattered across several dozen tables, the floor was greasy like the countertops, and the open wood oven was clogged with ashes. Just looking at it made her tired.

  “Well?” asked Tuffs. “You better get to it if you want to have time to cook dinner. What will you make?” He rubbed his hands together, his eyes showing anticipation.

  “I could help her.” Sparks glanced at Tuffs.

  Tuffs shook his head. “No, she has to prove herself.”

  Camette wanted to slap the old man, and then strangle him. Fool. The five guards kept their blades raised. She viewed the mess again and sighed. She would drink more water, clean, cook, and eat, and when she had her strength back she would kill the old man and whoever else got in her way when she left tonight.

  ***

  The glowing bulb warmed Camette’s hand.

  She stood atop the north walkway of Hope Citadel. Her left hand changed from a yellow claw to a hand and back again as she rested it on one of the glass sahr bulbs spaced along the top of the wall.

  She smelled a battle coming. Soon. Many would die. She wanted to fight. Rip and tear. Kill. Instantly parched, her face contorted and fangs pushed past her lips. Her left hand remained a claw.

  “Stop it,” she whispered.

  The Dead Lands had done this to her. All the killing and hate she had lived through had made her wild. After a week, this was the first night she had been let out of her cell unguarded. The man who claimed she had thrown scavengers around had admitted he hadn’t actually seen her do it. Trees had blocked his view. The Northerners liked her cooking, and for now had decided she was free to live with them or leave. She had decided to stay.

  She knew why she hadn’t tried to escape after the first night of work. She was tired of running, tired of scavenging for food, tired of life. Sometimes, when she thought of never seeing Sontay again, she just wanted to curl up and die.

  Near the west watchtower, Commander Gasten and his daughter walked arm in arm toward her with their fangor, taking their nightly stroll around the citadel’s nine-foot-wide walkway. The top four feet of the wall’s tree trunks had been mostly cut away, leaving an outer wall one-foot-thick at the top for defenders.

  Camette hadn’t formally met the commander and his daughter. She had observed them a few times, wondering if they were allied with F’ahbay, and if she would have to kill them too.

  Maybe that was the reason she had been drawn to the citadel. But if she killed them she would have to run and hide in the Wild Lands. She dreaded living like that again.

  She hunched over to hide her fangs, wishing she had waited to come up here. Stupid. At least the wide walkway gave Gasten and his daughter plenty of room to pass her. She slid a few feet to the far side of the bulb to be out of its soft glow, managing to change her claw back to a hand.

  Not far to the east of her, eight Northerners talked amiably on the walkway. Hopefully Gasten would pass by her to talk with them.

  It dawned on her then that the watchtowers were changing shifts, so for a few moments there were two guards instead of one at each tower. Added to the Northerners on the walkway, and Gasten and his daughter, it was a small force. This was a trap. They were going to kill her. She would tear as many of them apart as she could before she died.

  Her hands tightened on the wall and she had to work to keep them from changing. Somehow, she managed to calm her facial features too.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Gasten was just behind her. She didn’t turn, and instead listened for blades drawn from belts.

  Silence.

  She said softly, “You’re talking about the norre trees?” The distant norre were the only thing of beauty in view, and her sight was keener than any human’s. The faint melody of sahr emanating from the trees’ silvery sap was precious to her ears, but no human could hear it.

  “Yes. I’m Commander Gasten. It’s about time I met our new cook.”

  She whirled, expecting to fight. Instead, she faced Gasten’s extended arm. She warily grasped it. “Cook Camette, sir.”

  The commander appeared about sixty and had thinned hair, though he looked sturdy and had a broad face and likeable smile. His forest green tunic and gray trousers matched the color of Jennelle’s blouse and trousers. The fangor sat beside him, gazing intently at her.

  “Thanks for the clothing, Commander,” she murmured. She glanced at the Northerners to the east, who appeared to be ignoring her.

  “You’re welcome. It’s the least we could do.” Gasten noti
ced her bare feet and frowned. “They didn’t give you boots?”

  “I like going barefoot, sir.” She was aware of the relieved tower guards heading down the stairs, and the group of Northerners to the east walking away. This wasn’t a trap. In that instant she knew she was mad. Sontay will never love me again, even if he is ever free. That thought sank her spirits lower.

  Releasing her arm, Gasten smiled. “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Jennelle. You two are the same age.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Camette.” Jennelle clenched her arm, her eyes sincere and friendly.

  Death and change. The two premonitions struck Camette immediately, either through touch or sight, she wasn’t sure, but both were connected to Jennelle. Maybe they were related to the approaching battle she had sensed.

  She didn’t react, and instead studied Jennelle, who was attractive in a tomboyish way. Shoulder-length, golden brown hair, lean, a small nose, and wearing spectacles that gave her a vulnerable expression. But Camette sensed strength, not weakness. A good height. Not tall; a little shorter than her. “You spend a lot of time with Malley.”

  Jennelle’s cheeks turned pink and she released Camette’s arm. “I’ve been friends with Malley a long time.”

  “You love him. And he loves you. He hasn’t told you, has he?” At times Camette had felt jealous. Seeing them together brought up memories of the kind of attention she would never have from Sontay. F’ahbay had cheated her of that.

  Jennelle’s blush deepened.

  Gasten watched his daughter, his eyes twinkling.

  Camette spoke earnestly. “You should tell him how you feel. It will wake him up. My true love didn’t know I loved him until I told him.” She barely knew Jennelle or Malley, but she didn’t want them to have their lives ruined by denial. Her life had been destroyed when F’ahbay had taken Sontay. “You’re lucky to have love in your life. Don’t waste a day hiding from it.”

  Jennelle fidgeted, but Camette knew it was better to be embarrassed than to deny the truth about love.

  It took Jennelle a moment to recover, her cheeks still pink. “Where’s your love?”

  Camette winced. “Dead.” Sontay hadn’t really died. He had been enslaved by F’ahbay. But it felt like death to her.