The Keeper's Shadow (12 page)

W
ILLUM STARES INTO
S
TOWE'S VACANT, OPEN EYES
. “I
CANNOT REACH HER
.”

R
AT SNIFFS AT THE TWO BODIES BETWEEN THEM, THEN LOOKS UP FROM THE LIZARD AND THE CLAY GIRL
. “N
O,” HE AGREES
. “B
UT THERE IS STILL HOPE
. T
AKE HER NOW,
W
ILLUM
. H
URRY
. M
ABATAN WILL GUIDE YOU
. I
WILL RETURN
F
ERRELL TO HIS PEOPLE
.”

T
HE RABBIT HOPS CLOSER AND AS THE HAWK SHIFTS TO ACCOMMODATE HER, HIS WING BRUSHES AGAINST
R
AT
. W
ILLUM'S HURLED VIOLENTLY INTO A VISION OF FIRE AND TERROR: THE SHRILL CRIES OF CHILDREN DESPERATE TO ESCAPE THEIR BURNING VILLAGES; THE TERRIFIED BLOODIED FACES OF A MOB STAMPEDING AWAY FROM THE
C
ITY'S SILVER TOWERS AS WHOLE SECTIONS OF THEM EXPLODE; DEEP IN THE UTTER DARKNESS OF THE PYRAMID'S DUNGEONS,
M
ABATAN AND
K
IRA TRAPPED, BROKEN AND DYING
. S
PINNING UP THE SHAFT AT THE PYRAMID'S CENTER,
W
ILLUM IS TOSSED OUT ONTO THE COLD GLASS TILES AT ITS APEX
. D
ARIUS IS RAISING A KNIFE TO STAB
S
TOWE
. P
ICKING HIMSELF UP,
W
ILLUM LUNGES
. S
TOWE SCREAMS
. T
HERE IS BLOOD
. B
LOOD EVERYWHERE
. A
ND SCREAMS
. H
ORRIFIED SCREAMS
. A
ND AS
W
ILLUM IS SUCKED BACK INTO DARKNESS, HE REALIZES THE SCREAMS ARE HIS OWN
.

S
HAKING HIS HAWK'S HEAD TO CLEAR HIS MIND OF THIS NUMBING VIEW OF THE FUTURE, HE NOTICES THE DEEP SADNESS IN
R
AT'S WATERY EYES AS HE SPEAKS TO HIS DAUGHTER
. “M
ABATAN,
I
KNOW DEATH HOVERS OVER YOU
. B
UT IN THIS TIME, DEATH HOVERS OVER US ALL
. O
NLY REMEMBER, THE PATH SHIFTS DAILY AND WE HAVE UNTIL THE BULL RISES IN THE EAST TO DO WHAT WE CAN TO EFFECT OUR FATE
.”

T
HE HAWK AND THE RABBIT SIGH AND SPEAK TOGETHER
, “A
FTER THAT COMES THE END OF ALL POSSIBILITY
.”

P
LACING A PAW ON STOWE, THE RABBIT INCLINES HER HEAD TOWARD THE HAWK
. W
ILLUM CLENCHES THE CLAY GIRL IN ONE OF HIS CLAWS AND RESTS HIS OTHER ON THE RABBIT
. T
HE RABBIT BLINKS AND SUDDENLY ALL THREE ARE NOTHING BUT GLITTERING MOTES OF DUST TRAVELING THE WIND IN AN AZURE SKY
.

W
HEN THEY REACH THE SHORELINE OF THE ENDLESS SEA, THE HAWK GROWS STEADILY LARGER AND RELEASES THE RABBIT
. W
ITH A BEAT OF HIS WINGS, HE GRASPS STOWE IN BOTH CLAWS AND SOARS
. T
HE RABBIT, TAKING HUGE LEAPS, LEADS BELOW
.

S
HE WILL NOT DIE; SHE CANNOT DIE,
W
ILLUM PRAYS, AS HE FOLLOWS
M
ABATAN FROM ONE ICE FLOE TO THE NEXT
. F
INALLY SHE STOPS ON A ROCK CLEFT THAT JUTS UP FROM A WHIRLPOOL OF STEAMING, CHURNING WATER
.

S
HE WAITS AS
W
ILLUM DIVES THROUGH THE VAPOROUS AIR, PLUMMETING INTO THE SWIRLING VORTEX
. H
E FEELS HER REACH OUT TO HIM IN ENCOURAGEMENT, UNTIL, WINDING DOWNWARD, HE'S OVERWHELMED BY THE ROAR OF RUSHING WATER
. B
UT SOON HE HEARS A SWEETER SOUND
. H
UMAN VOICES
. T
HEIR SINGING DRAWS HIM THROUGH THE RAGING WATERS TO A TERRACE WHERE THE SHADES OF
L
ONGLIGHT AWAIT
.

S
CORES OF OVERLAPPING WHISPERS RISE AND FALL TO GREET HIM
. “W
ELCOME,
W
ILLUM OF THE
A
PSARA
.”

W
ILLUM GENTLY LAYS STOWE DOWN ON A BED OF THICK MOSS AND BOWS TO THEM
. “F
ORGIVE ME
.”

“Y
OU HAVE SAVED HER MORE THAN ONCE,
C
OUSIN,” SAYS
S
TOWE'S MOTHER
. “A
ND NOW YOU BRING HER HOME TO ME
. W
HAT IS THERE TO FORGIVE
?”

“S
HE WILL NOT BE WHOLE AGAIN
.”

S
TOWE'S MOTHER LEANS OVER THE MOTIONLESS CLAY BODY, PASSING HER HANDS OVER THE BARELY BEATING HEART
. “F
EW OF US HAVE THE PRIVILEGE OF LIVING WHOLE
. W
HAT IS IMPORTANT IS THAT SHE WILL LIVE
. W
E CANNOT ASK FOR MORE
.”

W
ILLUM'S HAWK EYES CANNOT CRY, BUT HIS ANGUISH MAKES THEM SMART ALL THE SAME
.

“D
O NOT ABANDON HOPE,
”
THE WOMAN SAYS, LIFTING ONE HAND TO GENTLY CARESS HIS CHEEK
. “Y
OU CANNOT STAY,
C
OUSIN
. T
HIS PLACE IS NOT FOR YOU
.”

I
NCLINING HIS HEAD TO TAKE ONE LAST LOOK AT
S
TOWE,
W
ILLUM STEPS AWAY
. S
PREADING HIS WINGS, HE SOARS THROUGH THE TWISTING SEA
. W
HAT WILL HE DO IF
S
TOWE DOES NOT HEAL IN TIME TO HELP THEM
?

THE FORESIGHT ACADEMY

ROAN OF THE PARTING FORESAW THAT WITH DARIUS'S RISE, KNOWLEDGE WOULD BURN. AND SO WHEN HIS FOLLOWERS FLED THE CITY HE ORDERED THEM TO TAKE ALL THE BOOKS THEY COULD CARRY. THIS IS HOW FORESIGHT CAME INTO BEING.

—THE WAR CHRONICLES

T
HOUGH
R
OAN IS EXHAUSTED,
sleep is an unwilling companion. Whenever he closes his eyes he's catapulted into a world of blinding pain. Everything is bathed in blood and there's an intolerable pressure at the center of his being, as if someone were splitting him in two.

Wrapping his bedroll tightly round his shoulders, Roan slips past the snoring doctors. Finding a mossy hollow not too far from the fire, he leans back against a frosty boulder and gazes at a fragment of starry sky. Why is he having these visions? Have Willum and Stowe made their way safely to Ende? Could something terrible be happening to Mabatan in Kira's village? Is he seeing what might one day happen to him?

“Worrying about what we're heading into?”

Roan turns to see Lumpy smugly tapping a roll of parchment against his chest.

“You snuck up on me!” Roan exclaims, surprised.

“I've been practicing some new tricks I picked up from the Apsara, but I probably couldn't have done it if you weren't so tired,” Lumpy insists in mock apology.

Roan brings his fist smartly down on Lumpy's foot.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Don't let it go to your head.”

Laughing, Lumpy takes a seat beside him.

“So, what do you think of Othard and Imin?” Roan asks, casting a mischievous glance in Lumpy's direction.

Lumpy groans. “Having a Mor-Tick survivor at their mercy, you'd think they'd died and gone to heaven. I'm considering gags.” Cheering up at the thought, Lumpy unrolls the parchment and inclines it to catch the light of the full moon. “I'm afraid our physician friends could cause us a lot of problems in a couple of days. We're going to have to travel across some open ground. With two chatterboxes like them, we might as well be shouting, ‘Moving targets—come and take a shot!'”

“I'll talk to them.”

“Thanks. It's a good map, Roan. Fills in a few blanks. People have tended to stay away from the area around the Academy. Apparently, it's believed there are ghosts there. The shades of Dirt Eaters killed when the Clerics blew the place up.” Lumpy scrunches up his face comically. “Specters! Phantoms,” he says, imitating the physicians.

Scratching his back with a stick, Roan yawns. “I thought all the Dirt Eaters got away.”

“People don't know that. And to them the ghosts of dead Dirt Eaters are just as dangerous as the real thing. The fact that anyone who dares to venture into the area never returns doesn't help. You asleep yet?”

Roan opens his eyes a crack and sighs wearily “Almost.” He watches Lumpy studying the map, his face haloed in the moonlight. Their crickets are perched silently on one corner of the parchment, but Roan doesn't need their song. His lids unbearably heavy, he drifts off into a dreamless slumber.

Someone grasps his arm firmly and places a finger across his lips urging silence. Lumpy. Roan opens his eyes but he can already hear them. Still a fair distance away. He signals Lumpy to return to the doctors but his friend shakes his head. He stretches both hands in front of Roan, pumping them twice. Twenty warriors. Too many for Roan to take alone. Pulling his friend toward him, Roan whispers, “I can do it, if I'm not worrying about those doctors. They need you more than I do. Go!”

Pressing Roan's hook-sword into his hand, Lumpy scrambles toward the fire. Roan sprints in the direction of the oncoming warriors. As he closes in, he recognizes their smell—Fandor. A knife glints to his right and Roan backhands it away. He kicks the Fandor wielding it hard in the stomach, toppling him backward. Lunging forward, his blade swings in a wide arc that takes down two more of the enemy. The Fandor pause—obviously he was not as easy a victim as they'd hoped.

Taking advantage of their momentary confusion, Roan advances stealthily. Positioning himself halfway between two of the marauders, he smashes his elbow into one Fandor's chin while he kicks the other backward. Then, twisting in slow circles and fanning his blade, he drives the attackers back. He hears the unmistakable snap of arrows being released and dives, pulling the nearest Fandor into their path. Swiping at another's feet, he avoids the slashing of a third. Roan's feinting and jabbing, every swing hitting true, but there are too many swords thrusting at his face, his chest, his legs. As he somersaults through the crowd of assailants, he hears an ear-piercing whistle. Are they calling for reinforcements?

Trusting Lumpy got the doctors to safety, Roan marshals his fears and studies his opponents. He targets the weak links. Spinning and twisting, he cuts a swath through his assailants.

When he turns to deliver a whip kick to a screaming Fandor, he's startled to see snarling, yellow-toothed dogs everywhere, leaping on the necks of the marauders, digging teeth into their legs. The Fandor next to him is fighting a large gray shape at his shoulder, jabbing his sword wildly, but the dog's massive jaws manage to snap on his arm. In an instant, two more mangy mastiffs are tearing at him and he's down. Eyes shining yellow in the predawn shadows, saliva dripping from their maws, the hounds resemble avenging demons. Terrified, the remaining Fandor flee, snarling predators snapping at their heels. Only one dog stays behind, its huge head swaying, glowing eyes fixed on Roan. But Lumpy's at his side whistling, and tail tucked between its legs, the beast skulks off, whining piteously.

The doctors scurry over to Roan. “Any wounds?” asks Othard.

“There's a scrape,” Imin says, opening his bag.

“Thanks, Lumpy,” Roan mutters, smiling at his friend.

“Oh yes, thank you,” Othard adds.

“Yes. How did you know how to do that?” Imin asks, awestruck.

Othard, also impressed, says admiringly, “Uncanny...”

Imin nods. “…and precipitous.”

“Before I met Roan, I wandered the Farlands alone for years. I had a choice—learn to understand the wild dogs or get eaten.”

“That's how we met,” explains Roan, “Lumpy saved me that time too.” At a groan from one of the fallen Fandor, Roan turns back to his friend, “We better get out of here fast. They'll be coming back for their wounded. You take the doctors ahead; I'll cover our tracks.”

For the next four days, their progress is slow. The overgrown trail they've been following is treacherous for the horses and so they've had to walk most of the way. Still, the path can be easily marked for Kamyar and it's kept them safely hidden from roving marauders on six occasions.

Despite the danger, the doctors are finding it more and more difficult to suppress their excitement as they draw closer to their destination: though they always begin with sign language, signs rapidly evolve into wild gesticulations that inevitably become agitated whispering and Roan is forced to silence them again. He's almost grateful this part of the Farlands is overrun with Clerics and Fandor—the terror of an imminent attack seems the only thing that keeps the chatty physicians in check for more than an hour at a time.

By the middle of the fifth day the lost library is within reach. Riding up as close as he can to Roan, Imin whispers, pointing across a vast wasteland, “There it is...”

“…Where the entrance used to be,” Othard says, trying to nudge his way between them. “Between the second and third of those grassy hills.”

“Looks like the explosion collapsed the entire structure,” Lumpy mutters, drawing Roan's attention to a mass of huge broken stones.

“We won't know till we're closer,” says Othard, initiating an avalanche of banter to urge Roan forward.

Roan can understand their exhilaration, they are at the brink of realizing a dream, and he feels almost sorry to be putting a damper on it—almost—but the terrain is too open to allow chatter. Letting his gaze fall witheringly on the two physicians, he whispers with as much menace as he can muster, “You two! Not a sound or…” and slowly draws a finger across his throat. Othard and Imin blanch but Lumpy's smiling behind them and Roan has to turn his mount away before his performance falters.

As he leads the way across the dry, cracked land and they are encircled by its eerie silence, Roan understands how the legends of Dirt Eater ghosts came to be. The tread of their horses seems so invasive in this place one could easily imagine the ground swallowing them up in annoyance, leaving no trace whatsoever of their passage.