The Keeper's Shadow (20 page)

Friend—Mithras—does he really exist? And if he does, is he as old and powerful as Lumpy suspects? Would he help? Could he…if Roan were able to find him?

THE MARK OF THE HHROXHI

ONCE YOU HAVE ONE, FOR AS LONG AS YOU LIVE THEY WILL SENSE IF YOU ARE IN DANGER AND COME TO YOUR AID. BUT YOU TOO MUST ANSWER TO THEIR MARK—THE HHROXHI BROOK NO BETRAYAL.

—THE WAY OF THE WAZYA

I
CE FORMS ALONG THE EDGE OF HER WOOLEN HOOD,
but the bracing cold suits Mabatan's mood. She's anxious about leaving the healer behind in Kira's village. It's defended by less than a dozen Apsara warriors. If it were attacked, the unconscious healer would be at the mercy of any marauder who breached the gate. But the Apsara had told Mabatan she was expected at the Brothers' camp and could not stay and stand guard with them. Her future lay elsewhere.

A series of horrible, haunting whispers cuts through her fears like a hot knife. Lives, dozens of them, perishing. The small scar above her elbow, the one given to her by Mhyzah, throbs wildly. The lives are Hhroxhi.

Mabatan sprints through the shimmering forest and as she runs, more heart-wrenching whispers echo through the frozen wood. An explosion shudders the air and falling icicles smash on the ground all around her. Bursting through the wood, she sees, through the pelting sleet, the smoldering remains of a Cleric truck. Dozens of pale, earless bodies are splayed across the clearing. All are covered in tiny silver shards, the apparent remains of what has exploded.

In the distance, more than twenty Clerics, brandishing swords, are closing in on a pair of Hhroxhi. Fangs bared, the two Blood Drinkers stave them off with daggers, but they have no hope against these odds. Running swiftly toward them, Mabatan reaches into her pack and pulls out three sections of burnished reed. The toxin of the Nethervine is not to be used lightly but right now it is the only way to help. Lowering herself behind a rock, she assembles the sections into one long tube, places a dart inside it, aims, and blows. A Cleric clutches his hand, screams, and falls, convulsing. She blows again and again, each dart finding its mark, but she may not be fast enough to save the Hhroxhi. There are still too many Clerics, and the Blood Drinkers will soon tire.

The Hhroxhi are battling back-to-back, lashing frantically at their enemies. Mabatan recognizes the taller one—Mhyzah. One of the Clerics arcs his sword in preparation to strike off Mhyzah's head. Raising her blowgun, Mabatan aims carefully, for fear the dart might miss its target and hit her friend. But as she takes her breath, an arrow pierces the neck of the attacker. Mabatan redirects her aim, and as one after another of the unknown champion's arrows hit their marks, the remaining Clerics become confused, easy prey for the blades of the two Hhroxhi.

Mabatan rushes toward her friend. To her surprise, the other Hhroxhi turns on her, weapon raised: Qrixxis, one of the most rabid of the human-haters. Mhyzah moves herself between them and placing her open palm on Mabatan's chest, hisses her thanks. Seeing Qrixxis back away into shadow, the friends turn and watch the approach of a dark-skinned man carrying a long bow.

After acknowledging Mhyzah's thanks, the man inclines his head toward Mabatan. “I am Brother Stinger. Friend to the Hhroxhi—at least those who will have human friends,” he says, casting a sidelong glance at the hostile Qrixxis. He holds up his wrist, showing the same mark Mabatan bears—the blood oath that summoned them both to this battle. “I was out on patrol and heard the call. You must be Mabatan.”

Placing her palms together, Mabatan bows in formal greeting. “Your name is spoken with reverence throughout the Farlands and the mastery of your sand painting is renowned.”

Stinger bows in response, murmuring, “You honor me.” Moving past Mhyzah to one of the fallen Hhroxhi, he picks up a silver shard and sniffs it. Turning back to her, he asks, “What happened here?”

Mhyzah explains how she and her small hunting party were ambushed. The Clerics had a new weapon that killed instantly, invisibly. Her summons for help had brought a wave of Hhroxhi warriors but many were taken by the weapon before it was destroyed.

Stinger moves among the fallen, searching for the cause of their deaths. But Mhyzah shakes her head, saying to Mabatan that the Brother will find nothing. It was as if the life force of the warriors fled willingly before the weapon. They have never before experienced so great a loss against so few.

As Mabatan stares mournfully at the scores of dead, a stone rolls behind her and one after another Hhroxhi rise up from an underground passage. As each steps onto the frozen earth, they keen to the skies for their fallen sons and daughters, fathers and mothers.

When Qrixxis steps forward, face pinched, fangs jutting from his thick jaws, Stinger rises to stand beside Mabatan. “Your human war kills our people,” Qrixxis hisses at them threateningly.

“We stand against this enemy with you,” Mabatan clicks.

“The Wazya do not join in battle. Why stand now?”

“We stand at the end of time and join hands to cross the abyss—”

“Prophecy nonsense!” Qrixxis spits on the crackling ice between them.

“The prophecies are coming to pass whether you will or no, and those who do not stand will fall.”

“Nothing you can say will sway me, Wazya witch!”

Feeling a stirring against her skin, Mabatan extends her arm. Qrixxis backs away as her white cricket emerges from the cocoon of her cloak to climb out upon it. Other crickets fly out from the rock face. Mabatan watches as they settle on a paralyzed Qrixxis. Its pale aspect a mirror to their own, the white cricket is sacred to the Hhroxhi, central to their spiritual experience. And though Mabatan cannot hear their communication with Qrixxis, when his pink eyes roll back to look at her, she knows that they have commanded his attention in a way she could not.

“The crickets say I must meet Roan, guardian of the Novakin, and his sister, whose cry is death, tomorrow at moonset on the slope of the Brothers' valley. But I doubt that they will sway me any more than you have.”

Turning away from Qrixxis, Mabatan places her open palm on her friend's chest. “Mhyzah, we will tell Roan of this weapon and the toll it has taken on your people.”

Shoulders stooped with grief and weariness, Mhyzah covers Mabatan's hand with her own. “I must begin the rituals for our dead.”

“May they walk freely in a better world.” Mabatan and Stinger intone the Hhroxhi words together, as Mhyzah draws her knife and strides over to lead the prayer for her fallen friends. At her cry, the attending warriors raise their knives and slice their open palms.

“We must go,” says Stinger, gently touching Mabatan's shoulder. “We have much to report to Roan before the gathering tomorrow.”

As they walk silently over the frozen earth to retrieve their mounts, Mabatan wonders how a Brother of the Friend came to acquire the mark of the Hhroxhi. She knows that Stinger is a spiritual leader but still the Brothers are not renowned for acts of compassion. As she strokes her horse's flank in greeting, she sneaks a glace at the mysterious Brother only to find him staring back at her.

“You're wondering how I came to be a friend to the Hhroxhi?”

“Yes,” Mabatan admits.

“I was a child, barely eleven, hiding from Clerics patrolling the river in their motorized boats. One of their boats had children in it, and the Clerics began tossing some of them out. The children flailed helplessly and, when they began to sink, the Clerics motored off laughing. I'd always been a strong swimmer; I knew what to do. But I could see that these children were different, so I hesitated. Only for a moment, but it was enough. I saved four but the fifth could not be revived. The four sat on the beach with me until a Hhroxhi elder came and pried the dead girl from me. Then she took me to a chamber deep in their tunnels. Several Hhroxhi drew their blades. I thought they were going to kill me but they gave me this instead,” he says, pointing at the mark on his wrist. “My blood was made one with the four Hhroxhi I saved. Over the years, they taught me their language and we remain friends to this day. I was grateful not to find them among the fallen.”

“Did you see anything on the bodies that might help us understand the weapon?”

“If I had I would have told Mhyzah. You heard the explosion?”

“I heard.”

“It appeared to have happened when the weapon was somehow toppled, which means that if one gets close enough, it can be destroyed. The metal shards had no special qualities—they were just debris from the destroyed weapon and not what killed the warriors. I was unable to determine what caused the Hhroxhi to die. Many had no wounds at all, Mabatan. Nothing. But…”

“You sensed something?”

“I cannot explain it. It was nothing more than a feeling. I was overcome with the sensation that the Hhroxhi had been devoured by a monstrous emptiness, which had spat out their bodies whole but devoid of any life, the way we would spit out bones.” Stinger looks away sharply. “But it matters not what I felt. It was a weapon fashioned by Darius that killed those warriors. Darius is the monster we must fight.”

Mabatan waits for a moment but Stinger does not turn back to her. A tremor of dread courses up her spine. What has the Keeper of the City unleashed?

Mabatan and Stinger arrive the next day to find the encampment bustling with new arrivals. The Brothers look harried and tensions are high.

“Roan of Longlight has given us a great challenge. We are not used to visitors and have no skills at hospitality or diplomacy.” Stinger nods at a distinguished gentleman in black velvet robes and whispers, “There stands a perfect example. Governor Selig. He arrived with his entourage yesterday. It was the reason I was so far away from camp—I had to ensure his safe passage.”

“Excuse me.” The Governor's tone is imperious. The group of Brothers busily erecting a large tent is forced to stop in order to hear him. “My wife and attendants require hot water for bathing.”

The Brothers peer up at Selig as if he's speaking a foreign language and Mabatan raises her hand to conceal a laugh.

“Hot water,” he repeats. “For our baths.”

Seeing Stinger, the Brothers sigh with relief, obviously hoping he will take care of the demanding governor. But their leader only shrugs, leaving the men to their own devices.

Shifting to follow Stinger as he continues into the camp, Mabatan notices a tall, sharp-eyed woman behind the Governor. His wife. She feigns a diminutive air, but Mabatan can see her for what she really is: Apsara.

“I'll have to ask someone else, darling,” Governor Selig calls out to his wife. “I don't believe these ruffians have the slightest idea of what I'm talking about.”

The Governor's wife looks blithely at Mabatan and, almost imperceptibly, winks. Clearly, she's identified Mabatan, just as Mabatan recognized her, perhaps even because of it. Mabatan will have to take greater care to conceal what she knows.

“Come,” says Stinger. “Before we speak with Roan, I'd like to show you something.”

He leads her to a canopy where five Brothers are bent over a large flat stone, bringing a portrait of the Friend to life. Each holds a small tube-like funnel from which they pour, with unwavering concentration, different colors of sand. The process is mesmerizing, and Mabatan finds herself drawn in, so much so that she can see each grain falling, becoming part of a greater whole. But her meditation is interrupted by the sound of familiar voices.

Roan stops just beyond the canopy, Kamyar, Lumpy, and Kira laughing round him, and Brother Wolf scowling at his side.

“My grandmother should be here within the hour,” Kira says, but Mabatan can see Roan already knows. That must mean everything's gone according to plan and Willum and Stowe are with her.

“How many in Ende's party?” Wolf asks irritably. He must find it annoying—all these unworthy visitors in the Brothers' camp.

“At least twelve,” says Kira, nonchalantly.

Wolf stiffens, his patience clearly nearing its end, but Lumpy gently intervenes.

“Why don't we set up some tents on the east side of the camp for the new arrivals, Brother Wolf? Then they'd be guaranteed the necessary privacy.” Mabatan watches as Lumpy studies Wolf's grim expression before adding cautiously, “Wouldn't they?”

Everyone's holding their breath as Wolf stares curiously at Lumpy. Apparently not detecting any slight, Wolf visibly relaxes and turns back to Roan. “I'll see to it,” he says, and bowing politely to Kira, he strides purposefully into the center of the camp.

“Well done, Master Lump!” says Kamyar. “A diplomatic triumph! Well, it's to be expected—you're a born actor, and therefore devilishly politic. Bravo!”

Mabatan rises as Kamyar congratulates Lumpy. But just as she's about to call out a greeting to her friends, Roan's attention is suddenly drawn away to the edge of the camp. Mabatan sighs, hand poised in midair.

“Mabatan!” Lumpy reaches forward to grab her hand, a wide grin cracking across his scarred face. “We didn't know you'd arrived.”

Roan turns, relief spilling over his careworn features. “I was worried you wouldn't make it.”

“I had an escort,” Mabatan says, indicating the Brother at her side.

Leaning forward, Roan whispers, “Mabatan, Stowe's almost here. I can feel her.”

The hope radiating off Roan makes her pause, hesitant to take this moment from him; the last meeting he'd had with his sister had been brief and spoiled by violence. Still, her news cannot wait. “Roan, Brother Stinger and I must speak to you before the Apsara arrive. The shadow cast by Darius may be deeper than we thought.”

BROTHER AND SISTER

THE UNBROKEN PRAYER VIGIL FOR OUR STOWE'S SAFE RETURN CONTINUES AT THE PYRAMID. ANY CITIZEN HAVING INFORMATION ON HER WHEREABOUTS IS TO REPORT TO THE MASTER OF INCULCATION DIRECTLY. LET IT BE KNOWN THAT WE WILL NOT REST UNTIL SHE IS RETURNED TO US AND THOSE RESPONSIBLE FOR HER ABDUCTION ARE EXECUTED.