Shadow eater, p.13
Shadow Eater, page 13
part #2 of Shadowlands Series
I didn’t need to be told twice. I was out of there.
Daemon joined me a moment later and we ran, putting as much distance between the mansion and us as we could.
“So what did you do to the little brat?” I asked.
“I made the guards tie her up.”
“Why not just kill her? She’s horrific. She eats people!”
“Killing her would upset the balance of this place, and trust me, if you think she’s bad there are worse things waiting to take her place. The Duchess is a title that has been held by some pretty horrific creatures. She’ll send her hounds after us no doubt once the moon is up, but we’ll be long gone by then. The Duchess doesn’t brook insult lightly.”
“How did you get past the guards?”
Daemon smiled. “Not everyone is as wary about her demise as the two guards in the dining hall were.”
“They let you in?”
Daemon shrugged. “I can be pretty persuasive when I want.”
I bet he could.
We were back on the path with the trees that made an arch above us.
“I think I’ve gotten used to this Potential stuff now,” I said.
“Good.”
We emerged from the canopy of trees and into a field; a huge expanse of green with swaying flowers, and a low lilac swirling sky. In the distance I could see buildings, small doll-sized buildings with smoke pluming from tiny chimneys.
“We’ll cut across the field but skirt the village,” Daemon said. “We don’t want to be seen.”
I trotted to keep up with him, and then realised the grass was so long here I’d have to lift my legs high to cut a swath through it. Daemon was forging ahead and I was falling behind. I was about to call out when—
“Psst! Hey! What’s your name?”
I stopped and glanced about. Mother, this air was really messing with me. Auditory hallucinations? Seriously? I opened my mouth to call out to Daemon, who was getting further and further away by the second.
“Sshh, don’t call him. Spoilsport. Where you going? What’s your name?”
“Who’s there?”
The grass danced, the flowers swayed and a huge purple one almost smacked me in the tit before shouting, “Boo!”
I clocked the green eyes and no nose, a wide mouth carved into the stigma of the flower, and I screamed, smacking at it with my hands.
The grass hissed and then I was lifted up out of it, away from the offensive-talking bloom and into Daemon’s secure embrace.
I buried my head in the crook of his neck. “I’m hearing things, seeing things…you need to get me out of here. You were right. I can’t handle this.”
“What happened?”
“The Potential is making me see talking flowers.”
Daemon tensed. “What did it say?”
I lifted my head to look up at him. “What does it matter? It was a hallucination.”
“What did it say, Ash?”
His brows had come down to meet in a frown and it dawned on me that maybe I hadn’t been hallucinating.
“It asked me who I was and where I was going?”
“What did you say?”
“I smacked it in the face.”
Daemon’s frown melted, his lips twitched, and then he cleared his throat and set me on my feet. “What colour was it?”
“Purple.”
He walked back to the spot he had picked me up and began ripping up the flowers. I can’t be sure, but I think I heard screams. Screams that were drowned out a moment later by a buzzing sound.
The fuck? A huge yellow and black thing flew at me. Bee, I thought just before I felt its sting in my neck, just before I heard Daemon’s warning.
Then I’m pretty sure I passed out.
CLAY
He sat on the bed eating a toasted ham and cheese sandwich. Hezekiah sat with him, eating the same. He’d never had such a thing before. It was delicious, and had been no contest when it was a choice between that or some very colourful-looking salad.
The ham was amazing, smoky and thick, the melted cheese tangy and stringy with every bite. The white bread was incredible; crunchy with a hint of softness. Food like this needed to return to Shelter. Saul obviously had livestock, or some kind of machine to make milk and cheese, as well as something to make bread. This was a place rich with technology and Clay had only seen a small part of it. He wanted to see more, to expand his mind, to absorb what they had to make his own work become greater than his expectations.
Could bread be made from other sources? Was there such things as artificial ingredients to whip them up? Could he build a machine to do that?
He took a bite of his sandwich.
They needed yeast and a cow and some chickens. Bread, milk, cheese, and eggs had all been lost. But these people had the resources. Would they share? A deal could be struck, some sort of trade deal. Though Shelter had nothing to trade. The best course of action would be for Clay to ask Jiva about it. Something could be done. Saul knew how to keep livestock alive. If he explained to Jiva the conditions of Shelter, maybe together they could come up with a way of altering the atmosphere, of making it more inhabitable for animals. Shelter could thrive, could be self-sustaining.
And cut off from all that you have seen…
He took a hearty bite of his food.
Nothing was as simple as that anymore. A thought occurred to him. If Saul was safe, and if Jiva didn’t seem to mind humans—judging by his allowing Clay to stay, and not through any outward indication of warmth—then maybe Shelter could be moved. It would mean traversing the Shadowlands and heading over the Horizon and through the cusp first. It was dangerous, but they could do it. The shifting was a problem. You could be in one place in one moment and another in the next—he’d experienced it once with Pearl, throwing them off track. Thank the Mother they’d been together at the time!
The Saul guardians could help, or a group who could act as a guide. The people of Shelter could do it if they were just shown the way. Mother—the ocean and the fresh air and the sun would all fill folk with so much happiness. He wanted his people to be happy. They would be safe, have all the beauty of Saul around them, and their lives could be better. No more cowering underground, no more fear of starvation. This had to be the way.
He’d talk to Jiva, really sell the idea to him. The man seemed to be in charge, and had said himself that he hadn’t seen a human in Saul for a long time. Well, how about more? How about a whole gaggle of interesting specimens for him and his folk to stare at? They could do so much for one another, bring so much in a harmonious unity.
Clay could see it, really see it—a perfect future. A future of safety and full bellies out in the sunshine, laughter and—
He saw a lot, but seeing was not always factual. His confidence came crashing down. He was being naïve. Why in Mother’s name would Jiva want humans in Saul? There was a reason the Mother had led the people underground—because it was safe.
So why hadn’t Jiva killed him? Why did this place exist? Were there other places like this? Was this all of Saul, or part of it? He had so many questions!
Had the Mother been wrong?
He choked on his sandwich.
Shit!
Hezekiah handed him his glass of water.
Clay took it and gulped down the cool liquid, clearing his airway. He never doubted the Mother. Never! He chided himself for such poisonous words. The Mother was everything. It was the situation, the discovery of the world beyond his home that was clouding his judgement. She had made the decision to save them, to give her love, and protection. Not Jiva, not Saul—the Mother.
Man, his head was starting to hurt. Things were starting to tangle.
“You really should chew before you swallow,” Hezekiah said.
Clay frowned. “I was thinking.” He had no idea why the guy was sitting on the bed with him.
“You don’t need to watch me eat,” Clay said.
“I am to keep an eye on you.”
“But this must be boring for you.”
Hezekiah shrugged. “It is not every day you encounter a human.”
Clay ate some more food. So he was a novelty. Would that mean the novelty would wear thin if his people came here?
“I think we should decide what to arm you with,” Hezekiah said. “It makes no sense for you to return to the Shadowlands without some form of weaponry. I have no idea how you survived without one. Humans must be resourceful creatures.”
“Or lucky,” Clay said.
“Lucky?”
“I guess so.”
“I do not believe in the concept of luck.”
“Why?”
“It makes no sense.”
That was a favourite saying around here. “I do. I know I’m lucky to still be alive. My dragon saving me was luck, my getting away from the dangers I faced was luck.” And the Mother... He left that part out, not knowing if that was something he should share or not, wondering if the Mother was a part of them too.
“Could it not just be a series of fortunate circumstances?” Hezekiah said. “Your actions should not be handed over to luck. There is something in what you have done that is right. Again, you humans must be resourceful creatures.”
“I’ve nearly died several times.”
“Yet you were resilient enough to withstand death.”
Was that a compliment wrapped in indifference?
“Maybe.” Clay finished his sandwich.
“Though weapons will only grant you better standing, I think.”
“Even though I survived without one?”
“Weapons in the Shadowlands make sense.”
What he really wanted was his penknife back.
Sirens. Ear-splittingly loud sirens ripping through the room.
Hezekiah was on his feet, his plate with a half-eaten sandwich on it crashing to the ground.
“What’s happening?” Clay said.
Talia burst into the room. “Imps are in the city.”
“Irritating,” Hezekiah said.
Talia nodded.
“What’s going on?” Clay asked.
“Desperation in the face of oblivion,” Hezekiah said.
Thanks for the informative answer…
“Stay here,” Talia said. “Do not leave this room until we tell you to. You will be safe.”
“Is the city being attacked, then?”
“Yes.” Talia swept from the room.
“Do not leave,” Hezekiah reiterated before leaving.
Clay went to the window. He was too high to see much, though he did make out a swarm of black—the Saul guardians—now and then.
He would sit and wait while this place was attacked. So much for it being super-safe! And what was an imp? He hoped he wouldn’t find out. Critters were bad enough, some of the things he’d seen out in the Shadowlands were worse. Being oblivious to what an imp was acted as a comfort.
“I have to get out of here,” he said aloud to himself. It was all very well to wait to be let go when things were safe here, but now that they weren’t... what if this attack escalated? He could be trapped here indefinitely. He had to get out now, trust that luck would serve him and Pearl once more.
Getting Pearl out would pose the greatest challenge.
There must be tools stored somewhere, or something better. This was a place of technology. He could use something, surely. If he snuck out, he could explore and…
Cameras! The damn cameras! He looked up at the one in his room, the silent watcher.
How was he going to play this?
ASH
I’d had way too much grog to drink. My head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton wool laced with needles, and my mouth was as dry as the infertile land surrounding the Shelter.
“She’s coming to,” said a voice I didn’t recognise.
Panic flared in my chest.
“And the venom? Is it gone?” Daemon’s voice.
The panic fizzled out and a soft moan escaped my lips.
I felt his heat before I felt his touch on my brow. “She’s still burning up.”
“It will be a few hours yet before she is purged. I have done all I can. I will shelter you until she is able to stand, but then you must leave. We cannot afford to upset the Duchess; she leaves the outer villages alone, but harbouring runaway prisoners would not go unpunished. Our King is weak. He will let the Duchess have her way with us to maintain the trade agreements with her province.”
“What about the Prince? I ripped up the flower he was using as his eyes, but I fear he may have seen the markings on her hands.”
“He has been gaining a foothold in Enchansa steadily over the last century. Reports of sightings, ethereal visitations, and possibly related disappearances have been growing. But there is still no solid answer as to who or what he is. What we do know is that he is a collector, and if your female companion’s markings are of some importance, and he has seen them, then you should leave as soon as possible.”
“I appreciate your hospitality, Bartholomew. I will not forget your kindness.”
Their words made me thirsty, almost as if I had uttered them. “Water.” My voice was a croak.
“A good sign,” Bartholomew said.
I gulped down the cool liquid that Daemon poured into my mouth, and then choked as it went down too fast.
“Easy.” Daemon lifted me into his arms and I sagged against him, too weak to do anything but gasp.
I wanted to open my eyes, but they felt too heavy.
“Don’t. They’re still a little swollen,” Daemon said.
That would explain it. That bloody bee! “How long?” My voice was garbled and my throat hurt.
“How long have you been out?”
I nodded.
“A few hours, but Bart managed to drain most of the venom so you should be fine in a few more.”
A few hours! No! Clay... I wanted to kick myself for being stupid enough to get stung, for being careless enough to lose True, for waiting a week before going after him. My head told me that he was dead, gone—how could he survive this place all alone for so long? But my heart told me not to give up, to believe that Clay would make it, that he was holding on, waiting for me.
Calloused fingers wiped the moisture from my cheeks.
Shame twisted in my belly. “I’m not crying. It’s just the swelling. It’s making my eyes water.”
“I know.” His tone told me that he in no way bought my lie, but I took his words at face value.
“So where are we? Who is this Bart?” I needed to keep my mind off the passage of time. I needed not to think about what could be happening to Clay while I sat here and recovered.
“I had to bring you into the village. Bart is the local alchemist. He was kind enough to take us in, but we can’t stay long.”
“Because of the Duchess?”
“Yes.”
“And who is the Prince?”
Daemon sighed. “No one knows for certain. His influence has been growing steadily over the ages. His name has spread, as have his deeds.”
I wanted to ask more, wanted him to keep speaking because it was so nice to have him talking to me properly, but I was assaulted by a wave of exhaustion.
“Rest, Ash. I will watch over you.”
Sounded good to me.
Clay!
I sat up, blood pounding in my head. The room was softly lit by candlelight. There was a dresser, a chest, a small oval mirror, a wash basin, and the bed that I was lying on.
Eureka! I could see.
“Daemon?”
A shadow on the floor unfurled and I bit back a scream just in time, because it was only Daemon keeping sentry by my bed.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“I think so. I mean, I can’t really tell with this place and all The Potential floating about.”
Daemon’s responding chuckle warmed me. Maybe this Potential had an effect on him too, making him let go of his suspicion and resentment toward me.
His gaze shifted from my face to my chest and then he quickly averted his eyes.
I glanced down and saw my tits staring back at me. My cheeks heated and I quickly pulled the sheet up to cover myself. “Um, where’s my shirt?”
“It had venom on it.”
So earlier, when he’d been holding me, I’d been half naked? Fuck! I had been so out of it I hadn’t even realised. It’s okay, it’s just a little boob. No need to be embarrassed.
“There are fresh clothes at the bottom of the bed. I’ll be downstairs when you’re done.” He left and I exhaled in relief.
Slipping from the bed, I quickly located and pulled on the fresh shirt. Well, it was more of a tunic made of some soft material that was heaven on my skin. In the candlelight, the colour was dark crimson and it fit me perfectly. I moved to the small oval mirror above the dresser to check out the damage the swelling had done to my face. Not that I was vain or anything.
My face stared back at me, impassive, clear of any swelling or bruising. In the mirror, my left eye twitched. I blinked and reached up to touch it. And then my reflection smiled.
I wasn’t smiling.
I froze.
“Hello, Shadow Eater.” My image began to melt and morph, and I watched in horror as it smoothed out into the handsome visage of a dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger. His lips were thin in a sharp face that lent him a cruel air, and those dark eyes radiated gleeful menace. “You pulled out my eyes. No matter, I will grow more.” His face grew nearer. “Come closer and let me see those pretty hands.”
His visage had filled the mirror now, and then the surface of the glass began to shimmer and bulge.
He was coming through!
Who the fuck was he? The Prince? Shit, it didn’t matter, there was no way I was letting him get his hands on me. I grabbed the first thing that came to hand—the candle stick holder. I lifted out the candle, snuffed it out, and hurled the holder at the mirror.
It smashed with a satisfying crash, sending shards flying left, right, and centre. I ducked, crossing my wrists, and holding up my arms to shield my face.
The door burst open and Daemon barrelled in.
“It’s okay! I’m okay.” I slowly lowered my hands and straightened. “But I think I just met the Prince.”
