Kelley Armstrong - Sea of Shadows

“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.”

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 against 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.