Kelley Armstrong: Sea of Shadows

Moria rubbed the steaming cloth over Ashyn’s aching knees. “Did I tell you that Levi wrote me a poem? I can recite it if you like.”

“You memorized it?”

“Of course. It was truly memorable. I’ve never heard anything so terrible.”

Ashyn sputtered a laugh.

“Do you want to hear it?” Moria asked.

“Please.” Ashyn leaned back, closing her eyes and relaxing as Moria finished the purification ritual and recited Levi’s poem.

As for whether the rituals went well or not, Ashyn couldn’t say. That evening, as promised, Moria entertained the children with stories, but Ashyn knew they were truly for her. Distracting tales of legendary beasts and wild adventures.

There were some creatures that didn’t find their way into Moria’s tales that night. Monsters of the spirit world, like fiend dogs and shadow stalkers. Those would not calm Ashyn’s fears as she headed into the Forest of the Dead.

“You’ll do fine,” Moria said later as they slid onto their sleeping mats.

“What if I don’t?”

Moria sighed. “Nothing ever goes wrong, Ash. If it did, we’d hear the stories. The only thing people love more than a good story is a bad one. Tales of tragedy and woe and bloody entrails, strung like ribbons, decorating the battlefields.”

“I could do without that last bit.”

Moria grinned. “That’s the best part. You know what I mean, though. There are no bards’ tales about Seekings because they are boringly predictable. You find the bodies. You purify the bodies. You bury the bodies. No one’s ever done it wrong before.”

“What if I’m the first?”

A coin thumped off Ashyn’s forehead.

“Oww.”

“Don’t complain. That’s one of the twice-blessed coins. I kept it for you. Put it in your pocket tomorrow, and you’ll be protected from evil spirits and snakebites and Faiban.” Moria paused. “Unless you don’t want to be protected from Faiban. I hear he volunteered for the Seeking.”

Ashyn’s cheeks heated. She lay in the darkness, feeling the copper warming in her hand.

“What kind of curse was it?”she whispered finally. “A minor one?”

Moria groaned. “What does it matter? It was one of many I’ve taken. It only means I’ll suffer some small misfortune. Daigo will probably get gas tomorrow night. You’ll be thankful you missed it.”

The wildcat growled softly beside her sister.

“So it was only a minor curse?”

“Good night, Ashyn.”

Moria flipped onto her other side, ending the conversation. Ashyn waited until her sister began to snore. Then she slipped from her sleeping mat and tiptoed to Moria’s cloak, left thrown over the chair. As she reached into the pocket, Daigo watched her but did nothing. She pulled out the curse scroll. Then she tugged on her own cloak and headed for the door with Tova padding along behind her.

During the day, it was clear that spring had arrived—the sun bright, the air warm. But the nights still seemed determined to cling to winter. An icy wind blew off the north, freezing Ashyn’s nose and cheeks. As she pulled her hands under her cloak, the scroll rustled against the fur lining. She clutched it tighter.

The village was particularly dark tonight. There were always lanterns left blazing, holding off the endless black of the Wastes. Tonight they were a necessity, with the moon hidden behind clouds. When Ashyn peered up, the sky looked faintly red.

The color of blood.

She shivered, cursing her sister’s stories.

As she walked, the scent of burning wood wafted around her. She could see the lazy trails of smoke over the houses and inhaled deeply, letting the familiar smell calm her.

The sounds were familiar, too, like the lonely yips of Blackie, the carpenter’s dog, never let into the house, even on the coldest nights. Ashyn rested her hand on Tova’s head as he stiffened in sympathy with the poor beast. She could pick up the distant squawk of chickens, the low of cows, and the grunt of pigs. No horses—they produced nothing edible, so the village couldn’t afford to waste feed on them when there was so little soil for growing and so few wagon trains bringing supplies.

As she drew close to the sanctuary, she thought she heard the scuff of a boot against the lava rock. Tova confirmed it by glancing in that direction. He gave no sign of alarm, though. Other girls might need to worry about a guard who’d had too much honey wine and been too long from court. But the penalty for touching the Seeker or the Keeper without her permission was… well, it would ensure he never had any urge to touch a woman again. No amount of honey wine would addle a man’s brains enough to risk that.

Ashyn reached the sanctuary and ducked around back, where the statue waited. It was a small wooden figure, so battered by the elements that she could only make out faint grooves to show it once had a face. Instead of clothing, it wore a cloak of scrolls pinned over its entire body, some yellowed, others nearly disintegrated with time.

Ashyn bent and took out Moria’s scroll. She looked down at it, still tightly rolled.

What type of curse was it?

She didn’t want to know. She just wanted to pin it to the figure and run. But that was cowardly. After all, she was getting rid of it, so it didn’t matter what sort it was.

She unfurled it, a half roll and then…

She stopped. At her side, Tova whined.

Even in the darkness the lines on the white scroll were easy to read. The symbol seemed blacker than most, and she swore she could feel it under her finger, as if the writer had pushed the quill into the paper, hoping the ink would leach through enough to warn anyone who thought of choosing it from the tree.

Not a major curse, but a great one. The worst there was. Something terrible was about to befall her sister.

Fingers trembling, Ashyn rerolled the scroll and pinned it to the statue, in the rear, as if that could hide it from whatever powers governed fate.

As Ashyn hurried from behind the sanctuary, she could feel someone watching her. She glanced at Tova. He noticed, but was simply watching.

When Ashyn turned the corner, a boot squeaked. She glanced back. A figure stood in front of the sanctuary, his back to her. A guard’s heavy coat cloaked his figure. Then he bent, braids falling forward, and she knew who it was.

The braids didn’t give him away—many of the warrior caste wore them. Almost all warriors, though, tied theirs with bright beads. Only one used dull, black leather.

Gavril crouched, reaching for something on the ground. When he picked it up, copper glinted in the moonlight. The twice-blessed coin Moria had thrown to him. He shoved it into his pocket. Then he stood and gazed at the sanctuary.

He made a noise, like a grunt of satisfaction, and she knew he’d watched her take the curse to the statue. Had he mistaken her for Moria? Thinking she’d slunk back to discard it in private, like a coward? Ashyn was ready to stride out and disabuse him of any such notion. Then Tova brushed her hand, and she looked down at him, his pale fur glowing in the darkness.

There was no way Gavril could have mistaken her for her sister. So why did he seem pleased that the curse was discarded?

She shook off the thought. Moria always said that there was no use trying to make sense of anything the young Kitsune did.

As Gavril crept away, Ashyn took one last look at the sanctuary. She’d gotten rid of her sister’s curse. Was she too late?

She whispered her question to the spirits. They didn’t answer.

At dawn, Ashyn met with the rest of the Seeking party—the governor, the healer, four guards, and six villagers who’d volunteered. The party gathered by the first tower, a wooden structure as tall as four men, yet still not cresting the forest’s trees. The top was open to the elements, so as not to impede the vision of the warrior within as he guarded the sole break in the canyon wall.