Chapter Eight #2
In the farthest reach of the small cave lay the Messenger, exhausted and bloody.
She was in the driest part of the cave, not that it mattered with all the wet clothes, not that it would matter even if they did get dry.
It was warmth they needed, and at that, Shadach was failing miserably.
They were going to have escaped Aristen only to die of chill.
The girl stirred and Shadach’s heart skipped.
She groaned and then fell back to sleep.
She was peaceful. Lovely. And Shadach felt rage that he hadn’t protected her better.
That he couldn’t protect her better now.
The pull he felt towards her was undeniable.
Inexplicable. He had been able to deny it, or at least stamp it down, so long as he was not physically around her.
But here, now, it was as if a string were running from his heart to hers.
Unbreakable.
Making another miserable attempt at a fire, Shadach reminded himself again, again, again of how she had lied.
Of the danger in that. Everything else before, everything else after, it changed nothing.
Yes, the girl was in danger because of him.
Yes, they were stuck together for the moment.
Yes, he couldn’t even begin to explain the way he felt.
But she was still her, he was still him, and the world was still the world.
He had to remain careful. Vigilant. The closer she got to him, the closer she got to his secrets.
If she discovered those, there would be nothing but darkness.
A taste like metallic earth clawed at Shadach’s throat, just like it had twenty-two years ago, the memory coming back unbidden, unwanted. Unstoppable.
Eight years old.
He and Aristen playing practical jokes on the tourists of Everglade City.
A well-placed rat here, a feigning of a mortal injury there.
At the time, Aristen’s military father was stationed in Everglade, and Shadach was learning the tricks of the Halcin black market with his own father in the city’s Halcin enclave.
Shadach’s mother and younger siblings were in the Kingdom’s Western Lands, the Halcin homeland.
It was warm that day. Warmer than it had any right to be.
Shadach remembered the way his shirt stuck to his spine with sweat, the sweet smell of plum pies being sold two paces away, the sound of Aristen’s laugh as he wondered if they could convince the Kingdom of Tears’ tourists that the mythical, blood sucking Vandine was real in the Kingdom of Shadows.
On this innocuous day, Shadach’s father told him he had a job opportunity.
A way to make a large sack of coins stealing several cases of the illegal, hallucinogenic aginda plant.
Shadach’s father normally worked alone. Not that he disliked other people, but he made no secret of seeing Shadows being created.
His power made people uncomfortable. Even other Halcin didn’t particularly like someone knowing if they had lied.
But on this job, the coin and the man power needed was great enough that a team of Halcin and Selat thieves put their discomfort aside to bring Shadach’s father onto the job.
One of the Halcin was Shadach’s father’s cousin and vouched for the crew. What could go wrong?
Two days later, Shadach’s father was found dead.
It took a while to put the pieces together, but eventually the truth had come out: the original owner of the crates of aginda, a local Selat Lord, had not been pleased to find his stash missing, and the team had offered Shadach’s father as the fall man.
As the sacrificial lamb. It was only years later that Shadach learned why his father had been the scapegoat.
On the job, he had seen a Shadow created that he shouldn’t have.
A discrepancy in how much the crates were going to sell for versus how much all but two men were promised.
If not for trusting those men, Shadach’s father would still be alive.
If not for everyone knowing about his power, he wouldn’t have been the sacrifice.
If not for the lie, Shadach’s father would have been there to watch him grow up.
Thinking about all the parts of Shadach’s life that his father had missed still made Shadach’s heart ache.
His first solo heist, his preyna ritual welcoming him into manhood, the success he had made of the Knitting Widow.
The lives of his whole family had been cut short when his father had died. And for what? A bit of extra coin.
Shadach could not let his life end the same way. He had to be vigilant. He had to guard his power. He had to watch for every lie, every deception. But above all, he could not trust.
Never trust.
The Messenger groaned, snapping Shadach back to the present. He dropped the damp sticks in his hands as she opened her eyes in the darkness, the whites of her eyes barely visible, the outline of her red hair noticeable even in blackness.
Shadach could feel her looking at him, and he remembered those rich emerald eyes raking him over like he was a dream made flesh.
“Where am I?” Her teeth chattered for an instant. He heard her grinding her teeth to make them stop.
His instincts told him to pull her close, to warm her, but as soaking as he was, he doubted that would do much good.
“A cave,” he said instead. “I’m not entirely sure where.”
“We’re lost?” Her voice shook along with the rest of her.
“Only until daylight. I should be able to tell where we are once I can see more than half a pace in front of me.”
He couldn’t be sure, but based on the faint sound of her movements, it seemed like she’d nodded.
“Where’s the General?” she said.
Shadach told her what had happened with Aristen. She listened in perfect quiet.
“I never did get your name,” he said when the tale had finished.
“Aoife,” she said.
What a strange name. Where had she said she was from? Some place called “North Atlantic.”
“My name’s Shadach,” he said. “I don’t suppose you know how to light a fire?”
“Without a lighter?” Aoife shuffled in the dark, seeming to adjust her sitting position.
Shadach hesitated. What was a lighter? “Do you mean flint and cloth?”
A moment of silence, and then, “Flint and cloth, yes. We just call it a ‘lighter’ where I’m from.”
“Preferably without a lighter then … since we don’t have one.” The lightness in his voice contradicted the gloom of their surroundings. He remembered her smile and couldn’t help wanting to see it again. Or hear it in the dark. Even if this was the last place they should have been smiling.
“Afraid not,” she said. “I was kicked out of Girl Guides for being useless at survival.” There was a thin laugh in her voice and Shadach felt the chill in him ease just a sliver.
“Girl Guides?” he said.
“It’s a … not important.”
The wind hissed past the cave entrance, a lightning strike blasting light into the cave for half a breath, revealing Aoife’s rain-soaked clothes, her knotted hair, her emerald eyes. Shadach’s breath hitched, his earlier resolve to keep people at arm’s length threatening to turn to dust.
Those eyes were what had done him in when they’d met.
The fierce passion. The unashamed desire.
The soul of an artist. A dreamer. Art was as central to the history of Halcin culture as their food or their language.
Shadach’s tattoos were a permanent reminder of that.
When he had seen such passion in Aoife, it had felt like home.
He felt that same pull, that same insatiable need rising in him again.
The need to intertwine two like-hearted souls.
You don’t know her, Shadach chided himself. Or rather, you do. You know people. But his lips spoke before his thoughts could catch up, and he said, “If we can’t light a fire, there is one other option.”
Aoife said nothing. Waiting.
Shadach couldn’t believe he was about to say this. His body was screaming for him to say the words, and if only for that, he would have fought his instincts … but in this particular situation his instincts were right.
“Body heat is a good way to keep warm,” he said.
Silence hung in the air as Shadach’s heart punched against his ribcage.
“Are you suggesting a Strip-and-Snuggle?” Aoife gave a nervous laugh.
“I prefer to call it ‘staying alive’.”
“Haven’t we both lived a full life?”
He laughed, his own nerves tumbling out with his breath. “No, I don’t think I have just yet.”
She shifted in the darkness, sounding as if she were coming closer. Almost. At the last second, she moved further away, her legs scraping loose gravel.
“Why did you come for me?” Her voice sounded distant, even though she was only a few paces away. “You were so angry with me. You called me a mistake.”
“I shouldn’t …” Shadach swallowed, downing his pride. “I shouldn’t have snapped like I did … but you lied to me.”
“You keep saying that, but I did not lie.” Her voice pitched high. Shadach couldn’t see in the darkness, but he could hear the shriek of a blatant lie being made.
“You did.” Shadach ground his teeth. “Of course you did.”
“When? When exactly did I lie to you?”
“When I asked you if something was the matter. You lied.”
“Maybe it was none of your business.”
“We were worshipping together, of course it was my business.”
Silence. Shadach couldn’t even hear Aoife breathing.
Finally, with renewed venom and chattering teeth, she said, “You never lie? You never hide anything? You never have secrets?”
Shadach flinched. Of course he had secrets. He had a rather fantastic one, in fact. One he’d kept from everyone, even Aristen.
“I don’t lie about worship,” he said.
“So, if I’d wanted to keep something to myself in some other situation, you would have been fine with that?”
No. “Maybe.”
“Liar.”
Shadach took a breath, steadying his shivering body as he heard the shrill cry of a blatant lie leeching off his own body.
“If you hadn’t wanted to explain yourself,” he said, “you should have said so.”
“Fine.” Her voice was as sharp as a knife’s edge. “Next time I’ll do that.”
“I’m afraid there won’t be a next time if we don’t get warm soon.”
She laughed through chattering teeth, the sound harsher and more violent than before. “You really want that Strip-and-Snuggle, don’t you?”
He ran a hand through his sopping wet hair. “I can certainly think of worse ways to survive.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Shadach hesitated.
“I asked you why you came for me.”
“You’re the Messenger,” he said.
“Why does that matter?” He heard her rubbing her arms, trying to get warmth back into her body.
“Is that a real question?” Wasn’t it obvious?
“Of course it is.”
“The God chose you. He chose you to choose me, and I highly doubt he will forgive me if I get you killed.”
Her legs shivered against the ground, knocking against pebbles and rubble. “I want to go home,” she mumbled.
“Aristen will find you there in two seconds.”
“No, I … nevermind.”
Shadach listened to her breathe as she trembled from the cold. The wind spiralled into the cave, bringing promises of an icy death with it.
“There’s really no way to light a fire?” She coughed, as if trying to expel the blistering cold in her lungs.
“Not unless you can think of one.” He hoped she couldn’t. His survival instincts might have been craving simple warmth, but the rest of him was craving something more. Despite all logic telling him he should not.
Aoife sighed, but there was the faintest of smiles in it. “Strip-and-Snuggle it is then.”