Waykeeper (Through an Amethyst Gaze #1)

Chapter 1

Maybe it was the sudden quietness of the air, the wind’s whisper now silent.

Maybe it was the way the trees, with their mottled, cracked bark, seemed more rigid than usual, pushing their naked branches away from the earth and toward the sky.

Or perhaps it was the absence of the small creatures and insects that were the only life in these woods.

But for whatever reason, I was suddenly overcome with a sense of dread.

And that was bad. Very bad.

In today’s world of strife and suffering, I was used to dread.

Skies, dread was normal, and it had been that way ever since the Domus.

The six Territories fought, people starved and died, the Princepes took and punished but never gave, and the land was unforgiving.

For those like me who’d only ever lived in the Domus’ shadow, comfort and safety were foreign concepts.

So for my instincts to bark that something was so utterly bad meant that true, horrible danger was before me…

which was a terrible thing to realize when I’d chosen today of all days to trap animals farther—much farther—from the village than allowed.

This far out, I was closer to Second Territory’s borders and the Domus’ swirling walls than to home, which was one-third of a day’s trek away.

The one time you break the rules.

There was nowhere to hide in the woods. Supposedly, the trees and brush had once been blanketed by leaves.

Now, the twisted brown arms were mostly bare, which left prey all too visible.

Following the rules had always kept me from feeling like prey, but here I was, breaking the rules and suddenly understanding how the creatures I hunted might feel.

A stumpy boulder sat to my right, and I dashed toward it, worn leather boots light on the ground. Any side would leave me exposed in three directions and only protected in one, but that was better than standing like a fool in the open, so I crouched and hoped I’d chosen wisely.

Domus knows I had to make at least one smart decision today.

My knees resting on the cool, packed dirt, I breathed slowly and silently, opening the ears I’d trained so well. I heard nothing, but the hairs on my arms suddenly stood on end.

Run. Run. Run.

My body sent blood racing and readied my muscles, but I fought the instinct.

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and no way to strategize without understanding the threat that was still invisible to me.

I would stay, scan, and hope that the stories Merelda had told about spirits were the fables I’d always thought them to be.

But what else could it be if not for spirits?

Nothing of size or significance lived this far out.

Hardly anything lived in the woods in general, which is why I’d finally broken the rules and come so far to trap our next meal.

There were consequences—unpleasant ones—for breaking this rule, but I knew there would be no people around to catch me.

I was close to Third Territory, which bordered our Territory on this side, but our two Princepes had agreed not to invade one another.

For now, anyway. It was always possible that someone else from Second Territory had broken the rules like me, but no one could survive out here for more than a day, and my village was the only area close enough to travel here and back before sundown.

No one from my village was daring or desperate or stupid enough to break the rules and wander to this wasteland.

Except for me, apparently.

So that left spirits, which, if the stories were true, would turn me to dust any second now. Lovely.

“Damn Merelda and her stories,” I muttered to myself, gaze swiveling across my surroundings. I wasn’t a child, and I wasn’t going to believe in spirits like one.

Somewhere behind the boulder, a stick broke.

At least I’d chosen the correct side to hide on.

I soundlessly shifted, not yet raising my head to look but bringing my hand to the sharp dagger tucked against my trousers. Carving and butchering my catch, I could do. Fighting was a different story, and that was only thanks to the few lessons Merelda’s brother, Marsik, had all but forced upon me.

Another stick snapped, this one louder.

Did spirits break sticks? I’d always imagined that they floated—

As if a window had suddenly opened, the acrid, vile scent of…of rot slammed into me, crawling into my nose and throat, which spasmed.

Don’t you dare choke. Don’t make a sound.

I silently repeated those words again and again, eyes watering as I shoved my face into the opening of my cloak.

Never in all my twenty-two years had I experienced an odor like this.

The time I’d spent catching creatures in the woods had brought me upon too many carcasses to count.

Any bigger animals that had somehow survived long enough to grow usually died shortly thereafter, and their decaying bodies gave off a putrid stench that I was accustomed to.

But this? This scent was too terrible to be of this world. It smelled of an unnatural badness.

But that made no sense. I was in the woods, where everything was natural. Generally dead and depressing, but natural.

Another stick broke, then another, and another, and I held my breath long enough to lift my head from the fabric and wipe my tears. There was a thud, as if a sack of root vegetables had fallen to the floor. Then silence.

I tucked my mouth and nose back into my cloak, letting the scent of lavender soften the rotten air. One minute passed, then two, and although my body still vibrated with the urge to run, I sensed no movement from behind the rock.

Slowly, I moved to peer above the boulder. It would expose the top of my head and the straw-colored hair I’d tied back, but something in me knew it didn’t matter. No matter how big the boulder was, I couldn’t truly hide. I was far too alive in this dead land to be unnoticed.

There, by a tree twenty steps away, was a crumpled woman.

She was unmoving, eyes closed, long white hair falling over the violet cloak that swallowed her body.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen something violet.

It might have been when our Princeps, Theo, and his Lady visited our village years ago to strip us of what we had—for the cost of protection, resources, and security of the Territory, of course.

Like any Territory leader would do for their dearly beloved people.

The woman’s regal dress had been violet, and I’d been so taken aback by the stunning hue amidst all the gray that I’d nearly forgotten to bow.

If Merelda hadn’t jabbed me in the back, I would’ve been punished.

This woman’s cloak was just as stark and stunning against the dead earth beneath her.

I watched her for several heartbeats, waiting for a change, but she stayed motionless on the ground.

Leave. Don’t make it your problem.

The voice in my head was wise. The woman seemed harmless, but the odor in the air, the badness urging me to run, feeding my instinctual need to flee—this couldn’t be as it seemed.

I peeled away from the boulder, my eyes glued to the woman’s face as I began my retreat.

I needed to get home for Merelda. She was too old, too frail to care for herself, and even without fresh meat, we had enough money from my last wood delivery to purchase grains.

If I didn’t get home by nightfall, Merelda would be without dinner and heat unless Marsik came out of his nightly drunken stupor and helped.

But Merelda had also taken me in when she found me wandering the village paths, a new orphan who was all but five years old.

Guilt swept in, and I hesitated.

Kindness is the one spot of bright we can make in this world of brown and gray.

Merelda’s favorite words, the ones that drove me mad, played through my head in her hoarse voice.

Finding spots of bright was for those who wouldn’t make it in this world. But that violet cloak in front of me was a spot of bright, in the most literal way possible, and if I continued my retreat, this woman would probably die. I would be responsible.

Dammit.

My feet were moving forward before my mind could further analyze the consequences. The stench didn’t worsen as I closed the distance between us, which I supposed was a good sign. At least, I hoped it was.

Now steps from her, I realized her face was…

surprisingly young. She appeared to be the same age as me.

Her nose was pert, lips bowed, eyebrows white like her hair and delicately arched, and skin smooth.

High cheekbones were all that suggested she was older than a child.

My gaze followed her frizzy white hair to that vibrant cloak, and that was when I noticed the thick, black liquid speckled across the fabric and pooling on the ground beneath.

I lowered to a crouch and gently pushed her shoulder, nudging her to her back. My chest tightened. The black was coming from her, oozing from jagged gashes—too many of them—in her gold tunic. Breath stalled in my lungs. The black was her blood.

Black blood.

That was wrong and unnatural and everything that stench was.

This was a mistake.

I jolted back, muscles working to launch me away from whatever she was.

Delicate pale fingers snapped out and gripped my arms with unnatural strength.

I closed my eyes, straining against the hold with every ounce of strength I had, but those hands were iron manacles.

I should have listened to my instincts, should have run, because now Merelda wouldn’t get dinner because I was going to die, but she would be waiting and wondering where—

“Look at me, girl.” The voice that pierced the torrent of panic was not one that belonged to that young face. It was ancient, a deep power vibrating through the air and halting my efforts before I even knew I’d stopped.