The Dog in the Dark Page 5

  There had to be a reason the shadow-gripper had brought her. Leanâlhâm did not belong in the middle of all that was happening. It was going to be a long journey ahead, and Chap’s patience was worn thin.

  Leanâlhâm panted a few times at the scare Chap had given her, but she quickly recovered. She knew he often spoke in this fashion to Leesil and Magiere. This was simply the first time he had tried it with her, considering it had taken a while to catch enough of her memories to do so.

  “I do not like these clothes,” she whispered pathetically. “I want my skirt.”

  —No—

  “These . . . pants . . . are not comfortable,” she began, and then pleaded, “Please, majay-hì!”

  —You will—call—me—Chap—

  He was also fed up with being treated like some sacred being. It had its uses, but it got in the way. He had little in common with the majay-hì that her people nearly worshipped, and Leanâlhâm was worse than most in that. He wanted nothing to do with any association to his true kin, the Fay, from which the majay-hì descended along with other Fay-born creatures in ancient times. Leanâlhâm needed to abandon some of her people’s awe for the majay-hì, as he had more important things with which to deal.

  Gazing up and down the waterfront, Chap searched for Magiere, or more likely Brot’an, who would stand out—up—above everyone else. There was no sign of them.

  Leanâlhâm stepped closer. “Magiere and Brot’ân’duivé will come soon.”

  Chap huffed and kept peering every which way. It did not help that he was so much shorter than the flow of passersby.

  The decision of who would remain at the inn and who would come to meet Magiere had been made quickly. One of them needed to stay behind to watch over their gear. They could not risk theft in leaving it unattended. The obvious guardian was Leesil, but Chap had run into trouble before while moving about alone in populated areas.

  In the end, Leanâlhâm had suggested she go with him, considering that Magiere had already framed him as some sort of “pet.” Leesil had agreed reluctantly. So now Chap stood waiting on the waterfront with a quarter-blood girl who was completely out of place and ignorant of all that weighed in the balance.

  Two passing young sailors glanced at the girl—then stared a little longer. At least this time she wasn’t pulling at her pants. But she ducked behind him, away from the men, and Chap raised his jowls, exposing teeth with a low rumble. Both men hurried on.

  “Strong majay-hì,” Leanâlhâm whispered.

  —Chap— . . . —Use—my—name—

  Instead she suddenly rose on tiptoes, craning her head. “Look!”

  Chap lifted his head as high as possible, trying to see through the crowds.

  Magiere’s dark hair, pale skin, and hauberk stood out in a break among the merchants, sailors, and dockworkers. Then Brot’an appeared behind her, and Chap rumbled again, his hackles rising instinctively.

  There had to be a way to leave behind the old assassin, who never did anything unless it served his own agenda. As Chap’s gaze returned to Magiere, he fervently wished she could see this.

  He felt an unexpected, unwanted stab of regret for all that she’d been through in the past year—all that she’d put herself through. She’d changed so much, and he sometimes saw a hardened withdrawal in her face that had not always been there.

  An unbidden flash of memory hit Chap.

  On the sea voyage from the eastern continent to this one, the world had seemed so different. The trip was not unpleasant, except for Leesil’s persistent seasickness during the first third of the crossing. Chap, Magiere, Leesil, and Wynn had remained together, eventually arriving on the central continent’s eastern shore. They’d then headed west overland with a merchant caravan making the long haul across the entire continent to the Numan Lands and the nation of Malourné, Wynn’s homeland.

  Magiere, Leesil, and Wynn thought they were taking the first orb—of Water—to the Guild of Sagecraft’s founding branch in Calm Seatt. With that, they would be finished with their burden. Leesil had honestly believed that he could then take Magiere home to their Sea Lion tavern in the little coastal town of Miiska.

  That haven was so much farther off than half a world away.

  Chap had known better—and had suspected Magiere did as well. In the end he’d had to make Leesil, and Magiere, face the truth. They could never leave the orb with the sages, who could not protect it and keep it hidden. The three of them had to hide it somewhere no one would find it.

  When they were within sight of Calm Seatt in the distance, they sent a heartbroken Wynn on alone. At the time, they believed she would be safer there, and the three of them had headed north to hide the orb.

  Since it had originally been uncovered in a high, cold place, they reasoned that it should be hidden in a similar remote and frozen location. Leesil had groaned for days at the prospect of another slog through an icy land, and he griped endlessly about having to ride a horse, as he hated that mode of travel almost as much as sailing by sea.

  They had not even known much about where to go until well into the journey. Only then had they learned from locals about the land of the far north simply called the Wastes. To reach that region, they first had a long journey ahead.

  They made for the more northern territories, northwest of Malourné, bypassing the peninsula they would later learn was the realm of dwarves. They avoided sea travel a little longer for Leesil’s sake. Later they turned westward for the coast to find sea passage as the faster way to get closer to the icy wastelands at the top of the central continent.

  Remembering that deceptively peaceful beginning, Chap wanted to close his eyes. If only he’d known then what had waited at the end of that journey.

  “Magiere,” Leanâlhâm called, raising a slender hand. “Here.”

  Even before Magiere and Brot’an reached them, Chap sensed tension between the two. Both appeared stiff, and neither looked at the other. Something had happened, and Chap eyed Brot’an.

  Catching memories in the shadow-gripper had proven to be nearly impossible. Chap disliked being in the dark, especially concerning the master assassin. With little other choice, he focused on Magiere.

  —Did—you—find—a ship—?

  She winced at the memory-words in her mind and shook her head as if to clear it.

  “Yes, we found one,” she answered, though she did not sound happy or relieved.

  “What is wrong?” Leanâlhâm asked.

  Magiere finally noticed the girl and looked Leanâlhâm up and down. At the sight of the pants, she grunted with a nod.

  “Better,” she said, and Leanâlhâm took on a pouting scowl.

  “Only one southbound ship was willing to take passengers,” Brot’an cut in. “It is a large . . . very large cargo vessel, and by the way it sits in the water, it is heavily loaded. It will be slow and lumbering, likely making many stops along the way.”

  “It’s the best we could do,” Magiere added. “Luckily it’s going all the way to our destination on the Suman coast, so we won’t waste coin seeking additional passage along the way.”

  “When . . . do we leave?” Leanâlhâm asked hesitantly.

  “First light tomorrow,” Brot’an answered.

  At that, Leanâlhâm looked about the busy port, as if anxiously searching for something . . . or someone. Magiere frowned but said nothing. Perhaps there was nothing more she could say to the girl concerning Osha.

  Magiere looked down at Chap. “Did you find us a room?”

  —Yes— . . . —Leesil—is waiting—

  “Only one room,” Leanâlhâm said, “to save money. Leesil is guarding our belongings. Come, we will show you.”

  As the girl turned toward a steep inland road, she stalled at the sight of people disembarking from a newly arrived ship. Chap stepped ahead, tugging her into motion with the rope leash.

  He glanced back as he walked and tried to dip into her rising memories, something he could do only when he had a direct sight line to a person. Chap caught an image rising in Leanâlhâm’s mind of another dock at another port, one that he recognized.

  Ghoivne Ajhâjhe—Edge of the Deep—was the only port, the only true city, in all of the Elven Territories on the far side of the eastern continent. Inside the memory Chap saw—Leanâlhâm saw—a tall, tan-skinned figure striding toward her down a dock at night. Loose white-blond hair hung past his shoulders.

  Osha wasn’t wearing the forest gray garb of an anmaglâhk. Over his shoulder was the long and narrow canvas-wrapped bundle, tied to his back by a hemp cord, just as Chap had seen a few days before in Calm Seatt. On that dock, far away in the world, in time, in that memory, Osha stopped before he even reached the shore.

  He stared in shock at the sight of Chap . . . or rather Leanâlhâm.

  Chap felt himself—felt her—rush out toward Osha.

  The memory vanished, sucked into darkness as if Leanâlhâm had forcefully willed it away.

  Chap still experienced the strange relief that had hit her in that moment, whenever it had occurred. And now Leanâlhâm still hoped—looked—for Osha. Chap noticed Brot’an gazing back toward the ships in port as well and eyeing the newly arrived one that Leanâlhâm had watched so eagerly.

  Chap stumbled as one of his paws’ claws caught in a cracked cobblestone. He righted himself, paying more attention, as they climbed the steep road up another city block.

  Whatever Brot’an was looking for, it was not a glimpse of Osha.

  * * *

  Midmorning the next day, the girl whom everyone called Leanâlhâm stood on the deck of a large human merchant vessel and leaned out over the portside rail. She looked as far as she could up and down the closest pier and out across the tangle of all the vessels up and down the shoreline. She could see so few of them clearly.

  “Leanâlhâm!”

  She heard Léshil’s call from the doorway below the aftcastle but pretended that she did not. It was impolite and against her nature, but she could not help it as she searched as far as she could see. All her current companions seemed relieved over a peaceful night spent in the small inn, followed by an uneventful boarding. The ship would set sail shortly, and everyone was relieved but her . . . and perhaps Léshil, but for a different reason.

  She leaned out even farther, certain that if they could delay a little longer, Osha would come running down the ramp of some newly arrived ship. She could call out to him, and he would see her, and the captain of this vessel would have to lower the boarding ramp for him.

  “Come on,” Leesil called. “We need to get below and settle.”

  Unlike the others, she did not believe that Osha had intentionally remained behind in Calm Seatt. He would not do that, not to her. He was the only one who understood how she felt, cast adrift in this foreign world.

  She knew that Brot’ân’duivé believed her sadness was a longing for the home she had left behind. Perceptive as the greimasg’äh might be, he was wrong in this.

  Yes, she missed her lost life in that one central enclave. She still mourned her grandfather and uncle—the wise and kind elder Gleannéohkân’thva, and the most honorable Sgäilsheilleache, once hero of their people. Because of her mixed blood, even her own clan had looked at her with polite embarrassment, but those two had loved her and made her a place among the people. She had sometimes suspected the only reason Sgäilsheilleache chose to live with them in between his duties was to show his acceptance of her—and he was adamant about this.

  Sgäilsheilleache was—had been—anmaglâhk and admired for his adherence to the people’s ways, even above his oath to his caste. His given word was unquestioned, and because of him, if any among the enclave thought she did not belong, they kept silent.

  But both her grandfather and uncle had passed on to the ancestors. Only Osha remained, the last one who fully accepted her as she was, even if she did not know who she was anymore.

  Brot’ân’duivé was never unkind and always looked out for her welfare. But he was like one of the humans’ creations she had come to know—like a portcullis, all cold gears, chains, pulleys, and turning mechanisms.

  Osha gave open warmth, even in the secrecy of whatever shame and grief he now bore. He would not abandon her, and as long as he was with her, it did not matter that she no longer had a place to call home. For in spite of her grandfather’s and uncle’s love, in more recent years up to the last season before she had fled her people’s land, she had been more and more reminded that she did not belong.

  When had she first realized this? Years ago, in her homeland, she had been alone while cutting fruit by the communal ovens.

  That warm dawn had promised a bright day. She perspired lightly, though night’s shadows had not fully faded among the trees, and wiped her forehead with the back of her small hand. She was happy for one moment, alone without the occasional stares of others. She hummed a tune her grandfather had taught her as a child and—

  A disturbing sensation made her skin seem to tighten, and she cringed as if being watched. She tried not to turn, not to acknowledge the watcher. She waited until whomever went about his or her business. Soon enough the whole enclave would awaken, and with much to do, no one would give her much notice.

  The sensation only grew more intense.

  Leanâlhâm glanced sidelong about the lawn and between the tree homes. There was no one within sight, but the sensation did not pass. It seemed to pull her attention to the trees beyond the enclave. Two sparks appeared in the forest’s shadows, and she cringed in retreat, knowing what they were.

  The eyes of a majay-hì watched her.

  It was barely visible, for its dark coat blended deeply in the shadows of the leaves around it. Its head took shape as she stared into its sparkling crystal-blue eyes.

  That color made them appear so cold.

  It made no sound and did not move even once. It only kept watching her without blinking.

  But she decided that she could not—would not—retreat. She did her best to go back to preparing the food. Not long after, the sensation faded, but when it did, she was shaking too much to hold the chopping blade steady and had to set it down.

  In the year that followed, this happened again and again, though rarely the same majay-hì twice. She would feel eyes upon her, find no one present, and turn to look beyond the enclave’s bounds.

  Sparkling blue eyes always waited in the brush . . . staring at her.

  Along with other sacred beings like the clhuassas—the “listeners”—akin to both a deer and an elk but larger, the majay-hì were the guardians of her people’s land, an ancient “people” themselves. Her uncle and grandfather’s influence would not convince them. And that was how she realized why they came.

  The majay-hì defended the land, the people . . . and she did not truly belong among them.

  She was of mixed blood.

  Those eyes, that judgment, had been the beginning of something far worse to come.

  Léshil’s footsteps sounded on the deck behind Leanâlhâm, and still she did not acknowledge him. At least here, in this strange world of rough humans, she was an oddity for being an an’Cróan rather than a mixed-blood. Or, even better, they mistook her for one of those other “elves” they called the Lhoin’na. Few here would have ever even heard of the an’Cróan.

  And she no longer suffered judgment in the eyes of the majay-hì.

  Leaning farther out over the rail, she was desperate for a glimpse of Osha—she knew he would arrive any moment. Then she felt it again, that crawling sensation on her skin.

  Here in this faraway place, where being watched by the majay-hì could not happen, her panic came again. She spun about, still gripping the railing fiercely.

  Léshil nearly jumped back, eyes widening. “What? What’s wrong?”

  She peered around him to look for nonexistent trees and brush and the bright eyes that would be watching her. In the dark shadows of the stairwell below the aftcastle, she found them.

  The majay-hì whom the others called Chap stood below the deck’s edge watching her with unblinking crystalline blue eyes.

  Léshil followed her gaze, and his handsome face wrinkled in a scowl.

  “What are you doing?” he snapped at the majay-hì. “Get out of her head and stop bothering her!”

  Leanâlhâm’s fear broke a little at Léshil’s offensive tone toward a sacred being.

  Léshil stiffened, one eye twitching as his head flinched, but he still glowered at the majay-hì.

  “All right, fine, you’re not doing anything,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “But I didn’t come after her to have to chase you down as well. Get your mangy butt below!”

  Leanâlhâm’s fright wavered under his outrage, but she held her tongue. Léshil was still not well after the last short voyage to this crowded island. His irritation faded to concern as he looked at her.

  “Come on,” he said quietly.

  And it became painfully clear to her that Osha would not come. Perhaps Léshil understood that realization.

  There was a time, when she had first met him in her people’s land, that she had looked at him with longing—another in the world who, like her, came from two peoples. It had been heart wrenching to learn that Magiere, the pale warrior woman, was the only one he would ever want.

  She forgave Léshil’s disrespectful ways with the majay-hì—this time—as he led her toward the stairs. For this journey would be so much longer and harder on him . . . and on her.

  She was alone, and her last sense of home was taken from her without Osha.

  —No—

  Leanâlhâm’s whole body stiffened, and she scrunched in against Léshil as they reached the stairs. She tried not to look into the majay-hì’s eyes but could not turn away. She still did not fully accept the way he spoke to her with words coming in so many different voices and even languages that she knew. But the way he looked at her was too much like the judgment of his kind.