Dog in the Dark

Chapter Three

A noise, followed by a mix of voices beyond Magiere at the cutway’s back end, interrupted Brot’ân’duivé. He spotted four dockworkers come out of the rear alley and stride up the narrow path. Each carried stacked crates, their contents rattling loudly. The lead man could barely peek over his burden’s top.

The rhythm of Brot’ân’duivé’s story was broken, so he stepped out onto the waterfront. Magiere followed, impatience plain on her pale face, and all four dockworkers ignored them both as they exited and hurried north along the waterfront.

“And then?” Magiere demanded. “What was happening with Osha?”

At Brot’ân’duivé’s silence, she stepped around in front of him.

“We didn’t even try to keep Osha from heading off on his own to that ship,” she said. “Did he walk into some trap?”

Brot’ân’duivé studied Magiere closely and wondered about the motivation for her concern. She had seen Osha three days earlier and knew he had survived any past complications.

“Get on with it,” she pressed. “What happened next?”

He debated how much to let her or the others know. Certainly she would share all with Léshil and, so much the worse, with Chap. But Brot’ân’duivé had made a bargain with her, one tale for the other’s, and he would not be shorted in the exchange.

He had been careful about what he had told her and had shared nothing of the séyilf, the message stone with Osha’s name, or his own true concerns after he had left Gleannéohkân’thva’s home.

At some point after completing basic training, Osha had been taken before the Chein’âs by a caste elder to receive his tools—stilettos, garrote, bone knife, and a white metal handle for a collapsible bow: the weapons of an anmaglâhk. The caste elders decided upon initial acceptance and approval for completion of training. Brot’ân’duivé was well aware that Osha had been granted approval by the barest margin.

Before any initiate was allowed to join a mission beyond their people’s lands, he or she had to acquire a full-fledged caste member as a jeóin—“assentor”—to act as mentor for final training. Osha had achieved—but not completed—that as well.

It was unheard-of for an anmaglâhk, other than an elder or a greimasg’äh, to ever be called back by the Chein’âs. And Brot’ân’duivé had heard of such a summoning only twice.

As he had trotted through trees after leaving the enclave, he had not stopped pondering this occurrence coming the same day as the news that Osha returned alone and possibly under watch. Osha was quite probably the least capable of any who had been approved for service among the Anmaglâhk. The strange second summons from the Chein’âs had left Brot’ân’duivé deeply disturbed.

“Well?” Magiere said.

He was tired of her demands, tired of speaking of the events and portents that had set him on this path to collide with hers.

“We are wasting time,” he said. “We must find a ship.”

He stalked off southward along the waterfront, not bothering to see whether Magiere followed.

Magiere’s lips were parted in another demand she never got out. She bolted after Brot’an, dodging around to block his way one more time.

“You’re not getting out of this,” she warned. “What else? Spit it out!”

By the time Osha had set off to catch a ship home, he was returning alone ... because Sgäile was dead. She’d had no idea that Osha might have been in danger from his own kind, and Brot’an was going to tell her exactly what happened.

“What did they do to him,” she demanded, “lock him up because he and Sgäile helped us ... protected us?”

Brot’an lowered his face closer to hers. His slanted amber eyes narrowed, making the scars on his face ripple.

“I recall an implied agreement, one story for another.” He paused. “I have no intention of giving away all that I have to be left wanting of anything in return.”

Magiere hesitated. This had been the hinted bargain: his story for hers. He stood motionless in waiting and didn’t even blink.

“What happened to you up in the Wastes?” he asked. “How did you find the second orb that you hid with the first? Or do you agree here and now that we should look for a ship instead?”

Magiere stared up into his eyes and wondered whether her irises turned dark, expanding amid rising fury and frustration ... and fear.

Late that afternoon, Chap stood beside Leanâlhâm at the base of the pier, the appointed place, waiting for Magiere and Brot’an.

“Not long now,” Leanâlhâm said to him, and he hoped she was right.

She was obviously uncomfortable in an open port among so many humans. She still held the end of that insulting rope looped around his neck.

A moment later Leanâlhâm let out a sharp, aggravated sigh. She reached back to grab the seat of her pants and pulled at her own backside—again. This was something she’d been doing now and again ever since Leesil had forced the girl to change clothes. As a result she was attracting more stares than some oversized wolf on a leash.

The two sights together drew more looks than Chap could count.

Magiere had left Leesil with enough money for a room. As soon as that was settled, he’d slipped out, leaving Chap with Leanâlhâm at the inn. Chap did not want to know where or how Leesil had gotten those pants, obviously cut for a human boy.

Leanâlhâm’s face scrunched in frustration as she pulled on the thick canvas fabric.

—Stop—that—

She did—and lurched away from him to the length of the rope.

Leanâlhâm stood shaking in fright, her wide green eyes locked on him. Not because of his command but rather because she had heard it at all. She had best get used to the fact that he could use memory-words, plucked from any errant memories he had caught rising in her mind, to speak to her.

Chap had caught only scant fragments in trying to dip into the girl’s memories. She was not particularly skilled or disciplined in hiding such—unlike Brot’an. In the moment, her mind was empty of any recollections. At other times it was difficult to catch anything rising into her thoughts—except scant past moments with Osha on their own journey to the Numan Lands.

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.

—No— ... —Never—from me—

“Chap,” Léshil growled. “I’m warning you. Leave her alone!”

The majay-hì ignored him.

—We—are—all—at least—two—things and—yet not—

He paused.

—Even me—

It was true that he could do—had done—things that no other majay-hì could ... that she knew of. Though she had touched him, this very act was still something wondrous she thought would never be allowed with his kind.

She saw only a sacred majay-hì.

Hanging his head for an instant, Chap rolled his eyes and closed them. When he turned to go down the stairs, he let out the most unusual sound. It was as if he sighed, and the sound turned into something like an exasperated groan.

Leanâlhâm blinked in confusion as Léshil urged her onward. She could have never imagined such a sound coming from a majay-hì, though she wanted to make one herself.

Feeling a good deal more compassion than she could express, Magiere lightly touched Leanâlhâm’s back as the girl passed her in the passage below deck.

“We’ve only got two cabins,” Magiere said, following her. “Brot’an’s already in the one you two will share ... by his arrangement.”

She urged Leanâlhâm a short way down the passage. One door on the left was open, but the next one farther down was closed. When Leanâlhâm paused at the open door, Leesil pushed past her into the room and dropped onto a bunk, looking utterly dejected.

“May as well get used to the sight of this room,” he grumbled. “It’s where I’ll be spending most of the trip.”

While Magiere pitied his seasickness, she had other things on her mind. Though it shamed her, she wondered whether they couldn’t use Leanâlhâm’s sorrow over Osha’s absence to gain a little information.

“Why don’t you help me unpack?” Magiere said as Chap slipped into the cabin.

Magiere’s thoughts were still a scramble from everything Brot’an had told her the day before. From the possibility that Osha’s people had seized him to the hint that Wynn might have given him an unknown journal before he’d left her in Bela, the information raised more questions than it answered.

It would be just like Wynn to have done something so foolish. And what had she written down?

Magiere hadn’t gotten another word out of Brot’an after that. As she hadn’t been ready to give him anything in return, they had simply gone in search of this ship to take them south. But perhaps she might have more luck with Leanâlhâm, now that she knew a few questions to ask.

“Yes, I will help,” Leanâlhâm said quietly, and started to step into the cabin.

“No.”

Magiere looked down the passage to find Brot’an standing in the now-open doorway of the next cabin. He held out his hand and motioned toward Leanâlhâm.

“We will get our own quarters settled,” he added.

Without protest, Leanâlhâm turned away to join him, and a flash of anger in Magiere rose to an unreasoned level.

Leesil appeared instantly at her side in the doorway. When she looked at him, he shook his head in warning. Both Brot’an and Leanâlhâm disappeared inside their cabin, and the door closed.

“I wanted to talk to her,” Magiere said, turning her ire on Leesil.

“Not now,” he answered, and pulled her inside.

Their cabin was small but adequate, with two bunks and a porthole, and Chap sat in the middle of the floor watching Magiere intently. Leesil quickly closed the door and turned to Chap.

“Have you gotten anything yet ... from him?” Leesil whispered.

His voice was so soft, and Magiere became aware of the thin wall separating their quarters from Brot’an’s.

Chap huffed twice for no.

Magiere wasn’t surprised. For some reason Chap’s ability to pick up surfacing memories didn’t seem to get anywhere with Brot’an.

Leesil cursed under his breath. “You’ve got to get into his head!”

Chap growled, wrinkling his jowls.

“Don’t expect to,” Magiere put in. “It’s not likely with a shadow-gripper. If he can come and go within and vanish into shadow, I wouldn’t expect him to slip up ... not while he knows you’re present.”

Chap blinked up at her, and words rose in her mind.

—We need—answers—

At that, Magiere crouched before Chap and looked over as Leesil settled again on a bunk.

“I got something out of him yesterday,” she said. “Not much ... but something.”

Chap’s ears pricked as Leesil scooted to the bunk’s edge.

“What did he tell you?” Leesil asked too loudly.

Magiere placed a finger over her lips.

She wouldn’t mention the unspoken bargain she’d made with Brot’an, or that sooner rather than later he expected payment in kind from her. Magiere settled on the floor beside Chap and pulled Leesil down there as well, and she began to speak ever so quietly.