Shadowmark (The Shadowmark Trilogy Book 1) (13 page)

Mina started and fell back to the ground.
 

“Who’s there?” she mumbled through her swollen jaw.

“Hold still.”
 

Mina was not going back without a fight. She squirmed to get away from him, ready to kick again and pound with her tied fists.

“Stop fighting!” The man grabbed hold of her arms from behind.
 

“Let me go!”
 

“Just hold still!” He let go of one arm, and metal slid through leather—the sound of a knife being unsheathed. Mina used the opportunity to lash out with her elbow, but she hit nothing but air. A small fire lit the trail. Reed must have started it, because more voices shouted at him to put it out, and the small man looked like he was ready to fight again.
 

Mina glanced around and recognized Doyle in the dim light.
 

“Listen!” he whispered as he grabbed her arm again. “I’m going to cut you free, alright?”

Mina’s voice rose shrilly with the pain. “I’m not going back there!”

“Either shut up and let me untie you, or I’ll leave you here. Those are your options. Reed won’t have any trouble finding you once he’s sober, and he’s not any nicer when he’s sober.”
 

Something about Doyle’s voice bugged Mina, but she could not think what. The sounds of the scuffle died down. Someone put out the fire. Maybe Reed passed out, or someone knocked him out. Either way, his drunken slurs had faded, and the camp was quiet.
 

Doyle took her silence for assent and let go of her arms. In two swift movements, he cut through the twine on her hands and ankles without cutting her. Mina sat for a minute as the blood tingled back into her toes.

Doyle grabbed her armpits and hauled her to her feet. “We’ll need to hurry. It’s not safe here.”

“We?”

“Do you know where you’re going?”

Mina shook her head slightly and then remembered the darkness around them. He seemed to be able to see her anyway.

“I thought not.” Doyle took her elbow, but she jerked away. “Don’t be stupid. You can’t see where you’re going.”
 

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the trees. They moved through the thicket for some time, avoiding the open fields on their right. Mina could barely see his backpack in front of her and absolutely nothing on the ground. With every step she stumbled in the tangle of twigs and vines. She would have protested, but the pain in her jaw kept her quiet. After a while, she grew dizzy, the grueling pace more than she could handle. If she fell, would Doyle simply keep walking, dragging her along behind him like a sack of potatoes?

“Stop,” Mina muttered before she leaned over and retched. Doyle quickly released her hand. Bile coated her mouth, and she retched again. Nothing came up. Doyle walked off, out of sight. Before Mina could wonder if he had abandoned her, he was back, moving quickly again.

“We need to go,” he said. And Mina realized what was different about his voice. His Southern accent had disappeared. In fact, he talked with the plain Midwestern frankness she spoke with herself. She tried to make sense of the change, but her head still throbbed, and her stomach churned again. Instead of walking, she lay down on the ground and closed her eyes. Doyle crouched near her.

“. . . walk?” he was saying something.

“Wha—?” was all she could manage.

“Can you walk anymore?” He was watching her, but she could not see his face in the dark.

“Stay here?” Each word sent new waves of pain through her jaw.

“Not if you want to live.”

She closed her eyes, beyond caring.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Why.”

“I’m Clay Doyle. What’s your name?”
 

Mina didn’t respond.
 

“Listen, we can sit here until the Glyphs butcher us, or you can get up and make a run for it while we still have a chance to get away.”

“Why do you care?”

“What’s your name?” he insisted.

She opened her eyes and looked in the direction of his face. He waited for a response.

“Mina Surrey.”

“Okay, Mina, we have to go. Now.”

“Okay.” She tried to sit up, and he helped her slowly to her feet. Her whole body ached, but the dizziness and nausea had passed.
 

This time, instead of leading her through more windbreaks, Doyle set off across an open field, away from the trail. The clouds cleared somewhat, and as the moon came out to light their way, he let go of her hand. Mina followed, careful not to fall in the plowed field.
 

As they walked, Doyle avoided the large puddles of rain. Each time they passed one, Mina’s dry mouth screamed for attention. She had not had anything to drink since early afternoon. As they crossed another field, Mina limped over to a puddle as Doyle walked ahead.

He ran back to catch up. “No!” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“I’m thirsty. It’s just rain water.”

“The fields have been poisoned. Haven’t you noticed all the dead crops?”

“Poisoned? This field’s not planted.”

“They poisoned the empty ones, too. You can’t drink this water, or any for miles around.”

“But I have been drinking it.”

“Did you filter it?” Doyle asked sharply. He was close enough now for her to see his pale, angular face in the moonlight.
 

“I didn’t know how.”
 

Doyle stared at her a moment, then laughed, shaking his head.

“Why is that funny? Do you think I had a choice?!” Talking sent new pain shooting through her face, but Mina’s anger trumped it.
 

Doyle stopped laughing and held up his hand. He pulled a bottle of water out of his backpack and gave it to her. “Don’t drink anything from the fields,” he said. He walked off through the mud without waiting for her.
 

Mina looked at the bottle in her hand and then pulled off the cap. Most of the water ran out of her swollen mouth, but it refreshed her nonetheless.
 

By the time she finished, Doyle had walked well ahead. Now would be a good time to slip off, she thought. Doyle seemed to have limitless energy—surely he would be glad to be rid of Mina, who would slow him down. But he thought they were in danger—he had mentioned the Glyphs, as he called them. Had he seen something? Mina glanced up at the peaceful night sky, now clear and full of sparkling stars. The spring air was brisk, and she breathed deeply to clear her head. In the absence of any other ideas, Mina steeled herself against her pain and followed slowly after Doyle.

He reached the bottom of a steep, tree-covered hill and paused to look for Mina as she struggled on behind him. The cold seeped into her through her still-damp clothes. All she could think about was going to sleep, right in the middle of the field. When she reached the hill, Doyle barely seemed to notice. He checked their surroundings and scanned the sky. Mina could neither see nor hear anything unusual. Did Doyle have some military training that enabled him to see dangers she could not? After a moment more, he seemed satisfied and began climbing the hill.
 

The ground rose sharply ahead of them. Mina’s cold feet numbed to the jabs of the uneven ground as she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and resisting the urge to collapse. Just before they reached the top, Doyle stopped and pointed to a cleft in the rocks. Water gurgled out of a tiny spring in the hillside. Relieved, she dove at it. Doyle waited for her to drink her fill, then scooped water to his own mouth and filled another bottle from his bag.
 

“Come on,” he said, standing up. “It won’t be safe to move around anymore tonight.”

Although she was relieved to be done climbing, Mina couldn’t help but question him. “Why not?”

“It just isn’t.”

Mina opened her mouth to challenge him further but groaned audibly as another spike of pain shot through her jaw. She tenderly touched her swollen face.

“It’s not broken,” he said.

She moved her mouth as little as possible. “You said it was!”
 

“I lied. It looks worse than it is.”

“Yeah, well, I bet it feels a lot worse than it looks.”

“Fair enough.”
 

Doyle led her around the hill to an overhanging rock that jutted from the hillside. Beneath it, years of erosion had hollowed out a depression that provided some shelter from the wind. They sat down apart from each other. The surrounding fields, cut out of the rolling hills, dotted the landscape to the east. To the west, dark mountains stood out against the starry sky. Everything looked peaceful and still in the moonlight.
 

Doyle pulled a plastic bag of food out of his backpack, taking some out for himself before tossing the bag to Mina. Mina did not know or care what the food was, but broke off tiny pieces and swallowed them whole. Then she found the most comfortable bit of rock she could and, careful not to lie on the swollen side of her jaw, closed her eyes.

Mina’s eyelids opened heavily. The stars still twinkled brightly above her. She studied them. Something about them seemed wrong, like they had grown larger while she slept. While she tried to understand what about them bothered her, something else nagged at the back of her mind. She glanced around and saw the pale shadow of a man glimmering against a black background. Not a man, though—something else. Mina froze and held her breath, trying to become invisible. What was it? It hovered at the corner of her vision, and it was facing her.
 

It saw her. Mina dared not shift to get a better look at it.

The silvery shade glided over to her and hovered over her body. The tall thing had few distinguishing features, except its inky black eyes. So black. Always black. Only black. Color no longer existed—it was only a figment of her imagination. The abyss tugged at her insistently, reaching, a cavity that would consume her into depths of knowledge and power.
 

When she tried to look away, the shade scorned Mina for being weak. “You’ll die,” it said. But it never actually spoke.

Mina moved to get up and run, but her legs were tied. She reached for the face, intending to push away those awful eyes. The specter hovered within reach, but for some reason Mina could not get her hand close enough to touch it. Giving up, she desperately tried to cover her own face. Her arms filled with sand, too heavy to move, leaving her with no choice but to stare into the deep, mocking pits.
 

Then everything changed, and Mina was back in the creek, water swirling around her neck. The specter hovered on the bank. She splashed and sputtered in the icy cold water, pleading for help, but the shade only watched pitilessly.
 

The wind rustled the trees. “She should die,” they said.

The shade looked up. Mina did, too. Stars twinkled like large diamonds. As she watched, the diamonds grew brighter, then entered the atmosphere and flew into the creek. The streaks of light blinded her, and Mina cried out in shock. Water washed over her head, filling her lungs.
 

As she clung to life under the surface of the water, the white shadow glowed yellow and burst into flames, reaching for the shooting stars. The blaze devoured each star as it fell, turning it to ash and scattering it to the wind. Millions of stars fell, all consumed by the inferno. When none remained, the sky burned as black as the eyes that now bored through the flames and into Mina. Death was unavoidable, so she ceased struggling. Without fear, Mina gazed back at the fiery specter shining through the water. Before she closed her eyes, she was shocked to find that it was weeping.

Calla sat on a rock, cleaning her knife. The female hybrid lay facedown at her feet, hot blood still soaking into the ground. Calla looked up through the trees at the moon. A few more hours of darkness. She loved hunting at night. Relying on scents and sounds. The terror of her prey as she surprised it in the dark. Next time, though, she might do it in daylight, to make the hunt more difficult. She had almost tripped over the one at her feet—the traitor had made Calla’s task easy.

She finished polishing her weapon and sheathed it. She would give one final summons to those tasked with helping her and Dar Ceylin as well—to remind him of her new position, if not because she needed his help. She hopped off the rock, stepping on the female. She couldn’t leave the body there.
 

Calla pulled out a small charge stick from her pack and dropped it on the body. She walked away a few paces and turned to picture the explosive, her mind caressing its length. It detonated, the fireball engulfing the body below the rock, melting clothing and flesh and bone. Within thirty seconds, the flames had licked away the remaining rubber from the female’s boots and then extinguished themselves, the last wisp of smoke curling up through the tree branches and dissipating in the night air.

Calla smiled at the charred patch of ground. Too easy.

DAY 15

A
LOUD
BOOM
SHOOK
THE
ground and Mina lurched up in the dark, the dream fading quickly. She looked up, anticipating another storm. But the sky was clear. The smell of burning wood drifted through the air. Mina looked around. Doyle sat on the rocks ahead of her, silhouetted against a yellow light in the distance. She crawled out from her sleeping place for a better look. The yellow light flickered and rose up—fire burned brightly in the distance, a plume of smoke blotting out the stars above it.

“What’s going on?”

“The Glyphs found that group of men on the trail.” Doyle’s voice was calm and flat.

“What?! Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I didn’t think you’d be sorry.”

The fire burned in a short line, casting a yellow glow on the hull of a black mass that hovered above the smoke. “How did you know they were coming?” Mina asked, her jaw aching. She moved to sit a few feet from Doyle.

“It was only a matter of time.”

When he didn’t offer anything else, Mina said, “That ship is smaller than the one in Charlotte.”