The Valley of Lies (Lightkeepers #1)

Chapter TEN: Zan

It was a pleasant evening along the wharves that flanked the tall iron gate into Blackwater, no hint of the unrest that was rumored to be brewing to the south and west. The Gidaran's tent was at the far end of the wharf, just past the more permanent stalls tended by fishmongers and others hawking their goods. Its brightly patterned silks billowed in the light sea breeze.

Zan made his way toward his quarry, brainstorming a backstory as he walked. The dark-robed Blackwater guards paid him no mind, assuming him just another barbaric satyr out peddling goods. Even when he was doing something that might be perceived as sneaky, changelings were so rare that he hardly ever invoked suspicion. In that way, he was grateful for his strange singularity.

Voices pricked his ears as he neared the tent, one masculine and the other feminine, both in the guttural cadence of the Gidaran. The tent flap was closed, meaning either the occupants were with a client or chatting in private. Satyrs didn't possess keen hearing, but elves did, and thankfully it was a gift that persisted through Changes.

"Are you sure?" the male satyr said, his voice like a sudden crack of thunder.

"Indeed," a thin, reedy voice replied. It wasn't the female Gidaran. Zan couldn't tell whether it was a man or woman or something else altogether. "Neither the Witches Triumvirate nor the free Darkbane yet know."

"Who will you tell?" asked the female satyr. The sound of furniture shifting on hard ground assaulted Zan's ears, and he imagined her leaning in, waiting for the stranger's answer.

"Whomsoever I choose. Fate has been set in motion. There is no undoing what will be done. I have all the time in the world."

"So you do." The male satyr barked out a staccato laugh.

"What will you give me for this story, Gidaran?"

"What do you seek?" the female asked with the air of someone thrilled to be approaching a negotiation. "We have stories old and new, from both far and wide. Do you desire to know who shares nights with the sleepless Princess of Sorrown? Perhaps you would rather hear a tale of the magnificent jewelry caches of the dragon elves."

Zan struggled to hold his tongue. The Yansu had no gaudy jewelry caches. That was a complete fallacy. Nor did they hunt and devour maiden princesses and burn cities to the ground for no good reason. Were these Gidaran charlatans reciting bedtime stories from fairy books?

"I'm not after stories," the stranger whispered hauntingly. "I desire truth. Truth and memories sustain me. Give me your hand."

"No funny business."

The male satyr grumbled as bodies shifted in their chairs. Several minutes passed, the silence interrupted only by occasional chatter from the dirty stone streets and the lapping of waves against the seawall. Zan worried something awful had happened inside the tent, or that at any moment the flap would fly open and they'd discover him loitering.

Clothing and furniture shuffled in a barrage of sound at last, as if someone, maybe even both satyrs, had fallen out of their seat. The female Gidaran choked on a deep, wheezing gasp.

"That was... What did you do, traveler?"

"I gathered my due. That will be all, thank you."

"What are you?" Fear and awe bloomed in the male satyr's breathless words.

"I am Nothing and Eternal."

Zan was certain he'd never heard a more terrifying and confounding answer in his life.

Who–-or what?–-was both nothing and eternal? Wraiths were the only creatures that came to mind, but they weren't intelligent like this individual seemed to be. Perhaps this stranger with a voice like the wind was something Zan hadn't heard of, another gruesome result of the witches' overstepping their limits.