The Valley of Lies (Lightkeepers #1)

Chapter TWENTY: Zan

Zan couldn't see farther than a few feet in front of him. The rain was debilitating, compounded by deafening thunder and periodic shocks of lightning. He considered transforming into a beast more suited for the unrelenting storm but couldn't think straight long enough to come up with a better alternative.
At least he was strong. Satyrs didn't tire easily, and his cloven-hooves traversed the muddy forest terrain more efficiently than the supple boots in his pack would have.

For once, he regretted his elven hearing. Satyrs were half-deaf by comparison, and if he could have reduced the volume inside his head, maybe he wouldn't have gotten the splitting headache that prevented him from coming up with a smarter plan than aimlessly searching for the light of civilization.

Would he even be able to hear the rushing river that crossed the ley lines before he was on top of it? In this weather, who could say? He also wasn't certain there was a village before the ley lines, or anywhere close by. The brownie's map was an undetailed sketch. It didn't include man-made establishments like towns. He was literally blind on his feet. Not that he was especially afraid of the storm or sleeping in trees. After ten years on his own, Zan was used to these things. What was disconcerting was being so near the legendary cursed valley.

Would he get trapped if he ventured too close? Maybe the witches watched the area through a scrying window. Or there could be a contingent of Blackwater guards on reconnaissance in the region, doing the witches' dirty work. Zan needed to keep his wits about him and his hackles raised.

If there was a silver lining to the inclement weather, it was the cover it provided. With his swarthy satyr complexion and the driving rain, it was unlikely the enemy would discover him. Unless they stumbled upon him, which meant he might stumble into them just as easily. But given the circumstances, he'd take his chances.

It seemed like he'd been walking in circles for ages. Everything looked the same, and he saw no sign of the river, but it couldn't be far. The raging storm had to be a sign he was close. It might have been better if he'd stayed on the storm's outskirts and charted a map, marking landmarks in a perimeter around the valley to narrow down strategic points of entry. Then again, he didn't know how large the valley was or how long mapmaking would take. There simply wasn't time for cartography, however tempting. Loradyn was at least a two-week journey on foot, and he had to find the free Darkbane before he could even think about making that trek.

Zan's task was as daunting as it was exciting. But this was what he lived for. He'd always wanted to go on a quest that might end in the rescue of his sister. Now, finally, he was on it. So why did he feel so... so...

"Perplexing," he muttered.

A strange soft light was flickering below a copse of trees up ahead. It was too low to the ground and weak to be a light post or lantern. Instead, the light seemed to emanate from the brush, like a spark of rogue lightning fighting to keep its flame. Zan neared the strange phenomena cautiously. It didn't appear hostile, but the forest was foreign to him and the storms over the valley were volatile.

Another few steps took him within feet of his quarry. His breath caught in his throat, and he rubbed the rain from his eyes-–once, twice–-but the vision before him remained the same. A girl was lying at the base of a lichen-encrusted tree stump, asleep or unconscious. Not dead, he hoped, although there were faint red stains on her gray tunic, which may have been blood. Despite the deluge pelting her, the girl's hair was glowing. Long and radiant white, it clung to the smooth, relaxed contours of her face.

This was the light he'd seen? Her hair? Was she a goddess? No, goddesses didn't bleed. At least, he didn't think so.

On second glance, he realized she was an elf, although her ears were slimmer and longer than his own. Longer even than Ayer's. This girl was smaller and paler than the Yansu as well. Was she one of the Darkbane? Zan couldn't believe he might be so lucky, but she closely resembled every depiction of a female Darkbane elf he'd seen. And if her glowing hair was any indication, she was a Lightkeeper too. A real one! Maybe even a priestess.

But how? The Coven employed the only Darkbane with magic, and they weren't Lightkeepers. Even among the free Darkbane, the Lightkeeper namesake had become a relic. They were warriors anymore. Light magic had gone extinct with their banishment. Or so he'd thought.

Zan kneeled down, gently touching the end of a lock of the girl's luminous hair. It was soft and warm between his fingers. She stirred, and he jerked his hand back, silently thanking the heavens she was alive. But if she woke and saw him looming over her, his own life might come under fire. The girl looked powerful; she might use her magic to incinerate him. Zan was pretty sure she would scream, anyway. Neither option was particularly appealing.

"Come with me," she mumbled, one of her tiny hands extending over the ground, facing upward.

Who was she talking to in her sleep?

He didn't have time to wonder. Bloody tracks swirled in the creases of her palm, never fully diluting even as hard as it poured. It wasn't a good sign. It didn't look like a deep wound, but it could become infected if it wasn't dressed soon. She had to wake up and get out of here. Zan considered changing back to his natural form–-which the girl would probably not find as frightening–-but what if she was too weak to walk? It would be easier to carry her as a satyr.

He vacillated on a decision, losing precious moments.

"Everything will be fine, you'll see," she murmured, squirming against the moss and sodden leaves, a pitiful sort of bed. Her eyes remained closed, but the delicate skin around them wrinkled as if she were in pain.

Zan cursed under his breath and trotted behind the tree stump, crouching low. If it weren't raining buckets he would have looked ridiculous, his enormous bulk dwarfing the half-rotted stump. But it was raining, buckets and buckets, and the girl was unconscious. So there was hardly a reason he should feel ridiculous, and yet...

"Excuse me." What should he call her? Not girl, that would be rude. Miss–-? Did the Darkbane even use such language? She certainly looked too young to be married, but how could he know for sure? "Priestess, can you hear me?"

She wouldn't kill him for accidentally overstating her rank among the Lightkeepers, would she? It would be like a Yansu warrior killing a man for mistaking him as a dragon rider. If anything, she should be flattered. But other than continuing to fidget, her head rocking restlessly back and forth, the girl did not wake. Zan's worry increased the longer she ignored him, proving that her sleep was from more than mere exhaustion.

"Forgive me," he whispered, rounding the stump to kneel before her on the moss. He pushed his huge satyr arms underneath her, lifting her easily into the air and against his bare chest.

If she awoke and blasted him with light magic, well, at least he would die doing a good deed.

He glanced about at their surroundings to gain his bearings. Which direction had he come from? The girl had been facing him when he wandered up to her, with the tree stump on her right. He walked past it, keeping the stump to his left. Zan didn't know where they were headed, but at least he wouldn't be backtracking.

The rain became heavier, which he would have thought impossible had someone asked him a few minutes ago. The girl was mercifully light in his arms, and she smelled like flowers, so he couldn't very well complain about the extra baggage. But her health was a concern. Although she was pale, she was warm, so warm he worried she had a fever. For some reason, she was wearing two cloaks. He kept one pulled tight over his shoulder, above her head, protecting her face from the elements. They needed to find shelter, and soon. Zan was comfortable enough sleeping in tree branches, but that wouldn't do for the girl.

He was becoming increasingly anxious, running faster and faster, when–-finally!-–there was a break in the trees and a myriad of lights winking through the punishing rain.

A village!