Shadow Weaver (Back on Wattpad 2020!)

Chapter 15

"That will be all, thank you," the blind man says. After they leave and we are alone in the cellar room, he instructs me to take off my blouse. I glance at the closed door before slipping my injured arm out of the sleeve of my shirt.

"I am Deadran." The old man dips a cotton pad into warm water and dabs the knife cut. It stings, forcing me to suck through my teeth. Then he cleans the arrow wound. "We will bandage both up, and you must ride with me tonight. "

He reaches for the basket and sorts nimbly through phial bottles, identifying some by touch, others by scent. "This is it. Let us put a little honey on to help fight any infection." He smears sweet smelling goo over the wounds, presses wads of cotton over the paste, and wraps my arm and neck with gauze.

Once he has finished, his eyes turn towards the lantern. He seems to drift to sleep for a moment. I slip my arm back into the sleeve of my shirt. The cuts tingle. I fasten the buttons on my shirt.

"I have lived a long life without Rhag," he says, suddenly breaking the silence, "and now I find at the end of it I am confronted with two mysteries."

Rhag is the name for the Carucan path to the Gods. The faithful, like my mother, walk the path through prayer, worship and once or twice in a lifetime, the spiritual cleansing.

"To be reunited with the Prince," he continues, "is a blessing I had not hoped for. But you..." He shakes his head. "All those days Prince Jakut went to the Pit, searching for the impossible. And when all seemed lost, you found him."

A true miracle! I pick up my inner parka. It will be chilly riding through the night so I will need both layers.

"I have no business with Rhag," I tell him, annoyed he considers my capture and the "slaughter" of my family an answer to the Prince's prayers.

Though I have to admit, finding a mature shadow weaver, whose eyes have settled, is a conundrum. A mature shadow weaver means any physical proof of the mind-reading talent has gone. This is why poachers and hunters don't bother with us. I push my bandaged arm into my inner parka, grunting at the tight, painful fit.

"Stop," Deadran says. "I will lend you a cloak."

"Thank you."

"Prince Jakut," he continues, "is nineteen, but he has known great loss from the youngest of ages. His mother died in childbirth with a sister. He was only four. She was not in her grave when his father packed him off to his uncle in Lyndonia, accompanied by an already elderly tutor whom the boy had never met."

"You?" So Tug was right! I try to hide the interest in my voice, but the more I know about the Prince, the better armed I am to deal with him.

"Indeed," Deadran nods. "He lost everything he knew in one sweep of fate. Only to lose it all again at eight years old when his father summoned him back to the Royal Court, and I was dismissed."

"You have not seen the Prince for eleven years?"

"Eleven years," Deadran echoes.

"And yet of all those he could choose," I say, "he has called on you." If someone wanted to hide their true nature and intent from a shadow weaver, what better way than erasing their memories and surrounding themselves with people who only knew them as a child? Has the Prince so much to hide, he has risked hiding it even from himself? What does he really want from me?

"It is difficult for a young Prince, purposefully isolated by his overbearing father, to make trustworthy friends. With the attempt on his life, he cannot put his faith in anyone from the Royal Court until King Alixter returns from fighting on the Etean front. Jakut's enemies are powerful and daring enough to have infiltrated his own escort."

Deadran hopes to elicit my sympathy for the Prince by weaving connections between us. We have both lost beloved parents, (at least he thinks mine are dead), both been snatched from our homes and brought into strange and dangerous worlds. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Before we arrive at the fort in Lyndonia, if you are to blend in as part of the Prince's new escort, you will need to know much about court life, the history and traditions of Caruca, politics and hierarchy."

How a scrawny, sixteen-year-old outlaw is expected to blend in as part of the Prince's replacement escort I have no idea. Perhaps they will pass me off as a serving boy.

"This will be the Prince's test?"

Deadran nods. "The first part."

"And the second?"

"Your ability to uncover useful information without being suspected."

I turn from Deadran and, careful not to strain my wound, pull my looser outer parka over my head. If men in the court are as wary and skilled at blocking their minds as Tug, it could take days or weeks to glean useful information. Even an open mind, easy to search through, can take hours of combing to uncover anything significant. And I am not practiced. I shunned entering my parents' minds for years. In the three decades since the Uru Ana were banished from Caruca, I expect the tales of what we are capable have become highly exaggerated.

"My life has been long and mostly blessed," Deadran says. "As a young man I had many Uru Ana friends. I am ashamed of what Caruca has done to your people. And I am sorry for the danger we are putting you in. But I will do everything I can to help you. I am sure if you serve the Prince well, he in turn, will help you."

How honorable. And if I fail to do as he wishes, he will denounce me and see me hanged.

"I have known few men other than my father, and they have all been cruel," I say. "I thank you for your kindness."

Hello! Just a quick reminder. The next chapter will be posted on Tuesday April 14. Happy Easter and hope to see you then!