Unearth The Shadows

11

She asked for forgiveness from the Ancients one more time. Had she not failed her mission, she would have condemned two innocents, one to death and the other to be used as a weapon perpetually. If I get out of this alive, I promise to amend things, she vowed.

A periodic rattling of leaves sounded from nearby. She straightened and stared towards the path, bracing for what remained to come, tension making her stiff all over. She was cautious even of her breathing.

The sounds became more frequent. Paces. Boots crunching twigs. Amyra crouched for cover behind the shrubs between her and the path twenty strides to the right. The newcomer was closing in. She ached with curiosity for the sight of the face. But suddenly, the paces on the ground ceased. The newcomer was outside of earshot surprisingly fast. Maybe they had already presented themselves to The Mistress. If they had come for the Mistress at all.

She turned to the old edifice and stood cautiously, staring beyond the tangle of trees. No one was there. Instinctively she turned towards the path leading to the building. And there he stood. They stared at each other; his face unreadable beneath his thick beard. As if he'd seen but trees, rocks, and empty forest grounds, he turned away, ignoring her, resuming his walk to the decaying building.

In an awfully delayed response, Amyra fell into a crouch, trembling. Ancients, she recognized him: a royal guard. She smiled. She was right. But she felt terrified. The Mistress had isolated them from one another. She wondered what role she had actually been playing in the revolution. But she wasn't ready for an answer. She pushed all the questions back and focused on the task at hand. 11th chapter of the Sacred Onus, 567th verse: The Ancients will guide the pious through struggle, and never abandon the pious. But was she pious enough? Ancients, don't forsake me, I'm pleading. Grant me this at least.

The man probably knew as little as she did. He's my best chance, she muttered to reassure herself, but her feet ached to flee. I won't leave now. It had been a long time of waiting, after two years of wasted work.

This could be her last opportunity to get to Una. She walked several strides away deeper into the forest, climbing a slope where she could still keep her sight on the palace of river trade while hiding from the soldier in case he returned.

Amyra's pulse raced when Mistress Anya appeared in front of the building, her elegant gait lazy and controlled. She halted in front of the palace and watched around, eyes never turning to Amyra's direction. She waited, heart thrumming in her chest. The encounter took a long time and when the man left the old palace, the solar arc had already chased away any sign of dawn.

She steeled herself. There were no signs of injury or pain in him. Maybe he had accomplished the mission The Mistress had entrusted him, unlike me A new plan to get to Heron? Heron, too, was to be used as a tool for The Mistress to get the ruling council to submit to her will? She realized the Mistress's need to have the heir had never been clear to Amyra.

Unfortunately for Heron, Amyra suspected that if a choice had to be made between his life and the security of the Monarchy, the latter would supersede.

Amyra tried her best to catch on the sound of the guard's steps but they never echoed. It had been the second time that happened, the man certainly already had his eyes set on me. She crouched for coverage. Unbearable silence promised all sorts of outcomes. Knees pressed onto the humid dirt of decomposed leaves, she peered around.

A shuffling sound of feet echoed from behind her, like snake gliding. She didn't have the time to turn around. Her neck gripped seized by a strong hand, propelling her forward into a crush of her temple against a tree. The world exploded around her. The large hand gripped her neck again, pulling her back on her track into a graceless slump on the ground. I won't scream, but she wasn't sure she could withstand the pain much for longer.

In his hands, chains rattled.

"Please," Amyra said. "I want to help. She has my sister," Amyra said. "The Mistress. She'd promised me she would give me my sister if I brought the next Monarch to her. She lied. She's using us as pawns for personal gain."

The man– the soldier that had been sent to the blackcircle with Davir for his trial— didn't seem fazed. Resuming his work, he used the chains to imprison her.

"I was working for her. She almost killed me because I wasn't able to bring her the heir to the Monarchy." The soldier was already dragging her to the path leading to the building, taking her to The Mistress. "My sister has special talents," Amyra said in despair. "Supernatural ones. She can heal any wounds or illness."

The man halted. No sign of surprise. No insinuation of blasphemy. And the sudden attentive stare he cast towards Amyra. He knew. He knew what Amyra talking about.

She pressed with all the confidence she could manage, "The Mistress is using you as a tool. She, too, wields the supernatural. I have been trying to get my sister back for two years. Complying with her orders. You know how secure the royal domain is, it was no easy work. But the last time I encountered The Mistress she almost killed me because she judges I wasn't useful enough anymore. I know she is using bribery against you, too. And I know you're aware she's not to be trusted. She's powerful but not invincible. Let's work together on our terms now. We will have a better chance of getting what we want."

The man halted and pushed Amyra back in their tracks. Amyra flinched, braced for a hit that never landed. His gaze wandered around for a while, scrutinizing the surroundings. "You'll get out here and never get back," he said the words slowly, ruddy lips twisting beneath a thick beard where mingled brown and blond hairs. "In eleven days, be at the C-D.3rd-B.7/87, at the end of the solar arc." He repeated the address in the long, lazy northerner way to speak. "Ask to see me, Bjon. I will be there," he said. "Go now."