CHAPTER SEVEN

The seeker was uncertain, unconvinced of her talents, and wavering in her resolve. She begged the Mother to task someone else and lift this burden from her neck. But Melba the Judge raised a sapling in one hand and her axe in the other. “There is change and rebirth or there is death.”

—THE AYALYA

At the northwestern-most edge of Portside, Pier Road dead-ended in a vacant lot. No warehouses stood here, and the shoreline was too rocky for ships to safely dock. Massive boulders rose from the ocean to meet the edge of the mountain ridge that surrounded Rosira.

Darvyn took in the fresh scent of the ocean only a few dozen paces away. The black waves, sparkling in the moonlight, mesmerized him. The day he’d arrived in Rosira and seen the vast, unfathomable ocean spread out before him for the first time, he’d nearly cried. It still overwhelmed him.

“Strong as sand and weak as water,” he called out in Lagrimari. His voice carried to the two women and one man he felt waiting in the shadows of a small wooden shack. Upon hearing the code phrase, the figures peeled away and walked toward him. Darvyn raised his hand in greeting to Rozyl ul-Grimor, who stood at the head of the small group.

“Darvyn?” she asked, squinting at him.

“You look surprised to see me.”

“Didn’t expect the mighty Shadowfox to grace us with his presence is all,” she teased. “If the people knew who you were, there would be a riot.”

Since the fall of the Mantle, his alter ego, the legendary folk hero known as the Shadowfox, hadn’t been needed, at least by the public. There were no fields to plant here with his Song, no skirmishes with corrupt soldiers, no one to save from having their Song stolen, no pull on his incredible power. Until the temple explosion that morning, that is.

Rozyl turned to give a hand signal to the woman next to her, Sevora, who disappeared into the darkness, likely to do another scout of the area. The remaining man was Darvyn’s old friend Zango, who crossed his meaty arms in front of him, nodded in greeting, but remained silent. All had served in the Keepers of the Promise with Darvyn, fighting for freedom from the True Father’s rule.

“Considering what happened this morning, I wanted to be here—in solidarity. But do you really think all this secrecy is necessary? You know the king and queen won’t retaliate against a group of Lagrimari having a meeting.”

“You and I may know that,” Rozyl said, “but the people don’t. Not yet. Concealing the meeting is just a way to make them more comfortable to come out and speak their minds. And there’s the rest of the Elsirans to consider.”

She tilted her head and the moonlight illuminated the jagged scars on the left side of her face that had been made during a bobcat attack in her childhood, an incident she didn’t speak of. They gave her a fierce appearance, one backed up by the actual ferocity of her personality.

“Did you hear something?” she asked, her body preternaturally still.

Darvyn opened his Song. The dark, empty lot stretched out before them, hiding the gathering of close to one hundred people just beyond. “Sevora frightened a water rat. Are you the one cloaking the meeting place?”

Rozyl gave a brief nod.

Sevora reappeared, giving the all-clear signal, and they gathered together. The energy from the nearby people beat a tempo in his head. The meeting was hidden from their eyes and ears by a clever spell the Keepers had been using for years. It required an Earthsinger to gain entry, and those attending tonight’s meeting had been instructed to approach in groups so that one of the few who’d retained their Songs could lead them in.

They walked a few dozen paces, and then Rozyl extended her arm straight out. Her fingertips brushed against gravel, causing a ripple. What had appeared to be an empty lot with nothing but crushed rock underfoot was revealed to hold a tent, gravel clinging to its exterior to make it look like the ground in the distance. The optical illusion was simple but effective.

The mirage pulled away like a curtain to unveil the tent’s interior. Darvyn and the others slipped into a crowded space filled with Lagrimari men, women, and older children packed in a tight spiral of bodies. A petite woman standing on a wooden crate at the center of the space held their attention.

“We will not trade one prison for another! We will not barter away our futures!” Talida was an elder of the Keepers. A middle-aged woman with steely, bright eyes, her silver locks were interwoven into thick coils streaming down to her waist. Her throaty voice thickened the air.

“We have just as much right to be in this land as anyone else. Our ancestors transformed the earth beneath our feet from desert to plentiful. It is only through the treachery of one of them—the True Father—that we were separated from this land. Why should we be cast off to some far-off corner with scraps and told to begin anew?”

Shouts of agreement rose from the crowd.

“Why not open the doors of employment instead of slamming them in our faces? Why not allow us to fill in the gaps here? We are a hardworking people; we are not looking for handouts because we are lazy. The doors of acceptance rattle in their hinges from the force used to shut them!” A chorus of cheers rang out.

“And what of justice?” Talida continued, when the crowd died down. “It cannot be put off forever. Why has no one seen the True Father?”

She paused to spit after saying his name. Many others in the crowd followed her lead. “They say he rots away in the deepest part of the dungeon, but it has been weeks since any have beheld him. Where are the Cantor and her agents? Those who have terrorized us for generations? What of the trials we have asked for? When will we see the villains punished?”

Shouts and applause sounded as Darvyn began working his way through the throng. Talida’s words were rousing, but something about them sent a sliver of unease down his spine. Still, it warmed his heart to see so many of his people here, looking well fed and full of hope, regardless of their meager circumstances.

He made it a quarter of the way around the outside of the crowd when a familiar gravelly voice stopped him. “Didn’t think you’d make it here tonight, oli.”

Darvyn turned to find Turwig ol-Matigor leaning casually against one of the tent’s support posts with his arms folded. An observer would simply see a grizzled old man dozing off in the back. But Darvyn knew better. Turwig was the closest thing Darvyn had to a father. He had been the one to take him from his mother’s home when the True Father’s threats against him forced her to seek safety for her son among the Keepers. Turwig had taught Darvyn everything, and Darvyn had always considered him family.

But the elders had kept him from his mother, purposefully, seeking to sever his connection to her and hone him into a tool for their use. That revelation had left him unmoored, floating adrift from everything he’d once thought to be true. He looked upon the old man differently now.

“Why is everyone so surprised I’m here?” Darvyn muttered.

“You have to admit, you’ve been scarce.”

“Do you blame me?” Darvyn arched a brow. Turwig had the decency to look somewhat abashed. Darvyn wasn’t certain he’d been one of the elders who’d kept his mother away, but the old man must have known about it.

Another round of cheers rose from the audience as Talida finished her speech. Darvyn turned to watch her climb down from the crate. She was aided by a scowling man with a bushy beard; Darvyn held back a groan. “I was hoping Aggar would be otherwise occupied tonight.”

“Where else did you think he’d be, oli?” Turwig gave a wry grin.

“Literally anywhere else.”

The old man snorted.

Aggar climbed onto the crate, which barely looked able to hold his weight. “What do we fight for?” he cried.

“Justice! Justice! Justice!” the crowd responded. Darvyn moved off to get closer to the makeshift stage.

“The streets must run red with the blood of the monsters who starved us, who stole our children, who enslaved us!”

The responding voices grew frenzied.

“Every pay-roller who benefitted from our suffering! Every Enforcer and Collector! Every Golden Flame!”

Aggar’s gaze locked with Darvyn’s, and a dangerous light appeared in the man’s eyes. “I believe that we have with us tonight someone who many of you will want to hear from.”

Darvyn froze. He reached out with his Song for the other man’s emotions. Excitement. Eagerness. A thread of animosity directed at him that was even stronger than normal.

“Throughout the bleak years, there was one figure shining in the darkness, defying the madness of the ruling regime and sparking hope in all of our hearts.” Aggar’s voice was rich and engaging, so different from his corrosive personality. The listeners hung on every syllable.

“The need for secrecy is over, the time for hiding done forever. I cannot allow us to go to our beds without giving you the gift of meeting the Shadowfox.”

A gasp rose from the audience. People looked around, trying to figure out who among them was the legendary rebel.

The identity of the Shadowfox had always been protected for Darvyn’s safety since the True Father had been after him his entire life, eager to steal such a powerful Song. But no one had reached out to Darvyn about announcing his identity at this meeting.

He looked back at Turwig. The old man’s facial expression did not change, but Darvyn felt the denial of his knowledge of this in his dark gaze.

Aggar’s eyes glinted in challenge as the assembly became more and more excited at the prospect of finally meeting the famed Keeper. Though only a few years older than Darvyn, Aggar had been raised to the level of elder, a distinction the man had earned, but one that still rankled. Now he was provoking Darvyn, creating a spectacle. He could simply leave, refuse to play this game of Aggar’s. Making himself known now, without a plan or considering all the consequences, wasn’t wise.

But the crowd vibrated with hope and energy, and by the smirk Aggar wore, it was clear he expected Darvyn to duck out and disappoint everyone. Perhaps he thought such a thing would bring the Shadowfox down a few notches in the eyes of the people. Jealousy pulsed through the man’s other emotions.

Wise or not, Darvyn made the decision. Aggar’s years of baseless mistrust could not triumph here.

Darvyn had worked in darkness and stealth his entire life; now he would step forward into the light. With a deep breath, the weight of expectation once again on his shoulders, he made his way to the center of the gathering.

Nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed, Aggar stepped down from the crate to stand next to Talida. His shock and anger beat a cadence against Darvyn’s senses. Darvyn brushed by him and took his place.

The wood creaked beneath him, but if it had held Aggar’s heavier weight, it would hold him. He looked up to find every eye trained on him.

Fear ballooned in his middle. The quiet stretched on and on.

Then the audience began to cheer.

Shouts and applause lasted for several minutes. Every time Darvyn raised his arms to quiet the people, the jubilation only increased. He caught sight of Rozyl, Sevora, and Zango in the back. The connections to his trusted friends set him at ease as he waited for the audience to quiet down.

“My name is Darvyn ol-Tahlyro, and I am the Shadowfox.” The cheers began again in earnest and took even longer to die down this time.

“Though you never saw my face, I have met and aided many of you. It was my honor to do so. I am … humbled by your regard and grateful for your attention. It has been a long journey up to this point.” He scrutinized the careworn faces looking up at him. “Much has been lost, but there is also much to be gained here. I look forward to our future in this new-old land of our origin.”

Zango began to clap and others followed suit. Darvyn didn’t know what else to say. He’d never had cause for public speaking before.

“What does the Shadowfox have to say about our benefactors?” Aggar shouted from just behind him.

Darvyn clenched his jaw. What was he playing at? “I … I urge patience. It has only been a few weeks. Housing is being built. And schools. The call to separate us into another land is only being broached by a few. The king and queen support unification. As does the Goddess Awoken. The Sisterhood and many others are coming to our aid. Jobs will come. Our battle against the True Father was not won in a night and neither shall be our integration into this new land.”

The audience nodded and murmured their assent. Many Lagrimari had fallen into the reverence of the Goddess Awoken in the past weeks, now that they were free to worship as they chose, while many others were still circumspect of organized religion.

“I encourage everyone to learn the Elsiran tongue. To not engage those who would speak poorly of us and hold fast to the knowledge that the Goddess would not have led us here if things were not going to improve. Already the weather is better, is it not?”

Laughter rang out.

“Our place here is being created. We will not have to wait forever, but we must give them time. The king and queen are aware of our needs. Neither they nor the Goddess will abandon us. Thank you!”

He jumped off the crate and was immediately surrounded by people patting him on the back or greeting him with fingers pressed to his forehead.

“Thank you,” people repeated over and over again.

An elderly woman stopped him with a palm to his chest. “You came to our village and restored my husband’s garden after the soldiers had salted it. We were able to feed the entire neighborhood after the ration decrease. Bless you, oli.” Son, she called him. He smiled at the woman and ducked his head in acknowledgment as tears pricked the edges of his eyes.

His movement through the crowd was stymied by many such testimonies. One woman’s children had been saved from starvation by the secret potato fields he’d planted. He’d led a team of Keepers to rescue a caravan full of children who’d been stolen by nabbers to be sold to the highest bidder. His intervention had saved a group of teenagers’ Songs from tribute when they were children. The list went on and on. He held back the tears as the people expressed their gratitude.

“And what of justice, Shadowfox?” Talida’s voice rang out, causing the group that had gathered around him to turn. Standing on the crate again, her face was strangely blank. Sadness poured from her, and his heart clenched at her pain. “You urge us to wait for the Elsirans and say that change is coming, but the Elsirans blame us for taking food off their tables when the king and queen feed us. They call us criminals and savages when the real criminals sit in the dungeons of the palace being housed and fed when their lives should be forfeited.” Her voice carried over the now-quiet group.

“The Enforcers. The Collectors. The Golden Flames. Should they not be held accountable?” Pain laced her gaze as their eyes locked. He did not know her story, but every Lagrimari had either experienced some form of cruelty from the government, or watched someone they loved do so.

“There will be trials for those who have harmed us.” He spoke more to her than to their audience.

“Will we trust the Elsirans to provide our justice? We have no say in their courts.”

“All of that will be worked out. The Mantle fell a mere six weeks ago.” He spread his arms, pleading.

“And yet we still suffer.” Her voice was hard.

“You have the ear of the king,” Aggar said, slicing him with a razor-edged glare. “Are you truly our advocate?”

Talida’s hands fisted. “Justice must be swift. And it must be ours to mete out.”

“The king is a fair man and eager to do what is needed for the unification,” Darvyn said. “And the queen has been on our side since before the Mantle fell.” He was confident that the rulers would do whatever was necessary to provide closure to the people.

“Lagrimari should be involved in deciding the fates of those who tormented us and sit in prison,” Talida said. “And for those who are in hiding, still hoping to escape justice … we want to hold their trials in absentia.” Her voice grew stronger with each demand. “We should not have to wait for months and years to heal these wounds.”

Darvyn sighed as the silence around him indicated that every man, woman, and child present was hanging on his answer. “I will bring this to the king and queen.”

“We should start with a symbol of the True Father’s thirst for blood—his most beloved assassin.”

Darvyn stopped breathing at her mention of Kyara. As Talida spoke, Aggar’s cold eyes bored into him like a drill, menacing and mean.

“The first to be tried for crimes against the people of Lagrimar should be the Poison Flame!” she shouted.

A deafening cheer went up among the crowd as Darvyn’s vision swam. His heart tore in two. Muscles rigid, his gaze never left Aggar’s.

So this had been the game. Reveal the Shadowfox to the people, force Darvyn to show his face to them, accept their praise, and then back him into a corner he’d have difficulty escaping.

Talida’s emotions were shielded. The woman still had her Song, though she was not a strong Singer. Her shield was flimsy, and though Darvyn could have broken through it if he’d wanted, he left it intact. Her refusal to look at him any longer let him know that she, too, knew exactly what her demand would do to him. Both she and Aggar had witnessed Darvyn’s meltdown when the Keepers had threatened to execute Kyara in Lagrimar. Aggar had even ordered Darvyn to be collared—fixed with a device that prevented access to his Song—briefly.

Cries of “Justice! Justice!” rang out. Darvyn spun around, beset on all sides by people when all he wanted to do was escape into the fresh air.

Hands reached out to him, words of gratitude barely reaching his ears. Someone gripped his arm and dragged him away while they murmured thanks to the people still surrounding him. Then he was outside, gasping in the crisp, sea-salty air, fighting the terror that clutched him.

Zango stood before him, concern etched in his gaze. Rozyl spoke in a harsh whisper behind him, but Darvyn was still drowning in a sea of sorrow.

For the first time since Kyara had disappeared from the streets of Sayya, Darvyn was glad. He hoped she was far away and safe. He could not imagine a choice more difficult than one between the people he’d spent his life protecting and the woman he loved.