“I did, and I’d prefer that you didn’t tell her that.” He mock scowls.
And there is my leverage. His smile falls when mine begins to grow and I relax exaggeratedly against a fallen log behind me, sighing contentedly and popping a small piece of cheese into my mouth.
“I can see why that might make you nervous. It’s bad enough that you smuggled me out of the keep right before the gauntlet, but you lied to Leanna so that she would go along with your request.” I whistle, long and low. “She has high hopes that I’ll win this year.”
In fact, she is ready to break me pushing me beyond my limits to see that I do. One week in the woods means we will return just in time for me to compete in the challenge but for the time leading up to it I will be granted a reprieve from Leanna’s torturous training regimen. Even the master of shadows was unimpressed by the fractured arm I received by her hand two months ago, and that was only the beginning of it. Where Leanna is concerned, there is no room for weakness.
“While Leanna is hopeful that you will win, I brought you out here to make sure that you do. Leanna is a battle-axe, and you need to learn to be the wind. Not everything in this world can be overcome by force.”
I can’t argue with that. Leanna is an effective weapon but not one suitable for every task.
“Fine. You teach me how to win the gauntlet, and I won’t tell Leanna you kidnapped me.”
He quirks an eyebrow at my demand and offers me a lopsided grin. “I’ll help you refine the skills, but the winning will be entirely up to you.”
We continue all day, stopping only when the sun sinks to the horizon, its rays brushing a thick patch of dark rain clouds a lovely shade of pink. It’s the farthest south I’ve ever been. For good reason. I don’t know what those reasons are, but below the southern border of La’tari, on every map I’ve ever seen, it is smeared ominously in a thick layer of dark coal.The Smudge. That is the name I gave it years ago, when not one of my teachers would tell me what it was called.
Though it is impossible to know exactly where we are, I knew themoment we crossed the border, and that was hours ago. There was no marked crossing, no drastic change in the land save for a growing abundance of healthy trees, but I had known. Just as I know with utter certainty that there is no veil in Terr in which Leanna would allow the master of shadows to bring me here. I begin to wonder just how many lies he told Leanna to orchestrate this trip. If she ever finds out that I’ve kept his secrets and gone along with them, she will have me whipped right alongside him.
The shadow master drops his pack and produces a hidden batch of tinder from the crook of a healthy tree branch. I raise a brow as he scans the ground nearby, brushing his palm across a thick layer of fallen leaves strewn across the forest floor. Within seconds he removes strategically placed leaf litter, revealing a shallow fire pit. My eyes widen and I survey the area. He’s been here before.
I’m not surprised that he’s scouted the area before bringing me, or rather, I wouldn’t be surprised were it not for where we are. Never in my life have I considered that anyone would intentionally spend time in The Smudge. There is only one thing I’ve ever been taught about it—it is the most dangerous place on Terr. And those who venture beyond its borders rarely return.
“Get comfortable. This is home for the next week.”
No matter how hard I try I can’t seem to relax as we sit by the fire. By all rights this forest should be teeming with life, every tree alive, vibrant leaves fluttering in the wind that weaves through the canopy. It isn’t a rustling in the bushes or the snapping of twigs that keeps my attention on the dense forest surrounding us. It is the eerie quiet and unnatural stillness that prickles my skin and keeps me on guard late into the night.
I sleep like hisht, tossing and turning all night. I can’t blame the rolling thunder in the distance or the roots that dig into my back, barely buffered by the thin bedroll beneath me. It’s the image my mind keeps conjuring of the black void of the south on every map I have ever laid eyes on. The void in which I now find myself. And I can’t help but wonder, what would cause the La’tari to wipe every map clean of this place?
I’m relieved when, just as dawn breaks, the torrential downpour brought in by the wind ends abruptly before reaching our camp. The cloudsquickly burn off and the weather shifts into an unseasonably warm, fall day that I welcome with a weary smile.
Though he promised me training, I don’t complain when the master of shadows puts a fishing pole in my hands, ushering me to a nearby game trail that leads to a winding stream. There is an absurd abundance of fish, and I’ve never seen anything like it. I doubt anyone living on La’tari soil has. At least none born in my lifetime. Animals had become scarce, driven from our land, when our depleted soils could no longer support life. Though salted fish, pulled from the northern seas, is a staple at the keep, I have never in my life eaten fresh meat.
With a little guidance from the shadow master, it takes no time at all for me to procure our breakfast. He busies himself, starting and tending a small fire at the edge of the water and we spend a lazy day along its bank, each content with the other’s company and the long stretches of silence we share.
I’m nodding off late in the afternoon with a belly full of fish, decadent and rich, unlike anything I have ever tasted. A warm breeze rustles the colorful leaves above me when his voice comes from the quiet.
“I will cook our meal tonight if you catch one with your bare hands.”
I crack open a single eye, taking him in where he sits perched on the edge of the water, watching the fish swim by lazily. A taunting smile spreads across his face and my eyes fully open, fists balling at my sides. Perhaps my greatest weakness, I’ve never been able to walk away from a challenge. It’s a fact the shadow master has exploited since he became aware of it early on in my training.
“You’ll cook meals all week, or no deal,” I bluff.
I’ll accept the bet either way and we both know it.
“All right, it’s a deal,” he laughs.
I slide into the water and settle my feet on the smooth stones littering the streambed. The fish dart about warily at the first sign of intrusion but quickly become accustomed to my presence and settle into the current swirling around my legs. I wonder if these fish have any natural predators. Every one of them is fat, tails swishing slowly back and forth as they idle contentedly in the flickering sun breaking through the leaves above.
This is going to be easy.
Two hours later I’m soaking wet from my many failed attempts at fish wrangling. I’ve managed to wrap my hands around two, both sliding through my grip with frustrating ease. Now, most of the trout have taken to hiding from me under cover of a nearby rock ledge where they watch from the shadows, mockingly. I’m about to give up for the day and go back to using the pole, preferring a shameful surrender to that of starvation. Whether it’s tonight or another day this week, I will catch a fish with my bare hands. It is now my single purpose in life.
A lone, portly trout flicks his tail lazily between where I stand and the shore. Unperturbed by my attempts to seize the others, he seems happy to ride the current and simply exist as though I do not.
I glance up to find the shadow master watching intently. His brow drawn down, as he surveys my target with great interest. I suppress the shame of my imminent failure even as I narrow my eyes on the water. Shame that promises to send me down a minor spiral of depression for the evening.
I move slowly at first, lining my hands up behind the fat fish, whispering near silent prayers to the stars. I lunge, noting the flick of its tail the moment he spots me. I’m too late. The plump trout makes a break for the obscuring shadows of the rocky overhang only to be swept into a strong eddy that slings him toward me nearly sliding him right into my hands.
