Beyond the Shadows (12 page)

“He’s right,” another one of the circle chimed in, grabbing the second before she could pull away. “It takes more than two people to unload a shipping container.”

“This is ridiculous,” she protested.

Maxen smiled. “I’m afraid for a fair court, we need the testimony of all witnesses. Take her to the pits, too, and lock down the ship.”

The crowd cheered as the other Bacarilen was hauled back to the holding pits. Maxen grabbed Cyn by the arm and pulled him through the crowds back toward the runner.

“How are you going to find her?” he asked. “I don’t have anything in stored memory about
Ti Kataf
.”

“I don’t either,” Cyn admitted. “We need Xan.”

“MAXEN, DRIVE,” CYN ORDERED AS HE CLIMBED INTO THE PASSENGER SEAT and strapped himself in. Tuz landed with a heavy thud on his lap. Cyn snatched Maxen’s dog’s worn blanket from the back and shoved it between the cat’s claws and his thighs.

The engine rumbled to life, and Maxen peeled the runner around in a circle before racing out of the docks. “Do you know where Xan’s ship is?” Cyn shouted as Tuz managed to sink his claws through the blanket and into his jeans.

“He’s on the northern outskirts of the city. I haven’t seen him around in days.” The wind whipped Maxen’s long bangs away from his silver eye.

“Keep your eyes on the road!” Cyn grabbed on to Tuz with one hand and the door frame with the other as the runner careened around a broken-down hoveran.

The crumbling ruins of the northern slums whipped past them as the streets closed in, and more ancient stone and metalwork jutted up from the dirt streets.

Maxen managed to avoid every obstacle until the buildings finally succumbed to the natural layered rock formations to the north.

Xan’s large crewship rested on the crest of one of the round-top hills. The shadow of the city stretched toward the ship but couldn’t quite grasp it.

Maxen pulled the runner to a stop near a roaring bonfire. Roughly a dozen of Xan’s crew sat around rolling thupa stones and drinking.

A woman stood and lifted her thick mug to them. “Maxen!” she called with a warm smile. Cyn knew better than to let it lull him into a sense of complacency. Even though they were friends, Venet was not a woman to mess with. She was a worthy second in command to Xan and a fierce pirate. “And you,” she gave him a teasing frown. “What are you calling yourself today?”

“Cyrus,” he answered, before jumping out of the runner and then steadying his balance. “Where’s Xan? It’s urgent.”

“Camping.” She frowned in earnest this time. “He needs to get back. The men are getting edgy.”

“How long has he been out there?” Maxen asked, stepping over a rolling thupa stone.

“Three days. He didn’t take anything with him.” She paused, looked at the dwindling contents of her tankard, then back up at Cyn. “He’s getting worse. The headaches are more frequent.”

Cyn nodded. His old friend had been withdrawing more and more. The constant battering in his mind from his psychic connection to his people was wearing on him. He could no longer block it out. There was nothing Cyn could do to help. Instead he was here to beg Xan to connect even deeper with his people, an act that would certainly cause him an even greater burden of pain.

How could he ever repay such a debt?

He couldn’t think about that now. He had to get Yara back, and this was the only way he could do it.

“Which way did he go?” Maxen asked, scanning the horizon.

“Toward Vulture’s Stoop.” She pointed to the northeast. “It’s dark enough. He should be awake by now.”

“Thanks, Venet.” Cyn climbed back into the runner, nudging Tuz with the toe of his boot. The cat wedged himself underneath the console and growled.

Maxen steered the runner through the camp and raced at break-neck speed down a rutted trail without the aid of lights. If his driving was bad in the day, it was ten times worse in the descending night.

“Could you turn the lights on?” Cyn ducked as a low-hanging branch whipped overhead.

“Blinding Xan as we approach is not the best way to ask him for a favor,” Maxen pointed out. “Don’t worry, I can see fine.”

His silver eye glowed with an eerie red light.

Maxen had a point. Xan was full-blooded Hannolen. He was naturally nocturnal and his eyes were oversensitive, even for one of his kind.

Cyn wondered if it was because he was born with the rikka, streaks of white in his dark irises. They reminded Cyn of lightning and meteors, flashes of brilliance in a sea of shadow. They marked him as a true-born prince of his people. They revealed his ability to mentally connect with anyone with Hannolen blood, anywhere, in any dimension, including macrospace.

It was the reason Xan was in so much danger, and the reason he’d never agree to help.

Cyn had to try.

They turned up a path that led to the rounded peak of Vulture’s Stoop. As the runner crested the top of the trail, Cyn caught sight of Xan standing in the center of the hilltop, staring in silence at the emerging stars. His eye shades hung from the slit in his shirt, while his dark blond hair looked gray in the dim light.

The rumble of the engine drowned out the delicate noises of the night and threw up a cloud of fine dust that swirled like eerie fog in the waning light. The engine let out a loud whine, then sputtered to a groaning stop.

Cyn jumped out as steam poured out from beneath four of the runner’s wheels.

“I’ll get on that,” Maxen commented. “You deal with Xan.”

Xan looked scruffier than normal, his hair longer, his face rougher. But it was more than that. He looked tired.

“There are too many clouds here,” he stated without bringing his gaze down to Maxen or Cyn.

Cyn walked forward with slow, cautious steps.

“Xan, I need your help.” Cyn was too used to Xan’s eye shades. They made him seem hard and strong. Seeing his friend’s eyes for the first time in at least a year haunted him. It made what he was about to ask that much more difficult. “I need you to contact your people.”

“I told you to never ask me to do that again.” Xan slowly dropped his gaze from the sky and focused on Cyn. “What mythical planet are you trying to find this time? The Hannolen people are not your personal spy network. Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry I asked you to find Byra. I shouldn’t have. But now an innocent woman’s life is in jeopardy. I have no other choice.”

“Batshit.” Xan turned away from him. Cyn reached out and grabbed his arm. Xan stopped, but his ominous silence spoke volumes.

“Her name is Yara. I need her. She was taken by a flesh trader in the Blackstock. She’s on a ship called
Ti Kataf
. It’s a Kronalen vessel. Chances are one of your people is on board. We need to know which slave port they’re going to. A psychic connection is the only thing that can reach them between dimensions.”

Xan had the power to unite all of the Hannolen, possibly lead a revolt that could single-handedly bring down the power structure of Krona. But he had never once used his gift. The Hannolen wasted away in despair, believing they had no prince, no one to lead them out of slavery. Cyn’s Rebel blood couldn’t understand why Xan didn’t act.

What would it take to convince him to help? What could Cyn give that would be worth the risk?

Xan had said something obtuse about a prophecy. But that was the problem with the damn Hannolen. They’d been so caught up in their stars and prophecies, they failed to stand as one and fight when their planet was at stake. The swift and merciless Kronalen war fleets were upon them before they could interpret shit from the
all-knowing
stars.

“Yara,” Xan mused. “Isn’t that the Azralen bloodhunter who’s supposed to kill you?”

Cyn stared his friend down, facing the scrutiny of the only person that knew him well. “She doesn’t know who I am.”

Xan shook his head. “Does anyone?”

“You do.”

They fell silent for a long time. The rolling clouds above cracked open, revealing the velvet black of space sprinkled with endless stars. Cyn felt his frustration like a pounding hammer in his chest. Xan could stare at the stars and ponder his prophecies until he withered and died. They weren’t going to change, damn it.

“I’m sorry.” Xan looked back at the stars. “I can’t.”

“You need to act. It’s time to do something. Connect to the river of thought,” Cyn demanded.

“You know nothing about the river.” Xan’s voice lashed with an edge as sharp as a knife.

“I know enough.” Cyn knew Xan could hear the river louder than the others. An endless song, it ran through the backs of the minds of all Hannolen, connecting them all together and recording their experiences as a people. Cyn had heard him sing parts in his sleep. If Xan wanted, he could speak out in the song, and anyone with Hannolen blood would hear his voice in their mind. Only those born with the rikka could do it, which is why any child born with the rikka was royal. The prince stood before Cyn, as lost as his people.

“I’m warning you, Cyn,” Xan looked up, his dark eyes burning with anger. “Leave now.”

“You know what they’re going to do to her. You hear it over and over in the river. How many times do they cry for help? How many voices have suddenly cut out?” Cyn asked. “And you sit in silence and do
nothing
.”

Xan swung, his fist smashing into the side of Cyn’s face. The pain pounded through his head and jaw as he tasted hot blood in his mouth. He bit his lip and stood straighter.

“Please.” Cyn wished his friend could see into his mind, hear his desperate thoughts. “Please.”

Xan let out a long breath and shook out his hand. “You’re a bastard.”

“Help me.” Cyn felt his throbbing flesh begin to swell. He didn’t care.

“I told you, I can’t. If I act before the will of God, we will be punished and spend another thousand years in slavery.” He crossed his arms. “If I act too soon, the Kronalen will find me, and all hope will be lost.” His tone was less lofty, more grounded in reality. Cyn understood what was at stake, but the Union forces wouldn’t fight the Kronalen forever. At some point, the Hannolen would have to fight for their own survival. “According to the path of Halstos, I must stay hidden.”

“Damn it, Xan. Will you forget about your high prophecies and stargazing and deal with what’s happening now? Your people are out there. They’re suffering. They need to know you live. It’s time.”

“You need to let the prophecy shit go,” Maxen commented, wiping grease off his hands with an old rag. Cyn didn’t have time for this. A life was at stake and they were standing around in the dark waiting for some great spirit that controlled the universe to send them a sign.

“We don’t have enough strength to defeat the Kronalen. You can see it, right there on the path of Halstos.” He swung his hand in an arch, tracing through the patterns of stars above. “Cryais the snake needs to move to Anarya the falcon, and then the balance of power can shift. We will have more strength.” Xan pointed to the sky. “Faeneth has moved into its fourth orbit. The river is so loud, I can’t think anymore. My people are crying out, and I can’t answer them. It’s killing me.”

Cyn stood shocked.
This is the prophecy?
Fear pounded in his veins. What if the Hannolen prophecies weren’t about stars at all?

Cyn unbuckled his bracer and ripped it off. Xan stared at the snakes tattooed around his wrist and forearm. “She’s marked with the falcon.”

Xan stared at his wrist for what seemed like an eternity. Then he looked back up at the cloudy sky and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “If you’re lying, toying with the hand of God to get what you want . . .”

“What are the fucking odds, Xan?” Cyn shouted. “Her name is Yara, of the line of Yarini the Just. What is the family symbol? Maxen, look it up.”

“It’s a falcon,” Maxen confirmed.

“She’s the falcon.” Cyn rubbed his exposed tattoo. “I’m the snake.” Cyn hated this. He had no part in fate or destiny, and if he did, his certainly wasn’t tied to Yara’s, was it?

Another chill ran down his back. It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered at the coincidence of her family ties. He didn’t like being bound by some cosmic dictate, but none of it mattered to him deep down. Only one thing really mattered. He had to save Yara. “The revolution on Azra hinges on her. Once the Grand Sister is gone, Azra will be strong again and in the debt of Hanno.”

Xan gave him a skeptical look, but his skin had paled, and Cyn could read the indecision on his face.

“Well?” Cyn prodded. If this was a blasted sign, Xan had better listen to it, or Cyn would give him hell to pay.

Xan kicked a rock then pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He dropped his hands suddenly and glared at Cyn. “If I ever ask you for anything, you do it. Understand? As soon as I speak on the river, my people will know a prince exists, and it won’t take long for Krona to find out. If I need your help against the Kronalen, you
will
aid me. Azra will aid my people. I hold you to that promise.”

Cyn balked at the open nature of a promise like that. He could barely speak for himself. He had nothing. Now Xan wanted a promise of protection from all of Azra, not just him. How could he commit to such a promise? He didn’t even know if there would be an Azra once he was done with it. He had to trust fate. He didn’t even believe in fate. What would he have to do to save Yara?

What did the freedom of Azra mean to him?

What did
she
mean to him?

Xan turned from him and began to walk away.

“I’ll do it,” Cyn promised, even as his fear ate at his insides.

The prince turned back and gave him a single slow nod. “Then let me focus.” He circled the hilltop, wandering amid the weeds and muttering to himself. Finally he stopped in a small clearing of ashen dust. Scuffing the ground with the side of his boot, he closed his dark eyes and lifted his hands to the night sky. The clouds rolled back as if Xan had unleashed some sort of impossible magic. As the stars glittered above, he began to sing.