Ashok gripped the bars helplessly. “I don’t … Say it again, Chanoch,” he said roughly. “I can’t hear you.”
Chanoch stopped speaking. He nodded, smiled at Ashok, then turned his head to the side. He was looking at something in the corner of the cell. Ashok followed his gaze, but he saw nothing, only the shadows.
“Chanoch, look at me,” he said desperately. “You’re still here. You’re alive. Don’t give in, Chanoch.” He yanked the bars, rattling them. The sound echoed in the dark, but Chanoch’s attention remained on the nothingness in the corner.
Panting, Ashok reached through the bars again, trying to grasp Chanoch’s arm. He felt the warrior’s cold skin and recoiled. “No!” he cried.
But his pleas meant nothing. Chanoch couldn’t hear them. The light had gone out of his eyes. He was dead.
Ashok sank to his knees before the cage, shivering in a sudden chill. The only sound was his own harsh breathing.
He’d never seen it happen before. Members of his enclave had succumbed to the shadow often, especially in recent years, when the darkness of the caves clung to them like wraiths. But they’d always been alone. Ashok had never seen the quiet death, but that’s exactly what it was. Chanoch had faded away without fanfare or pain. Peaceful, yet horrifying.
Ashok got to his feet and stumbled from the room. He tried to say something to the guards, but he couldn’t stop and found himself running through the caves. He pelted through the dark until he broke free and smelled the forge smoke. Gasping, Ashok breathed in the hot scent, but his heart wouldn’t stop racing. He couldn’t stop. If he stopped, he would think, and the shadows would be waiting.
He crossed the trade district and climbed the steps of Tower Pyton. He came out on the lower Span. The wind roared, tossing his cloak and hair. The canyon wall hovered darkly over his left shoulder.
Ashok walked across the bridge with his eyes on the ground below. Other shadar-kai walked in front and back of him. Below, the outdoor markets bustled with activity. The moving lights and color mesmerized him.
Ashok stopped in the middle of the bridge and stood at its edge. He swayed from side to side. His heart felt as if it would explode in his chest. His breath came ragged, and his eyes watered in the wind.
Behind him, a voice said, “Are you all right?”
Ashok looked up and was surprised to see a human staring at him. He didn’t recognize the man, but he was looking at Ashok in concern.
“I thought … only shadar-kai walked here,” he said to the man.
The man shook his head. “I walk the Span every day,” he said.
“Aren’t you afraid?” asked Ashok.
“Of course,” the man replied. “That’s why I do it-gives me a little bit of a thrill. Are you crossing?” the man asked.
Slowly, Ashok nodded. His trance broken, he found the spell of panic and terror had passed. Feeling weak, he turned and walked toward Hevalor with the human trailing behind him.
He went down the stairs and headed for Tower Athanon. Within, he asked one of the guards where Ilvani’s quarters were.
He climbed the stairs nearly to the top of the tower and knocked on the second door to his left. There was no response.
Ashok raised his hand to knock again, but he stopped with his knuckles brushing the wood. He sat down in front of Ilvani’s door and stretched his legs out in front of him. His boots were scuffed and stained with mud and old blood. He leaned against the door and waited.
Outside, the Pendron bell sounded. Ashok closed his eyes and immediately an image of Chanoch’s chained body came into his mind. He opened his eyes and stared straight ahead until his breathing quieted.
After a while, his back started to ache, and his legs cramped from sitting. Ashok stood and walked back and forth around the tower. He considered going outside to one of the archways but dismissed it. The hypnotic effect of the height was not what he needed. What he needed was calm. What he wanted was to jump off the tower and let the wind rush past him. He didn’t care where he landed.
Behind him, he heard a door open. Ashok turned and saw Ilvani looking at him. She stepped back into her room and left the door standing wide. On the strength of that invitation, Ashok followed her inside.
Her room was torn apart. Trunks containing clothing, books, and parchment writings were upended and scattered all over the floor. Her bed was covered with twisted blankets, their edges torn and flecked with blood. A ladder leaning against the far wall led up to a small sitting ledge.
Ilvani perched on the ledge, her legs swinging free above the ladder. Behind her, a crescent-shaped window looked out over the city.
Ashok picked a careful path across the room and stopped in front of the ladder. He climbed up slowly, waiting for her to tell him no, but she only watched him. When he reached the top, she scooted as far back against the wall as she could.
Ilvani wore a dress of crimson velvet. Its collar came up almost to her chin and pressed flush against her skin, emphasizing her unhealthy slenderness. She spread her skirt over her knees to make a lap and brought her green bag from a corner near the window.
Ashok settled himself opposite her and looked out the window. The view was breathtaking. He could see the training yard, the towers, and the rest of the city spread below them like a dark storm.
“You have the entire city here,” Ashok said. “You can almost touch it.” He looked at Ilvani, but she was absorbed in arranging the bag. “Did you paint the picture of Ikemmu that hangs in Uwan’s chamber?”
“Yes,” she said. Her voice sounded like she’d been sleeping. “He took it before I had them all in.”
“Who took it? Uwan?” Ashok said.
She nodded. “He’s always taking things before they’re ready,” she said. Her thin fingers worked the string on the bag. She tossed the cord aside and without warning turned the bag upside down, dumping its contents all over the ledge between them.
Her glass orb, the one with the red silk, rolled across the ledge along with others like it, clear and bottle green and flat black. Ashok put out a hand so they wouldn’t roll away. There were other things too-all containers, Ashok noticed. Miniature chests with tiny locks and gold catches; plain wooden boxes, their warped lids tied with string; layers of cloth wrapped tightly and knotted.
“What is all this?” Ashok asked.
Ilvani counted each of the containers out loud. “One impressive feast,” she said, pointing to a coin-sized silver box. “Two shiny baubles in my ears; three swords blocking the way.” She touched a fragile bit of parchment folded to look like a box. “Four interlocking braids; five shadow hounds.” And on and on-twenty boxes of nonsense that she counted as if her life depended upon finding them all.
“What does it mean?” Ashok said when she’d finished.
“They’re all trapped in here,” she said. “Every wind, every soul. I keep them here. Whether they like it or not.”
Ashok picked up one of the strange boxes. The wooden lid came loose. He looked inside.
“Empty,” he said. He picked up a clear glass sphere. “They’re all empty.”
“Of course,” Ilvani said. She held up the wooden box. “Uwan,” she said.
“Uwan gave that to you?”
“It is Uwan,” Ilvani said. She stuck a finger beneath the lid. “The first time he showed me this room. Said it was all mine.” Her clean hair was pale red in color, but she’d made no attempt to even out the chopped strands.
Ashok held up the clear glass sphere. “Are they your memories, Ilvani?” he asked.
“Every wind, every soul,” she said, and laughed. “A lot to take in-I have to put them somewhere. Out of sight, so they don’t crowd everything.” She pressed the heel of her hand against her temple. “Not enough room.”
“No, I suppose not,” Ashok said. “Which one is your brother, Ilvani?”
“What?” she said, looking at him as if noticing his presence for the first time. “Natan? He’s not here,” she said.