Shadow Weaver Book 2: Song of the Naga

CHAPTER 9

I bolt through the passage after the thief. Pale light illuminates the small figure that has taken my purse. As the child exits the passage into the crowd, I grab him by the back of his shirt.

He wriggles and twists and bites into my hand. Teeth pierce the surface of my skin. The sharp pain makes anger flare inside me. I swing the child around and pin it to the inner alcove wall.

"My purse," I growl. There is a small whimper, but he doesn't offer it back. I lean forward, using my forearm to pin the child's neck to the wall while I search his pockets. My gold is all buried, and without the silver and copper coins, I will be as good as penniless in the Hybourg until I meet with Tug.

"Please," the child whimpers. "You're hurting me." I loosen my grip. It hits me with a flash: this is the girl who escaped the slavers. I have just watched the Sai brand her brother.

As soon as I have loosened my hold, her knee comes up and wallops me in the stomach. My arms instinctively move to press over my belly and the girl slips from my grasp.

Clutching my stomach, I dive after her into the stream of people walking up the aisles. Her long, tangled hair vanishes through the cracks in the crowds, but I have no problem keeping track of her in the mind-world. As long as I maintain a close distance and not too many people come between us, she won't escape.

I am gaining on her when several men wheel an enormous cage across my path. It is no use pushing around it, the cage takes up the whole aisle. Crowds of people are already trying to get past to no avail. I stop and watch the girl go. I think I have seen her for the last time when her face appears in the far-off crowd, looking back at me, large brown eyes wide open. Then she's gone.

The movement of the cage creates a commotion on the west side of the pit. It is on top of a frame with wheels, and six giant guards are turning the whole thing around. I find myself an arm's distance from the velaraptor's head. This close, the faint snowy mountain scent reaches my senses.

"You missed your chance!" A voice booms behind me. It is the bald man who tried to sell me the velaraptor a few hours ago for two silver. His voice bubbles with smug satisfaction.

"It is dead," I say, though I know it's not true. It lies unmoving on the cage floor and it certainly looks dead, but I can sense it in the mind-world-the strange, spacious, vast, empty mind slipping away. Why would a buyer take the risk? Unless there is a trade in dead velaraptors. Perhaps among some people, the skin is considered sacred or magic.

In Carucan myths, the velaraptor is a mystical, powerful creature, appearing only at special times in history. So rare are their sightings that most Carucans believe they are just a myth. Perhaps they are more sought after dead than alive.

"He's not dead," the owner continues. "I sell him for five silver coins!"

"He'll be dead by tomorrow," I say.

"Not my problem. Look, there he is. The crazy man who buys the velaraptor!"

The seller laughs. I follow his pointed finger to the arched tunnel. The number of people coming through the entrance side is great. Few are leaving and among those few stands a man watching the approaching cage. The low orange sun backlights his wavy hair. His face is cast in shadow, revealing the strong angle of his jaw and neat chin. Wide muscled shoulders on a strong, slim frame.

My arms tingle. I'm vaguely aware of the velaraptor seller talking, but it's as though I'm in a bubble. The pit and the cages and the merchants barely exist for me.

The man is a mirage. He has to be because the silhouette and subtle, elegant way he stands is a shadow-play of the Prince.

I watch mesmerized as the man converses with another. Then he turns and his tanned, olive skin catches the light. The bubble of enchantment bursts. This is no illusion.

I push forward, sweat tingling on my hot face. The velaraptor cage is advancing slowly, still crowding out the aisle so people must filter down the sides, pushing and shoving. I clench my muscles, swallowing down my impatience. Prince Jakut is in the pit, and he has just purchased the velarapator! I cannot lose him.

I squeeze between the oncoming flow of people, looking for spaces where I can edge forward. At one moment, I press against the cage bars and become acutely aware of the enormous creature inches from me. My mind fills with the sound of the wind wailing through a vast valley. It is the sound of sadness and longing. On some deep level, my heart echoes the sentiment. I long for home. But it is not the home of Blackfoot forest or Sara's longhouse. I long for a home I have never seen, never had.

I make it out from the crush of the velaraptor cage just in time. When I look back to the tunnel, I see Prince Jakut leaving. I stride forward, head down, ignoring the traders who try to sell me things.

After so many hours in the fug of the pit, the half-light of the horizon sun makes my eyes water. I shield them and walk quickly. Excitement and fear jostle inside me. I can't believe he is here. What can he be doing in the Hybourg? What sort of fate is this that our paths should cross again?

He is joined by two men who have waited for him outside. They are both dressed in plain clothes, but they carry swords and have a soldier's air about them. He has not come to the Hybourg alone but in service to Queen Usas.

I follow the men, not ready to make my presence known. I don't know what the Prince's business is here. I don't want to confront him in front of the soldiers.

I follow at a safe distance. Jakut stops in the middle of a square with a well, and the men talk and exchange rolls of parchment. Then they split up, each headed in different directions.

I continue to go after the Prince, allowing myself to get closer now that he is no longer accompanied. My mouth grows dry with the anticipation of meeting him. But a part of me isn't convinced it's a good idea because I cannot bring myself to call his name - or at least the name he used when he was in disguise. It would be simple. I don't understand what's holding me back.

I turn a corner, only a few paces behind him, and discover an empty street. As I expand my senses, an arm hooks around my neck. Another grabs my stomach, fixing my arms at my sides. The arm around my neck has a sword and the blade is pressing into my skin.

"State your business, boy. Why are you following me?"

For a moment, I cannot respond. He smells of cinnamon, mint, and summer. Words tumble through my head, but none of them seem right. It's me? Hello? Ule, Jakut. Your Highness? I don't know how to address him, or what to say.

Perhaps sensing my incapacity to form words, the sword arm lowers, and the arm around my waist tightens. I hear the sword slip into its sheath. He turns my shoulders, so we are face to face.

I cannot raise my eyes. I don't understand what has come over me. His hand rises. The pressure is light as he slowly raises my chin with his finger. I suddenly remember my shaven skull and swollen forehead and wonder if he'll recognize me. I swallow, trying to get my breath back.

When our eyes meet, something, arrow sharp, fixes me, so where before I could not look at him, now I cannot look away. My eyes sting as he searches my face.

"How is this possible?" he asks. He sounds like he's choking. But if I tried to speak, I wouldn't have a voice at all. I shake my head.

"Mirra," he murmurs. And then he pulls me into his arms.