Shadow Weaver (Back on Wattpad 2020!)

Chapter 9

By day the streets of the Hybourg are grim and depressing and seem only mildly less dangerous than the previous night. Watery sunlight struggles through the knitted roofs of houses built so close together, the residents have hung washing lines from windows on one side of the street to the other. Though it has not yet warmed above water freezing temperatures, the snow has long gone from the dirty walkways, pushed into enormous piles. The Pit looms in the distance, a black mountain with its head chopped off.

Tug holds tight to the top of my arm. His other hand rests over the knife sheath on his belt. Brin and Kel walk ahead, Kel dressed in deerskin trousers, a dark blue tunic and a cloak with the hood pulled well over his downturned head. So far, we have attracted no untoward attention.

We pass an open square where manacled men and women with bony, mud-streaked faces build a wall from a mountain of cut black rock. A covered water well stands in the middle of the square. A wooden pen holds a dozen wild fowl with red jowls and bright blue feathers. I have seen this bird in my mother's memories. They're popular for their eggs and meat, though they look too skinny to bother choking.

Apart from those chained, there are no women on the street. I go unnoticed because Tug did not make me change from my sturdy boots, trousers and parka. Still, I pull my hood further over my forehead and I'm grateful that our captors are not stupid enough to make me wear the dress in public.

We are now so close to the Pit I have to tilt back my head to the gray sky to see the top of it. From this distance, slit windows high in the framework have become visible, like small scars or pointy teeth. Unlike the Hybourg houses and inns cobbled from the black rock, the Pit walls are not decorated with broken colored glass and reflective metals. The rock is smooth and appears seamless.

Before we turn the corner, I sense the storm up ahead. Hundreds of men choke up the mind-world. The scraps of memory create muddy, swirling layers upon layers. Inwardly, I shrink from the mayhem. Kel, who up until five days ago had never met a living soul other than our family, must be horrified.

A dark, arched tunnel where men swarm, distinguishes the Pit entrance. I count eight guards patrolling the crowds, marked by the strange metal bands laced up their bare arms, the black armour, the metal around their necks and their size. Each one of them is huge, as though they've crossed species with giants. Not the sort of men even Tug could scrap with and walk away from uninjured.

The crowd ebbs and sways with a tidal push as the swell grows on one side, then builds from the other. Even the men with slave women and children struggle to reach the guards and get inside. Men carry crystal and stone wares around their necks, crates of goods they wish to trade, animals in cages. Tug and I, tight against Brin and Kel, surf forward on a wave of movement. Once we are deep in the throng there is a lull, and we are hemmed in with nowhere to go.

Brin elbows left and right, forcing tiny gaps. We weave one way, then the other, getting no closer to the tunnel. A pulse of energy in the mind-world hooks my attention. Not the Hybourg's usual, ominous violence, but something I sense is connected to Kel. Someone has taken an interest in him.

Tug keeps elbowing left. I scan faces, searching for someone who doesn't fit the crowd. Small spaces open, drawing us towards a man who does not argue with his neighbour, who is not carrying goods, or pushing and shoving. And there is another like him further clockwise, waiting patiently. I shudder, realising we have been guided into a wide circle of men that do not observe one another, but their shaved heads and a square tattoo above the ear unites them.

Brin thrusts forward as a crack appears in the crowd, pulling us closer to the heart of the gang. I grasp his arm. He jerks, eyes flicking to me with repulsion. But he understands at once I have discerned something. Tug scrupulously studies the crowd.