A Storm of Shadows (Shatterborn Book One)

Chapter II, Dreamweb

The sun was low in the valley by the time Emmaline looked up from the book. With a groan, she stretched her legs. Pins and needles shot through them as she stood stiffly. She wobbled slightly, clutching at the seat to maintain balance. Then, when she was sure that her legs weren’t going to give out underneath her, she made her way out of the grove.

Daytime had transformed Herondale into a bustling area of activity, but now that the sun was setting, most of the market stalls were packing up for the day. Emmaline leaned over the wall of Highgarden, watching the villagers below her scurry to and fro, packing up wares and making last-minute purchases. A young mother and her child were playing in Middlegarden, and Emmaline watched them somewhat wistfully as their squeals of laughter wafted up to her ears.

As she walked down the stone steps, the clang of hammer on steel echoed through the town. Alex would still be hard at work, making the most of daylight to finish his forging. Emmaline had half a mind to visit the forge; Alex the smithy’s apprentice was one of the few people she enjoyed talking to in the small town. However, she thought better of it. Azrael would likely be wondering where she was, if he had left his library since the morning. A soft gurgle in Emmaline’s stomach made up her mind completely, and she walked through the streets of Middlegarden quietly, head down and book tucked under her arm.

A light dusting of snow had begun to fall. The air was cold and thin, without the promise of summer to come that spring usually brought. It had been that way for a great many years; Emmaline could only vaguely remember a winter shorter than seven months. Springs were always cold and short, before the sudden shock of summer hit. Already, the chill white powder had settled like a veil on the town. Ahead of her, Emmaline could see townspeople moving about still, even so late in the day. She sighed.

Emmaline had long since perfected the art of being invisible to curious eyes. Not in the traditional head-down-and-be-inconspicuous way, either. As she walked, her body physically faded from sight, allowing her to walk past several nosy housewives without being accosted in the street. She dodged and wove through the thin trickle of people moving about town, slipping past all and overhearing quite a lot. Insipid details of the townspeople’s lives, for the most part, but on the odd occasion, Emmaline overheard something that was actually interesting.

Today was one of those days.

Four doors away from her own, Emmaline spotted two men talking in low voices. Sensing a conspirational tone to their conversation, she edged closer to listen. One of the men was short and quite fat, and with the snow falling on him, he reminded Emmaline of a muffin. The other man was slightly taller than the first, but his cloak and thinness made him seem to tower over the fat one by contrast.

The fat one-Isaac, Emmaline remembered now-spoke softly. “That man, the weird one on the road, did anyone see him leave town, Jace?”

Jace shook his head. “No one. Well, I didn’t, and my stall was by the town gate all day. I ne’er saw ‘im.”

 “You only ‘ave eyes for your pigs,” Isaac chuckled softly. “But I think you’re right. Perhaps we should find out where our little stranger is staying and pay him a… a ‘visit’, eh?”

There was a glint of greed in Jace’s watery eyes as he smiled. “Aye, Isaac, that we will. But right now… I have myself a thirst built up from all this skulking.”

Isaac guffawed loudly and the two walked down the narrow path. Emmaline shrank into a doorway as they walked past her. She waited until they turned a corner before darting out of the alcove and down the street to her house.

The houses in Herondale followed a very repetitive design. Each was three stories tall, with enough houses in the town that all of the citizens of Trader’s Pass had a warm sanctuary during the cold months of winter. Emmaline’s house stood near the edge of Middlegarden. It was an out of the way part of town, which was exactly what Azrael had wanted, but also not too close to the walls, so as to be relatively safe in the event of a raid.