Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1) Page 9

  Nierne crossed the small courtyard that stood between the Monastery and the walls, then stopped just outside the gates. People ran past her in a panicked stampede. Behind them were Thyrian soldiers dressed in yellow and chainmail. The soldiers marched in one long line spread across the street. Nierne watched as one man was caught by the collar of his shirt and dragged back past the line of soldiers. Smoke belched into the sky a couple blocks away, filling the air with its noxious odor. She turned away and coughed on the bitter air.

  Nierne rubbed the smoke from her eyes and looked back toward the street. More people were picked off and grabbed by the line of soldiers advancing. Why were Thyrian soldiers doing this? These men and women should be protecting them, not grabbing them.

  A woman hurried by, clutching a baby to her chest while trying to hold the hands of two boys. The soldiers were drawing near. With Father Cris’ command in mind, Nierne moved. She ran after the woman and picked up one of the boys. The woman looked at her with fear, then relief in her eyes.

  “Quick, this way!” Nierne shouted over the bedlam. The woman nodded in understanding—

  Then clutched her baby and screamed.

  Before Nierne could turn, she felt her hood yanked behind her. She stumbled back. A soldier appeared at her side and tore the boy from her arms.

  “My son!” the woman screamed. Her hand reached out toward the soldier. Nierne fell to the ground. Hands gripped her shoulders and began dragging her across the street. Nierne struggled against the hold, digging her heals into the cobblestone. She reached up behind her. The grip on her shoulders moved to her hood. The neckline of her robe slipped up across her throat. Adrenaline raced through her body.

  Nierne twisted around, trying to free her hood. She gasped in breath. Her throat constricted. Stars danced across her vision. She clawed at her hood—

  Her hood loosened. Nierne sucked in great draughts of air. Arms grabbed her by the waist. She kicked back and screamed. She was turned around and tossed into the air—

  Whomp. Her elbow and hip hit something hard. She scrambled up onto her knees and hands. She drew in deep breaths, her eyes still seeing flashes of light. Someone cried nearby. The floor lurched beneath her.

  Nierne fell back.

  “Get off me!” Hands pushed against her from behind. Nierne scurried forward and grabbed the wooden railing in front of her. She pulled herself up. The wagon rumbled beneath her knees. Nierne peered over the railing. She could see the line of soldiers still marching down the street. People were running ahead of them.

  Down the side streets were more soldiers and more wagons. Men, women, and children were tossed into the wagons like bags of grain. Strange black smoke wove through the shadows.

  Nierne turned and looked ahead. A Thyrian soldier drove the wagon. Two old men, three women, and a very scared little girl shared the wagon with her. Past the driver, she could see a procession of wagons filled with people making their way up the street.

  One man leaped two wagons ahead of them. There were shouts of surprise and encouragement. Everyone turned to watch him. The man landed and began to sprint down the street. He had barely past the wagon ahead when a soldier appeared from one of the alleyways. The soldier’s sword swung out and caught the man in the middle. The man stumbled and fell. The soldier walked away without a second glance.

  Horrified, Nierne stared at the man as her wagon passed him. He struggled to push himself up, then fell flat. Blood pooled around his body and trickled between the cobblestones.

  Nierne turned away. Bile filled her throat.

  “Why are they doing this?” one of the women asked in a shaky voice.

  Nierne shook her head and kept her lips shut.

  “I don’t know,” the older man said. “My son tried to ask and…” Nierne looked back at the man. His head dipped forward and his shoulders shook.

  More shouts filled the air. Nierne looked over. Another man tried to run. Two soldiers went after him. He fell and was left on the street. A minute later there were more shouts, but Nierne didn’t look up this time. She didn’t want to watch.

  There were no more shouts.

  Nierne slid down into the wagon and brought her knees up.

  The wagon lurched its way up the street. Somewhere in the fog of her mind were questions. Why? Why were Thyrian soldiers doing this? Why were people being rounded up? Overhead the sky turned crimson red, the smoke from burning buildings coloring the setting sun.

  The wagon rumbled beneath a large stone archway. Nierne glanced up in surprise. The towering fortress of Cragsmoor loomed ahead. Why were they being taken to Cragsmoor?

  The others in her wagon looked around, surprise and fear etched across their faces.

  “Why are they taking us here?” the same woman said.

  Nierne shook her head again. But dark thoughts began to fill her mind. Cragsmoor was built for two purposes: to protect and to imprison. Nierne swallowed. She had a feeling they were not coming here for protection.

  The wagon came to a halt. Around her other wagons were being unloaded as people were herded inside the fortress like cattle.

  “Get out!” a soldier shouted and brandied a long pole. A second later, he used that pole to jab those in the wagon.

  “Ouch!” Nierne cried. She rubbed her jabbed side. The others scrambled out.

  “Inside, inside!” soldiers shouted, herding the people through the tall curved doorway. Anyone who fell out of line was jabbed by long poles or swords. And if they proved to be too slow…

  Nierne quickly followed the crowd of people. The air grew hot and stifling inside the fortress. Sweltering bodies pressed together, stumbling forward in the dark. She felt lightheaded. The smell of human fear filled her nostrils. Oh Word, Nierne thought, her eyes searching ahead, hoping to see where they were being led, where are You?

  She stumbled a couple of times. Bodies pressed up alongside her. Some people cried, others shouted questions. Her own voice was trapped behind tight lips.

  “In here,” a man in uniform shouted. He grabbed Nierne’s arm and shoved her through the doorway. Inside was a dark cavernous room. A cold, musty smell hung in the air. The walls and floor were made from grey stone. Two pillars stood in the middle of the room. Three barred windows were built into the far wall.

  Nierne stood, staring at the room. No, not room, prison. A prison built to contain many people.

  Someone stumbled into her from behind. Nierne fell forward. Shock filled her body. More and more people were crowding into the room around her. Without thinking, she walked toward the far right window. Red sky blazed between the bars set much too high for her to look out.

  A door slammed shut behind.

  At that sound, many of those around her burst into cries of fear. Others pounded on the door. Nierne turned and slumped down against the cold jagged wall. She could barely see around her. Her hands shook so bad she clasped them together.

  “Word, where are You?” Nierne whispered in a shaky voice. She looked around at the people gathered inside the dungeon. No voice answered her, no peace filled her heart. Instead, a steady flow of iciness stole over her, numbing her until she felt nothing at all.

  • • •

  Rain fell in sheets outside the barred window. Slowly a rivulet made its way down from the opening toward the cold stone floor below, where an ever-increasing puddle formed. Nierne shifted her body farther from the puddle, hugging her robes a little closer.

  Time had lost its way here. She remembered counting ten days, but she’d lost track after that. A small child whimpered close by. Nierne turned and watched from the corner of her eye as the mother wrapped her arms around the little one. An old woman over in the shadows began to cough loudly, each breath wracking her body.

  Nobody spoke anymore. There wasn’t much to say. Nierne shifted again, her fingers numb with cold. The rain continued to beat down steadily outside.

  A loud creak echoed within the dungeon. The single wooden door slowly turned on its hinges. Ni
erne stared at the door in surprise. The door never opened here. Food and tepid water was shoved through a small opening, but that was all the contact she and the other prisoners had with the outside world.

  Nierne stood, a trickle of hope slowly penetrating her leaden heart. Perhaps this had all been a huge mistake. Perhaps now they were finally being set free.

  Two men entered the dungeon, followed by a couple of Thyrian soldiers. One was tall and fair. His hair was pulled back from a face that looked like it had been chiseled from fine marble. The other was shorter but even more beautiful in appearance. Soft black locks surrounded his face. Both wore dark pants and silk shirts, covered by long black cloaks embroidered in silver.

  To say the men were handsome would be to say a rose was simply pretty. Nierne found herself enraptured by their beauty. Why would such men be in such a place like this?

  “Shadonae!” the old man behind her hissed.

  Disbelief, then horror filled her mind. Shadonae? Here? Nierne took a step back. How? They were myth—

  Her mouth clamped shut and she watched the fair-haired man step forward. He lifted his hand. His cloak slid back to reveal a hand covered in a black glove. Slowly he began to pull at the tips.

  At his movement, everyone retreated from him.

  Nierne was knocked to the ground. People scrambled like rats to the far corners of the chamber, flattening themselves against the walls. The man continued to pull at his glove, untroubled by the ripple he had caused. Nierne picked herself up and moved toward one of the pillars. Her limbs began to shake.

  He couldn’t be, she thought, watching him pull his hand free of the black glove. But her body surged with fear anyway. Because if he really were a Shadonae, then what he was about to do—

  His eyes began to roam the room, searching for something. Nierne flattened herself against the pillar. His eyes passed over her, then stopped. He lifted his hand and pointed toward an older woman across from her.

  The woman’s eyes bulged. She began to shriek, the sound echoing across the chamber. The people around her drew away, leaving her to collapse onto the stone floor.

  Nierne stared at her, unable to move. The woman held out her hands, begging for help. A soldier stepped forward to retrieve her. “Please!” she cried, pawing the soldier’s legs. The soldier ignored her. He grabbed her and hauled her toward the pale-haired man.

  The woman fell at his feet. She grabbed his cloak and sobbed. The man bent over and took hold of the woman’s arm. The woman became silent, a look of horror flashing across her face. Then a scream erupted from her throat. Her body arched. After a few moments more, she began convulsing.

  Someone let out a whimper. Others turned their heads. But Nierne could not look away. Her eyes were riveted on the scene before her. She watched the woman shudder, moans now replacing her screams. But it was her eyes that held Nierne’s. Eyes pleading for help. Her eyes slowly dulled, and the last flicker of life faded away.

  After a moment more, the man let go of the corpse. No, not man, Nierne thought with horror. She watched the woman’s body fall with a heavy thud onto the stone floor.

  Shadonae.

  With a casualness that belied what had just taken place, he pulled his glove back on and moved toward his companion. The other Shadonae stepped forward and began to look over the crowd. People ducked their heads.

  His eyes stopped on Nierne. Stunned, she tried to look away, but with an unseen will he held her gaze. Helplessly she stared into his eyes, desire radiating from those depths. The corner of his mouth turned upward.

  Her mouth went dry in raw terror. Nierne backed around the pillar, shaking her head, unable to tear her eyes away from his. The soldier behind him began to move toward her, but the Shadonae stopped him with an upraised hand.

  “I will get her myself,” he said in soft, low voice. The Shadonae walked slowly toward her, seeming to savor the fear he invoked.

  Nierne grew frantic. She tried to shout, but fear held her mouth shut. Word, save me! She cried in her mind.

  The Shadonae flinched as if burned.

  Emboldened, Nierne continued to cry out, desperation lacing her thoughts. Please, please save me!

  The Shadonae snarled, his eyes now looking past Nierne. His face grew dark with anger. He spoke, his words unintelligible. Nobody moved. Nierne held her breath and carefully glanced behind her. No one stood there. Who was he talking to?

  The Shadonae stopped. He flung his cloak behind and turned. The other Shadonae questioned his companion, but Nierne could not hear what they said. A moment later they left through the doorway.

  The two soldiers hesitated, as if unsure what to do, then they followed their masters. The door slammed shut behind them.

  “Oh, Word,” Nierne said, falling to her knees. Part of her burst with relief. Another part remained numb with shock.

  Shadonae. They were here, in Thyra. Nierne gasped and looked up. That explained everything.

  The woman’s body near the door caught her attention: broken, eyes staring at the ceiling, her mouth open in a silent scream. The others inside the dungeon stood as far away from her as they could. Nierne found herself cringing away as well.

  Guilt flooded up inside her chest. Nierne turned away from the corpse and covered her face. She pushed her palms into her eyes until stars popped across her vision. But she could not erase the image of the woman’s face from her mind.

  Nierne, a Follower of the Word, a keeper of His written words, had done nothing to help that woman. Instead, she had let fear paralyze her—until the Shadonae’s gaze had fallen on her. Only then had she prayed.

  And she had prayed only for herself.

  • • •

  Hours afterward, Thyrian soldiers came and took away the woman’s body. But the hopelessness her corpse represented remained.

  Nierne lay on the floor in the far corner, her heart heavy. The woman’s face kept visiting her mind. She rolled over. Why had the Word saved her and not everyone else? Nierne knew that many were trapped here in Cragsmoor—were they all simply waiting until the Shadonae had need of their service or life? If so, why had the Word stepped in and saved her?

  She pulled her knees in toward her chest. What about her was even worth saving? Guilt ate at her heart.

  She heard something. Nierne lifted her head and turned toward the door, listening. Others were doing the same. There it was again. Soldiers ran past, one shouting orders. His words were muffled, but now everyone was awake. A couple of people stood and moved near the door. Nierne stayed in the back, remembering the last time the door had opened.

  The noise outside grew louder. Shouts rang out, and the sound of swords clashing echoed on the other side of the door.

  The prisoners began to stand, turning to one another, whispering excitedly.

  “Are they coming?”

  “They’re freeing us!”

  “Thank the Word.”

  Nierne pulled herself up beside one of the stone pillars and watched the door. The fight sounded quite close now.

  The door shuddered, and a face appeared in the barred window. “We’re getting you out,” he shouted. His face dipped below again. The door shuddered one more time.

  Everyone began to crowd around the door with eagerness. Nierne took a hesitant step away from the pillar. Was the Word finally going to save them?

  The door swung open.

  “Quickly, this way,” a voice shouted. People began to push their way out.

  Nierne felt herself pulled along with the rest, her doubts erasing with every step. They were really doing it. They were finally escaping this nightmare.

  She could hear fighting down the hall, but the mass was moving away from it. Fear and excitement gave the people speed. They moved as one along the stone corridor. Ahead, Nierne could see a torch lighting the way.

  Someone near the rear hollered, “They’re coming!”

  Panic erupted, rippling from the back. One woman began to sob hysterically. Nierne was shoved against the
wall. It was everyone for themselves. She tried to rejoin the flow but was pushed back again. The third time, her head slammed into the wall. Flashes of light erupted across her vision.

  By the time her vision returned, most of the mass of prisoners had already moved on. Nierne turned to follow, but a hand suddenly grabbed hers. Nierne screamed and yanked back.

  “Take it!”

  That voice… “Father Cris?” Nierne stopped pulling and squinted at the shriveled old man who held her hand with an iron-like grip.

  Instead of answering her, Father Cris pulled at one of the slender gold chains around his neck. For a moment she thought he was going to give her his pendant, the symbol of his devotion to the Monastery. Instead, he pulled out a key. “This key opens the door to the catacombs below the Monastery.” He thrust the cold metal into her hand.

  “Why are you—”

  “There is no time to talk!” Father Cris shoved Nierne toward the large doorway ahead. “Get these people out of here!” Before Nierne could respond, he had already turned around and was moving farther down the hall.

  For one moment she thought about following him, then she realized he had given her the only means to escape this doomed city. Nierne lifted her robe and ran toward the large doorway ahead, her body aching as it readjusted to moving again after weeks of confinement.

  She stopped outside the doorway and looked up. Cragsmoor loomed high in the darkening sky. A full moon rose over the city. Over to her right lay the door on the ground. It looked like it had been torn from its hinges.

  She stared at the fortress. She never thought she would leave this place. Not long ago, she’d been sure she would die here. Instead, she was free.

  “Thank You, Word,” Nierne whispered.

  She turned and ran toward the gates. As she neared the archway, she glanced ahead. Far down the streets under the moonlight she could see people running. Nierne grasped the key tightly in her hand and ran toward them.