Page 4 of Sanctuary of the Shadow
“It wasn’t luck, and you know it,” Mal said, nudging her gently.
Harrow knew. But for some reason, she didn’t share Malaikah’s sense of relief.
They bid each other farewell, promising to meet for the next meal, and then Harrow ducked through the fabric entrance to her fortune-telling booth. An awning extended out from the back end of her caravan over the narrow door, and she hung brightly patterned fabrics from the edges to serve as walls.
The rest of the booth had yet to be set up, however. At least she wouldn’t have to put anything else away. She crossed the empty space and went straight into the caravan, closing the door and leaning against it.
Closing her eyes, she took a breath and then finally released the power she’d been holding back.
An invisible forcefield pulsed outward, rattling the objects in her tiny home, condensation forming on the walls and windows. Here, in secret, she could give in to the Water. Not out there. Not in front of everyone.
When the wave passed, she opened her eyes and looked around. Last night’s lantern sat atop the table. The sight of the blackened, dead wick sent another strange chill through her.
Malaikah was right, she told herself. The fire in the ticket booth coincided with the fire she’d seen while scrying. And the strange shadow… Well, Mal moving with panther quickness was undeniably shadow-like.
But the shadow was fluid in your vision, her mind whispered.It wasn’t a solid shape.
She shook her head, refusing to listen to doubt. Olihadneeded their help. If they hadn’t been there, he could have been seriously hurt. The connection was obvious.
It was broad daylight, but only slivers of light snuck through the cracks between the window curtains. Suddenly, the darkness bothered her. Darkness was where the unknown lurked. Darkness was the birth of unwelcome change.
She crouched, searching around the floor for where she’d dropped the matchbox last night. Spying it beneath the table, she grabbed it, struck a match, and relit the lantern.
She stood beside the table and peered at the tiny flickering flame. It put out a comforting orange glow, bringing a measure of relief. A light amid the darkness.
The danger had been circumvented. They’d rescued someone in need, Salizar had chased away the mob, and now they were leaving Beirstad completely. So why did she feel the same sense of dread? Why did her heart still ache and her blood run cold?
Why did she feel a shadow hanging over her?
Chapter Two
The sun crept under his eyelids as he gradually pulled himself from unconsciousness. Instinct told him to sharpen his awareness, survey his surroundings, scan for threats. He only managed to shift his eyes beneath their too-heavy lids.
Pain assailed him as he slowly became aware of his body. Everything hurt.
He finally peeled his eyes open, only to close them immediately as the glaring sun scalded him. He tried again, squinting into the intense light, and saw blue. Clear sky, not a cloud in sight.
Battling intense weakness, he turned his head to one side. Beside him, the ground was cracked and dusty, an impenetrable, hardened crust. In the distance, a lone shrub struggled for life.
A bird’s faraway scream had his gaze shifting back to the sky. Vultures were circling above, waiting for their prey to be weak enough to swoop down and consume while its meat was still fresh. He wondered what wretched creature was stranded out here waiting to die.
Then he realized that wretched creature was him.
He had no intention of becoming vulture food, but when he tried to move, he found the task excruciatingly difficult. But he had to try. After everything he’d endured, there was no way he was going to lie here helpless and surrender to death—
After everything he’d endured…?
What had he endured?
A wave of cold realization washed over him. Fighting to open his eyes under the blazing sun, his body too weak to move, was the only memory he had of anything. Ever.
He didn’t even know his own name.
The burden of flesh was an entirely foreign concept, of that he was certain. The blue sky, the cracked earth, the birds above him—these things were familiar. But this debilitating weakness, this feeling of being tethered to a withering sack of skin and bones…
This was something else entirely.
Evidently, whoever he’d been was someone who didn’t give up easily, because, despite the hopelessness of his situation, he forced himself to roll over. Shoving onto his hands with all his feeble strength, he pushed his torso up.
