Twilight darkened
the sky before Ashiera found a hiding place in a dark alley doorway. The stench
of rotting fish and the brine-laden air made her swallow against the burning
fluid that rose in her throat. Rustling noises brought a prayer that none of
the alley’s denizens would attack her. She dozed, woke and dozed again.
Memories of the past rose in broken fragments, but each time she woke, she
found more pieces were joined.
Sieper. Bits of the
things she’d heard years ago in the marketplace were remembered. Rumors of his
ability to read the weather surfaced. How could he possess such a talent? The
Mistress touched women, never men. Did he serve the Lord of Shadows? He’d
spoken of ownership and of her as being a reward from the Cabal. Had Sieper
been one of the men who had lurked and awaited the arrival of the gray priests?
She sighed. Would
she ever regain all the memories of the time before her capture?
She rolled the too
long trouser legs and used a scrap of cloth torn from her gown as a belt. The
sleeves of the shirt hung well below her hands and she pushed them up. How
fortunate she’d been to find Sieper’s clothes on the line. As she’d fled
through the alleys, she’d peered into the streets. The few women she’d seen had
been escorted by one or even several men.
While she waited for
true dark, she fingered the scar on her wrist. Her hand flew to her mouth and
she stifled a scream.
An obese man, head
shaved and scalp oiled, faced her. He held a metal rod with a serpent curled
around the staff. A globe of swirling mist topped the rod. Her body trembled.
The evil in the priest’s thoughts nauseated her. The serpent raised its head.
The fangs bit into her wrist and sent molten fire through her veins. An endless
scream echoed in her head and she sought darkness as she had before.
When Ashiera emerged
from the place where night was eternal, a few stars shone in the sky. A pale
sliver moon had risen. She struggled to her feet and exercised muscles
stiffened by the cramped position.
Flee. Leave the
city.
The urgency of the
command made her lose all caution. “Who are you?”
The Place of
Choosing. You must go there.
“Where is this
place?
In the Shanara Mountains
As she left the
wharf area, she slid from shadow to shadow. Now and then she heard footsteps,
but whoever walked the streets moved with the same caution she employed.
Finally the waterfront lay behind and she strode along a broad avenue where the
Seat of Judgment stood behind a high wall. The Seat was no longer a refuge
since the gray priests resided there now. Shepas barked warnings. Several times
she froze and fought the urge to run and, perhaps draw attention to her flight.
At last, she reached
the market near the north gate. Guards in gray uniforms trimmed with waxy
yellow marched two by two in front of the gate. Was she trapped? Was there no
way out of the city?
She slipped between
two stalls and slid beneath a peddler’s wagon. The cold of the rough stone
cobbles seeped through her clothes and made her shiver. She leaned against one
of the wooden wheels and, despite her discomfort drifted to sleep.
My Places
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