Lingering Shadows-Chapter 32

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Chapter 32- Sun, Sand, and Bloodrock

Months earlier…

Aro lay flat on his stomach on a high sand dune overlooking a large bloodrock mine. The sun was setting, and it made the desolate, sandy stretches of the Woes of Shreeve look like it was on fire. Aro could feel the sun beating down on his back, but he was used to it. Used to sun and sand, and not used to waiting. He hated waiting. Especially waiting alone. Even though he knew that five or six other boys his age had hidden themselves as lookouts throughout surrounding sand dunes, their presence didn’t help bear the pressure that weighed heavy on him as he fingered his bowstring and ran his fingers through the gritty, hot sand. 

The pressure of this raid, and of his own thoughts. Since Ryith had talked to him two days ago, all he could think of was what he should have said. Something he could have said better. Should he have apologized again? But maybe Ryith would see that as weakness. It was hard to know. But remembering the things that had happened before caused such a huge wave of anger inside of him that it was probably better that neither one had brought it up. 

But there one part of the conversation he couldn’t help repeating over and over in his mind as he watched the black mouth of the bloodrock mine and the last few exhausted workers stepping into a huge basket and shaking off the red dust that covered their clothes. 

“Be ready then. We leave tomorrow at first light.” Aro ducked his head to hide his smile. But he didn’t hear Ryith walk away or tell him to leave. He glanced up, confused. Ryith was staring at him appraisingly. 

“Are you afraid, Aro?” He asked in a low, quiet voice. Aro’s heart skipped a beat. A second that seemed like it was much longer than that passed, and when he spoke, Aro’s voice was stubborn enough and confident enough that even Rytih smiled.

“I’m not afraid of anything anymore.” He said, tossing his shaggy hair out of his eyes and meeting Ryith’s defiantly. 

“I won’t disappoint you again sir.” He finished. Ryith had laughed softly then, clapping Aro approvingly on the shoulder.

“No Aro, I don’t believe you will.” 

But now that was all he could think of. The busy figures below him could be considered by some as interesting, but he had already seen this work dozens of times, albeit from much further away. He realized he was rubbing his left palm again. He buried his fingers in the hot sand, frustrated at himself. He hated nervous habits merely because they showed that the person was afraid. 

Should he have said something different? Had Ryith been able to somehow see inside him and know he was lying? But maybe if he lied enough it could become the truth. And maybe that was all there was to courage; lying about your fear. Maybe defiance was the only way to be strong.

His thoughts were interrupted by a flash of light from the sandy hill on the far side of the bloodrock mine. Immediately he focused on the camp again, watching and waiting impatiently.

The workers below had left, either exhausted to the bunk houses, and the luckier ones had left exhausted, but eager to get to Yorsha Doon, away from the mine. Now there were guards instead. Soldiers of Yorsha Doon, almost as elite as the ones who guarded the prince himself. A lot of them, probably somewhere between fifty and sixty strong. Aro smirked. Even dozens of the warriors of Yorsha Doon were no match for a small band of Wanderers. The Wanderers were silent and unseen and deadly as the slidder vipes in the desert. They could kill in seconds, and no one would ever see them, unless they chose to be seen. They were far outnumbered, but they fought a different way from the Doonish warriors. As long as they had their advantage of surprise and silence their victory was assured.

He could feel the battle spell falling over him as the sun slowly sank and made everything a deep, vibrant red until the streaks of bloodrock dye across his face were only a darker shade across his skin. 

He gripped his bow tightly, watching. Watching and waiting for the silent killer that would sweep into the hollow to start the attack with the chief guard, followed carefully by the first band of warriors who would attack the other guards when the first gave a signal. Then the camp would be flooded with shadows that suddenly ceased to be silent, wreaking havoc in their wake. 

His heart pounded and he would have smiled with excitement but for the weight and seriousness and danger that surrounded the mission. He and the other young men he was training with were only the lookouts for the first attack. Three of the best had scouted out the camp before, and Aro knew he would’ve been among them except that he wasn’t exactly getting preferential treatment at the time. In fact he had almost had to stay behind. And it was Ryith who had decided he should come, which only added to his confusion. 

Now they would watch and wait and join the second wave of the attack. 

Aro could actually see the chief guard from where he was. They had torches and fires in the mine camp. A foolish choice, because many of the guards were either staring into the fire or at least glancing at their torches as they made their rounds, and looking into fire on a dark night is a terrible mistake, because the few seconds of blindness that follow when you try to look into the dark could cost you your life. 

He shifted forward slightly on the sand, peering in between two of the warehouses, where the first warrior was supposed to emerge to attack the chief guard. He saw movement and tensed, gripping his bow, fear and excitement racing through him. 

He barely saw the warrior slip in between two buildings, headed in the direction of his target, even though he was looking for it and he was a Wanderer himself. There were already five or six warriors in the camp, and in the darkness all they were were deeper shadows. 

Minutes passed by, and there was no movement from the camp. He eased forward silently, gazing into the camp in anticipation that was slowly growing more and more anxious. Still there was no movement, except for from the guard. 

Finally, he saw movement in the shadows of the alley behind the guard. But something was wrong. Aro couldn’t tell how he knew but something was different and something was off about the guard and that area of the camp seemed too silent. Seconds passed as his heart pounded in his ears and no matter how hard he tried to push down his growing dread, it refused to leave. 

In a silent dart of deadly force, the warrior whipped out of the shadows and swung his knife directly at the guard’s chest. Immediately, Aro had proof that something was very definitely wrong. 

The chief guard ducked as if he had known the warrior was there and he had been waiting for him. A second guard dropped from the low roof right behind the attacker, and the warrior was barely able to deflect the sword striking down over him. The silence of the night shattered into a million shards when the two blades crashed against each other and when the guard forced the warrior’s knife down with a long, metallic shriek. 

It’s a trap! Somehow they knew we were coming! Aro’s thoughts raced frantically as the warrior and the two guards struggled. Then they were joined by a third from right inside the building. One swung his blade down over the warrior’s head, missing when the warrior dodged into the shadows. Aro’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the dark alley, straining to see anything of what was going on and trying to understand the harsh sounds of dagger and sword colliding. 

Where’s Ryith, can he even hear this? Does he know what is going on? What are we supposed to do? 

Running away, of course, was never an option. 

Time seemed to freeze for one horrible moment when the three guards came out and one had blood on his sword. 

Then the chief guard turned to one of the others, and Aro was close enough to hear when he told him to sound the alarm. 

Horror and panic rose inside Aro, suffocating him. He glanced around, hoping to see anyone else because he didn’t know what to do. Then he realized that the other lookouts couldn’t see what was going on from their stations. And Ryith was going to come in on the first attack from the other side of the camp. He was the only one who could see what was happening, though he was sure that everyone in the camp had heard the crashing of blades. 

His fear intensified, urging him to do something, anything because if he didn’t he wasn’t sure if he’d live to regret it, even as he willed there to be someone else close enough to do something because he had no idea what to do.

The guard ran toward one of the bunkers at the edge of the camp, and before he knew what he was doing, Aro found himself standing up, his shaking hands steadying as his left found the place on his bow worn down by his hand. As he reached for an arrow he desperately hoped that he could make the shot because he knew that if he didn’t there would be terrible consequences on every wanderer in the camp. The smooth, weighted feel of his bow and the delicate balance of the arrow in his hand assured him and gave him a small measure of confidence, even as it made the danger and the fear in the situation much more real.

Then out of the corner of his eye he saw Ryith standing at the far edge of the camp, too far away to do anything about the three guards who could completely destroy his plan and ruin the raid, and staring directly at Aro with an unreadable expression. Aro’s hands faltered but he gritted his teeth and exhaled as he gripped his bow even tighter, then let his arrow fly. 

He was so sure of his mark that he didn’t even look to see if his arrow had found the target before he turned toward the chief guard. 

The thought that finally emerged from the rest of his panic as he nocked another arrow and Ryith  was still watching him and as he closed one eye to aim at the chief guard was that what he was doing might end up being the second worst thing he had ever decided to do. Or the best. The direction of the rest of his foreseeable life depended on the one arrow he had just sent whistling through the night.