Terror of the Shadow

CHAPTER TEN

The hooded figures stood as still as statues before the altar of sacred incense. The only movement was the faint muttering of their lips, whispering silent prayers to the heavens.

Laban stood awkwardly on the threshold of the courtyard around the Library. He didn't want to trespass on such sacred grounds, especially uninvited as he was. He shouldn't have come at all, he thought to himself. He wrung his fingers for a few more nervous moments before turning to leave.

"Please don't leave on my account," a voice called. He wheeled back around. Lady Nairaiah removed her hood, revealing the soft, tender smile beneath. "I apologize. You arrived at a most inopportune time. I'm afraid my fellow disciples and I follow the schedule of prayer most... well, religiously."

"I'm sorry to disturb you, m'lady," Laban said, offering a weak bow.

"Please. It's really no trouble at all. Now, one does not walk all the way to the edges of the city just to have a friendly conversation. Come inside! Tell me what you need."

"Actually," Laban said. "I would like to request an audience with the Elders."

"Oh?" Nairaiah's face fell. "I'm afraid that the Elders aren't generally open to taking appointments."

"Then... can I just tell you to give them a message?"

"I would most certainly be willing to do that, Master Laban. What would you like me to say?"

"I'd like to put in a request for work. I know that they said they were letting me heal, but it's been more than a month since I've been out of the sick tent. I just feel so... I'd just like to go back to hunting."

"I'll put in a good word for you. Will that be all?"

"Yeah, I think so... thanks."

"Then farewell, Master Laban." She bowed. "I hope our paths will cross again soon."

"Oh, yeah. Um... farewell," Laban replied, bowing in return.

The other disciples finished their prayers. Their cold stares were not hostile, but they told Laban that they weren't used to outsiders coming to the Library. He knew how to take a hint. So he left.

The hike to the edge of town, though long, hadn't been a complete waste. He hadn't actually been able to get in to talk with the Elders personally, but if anyone was going to make something happen, it would be Nairaiah. He trusted her. Which was strange... he thought. He couldn't think of anyone else in Ura-chan that he would honestly trust. His encounter with Nimrod certainly hadn't done anything to help with that. But in some way, he couldn't quite explain, Nairaiah reminded him of his own mother...

The cool blanket of dusk had just barely begun to settle over the city. Laban squinted against the orange glare of the dying sunlight. The burning orb flashed intermittently in his eyes as he stepped through the gaps of shade between buildings, which seared colorful blotches of light into his eyes.

This was the time of day that Ura-chan would be transformed from a quiet, rural village into a proper beehive of activity. As the hunters and warriors would come home with the day's score, the rest of the clan would rush to their aid, working quickly to gather everything into one place to begin work on preservation. Others would cook what they could and hand out rations. Most of this work took place in the Commissary—a massive complex near the town center that became the industrial heart of the city at mealtimes. Whenever the hunting parties had a particularly good day on the Outland, the villagers could feast.

Laban noticed that only a few of the Commissary's smokestacks were lit. Today would not be one of those days.

The sweet smell of herbs and cooking meat suddenly awakened Laban's stomach to the feeling of hunger. He joined the long lines of people that had already congregated in anticipation of the day's supper. As he waited, he had to be careful not to be pushed aside by some of the more anxious villagers.