Falling Skyward

Chapter Twenty-Two: Reexamining Turnips and Torture

With Dawson at their side, Lana and Taren galloped out of the palace gates without fear of questions or suspicious glances from the guards. Lana felt strange riding a horse other than her uncle's tired, old mare, but the feeling was of exhilaration rather than unease—especially with the added security of riding astride instead of sidesaddle. Lana felt an instant connection with her horse, Turnip—a mature Palomino that was steady and mild-tempered, despite his size. Though several hands higher and bred for greater speeds than their farm horse, Turnip put Lana at ease.

"I guess someone had an ironic sense of humor in naming you," she said, rubbing the horse's gold-flecked nose affectionately.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it is strange to name such a beautiful creature after something as measly and un-flavorful as a turnip."

"I do not mean to contradict you or cause offense, but turnips are a delicacy here," Dawson responded in his rigidly polite way. "Very few know how to grow them, and most who do come from lands distant from our own. I think his owner named him Turnip to show he was something unique—extraordinary even."

What kind of world was this, where trees budded fuchsia leaves and gold blossoms, where royalty lived in palaces on mountainsides, and where an ordinary, plain turnip was a delicacy?

"And who is Turnip's owner? Won't he mind the use of such a magnificent horse?" Lana asked.

"Turnip used to belong to my sister. She was obsessed with anything exotic, romantic, or far away—hence his name. But he's been penned up for some time now, so I think he will enjoy the chance to get some exercise and maybe even a bit of adventure."

Instead of winding their way back through the city, the three took off along a trail that scribbled dark creases into the mountain's face, steadily gaining altitude. As evening settled, the clouds lowered, covering their path in a fine, light-infused mist.

When they stopped to rest for the night, Dawson taught Lana how to scavenge for berries, roots, and nuts among these unknown plants. Then, he stewed some of the toughest plants, seasoning them with fresh spices that turned their basic dinner of bread and cheese into something decadent.

Lana used the empty hours around the cooking fire to her advantage, asking the dozens of questions that had been percolating in the back of her mind during their ride.

"What are these nightstalkers? Until a few months ago, I didn't even know they existed, except in tales or legends. But now, I've seen them, I've experienced what they can do far more intimately than I would have ever liked, and yet, I still know very little about them. Where do they come from? Why would they attack my village and my family?"

A drop of juice sizzled in the pan, dropping into the fire with a hissing pop as it bubbled and melted along the logs. Dawson looked to Taren.

"We do not speak often of nightstalkers, not just because it is an unpleasant topic, but because we don't know much about them," Taren said. "Some even think speaking their name invites their presence. I told you before about our world, Caelis, and that it is made up of three kingdoms: Altymia, where we now are, Askendit, and Caliginoxum. Altymia shares its northern border with Askendit, which is made of two tribes—the Askendians and the Imaman. Caliginoxum, or the Shadow Lands, lie to the east. That is the kingdom of the shadoweaters.

"They are not mere creatures but sentient beings like you and me. Our myths tell us the mother of their race was once human, until she disobeyed the gods. As her punishment, the gods took away her mouth so that she could not tell her secrets to another living creature. She was meant to dwindle in silence, to waste away to bone without food or water to sustain her, but she found a way to survive. Her children now live in a fallen form, without mouths or the ability to speak."

"But the shadoweaters that attacked my home, they had mouths," Lana said, her stomach churning at the memory of those canine-like teeth that protruded from crimson, jagged slits.

"Very few shadoweaters are like the ones you described, but they are the most militant. They are known as nightstalkers. To create a mouth, they must endure a ritual where they carve one into their own flesh."

"How is that possible? Even with the cuts, how would they speak?"

"I do not know much about it, only that it requires a great deal of dark magic."

Lana's mind drowned in questions. "The other shadoweaters, how do they survive without a mouth? How do they communicate?"

"In truth, we don't know. There are many theories, though. Some say they have sharp teeth along their fingertips. Others that they use their magic to feed themselves. Many believe that they feed off us. That is the reason they create nightmares, to distract us while they feed off our minds in our sleep."

"If these creatures come from your land, how did they end up in my home? Why would they come to torture us?"

"They could have traveled between our lands."

"Is that the way we'll travel back to my home?"

"Yes, but it's complicated. Shadoweaters aren't limited to our modes of travel. As they've adapted to the limitations of their curse, they've also discovered new abilities. I'm not sure how, but they can travel across huge distances in moments. I've seen them materialize before my eyes. It's almost as though they are tied to several places at once—as though they don't exist here or there, but somewhere in between. They don't seem to be tethered to this world."

"But why would they come to my village? Why kill and torture innocent people?" Lana asked, fixating on the fiery throb of the black coals.

"Lana," Dawson broke in, placing his hand on Lana's leg. She felt the warmth of his touch sweep through her body.

"Some questions cannot be answered—the asking must be answer enough." After a pause, he added, "Maybe they were searching for something."

"Or maybe they are the kind of nightstalkers who enjoy torturing and preying on the weak," Taren said darkly, his eyes reflecting the flames. Lana's breath caught in her throat; her arms cradled her chest instinctively. Dawson drew back, glaring at Taren over the fire.

"I, I didn't mean it like that, Lana," Taren said. "I just . . ."

"No, it's all right," she said with a grim smile. "You were just being truthful." The fire popped in a frenzy of sparks, then settled back to its normal flickering ripples. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke next. "So how will we get there?"

"We know an old friend," Taren said. "He found a way to harness the power of shadoweaters, even their form of travel."

"Is this the Soren you mentioned before?" Taren nodded. Dawson looked away, his jaw a hard, flat line.

"If he is an old friend, why are the two of you so uneasy at the mention of his name?"

"Let's just say we didn't part on the best of terms," Taren said quickly. "But it is the only way I know how to reach your home."

"I don't argue with that," Dawson said. "I only argue with Soren's methods. I don't think any venture, no matter how noble the intentions, warrants torturing another creature."

Lana pulled back, startled. "Torture?"

"The way Soren harnesses the power is not always the most ethical, but we have no way of knowing whether it causes pain since the shadoweaters can't talk. I usually do not agree with Soren's methods, but when it is our only choice . . ." Taren let his voice die, falling into the flames. Lana looked at Dawson, but even as she did, she could not help but see Gailen.

"Well, if it is the only way," she said.