Daughter of Shadows

CHAPTER ONE

She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been cold. The before times grew hazier with each day that passed, until she could no longer remember her father’s smile or the scent of her mother’s perfume. Someone loved her once, but the feeling was distant, diluted by the life or death struggle she faced every day in the alleys that bordered the harbor district. She no longer felt sadness at their loss, only an emptiness. The loneliness of her existence drowned her.

Sayah knew she was beautiful. She often saw her face reflected in puddles or the glass shop windows in the wealthy district of Ship’s Haven and she noticed the way men looked at her when she forgot to hide herself. Large blue-green eyes that shone like aquamarines set in a heart shaped face, long black hair, and a delicate hourglass figure with a curvy derriere made her stand out amongst the crowds of people on the streets, a hazard for a young woman with no home or family to speak of and no one to protect her from those who would take her beauty for themselves. She quickly learned to hide herself behind layers of dingy fabric that obscured her form and kept her hair tightly braided and tucked into her cloak. And she used the shadows, twisting them around herself to blur her movements and quiet her steps. They acted as camouflage, hiding her when darkness fell and the devilish dandies came out to prey on the less fortunate.

She watched as the sun went down, painting the sky in deepening shades of blue as twilight descended. The last vestiges of the day’s light glinted off the stained glass windows that stretched high above the nave, lining the walls of the sanctuary. They sent shifting colors across the pristine white plaster walls inside, bringing a cheerful glow to the otherwise demure church. Standing proudly in the canal district of Ship’s Haven, Our Lady of Charity stood nestled between the townhouses of shipwrights, successful merchants, and politicians, visible from nearly every part of the city. The church’s old stone walls had stood for millennia as its priestesses preached to the masses about the sins of wealth and the need to absolve oneself of such sins through donations and kindness. Sayah stood and stretched, her knees stiff from kneeling on the narrow wooden boards in front of the pews for hours. The padded fabric that lined them had long since lost its cushion, leaving indentations from the hard wooden edges in her skin.

That last sermon was a doozy, she thought. I could barely—

Sayah, you’re still here? the priestess called from the altar, interrupting her thoughts. Long robes of the purest white clung to her curves before falling from her hips, barely brushing the tops of her bare feet with gilt lacquered toenails. Her golden hair shone, looped in and around a tiara that resembled shooting stars.

Yes, Mother. I was deep in thought and lost track of time. Sayah rolled her shoulders back, straightening her posture and attempting to hide the small hole in her dress just below the waist. Your last sermon was particularly well done. I truly felt the power in your words.

The priestess preened at the praise, a wide grin spreading across her face. A golden filling glinted from one of her molars. Just as well, then, that I need help with dousing the candles and sweeping the nave, she said. Come, take this snuffer and get started.

Sayah nodded her assent and grabbed the snuffer, walking toward the back walls to put out the candles that lined the walls and altar. She lost herself in the repetitive work, allowing her mind to drift. The scent of doused flames and sandalwood filled the air, smoke tendrils trailing behind her as she worked. The priestess smiled softly from where she knelt beside the guttering flames of four candles dancing in the molten wax. They worked in companionable silence, preparing the sanctuary for nightfall.

I wish I could hum while I worked in here, Sayah thought. This type of work really needs a little song to keep you moving at a steady pace. But Mother doesn’t approve of music in the sanctuary, though the presence of music would be a charity for people who experience great sadness in the silence. She sighed internally. People like me. She sighed again, turning her mind back to the task at hand.

Sayah, the priestess said, the broom moving swiftly between the pews, have you considered joining the Order? With no family to care for you-

No, Sayah said, her voice firm. I will not become a priestess. That isn’t what is meant for me.

We could look after you, care for you. The usually smooth skin of the priestess’s brow furrowed deeply. You are here most days, hiding amongst the pews during the devotionals. It would be no different, beyond the clothing you would wear.

Sayah sighed. It always comes down to this, she thought. It is never enough to let me visit, to let me pray. It’s always circled back to taking me into the order and giving me a new life, whether I remember my old one or not. She shook her head vigorously in response to the priestess’s statements.

Mother, I know that you mean well and that you care about me, and I appreciate that. I do. But I... I can’t bring myself to start a new life when I can’t even remember my old one. There’s too much I can’t remember about my past, she said. Too many questions that I need answers for. Answers I won’t find in a sanctuary, regardless of the god or goddess worshiped there.

The priestess nodded, her face solemn. You have never allowed us to help you in your quest for the truth. I find it hard to believe that you will learn anything at this point. A frown darkened her features. Are you still searching for answers after all this time?

I will search until I finally have them. I need to understand what happened to my parents. What happened to me… she trailed off, lost in thought.

If the priestess wondered about what happened to her, she didn’t ask. She set the brooms aside and grasped Sayah’s hands in hers, then walked away without another word, heading through the narrow archway that led to the priestesses’ quarters. Sayah shook herself, bringing her mind back to the present, and exited the sanctuary. The sky had darkened to deep indigo while she was tucked into the pews, and the wind held a bitter bite that cut through her cloak and layered petticoats and skirts. As she stepped away from the consecrated ground of the church, she slid into the shadows and pulled them close to her, blurring her form and hiding her from sight. She stepped carefully to avoid disturbing any of the flowers and bushes that lined the cobbled street.

I should head toward The Rusty Pig, she thought as she sidestepped a puddle and dodged left, narrowly avoiding a collision with a wizened old man wrapped in a heavy wool coat. If Bess is still there, she’ll sneak me a meal, maybe a tankard of ale.

She headed toward the tavern, deftly avoiding the barrels and heaps of trash in the dingy alleys that led toward the dock district of Ship’s Haven. Nice homes gave way to ramshackle tenements, the scent of unwashed bodies and spoiling food clinging to the air. Seedy looking men wearing threadbare cloaks leaned against a lamp post, exchanging a small package in the dim light. A couple shouted at each other, their voices ringing out from a flat far above street level; the noise echoed in the short alley. A loud crash rang out, immediately followed by cursing, abruptly stopping the argument. Sayah ducked between two buildings, blending into the shadows in the narrow space. As she rounded the corner to The Rusty Pig, she stepped in something slick and slipped, falling into a stack of crates. Her shadows dissipated as the crates crashed around her.

Dammit, she cursed under her breath. The clatter attracted attention from further down the street, and a night watchman shined his lantern toward her as she struggled to her feet.

Are you okay, miss? he asked, catching her elbow to steady her.

Yes, officer, Sayah said. She shivered as the cold breeze hit her now damp skirts. The smell of fish guts and refuse permeated her clothing from the muck she’d landed in. She cursed herself and her foolishness as she watched his eyes rove across her body.

You should be more careful. Being out here at night isn’t safe, he said. A pretty thing like you will attract a lot of unwanted attention. Unless that’s what you’re looking for?

No, sir. I was just finding my way home from helping the priestesses at Our Lady of Charity.

Ah, an acolyte? I see. He leered at her, undressing her with his eyes. He licked his lips.

Yes, sir, she lied, pretending not to notice the way he looked at her. Now I must get home to my mother. She is waiting for me She walked away, skirting around the night watchman and making a beeline for an older woman sitting out on her steps. She sat on the steps beside her, hoping the woman wouldn’t react and give her away.

Hi Mama, she said, looking up at the gray-haired woman.

The woman reached a hand out and cupped her shoulder. Sayah smiled. The night watchman raised his hand in a salute, then slung his lantern over his shoulder and strolled away, whistling. Sayah heaved a sigh of relief and stood, shaking out her damp skirts.

Thank you, she said to the old woman.

You’re welcome.

Sayah trotted down the steps and ducked around the corner, leaning against the wall to collect herself before wrapping herself in shadows again. She stuck close to the wall, running her fingers along the crumbling bricks and carefully avoiding the shafts of light angling from the thin windows of the tenement. Ahead of her, the alley opened into a dimly lit street; music filled the air, spilling out of the windows and open door of a large building. A behemoth of a man sat on a bench beside the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed above his chest.

Finally, she thought. The Rusty Pig. She released her hold on the shadows and skirted around the building, heading toward the kitchen entrance of the tavern in search of her friend Bess. The worn wooden exterior sported peeling paint and missing window panes, but there was always a fire in the hearth and fresh kegs of ale to tap, so it remained a popular place to be.

Get your filthy hands out of that pan, you greasy slugabed, a shrill female voice said. A piece of pottery shattered as she cursed. Damn you for a fool, look what you’ve done. Gone and wrecked my best pie pan.

Bess? Sayah said quietly as she crept toward the door. Don’t kill the man for wanting some pie.

A delicate, oval shaped face peeked out from around the door frame, smudges of flour and cocoa smearing her cheeks and the tip of her slightly upturned nose. Oh, Sayah. It won’t be the pie he’ll be dying for.

I came to see about a meal, and maybe a tankard, if you’re feeling generous. But it sounds like I should head out again, if you’re planning a murder over your pie pan. Sayah smirked as she heard heavy footsteps exiting the room at a rapid pace.

Don’t be ridiculous, Bess said, swinging open the lower portion of the kitchen door to let Sayah in. Get yourself in here. We’ve got a beef pie and fresh oat bread, kept warm beside the ovens, and I can have a tankard for you in a minute or two after I get these plates out to the sailors at the bar. She dished up pie and two large slices of bread thickly coated in rich butter onto a plate. Eat. I can see you’re hungry. Haven’t eaten today is my guess.

Sayah’s stomach growled loudly as she nodded in agreement. Not a morsel.

I’ll be right back with that ale, Bess said as she swung out the kitchen door and into the tavern’s busy taproom. When she returned a moment later, she held a large pewter tankard in both hands. Taking a long swig from one, she set the other before Sayah on the work table that dominated the center of the room. So why didn’t you manage a meal today? That isn’t like you.

I hid out at Our Lady of Charity and got roped into sweeping and snuffing again. The priestesses don’t allow food in the sanctuary, no matter how badly they want you to join them.

They’re still trying to get you to join the Order? Bess shivered at the thought of her friend wearing the white robes and gold chains of a priestess.

Yes, Sayah said. But I told them unequivocally no this time. I don’t think I’ll be welcomed back there, regardless of the situation.

Doubtless they will block you out. ‘Our Lady of Charity,’ they say. Yet they help no one but themselves. Bess spat, flinging spittle and chewing tobacco into the rusting tin spittoon by the door. She sat heavily in a worn wooden chair by the fire, putting her feet up on an overturned soup pot.

Sayah chewed thoughtfully on a bite of beef pie, gravy dripping down her chin. Rosemary and sage flavored the rich gravy. Her stomach roared its appreciation for the buttery, flaky crust and delicious filling. You’ve a truly talented hand with pie crust, Bess, she said. The bubbles in the cold wheat ale tickled her throat with a refreshing sensation, washing down the pie and giving her a delightful little buzz at the edge of her senses. A hiccup forced its way from her diaphragm, startling her.

Will you be staying the night, then, in the yard or the stables? Bess asked, plopping another piece of pie down in front of Sayah.

No, I’m for the dry docks, she replied, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. I heard there’s a boat in for maintenance next week with no one watching over it. I’ll sneak aboard and rest my bones on a real bed in the captain’s quarters tonight.

Really coming up in the world, aren’t you? Bess replied with a hint of sarcasm. She wrapped a half loaf of bread in paper and tied it up in twine, then put it beside Sayah’s plate. A pair of apples joined the bread, and a small hunk of hard, sunset orange cheese. Take these with you when you head out. And the clean skirt hanging in my room; the one you’re wearing smells something awful. Can’t have you starving to death in the captain’s quarters, and I definitely can’t let you back in here smelling like that. Never let it be said that ole Bess doesn’t pay her debts.

Come on now, Bess, you know you don’t owe me anything.

Anything but my life, you mean. I suppose that means I have to pay a mind to keeping you inside your skin, don’t it? Bess tried to look forbidding but only succeeded in making Sayah laugh.

I appreciate you, Bess, she said, the laughter suddenly gone from her face. I really do.

I know, Sayah.

She began to gather up the food, tucking items into hidden pockets sewn into her skirts and cloak. The musicians in the other room stopped playing and a scuffle broke out. Bess ran through the doors into the common room, brandishing her rolling pin above her head, her riotous curls coming free from her pins at the movement. With a deep breath, Sayah grabbed a final bite of pie and slipped out the door, cloaking herself in shadow as she went.

The swirling shadows around her had scared her once, when she was young and unable to control them. Now they were a comfort, a safe place where she could hide and be protected. As she approached the main street beside The Rusty Pig, she let the shadows drop away. They were no good in brightly lit areas. She tried to blend with the crowd, keeping the hood of her cloak pulled forward, covering her hair and shielding her face. The crowd thinned as she passed the front door of the tavern, most of the men and women headed to their homes or off in search of a brothel in the opposite direction. The apothecary’s shop stood empty across the way and she could see the haberdasher locking his door as she passed. She hurried, picking up her pace as the lights surrounding the tavern began to dim.

She rounded the corner toward the dry dock and headed down the sand-covered path toward the waiting boat. Its massive hull loomed before her. A safe place, she thought. Maybe I’ll be able to sleep tonight. She strolled closer and brushed her hand against the painted wood. A wolf whistle rang out behind her and she startled.

Oy, dearie, a rough voice shouted.

Frosty tendrils of fear clutched at her, forcing a chill down her spine. Sayah flicked a glance over her shoulder and saw the two men, dressed in the rough clothing of sailors and wearing at least three days’ worth of beard. Their odor, that of unwashed bodies and liquor, overcame the strong fishy smell of her messy skirts, making her gag. She picked up her pace, gripping her skirts in her hands to keep them from getting caught in her sturdy boots. She ducked into an alley a few buildings down from the tavern, squeezing between a stack of crates and old, stained wine barrels.

Her breath came in sharp pants as she doubled over, wrapping the shadows around her for camouflage. She held her breath as the two toughs ran past, their boots heavy on the cobblestones.

Why ya hiding, little girl? one of them shouted. We just want to have a bit of fun with ya.

Aye, a bit of fun. You’ll love what I do to ya, the other said. I’ve got a rod worthy of—

Sayah covered her ears, cutting off the sound of their voices as she peered through a hole in one of the crates before scooting further toward the wall. She crouched behind a stack of wine barrels near the back door. The burned stamp of another tavern, The Whining Wench, claimed them and let her know where she hid. The raucous crowd inside the popular tavern shouted over the din of the musicians inside, making lurid requests of the serving girls and demanding more ale. She shuddered at some of their words.