Darkwalker

CHAPTER 13

The ravens showed them the way to the camp. They circled and wheeled in the pallid sky, rustled and cawed from the branches that lined the road. By the time Kody and Lenoir were near enough to see the wood smoke rising from the clearing, the chorus of ravens was so loud that it drowned out the sound of their hoofbeats on the road. The choir of death, as they were known in scripture. Kody wasn’t much of a religious man, but it made him shudder all the same. Ravens could often be found in large numbers near Adali camps, since there was always a bounty of food to be had. The Adali weren’t accustomed to staying in one place for long, so sanitation wasn’t their strong suit. They let their refuse pile high near the campsite, attracting all sorts of scavengers. The presence of ravens near Adali camps was so common that the two had become inextricably associated with each other in folklore. And they wonder why everyone thinks of them as heathens and witches. Kody’s nose wrinkled at the smell that wandered out from the camp to meet them. It was a pungent blend of cooking fires, cattle, and rotting vegetables. No doubt there were other perfumes mixed in there too, but he didn’t care to think about them.

Reds and yellows began to appear through the trees off to their left, the first sign of the colorful Adali tents. Their bright hues blended into the surrounding woods surprisingly well during autumn and summer, but now that the leaves had fallen, they stood out like wildflowers after a forest fire. They were as out of place as the Adali themselves, who should long since have headed north for the winter in search of warmer climes. As the trees gave way to a clearing, the rest of the settlement came into view. It wasn’t especially large, probably home to no more than a hundred or so individuals. And they seemed to have only modest possessions, even by Adali standards. Aside from a clutch of about thirty skinny cattle grazing near a single wagon, the only livestock Kody could see was a handful of goats that competed with the ravens for the choicest pieces of garbage. The tents looked old and weather-beaten, and the children that emerged from them to watch the horsemen approach were scrawny.

Kody scanned the trees for signs that more cattle were about, but he couldn’t see any. No horses, no bleating of sheep. Could this really be all the livestock they had? If so, this clan would be awfully low down the food chain of Adali society. They’d be isolated, marginalized, even preyed upon. It was a depressing fact of Adali life that the weaker clans were at constant risk of attack, raided for cattle and slaves. Sometimes the raiders came from the south, from Braeland and beyond, but more often, they were Adali from rival clans. Young women and children were especially vulnerable, since they could be kept for wives and workers, or sold as prostitutes in the south. This clan should have moved back north weeks ago, but they obviously felt too exposed to roam among their own kind. Kody wondered if that would make them more likely to talk, or less.

A pair of dogs came bounding out of the camp to meet them, their excited barking announcing the arrival of visitors. “Do you think we’ll get anything out of them?” Kody asked quietly. The Adali were a secretive lot, especially when it came to police investigations.

“Hard to know.” Lenoir eyed the dogs warily as they loped alongside the horses. His stallion’s ears were pinned back, warning the dogs to keep their distance. “Sometimes they cooperate if they think it will avert suspicion from their kind. But in this case, since the dead man is Adali, I doubt they will be very helpful. The Adali are fiercely loyal to one another, and protective of their ways. If there is justice to be meted out, they prefer to do it themselves.”

Kody doubted the wrongdoers shared that preference. Adali justice was uncompromising, sometimes downright brutal. It was also undeniably effective. The clan elders kept a tight rein on things; contrary to popular belief, crime rates were lower among Adali who remained with their clan than amongst the general population of Kennian. It was the city-dwellers, those who were cut off from their traditions and society, who were responsible for a disproportionate number of crimes in the Five Villages.

They dismounted at the edge of the camp. Already, half a dozen people were staring at them, looking even less welcoming than the North Haveners had been. Understandable, maybe. There weren’t many reasons for outsiders to enter Adali camps, and none of them were good news. People came bearing accusations, threats, and demands. No one wanted an Adali community nearby. They were bandits; they trespassed on farmlands; they attracted wild animals. If a plague broke out in one of the Five Villages, the Adali were blamed for that too. They’d learned to expect hostility from anyone who came looking for them. Especially hounds.

Kody pulled the rolled-up parchment out of his saddlebag and unfurled the sketch. It was crudely done—the nose wasn’t quite right and the charcoal had smudged in a couple of places—but considering that Lenoir had given the scribe only ten minutes to produce the drawing, the man had done a decent job of it. It certainly looked enough like the dead man that anybody who knew him should be able to recognize him.

Lenoir headed for the center of the camp, where a group was coming together to meet him. As poor as they were, Kody couldn’t deny they were impressive. Tall, sharp-edged, with skin the color of strong tea with a jot of milk. Their amber-eyed gazes were fathomless, unfathomable. Elaborately carved jewelry of bone and horn adorned long fingers and graceful necks, and their robes, though worn and faded, were still strikingly colorful in comparison with the drab browns and grays favored by the Braelish.

The elder, who looked to be about sixty, was a classic specimen: small mouth, high cheekbones, and keen, wide-spaced eyes. She wore a severe expression, her thick eyebrows drawn together and her mouth pursed in a thin line.

“We are Inspector Lenoir and Sergeant Kody of the Kennian Metropolitan Police,” said Lenoir, his voice slightly raised for the benefit of the crowd. “We are here to ask a few questions regarding an incident in Berryvine.”

A few of the onlookers sneered, as if to say, Of course you are.

“What kind of incident, Inspector?” asked the imposing woman. Her accent was thick, but she spoke the words clearly.

“We have found a body—an Adali man—and we would like you to identify him, if you can.”

Kody took his cue to hold up the sketch, showing it around at the small crowd. A few more had gathered near to listen, but for the most part the community seemed to be going about its business, pointedly ignoring the presence of the outsiders. It seemed to Kody like an act of defiance, a subtle message that they wouldn’t let their lives be disrupted every time someone showed up at their camp to accuse them of something.

As the Adali studied the drawing, Kody studied the Adali. For the most part they didn’t react, but here and there Kody picked up small cues. A young woman’s eyes flared slightly before going cold. A boy in the center of the crowd stirred before someone shifted in front of him, blocking him from view. A man with his arms folded spat on the ground. Lenoir, meanwhile, was involved in some sort of staring match with the elder. They held each other’s gaze, both of their faces impassive, taking the measure of each other. She had not even glanced at the drawing.

“We do not know him,” the woman said.

Lenoir arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Surprising, considering that he was found dead just outside Berryvine. No more than a fifteen-minute ride away, in fact.”

“And why should that be surprising, Inspector? Are we meant to know every Adal in the Five Villages?”

Lenoir looked over his shoulder at Kody and smiled. “You see, Sergeant—I am not so clever as I sometimes claim. I would not have thought that an Adal who was not a member of this clan would be welcome so nearby.”

Kody responded with a theatrical shrug. “Me neither, sir. Only friends and family of this clan allowed, or so I thought.”

“Obviously we still have much to learn about Adali ways, Sergeant.” Lenoir turned back to the leader, still smiling.

She just stared at him.

“I assume you are aware that withholding evidence is a crime,” said Lenoir.

“I assume you are aware that we do not recognize your jurisdiction over us,” said the elder. She speaks Braelish pretty well for a foreigner, Kody thought dryly. I’ll bet she’s had occasion to use that phrase once or twice before.

Lenoir gave a slow nod, his head bent. Kody could tell he was thinking about bringing her in, wondering if it would be worth making the threat. They couldn’t do it themselves, of course—they’d need all of Crears’s men to help. The clan would never willingly allow one of their own, especially their elder, to be taken by the police; there would be bloodshed if they tried. Lenoir must have concluded that it wasn’t worth it, because he turned and walked away from the group, saying, “Come, Sergeant,” as though Kody were a bloody dog.

Lenoir was right, though—it wasn’t worth it. Kody knew that, but it still burned his blood. These people knew the dead man—it was as plain as the sun in the sky. But they had no intention of remanding him to the law. It would take all day to bring the elder in, and for what? She probably wouldn’t say anything anyway, not without Parliament signing a writ giving them leave to use some of the harsher interrogation techniques. By then, the boy would probably be dead.

“What now?” Kody growled as they mounted their horses. The Adali were still clustered around their leader, staring with their inscrutable amber eyes.

“If we cannot get information out of the Adali themselves, we must try the next best thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“There is an apothecary near the northern boundary of Berryvine. We passed it on the way here.”

Clever, Kody thought grudgingly. The Adali were renowned for their use of potions, poultices, and the like. In bygone days, they wouldn’t have stooped to trading medicinal herbs with townsfolk, but modern Adali were less discriminating. They’d had a taste of the conveniences of civilization, and they liked it. A good apothecary, especially one located at the edge of town, would have almost as many Adali clients as villagers. Maybe the apothecary would recognize the dead man. At the very least, he should be able to tell them something useful about the clans that passed through the area.

Kody drew a deep, satisfied breath as they regained the road. This was how an investigation was supposed to be run. For the first time, he could sense Lenoir’s commitment to the case, and though he had no idea what made this one special, he was grateful for it. He only hoped that they found this Zach boy alive. If they didn’t, there was no telling when—or if—Lenoir would take an investigation this seriously again.

The apothecary was just opening his shop when the two policemen arrived. It looked as though he’d been fetching supplies; each arm was burdened with something. Over his left shoulder was slung a small sack that gave off a spicy scent when he shifted its weight to fumble for his keys. Under his other arm, he carried a bushel of some type of herb that Kody didn’t recognize. It sure wasn’t one of the ones used for cooking, and that was about all the thinking Kody cared to do on that subject.

“Please come in,” the apothecary said, shifting his bundles again as he pried his key free from the door. Ordinarily, Kody would have offered to help, but for some reason he was reluctant to handle whatever the man was carrying.

The shop was small and disordered, and it was dark, even after the man lit a lantern. There were no windows, and the door faced to the west so that little sunlight entered. “It’s better for the fungus,” the apothecary explained as his guests blinked in the gloom.

The mixture of smells was almost dizzying. Some spicy, some sweet, some earthy—and beneath it all, the unmistakable scent of decay. Kody had visited an apothecary before, but this particular shop obviously catered to a different clientele. Instead of remedies for cuts, bruises, and headaches, this apothecary stocked ingredients for less everyday purposes. Not going to think about that either, he resolved grimly.

“What can I do for you chaps?” the man asked once he was snugly behind the counter. He was tall, and regarded them with large amber eyes. Do you maybe have some Adali blood in you, friend? If so, he might not be any more cooperative than the rest of them.

“We are trying to identify this man,” said Lenoir, gesturing at Kody to produce the drawing. “Have you seen him?”

The apothecary frowned thoughtfully and took the drawing, holding it near the lantern. “Hmm, I don’t think so. Have you checked with the Asis clan?”

“Is that the camp just outside town?” Kody asked. “We’ve just come from there. They claim not to know him, but we think they’re lying.”

“Why is that?” the apothecary asked coolly. “Because they’re Adali?”

His amber eyes were vaguely challenging now, but before Kody could reply, Lenoir said, “Because they were lying. We could tell from their faces that they had seen the man before. Even one of the children knew him.” So Lenoir had noticed that too. Of course he had.

The apothecary shrugged. “That could be. I suppose they might have assumed he had done something wrong and wanted to look into it themselves. The Adali prefer to do their own punishing.”

“The man is dead,” Kody told him.

“Is he, now? Well, in that case, maybe they wanted to protect themselves. The Adali are very familiar with guilt by association.” He smiled thinly.

“That is a plausible explanation,” Lenoir said, “but I think there is more to it. One of the clan members spat on the ground when he saw the sketch.”

Kody snorted softly, amazed. Lenoir had been busy staring down the old woman, but he still hadn’t missed a thing. The spitter had been silent and far enough to Lenoir’s left that Kody would have assumed he was beyond the reach of the inspector’s peripheral vision.

“An outcast, maybe,” the apothecary suggested. “When an Adal is exiled from his people, they repudiate him altogether. They don’t even acknowledge his existence anymore.”

“And what would get a man exiled from the clan?”

“Oh, lots of things.” The apothecary heaved the sack he had been carrying up onto the counter and started untying its cord. Kody watched with morbid fascination, half afraid to see what was inside. “Winding up in a Braelish jail is usually enough, since the crimes that put you there would have been punished even more severely by the clan. They also banish those who are seen to disrespect Adali values. Usually the offense is spiritual or religious in some way. Knowing the Asis clan, I’d bet it was khekra.”

“What did you say?” Lenoir frowned. “Hek-rah?”

The man smiled. “Close enough. Adali magic. Or rather, a particularly dark brand of Adali magic. The Asis clan had a couple of witchdoctors who were famous for it once upon a time, but they renounced khekra years ago. They say it’s brought them nothing but grief, and they’re probably right. The elders have always frowned upon it, but these days, anybody caught meddling with dark magic is banished, or worse.”

Kody and Lenoir exchanged glances. They’d heard of such magic, of course—everyone had. In the more backwater villages, especially, all sorts of bad luck, from weather to disease to accidents, was said to be the work of Adali sorcery. But the more educated folk of the Five Villages dismissed that as superstitious nonsense.

The apothecary inverted the sack onto the counter, causing Kody to take an involuntary step back. To his relief, however, he saw that it was only a bundle of dried flowers. “You chaps look a little skeptical,” the apothecary said. “I suppose you don’t believe in magic.”

“Do you?” Lenoir asked.

The other man shrugged, fetching a large earthenware pot from somewhere behind the counter. He started to separate the flowers from one another and drop them into the pot. “I’ve been dealing with Adali for more than twenty-five years, and in that time I’ve seen a lot that I can’t explain. Their gift for medicine is undeniable. On top of that, when you come across an Adal who’s had a string of uncannily bad luck, you almost always find that he’s offended someone recently. The Adali live in constant fear of hexes.”

Kody snorted. “A man who believes he’s cursed has a way of making his own bad luck.”

“Maybe,” the apothecary said, “but in that case, it doesn’t really matter if the curse is real or not, does it? It works just the same.”

“Do any of these spells involve using children?” Lenoir asked bluntly.

He was trying to shock the apothecary, and it worked. The man’s hands froze momentarily. “Why do you want to know?” he asked in an icy whisper.

Kody opened his mouth to reply, but Lenoir cut him off. “Never mind that. Answer the question. Have you heard of any form of khekra that requires the use of children?”

The apothecary’s gaze dropped back to the dried flowers, his now-trembling fingers clumsy in their progress. “God help me, I have,” he murmured, “and it’s robbed me of many a night’s sleep.”

Kody stared, feeling suddenly ill.

“Who told you of it?” Lenoir asked. “You said the Asis clan had witchdoctors who were famed for khekra.”

“I said they used to. Their elders forbid it now.”

“Why?”

“You’ve noticed how poor they are? About ten years ago, their herds fell prey to some sort of plague. They were completely wiped out, down to the last animal. Then the witchdoctors started turning up dead. The elders were convinced the clan was being punished for something, something to do with khekra. They outlawed it, gave it up completely. After that, anybody who was caught performing khekra was banished or executed. The damage was done, though. The clan’s place in Adali society is compromised. They’re no longer able to negotiate for the choicer migration routes. They don’t even bother showing up at the annual gathering of the clans. There’s just no point. They have no leverage, can’t pay any tribute to the powerful clans. That’s why they’re still hanging around Berryvine so close to winter—they have no place else to go. And without proper grazing lands, they can’t rebuild their herd. They’re so poor that they hardly even get raided anymore. There’s nothing left to take.”

Except maybe their women and children, Kody thought darkly. It certainly sounded like the Asis were in desperate straits. Desperate people did desperate things. We’re on the right track. Still, he couldn’t quite manage to feel happy about it. This was going somewhere terrible; he knew it in his guts.

Lenoir tapped the charcoal sketch. “Let us suppose that you are right, and this man was exiled for sorcery. What use could he make of a child? What would be his purpose?”

The apothecary lowered his voice and spoke quickly, as though he wanted the conversation to be over. “Khekra makes use of anything you can name—herbs, minerals, animal parts.”

“And human parts,” supplied Lenoir.

Kody felt his lip curl in revulsion. Savages.

“Sometimes. Usually it’s nothing sinister—fingernails, or hair, or a drop of blood. But it matters where you get the material from. Who you get it from. The younger the source, the purer it is, and pure components make for more powerful spells.”

“So they use children,” Kody said disgustedly.

The apothecary was sweating now. He lowered his voice even further, until it was barely above a whisper. “The Adali believe that children make for powerful medicine, strong enough to cure even a mortal wound. But I’ve never heard of them really hurting a child, only taking a little blood.”

“Only?” Kody snapped, barely able to suppress his outrage.

The apothecary swiped his arm across his dampened brow. “Look, I’m only . . . I’m just telling you what I know, Sergeant. I’m just trying to help.”

Lenoir’s countenance was stone. “What about dead bodies? Can they be used in medicine?”

The poor apothecary was turning green. He shook his head weakly. “No. Dead flesh is polluted; it would never be used for medicine. A curse, maybe, but I doubt any Adal would risk it. They believe that sins against the dead are punished from beyond. The Adali always treat the dead with great respect.”

Lenoir’s gaze became abstracted, his brow furrowed in thought. Then light returned to his eye, and he asked, “What kind of spell would call for a child and a corpse?”

The other man shook his head, apparently at a loss. “I don’t . . . I’ve never heard of anything like that.” He put a hand over his belly, as though he felt sick. “What’s going on, Inspector? My God, has someone—”

“Who could tell us more?” Kody interrupted.

“Any Adal could, but I doubt anyone would. You must understand, Sergeant, these things just aren’t discussed—not even among the Adali. I should never have been told about any of this. God knows I wish I hadn’t been.”

There was a long pause. Then Lenoir said, “That will be all, thank you.”

The sunlight was fierce when they stepped out of the shop, and for a moment, all Kody could do was squint. When his eyes began to adjust, he realized that a pair of Adali women was waiting for them by the horses. “Inspector,” one of them said as Lenoir approached. Kody recognized the younger of the two; she’d been gathered with the others when they had questioned the elder.

“The man you are looking for,” the older woman said in a thick accent, “he is dead?”

Kody held up the sketch and showed it to them. “Did you know him?”

The older woman scanned the parchment sadly. “Yes. He was . . . he used to be my brother.” The younger woman reached for her hand and squeezed it.

“What was his name?” Lenoir asked.

“I cannot say,” the sister said. “It is forbidden to speak the name he once had. He is not . . .” She paused, frowning, as though searching for the right words.

“He did not exist,” the younger woman supplied.

“What do you mean, didn’t exist?” Kody asked incredulously.

Lenoir understood. “He was exiled.”

Ah. The apothecary had said that when someone was banished, the clan no longer acknowledged his existence. Kody hadn’t realized he meant it quite so literally.

“Why do you ask of him?” the sister wanted to know. “When he died . . . he was doing wrong?”

Lenoir considered her with narrowed eyes. “I think you know the answer to that.”

The sister shook her head; the horn beads of her earrings clacked with the movement. “No. He has been gone a long time, living in the city. The shame he made here, when he existed . . . that would not concern you.”

“It might,” Lenoir said. “Tell me about it.”

“It is forbidden,” the sister said.

“Did he practice . . .” Kody caught himself before he used the word; he sensed it would only upset them. “Did he make medicine?”

The sister’s eyes filled with tears, and she dropped her head. “Medicine,” she whispered tremulously. “Yes. He helped many people.”

“Many people,” the younger woman said fiercely. She and the sister exchanged a look.

“Was that why the elders sent him away?” Kody asked.

The sister looked away, her lips pressed into a thin line. It was the younger woman who answered, “It was not for the medicine. The elders knew about that, though they pretended they did not. It was for the . . . for the rain.”

Lenoir frowned. “The rain?”

“Not the rain. The . . .” She hesitated, her fingers twitching as though to grasp the unfamiliar words. “When it does not rain,” she finished helplessly.

“Drought?” Kody hazarded.

“Yes, drought. For three seasons, it did not rain. The herd was dying. We were already so poor . . . the people were sick and suffering.”

“My brother tried to help,” the sister said quietly. “He made a spell. He was caught.”

“And they banished him,” Lenoir finished. “Have you seen or spoken to him since?”

The sister stiffened. “No.”

“He did not exist,” the younger woman reminded them.

“How long ago did he cease to exist?” To Kody’s surprise, there was not a trace of sarcasm in the inspector’s voice. As absurd as the conversation sounded to Braelish ears, it was all too serious for the Adali, and for once, Lenoir was being respectful.

“Four seasons,” the younger woman said. “Perhaps five.” That meant about two years, Kody knew. The Adali measured seasons by their migration patterns. A season began when they quit Kigiri to head south to Braeland, and ended when the arrival of autumn turned them home again. Except now the Asis don’t go back north. That must throw everything off for them. For the first time, it occurred to Kody that the Adali didn’t really have any experience of winter until they came to Braeland. How do they manage? They must drop like flies, he thought grimly.

“You say he was living in the city,” Lenoir said. “Do you know what he was doing there? Where he lived, who his associates were?”

The sister shook her head, her beads clacking. Her amber eyes were sad, but resigned. Kody decided he believed her.

“You must tell me his name,” Lenoir said.

“It is forbid—”

“I know,” Lenoir interrupted, “but a boy’s life is at stake, and I do not have much time.”

“A boy’s life?” The woman paled. “My brother would not hurt a child.”

“You sure about that?” Kody challenged. “He got himself exiled, didn’t he?”

She threw him a sharp look. “His shame . . . He made those spells to help people, not to hurt them. He made bad things, yes, but he was only trying to help us. If he was still making bad things when he died, it must have been for the people. For the clan.”

Kody felt his lip twist, but he managed to bite down on a sarcastic reply. As for Lenoir, he merely said, “That may be, but the fact remains that a child is missing, and your brother was involved somehow. What can you tell me about his magic? Can you think of any reason why your brother might take a child?”

“He would not hurt a child,” she insisted, her voice rising in pitch. “I have already said what I should not. Do not speak more of this. It is forbidden.” Her amber eyes were wide with fear.

We’re pushing too hard. We’re going to lose her. Lenoir saw it too; he raised his hands in a mollifying gesture. “Forgive me. I will not ask any more about magic. But I must have your brother’s name. If what you say is true, your brother would not want the child to be hurt, but if I do not find him, the boy could die. Please.”

The women looked at each other. The younger one said something in Adali, shaking her head. The sister sighed. They conversed for a moment, and then the sister turned back to Lenoir. “What I do could make me banished,” she said. “But if a boy is in danger, and this can help you, I must. In return, I ask that you see that my brother’s body is burned, in the Adali way. Do not let them put him in the ground.” Her eyes welled up again, and she swallowed hard.

“I will see to it,” Lenoir promised.

“His name . . .” Her voice quavered, and she swallowed again. “His name was Raiyen.”

“Thank you,” Lenoir said.

“You’ve done the right thing,” Kody added.

The woman nodded. Then she said something to her companion in Adali, and they turned and headed back up the road toward the Asis camp, the younger woman wrapping her arm around the sister’s shoulder as they walked.

Excitement churned in Kody’s guts. They were really getting somewhere now. “Where to next, Inspector? Back to the city?”

“To the station. When we get there, we will split up. You will head out to the slums, Fort Hald, anywhere there is likely to be a concentration of Adali. Now that we have a name to go with your sketch, you may be able to find someone who knew this Raiyen.”

Kody nodded. “And you?”

“I will be with the scribes, looking for any record of him or any other known members of the Asis clan living in the Five Villages. It may be that Raiyen sought out his own kin.”

“Makes sense.”

“If we are lucky, we may also be able to find someone to tell us more about khekra. We still do not understand the motive, and that is the most important clue.”

They mounted up and headed back for the city, riding at a brisk pace. They’d barely hit the outskirts of Berryvine when they heard galloping hoofbeats behind them. Kody twisted in his saddle and recognized Constable Crears and two of his men riding hard toward them.

When they had caught up, Crears said, “I’m glad we found you so quickly. There’s another body, sir, and we think it’s only an hour or two old. Adal man, midtwenties.”

Lenoir and Kody exchanged a look. “Go, Sergeant. Start your inquiries in the city. I’ll stay with Crears and attend to this. We’ll meet up tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” Kody nodded crisply to Crears, then turned and rode off, leaving Lenoir to deal with the corpse.

As he rode, Kody’s mind started to race. He’d learned more about Adali culture in the last twenty minutes than he had in the past twenty years, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. But he knew one thing for certain: whatever was going on, it was much bigger than the boy—and it was getting out of hand.