Shadow Road Read online

  Shadows Rising Trilogy, Book 1

  First Edition: June 2020

  Copyright 2020 A. E. Pennymaker

  Published by A. E. Pennymaker

  www.aepennymaker.com

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

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  Cover Design: A. E. Pennymaker

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1. An Unfortunate Beginning

  2. Accidental Encounter

  3. An Awful Adventure

  4. Reason

  5. Eye of the Storm

  6. Leave It and Go

  7. Adrift

  8. Eat Fish

  9. The Angpixen

  10. You Speak Illyrian

  11. Bait and Switch

  12. Things Fall Apart

  13. Playing Games

  14. Cry, Birds

  15. Keep Fighting

  16. After

  17. Showdown

  18. Trading Secrets

  19. Soup Tureens and Ice water

  20. Rescuing the Pirate

  21. A Side of Mutton

  22. Surprisingly Well

  23. Revelations

  24. The Devil's Pact

  25. The First Step

  26. The Iron Dragon

  27. Tempests in Teacups

  28. Once More unto the Dragon

  29. Keys and Other Things

  30. The Return of the Civilians

  31. More Than One Kind of Storm

  32. Speaking of Calm

  33. Still Miss Westerby

  34. Fresh Air

  35. Steppingstones

  36. Of Mittens and Fog

  37. The Rimrocks

  38. Upon Arrival

  39. The School

  40. Proving Useful

  41. Warring's Daughter

  42. Rikkafilla

  43. Dancing in the Dark

  44. Starting to Feel Like Home

  45. Sharp Eyes

  46. Wait and See

  47. Monolith by Moonlight

  Endnotes

  Meet the Author

  Connect with A. E. Pennymaker

  Books by A. E. Pennymaker

  Sneak Peek at Shadow Dance: Book 2

  Dedication

  In memory of my mother: inspiration, friend, and fierce cancer fighter

  October 1939 ~ January 2020

  Prologue

  The second shift was still in full swing, and Southend Street was quiet. Mrs. Ardeshi was sitting sentinel on her bench in her patch of yard, and a little farther down, Mrs. Reinost twitched her curtains aside, but otherwise it was empty.

  Mrs. Reinost scowled when she caught sight of me, and twitched her curtains open a little farther to catch every little thing that happened, but I didn't mind. Nosy-Rosy neighbors had their uses. Those beady, suspicious eyes would be on me wherever I went, and I wasn't going far.

  Rule 1: Tell someone where you're going.

  I closed the front door behind me, then waved and smiled. "Hello, Mrs. Ardeshi!"

  She harrumphed, folding her lips into a disapproving pucker.

  "Beautiful day isn't it? You're looking fine this morning. Is that a new shawl?"

  That earned an unimpressed once-over from the corner of her eye, but then she relented, a grin of pride creeping through as she gathered the knotwork black and green fabric of her shawl closer. "Aye, t'is. My Lisse made it. Got it in the Post yesterday, all the way from Pordazh Kaskara."

  "It's beautiful," I called. "I'm on my way to the corner. Can I get you anything from Grint's?"

  Mrs. Ardeshi lifted her chin and sniffed. "I've got plenty ta keep me, child." Then she leaned forward over her cane. "But ye could tell that man of your'n I need 'im ta fix me stove pipe. Cain't warm me shins wi'out breathing soot."

  Right on cue, my cheeks went pink. Your man. What a pathetically pleasant fiction. I kept my smile pasted on for Mrs. Ardeshi's benefit, but it had gone flat. "He's on a late shift tonight I'm afraid. I'll send him straight over in the morning."

  Rule 2: Never go anywhere that no one can see you.

  I checked to make sure Mrs. Reinost was still observing everything from her window.

  She was.

  That wasn't enough. He would be disappointed in me when he got back from the docks, but if I didn't go now, Grint's would be closed by the time my shift ended, and we both needed a more substantial meal than two-day-old gruel.

  Still, I glanced around again. It really was quiet. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The quiet was why we had picked Phyrros, and we had been hiding for months with no sign that we had been followed. Hopefully, everyone thought we were dead. There were no links left to trace, no ties to the lives we had left behind. They wouldn't find us here. Nothing was going to happen if I stole ten minutes of freedom.

  I patted the well-worn doorframe of 68, whispered a reassuring "I'll be back in a moment," turned, and went down the steps to our little walkway, then on down the block to the row of shop fronts on the corner. There wouldn't be many patrons in the eateries at that hour, but the staff would be inside preparing for the breakfast rush when the canning factory let out. I wouldn't be completely alone.

  Grint's Commissary had just opened. Mrs. Demyrre was shaking out the mud runner on the front stoop, sending up a small billow of sand with every flap of her arms.

  Across the street, I came to a stop and chewed my lower lip for a moment. The shelves probably hadn't been fully stocked yet. If I waited a few more minutes, I wouldn't have to beg her to bring anything out. I also might be able to get a glimpse of 'my man' while he was working.

  That did it.

  I headed for the public dining pavilion across from the eateries instead. It was deserted, save for a few seagulls. Grateful for small mercies, I wound my way between the seats, smiling as the gulls complained and took flight on their stark white wings.

  I pressed up against the wall separating the pavilion square from the top of the bluffs and rested my elbows on the capstone, stretching up on tiptoe so I could get a better view of the wharves a hundred meters below me. It didn't take much to find the weather-beaten yellow sign of Padashiri's Shipping. The dockhands were outfitting the bulky old Camberstone-Froley steam-driven merchanteers for their return run to Pordazh Kaskara, and pyramids of crates were stacked up on the dock outside the warehouse, ready to be loaded.

  There he was, shouldering a big box of canned fish onto a loading trolley, and as usual, the sight of that dark, unruly hair curling out from under his deckhand's cap made me grin. Also as usual, reality quickly followed, bringing with it the dull reminder that he didn't feel the same way about me as I did about him. To him I was only a friend, at best. At worst, I was a problem he had decided he was responsible for.

  I ground my teeth and dropped down onto my heels again, hating that hollow ache in my chest. This had only ever been a temporary arrangement. It was easier to hide as a couple. I knew that. Allowing myself to feel anything more was only going to make it worse when we found our way back to Aethscaul and his self-inflicted duty to my father came to an end.

  I needed to get the shopping done. With a sigh, I stepped away from the wall and turned toward Grint's.

  Rule 3: Keep your back to a barrier or corner and keep your eyes on your surroundings.

  Up the
street, Mrs. Reinost drew her curtains closed.

  There was no warning, no hint that I wasn't alone. I was about to start walking back through the seating area when the blur of rapid movement behind me had me ducking and spinning.

  Too late. They were too close, too big, and too fast. A grain sack blotted out the light, and then strong hands were grabbing at me, snatching me off the ground.

  Screeching, I lashed out with my feet and elbows, slammed my head back in hopes of catching a nose or throat.

  That was the end. There was a hoarse grunt and a muffled curse, and then something heavy collided with my temple. Sparks exploded behind my eyes. My body went limp as a ragdoll, and the last sound I heard before darkness stole me away was a low, growled, "'Ey! Don't dent the merchandise, ya minger!"

  ~~~

  Clink... Clink-clink... Clink... Clink-clink.

  A sliver of light darted into being, painfully bright. The sliver disappeared as my eyes drifted shut, but the darkness was no longer absolute.

  Clink... Clink-clink... Clink-clink... Clink... Clink...

  I took a slow breath.

  Oil. Hot metal. My left cheek against something gritty.

  Clink... Clink-clink... Clink...

  I opened my eyes again, deliberately this time. I could only lift my right eyelid. The left was stuck shut.

  Ever so slightly I moved my head, blinking around as my vision wavered in and out of focus. Light came through a small, barred window high above me on a green wall, creating moats of gold that hung in the air.

  Clink... Clink-clink-clink... Clink... Clink-clink...

  Another slow breath, this one threaded with the reek of feces, urine, and stale sweat.

  I gagged, then had to cringe and clutch at my skull as liquid fire went streaking through my brain, centering in my left temple.

  Something dragged at my wrists, accompanied by a metallic rasp and a dull thump from somewhere in front of me.

  An icy swirl of fear shot through my belly. Carefully, I opened my good eye and tried to focus.

  A girl was lying there, looking at me.

  She was quite pretty, with fine-boned features, rippling wheat-blonde hair, an upturned nose and thick black eyelashes, but there was something wrong with her face. It was slack. Immobile. Her eyes were fixed and cloudy, and there was an oddly grey cast beneath the ivory of her skin.

  She was dead. The dull thump had been her skull hitting the floor. Her shoulder had shifted when I raised my hand – shifted because there was a shackle on her arm, and the chain welded to that shackle led to a shackle on my own wrist.

  My breath left me on a silent scream as I finally realized where I was.

  Nearby, the song of the Shadow Road sounded again: Clink... Clink... Clink-clink... Clink... chain swaying against chain.

  ~~~

  Minger: (Ronyran) An idiotic, oafish, or clumsy person.

  1. An Unfortunate Beginning

  3rd of Uirra, 1 year ago

  I bit my lip, my eyes on my father. He hadn't moved in nearly half an hour. I wasn't going to get another chance.

  Slowly, I reached down and eased the sheet of hotel stationery out of my boot. Father didn't stir, so I brought the paper up and pressed it flat on the hard side of the traveling bag resting across my knees. Still chewing my lower lip, I pulled the hotel fountain pen out of my stocking, and began writing as quickly as I could without making noise:

  Aunt Sapphine:

  We aren't dead. We're gone. There was an explosion at the warehouse. Everything is lost – the shipyard office, the dock, all of the outbuildings and equipment.

  I stopped writing and stared at the words I had just scribbled. "Everything is lost" did nothing to describe the horror of waking up to the crash of Mr. Farspender breaking in through my bedroom window because the hallway outside my door was in flames, but reliving nightmares would get me nowhere. I blinked the tears from my eyes, took a shaky breath, and kept going.

  Thankfully, the explosion woke everyone before the fire spread, though now four hundred people are without an income, and two blocks of tenant housing were razed. Even our own beloved 466 didn't go unscathed. The fire jumped the square and kindled those overgrown bushes outside Father's study, and that whole end of the house went up. All of my clothing, all of my paintings, all the equipment I bought, all of Mother's things, all of it is gone.

  The familiar red oval of the Tillerson's Emporium sign flashed by outside the coach window, which meant we were already passing Blunt Street. I snapped another glance at my father. He was still oblivious, so I began writing again:

  We are on our way to the Colonies. Father's school friend has offered him a place in some business venture or other, and that has been the only option Father is willing to think about or discuss.

  I believe he must be suffering from delusions brought on by smoke inhalation. There is plenty of employment to be found on the continent, but nothing I say or do can convince him, and we are currently in a public coach heading for Porte De Darre with barely the funds for two tickets to the Adropedes, and passage to Nimkoruguithu.

  I'm worried.

  I wish you had been here. Perhaps Father would have listened to you.

  We passed the oxidized-green copper columns of the Tanners Street fountain. I wouldn't be able to finish everything I wanted to say.

  Write to me at the Iron Dragon Inn, Lordstown-Over-the-Isle, Adropedes Islands. We should arrive there within a week.

  All my love,

  Grimly,

  Bren.

  I closed the pen, pulled the envelope out of my sleeve, and folded the letter into it without blotting it. Then I slid it, blotches and all, into the pocket of my cloak and glanced at my father, my heart pounding just a little.

  He was still sleeping.

  Stomach knotting into a new lump of guilt, I sat back, my fingers moving automatically to my compass rose pendant, running it up and down its chain. He had told me not to tell anyone where we were going, and I was about to willfully disobey him. I didn't want to, but did he really expect Aunt Sapphine not to care if we dropped off the face of the earth? Hadn't it occurred to him that she would be frantic? She was our only family. How could we simply transplant to the other end of the known world without saying anything? I closed my eyes, fending off the niggling fear that something had come loose in my father's brain.

  With a frustrated sigh I let go of my necklace, bracing myself as the stage rattled over a rut, sending our luggage bumping about on the rack above our heads. We had reached the city. The merchant's sector of Porte De Darre began rolling by outside the luxfenestre window, and I twisted the wiper knob to clear a skim of snow away from the panels of glass.

  I had always loved Porte De Darre. There was a whimsical, sea-beaten charm about the place, with its salt-bleached boardwalks, and random, winding streets. My father's business was usually done in summer, when the eastern and western trade routes were open and people of every sort, from every place, filled the streets with color and music and a hundred different beautiful languages. Father began bringing me with him when I was five, and I spent countless hours playing on the wharves, talking to sailors and dock hands while Father worked in our Porte De Darre shipping office. The world had been much simpler then, full of fantastic new words to learn and things to discover.

  Now, twenty years later, I knew what red ink in a business ledger meant, just how many of those sailors and dockhands had been on our payroll, and how quickly everything could be lost.

  As if to mirror the change in our fortunes, there was no color or music in Porte de Darre, now, either. In winter the population always dwindled to the local residents, and Barrow-Market Street lay still and cold in the early morning light, devoid of its ware-hawkers and produce barrows, with only a few heavily clad people hurrying down the boardwalks.

  We had become ghosts, sliding away with no one to notice we were leaving.

  Father woke as we reached Seawall Street and the road changed from old cobblest
one to new pavement. He sat up and blinked around, then removed his spectacles, wiping them with the cuff of his sleeve before returning them to his nose.

  He squinted through the window on his side as we passed beneath the unmistakable shadow of the Sea Gates. "Have I slept long?"

  "Since New Sullyn," I said quietly.

  "Oh. I apologize, my dear. What a boring trip this must have been."

  I gave him a little grin, then changed the subject. "If we have time, I would like to go to Prattle's. I forgot to purchase a mending kit." Convenient excuse, that. Prattle's Sundries was right next to the P.d.D. Post.

  "I'm not sure that's a good —”

  "It will barely take a minute," I went on quickly. "I can be there and back while you're at the ticket office, and prices are much better here than in Lordstown."

  Father didn't look pleased, frowning and muttering about 'headstrong young women who forget things' as the stage pulled to a stop outside the Travel Bureau. I watched him until he gave me a sideways glare, then at last shook his head. "Fine! Go," he paused, then added a gruff, "But only straight there and back."

  "Don't worry, I shan't talk to shady characters or gad about in dark alleys." Smiling, I opened my door and stepped down to the ground. My smile disappeared as I turned around. With a silent plea for patience, I straightened my skirts and made for the nearest foot ramp to the shopfront boardwalk.

  "Straight there!" Father called after me as he got out of the stage on his side.

  "And straight back," I called over my shoulder, knowing from recent experience that he would be suspicious if I just hurried away. He probably didn't even realize he was doing it, but he was going to drive me mad before we even got to the Galvania.