The Spirit Heir (18 page)

Rhen struggled to find a reply, more questions, a way to keep the conversation going. But in the end, he remained silent, eyes glossing over as the inevitability of the situation became clear.

After a few moments, Whyllem left. Rhen waited until the soft thud of his footsteps disappeared before walking to the window.

Rayfort.

He sighed, taking in one last sweeping view of his home, unsure if he would ever see it again. Certainly not so thriving, not so majestic. The siege would see to that.

The white walls would be the first things to go. Catapult fire would make them crumble, collapse in certain sections. Flames would engulf the town in black ash, removing the dazzling colors of wood and tile, removing the aura of life. Debris of rock and stone would be all that remained. Blood would run in rivers down the labyrinth of streets. And the castle…

Rhen closed his eyes tight, trying not to picture it, but the images broke through, relentlessly clear. Whyllem's head would decorate a spike outside the gate, his mother too, maybe Awenine. Baby Whyllean, the future king, not even old enough to walk, but still old enough to become a decoration of defeat. The tapestries, hanging for centuries, would burn away to ash. Ember would inevitably be put down, too unruly to allow any new owner to ride on her back, too proud.

And Rhen, he would be labeled a coward for abandoning his kingdom in its time of need. A traitor. An outcast.

But he would keep his promise to his brother, to his bloodline.

He would live.

Faces flashed before Rhen's eyes, faces he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. His father. His mother. Tarin. Whyllem. Whyllean. And even Whyllysle, the brother he had lost so many years ago. And when his family ran out, more ghostly images came, featureless but not forgotten, people he would never know but who would die defending his family in his stead.

One after another, they crashed forward, slamming into Rhen's body, drowning him in despair. But he never lost sight of the feeble hope flickering in the back of his mind, an anchor against the storm allowing him to hold onto the little boy who lived in dreams, the man who refused to give in without a fight, the prayer that somehow, someway, he would save them all.

11

JINJI

~ WHITE STONE SEA ~

Jinji smiled as the wind rushed against her cheeks, whipping her short hairs, bringing life back to her face. No more skirts, no more dresses. With the castle far behind them, pants and a shirt had become her wardrobe once more. Staring straight ahead into an endless horizon, only blue water beyond the nose of their small boat, Jinji couldn't help but feel free for the first time in weeks.

Yet behind her, surrounded by grave silence, she knew Rhen felt quite differently—trapped, cornered, hopeless.

He had come to her before dinner yesterday—face colorless, movements stiff, voice empty—and told her they would be leaving before dawn. Too worried to ask for an explanation for his abrupt change of mind, Jinji just nodded, swallowing the questions back down for a later time when Rhen was ready. But her answers had come sooner than she expected, when the king visited her room, explaining Rhen's banishment, explaining the need to keep at least one Son of Whyl alive, to keep an heir.

Instantly, everything became clear.

But when Rhen had come to collect her this morning, it was even more evident that he did not want to talk about it. A fake smile graced his lips, a falsely toned happiness played on his voice—the cover of a good mood, the act of a grieving man. And he told her only that the time had come to search for the shadow, to leave the wars of men behind them in order to hunt the real enemy. Jinji let him have his lie.

Hours later, very few words had passed between them. Rhen manned the sail, aiming their boat across the sea toward opposite shores, toward the northern mountains, unless Jinji could come up with a better idea, a different location to stalk the shadow.

But the only clue she had was the nameless castle from the memory the voice had shared with her. Jinji vividly remembered the steps she climbed, the cavernous room littered with the bodies of the dead, the stark intensity of red blood on white stone. Yet Rhen had told her that the castle of Rayfort was the only one built of ivory rock, mined from the Gates themselves, and she knew without a doubt that the scene from the vision was someplace else, someplace she had no idea how to find.

I need help
, Jinji said again, trying to reach the voice. But for what seemed like the millionth time today, silence was her only response.

Speak to me! I'm trying to fight the shadow.

Nothing.

I don't know where to go. We need a guide.

The slap of waves on wood was the only sound to fill her ears.

With a sigh, Jinji sat on the deck, folding her legs underneath her and leaning her head against the rail.

The spirit dragon, the guardian, the voice—whatever it was, it was gone. Vanished. After showing her the memory yesterday, it had run away—to grieve in silence, to forget the brutal day it had been forced to relive, to come up with a plan, to surrender. The possibilities were endless. Regardless, the voice had abandoned her, even though she was finally ready and willing to listen.

Jinji gazed at the water passing unhindered below the boat. The sea was calm today. No whiteheads marred the glistening surface, which was kissed by the sun and brightened by a cloudless sky. The wind pressed favorable against their sails, snapping the cloth to keep a straight course. Though Rhen clearly felt as though his world had crashed around him, the spirits felt otherwise, because they had blessed them with a perfect day.

"Rhen," Jinji said, turning around to pull him from his trance.

But as her eyes slid over her shoulder, a black shadow darkened in the peripheral. Whipping her head to the side, Jinji searched for the source. A bird? An overlooked cloud? But she could find nothing, despite the chill creeping its way down her spine.

"Rhe—" Jinji started, but her jaw dropped midway through the word.

Sitting in the middle of the deck, unaffected by the wind, was a cloud of gray mist in the shape of a man.

"The phantom," Rhen murmured, finally pulled out of his thoughts and back into the world.

Jinji swallowed, mesmerized by the swirling smoke, the deep ash, the ghost. Without a doubt, she knew this was an escaped soul—the ones the voice had warned her about, the ones that would destroy the world if the shadow did not return to its realm of the dead and control them. In one of the voice's visions, Jinji had seen mists like these devour an entire army, destroy hundreds of men in the blink of an eye. And yet, no fear stilled her heart, no terror burned her veins.

It was almost as though she knew him.

"Stay back," Rhen whispered. Until hearing his words, Jinji hadn't realized that she'd stood, that she'd started walking toward the figure.

As though sensing her for the first time, the phantom spun. It had no eyes, but its gaze still seared her skin with recognition. The soul knew her too.

Janu?

Jinji ached to say the name aloud. To hope. The mist looked so familiar, even as a faceless ghost, the sensation of knowing, of loving, clenched her gut. She could imagine this reaction with no one else in the world, no other person who had passed into the realm of the shadow.

The phantom floated toward her, moving its feet as though it stepped, as though it still were human. And then it lifted a hand, extending closer and closer to her face, reaching to brush its fingers across her cheek.

Jinji couldn't breathe.

Couldn't move.

Her eyes grew wide as the mist drew closer. Staring into the featureless void, Jinji saw only one face in the dark.

An inch from her skin, it stopped. Not moving. Almost as if pretending it had made contact and now held her in a warm embrace.

"Jin," Rhen warned.

At the sound of his voice, the spell broke. The phantom pulled back, hugging its arms around its torso, retreating. Jinji ached to jump toward it, but held steady, remembering what its touch could do.

Kill.

"Don't lay a hand on it," Rhen continued. "Remember what I said, it did something to me, froze me."

"I know."

Jinji shook her head, trying to clear her mind, to listen to the truth in Rhen's words. He caught her eye and waved her over. She listened, walking cautiously around the phantom, now immobile in the center of the boat, and came to a stop by Rhen's side. He grabbed her hand, weaving their fingers together in a tight embrace.

The phantom's head dipped, invisible eyes dropping to the movements of their hands, and then it shifted back, drifting away until it stood at the very tip of the boat. Raising one hand, it pointed.

"Not this again," Rhen murmured.

But Jinji just let her gaze shift to the side, to the direction the ghost demanded. "Where would that take us?"

Rhen shifted his weight while he thought. "Right now, we're sailing mostly north toward the river to Brython. Shifting west would take us closer to the Straits, to the hills outside of Airedale."

"Is that area safe?"

Rhen shrugged. "It's still across the White Stone Sea from Rayfort. But it's barren. I don't even think small villages line that rocky shore."

Jinji bit her lip, thinking, watching as the phantom continued to point unwaveringly to the horizon. "Let's listen. Let's go where it says."

Rhen opened his mouth, but then let it slowly close, burying his question as his green eyes dropped a shade. Whatever thought he had, it was dark. It made him retreat again until his eyes glazed over, trapped in his memories, and her friend disappeared.

Jinji tore her eyes away, swallowing hard. Time. He needed time. Thinking back to the days when she said goodbye to her home, to her people, Jinji could relate, and she understood how difficult just living in the face of such sadness could be.

Rhen shifted directions until the phantom's arm pointed straight ahead and the boat sailed in its chosen direction. For the next few hours, nothing changed except the gentle creak of Rhen shifting the sail, making sure to stay on course whenever the phantom's aim changed.

When the sun fell and night crept in, the phantom disappeared. Rhen dropped an anchor and they slept. By morn, the dark mist had returned to lead them onward. The process repeated again, time ceasing to exist in the silence—only the sun passing in an arch overhead let Jinji know the day was surging forward. Rhen was consumed by thoughts of his family. Jinji was filled with questions the voice refused to answer. And neither had any energy to spare for conversation.

When the sun rose on the next day, however, something was different. A strip of dark brown rock danced at the edge of the horizon.

Land.

The phantom reappeared at the bow, leading them forward, unwavering. But as they neared, Jinji's heart sunk to the base of the sea floor.

"It's a cliff," she said—to Rhen, to no one.

Looming in the distance was a solid wall of rock, reminding Jinji of the week spent sailing through the Straits, surrounded on all sides by jagged walls she would never be able to climb. Though not as high, this wall felt more foreboding as the phantom continued to point ahead while shifting his arm farther and farther up.

"Rhen?" she asked, turning to her friend.

His eyes gazed upward, probably pulled by the same thought as her. As the boat slid menacingly close to shore, he lowered the sail and dropped the anchor, bringing them to a dead halt. For the first time in days, the sun was completely blocked from view, surrounding them in cool shade.

Almost immediately, the phantom dissolved into a dark, gray cloud and floated up. As soon as it crested the ridge of land, it retook the shape of a man and looked down at them with an air of impatience.

"Does it want us to follow?" Jinji asked, unable to hide the waver in her tone.

Rhen sighed. "Trust me, it always wants us to follow. Though, I have no idea what could possibly be up there. If I'm correct, we're almost at the beginning of the Straits. No one lives in these hills. Nothing is there."

Eyeing the muddy stone again, Jinji swallowed. The cliff had to be at least five stories high. Though the rock was bumpy and full of grooves to hold on to, the wall was steep. Judging by the crashing waves at its base, a fall would be painful—if not deadly.

She swallowed. "Are we going to climb this?"

Rhen pulled his gaze from the ghost waiting overhead to the woman sitting by his side, brows knotted in worry. "It's up to you. We can follow the phantom, if you choose. Or we can turn around and continue onto Brython as my brother suggested."

She hated hearing his voice so forlorn. The Rhen she knew would jump at the opportunity for adventure, would already be swimming toward the rock, ready to make landfall. That Rhen was in there somewhere—she just needed to bring him back to life.