Free Tales of Noreela 04: The Island by Tim Lebbon Page B

shadows. It has always been this way, and always will be, because the Core should not be. It is a leftover from a centuries-dead duke’s paranoia, and the irony is that the paranoia was justified. There
are
things from beyond Noreela. The Core—a tight organization with no identifiable leader, and one clear mandate—has decided that this should never be general knowledge.
    Especially as the Strangers are far from friendly.
    And as well as existing within shadows, they watch from them also, because Kel and O’Peeria are hunters and killers.Shadows are their friends. Darkness is their ally. So they wait, and the world goes on around them with no comprehension of the slaughter about to be wrought.
    “Pelly and Rok should be here by now,” Kel whispers. He’s been sitting behind the remains of a tumbled statue for a while, and O’Peeria has become a vague presence to his left. His legs are stiff and aching, but he dares not move.
He
is a statue, until the time comes.
    “Over there,” O’Peeria says. She does not move, point or nod, but Kel knows where she is indicating. They have worked together for a long time, and they have a language all of their own. He looks past the stone remains and across Monument Park. He cannot see them, but he senses their presence, hunkered down behind the statue of a forgotten Voyager like just another part of the night.
    There are thirty statues and pedestals in the park, placed at random amongst trees, between small ponds and around gathering areas that, during the day, attract hundreds of speakers, prophets, Practitioners, witches and magic-weavers. Several of the figures have been toppled in some hazy past, evidence of shifting allegiances and fading histories. There are also a few empty pedestals upon which figures
should
have been built, but perhaps their subjects had been shamed or uncovered as charlatans. Now they were empty, famous futures waiting to be told.
    “He’s here,” O’Peeria whispers.
    Kel cannot see the Stranger yet, but he does not question O’Peeria’s pronouncement. She’s a Shantasi, and he has long learned to trust her.
    “Wait until he engages,” Kel says. “Remember what happened last time?”
    O’Peeria risks a small laugh. “Kel, you have no sense of adventure. You know how fast I am.”
    Yes, he knows. The Shantasi call it Pace. She has never told him how they do it, and he’s decided he no longer wishesto know. They draw magic just like everyone else in Noreela, but he has come to believe that they craft it more confidently, and with greater skill.
    The Stranger emerges from shadows, walking carefully along a path that leads through the undergrowth. The route opens into a wide clearing before them, and around its edges several pedestals stand, bearing famous figures from history: the First Voyager, Sordon Perlenni; the Widow’s Peaks gatekeeper, Anselm Anto; the first Mystic of New Shanti, A’Kan Lone; and more. Kel does not recognize them all.
    Core agents have seen the Stranger there several times before, communicating with whatever strange place he comes from. O’Peeria believes he does it from there as a slight against Noreelan history. Kel is not so sure. But the reasons do not matter.
    The decision to kill this one came quick and easy. There is no longer any doubt.
    The Stranger pauses in the center of the clearing. He looks around slowly, turning so that he can scan his entire surroundings.
    Kel holds his breath and relaxes, resting his fingers on the fractured pedestal before him, summoning the subtle screening spell O’Peeria taught him. Magic tingles through his flesh and bones, coursing around his body as it merges with his blood flow, thumping in time with his heart, twitching in time with a muscle in his cheek, and he hates it as much as he ever has. He looks at his hand on the stone before him, and its outline grows hazy. This is one of the few times he relies on magic. Mostly, he has learned to trust himself.
    The Stranger