Page 7 of Shadow Blind

A swarm of new people, connected by thought… A hive mind? Dead but not dead. Zombies? The warning would have been amusing—zombies, for shadow’s sake—except…the Shadow Warrior had invaded his Taounaha’s dreams to give warning.

This had never happened before.

“Where do these new people come from?” The dread lay heavy in Wolf’s gut and chest.

Creation was the providence of the Shadow Warrior and the Blue Moon Mother. Not even the most jealous of their shadow children carried this kind of power.

“From the woohanta, prodded on by the lower realm’s trickster children.” Benioko shook his head tiredly.

So, this new threat had evolved through the Anglo tribe and the elder gods’ envious, capricious shadow children. This was never a good combination. Wolf grimaced. Of course, the Shadow Warrior’s lower realm children, those banished from the upper realm because of maliciousness and spite, were behind this new global menace. While they did not hold the power of creation like their parents, they often maliciously meddled in the affairs of the elder gods’ favorite children. Erasing their parents’ creations from the face of Hokalita would please them greatly.

“Did the Shadow Warrior show you how to defeat this new enemy?” Wolf asked. It was impossible to discuss battle strategies when they did not know what they fought.

“He showed me your javaanee, the one who follows the white warriors’ ways.”

Wolf shook his head. He had only one javaanee and Aiden was staunchly against his Kalikoia heritage.

“The Shadow Warrior should have chosen more wisely.” Wolf’s voice turned dry, and outright sacrilegious. It was never wise to question the elder gods. But Benioko knew Aiden refused to learn the ways of the Hee’woo’nee. “Aiden will not join us to neutralize this threat.”

The Old One released a long, tired sigh. “You must convince him. He is in great danger. Your javaanee is the arrow in this new war. Without him, the Hee’woo’nee and all the peoples who walk Hokalita will be no more.”

Then they were in trouble.

Wolf had spent many cycles trying to convince Aiden to join Shadow Mountain Command and adopt his tribal heritage. Time after time, Aiden had brushed aside the requests. Wolf had long since stopped asking. You could not force knowledge on those unwilling to hear.

“Your javaanee is in great danger. If those who created this new enemy find him, he will cross the veil and the Hee’woo’nee will perish.” The Old One looked up; his hooded eyes sunken with concern. “You must find him and quickly. Others seek him. If they reach him first, this war is lost.” He gestured weakly at the huge computer monitor that stretched across the far wall. A map of Tajikistan and the Karategin Mountains filled the screen. “You will find him there. Choose your men and go. Quickly. Take your javaacee and the new Thunderbird. Aiden will have need of your sister’s Hee-Hee-Thae magic and your new toy’s speed and veiling.”

Aiden would need healing? And not just any healing, but from Kait, who was the strongest healer among the Hee’woo’nee? This was unwelcome news.

Yet, his gift of future sight had not warned him of a threat to Aiden. Not this time.

Wolf frowned, unease stirring. Three cycles ago, the future sight gift had failed him, and Jude had died. Aiden’s fate could not echo his anisbecco’s.

According to Benioko, Aiden’s death would end the world.

Day 2

Vahdat, Tajikistan

In the past, when Aiden spun up for an op, he did so with a focused mind. A good operator—and he was a damn good one—knew that distractions led to death. But this time…fuck…strategies aimed at convincing Demi not to dump him plagued his thoughts.

He was too damn distracted, which didn’t bode well for his survival.

“The chopper will drop you eight klicks from your target.”

It was zero-one-hundred, half an hour from go, and he found it impossible to concentrate on the final mission brief. The news he was in line for a Dear Aiden speech kept swirling through his mind. But it didn’t help that Dipshit Dwight Dawson was giving the briefing. The CIA analyst charged with monitoring this region of Tajikistan had the worst voice ever. Didn’t the Farm teach their agents not to bore their audience into a stupor? This particular spook spoke in a low, droning monotone. No pitches or valleys. Just an endless, dull buzz.

“Our target is Grigory Kuznetsov, an arms dealer brokering stolen military tech.” The most boring spook alive continued.

Dipshit Dawson didn’t look like your average spook. And yeah, spooks had a look. Nondescript, flat-faced, cold-eyed. Not Dawson, though. Nope, he was tall and lanky, with warm blue eyes.

“…Karaveht is the smallest of the villages on…”

To his right, Squirrel’s shorn head bobbed, the bronze and red scales of his rattler tattoo shimmering. Aiden leaned over and drove an elbow into his buddy’s muscled ribs. If he had to listen, so did the rest of his crew. Squirrel grunted and jolted upright.

The spook kept droning on and on, periodically tapping his pointer against the huge monitor that stretched across the front of the command tent. The monitor displayed satellite images of a small settlement tucked between steep, rocky hills. Mud-brick houses lined both sides of a dirt road. Metal roofs, along with the jagged hills surrounding them, were splashed with white from the recent snow.

Their target was Karaveht, a remote village amid the Karategin Mountains. While a narrow road ran through the village, connecting it to the rest of the towns along the Rasht Valley, they wouldn’t be using it. The road would expose them to unwelcome eyes. Instead, they’d insert into town by climbing and descending the hills surrounding it.

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