Shadowless

by Randall McNally

  The diver came crashing back down into the water and tried desperately to remove the weapon from his leg. As he struggled to pull the metal barb from his thigh the man’s face contorted in pain and blood seeped from the puncture site, turning the water red. He looked in horror as a gauntleted hand reached up from the deep and grabbed the spear, pulling it and him downwards. Exhaling heavily the man seemed to be breathing water.

  The diver thrashed as the god dragged him to the rocks below, grasping him by the neck with his free hand and yanking the spear from his leg with the other. The distressed diver was slammed up against a vertical rock face that rose up from the sea-bed and held there tightly by the god; stunned by the impact his struggling became less and less spirited. Unable to break free, the diver watched in dismay as the god drew back his spear before plunging it deep into his chest.

  As soon as the spear struck the man, Santhom’s vision ended. She sat up on the grass and looked around. It was getting light and she was still over an hour’s travel from the capital. Just as she was about to get to her feet a ball of intense green light came flying from the south, over the hill, hitting her in the chest. It knocked her to the ground and she experienced a strange sensation: her mouth started to fill with salt water. She began to heave and vomit, spewing forth bellyfuls of sea water. She tried to get to her feet but she became light-headed before passing out, face down on the grass.

  Slowly, Santhom opened her eyes. It was already morning and the sunlight made her squint. She breathed heavily and wondered if what had happened was all just a lucid dream. The taste of salt water in her mouth told her that it was anything but. Then she heard the voices.

  ‘Look, she’s moving,’ a young man said.

  ‘She’s alive,’ another man commented.

  Santhom glanced up and could see that a crowd was beginning to gather around her. She pushed herself up from the grass, gingerly; her head was still spinning and the ground was covered in salt water and vomit. As she slowly got to one knee Santhom could not help but notice that her clothes were a lot tighter than before. Looking around she gasped at how bright the world appeared; for over one hundred years she had lived in the darkness, never venturing out unless the moon was in the night sky.

  The crowd backed off and Santhom stared at the rolling hills she often walked across, which were now a vibrant green, amazed by the transformation the landscape had undergone. Then her attention was directed to the ground beneath her. The grass was just as green. There was no shadow.

  ‘By the gods, look,’ the first young man said.

  ‘Oh no, she’s shadowless,’ a different one stated.

  Santhom’s head began spinning again, she still felt nauseous and weak but knew that every minute spent out in the open increased the chances of her being killed, and by the sound of it the crowd had realised what she was and the situation was about to become critical. Putting one hand on her knee and the other on the ground, she took a deep breath and pulled herself to her feet.

  More people were gathering, but trying to focus on any of their faces resulted in double vision, which caused the sickness to return. Light-headed she fell heavily to her knees as her legs gave way. All Santhom could do was slump there with her eyes closed, listening to the crowd around her talking.

  ‘We need to find the Shadow Watchers, she could be dangerous,’ one of the voices said.

  ‘I think there are some of them in the city,’ someone else exclaimed.

  ‘Get them, quickly.’

  The motion of the prison wagon caused Santhom’s head to bounce against its floor, which by the feel of it was made of wood. She rolled on to her side and managed to sit up. When she moved, the chain that restrained her neck to the centre of the wagon began to rattle. Trying to rub her aching head Santhom found that she only got her hands to her chest before the chains attached to her wrists became taut.

  With her weapons, armour and mask taken, a sense of dread quickly descended on Santhom. She could only assume that she had been captured by Shadow Watchers. Recalling tales about what they did to people without a shadow sent a shiver down her spine.

  Manoeuvring her body, she propped herself up against the back wall of the wagon, and assessed her confines. The wagon was cramped and had no openings save for a small window in the back door. Santhom stared at the barred window, trying to catch a glimpse of any clues about where she was, or was going.

  The light coming in was beginning to dim. It had been over one hundred years since she had been out of her lair in daylight, but with the help of her charts and books she was acutely aware of the movement of the heavenly bodies across the sky, and how they altered during the seasons.

  ‘You tend to take a vested interest in such things when your life depends on it,’ she had told the king on many occasions.

  Teagar and Myzan will surely attempt to rescue me, she thought, if only they know where I am. Wait, where am I?

  Fear gripped hold of her and she looked out the window for any signs of moonlight, frantically trying to determine if it would be strong enough for her to pass through the cart or if she would be executed before she had a chance to find out. If it was the day after she had her premonition then this would be the last night the moon would be full enough for her to use her power. If she were unconscious for longer, then her problems were about to get a whole lot worse.

  The prison wagon ground to a halt. Santhom lay down with her back to the door and closed one of her eyes. After a few seconds she heard wood creaking and the wagon rocked as the light cast on the back wall by the barred window dimmed. It rocked again as a guard jumped down off the wagon’s step to the ground.

  ‘She’s still unconscious,’ she heard someone say loudly.

  Rolling over, Santhom lay there quietly. With her weapons and armour removed, she was dressed only in her black clothing, leaving her exposed to attack. The sickness from the vison had passed, but was now replaced with anxiety.

  Santhom shivered with fear and rubbed her arms to fend off the goose bumps. She stopped, confused, and slowly ran her hands up her arms, stopping at different sections and squeezing with her thumb and fingers. Her arms were thicker and more muscular. Looking down at her legs she saw that these were the same.

  There were voices outside. It sounded like the guards were making camp and tying up their horses. She soon heard the metallic sound of armour and weapons being repaired and maintained and the chatter and grumbling of military men.

  Still she lay on the cold floor of the prison wagon, listening and waiting. The passing of time was hard to gauge in an enclosed wagon, but the sun had set long ago and the inside of the cart was in total darkness. Trying not to make the slightest noise Santhom leaned over to the door and pressed her ear up against it. She heard snoring.

  Everyone is asleep, time for the moment of truth, she thought.

  Concentrating as hard as she could, Santhom pressed her palm against the floor. Nothing happened.

  Panic washed over her like a wave of ice-cold water, and she started trembling.

  ‘Calm down, Santhom,’ she whispered.

  Try again, she thought, and prepared to try and pass through the wagon floor.

  She pressed her palm down. Remembering the ritual she had performed hundreds of times before, while entering and leaving her den, Santhom cleared her mind and controlled her breathing as best she could. Her heart beat slower and slower as she entered a meditative state. Her hand became translucent, quickly spreading to her arms, then finally her entire body. Shimmering and transparent from head to toe Santhom slipped her limbs from the restraints and crawled through the prison wagon’s floor.

  Dropping through the bottom of the cart, Santhom rematerialised. She lay there for a few seconds. Something within her had changed, normally it would take her time to recover from the pain of passing through solid objects, but not this time, this time she was fine. There was no sha
king or nausea.

  Crouching under the wagon Santhom peeked out from behind one of its wood-spoked wheels. Some of the guards were sleeping while others were at the fire. Two tents were on the far side of the camp with three horses tethered to a tree beside them. Santhom had never ridden a horse before, but they had always intrigued her. Anytime she had approached one, it reared and bucked, so she decided that going near the horses was probably a bad idea. Crawling around to the other side of the prison wagon she ran low and silent into the nearby bushes and slipped into the darkness.

  Confident that she was out of sight, Santhom broke into a jog. She came across a road and looked in both directions. It was dark and without her mask the only light she had to guide her was that of the moon. Knowing from her books that the Mantarasian countryside was populated by wolves, she thought it prudent to keep to the roads as much as possible.

  Santhom attempted to get her bearings by judging the position of the moon, but found that she was still disorientated. The terrain was hilly and she ran to the top of one of the higher ridges, looking into the distance in every direction. The lights from Yavalon were nowhere to be seen. For the first time in her life Santhom felt lost and truly alone.

  ‘Pick a direction and start running, you need to get out of here,’ she whispered out loud.

  With her hands on her hips, Santhom looked around. The road to her right took her away from the Shadow Watchers and so she set off, running in that direction. Soon after starting, she settled into a rhythm, running for hours without fatigue. Santhom had always been a fast runner, but had never run at the pace she was currently keeping. Something was different. She was stronger, fitter and faster. As she powered up the road she tried to make sense of the changes that her body had undergone over the last day.

  Passing through matter without the nausea, the increased muscle mass, the increased speed and fitness? None of it makes sense, she thought.

  As the sun rose to her right, Santhom slowed to a walk. She was going north, but there was still no sign of Yavalon.

  They must have already been taking me north, she thought, now I am even further away from home.

  Cursing her stupidity, she turned and faced south, took a few steps and then stopped.

  According to the shepherds, the dragon was heading north.

  Why am I returning to Yavalon? she thought. The Shadow Watchers are behind me, if they track me back to the palace that could put Teagar and Myzan in danger. What is there for me anyway: my den? If I want to find this dragon then I am going to have to travel north.

  ‘No time like the present.’

  Having travelled for hours, Santhom was exhausted and hungry. Her pace slowed to little more than a stroll as she traipsed along the road alone. The sun was directly above her when she spotted a flock of sea birds high in the distance. She had to be near the coast. Santhom thought back to being in her lair, spending hours studying her maps and charts, and tried to recall how the landscape twisted and turned. She then heard the faint sound of hooves coming up the road behind her.

  Three men with light blue cloaks came galloping up the road on horseback. Frozen in terror Santhom watched as their steeds kicked up dust from the dry, sandy road, creating a cloud that only served to make their appearance more imposing and intimidating.

  Snapping out of her shock Santhom turned and began to run. The landscape around her was relatively bare of vegetation, certainly not a place to hide in for any great length of time. Cresting a hill on the road she looked down and saw a narrow beach, and beyond it, the sea. The thudding of the hooves on the compact ground was getting louder and she sprinted down on to the bleached white sand.

  Santhom ran along the beach before glancing back. The three armed men had reached the verge and were spurring their horses down on to the sand. She looked for anything that could be used as a weapon, but there was nothing, nothing but sand and water.

  The horses quickly outran Santhom and cut off her escape route, forcing her into the sea. The tide was lapping at her ankles and the Shadow Watchers trotted their horses to the water’s edge before bringing them to a halt. Santhom backed off, her heart pounding with fear.

  Now knee deep in water she looked frantically for somewhere to escape to; there was a large outcrop of rocks to her left, but they were a quarter of a mile down the beach and Santhom knew she would be cut down long before reaching them.

  ‘There’s nowhere to run. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it has to be,’ the captain of the Shadow Watchers said as he pulled back his blue cloak and put his hand on the pommel of a broadsword.

  The three horses moved forward, Santhom responded by backing further into the rolling sea, the waves now up to her waist. The water sent shivers throughout her body as the waves beat against her back, almost knocking her over. She could not swim; the largest body of water she had ever come in to contact with was the fountain in the palace gardens.

  ‘Let me go,’ Santhom pleaded, moving deeper into the water.

  ‘That isn’t going to happen,’ the captain retorted. ‘Either you come out of the water or I’ll cut you down right here.’

  The captain drew his sword, followed by the others.

  Realising that negotiations were over, Santhom took a few steps further into the water and turned, diving into the path of an oncoming wave. Not really sure what she was doing she kicked her legs and tried to get away from the Shadow Watchers as fast as possible.

  The three men sat atop their horses and watched as their quarry disappeared under the waves. There was no nearby land or islands to swim to.

  ‘Should we go after her?’ one asked his captain.

  The captain put his hand up, signalling that he wanted them to stay where they were.

  ‘Something’s wrong. The stupid bitch can’t swim.’

  Floundering in the sea, Santhom felt herself being pulled away from the shore by a fast-moving current. She kicked her legs and desperately pushed her head above the water, gasping for air.

  The captain and his men looked on. Santhom was pulled further from the shore by the rip tide. Unable to swim and with her tight clothing weighing her down she thrashed hysterically in the water, snatching air whenever possible, until she finally got pulled under.

  ‘Now what?’ one of the men asked.

  ‘We wait,’ the captain said, sounding rather more uncertain than he had done previously.

  The three watched as the tide rolled in, lapping up against their horses’ legs. They stared at the water and then scanned the beach for any signs of Santhom.

  ‘She’s been under for over five minutes,’ the other man finally commented. ‘Can you hold your breath for five minutes?’

  ‘Where’s the body?’ the captain asked, rhetorically.

  ‘Dragged away by the tide, probably. There’s no way she held her breath for that long.’

  The captain sheathed his sword and took one last look at the sea before turning his horse. His men followed.

  Pulled under by the current and the weight of her wet clothing, Santhom kicked in vain. Panic and dread were careering through her mind in equal measure.

  The cold, salty seawater rushed into her mouth, causing her to gag and splutter violently. She felt it stinging the soft tissue of her windpipe as she choked and convulsed. Slowly, she sank finally collapsing onto the seabed, clutching her throat as her lungs filled with water.

  Lying on the sand at the bottom of the sea, Santhom looked upwards. The sun was shining down through the water, intensifying its blue hue. Small fish darted around in shoals, their silver scales reflecting the light, giving them a shimmering appearance. Santhom sat up and looked at her hands and then legs.

  Am I dead? she wondered.

  Inhaling deeply, Santhom found to her astonishment that she then exhaled water rather than air.

  Gingerly getting to her feet, Santhom walked un
der the water parallel to the shore. Her movements were slow and cumbersome and every so often a huge wave would come and knock her off her feet onto the seabed.

  Slowly, she made her way to the large rock formation. Getting there took time and was physically draining. All her actions seemed to happen in slow motion and required twice the usual effort. When she finally reached them Santhom shakily climbed over the barnacle-encrusted rocks and pulled herself on to them. As she left the sea, the water that had previously filled her lungs started to mix with the air causing her to vomit saltwater again.

  Coughing and spluttering she clung to the rocks and as the waves crashed against her, she let the air return to her body once more. Santhom scaled the rocks and peered over them. In the distance the three men in blue cloaks were steering their horses through the sand dunes back towards the road. She ducked back down and smiled.

  Santhom jumped off the rocks into the water and waded along to the beach. Once there, she lay in the warm sun and tried to make sense of the last two days.

  She had so many questions, there was so much about the outside world that her years of studying and reading had not prepared her for. Getting to her feet she started to trudge along the shore her still-wet clothes clinging uncomfortably to her. From what she remembered from the maps and charts she had studied in her den, there should be a port somewhere further up this coast, and if she stood any chance of finding passage north then it would be there.

  The Port of Lanthorn had been the hub of trade routes for the east side of the Northern Realms for over three hundred years. It was not the largest port in Mantaras, but its strategic significance in times of war meant that it was one of the most important. The fact that it was not the biggest port allowed it certain freedoms that a larger port may not have enjoyed. This of course meant that it attracted a particular clientele, the kind who wanted their goods exported to given locations with no questions asked.