Shadowless

by Randall McNally

  ‘I have one.’

  Dorrin jumped to his feet and bolted downstairs. Grabbing his staff, travelling hat and a map, that sat by his chair, he ran out the door and set off into the night.

  Despite the darkness, the two men could see blood seeping out of the puncture holes in Stefra’s ankle.

  The first man, dressed in leather armour and weatherproof clothing, bent to tighten the tourniquet, just above the wound, before applying a new dressing and using the old one to mop up the blood. When he had finished he scratched his head before turning to the other man, a large rugged individual with chainmail armour and a wide-bladed two-handed sword strapped to his back, and signalled for him to follow.

  The second man complied. They moved away before stopping around fifteen feet from their fallen companion.

  ‘Something’s wrong with her, Grundar,’ Qarvéss, the man dressed in the leather armour, said.

  ‘What do you mean: something wrong?’ the other, larger, man asked, in a thick northern accent.

  Grundar was from a barbarian tribe that lived in the realm of Frigöris. While he may not have been as sharp as the cleric, Stefra, or the ranger, Qarvéss, he more than made up for it with brawn. He also possessed unquestioning loyalty to his friends.

  Qarvéss looked at Stefra’s prostrate figure.

  ‘It’s her wounds,’ he whispered. ‘The blood isn’t clotting, and have you seen the skin around where she was stung? It’s turning green.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘It’s like she’s been poisoned.’

  ‘You said it was a plant that bit her?’

  ‘Stefra walked off the track into the forest to empty herself and stepped on it. It closed around her ankle like a trap, when I prised it off her it left barbed stems hooked into her leg.’

  ‘You know this plant?’

  ‘No. I’ve travelled the length and breadth of the Northern Realms, through most of the forests and woods, but I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Qarvéss admitted.

  The men heard a low moaning and when they looked over it was to see Stefra writhing in pain, she was barely conscious. Running to her side the two men knelt beside her. The fresh wound dressing was already saturated in blood, despite the tourniquet.

  ‘Stefra, can you hear me?’ Grundar asked. ‘Tell us how to cure you. What do we need to do?’

  Stefra lay on the ground groaning. She opened her eyes briefly and cried in pain before passing out.

  ‘We have to get help. I’ll grab these, you lift her,’ Qarvéss said, picking up Stefra’s backpack and mace.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘I have no idea, Grundar. All I know is that our friend is bleeding to death and if we don’t get her some help soon it’ll be too late.’

  Grundar hefted the unconscious woman onto his shoulder and the two men hurried through the forest. They stopped only to catch their breath and adjust their loads.

  The forest at night was cold, and the few shafts of moonlight piercing the imposing canopy made it hard to see where they were going. In their peripheral vision, they saw eyes watching them yet whenever they turned to confront them there was nothing to be seen.

  ‘This forest – it’s haunted, Qarvéss.’

  ‘Just keep moving.’

  Deeper into the woods they went, running until both men were exhausted. Qarvéss helped Grundar to carry Stefra whenever it looked like he was beginning to tire. Sweating and aching from carrying their friend and her belongings they slowed to a walk before finally setting their wounded companion down on a bed of moss, at the base of a large gnarled tree, and collapsing beside her.

  ‘It’s no good, Grundar,’ Qarvéss said, gasping for breath. ‘I can’t go any further.’

  ‘What now?’ Grundar growled. He did not want to be seen to give up on Stefra.

  ‘I’m thinking, give me a minute,’ Qarvéss snapped as he looked at the wound, the dressing was soaked in blood, the liquid seeping down her leg. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think there’s a way to save her.’

  ‘I might know of a way,’ a voice said from the darkness.

  Grundar leapt to his feet and pulled out his two-handed sword, brandishing it.

  Qarvéss unclipped his bow and nocked an arrow.

  ‘Who goes there?’ the ranger demanded, as he scanned the trees.

  Seconds passed then a figure emerged from the shadows and came towards them. As he got closer they saw it was a man dressed in jacket and waistcoat, with a staff and a floppy travelling hat. He stopped before them.

  ‘Who are you?’ Qarvéss demanded, pulling back the string in his bow.

  The stranger took a step forward and swept off his hat. He had an intense look about him and his eyes were turquoise.

  ‘Why, I am Dorrin Brethil, healer and herbalist extraordinaire, at your service. And by the looks of things, I am just in time.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of you. How do we know we can trust you?’ Qarvéss asked.

  Grundar stepped forward, putting himself between Dorrin and Stefra, and readied his sword.

  ‘You do not,’ Dorrin said. ‘But your lady friend does not look in good shape. So what will it be? Do you want me to treat her or are you going to cut me in two?’

  Grundar began to raise his sword.

  ‘Wait,’ shouted Qarvéss. ‘He could help Stefra.’

  ‘Look,’ Grundar growled, pointing at Dorrin’s feet. ‘No shadow.’

  All three men looked at where he pointed. In the moonlight spilling through the trees, Dorrin’s body cast no shadow.

  Qarvéss pulled back his bowstring further.

  ‘All right, all right, it is true,’ Dorrin admitted. ‘I am shadowless. Because of it, I have been forced to live as a hermit. I have been shunned by society and ostracised by my fellow healers, all because I cannot make a black mark on the ground.’

  Grundar took a sharp intake of breath and swung back his sword, ready to deliver a blow.

  ‘Kill me if you must,’ Dorrin continued. ‘But before you do, know this: I have a gift. A gift that allows me to heal, even those who are staring death in the eye.’

  He looked down at the woman lying on the moss bed. Stefra woke, coughing and spluttering. She gasped for breath and started to convulse.

  ‘Now are you going to kill me, or do you want me to save your friend’s life?’ Dorrin asked.

  The two men looked at each other and then down at their friend, still struggling to breathe. Qarvéss made the first move, relaxing his bowstring.

  ‘Treat her,’ the ranger commanded.

  Dorrin knelt and looked at Stefra’s leg. Grundar approached him, his sword by his side.

  ‘Know this, shadow-wanter. She dies, you die next. Understand?’

  ‘Cannot say fairer than that,’ Dorrin chuckled.

  ‘Now, tell me what happened to the patient, do not spare any of the details,’ he said as he produced a pair of spectacles from his top pocket, fastening them to the end of his nose.

  ‘It was late,’ Qarvéss began. ‘I wanted to stop for the night but Stefra insisted in pressing on. She went into the bushes to pass water and that’s when we heard the scream. A plant, one I’d never seen before, had clamped on to her foot, like a trap. I cut her free but there were barbs stuck into her leg. I pulled them out but they must have been poisonous; the puncture holes won’t stop bleeding and the skin’s turning green.’

  As the story progressed, Dorrin knelt beside the woman, who had slipped again into unconsciousness, carefully peeled the dressing off her leg and stared at the wound before pressing different areas.

  ‘Hmm, yes, I am afraid it is serious. It seems like she has been bitten by a rare and very nasty inhabitant of Blackwood Forest,’ Dorrin diagnosed. He removed his spectacles and stood up.

  ‘Well, what was it?’

  ‘
Snakewort: a very unsavoury inhabitant of these parts,’ Dorrin declared. ‘Closes its leaves around its victims and injects them with a poison, a blood-thinning agent as well. That would explain your friend’s blood refusing to clot. It is a carnivorous species that normally preys on small birds and animals. Your friend was certainly in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of it,’ Qarvéss said, confused.

  ‘I am not surprised; it is a rare species. Found only in these parts, as I say. Yes, very local to this region.’

  ‘I don’t care where it’s found. Can you treat it or not?’ Qarvéss snapped.

  ‘Can you save her?’ Grundar barked.

  ‘No, probably not,’ Dorrin admitted. ‘Looks like she is a dead woman.’

  Qarvéss and Grundar stood in shock, looking at each other.

  ‘Well, unless…’ Dorrin began. ‘There is, perhaps, one way to save her. Oh, but it probably would not work.’

  ‘What is it?’ Grundar asked.

  ‘It is very dangerous… I do not know if I should suggest it.’

  Grundar pointed his sword at Dorrin.

  ‘Stop your riddles; tell us, now.’

  ‘All you had to do was ask,’ Dorrin said, backing off with his hands up. ‘There is a cave in a clearing, not far from here, a little bit deeper into the forest.’

  ‘And?’ Qarvéss demanded.

  ‘In it grows a rare and wonderful fungus that can heal the most severe wounds, neutralise the most deadly of poisons and has even been known to bestow life-giving properties,’ Dorrin said, his eyes shining.

  ‘What’s it called?’ asked the ranger, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

  ‘The thoriztail mushroom,’ Dorrin replied, a smile creeping across his face.

  ‘Thoriz-what? You’re making this up,’ Qarvéss protested.

  Stefra meanwhile had briefly regained consciousness. She began groaning again and was sweating profusely.

  ‘She has a fever,’ Dorrin stated. ‘If that goes untreated there will be no chance of saving her. The cave is but a few hundred yards through the woods, but time is of the essence gentlemen, so it is either bring her to the cave or put her down and end her suffering. It is your choice.’

  ‘Lift her, Grundar. It looks like we’ve no other choice but to go to this cave,’ Qarvéss said, and the two men quickly put away their weapons and picked up their friend and her belongings.

  Dorrin led them through the woods, going deeper into the forest with every step, between trees with twisted limbs and hanging vines with sharp spines that seemed to reach out for them if they strayed too near.

  ‘Where are we?’ Grundar asked. ‘I see no path.’

  ‘Neither do I, we haven’t been on any type of path for a while,’ the ranger replied.

  A few steps further they saw a swathe of moonlight cutting down into a patch of forest in front of them. It illuminated the mouth of a cave set into the side of a large hill. The path leading into it rose at a steady incline and was covered in moss and grass; daisies and buttercups grew around the sides of its entrance.

  ‘Come along, quickly now. No time to waste,’ Dorrin said, running up to the cave, clapping his hands. ‘Bring her to the entrance. That is it, come on now.’

  The men lay their unconscious friend down on the grass. Her breathing was becoming ragged and her lips were turning blue.

  ‘Right, now what?’ the large warrior asked.

  ‘Now you go into the cave and pick a mushroom,’ Dorrin stated nonchalantly.

  Qarvéss pushed past the herbalist to walk into the cave.

  ‘Woo-ahh, just hold your horses there, young man. You have not asked me the most important question yet,’ Dorrin said, with a smug expression on his face.

  The ranger marched over to Dorrin. He took a dagger from his belt sheath and placed it against the herbalist’s throat.

  ‘Now listen here, you lunatic, our friend is dying. You’ve told us that there is fungi growing in this cave that could cure her. What else is in this fucking cave?’ Qarvéss demanded.

  ‘Erm, crananx crystals,’ Dorrin said, a look of embarrassment on his face.

  Qarvéss took his dagger from Dorrin’s throat, looking around in bewilderment.

  ‘What the hell are crananx crystals?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, now, crananx crystals are very rare and dangerous: not to be toyed with. They grow where ancient, magical lines intersect and they draw power from the ground, storing it and locking it within, ready to release it at a moment’s notice,’ Dorrin explained.

  ‘How dangerous are they?’ Qarvéss asked, struggling to keep his temper. ‘Can we get these mushrooms without having to go near them?’

  ‘I am afraid not. You see, it is the crananx crystals that give the mushrooms their power. They grow in amongst the crystals, practically touching the little blighters. They feed on the energy, leeching it out and growing fat and juicy, just ready to be picked,’ Dorrin told him.

  Qarvéss walked over to Grundar.

  ‘This guy is insane,’ he whispered.

  ‘We are here now. Our friend is dying,’ Grundar said before approaching Dorrin, who was trying to catch a moth.

  ‘What is the best way to pick this fungus?’

  Dorrin clapped his hands together above his head, then peeked inside his clenched palms.

  ‘I thought I had the little blackguard there, for a second.’

  ‘Dorrin!’ Grundar shouted.

  ‘What? Picking them? Yes, well now, the best way to pick them, or so I am told, would be for you to enter the cave together and to use a metal rod, a sword would do, and just touch one the larger crystals. Once it has been touched, slowly mind, and take care not to touch any of the other crystals, bring the hilt of the sword to the ground and set it down, letting the energy from the crystal flow freely back into the ground from where it came,’ Dorrin instructed, in an enthusiastic manner. ‘Meanwhile, the other person should carefully reach for the mushroom closest to that crystal, picking it up, carefully, and bringing it out.’

  ‘How many do we need?’

  ‘Just the one should do it,’ Dorrin replied.

  Grundar strode towards the cave entrance.

  ‘Wait,’ the ranger said. ‘Are we doing this now?’ There was real concern in his voice.

  ‘If we wait, she dies,’ Grundar said, unstrapping his sword.

  Qarvéss took off his backpack and, unslinging his bow in a fluster, ran after him.

  ‘Watch our friend,’ he shouted to Dorrin.

  ‘But of course,’ Dorrin said, as he looked down at the woman.

  The cave was dark and forbidding, ivy and thorny climbing vines creeping along the outer walls, standing like a warning to anyone who dared enter. As the men approached it seemed to emit a faint mouldering smell that neither recognised. It got stronger the further they went in.

  ‘What in the gods is that smell?’ Qarvéss asked.

  ‘Death,’ Grundar replied without hesitation, walking in front of the ranger.

  In the cave the ground changed from grass and carpet moss to stones and gravel, and arced steeply downwards.

  When their eyes became accustomed to the darkness, they saw a faint blue glow in front of them. Hesitantly they inched forward until the source of the light became apparent. Located at the bottom of the cave, in a chamber roughly forty feet wide, were hundreds of glowing blue crystals, each as big as a man’s fist, and between them squatted large mushrooms with green hoods and white spots.

  ‘Right, let’s get this thing and leave,’ said Qarvéss.

  Grundar nodded and approached the closest crystal.

  Qarvéss rubbed his hands on his breeches, drying the sweat, and then got down on one knee, ready to pick the nearest mushroom. As he put his hand near it the crystal brightened until it was pure white
and a faint whining sound was audible.

  ‘Are we sure about this?’ Qarvéss asked. ‘This crystal thing’s changing colour whenever I go near it. It’s as if it doesn’t want to be disturbed.’

  ‘If we do not do this, Stefra dies,’ Grundar stated, his sword inches from the crystal, which was emitting the high-pitched ringing.

  ‘Go ahead and do it,’ the ranger said as he reached over and hovered his hand around one of the mushroom stalks.

  Grundar moved his sword as he had been instructed.

  As soon as the tip of the blade touched the crystal, it released its energy.

  With a blinding flash of light and a booming sound that was louder than thunder, an explosion ripped through the cave as the crystal discharged all its energy towards the two men. Grundar’s metal blade simply enhanced the power that had been building within the crystal, permeating the very fabric of cave and the two men inside it.

  Qarvéss’s eyes slowly opened. Pain was the first sensation he felt, down one side of his face and body. Through the haze of smoke that hung in the air, he saw Grundar slumped face down in a corner of the cave, smoke rising from his body. Qarvéss attempted to get to his feet, but fell back down, crying out in pain. Using the light from the crystals to assess the damage, he was horrified to find that the right side of his body was scorched and shredded.

  His leather armour had been torn from his arm and his breeches and skin had melted together. He touched his face and felt that the flesh was ripped and lacerated and when he breathed, the smell of scorched skin and hair caused him to gag.

  Qarvéss crawled across the ground towards Grundar, passing the hilt of the warrior’s sword lying on the ground beside the crystal whose power it had been supposed to discharge. Its blade had splintered and blown apart, burying itself in anything close by, including the two men.

  Qarvéss shouted to Grundar, but he was still and unresponsive. He shouted again and then realised he could not hear his own words. Trying to get to his feet he quickly collapsed and realised he had no feeling in his legs. He crawled over and pulled Grundar out of the corner by his arm, which took all the strength he could muster.