Shadowless

by Randall McNally

  ‘Fear seems to trigger it,’ he muttered. ‘Just imagine something is after you.’

  Arpherius dropped face-down onto the sand and dug his feet into it again, one leg straight and one leg bent, his knee tight against his chest. He repeated his preparation, filling his lungs with air until he became light-headed.

  Kröm is after you, he is going to catch you and kill you, now get up and start running, he thought, as he tightened the muscles in his bent leg, straightening it and springing from his crouched position.

  He raced across the sand, quicker than before. Glancing out to sea, he imagined an evil twisted monster rising from the deep to pursue him and drag him to his death. He concentrated on the sound of the water lapping at the shore and envisaged it as being the sound of a tentacled creature, slithering onto the beach to pursue him.

  He frantically looked around.

  Nothing had changed, and he was approaching the halfway point along the shoreline. Realising he needed more impetus, his thoughts focused on how Barranos had told him that one day the god would come looking for him. His speed increased, his heart beating faster, but still nothing happened.

  He stopped running just before he reached the pathway leading to the tower that was his home. Cursing, he picked up his tunic where he had left it on the sand, slung it over his shoulder and gave the sea one final look of contempt.

  Retrieving his backpack and satchel, Arpherius headed back towards the tower. He stopped off and collected the rabbits caught in the traps he had set. As it was low tide and he was able to keep well away from the water, he also pulled up the lobster pots from the rocks that overhung the bay to see what lay inside.

  Then he inspected the vegetables he and Barranos had planted and picked some wild nuts and berries. With his satchel full, Arpherius stood on the ridge of a hill and looked out over the sea, wondering what lay beyond, before turning and walking back to the tower.

  Barranos was preparing fish when he heard the front door open downstairs. He listened to the footsteps bounding up the stairwell, only using every third stair. Turning, he saw the muscular tanned figure coming up the last few steps. Arpherius put his satchel on the table and took the food he had gathered to the sink.

  ‘The carrots are nearly ready, but the tomatoes are still green, so they are going be at least another week,’ Arpherius said, as he began to wash the food that he had emptied into a bowl.

  ‘The pots?’

  ‘No luck, but I got a few rabbits. I will put them in the larder. They will save you having to go out on the boat tomorrow.’

  Arpherius did not make eye contact and Barranos could tell he was pensive about something.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Barranos asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Arpherius grunted.

  Barranos continued to prepare the dinner and listened as Arpherius put the food away.

  Thirty summers had passed since Barranos had told Arpherius the truth about who he was and, while their relationship had been strained for some time after, he considered that there was now a mutual feeling of trust and respect. Talk about the past was rare and fleeting; Arpherius seemed to understand that it was an uncomfortable topic for him to recall and so tried to keep the subject of conversations about the ‘here and now’.

  Barranos, on the other hand, knew that one day he would not be around to protect Arpherius and so tried to prepare him for life on his own; even teaching him training drills from his days as a royal guardsman, survival techniques and how to live off the land.

  Barranos was aware that he had mellowed with age: his thick, dark-brown hair and beard had gone grey, and mentally, his stern, no-nonsense attitude had softened; making conversations between the two of them a lot less awkward than in the past.

  Arpherius, although physically appearing to be in his late teens, had been alive for fifty-two years. His physique, lightning reflexes and speed pointed to an individual who had received more than his fair share of his father’s power. Barranos remembered explaining how the illegitimate children of the gods got their power using an analogy of a flask and cups. He often mused that Arpherius’s cup must have been overflowing.

  When supper was over, Arpherius cleared the table and took the crockery to the sink before washing it. Having tidied the kitchen, he reached for a chequered board and a glass jar containing red-and-black wooden counters.

  ‘Best of three?’ he said, putting the board on the table and emptying the jar.

  ‘Are you sure? It takes you five games to warm up.’

  ‘Talk is cheap, old man; let me see if you can back it up,’ Arpherius said, with a wink.

  And so the two set up their sides of the board and began to play. Silently they sat, studying the layout of each other’s counters, only glancing up to see the reaction on the other’s face once they had made a move. Minutes turned to hours as they attacked and counter-attacked, got trapped and escaped. Barranos could not help but notice that Arpherius’s play was a lot more aggressive than usual.

  ‘Let’s hear it,’ he said, finally breaking the silence.

  ‘Hear what?’

  ‘You have been uptight ever since you came in and you are practically throwing your pieces away in this game. Come on, out with it.’

  ‘I know you do not want me to talk about my powers,’ Arpherius said as he looked at the board, his hand hovering over one of his pieces.

  ‘Then don’t,’ Barranos said with a wry smile.

  ‘I cannot get time to stand still again.’

  ‘Time stands still for no man,’ Barranos professed, his eyes on the board.

  ‘It does for me,’ Arpherius declared.

  Barranos raised an eyebrow.

  ‘What all have you tried?’

  ‘I tried running along the beach. I thought it was speed that triggered it, but I am running as fast as I can, so I then assumed it had to be fear,’ Arpherius explained.

  ‘Tell me what happened again?’

  ‘I was walking to empty the lobster pots when I saw a huge shadow in the water. I thought it was a monster, and I ran up the beach terrified, and that is when it happened. The sea, the wind, it all just stopped,’ Arpherius said.

  Barranos put his hands behind his head.

  ‘If it was fear that sets it off then maybe your life has to be in danger for it to be triggered again,’ Barranos proposed.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Or maybe it is not just fear; maybe other emotions will do the same.’

  The next morning, Arpherius woke early. He helped Barranos with the chores and then preformed his training drills under his uncle’s watchful eye, perfecting his stance and repeating the moves he had been shown. Next, he set about his exercises, lifting rocks that he had gathered and placed around the base of the tower. He pulled himself up on the stone lintel of the tower door repeatedly and did push-ups and sit-ups until his muscles ached.

  After their morning meal, Barranos carried out repairs to his boat while Arpherius went down to the beach and prepared for his run.

  Limbering up and stretching, he twisted his body to and fro, getting ready to begin sprinting. He closed his eyes, shook the stiffness out of his arms and legs, and took in a huge lungful of fresh sea air before crouching down on the sand.

  Time to try hate, he thought, as he filled his mind with thoughts of how Kröm had forced himself on Arianne, his mother, all those years ago.

  He forced himself to imagine the details of the attack and envisaged her trying to fend off this monster. Working himself up into a fury and filling his mind with rage he sprinted across the sand. Accelerating along the beach he gathered pace until his body was pushed to its absolute limit. Approaching the midpoint of the beach, he let out a ferocious roar.

  Deep in his subconscious, an ancient and mystical power which, until now had been lying dormant, suddenly awoke within him. As it did, Arpheri
us’s world slowed down. He looked around quickly, taking in as much information as possible before his power ended. Glancing at the sea he saw that it was still, the waves frozen. The birds seemed to be simply hanging in the sky, and the grass, the long strands of the marram grass that populated the beach’s edge, looked to be static, unresponsive to the effects of the stiff morning breeze.

  And then, as quickly as it had begun, it ended.

  The waves crashed against the rocks, the birds flew out to sea and the grass swayed and bent as it was battered by the wind. Arpherius stopped running and punched the air.

  ‘Yes,’ he screamed.

  His heart was pounding and his stomach churning with excitement. He had found, and unleashed, his power; now all he had to do was harness it.

  Arpherius made his way up the beach smiling. He could scarcely believe that he had been able to recreate the event that he had experienced all those weeks ago. Barranos had been right, the emotion that triggered his ability did not have to be fear; it could be anything, just as long as it was strong enough.

  He could not wait to tell Barranos about his discovery and so started running up the path that led to the tower. As he passed the sand dune, Arpherius heard raised voices. He slowed as he approached the top of the path, where he saw his uncle being confronted by a group of men wearing light-blue cloaks. Arpherius was gripped with fear; his uncle had told him the significance of the cloaks and about the people who wore them.

  Their horses were tethered to an old broken fence that lay north of the tower. The men themselves had surrounded Barranos; one man, who appeared to be the most senior of their number, was questioning him while the others stood with their hands resting on their sword-hilts. Arpherius froze as one of the guards turned and looked at him before alerting his senior.

  ‘I thought you lived alone,’ the captain said in a smug voice to Barranos. ‘Come over here, boy.’

  The captain was a gruff, unkempt man with greying stubble and long greasy hair. His men looked at Arpherius suspiciously, drawing their swords and slowly advancing towards him, paying particular attention to the ground around his feet.

  Arpherius looked at Barranos, who shook his head frantically, signalling for him not to come over. He stared at the men moving towards him and their captain who had drawn his sword and was pointing it at Barranos. Arpherius stood rooted to the spot.

  No training drill could have prepared me for this, he thought, as the guards surrounded him.

  ‘Does he have a shadow?’ the captain shouted.

  ‘I can’t see, it’s cloudy,’ a guard replied.

  ‘Then get closer.’

  Arpherius could feel the panic washing over him, hitting him in waves, as he took short sharp breaths. The guard edged closer, with his sword outstretched he inspected the ground while keeping a close eye on him.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘No,’ one of the guards replied, looking at Arpherius’s feet.

  ‘Then what are you waiting for?’

  The guard pulled his sword back.

  Arpherius’s heartrate soared pumping the blood around his body. With his senses heightened he spun to the side at the last second and watched as the blade began to slow, slicing diagonally downwards through the air.

  The snarling of the charging guard also slowed, to a low-pitched drone. Arpherius recoiled as the edge of the sword moved gently across his bare skin. Smelling the oil from the freshly polished blade and feeling the very air currents left by the sword as it rippled across his chest, Arpherius sensed that some form of latent energy inside him had just been unleashed.

  The slowed guards jumped back, but were no less determined to kill him. They swung and thrust their swords, trying to cut him down where he stood. Each time they attacked, Arpherius evaded them at the very last second, dodging out of the way of their oncoming blades when it seemed sure their strikes were destined to hit home.

  The guards closed in, cutting off any space Arpherius might have to evade them. He ducked and spun away from the attacks, feinting and sidestepping.

  Arpherius was beginning to panic, he was tiring and was unsure when time would return to its normal rate. He had to go on the offensive. While spinning inside one of the guard’s lunge attacks, he had seen a dagger-sheath strapped to the belt of the man’s breeches. Grabbing him by the arm, he rotated the guard and managed to reach under his cloak and remove the knife. He drove it into the back of his skull.

  As another guard attacked to his left, Arpherius threw his first victim in front of the oncoming sword, pushing the slain guard against his comrade and causing both men to fall to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blade of a sword.

  Dropping and ducking he rolled forward, grabbing the sword of the guard he had killed and rushing the one who was desperately trying to get to his feet. Time was against the guard, in every sense, and, as Arpherius spun around, he rammed the blade through the bowels of the prone man.

  The two remaining guards stood staring at the bodies of their comrades. In slow motion one of the guards attacked while the other fell gradually to his knees and begged for mercy.

  The attacking guard swung his weapon but Arpherius parried it at the final second, slicing his own sword across the guard’s guts. The blade ripped open the chainmail vest, tearing skin and muscle. As the guard fell to the ground, Arpherius beheaded the last man in the unit.

  He watched the head roll slowly into the verge at the side of the path. Blood sprayed languidly into the air, edging its way up the artery in the decapitated guard’s neck before gradually spreading out like a sluggish fountain. The man’s body inched forward.

  As soon as the headless guard touched the sand, time snapped back into its normal progression. The low-pitched drone that Arpherius had heard was instantly replaced by screaming. The dying men writhed faster on the ground, their cloaks now more red than blue.

  A sword in his hand, covered in other people’s blood, Arpherius looked from the carnage to the tower.

  Barranos, he thought, and ran.

  He found his uncle kneeling over the body of the captain, clutching his side and struggling to breathe. Both men were bleeding heavily. A blood-stained sword lay beside them on the ground.

  ‘Barranos?’

  Barranos had his hands pressed against his tunic, which was bright red with blood.

  ‘Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix you,’ Arpherius pleaded, kneeling at his side.

  ‘You can’t fix this, lad,’ his uncle said with a grimace.

  As he pressed his hands in against his stomach, blood started to trickle between his fingers and onto his lap.

  ‘There has to be something I can do,’ Arpherius implored.

  ‘I need you to listen to me, Arpherius,’ Barranos said.

  He winced in pain. Arpherius moved his uncle, supporting his head and laying him flat. It was only then that he saw the extent of his wounds. There was a long gash in his tunic through which blood was flowing freely.

  ‘In the basement, under the barrel in the corner, there’s a loose stone. Remove it. What you find inside will help keep you alive. Use it wisely,’ he said, gasping for breath.

  Barranos’s face was turning white, his lips blue. He beckoned to Arpherius to come closer and when their heads were practically touching, he whispered into his ear:

  ‘I’m sorry, lad.’

  ‘Sorry for what?’ he asked. ‘You have done nothing wrong.’

  Barranos’s hands fell to his side. The life had left his eyes.

  Thirty years ago Arpherius had shed a tear because he had felt alone. Kneeling over Barranos he shed another because he now was alone. The man who he loved, and who had raised and protected him, was gone.

  Arpherius carried the body of his uncle into the tower and wrapped it in a sheet. That night he dug a grave and buried him beside the tower, driving the c
aptain’s sword into the ground as a rudimentary headstone. He sat by the grave until it began to rain before finally going inside.

  A few hours later, he woke from a fitful sleep. It was dark and rain was beating against the window. He lit his lamp and looked around at the small dwelling where had spent most of his life; his musty books on farming and animal husbandry, his rickety wooden bed and hanging on the wall, his sword, Mistbeam.

  Arpherius got up and went over to it. He ran his finger across the blade, then picked it up by the hilt and swung it. The crushed-cup that served as its cross guard rattled as it moved. As it cut through the air, Arpherius recalled what had happened yesterday with the guards: the looks on their faces as he sliced and plunged the sword into them.

  He was no longer a boy.

  Hanging Mistbeam back on the wall, he patted it, closed his eyes and thought back to the days when he used to cut the heads off flowers with it; from now on, he would be cutting the heads off men.

  ‘Goodbye, old friend,’ he whispered.

  Taking his lamp, he went down the stone stairwell for what Arpherius felt would be the last time. He packed what few possessions he had and got ready to leave. Blood still covered the table that he had laid Barranos upon, a reminder of how his life had changed in the blink of an eye.

  Arpherius went to the pantry and gathered some food. Barranos had shown him how to live off the land, in preparation for the day when he was no longer around, and so Arpherius took any travelling equipment or provisions he could carry. He returned to the kitchen, cooked a small amount of food, and ate in silence.

  Every so often he would glance over to Barranos’s empty chair, thinking about the good and bad times they had shared. He looked up to the shelf at the jar of counters and the board, and felt a deep sadness that he had lost the man who had been the closest thing to a father that he had known.

  Arpherius stepped outside to see that the guards’ horses were still attached to the fence. They were skittish and agitated at having been kept out all night in the rain, and stomped at the ground when he came near them. Remembering all he had read in his books about animal husbandry he calmed them down, transferring any items that were worth keeping on to one of the horses and letting the others go. He walked his mount to the edge of the garden where Barranos grew tomatoes, and tethered it to a post.