Shiloh

by Helena Sorensen

  The men looked at one another. They had succeeded in freeing Phebe, and that had been the chief end of their quest. But the thought of returning to Emmerich seemed unbearable now. There was nothing for them there. If others had found a way out of this endless night, then surely they must follow. Only one thing blocked their path. Shadow Castle. They sat in the very lane that led to its gate, and the Lord of Shadows waited for them.

  “We go ta Emmerich, then?” The light in Isolde’s eyes wavered when she asked the question, and she looked to Amos, hoping.

  “I don’t want ta go back,” Amos said. “I mean ta go on.” Isolde threw back her head and let out a whoop.

  Simeon, meanwhile, felt a pang for Orin. He wished his father had had the strength to come this far. But Ezra was with him. There was still hope that Orin would follow.

  “I go as well,” Simeon said, looking down at Phebe as he spoke. “If Phebe’s willin’.”

  “I’d follow ya inta any darkness, Simeon,” she said, and though her voice wavered, her face was full of love.

  Simeon rose and lifted her to her feet, joining Amos and Isolde as they turned their faces to the east, to the last stage of their quest. Very soon they would see death, or they would see life beyond their wildest hope.

  “Do ya think we’re mad?” Simeon asked, glancing at Amos with a faint smile.

  “‘Mad as Evander?’” Amos replied. “I hope so, Sim.”

  On a rocky cliff, the Hall of Shadows came to an abrupt end, offering a sweeping view of the valley and Shadow Castle. It rose up from the heart of the valley in dozens of towers, all tall and pointed, with sharp roofs stabbing at the sky. Blue-gray Shadow stained the castle walls, clinging to them like mildew. It dripped from the towers and clouded the needle-thin windows.

  Before any of them had time to speak, before their eyes had even taken in the scene before them, a black gate opened in the center of the castle and out poured the armies of darkness. Wolves and cats emerged in packs, leading ranks onto the floor of the valley. Behind them were the Daegan, black and bucking, and ready for battle. Next came a wave of shifters. Their shapes were indistinct, flickering from one monstrous form to another. Six winged men shot up from the gates and hovered over the assembling army. And one more foe, greater than all the others, was still to be belched from the castle. The dragons. They took flight, one by one. Amos counted ten, twenty, and still they came, blue fire spouting from their nostrils, ragged black wings trailing Shadow behind them.

  Every fearsome thing that had ever wounded them or hunted them or held them captive was advancing upon them now. A mighty wave of darkness bore down on four little warriors standing on the edge of the world.

  And one dark figure slipped from the shadow of the Silent Trees.

  “What did you think awaited you at the end of this road?” Mordecai’s words reached Amos’s ears as the black dagger dug into his ribs.

  Amos gasped and crumpled to the ground. Isolde caught his eye as he fell, and the arrow she had already strung burst into flame. The bow twanged. This time it found its mark, piercing one of Mordecai’s green eyes and sending him off in a gust of smoke and wind.

  “Amos!” Phebe cried. She was first at his side.

  Simeon crouched beside her and tore open Amos’s tunic. His chest was branded with the sign of the Wolf. The black dagger protruding from his side bore the same sign.

  Phebe tried to staunch the flow of blood with her shift. “No, Amos. No, no, no, no, no!”

  “Forgive me,” Amos whispered to her.

  “No, Amos,” she cried. “Please, not you, too!”

  Amos coughed. He fought to control his breathing. “Phebe,” he managed, “will ya sing fer me?”

  “Oh,” she moaned. She clasped his hand in hers and looked into his face. And there, at the utmost end, as their enemies filled the valley below, Phebe willed herself to sing over the fading body of the brother she loved.

  “Come, little nightingale, rest in the willow

  Sing me a song through the darkening night

  Come as I lay with the shadows my pillow

  And sing me a song o’ the light”

  Isolde knelt opposite Phebe and Simeon and ran a hand over Amos’s hair. She wondered if the story could have been different, if Amos could have stood, unwavering, in the face of such brutal opposition. She wondered what it might have been like if the son of Evander and the daughter of Valour could have taken on the Shadow together.

  “Come, though the darkness around ya is deepenin’

  Sing, for yer song is a flame burnin’ bright

  Come, though the Shadow before ya is creepin’

  And sing me a song o’ the light

  “Come, for yer music will ring out the clearer

  Brightest when darkness is all but complete

  Come when the nightfall would threaten ta take me”

  Phebe’s voice broke. She rested her forehead against Amos’s chest and cried bitter tears for the brother she had lost, the mother who’d lost hope, and the father who’d been taken. She wept for the lonely years that followed, and for the sea of heartache they’d all been forced to cross. After a moment, Amos squeezed her hand, and she sat up and struggled on.

  “Come when the nightfall would threaten ta take me

  Show me the path fer my feet

  “Come, little nightingale, rest in the willow

  Sing me a song through the darkening night

  Come as I lay with the shadows my pillow

  And sing me a song o’ the light

  Come, sing me a song o’ the light”

  Amos smiled at her as she finished her song, but Simeon shook his head, refusing to accept this, refusing to give in.

  “Ya can’t go now,” Simeon said. “This can’t be the end! Ya can’t come this far and not see the mornin’!”

  Amos looked past Phebe, past Simeon and Isolde. “I see it already,” he said.

  His blood pooled on the ground beneath him. He looked at Phebe, his eyes twinkling as they had when he was a boy.

  “Come out o’ the dark,” he whispered. “Don’t be afraid.” His last breath caught in his throat, and he was still.

  Phebe hovered over Amos, weeping. Simeon gently tugged Amos’s hand from her grasp and laid it across his chest, covering the sign of the Wolf.

  “They’re comin’!” Isolde called.

  The armies were closing in with alarming speed. Wolves and cats to right and left moved up the slopes with fangs bared and eyes burning. The ground shook with the thundering onslaught of the Daegan. The shifters disappeared and reappeared, taking the shape of every imaginable nightmare. The stargazers flew in on a mad, screaming wind. And behind them were the dragons, born on the breath of hell.

  “Isolde, the glass —” Simeon shouted, as he and Phebe tore themselves from Amos’s body and turned to face the assault.

  One last time, Isolde took the glass from her belt and lifted it to her eye.

  “I hardly know . . .” she began. “I see no valley, no castle, no cliff’s edge. Only green hills rollin’ down ta the sea.” She lowered the glass and looked at the sheer drop beneath their feet. They could never survive a fall from such a height.

  The wind reached them first, nearly knocking them to the ground. Instead of rushing past and on into the heights of the mountains, it turned, wrapping the warriors in a raging whirlwind. Around and around it circled, roaring and screeching. They could do nothing. Nothing but hold their ground. They could see nothing. Nothing but the advancing army.

  The wind tore at their clothes. Their limbs shook from the effort of standing upright. There was no turning back now. Either the darkness would take them, or they would step forward, over the cliff’s edge, and see what awaited them. They would have to choose between what the glass showed and what their eyes could see.

 
Simeon gripped Phebe’s hand and shouted to Isolde. “Go out ta meet them! Step out!”

  “Over the cliff?” Isolde shouted back. But she had heard his words. Already, her eyes were alight with pale blue fire.

  The hosts of the Shadow were nearly upon them. They could smell the foul breath of the Daegan, could hear the rushing of the stargazers’ wings. There was no more time to consider.

  “Phebe?” Simeon held tightly to her hand and looked into her eyes. What he saw there was trust, and hope. She nodded and turned to face the Shadow.

  Against the overwhelming force of the wind, Simeon, Phebe, and Isolde each placed a foot over the edge of the cliff and planted it firmly on the soil of a brand new world.

  All at once, the dripping fangs of the wolves and the cats, the great, spiraling horns of the Daegan, the wavering forms of the shifters, the deathly-white skin of the stargazers, the ragged wings of the dragons, even the ghastly towers of Shadow Castle evaporated. And the last whispers of the Shadow blew away like vapor on the wind.

  At first, they saw only the black shapes of rocks and scattered trees silhouetted against a gray sky. Then softly, gently, the gray faded to blue. Blue faded to pale green. Green gave way to gold. They watched, captivated. They had only ever seen faint colors fading into gray. They had only ever seen light drain out of their world. This was altogether new. Beyond the Sea of Forgetfulness, Aurora rose up in a profusion of reds and golds, and the sun broke over the edge of the eastern horizon, loosing rays of golden light like flaming arrows.

  Their eyes followed the path of the light, and they turned, their gazes sweeping back over the Black Mountains. Behind them were no iron gates, no blanket of impenetrable Shadow. They had stepped beyond the walls of the world and turned to discover that there were no walls at all. A wild and beautiful country spread out before them, and it pierced their hearts more deeply than any darkness they had ever endured.

  Simeon gasped and touched Phebe’s face. It was marred no longer. She reached to trace the line where the scar had been and found nothing. And Simeon kissed her as the joyful tears ran down her face.

  They turned once more to the east and saw shapes moving on the edge of the sea. It could have been men or immortals. The dead, perhaps, or those who had found the way. They would know soon enough.

  The Shadows had fled away at last for Simeon and Phebe and Isolde. They shone bright. Brighter than the sun. And the Children of the Morning ran into the dawn, into the breaking of the day.

  Acknowledgments

  My deepest thanks:

  To my parents, who taught me to love language and story.

  To Jon. “I’ll walk with you in the shadowlands, ’til the shadows disappear.”

  To Silas and Lorelei, who are brilliant, glorious.

  To Justin, whose questions and ideas helped me shape this world.

  To Bud Sorensen, who was my first big fan.

  To Jessica Preston, who cheered me through the toughest stages of this journey, and whose instincts are dead on . . . every time.

  To Chuck, Aliya, and any of my early readers who gave even the tiniest bit of feedback.

  To Phil and Mary, Dale, Peggy, and Denise, who showed me things beyond the Shadow.

  To “Him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, and turneth the shadow of death into the morning.” (Amos 5:8

  Pronunciation

  Amos – AY-muss

  Phoebe – FEE-bee

  Simeon – SIH-mee-un

  Rosalyn – ROZ-uh-lin

  Isolde – is-OLD

  About the Author

  Helena Sorensen believes in the transformative power of words and stories, and in the power of the voices that speak them. Before she became a mom, she studied music, taught English, and dabbled in poetry and songwriting. These days, when she’s not playing “royal ball” or “royal feast” with her daughter or doing science experiments with her son, she’s hiking with friends at Radnor Lake or talking books with her husband. Of course, she might be at her kitchen table writing fantasy novels. She is the author of The Shiloh Series, including Shiloh, Seeker, and Songbird.

  You can read more of Helena’s work at www.storywarren.com and www.helenasorensen.com.

  Sign up for Helena’s newsletter (http://bit.ly/SorensenNews) to stay up-to-date on future releases!

  Don’t Miss

  The sequel and the conclusion to The Shiloh Series launch on 10/20/15. You can preorder them now!

  Visit Amazon to get more details or at visit the author at HelenaSorensen.com