by R. T. Donlon
“It’s working,” she said. “I can feel it.”
The sapling widened into a trunk. Roots dove deep into the desert sands. Needles of grass popped from little dunes. The stars flickering turned to brilliant flashes above. The entire nighttime sky glistened with a myriad of diamonds, refracting all of their Light toward the tree.
The Shadows condensed and tightened until they flattened into nothing more than the tiniest droplet of ink at her feet. Kyrah bent to her knee once more and cupped the drop of Darkness into the palm of her hands. It quivered at her touch, scared of the girl’s suddenly looming presence. Starlight gave way to glimpses of sunlight breaking the skyline at the horizon. It was an odd feeling, knowing these were only images within her, memories of a life already experienced, but to feel its warmth on her shoulders meant something unknowable to anyone else, but comforting to her. The Light glimmered through the leafy branches above her, already a tree full-blown tree in the middle of a desert giving way to grassy rolling hills in all directions, cooled by the most summer of breezes.
In that quiet moment, all felt well. All felt right.
She peered down at her cupped palms. A familiar buzzing-talk whispered from the Darkness.
Will you kill us? it said.
Kyrah raised her upended hands so that the Shadows ran level with her eyes. For the first time in her entire life, she seemed to be in complete control of mind, body, and spirit.
“Of course not,” she answered. “You are part of me…as I am you.”
She understood that now, only as a descendent of the gods could.
Please…” the Darkness’ voice trailed off into quiet. Please…
“I have been given a second chance. It was the god-strength within me that kept me safe all of these years. My only regret is that I did not recognize it before.
Please, the Shadows continued. Please…
Kyrah heard the fear in the Darkness’ fragile voice and smiled—something she had not done in so long. How far she had come in these few moments! The fear that had once drowned her now seemed to be drowning the one thing she had battled her entire life. She raised her hand to a single leaf drooping from a strong, blooming branch. The tree swayed delicately in the breeze, ever reaching for the touch of its maker, as the sapling had moments before in the taerjic nighttime. The Shadow hopped to its surface, bobbing against its own weight.
“You can live here with the Tree,” Kyrah whispered. “It will keep you safe. There is no need to worry anymore.”
The little droplet did not have any true set of eyes, of course, but she could sense the weight of its presence. She had done the right thing, letting it live. Every bit of her accepted that fact.
“It is your nature to crave power,” Kyrah continued, “but that time is gone. You will live in harmony with the Tree and the Tree with live in harmony with you.”
And as she made this proclamation, the skies burst open, revealing a sun so bright she shielded her eyes against the Light.
“Kyrah! Where are you? Kyrah!”
She knew that voice. It was the Prophet.
Go, the Shadow droplet whispered. You have always known what you needed to be.
The Tree nodded.
“The Shadow Warrior,” she whispered.
She closed her eyes, opened her arms, and allowed for her taerji to wrench her back into reality.
Lider and Renay appeared in front of her. The monster had left him feeling empty and cold, but suddenly, he was only the Ix’a boy once again, terrified and weak. They—both Lider and Renay—had set eyes on the girl at the base of the Wall. Kyrah peered upward with feral, gray eyes behind a mess of matted hair.
“This isn’t Kyrah,” Lider mumbled.
He was right. This was something else.
“Kyrah,” Renay whispered.
A small hissing sound rose gutturally from Kyrah’s throat. With her back turned to them, she rose to two feet.
“The monster’s gone,” Lider spoke. “We need your help.”
A stronger buzzing sound rose from the black of the fields behind them.
“Shadows,” Renay whispered. “They’re coming, Lider. They’re coming. We have to hurry.”
An urgency rang clear in her voice, a sort of deliberate fear. Lider had never heard her in such a panicked state of fear. She had always been the calm one, the one to keep him grounded.
“Kyrah,” he said. “We need your help. The Shadows are coming.”
But Kyrah had not yet broken free of the Darkness within her. It had trapped her, controlled her body.
The buzzing grew louder, approaching quickly from the North.
“Please, Kyrah,” Lider screamed. “Show us you’re in there!”
Kyrah’s body shifted to them. The audible gasp that broke from Renay’s eyes told of true, terrible fear. The Warrior’s skin bubbled as if seared in molten tar. Her eyes—mere slits of glowing gray—were devoid of any conscious emotion or sentiment. A similar Shadow-like buzzing amplified from her Portizu body, deafening the wind from all directions. She did not speak, simply kept her jaw open to reveal a sharp set of narrow, yellowed teeth.
“Where’s the Ruganon?” Renay asked, clutching at Lider’s arm. She could sense their End here. “We need it now!”
Lider did not speak, only shook his head hesitantly.
“What do we do?” she asked. “Lider, what do we do?”
He turned and noticed, for the first time, the wild cloud of Shadows approaching from behind them. In a matter of seconds, the Shadows would consume them, make them part of their own. He embraced Renay, tightening his arms around her.
If this was their End, then it was meant to end here.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered.
At his feet he found a necklace. At the end of it, a rough piece of porous rock glowing a violent red, deepening as the massive Shadow cloud approached. He crouched, picked it up with shaking fingers.
“What is it?” asked Renay.
And Kyrah’s Shadow body roared with pain.
“The amulet,” a voice spoke to him.
Kyrah stood beside them, eyes still sifting through the Darkness within her. Lider attempted to pull away, but Kyrah caught his hand with a grip unlike any he had ever felt. Another hand took Renay’s. It was not a choice but a welcoming. Together, they walked into the cyclonic waves of Shadows tumbling in from the North.
“They cannot hurt you,” Kyrah whispered. “I am Them. They are me.”
She opened her mouth, jaw loose against the tilting of her neck. The Shadows funneled into her as if she had swallowed them. She stared forward with empty eyes for a few, strange moments, then came to with a gentle stir.
“Did you—” Lider stiffened, but he could not find the words to finish the question.
“There is strength in their presence,” Kyrah spoke calmly. “The stronger the Dark within me grows, so does the Light.”
Lider could not speak. Renay stood frozen, awestruck.
“I see your eyes have changed,” Kyrah spoke. “Has the monster gone?”
“I don’t know where it has gone,” said the boy.
“It seems the Ruganon has done its job. I no longer need this,” she said, reaching to Lider’s closed fist to take the amulet. “But it may serve a purpose later on. Better to keep it.”
She slid the rock into her pocket and tapped to make certain it was secure.
“You have nothing left to fear,” she continued. “I know it is difficult to understand, but I have done what the monster has needed me to do. I will take you across the Tension Fields. Lider, you must answer me. Where is the monster now? Only you know.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he floundered. “We appeared here while you were still changed, but the Ruganon had already gone.”
Kyrah reached out with a comforting outstretched gesture, but the others were still hesitant to accept.
“Changed?” she thought. “How had I appeared to you?”
Neither ans
wered her, just shook their heads to disregard the question.
“You must learn to trust me. I can guarantee you safe travels wherever you go through the Range. The Darkness can no longer hurt you when you are with me.”
“Why is that?” Renay asked.
“Because I am Them…and They are me. We are one in the same. The Darkness in me shares its life within the Light. We have battled for so long—the Dark and I—but the answer was always there, waiting for me to understand it, to recognize it,” she stopped for a moment to gather her breath, raising her eyes to the desolate, starry sky above. It reminded her of the place of taerji deep within her mind. “I know now. I understand everything.”
Still, the Ix’a knew nothing of what Kyrah spoke. This—the land on which they stood—was a land filled with both Darkness and promise. She would show them the truth.
“Can you find it within yourself to trust me?” she asked. “In time, I will show you how trustworthy I truly am. That is what I can promise you. My story is a long one, but I will tell it, if you wish.”
The Ix’a accepted, but not without hesitation.
“Did the Ruganon tell you what lies beyond these Fields? Did it tell you what we seek?”
“No,” Lider replied. “It told me nothing.”
Kyrah nodded silently.
“I feel it is best that way,” she continued. “Come now. We have a long journey ahead.”
Kyrah took two steps forward, embracing her new freedom. How she felt now seemed more than confident. Indeed, it was liberation. She found herself remembering her last moments with her Teacher, remembering how all of this had started.
This journey began with you, she thought, but it will not not end with you. I see now. It was only the beginning.
She peered back at her followers—a scared little boy and a strong, stubborn girl—and smiled. How good it felt to do that.
You have taught me well, Teacher, she thought. I will do right by you.
And with those words, the three followers of the Ruganon set foot across the endless cracked plains known only as the Tension Fields.
EPILOGUE
From atop the Wall, Curala watched everything unfold—the Shadow version of Kyrah, the cloud of Shadows, the attar amulet. Everything. He clutched the longsword in a grip so forceful he nearly snapped it in two.
“She is growing stronger,” he spoke. “Too strong.”
The archer raised the bow, gripping the taut string and pulling it back with arrow between index and middle finger.
“Give the word, Elite, and I will end her right here, right now,” he said through closed teeth, but he knew Curala would never give such an order. “No one—not even someone with Shadow blood—can escape an arrow to the heart.”
A perfectly placed bluff, Fenir thought. Kyrah would be safe yet.
The two watched from above as the trio of magic-wielders below ventured off into the endless plains of the Tension Fields.
“No one survives the Fields,” Fenir persisted. “Even a Warrior from the Mountains knows that.”
Curala sheathed the longsword behind his shoulders, felt its heaviness balance him. This was a moment he would never forget.
“Survival is all they know,” Curala whispered. “Of course they will make it.”
“What lies beyond the Fields?” asked Fenir.
“Names of Lands better left unspoken,” Curala replied.
The wind hurried the silence between them.
“They are in search of something,” said Fenir curiously. “The question is what.”
The Elite turned to the archer with solemn eyes.
“Come,” the Elite said. “We must prepare ourselves for what comes next.”
“And what would that be, my Elite?” Fenir questioned.
Curala turned to the Master Archer with eyes as dark as the sky.
“With your help,” the Elite pressed, “I intend to make good friends of our enemies.”
Somehow, Fenir understood exactly what he meant.
And shivered.
The cave took days to find. Only Latvala knew the quickest path to the Lonely Peak and, as a strict follower of the taerji path, the old Mountain Teacher held true to keeping it a treasured secret.
“It is for the good of our people, Teacher,” Fenir explained.
“If Kyrah has taken to the Wall, it must be for good cause. I trust her. She was once my apprentice, as you were,” Latvala replied. “I cannot give you permission to use the Lost Warriors against anyone, let alone a Laeth.”
The conversation had proved fruitless and Curala had begun to grow anxious.
“Very well,” Curala had said. The stern disagreement in his eyes held strong. “We will have to find the cave on our own.”
“I beg of you, Fenir. Do not do this,” the Teacher continued.
“I will explain everything once our mission is finished,” Fenir whispered. “Until then, trust that you have taught me well. I mean only the best for our tribe, for our people.”
The Elite had already exited the room and, suddenly, Fenir grasped to the bit of privacy renewed.
“The ways of taerji must not be tampered with. What you plan to do is sacrilege.” Latvala stopped for a moment as if only to control the fury brewing within him. “Yet I cannot stop you from doing such things. You have been taught the ways. You have had your training. I am but an old man now.”
“What the Elite has shown me beckons urgency. We must act now or we will lose everything we have worked for,” Fenir answered.
Latvala simply dropped his chin to his chest, exhaled an outward sign of disapproval.
Or was it pity? Fenir thought.
He could not tell.
“Go,” Latvala said, nearly in whisper. “Do what you feel you must do.”
Fenir bowed into minjori one last time, but turned before his Teacher could do the same.
The things I have done for Kyrah, Fenir thought. After all of these years.
They had left the other mercenaries to regroup in the village. They would be needed later in the pursuit of the Shadow girl, but not now. Not for this.
Fenir and Curala climbed the peaks for days until they stood opposite the mouth of the Lonely Peak, knowing full-well what hid behind that dark, open abyss.
“Actuano!” Fenir called. “Show yourself!”
Nothing but the wind crowded the space between ear and brain, so the two travelers walked forward, closer to the cave. Curala squinted against the black, wiping torrents of sweat from his eyes.
“Lost Warriors of the Cave!” Fenir called again. “Show yourselves! We come in peace.”
This time, a fragile hand found its way out of the entrance, followed by the silhouette of a shuffling frame. It was a female, still strong, covered in dirtied Warrior cloth from torso to chest. Her skin had grayed only slightly. She was young yet.
“What do you want?” she barked. “This is no place for you.”
“We have traveled from the North to request the help of Actuano. We come in peace. Is he here?”
Fenir already knew the answer to his question, but he asked it nonetheless.
“There is no peace between our kinds,” she barked. “There never will be.”
She slipped backward into the cave and disappeared. Several minutes passed until the girl returned, holding the sharpened end of something large, bigger than the girl’s two-handed grasp.
“You have been here before,” she spoke. “Both of you.”
“We are of the taerji. This is why we have come,” replied Fenir.
Curala stood watching.
“Come closer,” the girl growled.
She held the object in her hands outstretched toward them. It glowed a faint, pale pink.
“You have been near the Shadows!” she screamed. “Something has gathered your attention out there, has it not?”
“Out where?” Fenir said.
“The Wall.”
Suspicious, Fenir thought. They had just come from th
ere. How had she known?
“How do you know what lies beyond these caves?” Curala questioned. “How have you seen what we have seen?”
“The Messenger,” the girl whispered. Her eyes grew wild with excitement. “Would you like to meet her?”
The Messenger, Fenir repeated.
His mind grew blank.
“Bring us to her,” said Curala.
The two dropped their weapons—they understood the taerji culture after all—and walked into the black of the cave, descending deeper and deeper into the tunneled shells of rock. One left turn, two right turns, and down a steeply angled decline led them to a dimly-lit, red-hued room, drenched by the light of Rose Petals emanating against the rock landing in the rear of the room.
“Thank you, Arcai,” the huddled man spoke. Curala and Fenir could not decipher the features of the man in front of them, but they were certain it was Actuano. “You may leave us now, my dear.”
He stood up quietly and crossed his arms in front of him.
“It has been a long time since we have last seen each other,” Actuano continued. “What brings you to my kingdom, Fenir of the Mountains?”
Speak only when spoken to, Fenir thought. Know the custom. Know the rules.
Curala kept silent with hands crossed against his torso—right fingers clutching his left wrist. His eyes told only of taerji calm.
“We come asking for help,” Fenir explained. “Things have grown dire on the outside.”
“So I’ve heard,” the Lost Warrior responded. “A Shadow Warrior walks among us. That has not happened since—”
Actuano, strangely aware of his control, caught himself before saying his final thoughts while Curala angled his line of sight, furrowing his brow.
“How do you know what has happened at the Wall?” he asked. “We have just come from the Wall ourselves.”
“I told him,” a cloaked body said from the opposite corner of the cave-room. “I, too, was at the Wall. I witnessed everything.”
The girl stood up from her sitting position at the Rose Pedal wall and removed the hood from her face.