Shadow's Witness

by Paul S. Kemp

  Cale had never seen Jak so … savage. Teeth gritted in a snarl, the halfling tore open the gut of one ghoul, then finished it with a stab through the face. The last gray horror tore into his exposed flank. Red blood sprayed and Jak buckled. The ghoul leaped for him, jaws wide. Jak had nothing else to do but fall back, hold his short sword vertically like a pennon pole, and let the creature impale itself. The thick blade of his short sword burst through the back of the ghoul in a spray of purple. It squealed once, convulsed, and moved no more.

  He’d done it!

  Covered in purple and red blood, the little man squirmed out from under the dead ghoul. Gasping, sweating, he tried to stand but wobbled and sagged to his knees. Cale could see his small body trembling. Whether from exhaustion, rage, or fear, he could not tell. After taking a moment to recover, Jak rose and pulled out his holy symbol.

  “Hang on, Cale,” he said. He took a deep breath, gathered himself, and intoned the words to a healing spell. Instantly, the wounds on his back, arms, chest, and face closed to pink lines, then vanished altogether. He sheathed his blades, recovered his dagger from the body of a ghoul, and picked his way through the carnage to Cale.

  “Dark and empty,” he softly oathed, upon studying Cale’s wounds. “You’re as cut up as one of my mom’s stew carrots.” He giggled at that, and Cale thought he heard in the laughter the beginnings of hysteria. The little man recovered himself quickly, however, and returned to business.

  “First the wounds,” he said, and repeated the magical syllables of a healing spell while touching Cale’s hand. The pain vanished instantly. Cale’s torn skin knit itself back to wholeness. The horrible wounds closed. Jak had cast a powerful spell.

  “Now the paralysis.” Jak mouthed a more complex prayer while waving his holy symbol before Cale’s frozen body.

  Like the wounds, the paralysis suddenly vanished. Free to move, Cale sagged, lowered his blade, and found his right hand buried in his cloak pocket, clutching the felt mask.

  Odd, he thought. When the ghouls had surprised him, he had drawn his blade and unconsciously reached for the mask. Very odd.

  “Feel better?” Jak asked.

  “I do,” Cale said, and pulled his hand from his pocket. He examined his flesh. No trace remained from what had been a multitude of wounds. “Thank you, my friend.”

  Embarrassed, Jak waved away his gratitude and smiled awkwardly.

  Cale surveyed the carnage. The corpses of eleven ghouls lay amidst the broken weapons on the blood soaked floor.

  “You need a few minutes?” he asked Jak. “We can wait.” The little man had to be taxed after all that.

  Jak turned to face him, fire in his green eyes. “No, I’m ready now.”

  “Let’s move then.”

  Jak nodded. “Where?”

  “The basement,” Cale said.

  CHAPTER 9

  STALKING DARKNESS

  Cale walked out of the armory, turned left, and headed back toward the short flight of stairs that led back up to the main hallway.

  “We can’t access the stairway to the basement from this level,” Cale said over his shoulder. “We’ll have to go back up to the first floor. It’s not far from there.”

  Not far at all. Where before they had walked out of the offices and turned right into the main hall to reach the armory, now they would go left to reach the stairway down to the basement.

  Jak nodded and they continued on, wary.

  After a few minutes, they reached the base of the stairs where Cale had killed Willen. The ghoul pack had reduced the corpse to a virtual skeleton. What little flesh remained hung from the twisted body in frayed ribbons. Everywhere purple blood stained the floor. Cale could only imagine the orgy of feeding that had occurred here. The odor made his eyes water. He swallowed bile and kept down the vomit by sheer force of will.

  Willen’s femur—nearly torn from his pelvis—stuck out at a grotesque angle and extended into the void in the wall. It vanished into nothingness just above the knee. With each pulse of the gate, a bit more of the body inched into the emptiness.

  Like the ghouls, the gate too seemed to be gulping down portions of the corpse. Thick streaks of light gray and dull white—the color of Willen’s skin and bones—now swirled amidst the dark gray and pitch black whorls of the void.

  After taking in the scene and no doubt having thoughts similar to Cale’s, Jak began to heave. He covered his mouth to hold back the vomit, but quickly lost the battle and retched Matilda’s chunky fish stew onto the planked floor. As with Willen’s blood, the vomit began a slow migration across the floor toward the ever-hungry void.

  Though the sight of it flowing for the gate disturbed him, Cale nevertheless welcomed the vomit’s acrid smell, a human smell that overwhelmed the inhuman reek of rot and death. He waited while Jak emptied his stomach and finished retching.

  After a few moments, Jak gathered himself. He stood bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. He looked up at Cale through watering eyes and wiped his face sheepishly.

  “Dark,” he said. “Sorry, Cale. Ate too much, I guess.”

  “I guess,” Cale said with a half-smile. Seen too much, more likely. Cale could sympathize. It had been an eventful day-and-a-half. Hang on, little man, he thought.

  Recovered now, Jak studied Willen’s corpse and eyeballed the gate with an appraising gaze. “It’s bigger,” he announced after a moment. “The gate … it’s bigger.”

  Jak was right. The gate was bigger, marginally so, but definitely bigger. Cale had missed it. “How?”

  “I don’t know,” the little man said thoughtfully, and stroked his whiskers. He approached the gate and peered in, careful to avoid stepping on Willen’s corpse.

  “It drinks the life-force of the living,” he said. “Like the shadow demon. Probably the more it eats, the more powerful it gets.” He stepped back from the gate, shrugged, and looked over at Cale. “Maybe with each pulse, it consumes a little bit of our plane and thereby grows larger.…”

  Cale waited. The little man was still working it through.

  “I don’t know how it’s occurring,” Jak said at last, his mouth a grim line in a nest of red whiskers. “But I know that we better stop it. If it gets too big …”

  Cale nodded once, firmly. “Let’s go.” Without another word, he turned and strode up the stairs. Jak followed.

  Stopping periodically to listen for any sign of ghouls, they made their way up the short stairway and back into the main hall. It stretched before them, dark and threatening. They shared a look and continued on.

  After jumping or sidestepping the few gates that stood in their way—all of them also slightly larger than before, Cale observed—they made it back to the door that opened onto the offices.

  The hall continued on in the opposite direction, beyond the limits of the glow wand. The pulsing from the gates continued to beat in the rotten smelling air, but Cale had become accustomed to it and barely noticed. At a run, they could be back out on Ariness Street in less than a minute. They could be out of the guildhouse and out of this insanity. They would be safe.

  He turned to face Jak. He had to give the little man another chance to get out of here.

  “There will be more ghouls downstairs,” he announced, and studied Jak’s reaction. The little man nodded gravely, but gave no sign of fear. Cale went on, “Probably more warping too.” He thought of the bleeding wall and the procession of ghouls and couldn’t hide his grimace. “There will be more horrible sights.”

  Jak nodded again. “I understand.”

  “You can get out of here, Jak,” Cale said. “The street’s right out there.” He pointed with his blade toward the offices, toward the door out. “This will probably be the last chance either of us has to turn back. I won’t mention it again.”

  Cale didn’t really want Jak to leave, he desperately wanted him to stay, but felt obligated to make the offer. The madness would only get worse in the basement, and worse still in the shrine.


  To his credit, Jak didn’t even look toward the offices. He shook his head emphatically and gave Cale a hard smile. “We’re hip-deep in a pile of dragon dung, Cale. I’m already as dirty as I can get. There ain’t no going back.”

  Cale smiled and gratefully squeezed Jak’s small shoulder. “Thanks, my friend.”

  They started cautiously down the hall. Cale felt only mild surprise when he realized that his right hand was in his pocket, clutching the felt mask. There ain’t no going back, he thought, echoing Jak. Had he already taken some first, hesitant steps toward Mask?

  Fifteen paces down the hallway, the floor grew spongy, like rotten wood. The first signs of increased warping. He held the glow wand close to the floor. With each pulse of the gates, the wooden planks flickered between translucence and solidity.

  “Dark,” Jak observed. “This whole place is becoming one giant gate.”

  Cale nodded and they continued on. They gingerly trod the increasingly soft floor until they found their path blocked by another swirling hole of emptiness in the floor, this one bigger than any previous.

  “I can’t jump that, Cale. Too wide.”

  “I know,” Cale replied. The jump would be tough even for him, especially with the spongy floor. The sheer walls of the hallway would make climbing around it a difficult option.

  “If I can get across and throw back a rope—”

  “No need,” Jak interjected. He sheathed his blades, plopped down on the floor, and removed his gloves and soft boots.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You jump over it,” the little man said. “I’ll climb around it.”

  “That’s a tough climb.”

  “Not to worry,” Jak interrupted with a smile. “I’ve got a spell.” He shot Cale a mirthful wink. “Nice to have spells at my disposal on a job, remember?”

  Without hesitation, Jak pulled forth his holy symbol and began to chant. When he finished, a whitish paste seeped from the pores on his palms and feet. His feet sucked at the soft floor as he padded to the wall and placed his hands upon it.

  “Wall is soft too,” he observed. “Shouldn’t be a problem though.” He placed his feet against the wall—

  “Wait, Jak,” Cale ordered. He inched forward to the edge of the gate, blade held ready, and peered down into it. The seemingly endless void nauseated him but he fought it off and forced himself to search the vacancy for a pair of yellow eyes. He saw nothing. Satisfied, he eased back from the edge. “All right.”

  Immediately, Jak ascended a few feet. Despite its softness, his hands adhered to the surface of the wall and he moved along easily. Spiderlike, he began to slide sidewise. Beneath him, the emptiness of the void beckoned.

  Cale watched him nervously for a moment, but the spell seemed to be working. Now nearly halfway across, Jak showed no sign of problems. Cale now had to worry about getting himself across.

  He sheathed his blade and backed off a bit. He would need running room to clear the gate. Jak’s alarmed voice turned him around.

  “Cale! It’s bleeding.” The little man’s voice trembled with horror.

  Cale hurried back to the edge of the gate and held the glow wand high—

  “Dark,” he breathed.

  The little man hung suspended on the wall halfway across the gate. Where Jak had touched the warped wall, the pressure apparently had forced blood from the stone. With each pulse of the gates, a trickle of gore dripped from the wall where he had placed his hands and feet. A path of seeping wounds marked the route behind him.

  “It’s warped more here,” the little man said, his voice rising in sudden alarm. “It’s sticking to me. Dark, Cale, my hands are starting to slip.” He tried to continue his move across, but when he attempted to pull free from the wall, the surface adhered to his hand and came away in thick, fleshy strings. Cale caught a disgusting flash of pulsing blue veins and glistening red tissue beneath the warped wall surface before the new tear began to vomit forth a steady gout of blood.

  “Burn me!” Caught in the fountain of blood, the little man cursed and tried to slide aside. His abrupt movement only tore open more holes in the wall. Streams of blood ran down to the floor, drained into the gate, and quickly turned its swirls crimson.

  “Cale!” Jak peered over his shoulder, spattered with gore. “Help.” His fearful eyes fell to the churning gate below. “Help,” he said again.

  Cale heard the beginnings of panic creeping into Jak’s voice.

  “Hold still.” Without another word, Cale backed off, sprinted forward, and leaped the gate. He hit the spongy floor in a ready crouch.

  “Don’t move,” he again said to Jak.

  “I’m not moving.” Jak clung desperately to the warped wall, kept his face down to shield his eyes and mouth from the crimson fall. Gore-soaked, his cloak hung heavily from his small body.

  “Don’t look into the gate,” Cale said. He set down the glow wand, shook free of his pack, and pulled out a coil of silk rope.

  “Godsdammit, Cale,” Jak snapped, “I’m not moving and I’m not looking! Hurry up. This is disgusting.”

  Cale smiled despite himself—the halfling kept his sense of humor even when terrified.

  Deftly, Cale tied a slipknot into one end of the thin but strong line. He opened some play in the loop, gathered it in, and prepared to toss it to Jak.

  “Catch this.”

  “Catch it!” Jak eyed him incredulously over his shoulder. “How?”

  “Let go with one of your hands.”

  “But—Dark and empty!” he said, and nodded in resignation. “All right.” He gingerly pulled his left hand free of the wall. Despite his care, the wall’s skin stuck to his hand and tore loose. Blood spurted from the rip. He hung on the wall with only two sticky feet and a sticky hand.

  “Throw it!”

  Cale stood at the edge of the gate, let eight or so feet of line play out, and swung it up toward Jak. The little man caught it on the first try. He stuck his arm through the loop, draped it over his neck, and tried again to get a grip on the wall. Slippery with gore, his hand no longer stuck.

  “Blast,” he oathed. “It won’t stick.” Before Cale could say anything, the little man reared back and slammed his fist into the wall, wrist deep. “Ugh,” he exclaimed in disgust.

  Quick thinking, Cale thought. “Get the rope around your torso,” he said. “I’ll give it a jerk at the same time you jump toward me. It’s only about eight feet. You’ll make it.”

  “I know what the plan is,” Jak muttered irritably. “Easier said than done, though. I don’t know if this hand,” he indicated with his head the hand buried in the wall, “will hold me if I let go with the other.”

  Cale made no reply. He waited for Jak to come to terms. They had nothing else, and Jak had to know it. The fleshy, bloody wall offered no handgrips. Jak was stuck, and if he tried to move farther, he would certainly fall into the gate.

  “Let’s do it now. With the rope like this.”

  Cale shook his head. “Can’t. I think it’ll slip right over your head and off when I pull. Won’t work.”

  “Dark,” Jak sighed. “All right, let’s do it. But if my hand won’t hold and I start to fall, you pull right away. Try to, at least.” He glanced down into the bloody gate. “I don’t want to go wherever that leads.”

  Cale nodded, braced himself, and pulled the rope as taut as he dared. He had to leave some play so Jak could get his other arm through, yet he had to be ready to give it a sharp pull if the little man started to fall.

  “Ready,” he said.

  “Here goes.” Jak jerked his hand free. Blood spurted from the wall and poured past him into the gate. Cale tensed. Jak dangled dangerously but didn’t fall. His other hand held! Quickly, the little man threaded his free arm through the loop. He turned and shot Cale a grin.

  “All right, Cale—” The little man’s green eyes fell on the gate and went wide. “Pull, Cale! Now! Now!”

  Cale jerked at the same moment that Jak ju
mped free of the wall.

  The snap of the rope pulled the breath from the little man in a whoosh. He flew through the air, just cleared the edge of the gate, and landed in a heap on the spongy floor beside Cale. He leaped to his feet.

  “The shadow demon! I saw it looking out at me from the gate!”

  Cale dropped the rope and had his blade out in an instant. Without hesitation, he stepped to the edge of the gate and looked down. From deep within the void, two hate-filled yellow sparks looked out at him and narrowed balefully. The eyes of the demon that had nearly killed Thazienne.

  “Bastard!” He reversed his grip on the long sword, dropped to one knee, and drove the blade hilt-deep into the void, directly between those demonic yellow eyes. The stuff of the gate gave way before the iron like water. A distortion rippled across its bloody surface. When it cleared, the eyes had disappeared. Cale snarled and pulled the weapon free. He didn’t know if he had hit the demon or not.

  Jak approached and stood beside him, blades bare.

  “It’s gone?” he asked.

  “It’s gone.”

  “Good,” Jak said. “Close one, Cale. I wouldn’t have wanted to fall in there with that thing, at least not without you.” The little man stripped off his bloody cloak and threw it into the gate. “Here,” he said to the gate, “you get this instead.”

  The bloody cloak swirled into oblivion and vanished. Jak took an extra cloak from his pack and wiped himself as clean as he could. “Disgusting,” he muttered as he worked. He threw the newly soiled cloak into the gate as well. “That’s better,” he said afterward. “I feel like a new man. We moving?”

  Cale nodded and turned reluctantly from the gate. “We’re moving,” he affirmed.

  “What’s in your hand?” Jak asked.

  “Huh?”

  Surprised, Cale realized that he held the felt mask in his hand. He must have pulled it out of his pocket after jerking his blade out of the gate. Or had he done it before?