Shadow Magic

by Joshua Khan

  Thorn tightened his grip on his sword and followed Wayland.

  More footprints joined up with the mason’s, another five pairs. They dragged and stumbled and hadn’t tried to cover their tracks.

  The drizzle got heavier. Large raindrops fell and splashed upon the leaves, and soon rivulets of muddy water were running between their feet.

  For the first time in his life, Thorn felt uneasy in the woods. It didn’t smell right. Even the sounds were wrong. He glanced at Wayland. The captain’s jaw was rock hard with tension.

  Thorn stumbled over a twisted root and a branch slapped his face. What was he doing? Dad would be furious, him trampling around a wood like a city-born lummox!

  Wayland seized his shoulder.

  A figure stood among the trees, not more than ten yards away.

  Wayland took the lantern from Thorn and stepped closer. “Identify yourself!”

  Thorn’s lips were parchment dry, yet his hands were sweaty. He stayed where he was. It was dark and the rain fell, but his hearing sharpened and he could identify more smells now.

  Rain. Damp earth. Rotting wood and moldy leaves and the perfume of burning lantern oil.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” said Wayland. “Identify yourself!”

  The man moved. He seemed to glide through the net of twigs and birch trees as if it was broad daylight. His steps were firm and sure. His clothing was well made and practical. A leather tunic, a heavy wool coat, thick breeches, and good waxed boots.

  Wayland raised the lantern higher. “This is your last—”

  Scars covered the man’s face. Thick stitches crisscrossed deep grooves in his broken skin. The mouth was a twisted slash, its edges sewn up badly so it rose to one ear.

  His eyes were two empty holes.

  Wayland gasped and swung his sword at him.

  The scarred man grabbed it. The shining steel began to rust, and in seconds, it crumbled to nothing.

  Shouts burst out from the surrounding darkness. In the spots of lantern light farther along, Thorn glimpsed the soldiers fighting with strange, white-limbed creatures.

  A foul, dead stench filled the air.

  Leaves rustled and another figure, crooked-limbed and pale, pushed through the foliage toward him. This creature’s legs moved stiffly, and his head was bent at an odd angle. His eyes were covered in gray film, his mouth hung stupid and slack. He turned toward Thorn and hissed with quiet fury.

  “Get back, boy!” shouted Wayland. “Get back! It’s a zombie!”

  The scarred man was still there, but instead of attacking, he folded his arms and watched.

  Wayland crashed the lantern down on the zombie’s head, shattering its skull. The creature merely snarled, then grabbed hold of Wayland and beat his head against a tree trunk. Wayland moaned and slumped to the ground.

  Then the zombie turned his sights on Thorn again. Thorn heard screams and cries from afar. The other soldiers were busy with their own zombies.

  Thorn shook from head to toe. His heart raced. He’d hunted wolves. Tracked bears. Even chased down a wild boar, but nothing, nothing came close to the terror he felt now. He couldn’t take his eyes from it and every part of him wanted to run, but he stood frozen; fear had robbed his legs of all movement.

  Thorn stuck his sword out in front of him. “Stay back.”

  The scarred man chuckled but did not move from his spot.

  Oil spilled from Wayland’s lantern, burned on the leaves, and flames splashed onto the zombie’s arm, but the creature ignored them. His beard crinkled and smoked.

  Worms had been at him. They writhed within tears in his flesh and were big, fat, and white from good feeding on the dead meat. Where the skin was missing, Thorn stared at the exposed muscles, still moving, active though the heart was cold and unbeating.

  Thorn gritted his teeth. He tightened his grip on his sword hilt, using both hands to hold it steady. Run or fight, that’s what it came down to. And it was too late to run.

  Then Thorn noticed that the zombie was barefoot. And he had only four toes on his left foot.

  “You must be Jemma’s dad,” said Thorn. “She’s real upset.”

  If he’d thought that mentioning Jemma’s name might spark some faded memory, Thorn was sorely disappointed. The zombie stomped closer, getting faster, and with a hungry red fire glowing in his eyes. He reached out with his dirty, broken nails, opened his mouth, and let out a ragged scream.

  Thorn thrust the sword in.

  The steel went in straight and true, burying itself up to the hilt in the zombie’s chest.

  The undead thing merely swung its arm and swatted Thorn off his feet.

  His head swam. Blinking away tears, he could only look up, dizzy and helpless, as the zombie, sword still jutting from his chest, reached down. He wrapped its bony figures around Thorn’s neck and squeezed.

  Thorn fought. He kicked and punched as his breath hissed out between clenched teeth. He stared at the deep, evil eyes of the undead thing and felt its stinking, cold breath on his face. Blood pounded behind Thorn’s forehead.

  His chest burned as the air left it. The zombie lifted him so that Thorn dangled, his toes barely touching the ground. How could the zombie be so strong? Thorn grabbed the sword hilt and twisted it in deeper. It made no difference. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the scarred man, saw the interest he took in the zombie’s work. He nodded with approval as Thorn’s life began to leave him.

  Desperately, Thorn dug his nails into the zombie’s face. Skin flaked off and old, thick black blood oozed from the gashes.

  Darkness fell as Thorn’s senses abandoned him. He couldn’t breathe.

  I’m gonna die….

  Thorn clenched his fist for one last punch. His vision was clouding over, but he concentrated on tightening his fingers and putting the last of his strength into one final blow. Slowly, arms aching, he raised his fist….

  It didn’t land, but something else did.

  The zombie was ripped away from Thorn.

  Thorn dropped to his knees, gasping. Air, clean and sharp, raced down his throat.

  Hades pinned the zombie facedown on the ground. The undead thing thrashed its arms, but Hades’s claws were deep in its back.

  Hades sniffed his prey.

  “Don’t…don’t just play with it….” Thorn rasped, the inside of his throat feeling as if it had been scoured with sandpaper.

  Hades snapped his jaws over the zombie’s head and tore it clean off.

  The body went limp.

  Hades spat the head out.

  “So there are things you won’t eat.” Thorn crawled to his feet, but it was hard work. He was nearly dead with exhaustion and every limb trembled.

  The scarred man stared at Thorn and the monster beside him. He flexed his fingers.

  “Try it,” whispered Thorn, his throat too painful for anything louder. “Hades is still hungry. Aren’t you, boy?”

  Hades hissed in agreement.

  The scarred man held out his arms and began peeling the shadows around him as though he was collecting blackberries. He pinched them from branches and off the ground, gathering them about him in a ribbon.

  He spun the blackness around him. His limbs disappeared, his body and, last of all, his hideous, scarred face.

  And then he was gone, vanished into the shadows.

  Thorn hugged the bat. He could barely stand and hung on the bat’s neck, burying his fingers in deep. Hades didn’t seem bothered. He lowered his wings, enclosing Thorn in their folds. Both hearts, of monster and boy, beat together.

  Thorn pressed his face into the beast’s wet, smelly fur. “Good boy, Hades. Good boy.”

  “Tell me about the scarred man,” said Tyburn. “Again.”

  Lily watched Thorn as he tried to explain, for the umpteenth time, what had happened at Graven the day before. The poor boy could barely stand, and the purple bruises around his neck looked horrible.

  When she’d seen him come into the study, all battered an
d bruised, she’d almost jumped up to hug him, but she’d forced herself to stay seated at her desk. She was Lady Shadow, and such things weren’t allowed, especially with Tyburn and her uncle present.

  It was hard being this Lady Shadow.

  Zombies. They had zombies in Gehenna. She wasn’t sure if she was excited or scared. Probably both.

  “It was dark,” replied Thorn, sounding more than weary. “The flesh, I mean. Really deformed. I couldn’t see his eyes. I’m not sure he had any. There were just holes. And the scars were deeper than just into the flesh. It looked like they went into the bone.”

  Lily spoke. “And what happened to the zombies?”

  “When the scarred man disappeared, they just fell down. Proper dead this time,” said Thorn. “Wayland ordered ’em all burned.”

  “Then Wayland did right,” said Tyburn. “If they were undead, it’s the only way to make sure they won’t come back.”

  “If?” Pan cut in. “How can we have zombies? Just think it through. Iblis tried to raise one and failed. The effort almost broke him; he was comatose for a week.”

  “What about our Immortals? And old One-Eyed Ron?” said Lily. “They were all zombies.”

  “And all created by your great-great-grandfather,” answered Uncle Pan. “Since then, we’ve only had the power to maintain them, not raise any new ones. Now you’re talking about six. Six! All up and dancing the jig in some field!”

  He may have been drunk—as usual—but Pan had a point. Bringing someone back from the dead was the greatest necromancy there was.

  Then how come I was able to do it?

  Okay, it was the ghost of Custard, and it had only lasted for a few seconds, but she’d done it.

  A zombie was on another whole level, though. That wasn’t just summoning a spirit—it was bringing back life itself. A feeble half-life, sure, but life nevertheless.

  “No, there is a simpler explanation. One that doesn’t require any magic.” Pan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his fat belly. “These villagers fell ill. They weren’t dead, but in comas. They were buried accidently, then woke up and dug themselves out. It happens on occasion.”

  Lily looked over at Thorn. “Is it possible that’s what you really saw?”

  “No, it ain’t.” The reply was firm and definite.

  “What do you think, Tyburn?”

  “Captain Wayland is a reliable man,” said Tyburn. “And young Thorn here has proven himself to be equally so. I’ve had letters from other villages and towns within Gehenna, all referring to disturbed graves. I assumed they were robberies, the sort we get from time to time. But given what young Thorn has told us, I must conclude that we have a necromancer in our midst, and a very powerful one.”

  Pan muttered under his breath.

  Tyburn addressed Thorn. “Do you remember anything more about the scarred man? Think, boy. How tall was he?”

  “Kinda average, I suppose.” He glanced at Pan. “About your height, m’lord. And he was well-dressed, like a noble.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Tyburn.

  “About them things, yeah, I am,” said Thorn. “He just stood there, watching me die. It was like he wanted to see if the zombie could kill me.”

  “I want this kept to ourselves until we know more,” said Pan. “The last thing we need is fairy tales spreading about necromancers and people crawling out of graves.”

  “Think this might scare people?” asked Thorn.

  “This is Gehenna,” said Lily. “It’ll probably get them all excited. The next thing they’ll be expecting is this unknown necromancer to raise an undead army and head off to conquer Lumina.”

  Thorn’s laugh came out like a croak. “Yeah, I forgot. Other people’s nightmares are your bedtime stories.”

  Lily smiled at him, happy that Thorn was sounding like his usual self again. “How’s Hades doing?”

  Uncle Pan grimaced. “That monster ate one of the horses.”

  “He’d flown a long way. He was hungry,” said Thorn defensively. “He saved my life.”

  Uncle Pan glowered. “That beast is a menace. We should get rid of him before he does some real harm.”

  “No,” said Lily. “We’ll arrange regular meals so he doesn’t gobble up a stable boy by accident.”

  “The bat is valuable,” said Tyburn. “I have plans for him.”

  As he spoke his gaze fell on Thorn, and Lily wondered what plans her executioner had for him.

  Pan wandered to the side table and emptied the carafe into his goblet. “The Lumineans know something is going on. The duke has left Lord Argent in charge, and I’m dining with him tonight. What shall I tell him?”

  “Nothing,” Tyburn replied.

  “They are our allies, Tyburn. Soon to be family. This is a noble of Lumina we’re talking about, not some village peasant.”

  Lily interrupted. “Tell him one of your adventures, Uncle. About your first expedition into the Shardlands. The one with the wyvern. Thirty feet long, wasn’t it?”

  Pan puffed up his chest. “Fifty, at least. With enough poison in its spike to kill a herd of elephants.” He jagged his finger forward. “Killed it with a single lunge straight into its black heart.”

  Good. That tale would keep Pan, and Lord Argent, busy for hours.

  “Anything else?” Lily asked. She wanted to get this meeting over as quickly as possible. Tyburn wasn’t the only one who had plans….

  Tyburn grimaced. “With the Halloween Ball only a week away and the fair on Devil’s Knoll, we have thousands of people camped around Castle Gloom. We are receiving dozens of deliveries every day, and there aren’t enough guards to man all the gates. And there have been fights….”

  “Fights? Between who?” Lily asked.

  “The Solars and our people. There is plenty of distrust between the Gehennish and Lumineans. That’s to be expected after so many centuries of war. The duke has many of his paladins here, so Baron Sable summoned his three sons and they brought their troops with them. The situation is volatile.” Tyburn looked at her. “It might help for you to speak with Baron Sable.”

  “Me?” she blurted involuntarily. It wasn’t that long ago that Lily used to ride on Sable’s back and have pillow jousts with his youngest son, Caliban.

  He’ll listen because I’m Lady Shadow.

  She recovered quickly. “Yes, I will. And what about this poisoner? Any closer to catching him?”

  Tyburn’s gaze narrowed. “Yes. The border guards are on alert; no suspect has left Gehenna. His head will be mounted upon Lamentation Hill soon enough, m’lady.”

  Chill fingers caressed Lily’s heart. Tyburn had never failed House Shadow. “Let’s hope it’s sooner rather than later.”

  Tyburn nodded. “Meanwhile, you must remain here, in Castle Gloom, m’lady.”

  Lily’s chill turned to fury. “But I was planning to go to the Halloween fair! It’s just opened, and I always go!” She’d heard the maids talking about it, and she’d been cooped up in Gloom long enough.

  “We have not yet discovered who tried to poison you,” Pan continued. “The fair would be a perfect opportunity for a second, more direct attack. There are plenty of strangers, noise, and tents, too many places an assassin may lurk. Tyburn’s right, Lily. You must stay in your quarters.”

  “But it’s at Devil’s Knoll! That’s not even a mile from the gates!”

  “I wouldn’t care if it was only an inch from the gates. You are not stepping outside Castle Gloom. Do I make myself clear?”

  “But—”

  “No, Lily. Just this once, will you do as you are told!”

  She glowered.

  Pan softened. “There is no reason you cannot have company, of course. I will send for Rose.”

  “And K’leef,” Lily added.

  Pan didn’t look happy. “Very well, I will—”

  “And Thorn stays. He’s amusing.”

  Pan scowled. But what could he do? Thorn was a hero right now. He’d beaten Gabriel, t
amed Hades, and fought a zombie. Lily knew that her uncle couldn’t refuse without sounding utterly ungrateful. His reply crawled out through his gritted teeth. “Very well. The stable boy also.”

  Pan stormed off. Tyburn lingered, nodded to Thorn, then he too departed.

  Thorn threw himself onto the sofa. “Phew! I thought they’d never leave.”

  Lily stared at the door. She wanted to march straight through it, out Skeleton Gate, and off to Devil’s Knoll. She should do it.

  How far would she get before she was stopped?

  Not far at all. She’d be lucky to make it to the end of the corridor.

  What was the point of being Lady Shadow, ruler of Gehenna, if she wasn’t even able to go to the fair? She bet no one would dare prevent Duke Solar from going.

  Lily perched on a chair near the sofa and said to Thorn, “I think Tyburn likes you.”

  “Does he? It’s difficult to tell with him.” He yawned as he stretched out over the cushions. He rubbed his neck. “All this talk’s starting to hurt. It’s like I’ve swallowed rocks.”

  “I’m glad you’re safe.” She was, and she hoped he knew that. “When I heard what had happened, I was…worried.”

  He looked at her, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Really? How worried?”

  “Not that worried.”

  “Did you tear up, Princess? A little? Come on, you can tell me.”

  “You are impossible.” She flicked his ear. “You really saw a zombie? We used to have hundreds around the castle, once upon a time. The last one was Ron, but he finally fell apart when I was seven. Father was very upset. Ron had practically raised him.”

  There were plenty of portraits of Ron around the castle. He’d served the family for four generations. In the early ones, he almost passed for a living person, but as time progressed, he got more decayed and bits fell off. In the last portrait, painted in her grandfather’s time, his skull was visible through his patched skin, one eye socket was empty, and the other oozing yellow pus. His right ear was missing, and his jaw was held in place by wire. Her father was in that last painting, a young black-haired boy sitting on the zombie’s bony knee.

  K’leef and Rose entered. When K’leef spotted Thorn lying on the sofa, he asked, “What’s going on?”