by S.J. Drew
"What-what in darkness are you? I saw you in my dream."
It cocked its head to the side. "No, Master, that was not us. We are called darklings. We are here to serve you."
"Oh, great, great. So, what do you mean that this is the stuff of Shadows?"
"Made by the Dark One, part of the Dark One, part of the Long Shadow."
"The Long Shadow?" he repeated.
"The place of Shadows. The place where we dwell. The place the mages use to travel. They open their portals of bright light and follow the bright path to their destination," it explained, venom in its strange, slightly echoing voice.
"Wait, you mean the Shadow Realm?"
It nodded.
He stared at the mirror again and mentally commanded the Armor to go away. Much to his surprise, it vanished. He called it back, and it reappeared. "That's pretty handy."
"Have you any other questions, Master?"
"Master?"
"You are the ShadowWalker."
Donnan winced. The title sounded harsh, foul, and inexplicably menacing when spoken in the Dark language.
"We are of the Shadows. We serve you. You are of the Shadows now and of the Darkness. That is why you understand our language."
"Well, that's nice to know. I guess. If I can believe what you say is the truth."
"We have no need to lie, Master. The truth is far more destructive than lies."
"Um, alright. You can go now."
It bowed, then sank into the floor.
Shivering, he returned to the bed and lay back down. He stared at the ceiling until Blake re-entered, bearing a tray of food. He cleared off the chess board and set out lunch on the small table.
"Come on, this is the good stuff."
"That doesn't make me feel better," Donnan replied dryly, but he sat down in one of the chairs and ate anyway. "I need some clothes."
"Well, yes, you can't go around in that. Do you know how to take that off?"
He nodded. "As best I can tell, it's just an act of will."
"That's interesting."
They ate in silence. When lunch was cleared away, Blake pulled out the chess board.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" Donnan asked. "You've never come close to beatin' me."
"Well, I figure if I'm goin' to ever win, today's probably the only day you'll be distracted enough."
He smiled. "Let me change, and you set up."
"You can chose anything you want out of the closet."
His smile quickly faded, but he said nothing. He sent the Armor away, but was wearing nothing underneath. When he was dressed, he paused thoughtfully, and called the Armor again. It returned as expected. Then he sent away, and now was wearing the clothes he had just put on. "I guess my old clothes were destroyed. But this is kind of nice. It'd be a pain to have to carry clothes with me."
"That was a neat trick," remarked Blake.
"It's handy."
"Why didn't you pick somethin' nicer? That's just like your old clothes, only better quality."
"If I show up in fancy clothes, Alain's going to wonder what’s goin' on. I don't think he'd take this well. He'd probably blame you."
"No, that wouldn't be good."
They lapsed into silence as they started to play the game. Nearly three hours passed, and by the time they stopped, Donnan had won three games soundly.
"Damn, you're good," commented Blake.
"What do you get out of this?"
"Well, I improve my strategy skills..."
"Not that. What do you get out of helpin' me do anythin' I want?"
"Get out of helping you? What kind of question is that? I'm your friend."
"Yeah, I know. But you're a Dark priest. I know them. They never do anythin' unless they get somethin' out of it."
Blake sighed. "I want the usual things. Power, fame, glory, wealth. If the Dark One bothers with me, I can get all that, which is part of why I joined the Order. If not, well, at least it pays better than pickpocketin' and it's not quite as much work."
"Why help me?"
"The same reason the Dark priests carry out the requests of the Dark One. The Dark One has power, and they hope that It will grant them power if they please It. You've got power, and I think I've got a better chance of getting my own power by helpin' you out than just praying to god. And you are my friend. I think you might want some help, at least to figure out what you're going to do."
"Honestly?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Honestly. I've got no reason to lie to you."
There was a thoughtful pause.
"Blake, do you know what'll happen if I do win?"
"I have no idea," he shrugged. "Why?"
"Well, there must be some reason the gods decided to do this. I think maybe that my winnin' goes beyond just me. You know?"
"I think I understand. You think there's a reason you have to fight this battle besides the battle itself."
He nodded. "Yeah, somethin' like that. I'm not sure I can do anythin' I want 'cause I don't know what's goin' on or what's really supposed to happen if I win."
"The Dark One didn't tell you anything?"
He shook his head. "And I don't think It will, neither."
"So you're just going to ignore all this power you've got because something bad might happen if you win?"
"I can't see how anythin' good could come of this."
"Donnan, if the Dark One wants you to do something, it's a bad idea not to do it."
"But I don't know what the Dark One wants. Well, I guess It wants me to kill this LightBearer, and I don't want to kill someone. Dammit, Blake, do you know what you're saying?" he roared.
Color drained from his face. "I guess I didn't think of it that way."
"I don't want to become some sort of monster."
"I'm sorry, Donnan. It's just, well, you know I always wanted the power to really do something with my life. I forgot that power has consequences."
"Yeah, I know that," he sighed. "I'll be straight with you. There's two reasons I didn't join the Order. One is because, well, no one likes the Order. No one trusts you guys. My life is hard enough without havin' to deal with that."
"I knew that. But you're part of the Order now, more or less. Whether you like it or not. If you're going to have to deal with that stigma, you might as well make the best of it. No one can stop you."
He sighed. "Well, there's more. Joinin' the Order seems like cheatin'."
"Cheating?"
"Sure. You ask and get power that maybe you don't deserve. No offense."
"None taken," he replied dryly.
"No better than say, Reese gettin' into the guard just 'cause he's the son of the Guard Commander."
"Oh, yes, thanks."
He shrugged. "Sorry, Blake. That's just how it is."
"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I know you didn't want this. And I know you don't know what to do. But I'd like to help. I can probably talk the Order into helping too. And I do know one thing."
"One thing?" he repeated, gently teasing.
Blake smiled wryly. "About this. The LightBearer is going to come looking for you. I don't know when, and I don't know how, but he'll come for you. And he'll probably kill you, because he'll probably think you are some kind of evil monster. So at the very least, you need to find out when he's comin' and have a plan ready when he does."
"You're probably right about that. Look, I need some time to think. This is just too much for me to deal with right now."
"Fine by me. But I think the sooner you start whatever you're going to do the better."
"But not right now."
"When?"
"I don't know," he replied, exasperated. "Look, how about we go to dinner tonight, play some games, and we'll talk tomorrow. No, wait, Alain's graduation ceremony is tomorrow. You come to the ceremony, and then we'll talk."
"How can I turn down what promises to be such an exciting afternoon?"
"You're such a jackass," he replied affectionately.
"Is Darris going to let you go since you missed work today?"
Donnan shrugged. "I'm not sure I care right now. I'm not sure I'll even care tomorrow."
Blake cleaned his glasses thoughtfully, but said nothing. "Well, I'll buy dinner."
"Sounds good to me."
Eliora slowly came to, aware of the murmur of voices. Giving no sign that she was conscious, she strained to hear to the words, but they were mostly in an unfamiliar language. She did catch snatches of the Light language, but not enough to follow the conversation, although she could guess the conversation was probably about her. The tone changed to something a bit angrier, suggesting an argument. She didn't think she was in any danger, but thought it might be a good idea to show that she was awake. "Hello?" she asked, in her own language, and opening her eyes.
She was in a small room made of wood, lying on a narrow bed. A lamp was hung up on the wall, and there was a curtain opposite her, as though she was just in the bedroom of a larger room. The voices were coming from that other room. Oddly, her first emotion was not fear, but embarrassment. Not only did she still have her shoes in on a house, but she was even in bed with her shoes.
A young man and a female demian entered the room. The man was a few years older than she was, tall, with fiery red hair, gray eyes, clean-shaven, and might have been good-looking except for the ugly scowl on his face. The demian was barely five feet tall, with green skin, straw-yellow hair, and green eyes. She was smiling in a reassuring fashion.
Eliora wasn't sure whose appearance was stranger. She expected a demian to look different, but she had never seen a hair color like the young man's, or skin so pale. She wondered for a moment if he was sick, but then decided it must just a characteristic of the region. She was also unused to seeing any males old enough to grow beards without