Two Wolves, One Shadow

by Chris Smith

  ***

  The blemished face of pock-riddled demon approached them.

  ‘All right, Ritz, what do you want?’

  ‘Haven’t you finished yet?’ Ritz enquired. ‘Oh come on Slug, pick up your game. Look, he’s missed the bleeding toe nails. You need to get him to clean beneath the toe nails…understand.’

  ‘Here…you lot,’ shouted Mal. Several demons with faces as mean as Mal's scrambled down from higher up the monument.

  ‘He needs a bit of motivation guys.’

  Their eyes couldn’t hide the truth of their joy. With relish, they began pushing and shoving James. If he missed a spot, or if he went too slowly, he’d receive an elbow in the ribs or a jab somewhere else. There was one particularly mean little demon that held back while the others had their fun, then without warning he would aim a kick at his balls for no reason. It landed just hard enough to make James cry out, but not hard enough to immobilise him.

  ‘That’ll do. It’s perfect. Even Ritz can’t fault that’.

  ‘Yeah, it’s nearly as beautiful as me,’ said Ritz. ‘The monument, not you boy.’

  James’ hands were bloody and raw, his back sore and his mouth parched. He noticed an old well nearby.

  ‘Can I have a drink please?’ he enquired.

  ‘I think you mean, can I have a drink, please Boss.’ Mal hit him with a short bolt of lightning.

  ‘Can I have a drink please…Boss?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Ritz. ‘We’ve got to keep the golden goose alive.’

  James staggered over to the well and was about to send the bucket down when Mal stopped him.

  ‘Not that one, this one.’

  Mal handed James an old rusty bucket riddled with holes. There was no point in arguing, the malicious demon was itching for another reason to attack. James accepted the bucket and lowered it into the well. The rope dropped and dropped to the point where James considered that it might have reached the lake he’d crossed earlier. When the rope slackened, James turned the handle and reeled the bucket up as fast as possible. But by the time he’d pulled the bucket over the top, the water had run out. He managed to rescue a couple of drips. Thirsty for refreshment, he pushed his head into the bucket and licked out what moisture he could find at the bottom.

  Hogster approached Mal, ‘Des needs him now,’ he said, pointing across to one of the other demons standing by a pile of broken glass. Des was another new name, James noted. So far, the names of the super demons that he knew were Mal, Hogster, Slug, Ritz, and Des.

  ‘What do you two want with him?’ said Ritz.

  ‘Des has seen this brilliant shard of glass we can use on the crown, and as he says, he simply must have it or he’ll just die.’ They all laughed.

  ‘Ok, but keep him working. If he so much as squeaks without permission hit him, and hit him hard,’ commanded Mal.

  Led by Hogster, James tottered over to a mountain of glass with his head lowered. When he got there, Des pointed deep into the glass rubble.

  ‘You see that piece, the really dark piece? I want it.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Hogster, ‘that will make a brilliant dragon for the crest of the crown.’

  ‘Now be careful,’ Des added. ‘Don’t damage any of the other pieces.’

  ‘Do you want this bit?’

  ‘What, that scrappy piece? It’s useless, mate. Knock yourself out Hogster; you can have all of those.’

  Happily, the demon scampered over to the pile and grabbed the piece Des had indicated. ‘Oh my, how wonderful, I’ll stash them with the others.’ He picked up a few pieces and scuttled off towards the back of the palace.

  ‘The glass…now!’ Des’ spear crackled but in comparison to Mal’s it sounded like a toy.

  Picking through the pile demanded all of James’ concentration. Pieces of glass lay precariously piled one on top of another. One bad choice and he would disturb the pile, causing a landslide of glass to collapse, most probably on him. He could sense the danger in his movements, just as he was aware that Mal was watching in the background, maintaining a persistent interest in him. Clearly, the demon was looking for an excuse to have another go. Should Des fail to administer the appropriate discipline, Mal would unquestionably relish the opportunity to do so on his behalf.

  As he worked his way slowly towards the brilliant shard of glass that was the object of his endeavours, James was struck by the richness of its hue. James loved to paint in shades of black. He knew that some people thought of black as a dull lifeless colour but, just like the black wells of his grandfather’s eyes and the light within them, this piece of glass was special. James sensed its magical attraction was powerful.