Darker the Shadow (The Howler King Trilogy Book 1)

by J. Lloyd Morgan

  Without moving his eyes from the glowing embers, Osbrik said grimly, “You’ll learn, my boy, or you’ll die.”

  Chapter 3

  Not one part of Wyjec felt free of pain. It was not unlike when he had felt the trickle in his mind and used it to protect his hand—his whole being felt weary. However, the toll on his body he felt at the moment was not for the same reason. He had been up before first light, worked the whole day with only a brief moment for a mid-day meal, and now the waning crescent moon illuminated the night sky. The Masters had been especially overbearing today. Floors scrubbed this morning had to be scrubbed again. More than one of the chardi had gotten splinters while attempting to smooth out the wooden benches and tables in the meeting hall. Even the chamber pots in the guestrooms were polished until they shined.

  Wyjec spent a good part of his afternoon bringing up bucketful after bucketful of water to the higher levels of the palace. It was a cruel punishment as the chardi were not allowed to drink any water unless provided by the Masters. Each bucket had lines near the brims, the water filled to the line. If Wyjec arrived with water below the bucket’s line, he would be punished—one lash per occurrence issued at the end of the night. He had not spilled even a drop.

  “If you can endure the pain from the test of the trodden,” the Master who gave him the task had said, “then certainly you are strong enough to be the water carrier.”

  It was not that Wyjec could endure the pain when the Master had stepped on his hand. Wyjec had blocked the boot from crushing his hand, still unsure how he had done so. His hand still hurt from when the Master stepped on it initially, which made carrying the water even more challenging. What had protected me yesterday? Whispers at the palace of the Masters told that the ability to create such a protection was rare enough. If the gift were possible, certainly only the noblest and powerful would have it—not the common person, and certainly not a lowly chardi.

  Before exhaustion sent Wyjec to the land of dreams the previous night, he had tried to touch the trickle in his mind again, but failed. Throughout the day, while he descended from the upper levels of the palace, he tried without success.

  But he had felt it yesterday. He knew what he had done and could not deny it. He would not deny it. With the trickle came hope—a feeling as rare as the Masters showing mercy to the chardi.

  On a wooden pallet which served as Wyjec’s bed, he lay down slowly as not to make any sound. The rest of the chardi were asleep, and it was an unwritten law between the chardi to let each other rest when given a chance.

  Upon stretching out his legs, Wyjec noticed a small tear in his leggings. He sighed. Before long, it would need to be sewn. The Masters dressed the chardi in simple clothing, but they were supposed to remain free from holes. Each chardi was taught basic sewing skills, though they were expected to do the work on their own time. Free time for a chardi was sporadic, which usually meant that the sewing would have to wait for the block allotted for sleeping. The hole would have to wait. I’m simply too exhausted.

  Placing his hands behind his head to act as a pillow of sorts, Wyjec tried again to recreate the experience he had when the Master stood on his hand. After concentrating for several moments, he could sense the trickle. There! He tried to grasp it, but it was like trying to pick up a tomato seed with his bare fingers. What is different now than before? The pain had been intense in his hand, whereas now, he was sore all over. Nothing hurt significantly more than anything else aside from his trampled fingers, but that pain had faded over the course of the day. Too tired to try again that night, Wyjec surrendered to the land of dreams.

  Pain. A sharp stabbing originated in Wyjec’s left foot, and then raced up his leg. At first, he thought it was simply night cramps, an experience happening more often as he grew taller. But this was different.

  Wyjec opened his eyes and looked down at his feet, bending his left leg at the knee to see if that would ease the agony. The sharpness of the pain diminished, though the bottom of his left foot still ached. Sitting up, Wyjec felt the sole, and his hand came away slick with wetness. His eyes adjusted enough to the moonlight coming through the room’s only window that he could see his fingers were red—blood red.

  Vermin! It had to be. Looking beyond his leg to the end of the pallet, Wyjec’s deduction proved to be true. Sitting on its hind legs was a vermin with long, sharp teeth glinting even in the dim light.

  How did it get in here? The chardi took extra care to plug any holes, no matter how small, in their sleeping quarters. If they did not, vermin would come in and chew on the soles of their feet. Wearing shoes or socks to bed was not an option because the chardi were forced to go barefoot everywhere.

  Scanning the room, Wyjec searched for the answer of how the vermin got in and found it. The door was slightly ajar. But I closed it! I’m certain. Perhaps he had been so tired that he forgot. No, he remembered closing it. All the chardi knew better. It had to be a Master—one of them opened it.

  As the feeling of outrage built up inside Wyjec, he sensed the trickle in the center of his mind, this time, more powerful than before. Mentally, he reached for it and was able to grab a hold. His sore muscles loosened, their ache replaced with another form a fatigue, something deeper.

  At that moment, the vermin skittered over to Wyjec’s right foot. It went to bite. Wyjec cried out No! in his mind. The weariness in his body increased as he directed the protection to cover his feet. The vermin’s teeth connected with his right foot, and though Wyjec felt the pressure, he felt no pain. The vermin squeaked loudly and jumped back. Its paws went to its teeth as if they were hurt.

  I must have shielded myself again. The extra drain on his already exhausted body seemed to be connected to when he used the trickle. But it was not enough. If the vermin could not hurt Wyjec, it would probably attack another of the chardi. There were no weapons in the room; the chardi were forbidden to keep any. With that thought, Wyjec became angrier. When he did, something remarkable happened. Next to the trickle he sensed something else. It was like the trickle, but different, like how the color blue was different from the color red. It was an apt comparison, though he could not say why. Keeping a hold of the blue trickle, Wyjec reached for the newly discovered red. He grabbed it, and the sensation was powerful. Whereas holding the blue trickle felt like sipping a cool drink, and it drained his energy, the red trickle felt like pouring warm water over his whole body which energized him—it was an odd combination. His heart started beating faster in his chest.

  In addition, Wyjec’s vision shifted. He could see the red trickle flowing through each of the chardi around him, with various brightness, as well as the vermin at his feet. It was subtle, like dew on morning flowers, but the trickle was there, as well as something else. A deep amber glow emanated from the vermin toward Wyjec’s right foot. Intention. Unsure how he knew, Wyjec realized the amber glow indicated the vermin’s intent, its focus.

  My foot is not your supper! Still gripping the red trickle tightly, Wyjec pushed with his mind against the amber glow. The glow shifted slightly to the left, and with it, the vermin’s head swiveled a little. Wyjec pushed harder, this time using the stone wall as a destination.

  The amber glow intensified between the vermin and the wall. In three quick bounds, the creature was to the wall, clawing at it with its hands and biting the stone with its teeth. Fascinated, Wyjec watched as the vermin continued, seemingly unaware of the damage it was doing to itself. Within moments, the vermin had worn itself out and had chipped its teeth to nubs.

  Gingerly, as not to step on his tender left foot, Wyjec arose from the pallet and picked up the exhausted vermin by the tail. At that moment, something wondrous happened. Next to the trickles which Wyjec defined as red and blue, two other trickles became manifest—though both were weaker in comparison.

  Still holding the nearly dead animal in his hand, Wyjec felt a connection between him and the vermin. It was like a thread, with each end tied to the very center of their beings. This connectio
n, Wyjec realized, linked with the new trickles. They were different still. Whereas the two trickles experienced before were associated with the colors of blue and red, for these—this thread between him and the creature—the colors yellow and green ran parallel. Aside from the different hues, the green felt as if it ran from him to the vermin, while the yellow was the opposite—as it if emanated from the animal.

  Instinctively, Wyjec plucked at the yellow element of the string. Three things happened at the same moment. First, the vermin’s twitching lessened, as if it was dying. Second, Wyjec’s left foot, the one gnawed upon, felt whole. Lastly, the other of the two new trickles, the green, disappeared. What remained was the sensation of three unique trickles: blue, red, and yellow.

  For a moment, Wyjec stood there, trying to puzzle out what happened. It’s all so strange. The vermin stopped moving. The yellow thread vanished, and Wyjec could no longer see any red glimmer in the beast. Soon, the realization that he still held the vermin in the middle of the sleeping quarters spurred him into action. The Masters would be cross if they found him in such a state. The chardi were not allowed to defend themselves.

  He walked over to the room’s only window, made from thick glass which distorted the images from the outside. The window opened on its axis, which Wyjec did by pressing against an edge of the pane. He then tossed the dead vermin out the window. He heard it splatter on the palace grounds below—several stories down.

  With the threat gone, Wyjec’s heart slowed, and in the process, he lost hold of the blue and red trickles. A sense of loss followed, but a feeling of elation replaced it. Anger is the key to accessing the trickles. With that singular thought, Wyjec made sure to close the door and window tightly.

  He sat back on the pallet to inspect the damage to his foot. To his shock, where there had been a gash, pink skin now existed. But how? And then Wyjec realized that his hand, the one which the Master had stepped upon, no longer hurt as well. The yellow trickle does something more; Wyjec realized: It heals.

  Chapter 4

  Jaunty music filled the air, and drink flowed in Logs Pond’s town center. Pendr sat on the edge of the granite fountain, sipping his spiced apple cider. He did not understand how people could be enjoying themselves. On the morrow, he, along with the other conscripts, would be leaving.

  “What’s this then?” a voice said to his left and behind him enough to be out of view. “Have you forgotten that this event is in our honor?”

  Pendr knew the voice. It belonged to Tikan, a lifelong friend, and son of Logs Pond’s stable master. Shorter by a head than Pendr, what Tikan lacked in strength, he made up in quickness.

  “I’m not much in the mood,” Pendr said. “We are, after all, headed to war.” Instead of being excited by the prospect, as he dreamed he would be when he was younger, Pendr found himself leery of change.

  “Sounds like the perfect reason to live as much as possible tonight,” Tikan said. He raked his fingers through his sandy, straight hair. “I’ll bet you a moon cycle’s worth of suppers Danla will give you that kiss you’ve always wanted.”

  Pendr scoffed. “I’ve never said such a thing.”

  “You haven’t had to,” Tikan said as he jabbed Pendr in the ribs. “It’s as plain as the leaves on the trees whenever you are near her.”

  Danla was the tanner’s daughter, a winter younger than Pendr and Tikan. As children, Pendr and Danla would play together because their parents were good friends. Once hair began to sprout from Pendr’s chin, his relationship with Danla shifted. She, too, changed, and he could not help but notice. Their parents would often tease that they would marry one day, and it was funny when they were little, but now…

  “You’re speaking nonsense, Tik. Remember, she’s been conscripted as well,” Pendr said. “I’d rather she’d remain here, safe.”

  “Bah, she’ll be safe enough. It’s not like she’ll be in battle.”

  Pendr took another sip of his cider. His father explained that the young women were conscripted as cooks, apprentice healers, and general laborers to keep the camps running. A few women were used in battle, but Pendr did not want to think about them. It made him uneasy.

  “She might not be fighting, but we will be,” Pendr said. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

  Tikan laughed, though it contained a hint of nervousness. “We’re going to be trained as bannermen and shield bearers. The knights, pikemen, and archers do the fighting.”

  “Bannermen and shield bearers are pikemen and archers in training. That’s what my father says. And regardless of our assigned roles, if our camp is attacked, we’ll need to defend ourselves.”

  “You certainly know how to take the enjoyment out of a celebration.” Tikan patted him on the back. “I’m going to go find a pretty girl to dance with.”

  Pendr watched his friend weave his way through the crowd. As an only child, Tikan was the only one conscripted from his family. Pendr’s other siblings, all girls, were too young. He could have had other brothers or sisters of age to be going with him, but his mother had lost two children not long after they were born. At the time, Pendr was too young to understand the anguish it caused his parents. He wondered if the grief then was worth the heartache they would feel now because those lost children would have been conscripted along with their oldest son.

  For the next several moments, Pendr sipped his drink and stared at the stars. He had never left Logs Pond. Will the stars look different where I’m going? It was an unsettling thought. There was comfort in familiarity.

  He spotted Danla on the other side of the crowd. She was standing next to two other girls of her age, Binca, and Michella. Danla’s light, blonde hair was just long enough to touch her shoulders. Though he only saw her from the side, he knew it was her. Binca noticed Pendr watching and nudged Danla. She turned, and catching Pendr’s eye, gave him a smile—not one of happiness, but a familiar smile between two people who had known each other a long time.

  Maybe I should go ask her to dance. Unsure why, he felt a stronger fear at that notion than marching off to war. Pendr stood, nodded to Danla, and then turned to head for home.

  The knights, true to their word, arrived soon after dawn. A total of eighty-seven young men and women had gathered in the town center, carrying what few possessions they were allowed to take on their backs.

  Several of the conscripts had celebrated with stronger drink than cider the previous night. Now the scales were tipped the other way. Tikan shielded his eyes from the morning’s rays, and several of the others were grumbling about how thick their heads had become.

  Danla stood next to her friends. Her sturdy woolen dress was practical in material and style. It was just snug enough to show off her curves. Like most of the conscripts, she looked nervous but was not crying, unlike Binca and Michella.

  At the front of the knights, mounted on his stallion and looking as regal as Pendr remembered, was Sir Fueron. With his visor raised, blue eyes scanned the crowd, and a hint of a smile peeked out under his mustache. “Good. You look prepared. I have every confidence you will make Logs Pond proud with your actions. Now, follow me.”

  And with that, the conscripts were on their way. Sir Fueron led the procession down the main road which stretched to the east, keeping an easy pace so those on foot could keep up. Pendr chose to follow almost directly behind the leader. The rest of the knights followed behind the conscripts, though Pendr was not sure why. Maybe they are keeping an eye on us to make sure none will run away. Residents of the town lined the road, waving and saying goodbye. Unlike the night before, there was no merrymaking. Pendr looked straight ahead. He had said his goodbyes this morning. His mother and sisters had cried while his father had given him a big hug and told him he loved him—something that his father rarely said, but had shown in other ways.

  A few mothers rushed out to give their sons or daughters one last hug as they left the town. Pendr was glad his parents showed restraint. Soon enough, Logs Pond was left behind.

  Tall, red
maples, all grown tightly together, reached toward the morning sky on either side of the road. Because of how closely the trees grew, Pendr could see no more than a dozen paces into the forest on either side from where they walked. None of the conscripts spoke as they traveled. Perhaps the reason for the silence was due to the knights remaining quiet, or maybe no one wanted to bring attention upon themselves. Pendr did not know much about knights, aside from what he heard in stories. One trait common among knights was solemnity. It made sense to Pendr; after all, fighting to the death was not to be taken lightly.

  Just before the sun reached its peak, Pendr heard commotion ahead. At first, he tensed but then noticed that Sir Fueron kept on as if there was nothing to fear. Upon getting closer to the sounds, Pendr could pick out voices and horses neighing. There was a bend in the road ahead, and once they turned it, Pendr understood why the lead knight was not concerned. Green and silver banners, rustling in the wind, flew above a large camp. Makeshift stables corralled horses on the outskirts with tents pitched toward the middle. The shelters varied in size, with the largest in the center.

  A muscular young man with blond hair rushed forward upon seeing them. “Sir Fueron!” he called out and offered a salute. “Welcome back.”

  Fueron dismounted in one fluid move and then handed the reins to the young man. “Ewan, what news?”

  “The conscripts have arrived from Umstead and Brentwood, Sir,” Ewan said. “We are still awaiting those from Willow Springs.”

  “Understood.” Fueron peered around. “Has Sir Lokan found a suitable spot?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Ewan said. “To the south and west.”

  Fueron faced the group who had followed him from Logs Pond. “The males will train with Sir Lokan. They will follow me. The females will remain here. Shortly, Mistress Halima will come for you.”