Under the Shadow of Darkness: Book 1 of the Apprentice Series

by James Cardona

  “Yes, they are.”

  “Why, Master? Does the darkness kill the trees too?” Bel had never seen any other than green leaves.

  By the dim light of his mage-stone, Kerlith looked back at Bel as if he was wondering the same thing.

  Nes’egrinon spoke. “Where there is no life, there is no light. You know this, don’t you?”

  “Every First Year knows this.”

  “There is a big difference between being told to memorize something and knowing it. I did not ask you if you had heard the phrase before but if you knew it.”

  Bel did not know what to say.

  Nes’egrinon continued, “More on that later. For now, let’s assume you can’t pick out a monkey from a line up with a table and a banana. Okay?”

  “Err… okay.”

  “So this is pretty elementary metaphysics. Where there is no life there is no light. Yes? Right? All things have life and light in them. All things that are living. And all things must be constantly fed light, for creatures that are living consume life in order to survive. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Master. But the trees—”

  “Stop the jaw-jawing. Listen and learn. That’s the problem with you kids today. Always wanting to talk. Just listen. You have life in you. All of us do. And what you have learned from that school… What have they taught you of this? They have taught you to use the light around you, yes?”

  “Yes Master, but—”

  “But now there is no life around you. Only death. Only darkness. Only emptiness. So where will your light come from?”

  “From… inside?” Bel offered.

  “Right. Be wary. Be careful. Do not give too much of your light lest you extinguish your own life.”

  Bel waited for a while and said, “Master, then the trees. They are dying, and this is why their leaves bleed?”

  “They are not being fed life. What else could they do? The leaves are red. Soon they will turn brown. Then hard. Then crumple and fall away.” The mage’s voice cracked as he said it. He loved the forest.

  An old man, a young man and two youths trudged through the forest in the dark, only able to see a short distance in front of them by a diming mage-light cast from a single stone. They footslogged along surrounded by only the sounds of their breathing. Bel tried to look down but could not see his hands, or his chest, or any part of him. He felt like a floating spirit, moved along by the force of breeze, cast to and fro like a jellyfish in the ocean near his childhood home of Lavaala. He could not see or sense the ground in front of him but only placed his feet forward, step by step, in blind faith that there actually existed an earth to walk upon.

  As they continued on, Muolithnon said “Do you hear that?” and they all stopped.

  Nes’egrinon pushed to the front and said, “We are close to a village. Sounds like it is just past that ridge.”

  They walked slowly over the ridge and looking down the path saw a clearing and just beyond it, a small village lit by torches.

  “No,” Muolithnon exhaled. “It doesn’t have any walls. There is no rest here.”

  Nes’egrinon squinted at the younger mage in the dim light and continued walking. There was a group of people in the clearing with hand torches and they were surrounding what looked to be two ghouls. The four stepped into the clearing, just at the edge of the group with torches and the old mage motioned for them to wait. The pathway was downtrodden and beaten. The smell of wet mud and rank, wet grass pervaded their nostrils.

  “Wait! Please! You don’t understand!” cried one being surrounded by the townsfolk with torches. He was not a ghoul, Bel realized.

  “Wait? For what?” Cried out a brawny man. “So you can let them in?” The man pointed his torch hard at the second person in the circle. A woman.

  “Just let her go! Let her go back into the forest,” said another man with a torch.

  “Aye,” said the large man. “And send him with her.”

  Nes’egrinon stepped out of the darkness. “Hello, friends. We are weary travelers. Might we find shelter here?”

  The men with torches turned toward him and the large man swung his torch closer. “What manner of men are you coming out of this forest? Ghoul-kind?”

  The old mage replied, “We are men, like other men. Just men.”

  “Aye.” Muolithnon added. “We have come through the forest and the darkness. We seek only shelter for a short time and we will be on our way. We have coin to pay.”

  “Who has need of coin when the likes of these be about.” The large man spat at the woman in the circle.

  Kerlith followed the two mages closely. Bel felt like they were walking into a powder keg and wondered if they might be safer in the forest.

  “What are their crimes, if I might ask?” Muolithnon asked.

  A younger man spoke quickly, before the large one could start, “The woman, she committed no crime. She is dead. One of the ghoul-kind who now walks these parts. The man, he is her husband. He has been feeding her his blood. Keeping her in his room, in the inn—”

  The large man interrupted, “Right under our noses!” He swung the torch near the man and dead woman. “Can you believe it? He’s been keeping this dead woman in his room and feeding her his blood! Then, every night, all her friends come a calling, looking for more to feed on and him the whole time pretending that she isn’t in his room calling out to them.”

  “No!” the man cried out, shaking. “She’s my wife! She wouldn’t do that! Those others that came, they’re not like her. They’re… animals.” The man began to cry.

  Muolithnon mumbled to Nes’egrinon, “Odd one we’ve stepped into, huh?”

  The old mage stepped forward and said, “Good people. My name is Nes’egrinon.”

  Several of the torchbearers stepped back quickly.

  Nes’egrinon continued, “Perhaps you have heard of me.”

  One muttered, “The wizard of the forest.”

  “Good mage, if only you had been here some days ago, before this started. We have lost so many,” another man added.

  Another said, “Welcome, good mage, to Sha’ane.”

  Nes’egrinon looked at the village with a sudden sadness, “Sha’ane? Yes, it is. I have been here before. It has been a long, long time. I had forgotten.”

  One said, “Yes, yes. My great grandfather spoke of you fondly and often, especially just before he died. His memory was leaving him and he could only remember the old times, the times so many here would forget, the times of war and starvation. He said you saved us.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  Another said, “Master, what should we do with one such as this?”

  The old wizard looked at the two carefully then replied, “First, I would speak to them both.”

  The circle broke and the men with torches stepped back. The large man did not step back too far though.

  “Thank you, good mage. Thank you for saving me.” The man bowed deep in front of Nes’egrinon.

  “Do not thank me yet. I need information.”

  “Yes, anything.”

  “Give your wife some blood. I would speak to her.”

  The man had many cuts on his hands and his arms. He found a spot which was yet unwounded and cut it shallowly with his knife while the gray ghoul that he called his wife looked on eagerly. She drank deeply and her flesh gained a pinkish hue. She wiped the red from her lips and turned to the archmage. Smiling, she said, “What would you know of me?”

  “Tell me of your kind. How do you communicate?”

  “We are dead. There is no communication among us. Without blood, we are mostly silent anyway.”

  “And what of this claim. That you call to them.”

  Her husband blurted out, “It’s not true!”

  “Hold.” The old wizard showed the man his palm.

  The dead woman spoke, “I cannot. There are others though, among the dead, wizards of old, seers, speakers of the future, others with powers, those of whom I know little. Perhaps
they can do as you ask.”

  “And are there any such as these in the forest around us?”

  “Yes. I believe so, yes. Some days ago, when I was in the forest, I heard of one who spoke things, things that he could not know for certain. He said that four wizards were coming. And now here you are.” The smile left her face as the pinkish tint faded to dull gray. The woman looked longingly at her husband’s bandaged arm.

  The archmage stepped back to council with Muolithnon, “So, what do you think?”

  “It is a tough one, it is. For me, keep the villagers happy. We would like to stay here, would we not?”

  “Well said.”

  To the man Nes’egrinon motioned. “What would you do? Go with your wife, or stay here? You cannot do both.”

  The man looked lovingly at his dead wife’s gray face and choked out, “I have no reason to live without her. I will go to the forest.”

  Bel’s face fell as the two walked out. Kerlith smiled for some reason. The other torchbearers returned to the village. The large man spat then turned away.

  Nes’egrinon said, “Come. Let us find our way to an inn.”

  Chapter 7

  The Mayor of Sha’ane

  Bel’s eyes snapped open and for a moment he had to think about exactly where he was. In the inn. In our room. He heard screams coming from beyond the door. They sounded distant yet he was sure they were from somewhere in the building. The young man slowly reached back behind him trying to determine if Kerlith was still in the bed. He wasn’t. Bel rolled over in the darkness and felt around. The spot Kerlith was in wasn’t even warm. He had been gone for some time. Bel sat up and tried to look around but couldn’t make out much.

  “” Bel softly spoke the language of the ancients, calling for light to come into the room. He half expected nothing to happen in this land of eternal darkness but some light flickered into the room from under the door. Bel felt badly about calling it, knowing that it’s source was probably the life-force of one of the villagers in the inn. He was burning a moment of that person’s life only so that he could see in the dark room, taking a tiny portion of life in a place where it so was so precious and rare. The dim light flickered and danced and Bel hurriedly looked around, trying to locate his staff as he did not want to have to call in more light. Neither Nes’egrinon nor Muolithnon were in the room either. Their bed was turned down but empty.

  “” Bel called out to his staff, suddenly worried since he could not immediately locate it. It was not where he left it. The staff bounced from below a small pile of clothing and bounded up into his hand.

  Bel stood and let the light enter the tip of his staff. The screams outside of his room grew louder. He walked to the door, opened it and stepped out. Standing on the elevated walkway Bel looked down upon the dining area of the inn. The four of them had eaten there before they retired to their room the night before. Nes’egrinon had seemed pensive but enjoyed the roast duck. Kerlith sat eagerly at his master’s side and goaded Muolithnon into telling “just one more story” for the barmaids and locals. Of course his master needed no such motivation to tell another tale of his greatness.

  Now there were ghouls attempting to feast upon human flesh and not a wizard to be found anywhere. A ghoul charged the bartender, diving over the bar and tackling him. Another set of ghouls surrounded a woman, the barmaid from last night, she on one side of a table and the two on the other. They were each moving from opposite sides, giving her no way of escape. Another ghoul, a woman, was bent over a table and draining the blood from a small child. She stopped and began crying as her flesh became bright and lively then cried out, “No! The blood lust! I have killed mine own sweet Tor!” She ran, slamming herself into a wall, then out of the room screaming. Tucked into a corner was a man, hiding, riddled with fear. Bel was mesmerized by the scene.

  “Blood!” one of the ghoul-kind howled out from just down the aisle from Bel. It startled him. He quickly turned towards the voice and pulled healing into his body. As the ghoul charged towards him, grabbing his shoulders, the two tumbled forward and Bel fell. The ghoul quickly leapt back screaming, “Aaarrgh!” The creature looked down at himself and seeing his gray flesh quickly turn mottled and black, ran down the steps and out the door. The rest of the ghoul-kind looked up at Bel as he stood and addressed them, “Leave now or I’ll do the same to you!”

  Most of them began to exit. Bel crept down the staircase and looked at the bloody table and the body of a small child. Sucking sounds came the bar area. Bel quickly drew life-energy into himself and stepped behind the bar to see a ghoul squatted over the fallen bartender.

  “” Bel said, commanding the ghoul to leave.

  “Make me,” replied the gray fiend without turning around to see whom he was addressing.

  The bartender appeared to be dead. Bel reached deep in his belly and pushed hard. He pushed forth life and light and goodness, channeling it into his arm. He stretched forth his hand to the dead man and attempted to place his palm on his forehead. The dead man swung his head around and bit Bel’s hand but where his teeth touched Bel’s skin, smoke erupted. The gray-skinned man released his bite and slumped back.

  “How?” the ghoul exclaimed, rubbing his mouth with his hand.

  “ I said.”

  The ghoul looked down at his victim and back at Bel with a snarl of disgust then slid himself over the bar and quickly exited the room.

  Bel shook the bartender who coughed hard. He was not dead. Yet. The young mage in training helped the man to stand.

  “He was my partner,” The bartender said. “One of the first to go.”

  Bel, seeing bite marks on the man’s chest, placed his hand over them and pushed in healing, hoping that it would be enough, hoping that the man would not join the dead in the forest. The man gasped hard as life entered him.

  “He hated me. Thought I cheated him out of a sum of money. I didn’t. Honestly. I didn’t. Even in death, he cannot forgive. But I am innocent.”

  Bel stood and left the man, walking toward the exit doors and the screams and moans and unknown chaos. Bel adjusted his shirt at the door, grabbed his breath and mumbled, “Okay. Let’s do this,” and opened the door and stepped out.

  Nes’egrinon, Muolithnon and Kerlith were all in the street battling the ghoul-kind. The young man and his master had their hands on their mage-stones, blue and red lights swirling around them. The old wizard simply stood near them calmly. Some villagers were heaving oil from the second floors of their buildings. Others were throwing torches, trying to burn the creatures. Many of the dead, the more aggressive ones, ran from the surrounding forest into the village, attacking as they ran and continuing back into the forest in a loop. It was a constant stream of bestial ghouls whooping, screaming, swinging their arms and weapons, thirsty for blood. Most of the other ghoul-kind held back at the forest edge, watching like spectators, perhaps waiting for the town’s defenses to fail, the longing for blood on their faces mixed with a sort of guilty embarrassment at what they knew they were being driven to do. Bel realized that these were the simple townsfolk, recently dead, not wanting to become marauders like the others but yet still driven by the desire for blood, the desire for life. It was something that they could not escape. The others, the ones attacking, were, by their behavior and dress, the town outlaws, drunks and thieves. They howled, leapt, spun and made terrible, angry faces. How good could they expect their behavior to be in death considering how it was during their life times? It is these evil dead that are the problem, Bel thought. If we can be rid of them, the others will not attack.

  Bel called life into his staff and was surprised to see wisps of light flickering out of the surrounding villagers chests, some from the second floor balconies, and quickly gathering into the head of his staff. Bel said to himself, “This is real. This is real. This is what I have been training for the last six years. I am about to get into this real stuff. I am not a Fifth Year anymore. I am an apprentice. I am going to do th
is.” He stepped off the front porch and headed towards the others in the center of the roadway, uncertainty still shaking through his frame.

  Nes’egrinon glanced over at Bel. “Fifth Year, quickly. Join us here. We want the ghoul-kind to focus their attacks on us. To keep the villagers out of the line of fire. They will be drawn to our mage-blood.”

  He skipped over to them and held his staff high. He was nervous. He was shaking. But he was really excited. He knew the dead would stream toward them. No one knew why but ghoul-kind could smell mage-blood. And for some reason when one of the dead drank the blood of a mage, the effect lasted much, much longer. All the dead would want to drink the blood of the masters and Bel and Kerlith were standing next to these two giant targets.

  What to do? What to do? What to do? Bel knew that healing worked. Kerlith had told him as much and now he had seen it with his own eyes and by his own hands. But it was risky because he would have to touch the ghoul and he could only reliably do it to one at a time. Of course there was the trick that his master did, tricking the ghoul-kind into thinking that he could destroy them all with a word. But how long would that last? The villagers seemed to be doing all right with fire though. The ghouls were certainly susceptible to it. As soon as they caught fire they would immediately run back into the forest, screaming their dead heads off. Several trails of fire and burning ghoul entrails could be seen streaming into the forest. It smelled none too nice either.

  A handful popped out from behind the edge of a wall and charged them. They were close, too close and running at them in a full gallop. Nes’egrinon slammed his staff into the ground, sending out a tremor, collapsing the group to the ground. Kerlith stumbled then latched onto Bel’s shoulder and braced himself, nearly falling down in the quake.

  “Come! Let’s go!” howled the leader of the small band, pulling the arms of one of the others up and pointing toward the mages but the others retreated.

  “Let’s see how much longer that works,” Muolithnon muttered under his breath.

  Just then, a dead man leapt off a roof just over the young wizard’s head screaming, “Aaaahhhh!”