Ascending Shadows

by Everet Martins

  “No. Please, I beg you. We can be of use to you.” Senka felt herself crying, knowing in her heart she didn’t have the strength to face this enemy.

  Isa gurgled in the air, eyes bulging, hands tearing at the unseen force around his throat.

  “Please,” Senka pleaded. “Let him go!”

  “Let him go,” Greyson whimpered. “I have money. I can pay you! Name your price. I can give you land, servants.”

  Juzo’s eye swiveled back and forth between Isa and the man, his jaw hanging slack. Rivulets of blood ran down his chest, the holes patching up as dagger after dagger was extracted.

  “Money!” The man let out a hearty chuckle that reverberated through the room. “That’s uproarious! You speak of currency!” He dropped his hand, and Isa fell with a thud, collapsing like a heap of rags. “Men and their money. Do you ever learn anything? Will your kind always be so destitute as to place its importance above all others? Don’t you study history? Have you learned nothing at all?” The man’s cheeks flushed with blood.

  “Isa!” Senka scrambled over and dropped to her knees, sliding next to him.

  Isa clawed at his throat, choking for breath, his tongue spluttering on nothing. His throat was red with what looked to have been rope burn, as if he had been swinging from a noose. Tiny dots of blood circled his neck as if he’d been pricked hundreds of times.

  “Wh-what are you?” Isa choked, his cobalt eyes glowing with hate. He rolled onto his side, snatching up Senka’s dagger.

  The man sighed down at them with his arms once again held behind his back. “You have heard of me, I’m sure. I have traversed many times, many ages with many names. The Man of Reflections, Beast, The Great Deceiver, one of my personal favorites, The Wicked One, Yama, Demogorgon, and on they go throughout time. You may call me Prodal, however.”

  Isa narrowed his eyes. “Where have I heard that name before?”

  “Ah! You remember? I’m sure you do. You have an excellent memory. I spent some time with the Swiftshades, training you lot of killers for a time. Alas, my influence is eventually discovered, and I am ousted, forced to leave. The same boring story repeats itself through time and will continue until I no longer am. And you no longer are.” Prodal gave a dismissive wave and sauntered back to his chair. He grabbed his staff and worked it under his armpit, leaning on it for support. He looked tired, bored maybe.

  “Do you have any idea how much work it was to keep those— what did you call them— Death Spawn, was it? Yes, that’s right.” He nodded, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. “It was a tremendous feat of strength to keep those beasts in such a state. A wonderful creation of the Shadow. Alas, gone now like all things. They were entertaining.”

  “What do you want from us?” Senka asked, shaking her head, eyes wet with tears. There had to be a way out of this situation. She wouldn’t give up. He hadn’t killed them so there had to be a reason. Was he simply enjoying this?

  Prodal cocked his head. “What do I want from you? Well, don’t you want something from me? Isn’t that why you came here?”

  Isa snickered then broke into a fit of coughing. He finally gathered his voice. “I know what you can do for me. Make a portal to someplace on this cursed land where there’s a boat and no Tigerians looking to eat us for dinner. Then go fuck yourself.”

  “Consider it a deal!” Prodal clapped his hands then frowned. “Not so much with the last bit though, you understand.”

  “Wait—” Senka whispered. Something had just gone terribly wrong. This was not the sort of man whose help they should be taking.

  “Too late for that.” Prodal grinned, reading her mind. A line of shadow split the air with a thunderclap, the end-points turning counterclockwise and becoming an oval of night. Daylight filtered through the portal, showing what looked to be a port side settlement. There were at least ten huts with roofs covered in dried out layers of palm fronds. Beyond the small village, fluffy white clouds marched above the horizon, the ocean below glistening like gemstones.

  “It’s a trick,” Senka said. Freedom, a place of beauty, all merely a few steps away. She could see the boats too, three of them moored to docks with the pallor of driftwood. They were modest, but seaworthy enough to get them home by her guess.

  Isa scratched his throat and rose to his feet, seeming to fight to get his balance, forcing his eyes from the portal. “What sort of magic is this?”

  “We can’t trust him.” Senka turned to Isa, then swept her gaze over the others. Juzo was standing again, shirt wet with blood and holes, his wounds seeming mostly healed now.

  Greyson stood frozen, all but his head slowly shaking. “We should go. What other choice is there?”

  “You should listen to the young prince.” Prodal pointed with a finger she noticed was unnaturally long.

  She turned back to Prodal. “It’s not too late. We haven’t accepted your offer, gift, deal, whatever.”

  Prodal crossed his arms. “Truthfully said. Perhaps there is something else you desire? There are few limits, let your minds run wild.”

  “Have no choice,” Isa muttered. “Have to get out of here.” He glared at her.

  “Maybe there’s another way.” She put her hand on his arm.

  “Time is running out. The offer will not stand forever. Either accept now or live here, with me, for all of time. I’m sure the four of you will make excellent chamber mates.”

  Isa raised his chin. “I accept your offer.”

  “What?” Juzo gaped.

  “No! Isa!” Senka squeezed his arm, guts lurching.

  Prodal’s eyes flashed with a burning red. Within his eyes, Senka saw a sea of fire, souls swallowed in its tireless conflagration. She saw as a few figures made their way out of the liquid fire, scrambling for a shore of square-cut black stones. They were almost there, almost to freedom. A twisting giant’s arm rose from below the fire, bones jutting out from the elbow and shoulder like spikes. The arm ended with a hand that had two fingers tipped with talons looking sharp as a razor. Somehow, she knew the hand belonged to Prodal. His hand plucked the scrambling figures, inches from the shore, and tossed them mercilessly back into the flames. She could hear their shrieks of agony. She heard someone shout the name ‘Lillian’ over the din.

  The room returned. Someone was screaming. Isa was on his knees, his arm outstretched and hanging in the air as if held by unseen hands. The pungent stink of burning flesh filled the room. A strange symbol, unrecognizable words maybe, were being burned into Isa’s forearm as if someone were slowly branding him. Smoke curled up in wisps from his skin as the writing continued.

  “What are you doing?” Senka screamed and thought to attack him for an instant before thinking better of the futility. Against other enemies, her chances of success were slim, but against this one they were zero.

  The script went from Isa’s elbow to his wrist, flesh smoldering like coals around it. The burning stopped, and Isa’s arm fell by his side. He balled his fists, jaw flexing, likely stuffing down the pain. A soft whimper escaped the cage of his mouth.

  “Let that serve as a reminder of what you owe me.” Prodal opened one of his satchels and twiddled his fingers within as if depositing something.

  “What I owe you?” Isa balked, staring at his arm. He growled like a savage animal, rising on shaking legs. “I owe you nothing, wizard!” Isa pointed at him with Senka’s dagger.

  Prodal regarded him with a look of disappointment. “Oh, come now. You should know all things have their price. Has Scab taught you nothing? Have you been so blind to life?”

  Senka’s eyes went wide. “Scab’s tattoo. That’s how he survived. He made a deal with you?”

  Prodal gave a listless shrug. “He and many others. You won’t be the last, and he was not the first. Does anyone else desire something? Senka, perhaps you’d like to be able to touch the Dragon? Maybe then people might like you.” Prodal grinned showing his multitudinous rows of teeth. “Juzo, might you like to be mortal again? Not having to murder a ma
n every week to survive? How about you, Greyson…” Prodal rubbed his stomach. “Maybe you’d like the strength to defend yourself from those teens who jumped you a few months back when you opted to stroll the gardens without your retinue of guards?”

  “Thought you said you ate animals…” Isa narrowed his eyes at Juzo.

  Juzo grunted. “You dare pass judgment over me, Tower killer?”

  “Stop!” Senka cut in. “He wants us to fight. Can’t you see that?” She stepped between them. “We’ll make no deals with you, demon.” She ground her teeth, her jaw sore with the pressure.

  Prodal jerked back as if grievously insulted. “No one else? I can’t believe it. There is nothing more in this life that you’d like?”

  Greyson shook his head. “No.”

  “Fuck yourself,” Juzo growled.

  Prodal sighed and crossed his arms. “So long then, thanks for visiting.” He flicked his fingers, and the world spun into twisting colors. She saw the portal approaching and brought her limbs in protectively close as they fell through.

  EIGHTEEN

  A Fair Trade

  “It is difficult to gauge who is truly loyal and who is loyal just long enough to plunge their blade through your back.” – The diaries of Nyset Camfield

  Isa’s back thumped against something soft. He groaned. Sand. He worked his fingers into it, warm and fine as powdered sugar. There was sand down his back, sticking to his neck, between his chafed ass. Somewhere an indignant gull called. There was a familiar roaring in the distance, the crash of waves upon a shoreline. His nose stung with the iron tang of blood, his mouth filled with something salty. More blood. Then there was pain. It came in a furious song, both old and new pains colliding in a cacophony of misery. Even Swiftshades had their limits, he reckoned, though he was still far from his.

  He wrenched his eyes open with a gasp, fire scouring up and down his arm. He threw his head back at the idyllic sky, his jaw clenched, and the sun blinding his eyes while cords of muscle stood out of his neck. He stared down at his arm, the flesh an angry red around the blackened script Prodal had inflicted. He worked his hand opened and closed, glad to see it still worked. He was surprised it did.

  He rolled onto his knees and sat up. “Still burning. Why is it still burning?” he hissed through clenched teeth. Something gleamed off to his side, and he saw it was the shine of Senka’s dagger.

  “How’s it feel?” Senka was kneeling next to him then, shaking sand out of her messy hair. “Looks like we’re all still in one piece.” she peered about the group. “Everyone’s still alive.”

  “Like fire.” He swallowed hard. “Maybe some water will help.” The pain in his arm sang louder than all the others, even drowning out the ruined muscle in the left side of his chest. Isa propped his inscribed elbow under his other hand.

  “This is all I have,” Senka said as she inverted her waterskin on his arm.

  He watched the water curl around his arm, diamonds of light flickering in and out of existence. “It seems to be helping,” he lied and forced a smile at her. It only seemed to magnify in intensity. He couldn’t imagine how it must have felt for someone without his acquired pain tolerance.

  She bit her lip and gave him a nod of encouragement. “I’m glad.”

  He knew she saw through his lie. He inwardly smiled at her playing along with it anyway. Maybe he’d believe his own bullshit and the burning would wane. It had to stop eventually.

  “Looks like Prodal kept his word.” Juzo was standing over them, hand raised to shield his eye in the brightness. “Did anyone else see what I saw… in his eyes, I mean. Another world. The fire. It looked far worse than the Shadow Realm.”

  Isa grimaced at Juzo. “A land of fire and dark stones—” Isa hissed at a sudden stab of pain, felt as if he was being burned again. “Bastard is gonna pay for this. Oh yes, he will pay.” You are indebted to me. Do not forget. A voice in his head said. His voice, but not his thoughts he realized with an icy shiver.

  “I saw it too,” Greyson said. “What was that place?” He lumbered over to his spear standing from the sand at an angle. He pulled it out with one hand and hugged it to his chest.

  “I think I heard a name,” Senka said with a stammer. “Lillian. That mean anything to anyone? Could’ve been nothing, but seemed important.”

  Greyson shook his head, flicking sand from the back of his neck. “Madness, utter madness. Are we in a dream? A nightmare? This world, these things don’t exist!” He thumped his fist on his thigh. “They can’t be real. Like something out of a bad story written by a deranged author. A book only fit for burning.”

  Isa felt a strange empathy for Greyson then, maybe it was the crippling pain. Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped that a measure of kindness might sway the gods to help, rather than condemn him for once. “Sorry to tell you, maybe not so sorry, but this is all no dream. Unless we’re all here together in the same dream, some excellent creation of your mind. No, what you read in books about the dark side of life is nothing like the real thing,” he said, stifling back a flurry of winces. “Real thing is far worse.” He pressed a finger against one nostril, closing it, and sharply exhaled, blowing out a mix of snot and blood through the other. He repeated the gesture on the other side.

  “Lovely.” Senka snickered at him then paused. Gasped. Looked closer as she recognized Isa’s marking. “Scab had one just like it.”

  “Scab?” Isa growled. “Maybe explains how he never seems to die.”

  Juzo’s face froze, staring wide-eyed at the ground.

  “Juzo. What is it?” Senka asked, her face crinkled with concern. She reached out to him, stopping herself as her hand drew near.

  Isa eyed him. “Something wrong?” He let his eyes drift over the horizon, trying to find the source of Juzo’s worry. Nothing but sand, ocean, and the modest village ahead.

  “Say that name again,” Juzo said, his eye shifting to Senka.

  “What name? Lillian?” Senka sniffed. Sweat started to bead on her temples.

  “Yes!” Juzo stiffened and lurched back a step. “You said you heard it? You hear a last name? See a face?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Senka said. “Why do you ask? She might have been pretty. Hard to say.”

  Juzo frowned, tension slipping from his body. “I knew a Lillian once, a wizard from the Tower. She was… an old friend.” He smiled at some distant memory. “Well, never actually met her, but heard of her. She helped Walter. Sorry, muttering nonsense.” He scratched the back of his neck then looked at the village not more than a quarter mile away. “Looks like we might be able to get some rest here.” He sighed heavily.

  Isa followed his gaze and grinned at the sight of men. Not Tigerians, but men. Men and women went about their day, doing their duties, unaware that the group that just emerged on their outskirts had minutes ago been on the fringes of hell. It struck him then how strange it was that two men could be standing side by side, in the same barroom maybe, both in their personal forms of hell, unaware of each other’s struggles.

  Isa slicked a mix of sand, crusted blood, and sweat from his brow. Prodal had granted him what he’d asked, but at what price? What sort of debt did he owe him, and when would it be called in? Likely at the most inopportune time, he thought. Maybe the Arch Wizard knew of this demon, whatever he was, and could give him more information. There were so many new questions blossoming like a lotus emerging from the muddy depths with no answers.

  He looked down at the script on his arm, seeing it for the first time as something besides a source of pain. It was certainly a language, one he’d never seen before, not that he was much of a scholar. The letters were a series of continuous curves, varying in their degree of steepness and number of turns. He tugged his sleeve down, thinking it a prudent thing to keep hidden.

  “Deal with a demon.” He shook his head. “How could I be such a fool? You were right to not trust him, a mistake,” he sighed. “How will I free myself from this bond? Even now I can feel
it, not just the burning, but I can feel Prodal’s presence. Hard to put it into words. Like that feeling when someone is watching you, then you turn and there they are. Don’t suppose anyone can read this?”

  Everyone was looking at him, heads shaking.

  “It’s some sort of magic.” Juzo cocked his head, his eye glowing with a bluish light.

  “A useful skill, that,” Isa sighed, rising to his feet.

  Juzo shrugged. “Wish I could tell you more.”

  Greyson swallowed and started to speak, his voice cracking. “Y-you saved us. I thank you. We’ll work together to figure it out, to get you out of this. Anything I can do to help, I’ll do it. I have lands, money…”

  “About that, young prince.” Senka crossed her arms under her breasts, wincing as she bumped her hand. “Anyone else have secrets they’d like to share?”

  “Princes, peasants, kings, or queens. Men are all the same once you cut them open,” Isa muttered. “As long as you can pull your own weight, fine enough by me.” Isa regarded Greyson. “You saved my life princeling, so… thanks for that,” Isa said, feeling an odd warmth coursing through his chest, then averted his eyes at the sand.

  Senka shook her head. “He’s a ray of the Phoenix’s own light, isn’t he?” she said to no one in particular.

  Greyson started to say something, then stopped.

  “Well?” Isa prompted.

  “No matter, unimportant issue. We can talk later, out of the sun. Away from here.”

  “Right,” Isa grunted. “Everyone about ready to be off from his wasteland? Don’t know about you, but I’d be pleased to never return.”

  “Can’t wait.” Senka nodded with resolution. “Never would have thought I’d miss Zoria so much.”