Ascending Shadows

by Everet Martins

  Isa spun about, taking in the land. Behind the shore was a vast stretch of sand, choking weeds, the occasional bare and weather-worn tree. He looked up at the sky, trying to guess the time. It was as if an entire day had passed. “Sun was setting when we entered the Dread Temple, now high as mid-morning. Strange,” he said.

  “Let’s hope it was only a day,” Juzo said, his brows drawn down at some inner thought.

  They all exchanged worried glances, none of them seeming to think it was only a day.

  Juzo glanced down at Isa’s chest and gave it a look of disgust. “You really need to get that cleaned up and bandaged.”

  Isa grunted and felt at his stomach. “Hunger doesn’t feel like more than a day has passed. Doesn’t matter. Let’s get on with it.”

  He started for the village, scanning the figures milling about the outskirts and assessing whether or not they’d be threats. Two farmers were working together to till a patch of dark soil. It was an awesome sight, seeing dirt once again. He’d almost forgotten what it looked like. Sprigs of green emerged from another neighboring plot with a footprint about as big as four houses pressed together.

  There was a boy mindlessly kicking a stone along a path that curved between huts and leading to the docks. One of the farmers, a young man, yelped when he saw them approaching, abandoning his plow. The man waved and grinned. “Hey! You there! Humans. Well, oh my! What are you doing? Come on over! No danger here, no need for the weapons.” He wore simple brown woolen trousers, shirtless and covered in a sheen of sweat and dirt. He was lean and grizzled.

  Isa raised his hand to wave back, wincing at his twinging chest.

  The man limped over to them like he was nursing an injury. “Hey there, what brings you lot to Beachmarsh? Name’s Stawford. This here is Nadja.” He nodded his head back.

  The other man, presumably Nadja, was approaching, wiping his hands on a rag and broadly smiling. The man was built like an ox, stubby legs and arms and torso all slabs of muscle. “Welcome. Where’d you lot come from?” He furrowed bushy white eyebrows, skin tanned as leather. “Didn’t see you approach.”

  Isa started “We came from the Dr—”

  Senka cut him off. “We walked. A very long walk. Managed to escape Ashrath before we were sold into slavery.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Stawford said. “No slavers here, Tigerians don’t come out this way. Not worth the effort for so few of us,” he said with a triumphant nod. “Well, you must be tired. Come and have some water, food.”

  Greyson nodded. “Thank you, that would be wonderful.”

  They all exchanged introductions, then followed them between the plots of dirt towards the huts. “There a lot of you here?” Isa asked.

  Stawford shook his head. “Nah. Not many of us. Just five of us now, more once… the lad here is Gikta, our wives doing the wash by the water.” Gikta hid behind a hut, peering at the group with fearful dark eyes. Isa saw the women now, beating out linens and propping them on a line stretched between two tall pieces of driftwood. “Not to worry, you’re safe here.”

  Isa wanted to believe him but had learned long ago that safety was an illusion.

  The hut was low and narrow and smelled like sweat and burned wood. It felt like a palace because of the utter lack of terror he’d felt in Prodal’s chambers. It was peaceful. It wasn’t the trappings of a place that made you feel a certain way, but the character of the people within it. In here, there were no ominous feelings of regret, the shame of past mistakes pressing down on his back. He wondered if anyone else had felt the same in Prodal’s lair.

  The women ladled out a black stew of oily greens and small bits of chicken from a blackened pot into hand-carved bowls. They were worn smooth around the edges from what must’ve been thousands of uses. The scent of earthy spices wafted up as they poured.

  Isa tipped the bowl back, slurping up the last of his second serving. He’d never tasted anything better in all his years. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until now. Two long benches followed the curve of the walls, his group on one side, the men and women of Beachmarsh on the other. Gikta sat on the floor, his back against the hut’s makeshift door, staring at them like they just stepped straight out of his imagination. A firepit sizzled between them, atop the iron grate sat the stew pot.

  In the Silver Tower, these people would have been considered destitute, maybe caught begging for marks on occasion. Here, they were beyond wealthy. The hut was rife with treasures lining the walls, every inch for holding something useful. There were no pictures of dead kings or slain enemies. Tools of bone, handmade nets, tens of wooden spears, stone knives, shovels, strange animal skins, lines for fishing, unknown traps for hunting were just some of the objects on the walls. No doubt a resourceful lot.

  Nadja scraped his bowl with his fingers, dropping a long root into his mouth with a grin. He handed the bowl to his wife, Gallena, who ladled what looked like the last of the stew.

  Senka leaned over to Isa and whispered behind his ear. “I think we ate too much.”

  Gallena laughed, her voice musical and full of cheer. She reached over and squeezed Senka’s shoulder. “Not to worry at all. You need it far more than I do.” Her skin was a beautiful bronze in the firelight, eyes shining with a brilliant blue. Her cheeks were hollow, face long and narrow chinned, body all lithe muscle from the labor of village life. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun, streaked with lines of gray.

  “Go on and eat.” She waved at them. “We have plenty. Though if you’ll be staying, you’ll have to work,” she chuckled.

  Isa frowned and pushed his bowl aside. “I’m sorry. We’ve eaten your dinner.”

  “You have journeyed far, hungrier than us. Please,” said Thelsa, the wife of Stawford. The villagers spoke with a strange accent. “Where does your adventure end?” Thelsa was dressed in a simple gray robe of a purely functional cut, silvery hair tied back from a face of feline beauty, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

  “We’re heading to Zoria,” Senka answered. “The land of the Phoenix and the Dragon, the Silver Tower.”

  “A long swim.” Stawford gave a wry smile. “Always wondered what it was like there.”

  Juzo had expectedly declined the meal, opting for a glass of water instead. Likely wanted a glass of blood, Isa thought.

  Greyson cleared his throat, setting his bowl down and smiling at their hosts.

  Isa shrugged. “Zoria’s not much different from here, a bit more magic flying about.” No Tigerians trying to enslave you, he left the thought unsaid.

  Stawford slurped from a mug of strong spirits and leaned over his knees. “Got sharp eyes and sharper ears. Tell me, how did you make it so far from Ashrath with so little supplies? It’s at least a two week’s ride on Tougereback. I understand living off the land… but,” his eyes went to Isa’s forearm, sleeve pushed half up. “Don’t get the sense you’re ordinary folk, ‘specially Juzo. Well… I mean no offense. The red-eye is just a different thing. I—”

  Thelsa nudged him in the ribs. “What my husband means to say is that we are very glad to have you with us for this evening’s meal.”

  Isa wasn’t sure if he could trust them, but there wasn’t anyone else they could. They had to trust someone. “I thank you for the hospitality, and again for tending to our wounds.” Maybe they were just waiting for them to relax, let their guard down while adding a dollop of poison to the stew. Maybe like Senka, they were acclimated to its effects. He’d met cannibals before. Meat was precious in these wastes. The four of them would provide a week’s feast for their withered bellies. Isa sighed and tried to push his cynical thoughts out, and peered down at the fresh bandages over his chest. He had to admit, Gallena had a fine hand for stitching wounds.

  Greyson hunched over the fire and closed his eyes, gently rocking. The boy seemed like he had approached his last thread when the sun set, as if his body were suddenly breaking down. He’d lost some of the color in his face, his eyes surrounded by folded bags of exh
austion.

  “You can stay with us. Could use the help,” Gallena said with a pleading note.

  “We can’t.” Isa shook her head, and Senka nodded. Isa set his jaw. “We must return to the Tower.”

  “And I must return to my family,” Greyson said, his eyes flickering open as lucidity returned. “We must depart, but there is something we need…”

  Stawford leaned back and slowly raised his eyebrows. “I see. Well, we can trade.”

  Isa grunted. They were in no position to trade.

  Greyson’s eyes scanned about the room, going from objects on the walls to Isa, Senka, and Juzo. “Alas, we have very little.”

  “You can have him,” Isa nodded at Greyson. “Careful, never shuts up though.”

  Nadja and Stawford exchanged frowns.

  Gallena scraped the pot with the ladle, dragging out a stray root and dropping it into her mouth.

  “You would make an excellent court jester,” Greyson regarded him with a weary gaze. “My friend here is making a poor attempt at humor. We would be glad to trade.” He gestured and gave a friendly smile.

  Stawford spread his empty arms. “There are your weapons. Those daggers look finely made.” He swept his gaze over Isa and Senka’s hips where her Dragon forged daggers sat under their rope belts.

  Senka’s hand fell over her precious dagger, her hand gripping the hilt hard. He didn’t have to look to feel the waves of tension flowing through her.

  Isa felt the corner of his lip raise into a sneer, thought then that he should’ve just killed the lot of them and taken what they’d wanted. It would have been easy. Senka wouldn’t have been pleased, but she’d get over it eventually. He was conflicted. He had a mission to accomplish, but these people had clung onto life with their sweat and blood. It wouldn’t have been right for him to take that from them. Then there was the child. He glanced at Gikta, saw him staring at him with eyes wide as saucers. He sighed. They’d given them a tremendous kindness. The least he could do was to leave them unharmed.

  “I will not part with the blades,” Senka breathed.

  “The spear?” Stawford regarded Greyson.

  Thelsa smiled nervously. “Metals are scarce, so rare. We only have what we can find—”

  It was Stawford’s turn to nudge his wife into silence, shaking his head. “Well?”

  “It’s yours,” Greyson said with a quick nod.

  “I assume you want one of our ships,” Nadja rumbled and crossed his arms.

  Isa nodded, started to speak but held his tongue in lieu of Greyson.

  Greyson sniffed. “Yes, of course. A ship, some supplies for the voyage, fresh water namely, an extra sail if you have one to spare. It seems one, if not all of you are quite skilled craftsman.”

  “Nadja. Taught us all we know. There is something else we could make use of,” Stawford said, scratching at a scraggly beard.

  A long minute passed as bodies shifted nervously. “Yes?” Greyson prompted.

  Stawford shuffled around the firepit and carefully reached out to grab Isa’s wrist.

  Isa set his jaw. “Don’t try anything—”

  “Calm yourself, brother. Peace, you’re among friends.” Stawford raised Isa’s hand, staring at his manacled wrist. “This is what we need.” His eyes shone in the firelight.

  Isa felt a smile tug up his cheeks and touch his eyes. How long had it been since he last smiled? The feeling was foreign, but he was glad it was there. “You might want this one too.” He raised his other wrist, flicking the few dangling chain links and producing a ring.

  Nadja’s eyes were wide and gleaming with greed. Thelsa and Gallena shared quick smiles.

  “You can have these too,” Juzo showed his manacled wrists.

  “And these,” Greyson grinned, raising his arms. “A trade it is then?”

  “It is agreed.” Stawford nodded, failing to hide his victorious grin.

  Nadja’s chisel clanged and tore into the stump, the last bolt cut from Isa’s manacles. He huffed and dropped his hammer arm, already raised for another blow.

  Isa rose up from being hunched over, rubbing his wrists, scabbed, red, and soiled. He had forgotten how that bit of flesh felt to be uncovered. “Never thought I’d be free of those.” He grinned. “Felt like they’d be part of me forever.”

  Nadja glared at his chisel and hammer. “That was a tough one. Glad it was the last of them, chisel’s worn flat.”

  “Wish I hadn’t torn mine off.” Senka looked to be biting her cheeks. She rubbed the top of her bandages, colored in gradients of pus-yellow and the pink of blood.

  Nadja cocked his head and hefted his hammer, arms glistening with sweat in the new day’s sun. “Only wore mine for a month or so, still feels great to have ‘em off. They’ll always be part of you, that I can tell you for certain. Feels like you can fly, doesn’t it?”

  “Mhm.” Isa stared down at the two opened manacles resting in the sand, a pair of sheared bolts beside them.

  Nadja bent down to snatch them up, dropped the metal in a wooden bucket with the other two sets.

  Juzo was at the docks twenty paces off, packing the things their metal bought them onto the small sailboat. They got four barrels of water, a fishing rod, and salted bait, but no extra sails unfortunately. They got a few sacks of bitternuts that sadly tasted far worse than how they were named. Should’ve been named shitnuts by Isa’s accounting. They got a few cups, a set of woolen blankets, a bag of salt for preserving what they caught if they came upon some fortuitous surplus of fish. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough, Isa reckoned. They’d be on the lean side when they arrived in Zoria, but that was fine. He might have once regarded all of it as junk, now precious treasures. It was a strange thing how quickly one’s perspective could change with the right stimulus.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Greyson asked him, hands on his hips.

  “Oh, yes. Yes, it does,” Isa peered up at the crystalline sky and smiled. “Finally going home.”

  “May your travels be safe, and your gods protect you.” Nadja gave a hearty chuckle.

  Stawford shuffled out of a hut and waved. “A safe journey, friends. Thank you muchly for the trade. Stay out of the sun!” he laughed.

  Thelsa came out after him, shaking out a rag. She stopped suddenly, her smile falling, head tilting and staring off at something behind him. “What is that?” She squinted. “More travelers?”

  Isa turned to find what she saw, and his grin transmuted into open-mouthed shock. Not more than a half-mile away was a feminine figure in shining wine-red armor. Her eyes glowed with a fierce violet, standing rigid as a dead tree. The air seemed to shimmer around her, warping the light around her form as if it were a source of heat.

  “You who have wounded me. You who have challenged me shall pay for your defiance!” Her voice filled the world as if coming from everywhere all at once. “I sense my mother’s blood on your hands, her mark on your souls. I will make you pay!”

  Nadja’s hammer fell from weakened fingers. “You’ve brought a curse upon us,” he stammered and shuffled back. “Gallena! Gallena!” he yelled.

  “No.” Isa slowly shook his head, unable to believe his eyes. “Not a curse. Just the Shadow.” He wanted to laugh but could only stare. “She found us.” His fingers reached for the figure-eight behind his neck, burning at his flesh.

  “Move!” Senka screamed, dragging his arm and making him stumble back, still facing his enemy. A violet line of light cut the air in front of the Shadow princess, and twisted into an oval portal. The other side opened, bridging at least half the distance, maybe more, too much. She leaped out, her terrible face grinning with triumph.

  “Shit,” he breathed. “How did she find us?” He drew his dagger whispering from his belt, slowed his breath, slowed his heart. “The fucking mark. We fight. Stand with me!”

  Another portal blinked open, and she leaped through again, not more than a tenth of a mile away.

  The Shadow princess clawed her hands, her
black forked tongue flicking out of her mouth. She reached down at the earth as if pulling some unimaginably heavy weight. She was both stunningly beautiful and absolutely horrific. She was an enemy he could fight, knew she could bleed. He switched his knife hand into an overhand grip and ran straight at her.

  Prodal had made him feel like a worthless husk, unable to even reach him. With her, blood would stain the earth. He would make up for his cowardice under Prodal’s all-knowing eyes. He shook his head, dashing the thoughts of Prodal away.

  The ground cracked. Something rumbled. The world shifted with a hoarse scream. A yawning crease opened in the sand before the Shadow princess, tens of dark hands reaching out of its shadows. Demented figures crawled out of the ground. They were a mishmash of human and Tigerian body parts alike, all in the wrong places.

  “Death Spawn!” Senka hissed.

  One figure had four sets of legs, one set where arms should have been, the flesh bloated like a drowned corpse. Its face was hairless, eyes nothing but puckered masses of dark flesh, not unlike a pair of assholes. Its lips were gone, mouth a set of clamped down yellow teeth. Another had the shape of an ape, arms a swathe of twisted flesh as wide as tree trunks, legs long and narrow, head with a pair of forearms dangling from a hole that might have been a mouth. Another was at least partially humanoid. Its flesh was blackened as if it spent days in a fire, scarlet eyes embedded in opened palms, fingers spread to show gray fingernails as long as swords.

  Isa skidded to a halt, heart thudding in his head. “How?” he choked.

  “There’s too many,” Senka panted and grabbed his elbow. “We’ll die. Can’t face her alone.”

  At least ten more of the twisted creatures crawled out of the ground, spilling out like a kicked bee’s nest. “Maybe we can—”

  The Shadow princess laughed, piercing his head, wilting what little remained of his resolve. More and more of the creatures fanned out from the abyssal crack. “Shit! Run!” he swiveled in the opposite direction, his turn to drag her into motion.