Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden

by B. R. Nicholson

  They walked until the sun dipped into the mist, smothering them in damp night. Soon after darkness had fallen, Merrick could make out the outlines of a camp flickering by the light of a fire. The thought of warmth eased his mind in the wake of his current situation. The chill of the night worked its way into his bones, causing his body to shiver and shake.

  They approached a tent illuminated by torchlight. The sounds of growling and the clinking of mugs were muffled by the mottled cloth. Without warning, Merrick was thrown down onto the gritty, damp soil.

  “Hail, Chief Al’Rul, Fanger and Maggot have returned from patrol and request your audience.” The larger of the two, Fanger, stood straight as an arrow. Maggot, the snarler, snuck a swift kick into Merrick’s side. Fanger waited a span of minutes before continuing, his voice cautious as he called into the bustling tent.

  “My lord, we’ve found something you might find interesting,” said Fanger, his fists clenched nervously at his side. If his knuckles weren’t covered in thick brown fur, Merrick would have guessed they would have been bone white.

  “Or tasty!” Slimy giggles poured from Maggot’s snarling snout as the sounds within the tent suddenly ceased. Both Fanger and Maggot shrank back from the darkened opening as a great shadow billowed forth.

  A grunt of displeasure splintered the darkness. The earth crunched and cracked beneath heavy boots as the two mercenaries flinched, both dropping their gaze down to their feet.

  “What is this? What are you wasting my time with now?” A large beast with burning yellow eyes, gnarled horns, and a goat’s blackened face stepped out into the campfire light. Steam rolled form his nostrils as he ground his jagged teeth in disapproval.

  “He fell from the sky, my lord. Not too far from here. He may be valuable. Perhaps he’s one of those magical types, a wizard maybe. That would come in handy, wouldn’t it my lord?” Fanger looked up at the Chief eager for his approval.

  “A wizard could be more trouble than he’s worth, Fanger. Let’s see his face.” The Chief’s voice tumbled down like an avalanche, echoing deep within his chest.

  The great beast ripped Merrick’s grimy goggles of amber glass from his face, revealing frantic blue eyes straining in the dim torchlight. Desert grit covered most of his angular face but it could not disguise the golden curls peaking from underneath his leather hood.

  “Ha! You fools, it’s only a human. And a dirty one, by the looks of it.” The Chief puffed a cloud of foul breath into his face and laughed as he watched him gag.

  “So we can eat him, yes?” Maggot poked his out from behind Fanger, rubbing his eager hands together.

  The Chief tugged at the braids of his bearded snout with the tips of his fingers, contemplating the suggestion.

  “He would be of better use locked up with the rest of his kind instead of rotting in our bellies. Chain him up with the others. Don’t forget to take any weapons he may have. I’ll have both your heads if the slaves start another rebellion. And Maggot—” the creature turned his gaze toward Fanger’s whimpering companion, “no tasting, either! I want him in one piece.”

  Fanger and Maggot rifled through his clothing, taking anything of interest or that looked somewhat dangerous. The flesh-hungry Maggot slid his knife from the sheath and eyed it with a greedy smile before tucking it away into his own belt. He did nothing but lay there until they dragged him to his feet and herded him to another nearby campsite.

  They finally shoved him along to a large wooden structure with enormous metal spiked wheels. Chains and gears glimmered in the torch light. A great gleaming stove stood in the center, cold and uncaring as if it was carved of stone. He marveled for a moment at the size and craftsmanship, wondering what hands could have built such a thing.

  The feel of cold metal against his skin came as a shock, sending shivers down his spine. The creatures locked manacles on both wrists, taking time to spit their disgust at him before departing back to their nighttime duties.

  He took a moment to observe his new surroundings. He could see now that the structure was more intact than he imagined. Inside were an assortment of ropes and pulleys crisscrossed the ceiling like the web of a giant spider. Below, still bodies lying in bundled heaps were scattered across the machine’s floor, all silent and uncaring since his arrival. All of them, however, except for one. He could feel its eyes studying him. Its breath stopped short when he suddenly turned his body toward the attentive silhouette.

  “H-hello.” She sat up, flustered and sounding embarrassed, rustling the scratchy hay beneath her with jerky movements.

  “Hello.” Oh Gods, a female. That’s the last thing I need.

  “My name’s Amaeya.” Straw clung to her dark hair as she brushed loose strands from her face with a shaky hand.

  “Charmed.” He leered at her as he gathered a clump of brittle hay for his pillow and lay in the corner. He flopped over onto his side with a grunt, turning his back toward her and trying to ignore the sharp smell of piss and sweat that tore at his throat.

  “Wait, please don’t. It’s been so long since anyone’s talked to me. The others will have nothing to do with me.” Desperation crept into her voice, clinging to it like walking through mist.

  “Can’t imagine why,” he said, “You seem peppy enough for all of us.”

  “At least tell me your name.” Her voice was raspy. He wondered how long it had been since she had tasted water or even eaten.

  He hesitated, not knowing whether to bite back a bitter response or surrender to her pleading. The turn of the day’s events left him hollow and spent, yet a soft kind voice in a strange land can ignite even the smallest flickers of hope.

  “It’s Merrick.”

  She was silent for a moment. He imagined her smiling at her small victory over him.

  “Goodnight Merrick. And… Merrick?”

  “Yes?” His voice was barely a whisper to keep the pain at bay.

  “Thank you.”

  He shut his eyes tight, swallowing the guilt, trying not to catch it in his throat.

  “Any time.”

  Chapter Three

  Lestel watched in horror as his body leapt through the air from rooftops to spires and back again. Luthen snickered and cackled with glee, showing off his power over him like a wicked child pulling at the puppet strings. He finally stopped high on the very top of the tallest tower and directed Lestel’s attention toward a distant amber glow.

  Do you know what lies over there, my dear Lestel? No, of course you don’t. You know nothing of the world outside these walls. That, my darling little friend, appears to be a Phookan war party, a group of the deadliest warriors you could ever hope to meet. They don’t kill because of necessity, like most of these pathetic races. Oh no, they kill because they love it. They lust after the spilling of blood. Now those are my kind of people. We should introduce ourselves.

  Lestel’s body leapt from the tower, his arms stretched wide as his heart burst from his chest. However, instead on falling straight down as he expected, he zoomed throw the clouds as if he was carried on an unseen wind. Suddenly his world went dark, his consciousness pushed aside, like a candle blown out by a hiss of wind.

  ***

  Merrick squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recreate the vividness of his vision. He could still see her face and how her deep green eyes begged for help. He had to find her, but first he had to escape.

  He could hear Amaeya’s shallow breathing behind him, along with the occasional grunt or soft clinking from one of the huddled bodies. Mere hours had passed since he had landed in this strange land and he was already longing for home. Strong, icy metal clung to his wrist, making the skin clammy and raw. He peeled off his worn gloves and to feel each link for any signs of weakness. Rust scratched against his fingertip but he could find no gaps in the metal. His fingers dashed further down the chain, searching for its source.

  “‘Ey you! What the hell do you—”

  Merrick stiffened like a corpse. The wall above his head exploded into
millions of rotting splinters, shaking the machine with a thunderous crack. Warm liquid dribbled down below, spattering on his rigid body. The hollow glint of yellow eyes hung overhead.

  He could hear the pounding of heavy boots against the soft soil and the slither of many blades being pulled from their sheaths, ready to strike. Now was the time to move.

  His fingers danced along the wet, sticky chain, coming to an unexpected end. It had been blasted loose. He slipped the manacles off with extreme care, his strained gaze shooting around the interior of the machine like sparks. He stripped the mangled Phooka of its weapon without hesitation. It may not be his trusted bone knife, but it was sharp and would give him a fighting chance. He slid the curved blade into his thick, leather belt, its exposed metal hungry for blood. Amaeya’s round pale face shone up at him through the darkness. Though he had never seen her, he knew it was her. She said nothing, but her eyes begged for freedom.

  Merrick crawled over to her, careful to avoid rattling the chain. He could feel the festering wounds around her wrist as he fed the manacles through. Her skin was soft and cool, reminding him of flying with the clouds brushing past his face. She pulled away, shaking her head. He didn’t understand. Had living in such a place driven her mad?

  “Please,” her voice was a rough whisper cracked with sobs. “Just go—He’ll hunt me down. He always finds me. Please! Go!”

  His breath stopped short in hesitation. She was his only ally in this strange place. He knew nothing about the layout of the land, or even if there were any other dangers besides the creatures outside the splintering machine’s walls. His strong, rough hands reached up to touch the tears on her face.

  “You’re coming with me,” Merrick said, eyes flashing madly, “I’m going to take you far away from these monsters. But you have to help me.”

  She shook her head faster, struggling to pull away from him. His hands gripped around her wrists. He pulled her close, silencing her sobs against his chest. The manacles slipped off their chain, falling onto the soiled hay below.

  Merrick looked around at the surrounding prisoners. None had so much as moved. They lay like corpses, enslaved not only in body but in spirit. He pitied them, but not enough to change their accepted fate.

  The torchlight coming from outside hushed to a dull blue. Screams twisted their way through the darkness, making Amaeya clutch at him, her sobs suddenly silenced.

  Time to go.

  He rushed toward the door with Amaeya’s hand clasped in his, the sounds of chaos swirling around them like vultures. They ran past whimpering and gasping shadows, past thorny claws tearing at their heels. Upon reaching the edge of the camp where the clearing melded back into forest, a soft, raspy laugh floated after them, taunting their frantic escape.

  ***

  Chief Al’Rul ripped open the tent’s flap, gripping a gleaming mace tight in his clawed hand. The howling had jarred him from a deep sleep. He was prepared to have the disturbance repaid fully in blood.

  “Fanger! Maggot! What in the hell is going on!” Raging breath poured from his curling lips as the Chief jabbed his wicked mace into the air.

  The fire had died down to sickening blue embers. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. He could taste the bitter, metallic taste of old magic teasing him in the air.

  “Chief?” The Phookan soldiers were cowering behind the tent, wide-eyed and panting.

  “You cowards, I’ll have your heads stuffed for this!” He spat his disgust, raising the menacing weapon high above his head.

  “We… my, my Lord, we were outnumbered! Clearly outnumbered! PLEASE DON’T KILL ME!” Maggot squirmed on his belly like a worm before a hungry bird.

  “Quiet, you wretch! The only reason I haven’t killed you is because you’re my damn sister’s son. A blood quarrel with the likes of her is the last thing I need! However,” he reached down and grabbed him by horns, yanking him upright, “that won’t stop me from telling her you died in battle, like a good soldier should!”

  “My Lord, he’s telling the truth, he is.” Fanger bowed before the enraged Phooka, his hands open and exposed in the ultimate sign of weakness. “We were rendered powerless by dark magic. Whatever it is, it’s waiting for your arrival. It says it has a message for you.”

  Chief Al’Rul snorted his disapproval, however his grip loosened on his nephew’s horns, dropping him back on the ground. Maggot lolled on the ground, euphoric that he would be alive to enjoy his next meal. The Chief rolled his eyes at the sight and pointed his mace at Fanger, using it to raise his chin to look him in the eyes.

  “Show me where this bastard is,” his eyes burned into the lesser Phooka’s skull, “so I can show you how a true warrior acts.”

  ***

  “Your master seems to be taking his time. This simply will not do.” Luthen picked at Lestel’s teeth, both bored with the current lack of destruction and disgusted that an elf would leave bits of food trapped in his mouth like a common dwarve.

  The Phooka before him was twisted and disjointed, suspended in midair like a dandelion seed on a lazy summer breeze. Luthen had perched his new body on the lowest branch of a nearby tree. With a flick of the wrist, the Phooka was convulsing and thrashing about, gurgling howls of pain. The fleshy pops and cracks of tendons and ligaments ripping from their place were music to his ears.

  You hear that, Lestel? That’s the sound of a good time.

  The rest of the war party were scattered about, trembling behind bushes and quivering in the shadows. Luthen stroked his chin, deliberating which one should go next. The crashing of heavy boots broke him from his amusement.

  A tall, broad-shouldered Phooka burst through the underbrush brandishing a jagged black mace. “DEMON! I am Chief Al’Rul, greatest warrior of the Phooka. I am here for your head!”

  “So glad that you could join me,” Luthen said, fluttering down from his branch, arms outstretched, with a smile too big and eyes too empty to be alive.

  The Chief huffed great clouds of steam from his flaring nostrils. His amber eyes blazed in the darkness. He twirled his gigantic mace as if it weighed nothing, his blackened biceps shining with beads of sweat mingling in glossy dark fur. Matted hair hung in clumps over his jet black face, his large goat-like ears twitching in the tingling anticipation before a fight. He lowered his head, exposing his long, glinting horns, challenging his prey.

  Luthen watched the Chief in awe, a child admiring the mechanics of a new toy.

  The Phooka charged, roaring and gnashing his large, flashing teeth, the very ground quaking beneath each stomp of his boots. He raised the mace high above his head, now only a few feet from his prey. Suddenly, his muscles tensed, stopping him dead in his tracks. Luthen smiled, extending his arm far enough to place a mere finger on the Chief’s chest, toppling him over into a defeated pile of flesh. The Phooka’s body twitched, but nothing more. Only his eyes were left to move as they pleased, searching the darkness for vengeance.

  Luthen bent down to look close into the Chief’s face. His smile stretched an unnatural expanse, like a bow drawn back too far. Sooner or later it would snap.

  “I have a deal for you, my fickle friend. A bounty, I believe to be the correct word for it. I assume you’re aware of the city in the sky. Silly me, how could you not? It’s impossible to miss. How would you like the glorious opportunity to be the first of your kind within these walls? The first to, how should I say this? To spill royal blood,” Luthen said, leaning in closer, peering at the Chief with a hollow gaze. “That could be quite a victory for your kind. To think, your war party could be parading back into your filthy village with an array of Elven heads to decorate your lodge with by this time next week. And to top it all off, any loot, any trinket you find, anything of value is yours. So long as the queen is mine. What do you say, friend?” He extended his hand out, the empty word friend still slipping through his gritted teeth, and took the Chief’s, pulling him back up to his feet as if he had only stumbled.

  The Phooka burned hol
es into him, his eyes full of rage. Yet he stood still, contemplating the elf’s offer. He shook his hairy head in agreement, squeezing Luthen’s hand hard.

  “When and where? We will be ready with all the fury of our people.”

  “Splendid,” Luthen said, snatching his hand free from the Chief’s rough grip. “Meet me at the base of the city, tomorrow night. As soon as the moon rises above the mountains.”

  And this, my dear Lestel, is how you seek revenge.

  ***

  “I can’t run anymore. Please, I have to stop.” Amaeya’s words were nothing more than a wisp of breathlessness.

  Amaeya had been running alongside Merrick for what seemed like hours. Her legs burned and shook with each step and stumble further into the woods. Finally, as soon as the dawn trickled into the blackened night sky, they collapsed, panting and sweating, icy air stinging their lungs.

  “There. We’ve stopped.” He fell back onto the ground, sweat pouring down his face.

  She leaned against a tree trunk, eyes closed, breathing heavily from her open mouth. Merrick’s coughing jerked her away. She reached out her hand to him, grabbing him by the arm.

  His clothing, it’s damp. No wonder he’s ill.

  She immediately tore off her tattered cloak and wrapped it around his heaving shoulders.

  “There, there, I’ll have you warm in no time. The way you’re carrying on you’d think you’d never gotten chilled before.”

  He looked up at her, his blue eyes dulled and distant. “I’m fine, really. It’s just so damn wet. Chilled is one thing, chilled and wet is another thing. This doesn’t happen where I’m from.”

  “Where are you from? The moon? You’re so odd, it wouldn’t surprise me.”