Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden

by B. R. Nicholson

  He laughed, which resulted in another fit of coughing. She pulled him closer, trying to warm him. The chirping of crickets flooded her senses. She had forgotten how lovely they sang under the brimming moon.

  “Somewhere very far away from here. Somewhere I hope you never have to go, and yet I feel like I’ve left so much behind,” Merrick said, his eyes distant and cloudy. “Let’s get some rest. While we can.”

  She nodded, for the most part to herself. Merrick had already shut his eyes, his breath nothing but a faint wheeze. She nuzzled her face against the scratchy cloak, thinking about her family and friends from years past, wondering what they would be like if they were still alive. What would life have been like if she had never been stolen from her home so many years ago? Probably married off to some dowdy farm boy, raising a litter of children, biding my time until they finally grew up and did the exact same thing.

  She remembered as a child always fantasizing about adventures and faraway places that were only told about in whispers, yearning for her life to become a bed time story of her own. Until, that is, her entire village was burnt to the ground by none other than the savage Chief Al’Rul. She had been one of the survivors, taken prisoner and marched miles away from everything she knew. During that time, the Chief had grown fond of her, but not enough to show her any kindness. She had quickly become his personal favorite, like a pet, brought before him to sing childhood songs or tend to his wounds. However, no matter how hard she tried to accept her fate, the Chief’s cruelty toward others made her heart plead for a miracle.

  One clear night, when she was only sixteen, she had finally decided to escape once and for all. She had been with the war party for so long that they had grown lax in securing her chains. That night they had forgotten to lock her shackles all together. She hadn’t even made it a mile before the Phookan Chief dragged her back by the hair. She remembered how the blood and sweat from her scalp had burned as it dripped into her eyes and how the scars on her legs from being dragged across the rocky ground had never faded.

  “I will always hunt you down,” he had said, eyes blaring and voice gruff. “I will always find you. I own you!”

  His voice echoed in her mind, bringing fresh tears to her eyes. He would find her. She knew the way they hunted, how they could pick up a trail from what seemed like untouched forest.

  She lay there smothering her sobs and dreading the day that those yellow eyes would once again burn holes into her soul.

  Chapter Four

  Evanna’s eyes opened to rays of early morning sunlight freckled across her ivory bedroom. Birds chirped with glee, announcing the arrival of a new day. The cool, crisp autumn air smelled sweet with ripe orchard apples as it fluttered past the silky curtains. She smiled and stretched her arms wide. Astrid had wriggled away from her during the night and lay curled up on the far side of the bed. She was still fast asleep with her thumb stuck halfway out of her mouth. It was hard for Evanna to believe she was already eight years old.

  She slid her feet from the cream colored covers and onto the frosty white floor. Gritting her teeth against the cold stone, she grabbed her shawl that hung on a nearby chair and pattered out of the room and down the corridor. The morning was still quite young, however that didn’t stop the occasional servant from bustling about to and fro. They only stopped long enough for a clumsy bow or unbalanced curtsy before scurrying away to their destinations. She couldn’t help but think of them as frightened mice fleeing from a hungry housecat.

  Servants are such silly things.

  Evanna came to the half-opened door of her daughters’ bedroom and pushed it the rest of the way open, making only a small hush on its well-oiled hinges. Inside sat a tidy little girl on one of two large identical beds. She held a porcelain doll with wide empty eyes. She was brushing its long brown hair, watching the curls bounce away from the bristles with an eerie intent.

  There had always been something odd about the child, some hidden sense of order that seemed unnatural for a girl her age. Evanna had always pushed any suspicions aside, but sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder if her little girl had ever really been a child at all.

  “Good morning, Mother. I trust you have slept well. Even if you did let Astrid break the rules again.” She looked up from her doll only long enough to a flash a cold, jealous stare.

  “Oh Anya, you know if you were ever frightened at night you could do the same thing.”

  “But you said we weren’t supposed to leave our rooms!” Anya’s face mirrored the flat expression of her doll.

  “Not to wander about as you please, no,” said Evanna, edging herself closer to her daughter.

  “It’s still a rule, and she broke it.” Anya’s cheeks started to blush with anger, cracking her ice cold composure.

  “Well then, let’s do away with it then. No more silly rule.” Evanna reached out to stroke her daughter’s long dark hair. She jerked away from her mother’s grasp like she had been stung.

  “She still broke it.” She clutched her doll in her arms and slid off the bed, running past her mother and out the door.

  Why didn’t anyone tell me being a mother was so difficult? Evanna thought, trying to hide the hurt on her face.

  While she shook her head as if trying to shake off her uneasiness, her mind suddenly snapped to Lestel’s absence. Oh, my. The poor thing’s probably half-starved by now.

  Evanna shuffled out the door and down the hall. The library’s door looked even bigger than she remembered. She clenched the shiny brass handle and pushed. The hinges moaned as the large door swung open. The library was as dark as midnight.

  “Lestel? Darling? Are you there?” She stepped inside, feeling her way past mounds of papers and books. The air was dank and heavy with a strange, musty smell. “Lestel? Where are you?”

  Her eyes strained against the shadows, trying to make out even the faintest bit of light. Such deep darkness frightened her, though she never knew why. She could feel her heart pounding in her throat as she held her breath, trying to listen for any sounds of movement. Dense silence pressed in on her, throbbing in her ears. She released a huff of breath, disappointed and very confused. As she turned to leave a strong hand clawed her shoulder. Screaming at the shock, she stumbled free, turning to face the owner of the mysterious hand.

  “Lestel! Don’t you ever scare me like that again!” Her hand rested on her heaving chest while her husband’s smiling face shone down at her.

  “I’m sorry my dear, I couldn’t help myself.” Dark circles clung underneath his eyes and his shoulder length brown hair shrouded his ghostly face.

  “I was worried about you so I came to check on you. You look ill, maybe you should go to bed for a while.” She reached up to touch his waxen face but he pulled back just beyond her reach.

  “I feel quite fine. In fact, I feel better than ever. I have something to show you. Tonight, though. The sunlight wouldn’t do it justice.” His words poured over her like ice water, numbing her to the core.

  Evanna nodded despite a strange nagging tickle at the back of her mind. He looks so pale. Not himself at all.

  “What is it?” Her voice was distant, unsure whether her worry was warranted or just her imagination.

  “If I told you,” he reached his hand to the door knob while escorting her out with the other hand, “it wouldn’t be a surprise.” Before letting her go, his nose brushed against her hair, breathing in her scent, sending chills down her spine.

  Evanna stood alone in the corridor long after the door had creaked shut, not knowing what to think. Going without sleep did strange things to the mind. Shrugging off Lestel’s odd behavior, she strolled back to her bedroom to get ready for the day. After all, there was much to do.

  ***

  Merrick found himself standing in an empty room. Tall windows yawned before him with silver curtains fluttering like ghosts. Black mountains stood far in the distance as the moon rose from behind with an unnatural speed. A woman with long waves of blond hair walked p
ast with hushed footsteps. She reached the window and turned to face him. He realized she was actually looking further past him. It was the same elf from before, her green eyes glowing in the darkness. She opened her mouth but the words were muted and distant, as if he were hearing it with hands over his ears. Suddenly her widened eyes snapped to his.

  Look to the city in the sky. He will kill us all.

  She fell back over the window’s ledge. Merrick ran toward her, only to find he was falling too. Suddenly, he was swallowed up by darkness, thrashing against the sounds of his own screams.

  “Merrick! Wake up, it’s only a dream!”

  His eyes burst open. Amaeya was leaning over him, her honey brown curls dangling over his face. Her green eyes were touched with amber and honey, radiating comfort like sunlight in spring.

  “I saw her again. I have to find her,” said Merrick, squeezing the words from the tightened grip of his aching lungs.

  “What are you talking about?” She felt his flushed face, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re still feverish. You need to rest.”

  “No you don’t understand. I have to search the sky. She’s in the sky.”

  Amaeya stopped and stared deep into his eyes. “What did you say?”

  “She’s in the sky. I don’t know how, all I know is that I have to find her before it’s too late.” He looked deep into her springtime eyes. She touched his face with a soft touch that reminded him of his dead wife—

  “Rest now. We’ll search for your lady friend when your fever breaks. Please, sleep, before you get worse.”

  “Promise me you’ll help me.” His eyes rolled back and forth, glazed over and bleary.

  “I promise.” She smiled, wrapping him tighter in the sweat-drenched cloak.

  He heaved a sigh of relief. A strange part of him felt like everything would turn out right because of her promise.

  If only it were that simple.

  ***

  Fanger Al’Rul pawed at his beady, sleep-ridden eyes, cursing the fool god who invented mornings. Last night had been one to jump right to the top of his list of the things most unpleasant, zooming past the one and only time he ever shared a tent with his disgusting counterpart, Maggot.

  He scratched at his bottom, shaking the horse flies from his tail, and yawned as if he hadn’t slept in years. Whatever appeared last night had certainly made an impression on his father, the Chief. He had ordered the entire war party to pack up and prepare for march at dawn. Fanger and Maggot were in charge of the slaves and the transport of the war machine.

  He waddled over to the strange craft. Its large metal wheels gleamed a wicked black in the morning light. A gigantic trebuchet lay perched on its top, lashed down and waiting for battle. Its dark wood was warped from seeing one too many thick morning fogs. The war party had stumbled across the war machine, another abandoned weapon of war made by the humans. They always created more and more efficient ways to kill each other. Fanger chuckled, wondering if anyone was willing to wager with him how long it would take before they would finally kill themselves off.

  The last few decades had been even more violent than years past. Phookan war parties were nothing compared to the slaughter the humans inflicted upon themselves. Fanger had already seen enough battle fields to know that there was little honor among the race of men. If two Phookan tribes were in disagreement, the Chiefs would battle, not their people. The unnecessary killing of other Phooka was looked down upon. The unnecessary killing of other species, however, was strictly sport.

  “Maggot! ‘Ey, you filthy beast, get up, before I chop off your mangy horns and use ‘em as an ass scratcher!” Fanger kicked him in the rump, sending a puff of dirt that had been caked in his companion’s fur drifting through the air.

  “OWWWW! You should know I’m of a rather delicate composition. My poor mum said so herself, she did.”

  “I don’t care if she said you were a fairy princess, get up!” Fanger grabbed the cowering Phooka by the horn and dragged him up to his feet. “Come on, we’ll be leaving any minute now and those damn slaves are still snoozing away. We need to get them out and ready to march and pull that blasted machine! Are you listening?”

  Maggot snapped his eyes back to his, scratching at his chin like he was going to say something best left unsaid. “Oh yes. Do you know what’s for breakfast?”

  I wonder how hard I would have to hit him for him to not remember I hit him at all.

  “Maggot. Dear, sweet, simple Maggot.” Fanger tried his best to form a natural smile. Instead his snout curled up in an instinctual snarl.

  “Yes… my sweet, sweet dearie Fanger.” Maggot played the coy maiden, batting his stubby eyelashes and giving his best bashful smile

  .“GET TO WORK!” Maggot scurried away before Fanger’s swinging fist could catch him. Fanger snorted, huffing over his disappointment that he had missed his chance to leave some remarkable bruises.

  Fanger staggered over to the war machine. Maggot had already begun unlocking the wheels. They stood towering over him, with spokes measuring as long as hip to heal. Fanger could hear him panting as the squeal of unoiled metal warbled through the air.

  Fanger stepped up to the door to the undercarriage where the slaves slept, fiddling with a tarnished brass key. He shoved it into the lock, and instead of the familiar click, the door squealed away from him. Damn it. We did it again.

  “Rise and shine, time for another wonderful day! On your feet, or you’ll be tasty meat, that’s what I always say. Not that any of you worms look tasty. Maggot might disagree with the likes of me, wouldn’t you, my dirty little Maggot?”

  Maggot popped his head in the door, once again fluttering his grimy eyelashes. “Did somebody say meat?”

  Fanger’s fist barely managed to graze Maggot’s cheek as he dashed back outside.

  One day I’ll get him right where it hurts.

  “Come on, now! UP!” Fanger’s eyes quickly adjusted to the pitch black inside the war machine. Small wafting motes spun from the ceiling to glimmer in the early morning rays. If his senses weren’t assaulted by the rank smell of human piss it would have been almost beautiful.

  Suddenly stiff, jerky limbs came alive, trying to pull and push their waiflike bodies to their feet. He watched them, smirking at their pale, shaking bodies. They seemed to be getting weaker. That won’t do at all. ‘Bout time to get some fresh pairs of legs. He kicked at one body that took longer rising than the others. Only one human would dare do that to him.

  “Amaeya! I’m in no mood for your games! The Chief will want you by his side today, he will, especially after a night like last night!”

  Fanger snatched the fraying blanket from the body, growling at her sluggishness. His body froze with his yellow eyes wide as an owls as he studied the corpse before him. The human’s face was contorted in a mixture of pain and fear, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Large splinters of wood stuck out of its face. One very bloody sliver stuck out of its neck, blood congealing into a slime with a strong, biting metallic smell.

  Fanger kicked the body, enraged that he had allowed himself to be frightened by such a pathetic sight. He grabbed the nearest slave by the throat and pulled him upright.

  “What happened here? What did this? Tell me now or I’ll gut you!” Fanger’s eyes had paled to almost white. He was mere inches from uncontrollable panic.

  The slave’s head lolled up to look at him, its eyes glazed over like dirty glass marbles. Its mouth opened only to gurgle and moan.

  Fanger roared, drawing his sword and pressing the hungry steel against the human’s bulging neck. Its empty eyes rolled around its head until they stared up and over his head. He noticed the shuffling and scraping sounds of the other slaves had ceased. They all stood staring, unmoving as withered trees.

  He shoved the human away from him, gripping his sword tight in preparation for whatever stood behind him

  Fanger whirled around, ready to fight. His mouth flew open and his sword fell from his fingers, clanging on
the dirty ground. His eyes darted around the scene, sensing there was far worse trouble than the mangled Phookan that hung from the wall like a rotting trophy. The chain!

  His hands snatched the empty manacles lying on the floor.

  Two pairs. One for Amaeya, and the other? The wizard. Damn him!

  He clenched his teeth, trying with all his might to resist howling with rage. This had to be kept quiet and under control. He had to find them or find someone else to place the blame. Finding them would be out of the question. His absence would raise one too many eye brows.

  Now to find someone to point the finger at.

  “Hey Fanger,” Maggot filled the doorway, his frazzled head cocked to the side, “how much longer are you going to be? I smell someone’s breakfast going to waste and you know—”

  Maggot’s eyes snapped wide open at the dribbling corpse. Fanger had already picked up his sword from the soiled hay below. Their eyes met for only an instant before Fanger could feel his hands clawing for the imbecile’s throat. He slammed the back of Maggot’s head into a heavy wooden beam, sending his cohort’s eyes lolling into his skull. Maggot slid down onto the floor, his head bobbing onto his chest. Fanger grabbed his flask and doused the Phooka in dragon whiskey.

  Fanger heaved the wretched creature onto his shoulders. He began the promenade straight to Chief Al’Rul, working out the final details of Maggot’s folly in his whirring mind and fighting hard not to grin at the crowd of laughing Phooka through his gritted teeth.

  ***

  Astrid hopped from tile to tile, humming and smiling a clever smirk. She had once again outwitted her nanny from dressing her in her princess best. She hated frilly, fluffy clothes, and for some reason everyone felt it their duty to keep her covered head to toe with such frivolities. Anya, on the other hand, adored being dressed up and pampered like a coveted doll. Her cousins that lived on the far side of the palace were just as silly as her twin. Even the boys enjoyed braiding their long golden hair and parading in colorful silks.