Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden

by B. R. Nicholson

  Pft. Stupid prissy girl. Why couldn’t I be an only child?

  Her bare toes were numb against the frosty stone. She soon grew bored of her skipping game and wandered further down the corridor. A nearby door creaked open and shut with a bang. She dashed for a quick hiding spot behind one of the many large tapestries lining the hall. The servants usually didn’t linger in the royal sleeping quarters past noon, but she couldn’t be too careful. Her old croon of a nanny seemed to always be on the prowl, watching like a vulture watches a young pup, waiting for Astrid to lower her guard.

  She hid with her hand clamped over her mouth to keep her breathing hushed. Heavy feet shuffled down the shady corridor. A faint laughing floated through the air, along with a chill breeze. Light drained from the sun lit hall like blood from a dying man’s face. Fear squeezed around her heart, holding tighter with each beat.

  Anya rounded the corner into the gaping corridor.

  No! Turn around! No, no, no!

  Astrid’s twin looked up from her doll, straining her eyes to see what was standing before her. The darkness crept down the hall, its shadowy fingers reaching out like a spider’s embrace. Astrid wanted to run out to Anya, but she was rigid with fear, caught in the spider’s web.

  Anya stared with empty, emotionless eyes at the approaching figure. She didn’t move. She hardly even seemed to breathe.

  What is she doing? Run! Fight back! Do something!

  Astrid’s fingernails dug into her cheek while tears burned at her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. She would have given anything to somehow wake up to her mother’s soft, comforting voice. Despite pinching herself and shaking her head violently, the nightmare remained.

  She could see a cloak seeping from the edge of the tapestry. It stretched open before her sister, yawning wide like the mouth of a hungry beast, until finally it swallowed her whole.

  The corridor immediately brightened. Birds chirped away as if nothing had happened, basking in the burning haze of the noonday sun.

  Astrid crumpled to the floor, her hand falling away from her tear slicked face. She did not know what to do. She hugged her legs and pressed her face against her knees.

  “What are you doing behind there?”

  Her head popped up to find Anya pulling back the heavy tapestry, an old and scornful look on her young face. “I said what are you doing? This isn’t another one of your childish games, is it?”

  “But I thought, no I saw you… there was a monster, you didn’t even flinch.”

  Anya folded her arms, furrowing her brow like a withered old woman. “Why do you always have to lie about everything? I’m sick of it! And I’m sick of you.”

  Astrid looked up at her sister, regretting every tear she had shed for her.

  “I didn’t lie about it! I saw it!” Astrid jumped to her feet, raking the tears from her cheeks. Her face burned with fury.

  “So what was it, another one of your monsters come to gobble you up? I’m surprised you’re not running off to mother. That’s what you always do. Babies always go crying to mommy,” Anya said, miming a frightful little girl with her glassy-eyed doll.

  Astrid’s face blazed red as hot breath poured from her nostrils and sweat simmered on her forehead. She lunged at her twin in a fiery rage, pulling at her hair, scratching at her face, doing anything to hurt her. Anya batted at her, bawling and whimpering, trying to get away.

  Neither girl had noticed the servants gathering in the corridor until unseen arms dragged them apart. Astrid’s arms struggled to get free while her feet kicked everything in their way. “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” She kept screaming to the point where it almost seemed like breathing. She no longer knew the words that came out only that they had to or else she felt she would die.

  “Astrid! Astrid, stop this! Stop this now!” Her mother’s voice cut through her sobs like the sobering prick of the fingertip on a rose’s thorn.

  Astrid couldn’t see at first through the sweat and tears, stinging holes into her eyes. Her small chest heaved and shook with each breath. Her mother looked down at her with an expression of pity and anger.

  “Astrid. I don’t know what to say to you right now. Maybe it’s best this way. I want you to spend the rest of the day in your room. The door will be locked. I want you to think about why I’m doing this. And I want you to know that I never, ever want to see you stoop to such a level again. I’m ashamed to call you mine.” Her mother’s voice was a string strung too tightly, seconds from breaking.

  “But mother please don’t, please. You don’t understand.” Astrid’s eyes begged for any signs of compassion, but none came.

  “Not another word,” her mother said, her voice strengthening to a queen’s rumble, and turned away to whisper orders in a nearby servant’s ear.

  “It serves you right!” Anya stood with a triumphant smirk on her lips and a purple bruise swelling on her cheek.

  Evanna spun around, her finger stabbing into the air like a lightning bolt. “And you, young lady, will be locked in my bedroom for the rest of the day. I know you had more to do with this than it seems, as usual. Trust me when I say I’m ashamed of you both.” Their mother’s green eyes cut into each of the girls one last time before she proceeded back to the throne room.

  Astrid was lifted up and carried away, her body limp and tired from struggling with the world. She could hear Anya howling in protest further down the corridor and couldn’t help but smile. However, she couldn’t help but think about the strange monster that she had seen.

  It was so much like a dream, but it couldn’t have been. Could it?

  She was laid out on her bed by a bustling group of servants. They left a tray of food on a nearby table and scampered out as fast as their feet could carry them. The door hushed closed and the lock clicked. She sighed and nestled her head into the soft pillow. The silence welcomed her like an old friend.

  I wish I could always be alone like this. Nobody to fight with, nobody to make angry. Just me to take care of and no one else.

  She yawned wide as her eyes drifted closed.

  How I wish I lived alone.

  All on my own.

  The world as my home.

  Free to roam, no bratty sister, no binding stones,

  Alone, alone, alone!

  Astrid smiled, wondering what her father would think of her rhyme.

  Chapter Five

  Lestel paced within his mind. At least, that’s what he perceived himself to be doing. Half of his consciousness was left linked to his body, subject to be turned on or off whenever Luthen saw fit. The other half was spent trapped in an imagined prison.

  The walls were bare and smelled of must. The scene was eerily similar to that of the tower chamber, only this time Lestel was the corpse left to rot. The only differences were the furnishings. A large mirror, at least four hands taller than him, leaned up against the wall and a round gray candle burned lazily on the floor. The frame of the mirror was made of thick black branches twisted with razor sharp thorns and the glass nothing but swirling fog.

  Suddenly, a searing pain shot up Lestel’s spine, stabbing into his skull. At least, he thought it was his skull, or maybe what was his skull but now another’s skull. All he knew was that the pain was all his. Such sensations came and went as quickly as the wind.

  Lestel felt his legs being dragged along in jerky walk. He felt his eyes being drawn to the murky surface of the mirror. Suddenly the smoke parted. The mirror gleamed in the dim candle light. Lestel suddenly recognized the haggard face for his. He could see pale, slender fingers tracing along familiar creases and furrows and over a new growth of graying stubble.

  “I hope you’ve been having as good a time as I’ve had, Lestel. Because, to be honest, it’s going to be very lonely where you’re gone. I’m going to have to make some changes to this ragged old body soon. It’s falling to pieces!” Luthen’s laugh echoed in Lestel’s prison. “It’s a shame about your wife though, pretty little thing,” said Luthen with Lestel’s own mouth,
the word’s turning Lestel’s phantom stomach sour.

  Lestel thrashed against the icy glass of the mirror, unable to break the restraints of the magic that had overpowered him. Each movement of his lips and faint vibration of speech not his own made him sick with anger and fear.

  “Oh, just wait until the show begins. By the way, I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay. I hate to say it, Lestel, but I’m evicting you.”

  ***

  “Merrick, wake up! We must leave! Quickly!”

  Merrick’s head jolted upright, his chest heaving for air. The burning in his lungs had eased from searing pain to something much more tolerable. His words came out as a wheeze as they escaped his parched mouth. “How long have I slept?”

  “Long enough,” Amaeya said, rising to her feet. “I heard the war party move past the forest not long ago. I almost woke you then, but they were moving so quickly they passed us in a matter of minutes.”

  “So you’re waking me now?” His cracked lips curled like a dried leaf into a weak smile.

  “I’m waking you because I know something is wrong. Al’Rul would never allow his war party to create such a racket without a good reason.”

  Merrick raised himself unsteadily to his feet, still clutching Amaeya’s cloak around his shoulders. “How do you know he wasn’t looking for us?”

  “He would have sent his men to scour the woods. The only thing in that direction is an abandoned valley and…” her voice trailed off as she raised her hand to press against her furrowing brow. “The city. That’s where they’re headed.”

  “City?” Merrick said, peeling the cloak from his weakened body. “What city?”

  Amaeya grabbed Merrick by the shoulders, digging her fingers into his battered leather garb. “The city in the sky. Your vision… it may not be delirium after all.”

  “We have to get there, and fast. Do you know the way?” Merrick straightened his posture, fastening his straps and checking his pockets for items of use. He found a pouch of lightening powder, a ball of scratchy twine, and a set of small tools made from obsidian.

  “Of course I know the way, it’s not far from here at all,” she said, drawing her hands to close to her chest. “Going there would be suicide. If the Phooka saw us, there would be no escape.”

  Merrick’s hand rested on the wicked curved Phookan blade that hung from his side. “If I said there was a way we could go there and never be seen by them, would you take me?”

  “How would you do that? Are you a magician or illusionist? Or maybe you are actually a wizard after all.” She shook her head at his shocked face, laughing at Merrick’s foolishness. “I overheard Fanger grumbling about the wizard that fell from the sky. I assumed that must be you.”

  Merrick laughed louder than he intended, almost not caring if the foolish mercenaries heard him from miles away. “A wizard? Far from the truth. I have been given gifts thought to be derived from magic. Though, I’ll admit I’m no warlock of legend, I have been taught a trick or two about illusion. How is the Phooka’s vision with fog like this?”

  “How is what?” Amaeya raised a brow in curiosity at such an absurd question. “They find it irritating, especially when the moon reflects so brightly off of it. Usually in the dark, it’s razor sharp, but on a night like this… where are you going with this?”

  They spent the next half hour gathering thick moss from the damp forest floor. Merrick broke four gnarled limbs from a dying tree and coated them in the silvery lightning powder. After shaping the moss into hoods and lashing the glistening branches to their heads to form menacing horns, Merrick and Amaeya stepped apart to admire their work.

  Merrick gazed at Amaeya’s outline, her rugged Phookan swagger completing the disguise perfectly in the hazy night air. With the mist present, they could walk right past any of the mercenaries without fear of immediate discovery.

  ***

  Fanger Al’Rul strode next to the Chief with a hidden glow of satisfaction. Because of the previous night’s events, his father had locked his cousin Maggot up without question. The great Phooka fumed beside him. While troubling to be so close to the angry mercenary, he was relieved the anger was not directed at him. Instead, it was aimed purely at the demon elf that had hired the war party.

  “That demon son of a whore has cost me my human pet. This raid better be worthy of legend or it’ll be his foul head I’ll be mounting on my wall,” said Al’Rul, spitting the fiery words with the foul ferocity of a grease fire.

  “My lord, I’m sure the girl hasn’t gotten far. She is weak and knows your fury better than most. She may even return of her own free will,” said Fanger. Maggot’s absence made gaining his father’s favor all the easier.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. The thought of the cur that fell from the sky with her burns me to no ends. When we are done with this raid, I will tear this landscape apart, even if I have to rip the trees from their roots with my own horns,” said Red-Tooth Al’Rul, his eyes fixed ahead. Fanger could only imagine the atrocities racing through the Chief’s mind, some so treacherous that they would make even him squirm.

  As the war party pressed on past the edge of the forest, they were greeted by a great gaping field of tall, wafting grass. Mounds of mist rolled and bubbled across the valley. Tall silver towers poked out between gaps in the mist like smoke seeping through dragon’s teeth.

  The war party gained speed in the open field. The giant creaking war machine led the way, trampling the sea of grass under its wide bow. Twenty pale faced slaves formed two trudging lines laid out before the war machine. On their shoulders rested harnesses made of biting iron chains and stinging leather. A whip cracked above their heads like lightning, hastening their pace.

  Giddiness bubbled up once again inside of Fanger. Finally he would be able to bring glory to his clan’s name. The war machine was great enough of a prize, but to also bring back the heads of elven royalty? His name would be present in songs for generations to come.

  The war party quickly approached the edge of the city’s deep shadowed underbelly and stopped. The driver atop the war machine held his whip at the ready, waiting Chief Al’Rul’s orders.

  Fanger gazed at the Chief, his breath held captive while his heart pounded rapidly in his chest. He dared not speak. Any sound, even the faint creaking of his boots, would be seen as a reason to be the victim of a rash blow to the skull from the Chief’s fierce mace. He glared out into the mist at the treacherous crickets that bellowed during such a revered moment—a chieftain’s first official order of a raid.

  Chief Al’Rul slowly raised his clenched fist. An open palm would mean retreat and was considered the lowest level of cowardice. An upraised fist meant to move in on the target of the raid. Al’Rul jabbed his rocky fist into the sky, the muscles of his arm rippling beneath his silky fur. Fanger raised his fist to the sky, followed by the fists of the accompanied mercenaries.

  “Tonight,” Al’Rul’s voice hissed out his words, his eyes burning into the shadow, “we will become legends among our people. Our faces will be carved out of stone of the mountain and will live in the memories of all to see for the rest of time. Tonight we are Phooka! For blood and glory!”

  “Blood and glory!” The echo of the war party rumbled in the field, silencing the crickets of their delightful song.

  ***

  Merrick and Amaeya crouched low in the grass, their disguises bundled under their arms. The war party had descended into the underbelly of the city and had set up a small camp. A tiny flickering campfire wavered under the heavy shadow of the city.

  Merrick pulled his mossy hood over his head, positioning the horns to lie just above his ears. He gave his head a quick shake, testing the sturdiness of his work.

  He cast a glance at Amaeya. She fumbled with the hood, struggling with the weight of the thick moss. Merrick laughed at the sight of her, an angry mossy beast muttering curses and with flailing arms. The merry sound eased the anxious grip on his heart. Anything was better than thinking about what would happen if
their disguises failed.

  “Do you want me to help you with that?” Merrick fought the urge to continue his laughter. He didn’t wait for a reply before tugging the hood to its rightful place upon Amaeya’s head. She gasped with relief.

  “Oh praise the gods! I thought you were going to have to hack this thing apart to get me out!” She spat into the grass, a sour grimace on her face. “I fear I shall never get the taste of moss out of my mouth.”

  “I suppose there are worse things,” said Merrick, pulling her horns into place. He wiped the lightning power from his hands onto the grass. “Oh, and before I forget, there’s one thing you need to know about the powder coating the horns. It’s extremely combustible, so if you value having a full head of hair I suggest keeping them away from open flames.”

  He could see Amaeya’s eyes dart up to her horns, her face pale and frightened. Merrick found himself once again brimming with laughter. I really must be going mad, he thought, I may be dead by morning and all I can do is laugh.

  “We better get going. I have no idea how we’re going to get up to the city, but there must be a reason they’re camping out beneath it,” Merrick said, drawing Amaeya’s cloak tight around her shoulders, concealing her body. “We’ll lay low in the grass until we get close enough to see exactly what we’re dealing with.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Or at least closer to an actual plan,” said Amaeya from within her shaggy hood. “For blood and glory!”

  Merrick tilted his head, confused at her words. “For what?”

  “It’s what the Phooka say,” she said as she crept forward in the grass, “before they do something incredibly foolish.”

  Chapter Six