Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden

by B. R. Nicholson

Merrick could taste the foul magic in the air. The being standing before him was composed of nothing but evil.

  His eyes darted around the chamber. It was dimly lit with the exception of two small torches, one of which innocently hung near Amaeya.

  He looked over at her. Amaeya’s face was calm though her eyes were in deepening turmoil. She finally glanced over at him. His face stern, he said, “torch!”

  Without wasting the time to respond, she tore the delicate torch from the wall and tossed it to Merrick. He snatched the paling fire from the air and pulled a silvery branch from his belt.

  “Oh, how quaint. Are you going to do a magic trick?” The sinister being laughed as his eyes darkened to a deep inky black. The shadows around him stirred, becoming denser.

  “Take the girl and go!” Merrick shoved the child toward Amaeya. She dragged the girl toward the door and out into the hall. Merrick felt relieved knowing if his plan failed, they wouldn’t have to suffer for it.

  The deepening shadow made it hard to breath. He felt as if he were slipping underwater, weighed down by chains and stones. If he didn’t act soon, he knew it would smother him.

  “Well, magician, are you going to amaze me or not?” The being asked, creeping closer. He now towered over Merrick and seemed to be growing larger with each passing moment.

  Merrick took advantage of its slow attack. His patience had been misread as fear. Now, as the being towered a mere foot away from where he stood, he stuffed both the torch and powdered branch inside the creature’s cloak, touching together the two ends for only a split second.

  Merrick squeezed his eyes shut just before the lightning powder ignited. The white flash still flooded his vision through his closed eye lids. Howls of pain and the smell of sizzling flesh assaulted his remaining senses. He stumbled, choking and feeling for the door. He felt someone grab his outstretched hand and pull him out of the smoky room and into the hall.

  He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, trying to regain his vision. Blurry shapes fell back together in place. Amaeya pulled him down the hall, dragging the sobbing girl in her other hand.

  “We need to hurry before that thing catches up with us,” said Merrick, picking up his pace to match Amaeya’s stride. “Have you seen any of the war party?”

  “Not yet,” she said, her breathing jagged, “but they’ve quieted down. It won’t be long until they leave.”

  Merrick nodded while glancing over his shoulder. Turning back, he realized they were already at the portal. Amaeya wrapped her cloak around the girl and stepped up to the rippling air. He tugged at her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Wait,” he said, “I’ll go first. We won’t have it as easy coming out as we did coming in.” He pulled the Phookan sword from his belt and slipped through the chilling surface of the portal.

  He looked up from the surface of the lake, careful not to make a sound. The three mercenaries still sat by their fire, drinking and laughing into the darkness of Alainia’s underbelly. Taking a quick breath to calm his racing heart, he sprung from the lake and ran for the Phooka. Merrick’s sword slid into the first with ease, cutting his laugh short with the gurgle of blood in his throat. The other two stumbled to their feet, their clumsy fingers clawing at their weapons. He withdrew his blade and slashed the one closest to him across the beast’s exposed belly. The Phooka shrieked, clutching at his unleashed organs with useless hands. Merrick raised his eyes to the last Phooka, meeting his gaze. He had never liked killing. He knew, however, that death was a way of the world. The mercenary stood with defeat brimming in his eyes as he waited for Merrick to make his move.

  Merrick leapt forward, driving the point of his sword into the Phooka’s eye and deep into the meat of his skull. He yanked out the blade, leaving the Phooka to fall freely to the ground. There were no cries from him.

  The elf looked down at the mangled and bloodied Phooka, his eyes tracing the rivulets of blood as they seeped into the muddy earth. “May the earth accept your bones and the wind carry your spirit to the world that comes after…”the desert pray rang hollow in his ears. Not long ago he had said the same as he lit the pyre beneath his dead wife. The comparison left him bitter.

  Shaking off his unease, he dashed to the lake and plunged his hand through the portal to beckon Amaeya to come through.

  He felt her hand latch onto his. He pulled her through the portal and up out of the water. Amaeya shook the water from her honey curls as she clutched the coughing girl. Merrick could see the child’s wide eyes darting around her surroundings. He moved himself in front of the fire, blocking her view of the bloodied Phooka. However, Amaeya spotted them and ran toward the bodies.

  “What have you done? Are you insane?” She reached toward the bodies, feeling for and signs of breath or a heartbeat. “The Chief will have your head for this.”

  “What choice did I have?” Merrick’s anger bit at his words. He grabbed the girl and flung her shivering body over his shoulder. “They would have killed us or lead the rest of them to us. There was no other way.”

  Amaeya glared up at him, her eyes dark with fury. “You could have at least told me first,” she said, rising to her feet. “A solid plan would be nice for a change. Have you even thought about how we’re going to get out of here?”

  “We have our feet, we could easily—”

  “—Ha! They would run us down before dawn.” She reared up with her fists clenched, angry as a snake that had been stepped on by a foolish traveler.

  Merrick stood empty of words, his mind racing. His wits had helped them this far but how far could they survive like this? As his eyes wandered the darkness, they came to rest on the silent massive shadow of the war machine. He recalled the great pot belly stove inside its body, possibly a furnace to produce power, maybe power that produced movement—

  “I need wood,” he said, sitting the child down on her unsteady feet.

  “What?” Amaeya’s face reddened as she aimed her fist toward him.

  “Wood! As much as you can carry!” Merrick piled the Phooka’s firewood into his arms. “We’re going to need quite a bit to get that machine rolling.”

  “You’ve finally gone made, haven’t you?” Amaeya lowered her fist, her expression muddled. “That thing probably doesn’t even work. Besides, it’s locked.”

  Merrick kicked at the campfire, spitting out a blur of curses. “Someone has to have the key. Do one of them, maybe?”

  Amaeya looked into the faces of the dead Phooka and stopped on the third. “Yes, he should. He’s the driver!” She rushed to the Phooka and tore at his pockets. Seconds later she held a large bloodied key in her hands. “I hope our luck holds out for just a bit longer,” she said, tucking the key in the pocket of her skirt.

  “As do I. Now, we need to gather wood, the drier the better. We may be able to burn some of the structural pieces, like the rafters or the outer woodwork, but we’re going to need as much as we can get to have a chance,” he said, hefting up the wood pile in his arms.

  “There’s wood in the tents—bits of furniture and chests—they should already be stored in there if they haven’t set up a full camp.”

  Merrick laughed. “It looks like our luck is here to stay after all.”

  ***

  Luthen reached up to touch his shriveled face. Pain flooded across his skin before he could jerk his hand away. That bastard will pay for this, he thought, casting his smoldering cloak aside. He dared not glance at the mirror.

  He noticed the rummaging of the war party had died down. It wouldn’t be long before they slid back through the portal to the underbelly. First, however, he needed to remedy his current situation. Not only was he disfigured, the encounter had left him feeling drained. He had managed to keep his body, but only barely. Disgusted, he turned to hunt down a new vessel.

  As he drew near the door, a faint cry met his ears. He stopped, smiling to himself. “Ah,” he said, “I had almost forgotten you.”

  The girl stood at the foot of the bed as still as a statue. Something
about her gaze filled Luthen’s mind with a flurry of ideas. “Your heart is full of ice. I may have use for you after all,” he said softly to himself.

  He turned and kneeled down before the child, a smile stretched across his melted face. “Tell me, dear girl, where do the servants sleep?”

  Without hesitation, she said, “on the level below us. The stairway is down the short hall right outside this door.”

  “Very good,” he said, the words slithered from his lips. “And where do the boy servants sleep?” It wasn’t a necessity, but transferring into another male being would be more comfortable than the body of a worn old nanny.

  “There’s only one, father’s valet,” she said, her face still. “His room is the first one at the bottom of the stairs.”

  Luthen’s smile deepened. He knew the girl hid something behind her calm surface. Not fear, something colder. Hatred perhaps, he mused, yes, she will do nicely.

  “Telling me simply won’t do. Show me.”

  The girl glided past on the silent stone and into the hall. He followed, intrigued.

  She opened a slender door, its handle creaking loudly in the silence. They descended down a winding staircase and into a narrow hall. She stood in front of the first door and nodded at Luthen.

  He patted her head with a withered hand and slid inside the humble room, leaving the door ajar. He could feel her eyes watching his every move.

  Inside was a young elf with short sandy hair, silent in a frozen sleep. He was younger than Luthen had expected yet he could tell he was slender and of a considerable height. He leaned over the boy and slipped the heavy ring from his finger. It slid hungrily onto the boy’s hand. Luthen felt his soul pour out of Lestel’s broken body and into the warmth of his new vessel. The sleeping mind of the young elf was crushed instantly by Luthen’s invading presence. There was nothing of value to be learned from the mind of a servant.

  Luthen raised his new body from the bed, filling his lungs with sweet night air. It feels wonderful to be alive.

  He spotted the girl, eyes wide, staring at him from behind the door. “Amazing, isn’t it? Immortality, I mean.”

  For once words escaped her. She stood silent, whiter than the palace stone.

  Luthen swung his long legs from the bed and stood. They were good strong legs fit for running. He pulled on a pair of black boots from the foot of the bed and pulled a cloak over his broad shoulders. He glanced down at his old body as it crumpled into ash. Goodbye, Lestel, he thought as he stepped onto a brittle skull, crushing it into dust.

  “Now it’s my turn for me to show you something,” he said, pulling the door from her grasp. She nodded as her eyes stared, unblinking. Luthen smiled and reached for her hand and guided her back to the main corridor.

  They walked past suspended curtains and torn tapestries hanging from the walls. The portal hung open like the mouth of a great beast, ready to devour them. Luthen could see the Phooka had gathered around the portal, their arms loaded with golden trinkets and painted novelties. Some carried elven heads, their blood spattering onto the white stone. Chief Al’Rul stood with his arms crossed and empty of frivolities.

  “Your war party appears to be victorious,” said Luthen from the shadow of his dark hood, “with a minor exception, of course.”

  Chief Al’Rul growled deep in his chest. “We have done all you’ve asked, demon. Our deal is done,” he said, signaling for the war party to progress through the portal.

  “Ah, it would seem so, wouldn’t it? Except that I had a very interesting encounter with an elf wandering the eastern hall no so long ago,” said Luthen through gritted teeth.

  “The only elf I see,” said the Chief, sliding his mace from his belt, “is the brat cowering at your side.”

  Luthen laughed, draping his arm around the girl. “This, here, is the queen. I believe we arranged for only me to have access to the queen.” He spat the words at the growling Phooka, growing tired of his stubbornness.

  “The elf I speak of has taken the queen’s sister. I would like to hire you to return her to me, if it’s not too much trouble for the great Chief Al’Rul,” said Luthen, eager for the Phooka to charge at him with his wicked mace.

  “Ha! What will you pay us with this time? Tapestries? Maybe some nice needlework?” The war party rumbled with deep laughter.

  Luthen’s hand shot out from his cloak and found its way around the Phooka’s throat. The beast’s mace crashed hard onto the stone floor, cracking the soft white surface. Luthen lifted him from his feet and squeezed with his eager fingers.

  “You will do this deed because you value your life. Or at least you value not being killed like a coward. Either way, doing this for me will produce a much more pleasant outcome for both you and your war party,” said Luthen, lowering the Chief to his feet. “Remember, there are things I could do to you that even the darkness of your nightmares would fear.”

  His fingers peeled back from the Phooka’s neck. Chief Al’Rul crumpled to the floor, coughing and tearing at his throat. Moments later he ceased and rose to his feet, batting off the outstretched hands of his war party.

  “We will do this last thing for you, and no more,” he said, his voice raspy and venomous.

  “Excellent,” said Luthen, smiling with his new boyish face. “You are free to go.”

  The Phooka snorted and pushed his way into the portal. The rest of the war party gazed fearfully at Luthen and quickly followed.

  After the last had disappeared through the rippling surface, Luthen looked down at the girl clutching at his cloak. He stroked her soft pale cheek, tracing his finger to her chin. He pulled her face to look into his. “Do you see how they cower in my presence? If you stay with me, you will make them tremble as well.” Her eyes glimmered as he spoke.

  “Could I be powerful like you as well?” She said. Her voice was soft and full of wonder.

  “Of course, child. Together we will be invincible.”

  Luthen withdrew his hand and strode toward the nearby window. He plucked the forgotten time charm from its shelter under the low hanging window ledge. Gazing at it, he smiled and tucked it into a hidden pocket of his cloak.

  “Come, my dear,” he said, smiling warmly at the girl, “you are now queen. And there is much to do.”

  ***

  Amaeya hovered over Merrick, watching him as he filled the large stove with broken chairs, yawning chests, and fistfuls of kindling. The girl had stopped sobbing and watched him just as intently.

  “How much longer is this going to take?” Her voice was hushed in the darkness of the war machine. A slave stirred in silence, setting her on edge. Seeing no Phooka in sight, most of the slaves had fled without a word. Only a few clung to their chains, too hopeless to move.

  “We’ll be ready soon. Are you sure all of the wheels have been unlocked?” He piled a splintered table on the top of the wooden heap slid a sparkling branch from his belt.

  “Yes, of course. Are you sure you can drive this thing?” It had taken a while for Merrick to figure out the mechanics of the war machine. However, he had finally found at the very front of the body of the machine was a small lookout with two large iron levers mounted underneath. Amaeya was perplexed that the hulking structure could be steered by only that.

  Merrick nodded, reaching for the meager torch she held in her hand. “Then we’re ready to be on our way.” He sat the silvery branch gently in the stove. “Turn away!” Amaeya grabbed the girl and whirled around away from the open furnace. A great white flash erupted in the war machine. The slaves shrieked and scurried away from the blinding light. Amaeya turned back around and saw a large rumbling fire in the belly of the furnace. Merrick slammed the door closed and rushed to the mounted levers. “You two better find something steady to hold on to,” he said, gripping his hands around the cold metal.

  Amaeya grabbed onto a chain mounted to the wall and wrapped it around both her and the girl. “Dear gods, I hope this works,” she said, clutching the child close.

&nb
sp; Merrick gently pushed the levers forward. The war machine rumbled and roared to life. The massive wheels creaked and rolled forward, rocking as it passed over the uneven ground. The war machine crept from beneath the darkness of the city in the sky. The craft quickly picked up speed as it rumbled across the open meadow. Amaeya couldn’t help but laugh, feeling as if she had somehow fell into a bedtime story. Such marvelous things never happened to real people, let alone her.

  “This is remarkable!” Merrick glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes shining. “Who knew the humans had such technology within their grasp. The things I could do with this back home,” said Merrick, his voice distant. He continued musing to himself, totally engrossed by the beastly device guided by his touch.

  Amaeya simply sat in the darkness with the girl curled up on her lap, enjoying every mile put between her and Chief Al’Rul.

  ***

  Chief Al’Rul was the first to behold the slaughtered Phooka. In the early moments, he only stood, not believing his eyes and thinking that perhaps it was a demon trick. Only a fool would dare slaughter a Phooka in such a cowardly way. As more of his war party splashed through the portal, they gathered around their chief, unsure of what to think of the bloodied corpses.

  Fanger settled by the Chief’s side. “What do you wish us to do?”

  The Chief raised his snout into the air, his lip curled in a snarl. “Burn them,” he said, “and be quick about it.”

  Fanger nodded and motioned for a couple Phooka to follow him to where the corpses lay. Chief Al’Rul folded his muscled arms across his chest. “As for the rest of you,” he said, “be ready to leave as soon as they’ve finished.”

  The Phooka scattered from behind him. The Chief watched as the dead mercenaries were piled in the fire. Fanger poured the remains of their dragon whiskey into the flames.

  As Chief Al’Rul gazed into the flames he felt a small tug at his belt. Alarmed, he raised his stony fist, ready to fight. The assaulting shadow scurried away with a yelp. Chief Al’Rul recognized the cowering creature as its face caught in the fire light.