Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden

by B. R. Nicholson

  “Maggot! You worm, what the hell are you doing out here?” The Chief lifted the Phooka by the horns from the ground and onto his feet.

  “My lord, please! I must tell you something, it’s important my lord!” He threw himself at the Chief’s feet, his hands clawing at his face.

  “Well out with it!” Chief Al’Rul kicked at him, irritated at his very presence.

  “The wizard! And Amaeya! I saw them, they took the war machine! They—”

  Chief Al’Rul yanked Maggot back up by his horns. “—They what? Why didn’t you stop them!” The thought of killing the squirming Phooka became more tempting than ever.

  “My lord, I had to sneak away to tell you. I saw the wizard kill these three warriors and I knew then I was no match for him. They would have gotten away free of your wrath, my lord!”

  His nostrils flaring, Chief Al’Rul threw the wretched Phooka into the black mud. Anger boiled behind his fierce yellow eyes.

  There was only one choice left. Chief Al’Rul reached into a leather pouch hanging from his thick belt and felt the cold bones against his fingertips. Whenever one of the seven Phookan chiefs left the refuge of their forest home, the Oracle would give them a gift to aid them when raids went sour. These gifts were made from something older and darker than what most called magic.

  Chief Al’Rul poured the blackened knuckle bones out into his hand. Each of the seven bones had a delicate white horse painted on its side. He dropped one by one into the mud, covering each with a swipe of muck from his heavy boot. Upon touching the earth, the bones quivered and shook. By the time the Chief had finished planting the bones into the ground several long slender bones had sprouted from the black mud. Seconds later, seven tall skeletons stood ready to serve their master. Chief Al’Rul patted the nearest horse’s skull. It nudged back against his hand, its bones glowing in the darkness.

  “Fanger, Horis, Knife-Eye, Red-Horn, Bleeder… and Maggot,” said the Chief through clenched teeth, “you will ride with me. The rest of you will wait here for our return.” He lifted himself onto the horse’s back, his hands griping its jagged spine. Five other Phooka did the same, leaving only a hesitant Maggot standing still beside his mount. He looked up to meet the Chief’s gaze. Chief Al’Rul growled and swung at him with his mace. Maggot scrambled atop the boney horse without further warning.

  Chief Red-Tooth Al’Rul raised his mace high into the air, his mount rearing and flashing stark white hooves. “For blood and glory!”

  ***

  Amaeya’s eyes snapped open, jolted awake by the sudden shaking of the war machine.

  “Sorry about that,” said Merrick, his eyes never leaving the small window over the levers. “We’re getting closer to the cliffs. The land is rougher here.”

  “What are we going to do once we reach the cliffs?” Amaeya untangled herself from her chain. The girl lay fast asleep, her head propped up against the wall.

  Merrick paused, shifting the levers to adjust to the rocky terrain. “There has to be a way down. My ancestors found it, years ago when they fled from their homeland. Legends say that they found a stone giant that let them pass. Others say they found a system of tunnels that led down to the desert. Of course, I’ve even heard once that a great phoenix flew in and carried them to safety.” Merrick laughed. It was a sound that Amaeya had come to enjoy.

  “The way this night has been I wouldn’t be surprised if we did get rescued by a phoenix,” said Amaeya, peering over Merrick’s shoulder and out the window. Short stubby trees dotted the land outside. Little clumps of grass clung to the gnarled ground. She had never seen such a pitiful land. “What is it like? The place you come from, that is.”

  “It’s…” Merrick hesitated, shifting the position of the levers once again, “it’s both barren and beautiful. The sands stretch out as far as you can see. They turn blood red when the sun both sets and rises. It is also home to some of the most beautiful and dangerous beasts. There are blood scorpions, slashers, razor-back vipers, and many other things that could kill you in a matter of seconds. There are trolls near the Dragon’s Breath Mountains and dragons near the Storm-Crowned Cliffs. Nothing is as it seems. Even when you think you are starting to see through the desert’s tricks it still has another one you haven’t seen.”

  “It sounds horrible. Why would you ever want to go back?” Amaeya grabbed his arm to steady her stumbling stance.

  Merrick met her gaze with calm blue eyes. “Because it’s home. It is where I was born and it is where I will die.”

  Amaeya nodded, knowing exactly how he felt. She longed to have that feeling once again, even if it were in a treacherous place like the Great Desert. “Do you think that it could ever be my home, too?”

  “Of course!” The words fell from Merrick’s mouth in a jumble. He flushed at his childish eagerness. Amaeya laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist. She looked up into eyes, inches from his face. Her gaze traced the fine creases on his tanned skin and marveled at how his light blue eyes were flecked with sapphire. She had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in her life.

  Amaeya felt the warmth of his skin on her cheek. She inched closer with her lips, begging for him to not turn away, but to inch closer, too.

  As her lips brushed his, the war machine lurched to the side, knocking her off her feet. Merrick hung from the levers, trying to regain his balance.

  “Did we hit something?” Amaeya could feel her face flush as her mind flooded with thoughts of what had almost happened.

  “No, I don’t think so. We must have hit a hole,” he said, peering through the narrow window. The war machine gave another sudden jolt, this time accompanied by the sound of splintering wood.

  Amaeya stumbled to the heavy wooden door and opened it just far enough to peek out. The sun had crept up onto the horizon, turning the sky a deep dusty blue. She opened the door further to inspect the exterior of the war machine. A familiar angry yellow gaze greeted her, stopping her beating heart dead. Gasping, she threw herself away from the door, kicking it shut with her feet. Outside, the pounding of hooves punctured the constant grinding of giant metal wheels.

  “He’s come for me!” She was screaming. Sobs poured out from her mouth, mingling and distorting her words.

  Merrick whipped his head around, his face flooded with terror. He quickly fastened the levers with twine from his pocket and leapt to the rumbling stove. He tossed in what was left of the meager pile of stools and crates, slamming its door shut.

  The elven girl stirred from her sleep. “Mama?” Her pale face shone from beneath the hood of Amaeya’s cloak.

  Merrick strode over to Amaeya and pulled her to her feet. She fought against his grasp. “Amaeya! You need to stay with the girl! Whatever happens, keep her safe. Do you understand?” She sobbed and turned her face away from him. “Do you understand?” He shook her. She continued her defiant sobs, weakly struggled in his arms. She felt him stroke her face with his rough leather gloves. He curled his fingers underneath her chin and pulling her face to his. He pressed his lips onto hers, filling her with warmth. She melted further into his arms, hungry for his touch. He tasted of sand and sweat, of sadness and hope. He pulled away, leaving her empty and longing for the warmth of his lips. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said, sounding small and distant like a shadow cast by star light. He slid his arms from around her waist and disappeared through the door.

  Amaeya stood swaying on the open floor, feeling more alone than ever before.

  ***

  Merrick pulled himself to the top of the war machine, wondering if his luck had finally run out. Well, it hasn’t been a good life. An interesting life, perhaps…

  His thoughts were interrupted by a great crash and shower of splinters. Chief Al’Rul met his gaze, his teeth gnashing and mace brandished high over his head. Skeleton steeds pounded their hooves at a hastened rhythm, trying to keep pace with the speeding war machine. Six other riders were spread out all around the hulking craft. Merrick felt an
arrow buzz past his head as he stood gazing at the attacking Phooka. More soon followed. He could hear them ricocheting off the bent metal smokestack. He crouched down near the slender neck of the trebuchet, his mind straining to think of an idea.

  While thinking, his eyes wandered to the trebuchet above him. Though most of the machine was covered in thick canvas, it was still partially assembled. It was similar to the ones perched atop the walls of Limra, the only city foolish enough to border the Great Desert.

  He may not have had anything to load the trebuchet with, but he was still left with plenty of debris to knock the beasts from their horses.

  He pulled the wicked Phookan blade from his belt and cut off the canvas. He peeked over the edge of the war machine, searching for the archer of the party. The Phooka had ridden closer, his bow outstretched and waiting for Merrick to reappear.

  Merrick tossed the outstretched canvas at the Phooka, tangling him in the weighty material. That should take care of the furry bastard.

  Al’Rul swung his mace at the elf’s feet. Merrick jumped back, a spray of wooden shards stinging his skin. The Chief growled, readying his mace for another swing.

  Another Phooka had leapt onto the opposite side of the war machine. He crawled his way up to the top and stood gripping a bloodstained war axe. Only one yellow eye shone from his black furry face, a gleaming scar staring out from where the other eye had once been.

  Merrick scrambled to his feet, ready to rid himself of yet another Phooka.

  The beast hurled himself at the elf, war axe raised above his twisted horns. Merrick slid to the right, nudging the Phooka slightly with his shoulder, knocking him off balance. The mercenary stumbled, driving the weighty war axe deep into the wood. He tugged at it with a mighty roar, but the weapon refused to loosen. Merrick pushed himself up from where he was crouched and whirled around, driving his blade into the Phooka’s back and up into his ribcage. He twisted the blade deeper, feeling the beast’s life seep away with every turn. Feeling no more struggle against his sword, he pulled it free and let the Phooka tumble off the war machine to the blurred terrain below.

  Merrick gazed over his shoulder to see where the rest of the party had gone. Three of the riders had fallen behind. Two empty mounts rode with them.

  Perhaps they’ve given up, thought Merrick, feeling his body relax. Perhaps my luck is returning—

  Pain exploded in his head, sending him crashing into the trebuchet. A deep growl rumbled behind him as heavy boots echoed against the wooden top with each step. Chief Red-Tooth Al’Rul grabbed the elf by the neck, bringing his face close to the Phooka’s snout. The beast blasted him with foul hot breath through his flared nostril. He laughed as Merrick winced.

  “You flat-faces are all the same. Weak,” he said, throwing the elf down onto his face. “Cowards,” he kicked Merrick in the side, cracking ribs as easy as snapping twigs. “Fools.” Chief Al’Rul raised his black jagged mace above his head. Merrick, still clutching his sword, sliced the blade just below the Phooka’s knee. The Chief howled, his knee giving way, knocking him over onto his back.

  Merrick crawled away on his belly from the thrashing Phooka, wincing with each breath. He had to get to Amaeya. He had to keep her safe.

  He made his way to the edge of the war machine’s roof near the door. Without warming, the door burst open. The Phooka he recognized as Fanger hung from the frame with a screaming Amaeya flung over his shoulder. The mercenary met his gaze for only a moment before jumping from the racing machine.

  “AMAEYA!” Merrick clawed at empty air. He heard hollow laughter floating in the air from behind him.

  “It’s too late for you, flat-face. She’s gone. And the only place you’re going is straight to hell.” The Chief laughed again, pulling himself close to the edge. Merrick saw him roll off the side, landing with a thud on the rocky ground. Confused, he lifted himself up to peer over the bow of the war machine. The rocky landscape melted into open air.

  They had reached the cliffs.

  And they were moments away from flying off them.

  Merrick swung himself through the open door and stumbled to the child, wrapping her with extra chain. She sat silent as stone, staring into the darkness. He wrapped the remaining chain around his waist and gathered the girl into his arms. He gripped the chain tight in his hands, waiting for when the great crashing wheels met nothing but air.

  ***

  Anya sat in her dead mother’s throne, tracing her fingers over the craved wooden leaves. She scratched her nail over its glistening paint, sending flecks of gold fluttering into the air. Glossy black wood peeked at her from underneath the gaudy exterior. She smiled, scratching away more of the gold.

  “My queen,” said Luthen, brushing her hair from her face. “We’re going to have a visitor soon, an old friend of mine. She is a very powerful and important person so please do be polite.” He flashed a toothy smile from his new dimpled face. She nodded, drawing her hands into her lap. He patted her on the head and folded his hands into his cloak.

  They waited for only a moment before a thin shadow slipped through an open window. The rising sun had turned the ashen sky a bloody red. The shadow slithered toward the center of the throne room. There, it thickened into a black figure. A willowy silver scythe unfolded with a soft click from the figures side. The being strode forward, its wicked scythe clanging on the stone floor. As it reached the throne, it pulled back its hood, revealing the narrow white face of a hollow-eyed woman.

  “Ah, Wilhelmina,” said Luthen, stepping forward to embrace the shadowy woman, “our plan seems to be going beautifully. How do things fair from your side?”

  She stopped him short with a long boney finger jabbing at his chest. “You were to have killed all of the royal family! What other parts of our plan have you neglected to fulfill?” Her voice was shrill and venomous. Anya could feel the woman’s cold black stare slice through Luthen’s body and into her own.

  “My dear Shadow Maiden, you’re not seeing the gift this girl is to us,” he said, wrapping his soft tanned hands around her outstretched fist. “She is the key to the city’s power, which is the key to our power.”

  Wilhelmina stared at Luthen, her sunken eyes squinting. She sighed, shaking her head. “I suppose you are right,” she said, “but I still don’t think having her around is wise.” She looked over Luthen’s shoulder and right into Anya’s eyes. The girl shrank down in the throne, her gaze dropping to the floor.

  “Give her time. She will prove her worth. In fact, she will prove it now.” Luthen turned and beckoned Anya with his hand. Not knowing what to expect, she slid down from the throne and onto the cold white stone. Luthen smiled and took her hand. She could see a pang of jealousy flash across the strange woman’s taunt face. Wilhelmina smoothed down her closely cut black hair with a boney hand, her eyes never leaving Anya.

  Anya followed Luthen through a door that stood sheltered behind the throne. It led to a narrow hall covered in faded and molding tapestries. The strong musty smell made her wrinkle her nose. Luthen ran his hand over one that showed the city before its ascent into the sky. He outlined the tall yellowing towers with his fingers, his thoughts far away. Bringing himself back to the present, he tore at the tapestry, sending it crashing to the ground. A small wooden door stood out against the white stone wall.

  He pushed the door open, its hinges squealing from disuse. Luthen lifted Anya up into his arms and plunged into the darkness.

  Anya’s head bobbed with each step down further into the shadows. She could hear Luthen’s breath hasten in the quiet of the stairwell. Moments later, they reached the bottom. Luthen stepped out of the stairwell and into a wide open room lined with large paned windows. In its center hung a humming blue crystal, its size larger than her mother’s grand bed.

  Luthen placed her on her feet. A shadow wafted down the stairs to his side and formed into a scowling Wilhelmina.

  “You better be quick,” she said, leaning on her scythe, “I don’t have long befor
e I’m missed. The last thing I need is Death breathing down my neck any more than he already is.”

  Luthen tsked from beneath his hood as he led Anya to the warm blue crystal. “You doubt the power of the Anvalin. No matter. You’ll soon be proven wrong,” he said, guiding the girl’s hand to touch the crystal’s surface. “With this power, you will be sitting in Death’s throne in no time at all.”

  Anya winced at the Anvalin’s unexpected heat. Muddled voices crept into her head. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to shut them out.

  “Yes, good, concentrate. Don’t let the voices take control,” he said, stroking her hair. “Now, I want you to imagine turning the city as if turning a door knob. Simply reach out your hand… and turn.”

  The city rumbled and as the ground shifted far below. Anya clenched her teeth, trying to hold on to her image of turning the knob in her hand. When the knob completed the turn, she relaxed, pulling away from the Anvalin.

  “Very good, my queen,” said Luthen, glaring at Wilhelmina over his shoulder, “You’ve made me proud.”

  ***

  Merrick remembered the fall as if it were a dream.

  The war machine plummeted off the cliff, turning end over end. The silent bodies of the slaves bounced off the walls, limbs flailing and faces lifeless. Merrick clung to the chain’s anchor on a hefty beam. He was beat against the wall, the floor, the ceiling—pain and fear mixed together, tasting bitter in his mouth, overwhelmed the taste of blood.

  He sheltered the girl with his broken body. She didn’t make a sound. Merrick feared she was dead, that her neck had been snapped like a twig.

  Finally, when he thought he could endure no more, the war machine was ripped in two by the jagged rocks at the foot of the towering cliffs. They landed in a pile of broken wooden beams, tumbling to their final destination.