Merrick could only remember falling into a calm darkness afterward. At first he thought he was dying, slipping into death’s embrace. Death was a welcomed end from the pain.
Though he had accepted his end, the girl had shaken him awake. Amaeya’s cloak now hung in tatters around her shoulders. Amaeya…His chest heaved, fighting to keep calm.
He winced as he pulled himself up, tasting blood once again. He looked around at the wreckage wondering how they could have survived something so vicious. The stove had burst open and its flames devoured the other half of the torn war machine.
He tugged at the girl, trying to get her to her feet. She cried out in pain, her knees buckling. Merrick looked down and saw a bloody gash along the back of her leg. He sighed and lifted her up into his arms. She nuzzled her face into his chest, her body shaking.
“I’ve never even asked for your name,” he said, his voice a sad whisper.
“Astrid,” she said. She glanced at him with a single dark eye. “My name is Astrid.” She buried her face back into his battered leather jacket, surrendering to her exhaustion.
Pain crept across his chest with each breath. It was a long walk across the desert to his village, taking him nearly half a day if he managed to keep a good pace. He knew a well hidden oasis that would provide a moment’s rest, but only for a moment. He didn’t know if he was still being followed and wasn’t willing to let his luck keep the beasts at bay.
As he walked, the sun bled into the grey sky. The sand glowed red with a welcoming warmth. His thoughts wandered to his dead wife, Kateri, and his exiled son, Luka. They then drifted to Amaeya. His heart ached for her most of all, not because she was lost, but because he had been helpless when she needed him most, something that he vowed he would never to do to another ever again.
Merrick choked as tears flooded his cheeks. He knew could not stop them. He knew better than to try.
***
Luthen waited for the Chief’s arrival. The lingering mercenaries sat at their fire, casting suspicious looks over their shoulders when they thought he wasn’t looking. He struggled to keep his rage at bay. He knew the Chief wouldn’t appreciate coming back to a camp full of dead Phooka.
Sunlight flooded the hazy meadow outside Alainia’s underbelly making the shadows seem thicker than before. White figures emerged from the shaded forest and drifted into the fields. Luthen yawned, eager to finally be rid of the Phooka rabble.
Chief Al’Rul led the riders with a stern gaze. A kicking bundle lay across the neck of his boney horse. Luthen smiled. Finally, he thought, they’ve done something right.
Luthen met the Chief at the shadow’s edge, his soft childish face itching for a smile.
“So good to see you. I hope the brat wasn’t too much trouble for your fine warriors here,” he said. He noticed two other bundles slung over a rider-less mount, their horns jutting out and glinting in the sun.
The Chief huffed and spat, splattering Luthen’s boot. He swung his body over the horse and lowered himself onto the ground. A long branch served as a splint for his bloodied leg. His yellow eyes glared down at Luthen, sizing up the willowy elf’s body.
Luthen glanced down at his boot, grimacing at the glob as it trickled down the leather.
“Give me the girl and be gone,” he said, his eyes rising to meet the Phooka’s burning stare, “before I lose my temper and take her instead.”
“This one ain’t your girl,” said the Chief. He threw back the canvas from the bundle revealing a wild mess of brown curls. A muffled scream rose from the woman as she thrashed against her bindings. She looked up, gag in mouth, and glared at the Chief with hateful dark eyes. “This one is my property. It was stolen from me and I got it back. As for your brat,” he said, tossing a clump of dark hair at Luthen’s feet, “her body is resting peacefully at the bottom of a very steep cliff.”
Luthen reached down and lifted the soft dark hair from the mud. He clenched it in his fists, his face doing little to conceal his boiling rage. “You fool. You let her get away,” he said, his eyes clouding to black.
“She’s dead, you stubborn demon! No one could have survived that fall!” The Phooka turned to climb back atop his steed.
“A handful of hair proves nothing.” Luthen squeezed the bundle of hair in his hand, turning it to dust. “You will pay for this, Phooka!”
Chief Al’Rul laughed. “I’m done with your games, demon.”
“Oh, no,” said Luthen as the shadows swirled around his heaving shoulders, “the games have just begun.”
Tentacles of black mud shot out of the earth, wrapping tightly around the Chief. He howled as they dragged him to the ground. The mud forced its way into his mouth, muffling his cries.
“If your blood wasn’t so foul I would consider feasting on it while your miserable war party watched,” said Luthen as he kneeled down beside the writhing Phooka, “but since we both know how disgusting you are, we shall settle for something a bit more fitting.” He placed his hand over the Chief’s eyes. “Since you have put it upon yourself to lose my property, you shall spend the rest of your days trying to retrieve it.” Shadows slithered down his arm, pouring into the Phooka’s skull. The Chief’s body stiffened, wracked in pain. “Your eyes will be my eyes. If you find the girl, I will know, and your mistake forgiven.” Luthen pulled back his hand, smiling a wide empty grin. He laughed, kicking mangled Phooka. Chief Al’Rul’s face was slack, his eyes nothing but swirling darkness.
“I’ll be taking your girl to make up for my missing bounty,” said Luthen, sending black muddy tentacles to fetch the woman from the horse with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure her blood is as sweet as honey.”
Chapter Eight
“I absolutely refuse! She is only a child!” Merrick slammed his fist hard into the driftwood table. A few of the older members of the Council flinched, looking baffled and greatly offended. A flood of murmuring burst from their agape mouths.
Murmuring was something Grand Sage Hilda greatly hated.
“Silence!” Her weathered voice rendered the grumbling Council sages’ mouths firmly shut. Her squinting dark eyes scanned the room and settled their wrath on Merrick.
“You dare defy an order of the Council? You know of the risks of bringing someone of such circumstance into our village. What if this great evil comes looking for her, what then? Are we supposed to lay down our lives to protect someone who is not even of the same blood? She should be cast out into the desert.”
“She is of our blood! She is a princess of Alainia, the home of our ancestors!”
“You lie!” Barnabas, a withered alchemist, spat the words from his mouth.
The Grand Sage poured her furious gaze onto the alchemist, cooling his venomous tongue. “Alainia is said to be in ruins,” she said, “and even if it still existed, why would we trust a descendent of those that cast our people out without food or shelter from the coming winter? Why would we shelter such wickedness?”
Merrick stood silently, weighing his words carefully. “Why should we damn this child for the sins of her forefathers? She is a victim, the last of her bloodline. And in the end, the same treacherous blood flows through my veins as does hers.”
Grand Sage Hilda pushed herself back into her twisted drift wood chair, her eyes matching Merrick’s fire for fire. “The girl can stay. But only on one condition,” she said, hanging her words from the tip of her tongue. “You must clear her memory of her home and family. She must remember nothing of her past.”
Merrick shut his eyes tight, fighting the urge to lash out in rage. “I cannot, I dare not, do such a monstrous thing. Maybe I can erase their cruel fate, to ease her suffering, but to sweep them entirely from her life is a sin worse than murder.”
“You cannot, you say?” The Grand Sage raised herself up from her seat. Though she was small, she towered over the Council with the burning gaze of a phoenix. “Was I not the one who taught you how to conquer the gifts of the mind?”
“Yes, Grand Sage, but I—
”
“—And has your family not brought enough misery upon this people?” Her words bit at Merrick’s heart. He lowered his head, speechless from the heaviness of the truth.
“You will do as you are told, Sage Merrick. Or find yourself cursed and exiled just like your son.”
The Grand Sage gave a hurried bow of her head and stormed into her private chambers. The sages of the Council scurried from the table to a separate sitting room, eager to cast Merrick’s follies from their minds.
Merrick stood motionless and the end of the Council’s withered table, the weight of the world crashing in on him. His heart ached, not only for misfortune, but for Astrid’s, and for his foolish son’s.
He gathered his strength, praying to his ancestors to have mercy on him.
Merrick pulled back the tent’s heavy flap and stepped out into the cool desert night. A million thoughts mingled with a million more doubts raced through his mind as he walked toward the distant flickering campfire.
Astrid sat with her knees huddled up to her chin, gazing into the fire. Smudges of dirt covered her pale face and her hair hung in uneven clumps around her shoulders. Merrick kneeled down next to her, not knowing what to say.
“Can I go home now?” Astrid’s voice was a soft whimper. He could tell by the grey ashen streaks on her face she had been crying.
“No,” he said. He didn’t know how he could lie to her and live with himself. “You’re going to have to stay here.”
“But what about Mama? And Anya? And what’s happened to Father?” She briefly turned her hardened gaze at him. He could feel her dark eyes burning at him in the dark.
“The best thing we can do is keep you safe. And the only way we can is for you to stay hidden in the desert.”
She pressed her lips together, fighting back tears.
“Now I want you to look at me. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” said Merrick. He placed both hands on the soft sides of her face, wiping the tears with his grimy thumbs. “I’m going to do all that I can to take away the pain. You may not understand what I’m doing now; maybe you’ll never get the opportunity to really understand. I’m going to do something I know we’ll both regret, but it’s still in your best interest. My hand’s been forced. I just want you to know I’m doing this to keep you safe. To keep you alive.”
“But I –”
Merrick hushed her and closed his eyes tight. He could feel the magic flooding into his fingertips. He focused harder, using every bit of strength he had to enter her mind. Suddenly, he found himself in a long, dark corridor. On each side was a door flung open and creaking on its hinges in the midnight breeze. Faded images could be seen in the rooms behind each door. He didn’t venture inside any of them, but instead continued wandering down the hall. These rooms held Astrid’s memories. Laughter wafted from most, drifting on the wind like autumn leaves. But there was one that was his first priority to find.
He walked, scanning each door, looking for any signs of order. They appeared to be chronological, but the minds of children were hardly ever organized.
Before he knew it, he had wandered up to a large door way made of charred knotted wood. A sticky puddle of the deepest red seeped from its hinges. Merrick couldn’t see inside the room, but he could feel the horror within. He quickly grabbed the knob and tried to pull the door closed. He could feel it resist his grasp, the knob pulsing in his hand like a giant vein. After a hard yank, the door gave way and slammed shut.
One after another, the doors snapped shut, as if blown by some great wind. He could feel the tendrils of magic pulling him from her mind. Suddenly, his breath exploded into his lungs as if he had just broken the surface of a murky sea.
His eyes snapped open. Astrid sat in front of him, her dark eyes wide and reflecting the firelight like still water. He sighed and let his hands fall from her face.
Their eyes were linked for some time before she seemed to wake from her trance. Her eyes fluttered around in the darkness. She suddenly stopped and gazed at him. Merrick stood and tried his best to smile at her.
“Who are you?” Astrid squinted up at him as if the answer was on the tip of her tongue but refused to come.
“I’m nobody,” he said, not knowing what else to say. He knew plenty that he wanted to say—the truth—but the shock after just having her memories locked would send her mind spiraling into madness.
“Nobody? Do you know who I am?”
“Yes…” His throat was dry and his spit was gritty with the taste of sand. He felt hollow with guilt. His heart ached for the life he had stolen.
“Won’t you tell me?” Her voice was strangely calm, enunciating each word as if they were her first.
“No. It’s not my place.”
“Oh,” she said, as if in acceptance. “Where am I?”
Merrick forced his cracked lips into a smile. He wanted to run, retreat back into the mountains, and get as far away from his pain as possible.
“You’re home.”
Merrick could hear the remaining Elders emerge from the tent. They would take her away and place her somewhere out of sight, blending her into the people better than a scorpion hidden in the sand.
To be continued…
Keep reading for a sneak peek of the prologue of the second installment of the Shadows of Time series, Shadow Queen.
Prologue
I am slouched forward, staring at my trembling hands. So much sadness, for the lost little girl, for the tragic man, it overwhelms me and flows freely from my eyes. “Why must you tell me this horrible story?”
His face of fire and metal leans in close to mine. I feel his warmth drying my tears. It melts into my skin like sunlight. “You must listen to it. And I must tell it. It is as hard for me as it is for you.”
“But I don’t understand,” I say, my chest heaving underneath the weight of such unmerciful tragedy. “These poor people’s struggles have nothing to do with my own. How does this explain this prison? Or that atrocity outside? You have given me nothing but more questions. I feel as if they shall eat me alive.”
He hangs his head, his face clenched and full of suffering. “Then I will tell you more. I will—damn, if only there more time!” He jumps, overturning his chair, and hides his face from my sight. Before I can speak, I see something strange, something remarkable. Red glistening feathers cascade down the stranger’s back. At first, I think it a cloak, but I look closer. They are wings.
“Please, don’t go. Tell me more. Tell me about you.”
He turns slowly. I realize the fiery feathers extend up his neck and onto his face. They smolder in the low lighting of the room.
He reaches down and sits the chair upon its feet. He stares at it only for a moment before sliding onto its seat, flexing his wings to mold themselves around the chair’s body. Beneath the metal and regret I see something beautiful. Yet the longer I gaze, the more my heart builds up with sadness.
“I have told you of the beginning. There is much I know of the middle. I know Luthen spent many years trying to rekindle the link between heir and Anvalin. However, he proved the stronger and it was not long afterward that he began to leave chaos in his trail. In those days, death reigned supreme.”
About the Author
B.R. Nicholson has been writing and illustrating her stories since she was a child. The Shadows of Time series began one night when she was fifteen. Bored and with a bed stacked high with books, she decided to fill a notebook with what would become the first draft of Shadow Maiden.
B.R. Nicholson is currently a nursing student at Western Carolina University in Cullowhee, North Carolina.
Eager for more? Check out my blog at http://briana-rene-nicholson.blogspot.com/ and Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/ShadowsOfTimeSeries for artwork and updates about the series.
Thank you!
Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden Page 9