With Footfalls of Shadow

by Donogan Sawyer

  Liam nodded solemnly and secretly wondered whether Santaque really had a change of heart, or had merely recognised an opportunity. Liam walked on, saying nothing. He knew these young men could not be dissuaded from their purpose. His own purpose now was merely to keep Rhoie alive for as long as he could.

  ~Æ~

  Liam could smell the Bok village ages before they reached it. By the time they were half a league away, the stench was almost unbearable. The night air was moist, and the smell seemed to cling to the humidity, giving the stink a physical presence which grew heavier and more pungent with every step. Liam could now add nausea to his list of discomforts.

  Blade halted the group in a clearing just outside the settlement. Liam looked around at the young Talons of Freedom. He could see the youth in their faces, behind the tattoos, as they whispered their complaints.

  “I’ve never smelled anything like it.”

  “Ugh, do we have to go in there? Is it going to get worse?”

  “I feel like it’s on me,” moaned one Talon, holding up his arms, pitifully inspecting them for evidence of contamination.

  “When this is over, I am burning my clothes.”

  “Has anyone ever died of stink?”

  “All right, enough,” insisted Blade. “We are here to negotiate on behalf of General Santaque. The Bok could prove very powerful allies, and I won’t put our mission at risk because one of my men has insulted them. If these creatures offer you skunk piss instead of wine, you will drink it and be thankful. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” answered the men.

  “Bantur, Darryck, Martial, Bedde and Rantte will be joining me. And Liam,” Blade said, and paused to make eye-contact with him, “if you would, I’d like you to join us as well. The Bok know of the Sha’grath, which is why I am on this mission, as the son of a Sha’grath.”

  Liam nodded acceptance, and Blade continued with his directions. “Dilano, you stay here with the others to guard the perimeter. I don’t yet know if the Bok can be trusted. If you see something, try to warn us, but do not come after us if you hear conflict. It is important some of the group survive to warn the general.”

  Liam walked with Blade and the five others into the settlement, where they were met by a female Bok who offered to guide them to the meeting. She wore the same leather armour as the males, and had adornments around her head that appeared to be a crown of teeth. Her hairy breasts bulged from under the sides of her leather vest and her stomach was round and hard. She breathed loudly and slobbered just like the men, and smelled just as bad.

  As they walked towards the centre of the settlement, they saw many of the Bok walking about, some staring at them, some avoiding eye-contact. It was the first time Liam was able to observe the Bok outside of battle. Their appearance was unnerving. He had met Gastious, the half-Bok, only recently and he had been frightening enough, but these Bok were pure-blood. An average man’s height would only reach the shoulder of a Bok. They had chests as broad as a bear’s and arms that hung to their knees. On top of those broad shoulders sat enormous heads with eyes deep-set under hairy brows. Liam nudged Darryck in the back to remind him not to stare. He knew they must stay vigilant.

  The Bok’s homes were constructed of round walls of what looked like random hard stalked vegetation. Reeds, corn stalks, even small trees with their leaves still attached, were wrapped together and arranged in a circle to support a thatched roof. There were no windows, only a door of animal skin.

  As the Talons reached the centre of the settlement, they came to a similar, much larger structure that was to serve as their meeting place. Liam was hesitant, but he had little choice.

  They entered and found the room lit by flaming torches haphazardly stuck through the walls.

  “Welcome!” sounded a blustery roar from the opposite end of the large table in the centre. It was the voice of what appeared to be the leader of the Bok, standing with arms outstretched in an attempt at a magnanimous gesture. He was smiling, literally ear-to-ear, and his jagged teeth had the effect of turning magnanimity into horror.

  “I am Oktook,” he continued. “Please join us. Sit down.”

  “Thank you, Oktook,” answered Blade. “We are honoured to take a seat at your table.”

  He motioned for the rest of his group to sit. The rugged Talons of Freedom looked like children as they sat on the high chairs, their feet barely reaching the ground.

  Liam watched nervously, noticing that only a few of the Bok in the room took seats. The rest spread out along the walls behind the men. Liam could hear one of them breathing noisily.

  “So, this general of yours,” Oktook began, “he wants us to help him, eh?”

  “Yes, sir,” Blade answered. “It is our hope that you will join us in our fight against Arconus.”

  Liam listened carefully and watched the faces of the Bok. He saw that one of the torches had slid back, close to the wall. The Bok nearest also noticed and jumped to put out the flame that was now catching on the structure. He grabbed a bowl of liquid from the floor and doused the flame. The ensuing stench left little doubt as to what had been in the bowl.

  “What do I care about Arconus? Someone will kill him in a month anyway. It’s the way of your people. You know, I have been the leader of my people for twenty-two years,” he said with pride. “My people respect me. I respect them. We don’t kill each other when we disagree.” He paused for a moment. “Well, not very often.” He started laughing. The other Bok in the room laughed with him. They carried on for a long time, and eventually most of the Talons nervously joined them.

  Blade smiled benignly and replied, “I agree with you, Oktook. Killing each other is no way to settle an argument. We also want peace. We also want a ruler who will lead us for the next twenty-two years and more. Arconus cannot be that man. He is evil. He kills women and children, and he takes young girls as concubines. He steals from the poor. I understand he has had some conflicts with the Bok as well.”

  “Yes,” answered Oktook slowly. “We have had our problems with Arconus, but perhaps our problems are coming to an end.”

  Blade looked back at Oktook proudly. “Then you will meet with the general?”

  Oktook reached down and grabbed a bag that was lying under the table. “Oh, we have already met your general.”

  Oktook roughly reached into the bag and pulled out General Santaque’s head.

  Liam had killed the Bok nearest to him by the time the head rolled onto the floor. He turned to see the Bok behind Bantur open his enormous mouth and bite through half of the young man’s head and most of his right shoulder. Before Bantur was out of his mouth, Blade killed the Bok with his sword, leaving the weapon in his victim. He turned, pulled two long knives from his sleeves, and killed two of the Bok who were closing in on him. Liam now understood how the young man had earned his name.

  Liam opened the chest of another of his attackers. He sliced halfway through the wall with his sword and slung the dying Bok into the same spot, turning a weakness in the wall into a gaping hole, and an escape route. He called to the men, “Through here, come. There are too many.”

  Other Bok were now making their way through the front entrance. There was no hope of fighting all of them off, but it looked as if Blade had a mind to try. Knowing that none of the others would leave the fight before Blade, Liam rolled across the table and planted his feet next to him.

  “Listen boy, we are all dead if we stay here,” Liam shouted through the fighting. He fought off another Bok. “Do not allow your pride or anger to cost your men their lives. For their sake also, we must go now.”

  Liam then turned and fought his way back to the opening in the wall, unsure if anyone would follow.

  X

  The days of unrest will bring murder and turmoil on even the most peaceable peoples.

  – The Æhlman Prophecy

  Dantun was dragging the unconscious Rhemus down the spiral path. He had tied his own coat upside down around the boy’s waist, under his arms,
to give his head some protection against the uneven stone path. He was near the bottom of the pit, and there were no more residences. He was grateful not to come across more of his people. It had been horrible to see them walking around dazed, half-conscious, under Bandalanu’s control. Dantun had been carrying, or dragging, Rhemus down the path for almost two hours. During the last hour he had managed to control the desperation and terror, which had consumed him when he first understood what was happening. He still fought Bandalanu’s will, but Dantun was now exhausted. It was as though he was not the one who was pulling anymore. He felt physically and emotionally as though he had given up and lain down on the path long ago, yet his body kept on; pulling, dragging.

  He finally reached the bottom of the pit and paused for a moment to survey the floor; or perhaps it was Bandalanu who took pause, he thought, and a chilly sense of intrusion shuddered through him. Still, it was good to have a moment’s rest.

  The expansive floor of the cavern had been painstakingly planed flat and then delicately carved with intricate geometric designs. In the centre was a large fire pit. Four smaller pits were situated directly north, south, east and west of the central pit. The hall was empty, lit only by a few torches on the walls. Dantun thought of how different it looked when the Mikraino celebrated together, when the hall radiated with flame and music and dance.

  Dantun started moving again, at Bandalanu’s bidding, across the central hall and into the corridor that led to their leader’s dimly lit lair. The doors were open, and Dantun could see the silhouette of Bandalanu on a raised throne in the back of the cavern. Normally he was surrounded by a few aides, but now he sat alone, contemplating Dantun and Rhemus from the shadows, with his eyes of black. There were four torches spread around Bandalanu’s den, barely enough to light the centre of the large round room, where there lay a round woollen carpet which nearly reached the edges of the hard stone floor. Dantun dragged Rhemus to the centre of the carpet and collapsed on the floor next to him.

  “Well done, Dantun,” Bandalanu said to him in a sonorous voice. “You have completed your mission admirably, but you have done so with a great deal of resistance. I must say, you have a strong will for one with such a simple soul. You have worn me out.”

  “What sort of black magic is this?” Dantun spat through exhausted lungs. “What are you going to do to Rhemus?”

  Bandalanu sighed and slumped slightly in his seat. “It is an odd, unfortunate characteristic of the peoples of this world, that we always seem to ascribe magic to what we do not understand,” Bandalanu said thoughtfully. “I am not an evil person, Dantun, and I am no black magician. These eyes of mine ...” Bandalanu paused, and turned his head towards Rhemus. “These eyes of ours, they allow us to see things others cannot.”

  Dantun did not know to whom he was speaking. Over the last two hours he had come to understand the dark powers of the Mikraino master, and he feared those powers. But now, Bandalanu was speaking to him as he had always known him, as a kind and benevolent leader.

  “You see, Dantun,” Bandalanu continued, “there is a world of energy around us that is clear to people like me, and to many other creatures in this world. There is energy in you, and in this stone that shelters us, and in the trees. It is everywhere.” He opened up his arms in an expansive gesture.

  “Some call it the æther. Our eyes sense this energy, this æther, as clearly as you see your hand in front of your face,” Bandalanu said. “I have learned not only to see this energy that constantly plays about us, but also to manipulate it. That is the gift of a seer. Others, outside, have discovered ways to manipulate this energy as well, but most of them don’t understand it. Some are even convinced that they have magical powers. Worse, some believe these little tricks they have stumbled upon make them something more than human.

  “But we are seers. We are not more than human, but we do have an unusual gift of sight. Only, it is not really sight. In truth, I don’t know what sight is. The way you seem to perceive reflections of light is a mystery to me. I suppose in that regard you could consider me blind, but suffice to say I perceive these energies through my eyes of black.”

  Dantun was confused, scared and too exhausted to do anything but sit and listen.

  “This æther, this dark substance, this force,” Bandalanu continued, “I have come to learn that not only can we manipulate it, it can manipulate us. Sometimes, on occasion, I have even discovered its will.

  “The Æhlman sisters call it fate. I don’t know what it is. Perhaps they are right. But their sight is quite limited, and I worry that they toil in what they don’t understand. Dantun, I’m letting my thoughts drift from the topic. I think it’s because I’m fond of you, and I’m reluctant to carry on with what I must do.” He paused a moment, and took another deep breath.

  “I would hate to lose your love and loyalty. I can still see it in you, but you are conflicted. You have grown fond of this boy. I am glad that I did not have the pleasure. It would make my duty even more difficult.

  “I just want you to understand that there are many worlds outside our little cavern. There are many even here within it. With these eyes, I’m able to see some of them. That is how I know where to find one of our people when they are born, although somehow the birth of this one eluded me.”

  Bandalanu paused, as if to ponder this mystery for another moment. “In time, however, there were clues enough for me to discover him. I almost wish I had not. You are familiar with the legend, Dantun, are you not?”

  “Once in a generation, a child is born with eyes of black,” Dantun answered.

  Bandalanu nodded. “I was never sure if that was fact or just mythology. You know how these things tend to become exaggerated.”

  Dantun nodded, but did not understand.

  “Well, when I discovered the boy, I also discovered the will of the fates.” Bandalanu’s voice was grave and pained.

  In the silence that followed, Dantun hugged his knees, comforting himself against the truth he knew was coming. He could not bear to look at Rhemus.

  “What is their will?” Dantun asked quietly, knowing the answer.

  “There can be only one,” answered the cold stern voice of Bandalanu.

  ~Æ~

  Rhemus awoke to a bizarre feeling, as if the energy in his body were being pulled, yanked, stretched, ripped. He was dazed and confused. He did not know where he was, or even who he was. His lone conscious thought was that something terrible was happening.

  Rhemus had begun to learn the skill of manipulating energy at his parents’ farm. To him, they were really just random discoveries. He could guide the flight of a butterfly to land on his finger. He could mark a tree in the woods to guide him home from a long hike without scarring the bark. He could make his mother change her mind about what to make for supper.

  He did not practise these skills or think to test the scope of his abilities. He was just an eight-year-old boy who liked to hike in the woods and had a fondness for chicken.

  Now he understood only that he was in danger, that someone was attacking him. He fought against it, but he had no skill to manage a coordinated defence. He scrambled and grabbed and pushed and pulled at the strings of energy around him, like a person who doesn’t know how to swim would claw at the water to get to the shore. He could feel his energy dissipating, dispersing, dying. He could feel his very essence leaving his body, out into the Everything, and he was powerless to stop it. He finally understood that his efforts were useless. He knew he would not be able to hold himself together, to keep his energy his own.

  And then, like an animal trapped in a corner, with no other alternative open to him for survival, he grasped for his last imaginable option. He lashed out at his attacker with all his might.

  ~Æ~

  Filos felt stunned, and the forest suddenly became silent. It was an instant, violent crash of energy, and ripples from its impact were passing through all of Jeandania. Though none of his physical senses could perceive what had happened, he could
sense it. It was like a vicious roar that he could not hear, a kick in the chest he could not feel, or a blinding flash of light he could not see, and he knew something horrible had happened.

  Rhemus!

  Filos turned and ran back towards the cave.

  XI

  Though most historians are in agreement as to the nature of the Vetra Ta’raa, there are those who hold a more sympathetic view of Lyra. Some even claim that she was unaware of her ultimate role until the very end.

  – A History of Jeandania

  Lyra brushed her soft raven hair while sitting in front of the vanity in her dressing room. She enjoyed performing at the Silky Sundry for many reasons, but not least because it was one of the few saloons in Jeandania that had its own dressing room. On the night of most performances, Lyra was accustomed to preparing in whichever room she was able to rent near the venue. Preparing in her room and then taking the short walk to the venue would never have been a problem, but for the single, wretched hindrance of weather. Humidity made her hair frizzy in summer, the cold or wind made her face red and splotchy, then ashen as her skin warmed, then red again. Pollen made her nose run and her eyes swell in the spring and autumn. And then there was the precipitation. Rain, snow, sleet, hail and even fog each had its own particular effect on her hair, her makeup and her clothing.

  It was not vanity, however, that was the root of her frustration. She would have been happy to perform with her hair pulled back, wearing her travelling tunic. She would have loved to sing just for the sake of singing, and forsake all the tedious preparation her sisters had taught her. It took her nearly two hours to complete her ablutions before a performance, a ritual she had hated from childhood, but the elders had convinced her that men were there to see her, not to listen to her. They told her that the only way any man would pay to hear her sing on stage, would be if he could imagine her lying in his bed. She must be a woman first, a singer only second, but before all, she was a servant of the Æhlman Sisterhood.