Shadowsmith

by Ross Mackenzie

  The third witch stood in the doorway of the last ruin.

  She was not a bear, like the first.

  She was not a child, like the second.

  She was made of rain.

  She was an ever-shifting mass of water, roughly the shape of a woman. Sometimes, when the wind caught her, it sent ripples across her surface, destroying her features, but a moment later they would reform. The rain was always adding to her, and every part of her, from her fingers to the shape of her hair, was always giving water back to the storm. When lightning lit up the world, it reflected on her body, made her dazzlingly bright.

  She spoke, and her voice was the wail of the wind. “You’ve come to stop me?”

  Amelia stepped in front of Kirby. “Go,” she told him. “Hide.” She pushed him away, and he half ran, half stumbled towards the nearest ruin, where he hid behind a wall, peering back through the rain. The witch seemed to have no interest in him; her gaze was fixed on Amelia, her watery locks of hair flicking around her head in waves.

  “Stop the storm,” said Amelia. “Now.”

  The witch laughed, and her laughter became a rumble of thunder. Overhead, the clouds swirled and churned, and beyond the island the sea was wilder than ever.

  “I am the storm,” she said. “The storm is me. And we’re too strong for you now, girl.” She shouted something in that strange old language, but when it came from the witch it was like a roar of the sea, crushing and violent.

  She whipped her hands around and sent a ball of water tearing towards Amelia, who didn’t react in time; it struck her in the face, sent her flying backwards, and she landed with a sickening crack on a jagged rock.

  Amelia lay still for what seemed to be an age. Kirby watched her, his eyes wide, pleading, “Get up. Get up, Amelia.”

  She stirred.

  Back on her feet now, she swept hair from her eyes. Blood streamed down her face from a deep cut on her hairline where she’d bashed her head on the rocks. “You won’t win.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Do you know how many of your kind I’ve seen off in my time?” Amelia’s voice was growing in power. “Too many to count.”

  “None like me,” said the storm-witch. “Do you know how long I have waited for this? I warned them. As they dragged me to the shore and drowned me in the sea, I warned them. If they thought I was evil in life, that was nothing compared to the misery I’d rain down on them from the grave. I am the fury of the sea. And I will drown the world that drowned me.”

  She stretched out her arms gracefully like a ballet dancer and floated from the ground, rising four metres into the air. Water ran from her feet and splashed on the earth as she reached for the sky and seemed to pull downwards on something like an invisible rope.

  A blinding flash stabbed Kirby’s eyes. A fork of lightning crashed down, scorching the ground near Amelia’s feet. The air was filled with the smell of burning grass as Amelia spun to face Kirby, to make sure he was alright. Her eyes grew wide as she realised her mistake.

  Then everything stopped.

  In reality, the storm was still raging as strong as ever. The wind was howling, the waves crashing, the rain battering the world. But now the three of them, Kirby, Amelia and the witch, were standing in a bubble of silence, separate from the storm, separate from the world.

  Kirby, who’d fallen on his backside from the force of the lightning strike, slid up onto his knees and stared about. Raindrops hung in the air, motionless. He reached out a hand and touched them, picking them out of the sky and watching as they ran between his fingers. There was no wind, no lightning.

  “You’re afraid,” the storm-witch said to Amelia. She sniffed at the air. “I can smell it. But you’re not afraid of what I’m going to do to you, are you? No, you’re ever so frightened of what I’ll do to the boy.”

  In the calm, her features were clear and sharp and rather beautiful. She looked like an ice sculpture. She turned her head very slowly, and looked right at Kirby. “Hello,” she said, in a voice that turned his heart to ice. He found he couldn’t move, could barely breathe as she stared at him.

  Then he heard a muffled scream from Amelia, and everything became distant and echoing and distorted. An icy sphere of water appeared around him, trapping him inside like a fish in a bowl. It enveloped him, stealing away his breath, which drifted up in clouds of bubbles around his head. Kirby thrashed and kicked, but he could not rupture the sphere. He was aware as he fought of movement outside, of flashes of lighting and faraway voices. Amelia would be trying to save him – he knew that – but this last witch was different from the others.

  Kirby’s lungs screamed at him, begging for air.

  Hold on. Just hold on.

  His insides were on fire, his muscles straining to breathe.

  Help me, Amelia…

  His stomach heaved, his chest rising and falling in jerking movements as his body fought against him.

  He closed his eyes. It was impossible to hold his breath any longer. He opened his mouth, let the water enter, and prepared to give in to his body’s instinct…

  The water collapsed around him. He dropped to the wet ground and sucked in great gulps of air. Every rasping breath was wonderful, tasting of salt and rain and life.

  “Kirby!” Amelia’s voice brought him to. She was standing five metres away, the storm still frozen all around. The witch was picking herself up off the soaking grass, her features re-forming. Then she was reaching for the sky again, pulling another lightning bolt towards the earth. White-hot lightning forked down towards Amelia. But instead of striking her and being over in a momentary flash, the blinding light remained.

  Kirby, who had fallen back shielding his eyes, peeped through his fingers. The lightning had come only so far, stopping just inches above Amelia’s head. It was spitting and crackling, shooting out sparks of electricity, turning the rain around it to steam. Kirby could feel the heat radiating from it. His hair stood on end.

  Below the bolt of lightning stood Amelia. She did not move. She stared straight ahead, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she fought to keep the lightning bolt from hitting her.

  Across the pocket of frozen storm, the witch screamed in effort, every part of her undulating, water dripping from her as if she was made from melting ice. The lightning licked at the air, inched downward, until it was so close to Amelia’s head that her hair began to burn, and the sickening smell drifted towards Kirby.

  She’s losing.

  She can’t lose.

  I can’t let her lose.

  He got to his feet and moved as close to Amelia as he could under the blinding light and intense heat. The lightning spat and crackled, almost speaking: Burn… burn… burn…

  Amelia was sweating, her eyes still locked straight ahead. Was she even aware he was beside her? Kirby looked across at the witch, and forced himself to speak.

  “You’re wrong!” he yelled. “I’m not Amelia’s weakness. Since when is it weak to care about someone? Friends don’t make you weak; they make you stronger. Friends help you do things you never thought you could. I know that better that anyone now…”

  As Kirby spoke, the storm-witch grunted with effort and Amelia’s eyes seemed to spark with new strength. Kirby edged closer to her, through the searing steam. He reached out and took Amelia’s hand in his. “You can beat her,” he said to her. “I’m here.”

  Something happened then – a change in the air and, most importantly, in Amelia. She smiled.

  The scorching lightning jumped back slightly. The witch yelled and cursed.

  Amelia continued to push back, and the fork of lighting began to bend away from her. It moved slowly at first, inches at a time. But as Amelia’s strength grew it gathered momentum, and soon it was almost upon the storm-witch.

  Steam rose from her watery body now; Kirby watched it twining off into the night. And as the lightning fork moved ever closer, her features started to bubble and churn until, with one final burst of strength from Amelia
, it struck her down and she scattered into a million steaming droplets of rain.

  Amelia collapsed to the ground. Kirby rushed to her side, wrapping an arm around her. Above, the storm clouds were parting. The wind died to a whisper. The rain stopped falling. The mist evaporated.

  In just a few minutes, the night was clear and warm and still. Countless stars banded across the sky. The sea was calm. Summer had returned.

  “She’s gone,” Kirby said. He sat with Amelia, who leaned her head on his shoulder and smiled a faraway smile. “We did it. We actually did it. Well, you did a bit more than me, I’ll give you that, but they’re gone. We’re all safe.”

  “Ahem.”

  The cough was small and polite, and came from behind.

  Brothers Swan and Swift stood in the moonlight. They began to applaud, wiping imaginary tears from their eyes.

  “What a lovely moment,” said Brother Swift, glaring through his stringy black hair.

  “Yes,” said Brother Swan. He smiled, showing a row of sharp brown teeth. “Shame we have to ruin it, isn’t it?”

  Brother Swift stepped forward, and smiled at Amelia. “Hello, Sister Pigeon,” he said. “It’s been a while.”

  One Mistake

  The standing stones were ancient. Kirby had once done a project on them in school. Nobody really knew for sure who had put them there or why, but they had been on the island since before people ever settled in Craghaven. They stood at the very centre of Ruby Island, bathed in the light of the moon.

  After the roar of the storm everything seemed so silent, and the sweet smell of summer was in the air. Brother Swift led the way. He carried his sister Amelia over his shoulder; she was weak from fighting the last witch, and she did not put up a fight. Kirby followed behind them, with Brother Swan at the rear, holding a knife with a long, curved blade in his hands. Every now and then he would give Kirby a push or a kick up the backside.

  Kirby was exhausted and soaked and frightened. He kept hoping Amelia would make a move, but there was no sign of that.

  When they reached the standing stones, the first thing Kirby noticed was the colour of the pillars. Even in the moonlight, they were a rich, deep red. “What’s happened to them?”

  “They were a tad drab,” said Brother Swift, “so we thought we’d brighten them up a bit. Redecorate. Do you like it?”

  Brother Swan ran a finger down one of the stones until his fingertip was coated red. Then he put it in his mouth and sucked the redness from it. “Blood is the loveliest shade of crimson, isn’t it?”

  Kirby shivered, and his breath caught in his throat. “That’s blood? Human blood?”

  “Sheep’s blood,” said Brother Swan, with an air of sadness in his voice. “My dear brother thought we’d attract too much attention if we used the human stuff.” He turned his knife in the moonlight, causing the blade to glisten, and smiled at Kirby. “But there’s still time.”

  Kirby stared at the point of the blade, and felt his body begin to shake.

  Brother Swift heaved Amelia down from his shoulder and placed her on the grass. She managed to stand up, unsteady, swaying.

  “I trapped you,” she said, “in Egypt. How did you get out?”

  “Patience,” replied Brother Swift. “Lots and lots of patience.”

  “I’ll end you. Both of you.”

  “Oh.” Brother Swift gave a casual wave of his hand. “Normally I’d say you’d be quite capable of that. But not tonight, dear sister. Not after putting so much effort into that spectacular fight with our witch. She was rather special, wasn’t she? The best of the bunch, I’d say.”

  “That’s why you brought the witches back?” Amelia glowered at him. “To weaken me?”

  “Right on the money as usual.” Brother Swift nodded. “But we had to be careful. We didn’t want to exhaust you completely. We needed to make sure you still had enough power for this – for what’s to come.”

  Amelia glanced around, at the stones, at her brothers and at Kirby. Her eyes widened with a dawning realisation. “You can’t!”

  “Ah,” said Brother Swift, “the penny drops at last! You’re not as sharp as you used to be.” He spun around, arms outstretched. “There’s old magic in this place. Can you feel it, Sister Pigeon? Enough to open the door for Mother?”

  “If you bring her back, she’ll turn this world to dust.”

  “There was a time,” said Brother Swift, “when you would have considered that a good thing. What happened to you, sister? What made you soft? Why do you care so much about these little people now?” He nodded to Kirby. “I’ve seen you make enough of them suffer over the years. Remember, Sister Pigeon. Remember how it felt when we were together, the four of us. All that power! All the wars and pain, just because we snapped our fingers and made it so!”

  Amelia looked at Kirby, and her green eyes were filled with warmth and affection and tears. She smiled at him. “People like Kirby…” She nodded towards him, “are far stronger than we ever gave them credit for. They have a power you’ll never understand, a power so strong nothing can break it – not fear, or suffering, or even death. They have love.”

  Brothers Swan and Swift looked at each other and shrugged.

  “Well,” said Brother Swift, brushing his long black hair from his eyes, “I’m moved. But look what your love has done for you. It’s made you weak, made you vulnerable, made you think like one of them. You are a Shadowsmith, Sister Pigeon! Your sole purpose for being is to cast darkness, to weave it into the world, to balance out the light. Mother will teach you that again. She’ll make you remember.”

  Brother Swan’s blade was now pressing against the skin of Kirby’s throat, and Kirby was crying silently.

  “Amelia,” he said through the tears. Her eyes met his, burning green. “You saved me. I was lost and you made me feel like a person again. Whatever you did in the past, I forgive you. Because that wasn’t the person I know. The person I know is strong and fair and good. You’re good, Amelia. You bring hope and light. You make the world shine.”

  Brother Swan’s skin took on a greenish hue and Brother Swift wiped away an imaginary tear from his eye. “That’s quite enough of that,” he said. “Any more and my brother may vomit. Now let’s get to the point, shall we? You have a choice, Sister Pigeon. Help us bring Mother back from the void. She will forgive you for trapping her there, I’m certain of it. You are her child, after all, cut from her own shadow. If you do that, I promise you the boy will live. If, on the other hand, you walk away or try to fight us, you will lose, and the boy will die. And you know Brother Swan will take great pleasure in making sure his death is long and slow and lingering.”

  In one devastating moment, Kirby realised why the brothers had brought him to Ruby Island. He had been stupid to think he could ever help Amelia, when all the time he was being used as a bargaining chip.

  “Amelia,” he said, “leave me here. Don’t give them what they wa—”

  Brother Swan’s hand clamped over Kirby’s mouth.

  Amelia stared at her brothers, cold hate in her eyes. “I want your word. Your word that he’ll be spared.”

  “You have it,” said Brother Swift with a bow.

  Amelia gave a single nod.

  No! No no no—

  Kirby’s scream was muffled.

  These Shadowsmiths – Amelia and her brothers – were ancient, powerful creatures, and he couldn’t begin to understand that power, not really. But he knew, deep in the pit of his soul, that if Mother came back, the Amelia he had come to know would be gone; she’d return to the shadows, and he’d lose her forever.

  Desperate tears stinging his eyes, Kirby bit down hard on Brother Swan’s hand, tasted his rotten flesh, and heard the yell pierce the night. Then he was free.

  He made to run towards Amelia, but on his second stride he felt Brother Swan’s hands in his hair. He was yanked backwards with a violent jerk, and pushed against one of the stranding stones with so much force the air was battered out of him.
/>   Brother Swan’s face was in Kirby’s, his rancid breath making him gag. He leaned in close, whispering in Kirby’s ear, “You can’t move. Not a muscle. You’re a statue.”

  The effect was immediate. Kirby tried to struggle but his body ignored him, every muscle, every fibre was frozen in place. He could not even blink away the tears. It was as if he had become one of the standing stones.

  Then Brother Swan pressed the tip of his knife into Kirby’s arm. Kirby tried to cry out as it pierced him, but he was a prisoner in his own body and the scream stayed in his head. A trickle of blood ran down his arm from the small cut Brother Swan had made.

  Brother Swan took the knife, which was tipped with Kirby’s blood, and wiped it on the standing stone, leaving a wet stain. “There we go. Just for luck, eh?”

  Just then, Amelia looked at Kirby and winked.

  Mother

  The stones were arranged in a circle. Amelia Pigeon and her brothers Swan and Swift stood an equal number of stones apart. For a long moment there was only the gentle sound of summer waves lapping against the cliffs. And then they began to speak, the three of them, in their ancient tongue. Their words drifted into the night and wrapped around everything. Kirby could feel them on his skin and in the air. He breathed them in, and they were in his blood and his mind, sharp and ragged. The air became heavy with words, so heavy it felt like the world might burst.

  Unable to move, his eyes staring straight ahead, Kirby saw glimmers and flashes in the air at the centre of the stone circle, as if the moonlight was bouncing and warping around something invisible, something huge. A shadow came into being.

  No. Not a shadow, thought Kirby. Something else. A tear. A door to another place.

  And as Amelia’s words mixed with those of her brothers, the tear in the world opened wider and pulled at the air. The moonlight grew dimmer, as if it was being dragged into the darkness.