Shackles of Light

by Christopher A. Nooner

  He pushed his senses outward, letting his awareness spread around himself as he ran.

  He felt them, when he relaxed, trailing him. He lolled his tongue from his great mouth and laughed. They thought they could stalk him, but he smelled their foul smell and tasted their fetid sourness on the wind. They assumed they could ambush him, kill him in the nethers and keep him from his duty. They were wrong.

  There was nowhere to hide here, nowhere to double back, but he knew how to draw them in.

  He slowed his pace and increased his panting. He shook his head from side to side as if he was clearing away webs of exhaustion.

  He staggered to a halt and dropped his nose to the ground.

  He walked a few uneven paces and lowered his body to the earth. His head dropped over his feet.

  They wouldn’t be long. They would think to pounce on his weakness. His mouth watered from the remembered taste of their blood running between his teeth.

  Usok’s eyes closed as he waited, but his tongue tasted their sour musk, his ears tracked their not-so-silent footfalls and breath. He almost sneezed at the stench of them, and his vibrissae tingled with their every movement.

  All of it painted him a picture of their approach, their size, their numbers.

  Ewah, the second most hated demon of Usok’s kind, if barely, behind the Gwyllgi. Some would say they were naturally more hated because they were cats, but Usok despised any canine that served the masters of hell. They should be more loyal and true.

  There were three. One was massive, but the others were average. He would have to confront the largest one first.

  He drew deep breaths to saturate his blood with oxygen. He would need the energy and power it provided to fuel the change.

  He felt it begin as his body filled with the fire of air. First his teeth sharpened and elongated, then his claws curved into pointed talons, next his tail hardened and curled over his back where a heavy stinger revealed itself.

  He felt the let down as poison dropped into the receptacle that connected stinger to tail. His yellow eyes blazed like smoldering suns when it was complete.

  Usok held the glamour that covered his body and waited to drop it until his prey was closer and committed. His people were proud and secretive. He would not give his adversaries time nor space to process what he was before he struck.

  They were near. One came through the spectral trees, the other two sought to flank and surprise him. He chuffed in amusement. Arrogant cats.

  Ewah were dangerous, no doubt. He could even admire their design and function. Their dark fur shimmered in the dim light. Incandescent purples and blues meant to distract and confuse. Heavy manes to hamper the hold of teeth on their necks. Long thick teeth to maximize damage and penetration, and six sharp clawed limbs.

  They were dangerous, but not extremely intelligent; just vicious.

  The large one slunk from the cover of trees and dark in front of him. He walked on four legs, his front two limbs he held before him, claws extended.

  Usok knew the tactic, confront and distract while the other two ambushed from the back and above. They would not be so lucky.

  He waited patiently as the two hidden Ewah came into striking range.

  The male bared his teeth and roared a challenge. Usok watched him coil the muscles in his hindquarters as he prepared to spring, then pushed himself up to his haunches and yawned.

  The cat swatted the ground sending a spray of damp soil into the dark and roared again.

  It was time.

  Usok stood and feinted a forward leap. He dropped his glamour as the beast in front of him reacted and sprung sideways. The cat behind him leapt from the dark, but his stinger whipped backward and impaled the smaller Ewah through the skull and flooded its body with his burning poison.

  He leaped backward and used the dead cat like a counterweight to pull himself back to the ground.

  The third one bellowed as it crashed into nothing where the dog had just been.

  Usok placed a taloned foot on the dead cat’s head and pulled his stinger from its skull. He kicked and sent the body skittering into the trees.

  Both were in front of him, but wary. They split, one to each side and threw themselves at him, claws bared and teeth gleaming.

  His tail found soft tissue in the smaller cat’s throat. He casually flicked it to the side, ignoring it’s dying mewls, and met the great cat’s attack with bared teeth and hooked talons of his own.

  The beast struggled to sink its foreclaws into his back and hold him long enough to bring its second pair of legs and its teeth to his underbelly and throat.

  Usok pushed against the cat and snapped his own jaws tight around a leg. He savored the taste of the cat’s brackish blood.

  The Ewah screamed as they tumbled and twisted. Their combat threw musky dirt into the air and covered them as they rolled and bit and clawed.

  Trickles of blood covered them both, but the great hound’s talons and razor teeth slashed and shredded the massive cat to ribbons.

  The Ewah pushed free and staggered, the loss of blood and entrails causing its eyesight to swim and lose focus.

  Usok grinned, the blood made his mouth and tongue tingle. It was a little heady.

  He watched in horrible glee as the hell spawn tried to stay upright, and then with terrible precision he punctured its eye with his gleaming stinger.

  He was miles away when its death cries finally ended. It was morbid that he loved it, but he truly did.

  Eli grabbed the legs of a half visible chair and pulled. He grunted and shook it to free it from whatever held it fast.

  It popped with a force that sent him staggering back into the wall. He gathered his feet and hurled the chair at the Ogress before he dug into the pile again.

  He pulled and tossed, pulled and tossed.

  He didn’t wait to see if any of his missiles struck the monster; that was secondary to getting through to the Oracles’ chambers.

  He pressed himself against the wall when instinct told him she was close. He hunkered down as low as he could while staying directly over his feet.

  The wait wasn’t long. She bellowed at finding him out of reach and sent her wrecking balls into the pile.

  Only the heap’s lack of integrity kept him on his perch, the plethora of items collapsed in onto themselves instead of rocketing from their disjointed places.

  Eli sighed, and placed his hands on his thighs to add extra force as he braced against the wall.

  Damnit, he thought when he fell backward into a void that hadn’t been there seconds ago.

  He tucked his chin to his chest and hoped he could control the fall enough to roll over a shoulder, but the floor quickly disabused him of that notion.

  The breath rocketed from his lungs and stars blossomed red and orange in his vision.

  He moaned. Even his good luck was bad.

  Another crash and roar reminded him that his time was limited.

  He placed his palms against the floor and levered himself up as fast as his battered body could manage.

  He panicked as he looked around, afraid his vision was damaged, before he realized that the light was almost nonexistent here.

  He could see, but only just. The only source of light was a few small lines of blue near the floor. Each barely bright enough to register.

  He stretched his hands out and shuffled until he found the wall and door that lead back into the library.

  He rose but fell again when another quake shook his feet from under him.

  Stray bands of light started to peek through gaps in the pile by the time he made his way fully to his feet and turned to face the opposite direction.

  The added light revealed doors on each side. They continued until the darkness overtook the ambient light about where he thought halfway should be.

  Eli squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to clear the fog and pain so he could think.

  The sword and breastplate were hidden here somewhere, he just couldn’t remember where. O
r maybe Tomtum hadn’t told him.

  He thought he might be slightly concussed as slow as his thinking was.

  A shiver ran through the walls accompanied by a groan of complaint as the Ogress continued her assault on the debris pile.

  Eli hurried as fast as he safely could in the black, his hands in front of him just in case the walls tried to kill him.

  He found the warm stone quickly enough and felt his way north toward the closest door.

  He stumbled when his hands pushed into the void of the first doorway, but was able to right himself before he pitched face first onto the floor.

  The door was missing, and the room was invisible.

  His gut reaction was to leave and search the rooms that had some sort of light, then come back if he couldn’t locate the equipment. He could lose precious time if he groped around without finding anything.

  It felt like the right decision, which probably meant it was wrong.

  He located the wall again and continued as hammer-fisted blows eroded the wall of debris. The one good thing about it was that each time she destroyed a section it allowed even more light to spill in.

  The next two doors were locked and too solid for him to kick open. He cursed his three little tormentors and pressed on not knowing what he would do if he couldn’t find his loot in an open room.

  With a light, he added ruefully.

  There was enough light to create the faintest shadow when he reached the fourth door. The latch turned smoothly, and he was rewarded with a faint click as the mechanism retracted.

  He pushed in, and bit back a curse as the low blue light revealed it was empty.

  He backed out and looked the way he had come. The pile was half its original size and shrinking quickly. He scurried to the last door on his side and prayed he would have better luck here.

  This door was unlocked, as well, but swung open only four or five inches before it stopped. He growled and leaned against it. He gave it a nudge.

  It moved, he thought. He tried again. It did, if only an inch or so. He pushed again, using his weight, and coaxed it open wide enough to slip through.

  He closed the door behind him to optimize space and looked around in dismay at the huge and odd assortment piled everywhere in the tiny room.

  Eli caught himself before he sank to the floor. He was overwhelmed. Physically and emotionally. His will was barely intact, and his exhaustion brought every emotion to the surface. He broke and broke again.

  Even if he found the sword and breastplate, how would he use them? His reflexes were slow. His mind damaged. His sanity frayed and untangling. He had no idea how he could escape this. He was less than mortal. He was broken.

  His mind wandered. Strayed. Sought escape from the pressure.

  He wondered if this was ever someone’s living space or if it had always been a catch-all storage area. He could easily believe there was a good couple centuries of accumulation here.

  If I were three feet tall, and in a hurry, where would I hide something? He let the question center his thoughts, focusing on the task at hand, and nothing else. He turned right and left, looked up and down, let his mind clear to allow his subconscious control.

  Crooked Beak stood over him, his shadow shaded Seven Crow from most of the baking hot sun.

  “Sometimes focus and control are the enemy.” He pointed to the block of wood on the ground in front of the boy.

  Seven Crow scrunched his eyes and looked up at his mentor. He was almost positive the “box” in front of him was a solid piece of wood, but Crooked Beak insisted that it was, in fact, hollow and only the first part of the mind challenge.

  The old man jabbed his finger at the puzzle. “Let go. You can’t control everything. Let your mind find the pattern, see the puzzle. It will make itself obvious if you let it.”

  “I don’t want to!” Seven Crow yelled. “What’s the point?” His voice cracked and that drew a chuckle from Crooked Beak. It made him angrier.

  “The point,” the Medicine Man forced his voice to crack mocking Seven Crow, “is to learn.”

  He laughed in spite himself. The old man always got his way. He knew just exactly how to goad and prod him.

  He sighed and looked down at the box. He let his eyes soften their focus and he cleared his mind of thought as much as possible.

  Voices buzzed in his head, he brushed them away, along with stray images and silly thoughts. Acknowledging each of them before he dismissed them.

  He felt himself drift. His eyes grew heavy. He fought the urge to sleep, the urge to slip from himself. The heat of the afternoon teased and taunted his droopy eyes.

  He caught himself, as he tilted to the side. He jerked upright, and his gaze snapped back to the box.

  He saw it then. Plain and clear. How had he missed it?

  Seven Crow picked up the wooden puzzle box and twisted the end. Somewhere inside the ingenious object a latch clicked, and the shallow top popped away from the twisted end just enough for him to slide it off.

  He looked up, a huge grin on his face, but Crooked Beak was gone.

  He pursed his lips and looked back at his conquest. A curious ball waited for him along with a small piece of buckskin. He pulled them both out and set them on the ground between his crossed legs.

  On the buckskin was a note, ‘There are as many layers as a year of moons.’

  He rubbed his eyes, picked up the ball. Seven Crow wondered if Crooked Beak would mind being strangled sometime in the night.

  His eyes pulled the room back into focus.

  There was something just inside the first layer of junk, about chest high to his left. The light of the room barley illuminated the section.

  Eli tossed tiny sized obstacles out of his way without even looking at what they were until only a man-sized statue of a wolf or coyote stood in the way of him and his goal. He put his arms around it as best he could and walked it away from his glinting white prize.

  He turned to look it over and discover how to best extract it.

  He was stunned. He reached for it but hesitated when he noticed his hands covered with grime. They stood in stark contrast to the white of the armor.

  He leaned in for a closer look.

  The Breastplate of Lai-vyn was the most beautiful piece of art he had ever seen. The detail was astounding. Two wings folded one over the other, the tip of each bent back to cover each shoulder, each feather was crafted with such precision that he had to touch one to be certain they were indeed metal. Something was attached to the tip of each wing, but the interior of the pile was too dark to make it out.

  Eli searched for a cloth to wipe his hands on, cursing the minutes it took to find a makeshift towel and clean his hands.

  Once his hands were as decent as he could manage, he maneuvered the armor from the pile. It caught once so tight that he was forced to wiggle and pry until he could determine the source of the bind. The cloak attached to the shoulders had caught on the leg of a table. Again, the time it took to free it was irritating.

  As he pulled it from the stack of sundry things a sword and scabbard fell from inside it.

  Eli was relieved they were together. He wouldn’t have to hunt further.

  The breastplate was surprisingly light, even with the attached hooded cloak.

  Without thinking he slipped it over his head. It settled into place with a clink and fit over his armor like an extension.

  As if it had been made to do that very thing.

  He reached around himself and pulled the cloak over the shoulder and the hood over his head. The soft material melted around him obscuring the brilliant white of the breastplate as it came together in the front. He threw his arms back and marveled at how it flowed. How it freed him to move without cumbrance.

  There was power here, that much was certain.

  He turned his attention to the sword and scabbard.

  The scabbard was well made and as plain as the breastplate was ornate. Its leather was banded top and bottom with dark blue me
tal. No decoration or other adornment graced the dark aged red of the leather.

  The hilt and tang of Lai-vyn’s sword was burnished copper; its bright color intriguing and curious. He had never seen such artistry or color used in weapons meant for killing, and he had seen a lot.

  He hooked the belt around his waist and pulled the blade. It made no sound. The metal was an odd hue of blue that lightened to the edge where it became a shade over opaque. It was shorter than Asahel, but the balance was just as superb.

  He tested the edge by resting it on the unfortunate leg of a discarded chair. The blade inched its way into the wood by its edge and weight alone. When he added pressure it fairly flew through the old wood.

  He twisted the blade in the chair leg to test its tensile strength and almost lost his balance when the wood shattered into tiny pieces. He bent down to examine the scattered bits but drew his hand back in alarm at the burning bite of extreme cold.

  I guess you’ll do, he mused as he tried to suck the cold from his finger.

  This gift was the antithesis of his own armor and sword. He was used to camouflage, darkness, and fire; this was light, bright, and cold. He wondered if he should be worried.

  Probably, he huffed. Nothing was ever without price. It might seem free, but there was always a catch. A price that must be paid.

  They were right. The house crawled with Hatak Haski. They were searching for something around the property and probably inside the house.

  Joseph counted one in front, two at the highway, one in back, and, just to be safe, he assumed there were two inside.

  He had an idea where to look for Kaga’s piece of the totem, but he had to get in; and getting in without attracting attention would be ideal.

  They had little enough time as it was according to Keezie and Ammonih. With or without Mal’Ak they needed to figure out what was going on and stop it if they could.

  He sighed and shifted his weight. There was no rhyme or reason to the movements of the Hatak Haski. Probably because they were searching and not guarding.