Shadowborne

by Matthew Callahan

  Jervin reached a turn in the stream and Madigan picked up speed, making sure to keep his grandfather in his field of vision. Will was racing through the trees above but fell behind, having lost his own line of sight and needing to use Mad as a guide. They rounded the bend and Mad cursed again, seeing Jervin sprint up the hillside right into Will’s path. Mad ran up the slope at an angle while Will again picked up speed as Jervin passed from Mad’s view back into Will’s.

  Will’s lead was brief, however. He turned and raised a quick, mocking thumbs up to his brother. In doing so, he managed to throw himself off balance and suddenly stumbled before crashing to the ground. While he scrambled to his feet, Madigan, lungs burning, closed the gap and darted past him.

  “On your left,” he said without breaking stride.

  Mad reached the path along the hillside where it curved into the clearing the family used for combat training. He was hoping for a quick respite but realized immediately that the hope was in vain. Jervin set upon him as soon as he rounded the bend and drove him back, away from the path. As the two figures locked in a dance of martial combat, Will rounded the corner, gasping for air. Mad ducked and tumbled, bewildered when he saw that, while he and his brother were both struggling for breath, somehow Jervin barely even had any color to his cheeks.

  He didn’t let himself become distracted. Each of the older man’s steps was sure and controlled, every blow calculated and powerful. Mad countered each successfully but was gradually losing ground against him, unable to strike out with any offense of his own. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and a wave of excitement swept over him as he heard Will’s racing footfalls. Shade or no, anytime the two of them went toe-to-toe with Jervin, Will always had a few tricks up his sleeve. The tables were about to turn on their grandfather.

  Will closed the distance in a manner of seconds and rushed to his brother’s aid. Madigan, gaining a brief respite from Jervin’s focus, rolled backward to catch his breath. Will darted in and out, up and down, strikes less powerful than Mad’s but coming in such a flurry that Jervin was momentarily driven back, a small smile of satisfaction upon his face.

  Recovered, Madigan kicked forward to sweep Jervin’s legs out from under him. He was narrowly dodged and came down into a hard lunge as Will briefly withdrew. Mad pushed forward and swung his back leg around, unsuccessfully attempting to catch Jervin off balance. He grit his teeth in frustration, planting his outstretched leg on the ground and lunging forward with an uppercut from his right elbow. Again, Jervin avoided it and Madigan realized he had just lost his advantage and his back was now exposed. Jervin planted a leg behind Mad’s and grabbed his extended elbow. Before Mad could recover, Jervin twisted and pulled, sending Madigan crashing onto his back. Jervin dropped to a knee and prepared to deliver a victorious strike.

  At that moment, Will rejoined the fray. Jervin, normally so aware of his surroundings, had somehow missed that Will had slipped behind him while he was engaged with Madigan. When his brother was thrown down, Will lunged forward, wrapping one arm around his grandfather’s neck. He held two fingers from his left hand to Jervin’s throat while the thumb on his right pointed inward toward his grandfather’s chest.

  “Dead,” Will said in a voice barely above a whisper.

  Madigan rolled out from his grandfather’s control and pushed himself to his feet. Jervin chuckled as Will let his hands fall away.

  “Good,” Jervin said with a smile. “Very well fought. The first point of the day goes to Will.”

  Struggling to catch their breath, the boys’ eyes grew wide as they looked first to their grandfather and then to each other.

  “First?” Madigan said.

  “The day is won by the first person to reach seven,” Jervin said. “There will be no breaks until a victor is declared.” And with that, he took off running back in the direction they had come. Madigan groaned and doggedly picked up his feet, beginning the pursuit. Reluctantly, Will followed.

  * * *

  The rest of the morning passed in the same manner. After the initial round, the resulting challenge had been a three-man free-for-all with Madigan gaining the point after he used Will to distract Jervin and overpowered him.

  Without pausing, Jervin took off running once more.

  Next, weapons were incorporated, each combative interlude introducing the various styles they had learned over the years. Long swords, short weapons, dual wielding, staves, Jervin mixed it up by throwing each style in at different times. Whatever he set, Madigan or Will always found themselves at a disadvantage in reach or pairing. He pitted them against each other, with Jervin himself lending aid to whoever held the situational advantage instead of the one who was struggling. Each time a victor was declared and a point made, he set off running again. By the time they had reached the thirteenth circuit, both boys were shaking and exhausted, but the score was tied.

  On the final circuit, they ran to the combat circle only to find Jervin had continued past it, making his way to the nearby rock face at the edge of the clearing. He grabbed hold of a rope on the right side of the cliff and kicked his feet against the rock, scaling it with ease. Once at the top, he pulled the rope up after him, leaving the boys to their own devices. Panting heavily, Will put his head between his knees. Madigan looked at him, trying to hide his own exhaustion, and flashed an unreciprocated smile as he clapped his brother on the back.

  “Come on Will,” he said, jogging toward the rocks, “let’s finish strong.”

  Madigan’s smile faded as they closed the distance. Jervin was taking exceptional liberties with the day’s training, if you could even call it that. For reasons unknown, he seemed to be taking every bit of knowledge and skill garnered over the years and throwing it back at them all at once. Normally Jervin would set a focus for the day, be it speed, endurance, or knowledge, and that was all. Sometimes, if he really wanted to push them, he would give them an ‘exam’ of sorts, but in the past there had always been notice given. He wanted them mentally prepared, sharp and aware so no accidents would occur. For whatever reason, today Jervin had thrown all caution and moderation to the wind.

  Madigan surveyed the rock face before them and groaned. It was not the first time they had scaled it. In fact, they had climbed it so many times that each knew a path up the rocky slope that was most suited to their own particular strengths. Under ordinary circumstances, it would be an easily overcome obstacle. Unfortunately, the day was proving to be something quite outside of the usual.

  “Definitely not ordinary,” Mad muttered as he studied the changes Jervin had made since their last climb. The long-established trails of handholds up the wall were gone, the rock patched and smoothed. The wall was foreign, all familiarity erased by their grandfather’s hands. New chisel marks and holds were visible, but how and when Jervin had managed such a feat was beyond him.

  He scanned the cliffside as Will removed his dirty, sweat-drenched shirt and reached down for a rock. Draping the shirt over one of the low boulders, Will scored two lines across the cloth and then tossed the rock aside. Gripping it tightly, he tore at it, shredding the t-shirt into three long pieces.

  “It was relatively ruined anyway,” he said when Madigan raised an eyebrow. “Hell, it had enough rips in it that I probably could have done without the rock.” Will began wrapping his hands in the cloth and bracing his wrists, tying the third around his forehead as a makeshift sweatband. “Gods know I could use the extra wrist support right now.”

  Madigan nodded. He considered doing the same to his own shirt, which was in just as bad shape after the morning’s activities, but he wasn’t about to give his little brother the satisfaction of copying him. Instead, Mad looked for the nearest handhold and began to climb. Pushing himself to his feet, Will gripped the nearest crevice and followed suit.

  Mad grit his teeth against the trembling in his limbs. His muscles, long since exhausted, struggled through each movement. He tried to control his breathing, tried to stay focused on the task at hand, bu
t fear was starting to set in.

  At just past halfway up the climb, he heard a cry from his brother. He glanced over quickly and saw that Will’s grip had failed on one of the handholds and he was hanging on by his left hand only. As he fell back against the cliff, the resulting impact twisted his left shoulder. Madigan winced as his brother grimaced, his eyes watering. Mad paused, battling the urge to rush to his brother’s aid, and was relieved to see Will rotate himself back to face the wall, finding a foothold to support him. After a moment, his fingers found security and he clung to the wall.

  Will’s face grew briefly calm before contorting in rage. A thin darkness swept over the cliffside, encompassing both of them. The surrounding air grew cool and Mad’s skin began to prickle from the chill. Will suddenly began climbing again, every motion smooth and precise. The climb became steady, his hands finding their placements with ease, each previously daunting leg extension now gracefully balanced. He flew past Madigan.

  Madigan, too, felt strangely renewed. His motions were nowhere near as graceful as his brother’s, but his climb became more assured all the same. When the summit came, he saw Will slide himself over without hesitation. Madigan pulled hard at the top, kicking his legs over the edge and rolling away from it before coming to rest in a crouch.

  Will was kneeling not far off, breathing steadily, face calm once more. The trailing darkness that had moved with him dissipated as Mad watched. When it faded, Mad saw their grandfather stirring a pot over a fire near a small wooden footlocker some twenty yards away. Jervin stood and approached, gazing at the pair of boys exhausted on the ground before him.

  “Point, William,” he said. “With an impressive display at the end of the thirteenth round. Well done, you two. Will, the day is yours.”

  5

  Gifts of Darkness

  Jervin helped the boys to their feet and they walked to the simmering pot of food. To Will, it smelled better than anything he had ever eaten, but somehow he didn’t feel hungry. To his surprise, he found that the various scrapes and scratches along his torso seemed less prevalent as well. In fact, he didn’t even feel tired or fatigued anymore. He felt renewed.

  “Grandda,” he said as Jervin passed him a bowl of steaming stew. “The Shade, it was different this time.”

  Jervin raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Different how?”

  Will shook his head. “I can’t explain it, but I feel fine. Better, even, than earlier today.”

  “Me too,” Mad said as he took a bowl from Jervin. “When the cliffside went dark I felt cold, but, I know it sounds odd, but I felt restored. That’s never happened before.”

  Jervin pursed his lips. “Interesting,” he said. He was quiet for a moment and stirred their lunch before looking at Will. “Was anything else different this time?”

  Will shook his head and took a bite of stew. Jervin raised an eyebrow at Madigan who also shook his head.

  “Very interesting,” Jervin said. “I’ll have to think on that.”

  The three of them ate in silence for a time. Will ate two helpings, despite not feeling tired or hungry. His mind was hazy, akin to a brain fog from not eating for too long, but food didn’t seem to help. Madigan finished and began to stretch the fatigue from his muscles while Jervin gathered up the food supplies and set them aside. After a short time, however, Will’s patience deserted him.

  “Grandda, I’ve gotta know,” he said. “What was this today?”

  Jervin looked at Will and raised his eyebrows. “This was lunch.”

  Madigan snorted and Will twisted his lips. “I mean the training,” he said. “Why was it so different today?”

  “Well, the training wasn’t really that different, Will,” Madigan said. “There was just more of it. Lots more.”

  Jervin laughed and Will rolled his eyes. He started to respond but Jervin held up a hand to quiet him.

  “Today was different,” Jervin said, “because I wanted to know if you were ready for more.”

  Madigan cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. “We’re always up for another round, Grandda. Let’s go.”

  Jervin smiled and shook his head. “That’s not quite what I meant. Years ago, you asked me to teach you what it would take to venture to Aeril.”

  A chill went down Will’s spine. This is it, he thought.

  “And, for better or worse, I have done what I can to prepare you,” Jervin said. “So, it is time.”

  “We’re finally going after Valmont?” Madigan said, nearly shouting.

  Jervin’s eyes narrowed as he studied the boys. Will felt exposed under the intensity of the gaze. His grandfather seemed to have disappeared and in his place was the cold, ancient warrior from the stories. As quickly as the transformation occurred, however, it was gone and Jervin was smiling and shaking his head.

  “No, my boy,” Jervin said, “but you two are ready for the next step. You’re ready to venture to Aeril and truly begin your training.”

  Will and Madigan exchanged excited grins.

  “Not that I don’t have a few tricks up my sleeve still,” Jervin said with a smile. He gestured to the box at his side. “You have both excelled over the years. It is time you were outfitted accordingly.”

  Will looked down at the footlocker while Jervin began removing its contents. He watched his grandfather lift a bundle of leather from within and trace its lacing with his finger. Setting it atop the box, he began to unwrap it.

  Within were four small objects along with an ancient, weathered note. The first was a simple black ring, adorned with foreign symbols along the band. The second appeared to be the tattered remnants of a leather glove. It was missing each of the fingers and had a strand of looped leather where the middle finger should have been.

  The remaining items were a pair of strange knives with worn, dark brown leather wrapped around the hilt. Within the pommel of each was a dark red stone riddled with black imperfections. The blades were nearly identical, the only difference being that one was slightly longer than the other. Each lay atop a sheath of the same leather, simple and unadorned. The blade of each knife was slightly curved along the underside and was a darkened, matte grey. Despite their simplicity, Will was fascinated, knowing that each of the four objects was from Aeril.

  “The weapons of a Blade of Shadow,” Jervin said, “ancient and beautiful. These are the remnants of an old life. Remnants I now pass on to each of you.”

  He reached down and fit the glove over his right hand and slid the strange ring onto the middle finger of his left hand. He clasped his hands together and then carefully drew them away from one another. A void of darkness appeared between his hands. Taking shape, the void narrowed and solidified, angling itself and gently twisting into a weapon. Will and Madigan were both transfixed, watching wide-eyed as Jervin stood and dropped his left hand to clasp the hilt of the blackened bastard sword he now held.

  “One of the noctori, a shadowblade,” he said, gazing at the weapon. “Pure Shadow energy condensed into whatever dimensions your mind desires. Unbreakable, it will never lose an edge. Should you ever lose your grip in battle”—he flung the sword from his hands and it disintegrated into nothing—“the blade will not fail you.” He clasped his hands together quickly and another blade appeared as soon as the other had disappeared. “No matter the length, no matter the weight your mind wishes, the blade is perfectly balanced.” The sword vanished from his hand and he gently removed the ring and glove from his hands, placing them on top of the box before him. “Madigan, take them.”

  “What?” Madigan said, his incredulity interrupting the trancelike state Will had fallen into as he had stared at the blade.

  It was like my Shade, Will thought. As if my Shade was solid.

  “The noctori is yours, Mad,” Jervin said, gesturing. “Please.”

  Madigan stretched out a hand toward the glove and then stopped, giving Will a tentative glance. Will nodded, his eyes wide and excited. “Hey, if you don’t take them I will.”

  Madigan grinn
ed, stood, and reached forward. With wonder in his eyes, he touched the glove as if it were fragile crystal. Upon making contact with the leather, his eyes lost focus, growing distant. After a moment, they returned with a new clarity.

  He took the glove and slid it over his right hand. It fit perfectly. He picked up the ring and mirrored his grandfather’s action of sliding it over the middle finger of his left hand. He stepped to the side with a sudden grin of confidence and then clasped his hands together, mirroring Jervin’s previous actions.

  A momentary grimace crossed Madigan’s face. His arms seemed to pulse, threatening to surge away from each other. With difficulty, he managed to keep his hands together, his brow furrowed in concentration. With even and measured breaths, he drew his hands apart.

  A darkened glow hovered between them. As the darkness began to stretch, Mad suddenly broke the bond and dropped his arms to his sides, falling to one knee and breathing hard. Within his gloved hand was a dark grey-brown blade. Sucking in deep breaths, Mad stared at the creation with a mixture of joy and terror plain upon his face.

  “Not bad,” Jervin said, his face stretching into a wide grin, “not bad. Most novices’ first experience with a noctori ends immediately after the initial burst courses through their veins. I’m surprised you held out as long as you did.”

  “That was incredible,” Madigan said. He regained his composure and rose to his feet, staring at the small dark blade.

  “Once you get some practice, it’ll grow,” Jervin said. “And once you master it, it will grow to whatever dimensions you desire.”

  “Incredible,” Mad said again, his voice filled with wonder.

  Jervin continued assisting Madigan with the nuances of the noctori, demonstrating the most basic of steps to get it to function properly. Will watched as Madigan’s skill progressed and the reality of the situation began to sink in. No more what-ifs, no more wishful dreams, it was all happening right in front of him. Curiosity and excitement overtook his initial trepidation as he considered the possibilities of everything to come.