Shadowborne

by Matthew Callahan

  Cephora nodded her approval. “Not bad. Not entirely correct but surprisingly close. The fang is the fang, as inanimate as your own teeth are. Its capabilities are accessed through connecting the fang to you. Binding yourself to it, as it were.”

  “So you’re saying I get to become part dragon?” Will said, a wide grin stretching across his face. Cephora looked at him, obviously trying to determine whether or not he was joking. Will didn’t move but finally laughed and winked at her.

  Cephora sighed and shook her head, muttering under her breath, “This is going to take longer than I thought.”

  In truth, it took less time than Cephora had made it seem. For Will, however, it felt like an eternity. For the remainder of the day Cephora taught him how to focus his mind with an intensity he had never before imagined possible. Every single aspect of the blade was drilled into his brain until he felt that he knew it better than he knew his own hands. The amount of time he spent focusing on the depths of the bloodstone itself felt like days, although he knew it couldn’t have been more than a handful of hours.

  After the whole process, he had a splitting headache and had gotten two nosebleeds. But finally, just as daylight started to dim and the first hints of dusk stretched across the sky, Will found something new, a connection that he couldn’t place—an imperfection that would drive him insane were it not remedied.

  Scrambling to his feet, he began turning the blade over and over in his hands as Cephora looked on, her face impassive. The bloodstone, there was something about it that wasn’t quite right, something missing from it. Its connection to the knife itself wasn’t complete, it needed something more. It needed…

  “Blood,” he whispered.

  From the corner of his eye he saw the hint of a smile on Cephora’s face. He was about to make his way back to his supplies to retrieve a knife but hesitated after a step. Why go back? He already had a sharp edge at hand. The memory of his first contact with the fiery fury that coursed through his body after being on the receiving end of the blade brought him up short. But the more he danced around the thought, the more it seemed appropriate: If he desired the blade to do as he wished, should he not also do as it wished? Steeling himself, he ran the sharp edge of the blade along his left palm.

  The pain was even worse than he remembered. The agonizing sensation of burning coals and licking flames drove him to his knees. Distantly, in the back of his mind, some rational part reminded him that it wasn’t real, that it was all in his head. Will struggled to focus on the task at hand and remembered the dragon fang. It had fallen. He must have dropped it after marring his palm.

  He stretched his left hand down to it. Grasping the hilt in his blood-drenched fingers, he held it and squeezed with all the strength he could muster. His blood seeped through his fingers and ran down along the leather to the bloodstone. The key at his neck sent a lightning jolt through his body and he cried out as the pain blazed with renewed intensity. Will’s eyes rolled back into his head and he blacked out.

  When he came to, Cephora was standing over him and giving him a look of satisfied approval. The pain was gone. His hand, still clutching the fang, was covered in cracked, dried blood. He opened his fingers and looked down. His palm was perfectly fine, all traces of the cut gone. He stretched and flexed his fingers, wiggling them. No hint of any injury. Smiling, he looked up to Cephora. “Easy as pie.”

  She barked out a laugh and helped him to his feet. “Not bad, kid. Not bad at all.”

  In that moment, she sounded just like his grandfather and Will’s heart seized with wishful desire to hear his laugh again. Shaking the thought from his head, he made his way to his feet and held up the blade for inspection. Visually, nothing had changed but Will could feel the energy coursing through it more than ever before. It was almost as if he could see the dancing patterns of power that permeated the blade. He withdrew the other and felt the same sense of connection. “Now what?” he asked.

  Cephora shrugged. “Now we head back and see what you can do.” Sheathing the blades, Will followed her.

  As they walked, Will could feel the power of the weapons coursing around his body, not unlike the key upon his chest, although to a far lesser extent. So, that sensation must mean magic is near? If that was indeed the case, then the key must be extra strong to be so forceful and so constant. His mind raced. If the dragon fangs were capable of so much, then what was the purpose of the keys? What secrets did they hold?

  His thoughts were interrupted as they entered the broken watchtower, replaced instead by a rush of hot anger. Madigan was lying head to head with Morella, the book of maps they had brought open in front of them. They were laughing and Morella was making quick marks in the book while Madigan goaded her for sloppy penmanship. The sound of her laugh coupled with the smile in his brother’s eye reignited Will’s spark of jealousy and frustration.

  “Will!” Mad called when he noticed Cephora and his brother approach. “We were just talking about you!”

  “Oh yeah?” Will said. His attempt at a lighthearted reply failed miserably.

  Morella’s grin nearly broke through his anger as her eyes met his own. “Yes! Your brother was just telling me about your abilities as a pickpocket, once upon a time. Very impressive, I must say!”

  Mad said that? Will had only ever successfully practiced on his family after his first attempt had gone so awry. He softened a bit, realizing there was an opportunity to seize upon. “Well, despite it not being the noblest of pursuits, I was rather good at it.” Not really, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  Morella pushed herself up to sitting and bent forward with a poorly concealed wince. Leaning toward Will, she narrowed her eyes and gave him a soft, crooked smile that set his heart racing. “How good were you?”

  Smiling back at her, Will felt no need to make any attempt at humility. “I’m done in a heartbeat and they never feel it.”

  “See, Morella? By his own mouth he admits that he has a touch so soft you’d miss it…” Madigan said, barely containing his laughter.

  “Wait, what?” Will asked, suddenly uncertain.

  “…and he can finish quicker than you’d imagine possible!”

  Madigan and Morella burst out laughing again. Even Cephora joined in. Will’s face flushed as he realized the implication. He stammered something forgettable that only caused them to laugh more. Flustered, he turned around and left the tower, returning to the small clearing where he and Cephora had spent the day in training. He collapsed onto the aged log, so bristling and brooding with embarrassment that he nearly missed the tentative footsteps that approached.

  Will looked up, an insult on the tip of his tongue to unleash upon Madigan, only to stop short. It was Morella, not Madigan. As she stepped toward him, he saw that her eyes were concerned, her brow pinched above a tight-lipped frown.

  “Not much of a joker, are you?” Her words were gentle and contained a hint of confusion.

  Will sighed and looked back to the ground, shaking his head. “Actually, I usually pride myself on my sense of humor. I suppose this time was just a bit different.”

  Morella cocked her head to the side. “Why’s that?”

  The words eluded Will for a brief moment. Then he looked up and met her eye. “In Undermyre,” he said, “at the Street of Ash, that was really nice, you know? For me, I mean. Things had been, have been, rough for a while. And dancing with you, it was good.” He paused again, embarrassed by his halted speech. Gods, I sound like a child.

  “Dancing is always good.” She smiled.

  “Right,” he said. “Then you kissed me and disappeared and it was just this brilliant moment in the midst of so much darkness. I thought that’s all it was. Running into you again and everything in the past day and a half? I don’t know. It seemed, and this is going to sound absurd, but it seemed so perfect. So fated. But that’s more than a bit of unfair expectation on my part, I suppose. Especially given the circumstances.” A chuckle slipped from him before he could stop it. “
I just got a bit jealous of Madigan is the truth of it. I didn’t mean to put you in the middle.”

  “Fated?” Will glanced up to see Morella’s grin spreading and he could hear the amusement in her voice.

  “Fated.” He smiled back. “Although maybe it could just be good luck.” It struck him, then, how since the death of his grandfather, he had been a subdued version of himself. Elements of the him that he knew broke through to the surface on occasion, but when it was only he and Mad for so long, he had become passive and withdrawn. As he saw Morella’s smile and the humor in her eyes, he realized a change was needed. “How’s your side?”

  Her eyes flickered in doubt for a moment. “It hurts but it’ll be fine.”

  Will’s left hand thumbed the bloodstone at his side. He could feel the energy coursing through the blades, pumping like a heartbeat. Glancing down, he could swear he could actually see the flows of power coursing through them. In that moment, he reached forward and felt the flows follow, stretching and narrowing as his hand extended. As if responding to a call, the power coursed forward beyond his hand and onto the wound at Morella’s side for the briefest of moments. She gasped.

  Will let his hand fall, the power of the bloodstone seemingly spent as the key at his neck was the only remaining sensation. She turned away from him and lifted her shirt before staring back at him in disbelief. “It’s gone, completely gone. What did you… how did you do that?”

  Will smiled and winked at her, feeling more sure of himself than he had in weeks. “Definitely just good luck.”

  Her disbelief changed to delight and she stepped forward and brushed his lips with her own in a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Will said, smiling as tingles shot through his body and this time not from the key. “It ought to make your travel plans less unpleasant at the very least.” Her eyes fell as he spoke and her smile became pained. Will realized that he had no idea what her travel plans actually were, now, only that she would be alone. “Them being whatever they may be, of course.”

  “About that,” she began. “I know we’ve only just met and I know our paths may not align for long but I’ve been thinking”—she held Will’s eyes with her own and reached out, intertwining her hand in his —“could I join you?”

  Adding another member to their party was definitely something that should be discussed with Cephora and Madigan, he knew, but this woman with that smile and those eyes had him enraptured.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  23

  The Relics of Antiquity

  Will had a surprisingly easy time convincing Madigan. Cephora, however, was warier about accepting a new member into the group, particularly one they knew so little about.

  “We cannot,” Cephora told him after pulling him and Madigan aside. “Our path is too dangerous to allow any unknown agents to interfere.”

  “But she won’t be interfering,” Will said as he ducked farther out of Morella’s hearing. “With all her knowledge, she’ll be an asset.”

  Cephora gave a disdainful sniff. “I have my doubts about her ‘knowledge,’ as you call it.”

  “Then think of it this way. She’ll be all alone out here if she doesn’t join us,” Madigan said. “Whatever is out here had no compunction about attacking her group even though there were many of them. Imagine what could happen to her on her own? Do you really want that on your conscience?”

  Cephora eventually relented but only on probationary terms. “And,” she said, lowering her voice even further, “say nothing of our mission, nothing of our overall goals. The stories you gave were ambiguous and left much to be desired. As a historian, she’ll be skilled in connecting dots and digging up information.”

  “That could be useful though,” Will said.

  Cephora quieted him with a sharp look. “Unless it is information we would rather leave buried. Until we are able to trust her completely, secrecy is needed. Tell her nothing.”

  The brothers agreed but something about it seemed unfair to Will. Morella told us who she was and what she’s about. It felt strange bringing someone who had been so straightforward with them into the fold and giving her nothing in return. Still, when the offer to join them was made, Morella quickly accepted and asked no further questions.

  The next morning, they set out just as the sun broke over the distant hills. The days that followed were largely uneventful. The scenery didn’t change much as they were walking parallel to the mountains at either side. The trees all began to look the same, and Will soon was surprised to realize that he had grown rather bored.

  To save himself, he took to walking next to Morella and trying to learn more about her. She remained guarded about much of her past, but who was Will to judge? She was a delight to have as a companion on the road, laughing and storytelling regularly and making lewd remarks that shocked even his brother. Morella made him feel warm, excited in a way he hadn’t felt before.

  She was a stark contrast to Cephora. As the days passed, the guide became increasingly stoic and withdrawn. When periodic silence fell over the group, she seemed to relax and find her normal stride again. But once conversation started up again she would furrow her brow, set her jaw, and trudge along.

  For a time Madigan was as enamored with their new companion as Will. The earlier jealousy Will had experienced was not, it seemed, a fleeting thing. Mad was older, strong and handsome and every bit the dark-haired hero of his own story. But Morella shied away from Mad’s advances in favor of spending time with his little brother. Finally, Morella moved to Will and took his arm, claiming that she needed assistance over a rock or tree root that Will never saw. When Madigan backed away, saying nothing about it and making no further advances, Will finally felt the jealousy give way to confidence. Well, he always was a quick learner. Will smiled as Morella’s warmth gripped his arm.

  As for Will himself, he was too lost in the prospect of an adventurous history and amorous attentions to recognize the quickly souring mood of half the party. The day after Morella spurned Madigan, he began spending more time with Cephora, which was just fine with Will. His own morning training with Cephora decreased as she and Madigan spent more time together, speaking quietly and strategizing. Will didn’t mind; it gave him far more time to spend with Morella, getting lost in conversation and laughter and stories. She was loud and exuberant and full of fire and, as they grew closer, her flames consumed him.

  The days and miles rolled by. One morning, soon after breaking camp, Cephora took them on a short detour.

  “There is a town nearby,” she said as they trekked. “It is small but it houses one of the finest blacksmiths alive. It is time to get you a blade more suited for combat, Will.”

  “Perfect,” Morella said, her voice growing in excitement. “I’ve been wanting a new dagger, perhaps they’ll have one suitable.”

  Cephora’s mouth became a thin line. “Perhaps,” she said.

  “Granted, it’s a shame that no matter how fine his work is, it will be of inferior quality,” Morella continued as if not having heard Cephora. There was a hint of snark in her voice. She looked at Will and dropped her chin in a look that he had come to associate with her preparing to tell a story. “You see, before the Wars of Dawning, the finest weapons were produced by Gren’al. He discovered a method to fold all his weapons with Aerilite. Whatever was produced was”—she paused and looked to the sky, sighing—“immaculate. Pristine. Perfect. But after the Wars, the technique for working with Aerilite was lost. No one knows how or why. But the weapons would have made any produced in this age look like flimsy toys.”

  “If the technique was so strong,” Madigan said, his tone nearly matching Cephora’s, “how come it hasn’t survived?”

  “Gren’al never took an apprentice,” she replied, stressing the words as if she had already made the point quite clear. “And the works themselves have been lost to time, either hoarded away or lost.”

  “How convenient,” Madigan said quietly.
>
  Will shot him a dirty look. What’s gotten into him?

  They made their way into town and found the blacksmith. His shop was small and quaint from the outside, but Will was stunned by the quality of the work within. He had never seen blades of such fine craftsmanship, had not even known something so fine could exist.

  “And yet it’s a poor imitation of what greatness truly was,” Morella said as the blacksmith was outfitting Will with a saber. The smith ignored the comment, but Will saw Cephora stepping out of the room, shaking her head.

  Once they had completed the transaction, the smith disappeared back to his forge and Will fit the blade over his shoulder with a baldric. He was ecstatic about the craftsmanship, uncertain but eager to test it against Madigan’s noctori during their sparring sessions.

  Wait, when was the last time we sparred?

  As he thought about it, he realized it had been more than a while. Before Morella came. Did we stop because Madigan had… Had what? Become jealous? That didn’t sound like him. But what else could it be? A change had come over his brother, that much was obvious. Madigan, and Cephora too, had been acting strange. Something about Morella, perhaps?

  For reasons Will couldn’t fathom, both Madigan and Cephora seemed totally uninterested by her stories, but he was fascinated. She knew about everywhere they ventured and every place they visited. She told them everything, held nothing back. Will could understand their frustration at the lack of peace and quiet, maybe, but he found the information she provided invaluable. He couldn’t understand why they didn’t seem to agree.

  Perhaps they’re feeling marginalized? He could see that. Morella knew the area, had dozens of maps, so Cephora’s usefulness as a guide was lessened. And Will had grown close to her, finding a kindred spirit. It was as if the gods had plucked out exactly what Will had always longed for and presented it right in front of him. On some level, that new companionship had interrupted his and Madigan’s. No wonder Madigan and Cephora were frustrated by Morella’s presence: They were feeling replaced. They’re just still adjusting to the change. It all clicked.