Gods of Shadow and Flame

by M. H. Johnson

  Eyes widening in naked panic, Jason had choked and writhed as his body bubbled and ruptured under the awful weight of Shadow, so deep was the horror they had delved within. A hideous potency Malek and the others had been lost to, frantically fighting for their lives as they were ambushed before they could pull Jason back, their terror for Jason's soul transforming to hideous pleasure as they consumed the tainted essence of those abominations that dared to attack them, even as their friend writhed and died.

  For a second Malek felt the fierce urge to scream to the heavens for his loss. Another friend perished to Shadow, erased from his very mind.

  Then he blinked, and it was gone.

  Malek, heart racing, turned frightened eyes to Alacabar. “Alacabar. What just happened? You were telling me something important. I know you were! It was about Shadow and nightmare.”

  Alacabar sighed, his powerful frame radiating sympathy. “Fret not, lad. Some things are better forgotten. What matters is that we have each other's back, every moment that we cling to life. Only when final oblivion comes, do we dare to let go.”

  He gave Malek a friendly clap on the back. “Let’s leave it at that, shall we? We are a strong crew, us four, and the darkness shall not crush us! It is we who shall claim the power of Shadow, we who shall master its darkness, never allowing it to master ourselves. And save for this one gentle dip to come, we know better now than to risk any soul who has not proven themselves already.”

  Malek nodded, breathing deep of the salt air, trying to expel all dark thoughts from his mind. “Is that why Guildmaster Gregorian called us Midnight Delvers?”

  “Very good, Malek,” Alacabar commended. “It means we are among the strongest, able to survive the deepest pressures of nightmare; realms some fools suggest neighbor the Abyss itself.” Alacabar gave a rueful chuckle. “Sometimes I fear those fools are more right than not.”

  A thought that left Malek strangely apprehensive. At that moment Morlekai caught their gaze, waving them over to a massive ship, sleek and vast. A triple masted galleon, as he understood such things to be called, and Malek whistled in awe, all brooding thoughts forgotten, as he beheld the vast sails, seamen scampering about them in preparation for the voyage ahead. Malek had no doubt that such a grand ship was well made for sea voyages, but was at risk of foundering if it dared venture too far upstream. Malek was glad that the great river was so close to the sea that he could smell a sharp briny tang in the air with every gust of wind.

  “Come, gentlemen. Our grand adventure awaits!” Malek couldn’t help but grin at the excited twinkle in their leader’s eye, a strong arm about a dazed looking Latif, as much to keep him from bolting as an expression of friendship, Malek wryly mused.

  Almost before he knew it, Malek was gazing out towards the sea on the massive foredeck, the captain having greeted them all with warmest welcome, dressed up as finely as any courtier with his exotic attire and a gold capped smile. Apparently the Riskordian vessel was full of goods and passengers both, yet special accommodations were made to assure that the Delvers in their midst were given quarters second only to the captain's himself, as well as the rare privilege to be allowed above decks for the entirety of their voyage, or not, as they chose.

  Malek found himself enjoying the spray of salt and the rocking of the vessel as their massive ship entered the sea and begun to sail along the coast, captain and sailors calling to each other using nautical terms that escaped Malek, yet their obvious competence was reassuring. Latif, Malek couldn't help but notice, was looking a bit pale.

  “Good healer, is everything all right?”

  Latif grimaced, waving off Malek’s concern. “'Tis a bit of seasickness I’m afraid. I was hoping I was one of those who would be immune. No such luck, I suppose.” At which point his eyes widened and he quickly made his way to the side of the ship, Malek carefully holding him secure as he heaved his breakfast into the sea, to the good-natured laughter of more than one crewman.

  “Lad has to get his sea-legs!” one sailor declared, nods of agreement all around.

  “Do you have any peppermint in your herb bag?” Malek quietly asked when Latif’s spasms had at last ceased. “Or ginger root? Both can help with the sea-shakes.”

  Latif gave a tired nod. “You are right, of course. Ginger root I do have.” Once his satchel had been retrieved, Latif refusing to go below decks, saying the cool spray of the salty air at least helped, it was only a short matter of time before their friend’s belly was once more at ease, Latif’s gaze full of speculation. “I did not realize you were something of an herbalist, dear Malek, I’m impressed.”

  “My shieldsister is something of an herbalist.” Malek’s gaze turned thoughtful. “More than just. I think she understands plants better than pretty much anyone else I’ve ever met, self-proclaimed herbalist or no.”

  Latif smiled. "That's right. Mistress of a certain academy's mystical garden of perpetual spring, is she not? The de facto winter home of anyone who's anyone with connections, and your shieldsister is blessed with the power to change the very seasons to suit her whim, no?"

  Malek chuckled. “There might be a tad bit of exaggeration in there. But she does maintain a most beautiful garden, it is true. And the weather is quite fair within the vast walls of the Royal Ladies Academy, the winter mild in her surrounding orchards as well.”

  Latif sighed. "I hope the cruel winter does not spell the end for my cuttings. My holdings are now completely invested in your shieldsister's wondrous Calenbry Sunsets."

  "I don't think Jess would have bred apple stock not hardy enough to survive our harsh winters," Malek soothed his worried-looking companion, who gave a relieved nod, both losing themselves to the cry of gulls, the salty tang of the fresh breeze, the wondrous beauty and majesty of the endless ocean.

  “And how are you two enjoying our first voyage out to sea?” Morlekai asked, handing them both a water flask and a sandwich of bread and cheese. Malek sunk his teeth into the soft bread and rich sharp cheddar, giving his friend an appreciative nod, even as Latif grimaced, shaking his head.

  “I am afraid I’m not quite up for fare just yet, friend Morlekai. The view, on the other hand, is wondrous! Almost makes it all worth it.”

  Morlekai smiled. “She is beautiful like the fairest lady. But we must always have a care. For her storms, like any woman’s, can shake a man to the quick, if one is ill prepared.”

  “How bad do these storms get?”

  Morlekai gazed contemplatively at the vast expanse of brilliant blue waters before them, the barest sliver of shore to their left by which the captain navigated their journey by the light of day. “Imagine a sky of clouds so thick and black you’d think the end of the world was nigh. Lightning lashing the seas as thunder rumbled through the heavens, rains so thick you half feel like you're drowning already, frantically keeping your prow to the wind, lest you capsize as you plow through waves high as half a dozen men.”

  He laughed as Latif turned white as a sheet, giving the shaking healer an affectionate clap on the back. “Fear not, man. 'Tis a cloudless day, and few ships dare sail out of sight of shore in this era! We shall be fine, I have no doubt.”

  “Captain, Velheim cutters approaching!”

  Malek's ears pricked at the panicked call from the crow's nest, and soon the sailors began to work at a near frantic pace, unfurling what Malek assumed was a truce banner of some sort, even as Malek made note of previously stored cutlasses, shields, and crossbows being distributed among the suddenly anxious crew, all passengers save Morlekai's band being abruptly forced below decks.

  Malek blinked at the crossbows, even as Morlekai smiled. “No need to fear Crown headaches on top of everything else. Most galleons have a royal writ for ten crossbows stored for repelling pirates and the like. Of course, Crown inspectors check the stock regularly, and a captain risks seizure of his vessel if too many slip from his care. So long as no captain allows his stock to be sold to ne'er-do-wells, he has little to fear.”

 
Malek nodded, relieved the grand ship had at least some sort of defense. He looked carefully about, quickly making the barely discernible images of what soon turned out to be a pair of cutters, snapping banners clearly indicating their origin as they approached, each fitted with prows for ramming, and Malek found himself feeling the slightest bit uneasy, wondering if perhaps coming aboard in full armor had not been the most prudent of choices he could have made.

  Morlekai patted an anxious looking Latif's shoulder. “Fear not, my friend. Their boarding inspection will be cursory if they even board at all, protected as this vessel is by treaty and precedent both.”

  “Then why did the crew feel the need to ready arms?”

  Morlekai gave a soft chuckle. "Because, Latif, it never hurts to prepare for the worst-case scenario."

  Malek noted then that Lucienda and Alacabar, also fully armed and armored, had seen fit to join them, all four conveniently at the prow of the ship, and Malek understood that for all his words of reassurance, Morlekai was not such a fool as to be caught flatfooted in dealing with a military force of uncertain disposition.

  Fortunately, the boarding and inspection seemed like it would be a cursory affair; their own captain bowing low before the Velheim boarding inspector and his armed escort. Though his eyes were wary, the inspector did not come off as overtly hostile once the captain flourished documents assuring safe passage, as well as a list of passengers.

  “'Tis but furs, furnished goods, and passengers bound for Riskordia, the capital of Riskord, and our mother port, good sirs. If you wish to see the passenger manifest, you will note that most of our guests are youths of apprenticeable age and their guardians, bound for our textile mills.”

  The officer inspecting the list gave a slow nod, though Malek heard several of his cohorts grumble. “Training them in the manufacture of gambesons and the like, to be used against our own men!” The venom behind the words caused the captain to flinch, even as his officer favored the suddenly abashed soldier with a single raised eyebrow, the complainer quickly lowering his gaze as the still calm inspector addressed the captain once more.

  "Everything appears to be in order," he assured the visibly relieved captain. "But I do see here honorifics for multiple Delvers upon your vessel. Why, may I ask, are a handful of Erovering's deadliest daggers traveling to Riskord's capital?"

  The captain gave an apologetic chuckle, self-consciously glancing toward a cool-eyed Morlekai gazing back at him, proud as a king upon the prow of the ship, the inspector's gaze following the captain's as well. "My dear inspector! I did not think to ask. Delver business is best left to Delvers, as they say, and far be it for me to question their comings and goings. I know only enough about the matter to understand that Guild associates are never to be refused entry at any port. Surely you understand my position, sir?"

  Yet the suddenly focused inspector was ignoring the captain's nervous prattle, eyes locked upon he who could only be the leader of their band, Morlekai all but crackling with deadly potency, his gold green eyes flashing with impatience, for all that his expression was one of perfect poise, his stance cocky and proud. Fearless.

  Not for the first time, Malek wondered if the main difference between Morlekai and himself was that the man had far greater control over the berserker rage always simmering just below the surface. His amused laugh as the inspector tried to press answers out of Morlekai was almost savage, and Malek felt his own heart start to race, wondering if it would soon be time to slip into the warm fiery embrace of battle-frenzy once more.

  “Control, pup.” Alacabar’s cool words and firm grip upon Malek’s shoulder brought him back into focus. “We do not need to start an international incident quite yet.”

  “I would still know the purpose of your journey to Riskord, Del Morlekai,” The smartly dressed inspector in the silver and blue uniform rather officiously demanded once more.

  Morlekai favored the man with a nonchalant smile. "As permitted by sacred treaty, I go wherever there is need of those who may enter Shadow at will. For the darkness that would consume all you petty fools cares nothing for borders or boundaries. And that is all that need be said, inspector."

  The man stepped back, blinking in offense. “I am an officer of the royal navy of Velheim! I will not be addressed with such disrespect, Delver or no, sirrah!”

  Morlekai's eyes flashed dangerously at the slur. "What did you call me, you bureaucratic little worm?" Malek recognized the faint shiver and tingle, understood at once that for all his demands of Malek in terms of discipline and control, Morlekai himself was but a hairsbreadth from sending this man straight into the sea.

  "Gentlemen, let us be civil, shall we?" Lucienda's sultry voice washed over the group in soothing waves, and all eyes were suddenly captivated by the gray-eyed beauty before them, silky blond hair underneath her open-faced helm blowing gently in the breeze. Upon her alone, their terrible crimson armor appeared almost fetching, eldritch emanations aside. "No need to start a war quite yet, is there? We do have several dozen innocent children below decks who would be ill served if we ended up sinking all our ships over something so petty as imagined slights during a cursory inspection. An inspection wherein it has been shown that all treaties and writs of safe passage are in accord, are they not, dear inspector?"

  The man blinked, shaking his head as if confused. “Yes, my lady. All is in order. Please conduct yourselves appropriately while in Velheim waters." Morlekai gave a single bemused nod, which was all the poor inspector needed to save face and back away, he and his men reboarding their vessel as rapidly as they could and still preserve decorum.

  "Well done," Alacabar said, Lucienda giving a single nod as the cutters soon became little more than silhouettes on the distant horizon, the captain soon making his way to the foredeck, his grateful smile conveying all that need to be said, even as he inquired to their needs with almost fawning deference.

  Malek grinned. "I think he was afraid we were going to end up sinking his ship."

  “He’s not the only one,” a pale looking Latif noted, no doubt terrified by the grim scene that had almost played out, Morlekai laughing loud and long as if it had all been a grand jest.

  "Relish it, my friends! Tomorrow we shall sail into Riskordia's ports, and then off to the last leg of our journey. All the pieces coming into play, the grand mystery at last revealed." Morlekai seemed almost to glow with excitement, all of them feeling his infectious energy. Much eating and drinking did occur upon the decks that night, the five electing to sleep under the stars, all of them having a sense using their own unique gifts that the crew was of little threat to them. "Their souls are soothed, and I have had words with various crewmen," Lucienda assured.

  Malek nodded in turn. “No sharp odor of rage or fear do I detect from any of them, at least so far as I can tell.”

  Latif smiled. "Frankly, I'm far happier sleeping above deck with the sea breeze and light of the stars and moon than I would be puking in a cramped cabin below."

  Morlekai seemed pleased with the group's sentiment. “There is much to be said for resting here at the prow. The sea is calm and we are not pinned in a cabin with tight corridors filled with panicked passengers and sailors, should aught go amiss.” His imposing gaze locked upon Malek, eyes seeming almost to glow a fiery shade of gold in the brilliant moonlight. “You know what to do, Hound.”

  Malek grimaced, but did not protest. "A drop of blood from all, then," he said quietly, only Latif blinking as Alacabar grinned, perhaps a bit too fiercely.

  "Won't hurt a bit, lad!" Alacabar assured, upon which Malek proceeded to prick the young healer's thumb with one of a small packet of rose thorns kept for just such a purpose. Five thorns, five drops of blood, including his own. Malek took a deep breath, centering himself, ignoring their intent gazes as he focused on the simmering swirling hot cauldron of blood at the core of his soul that with every voyage into Shadow he felt growing ever more fierce and bright, ever more a part of him. And in that instant of clarity, he
focused his awareness on the screams of the lost children that haunted his sleep, his clarity instantly igniting in red hot frustration, a hound unable to protect his master's children, a mother screaming for her lost babies. A righteous fury that ignited his magic, a crimson power terrifying in its potency, now nearly as strong in mundus as it was in the realms of Shadow.

  “By this blood I protect. By this blood I ward. Woe to he who breaks the gaze of the Hound, lest ye pay the coin in blood I have wept in sorrow, protecting that which I claim!” Malek opened his eyes, sensing at once the reek of fear from the shaking healer, even as he continued to hiss in a guttural tongue he suspected no living mortal would understand. Immediately the blood ignited, a crimson flame, Malek's own pricked thumb spurting blood with every pulse; blood that formed of its own accord into a fine crimson mesh that crawled across the deck and rail where their bedding was laid out, forming a latticework only they could see. He took a deep breath, dizzy for only a moment from the fierce expenditure of power his warding spell had entailed.

  “It is done,” Malek said quietly.

  Morlekai giving an approving nod. “Good.”

  “What did you do?” A shaken Latif asked.

  Malek locked gazes with the nervous looking healer, his words calm, free of inflection. It did not betray the grave misgivings he felt at the use of his own dark gift. “I did what needed to be done. Should any sailor or assassin approach this close to the prow of the ship before the sun’s rays touch her beams, or I break the ward? The last thing he shall ever do is scream, his blood drained dry.” Malek smiled then, bleak and cold. “It matters not if he is diabolist or archmage, he will die.”

  Latif visibly blanched. “Your magics would kill a man, just for daring to approach? Monstrous!”