Shadowed

by Tara Jadestone

  “Me mother,” he started. “Owned an inn, she did. Loved me and me father, ’til the night a couple of the Guards came to the tavern. Ruined her, they did. Me father cried and wanted nothing to do with her. I found her the next morn, hung from a rope.” I shuddered at his words. As he spoke on, he clenched his hands into fists, staring out into the dark trees. “They ruined more than just me mother. Other women, too. Young girls like you.”

  “And you decided to ambush travelers by the King’s Castle to avenge her?” I asked in a low voice. He glanced down at me, tight-lipped, and spoke no more.

  I turned away, gazing at the others, wondering if they joined for a similar reason. I remembered the bandit that had taken my necklace –Eyjak– and how he almost looked guilty after I had mentioned that his mother would disprove of what he was doing.

  My eyes then caught sight of two other bandits, laying side by side together, both young and with the same wide face and chestnut hair. I could almost feel the grief they shared, speaking softly as they stared up at the sky. Like Rojer, something had turned them against their own kingdom, their own countrymen.

  “Enough talk,” Gyor said, breaking me from my thoughts. “Us men need our sleep, my duchess.” I rolled my eyes. I was starting to dislike his reference of my duchess the more he said it. “Get over here.” He came forward and lifted me off the ground, a tight grip on my arm. Owen grunted in an effort to reach for me but failed to. I struggled to pull away under his grasp.

  “What are you–?”

  “A duchess needs a warm place to sleep at night, don’t she? And I just so happen to have one. Of course, that means the two of us will have to share it for the night.”

  I stared, wondering if he was as daft as he sounded.

  Owen’s voice broke Gyor’s smile.

  “Do not even dare entertain the thought,” he growled, staring straight at Gyor. “I swear by the kings, if you so much as touch even her hair, I will make you regret you ever thought to take us captive.”

  I felt my jaw slip. I could never have imagined Owen to possess such ferocity in his voice. But hearing his words made me realize what Gyor was really planning to do. And it was more than just sharing the same bed.

  “Shut ’im up,” Gyor said with a frown, tugging me away from Owen’s side. “He’s playin’ hero again.”

  Upon his order, one of the bandits stood, walked over to Owen, and kicked him in the ribs. Owen doubled over, spitting up blood. I gasped in horror at the sight.

  “Please do not hurt him,” I pleaded as the bandit grabbed Owen by the hair and sent a fist to his face. “Please! I am begging you! Please do not hurt him!”

  Gyor smiled, bringing a hand to my cheek. I almost gagged at the touch. “It depends, love, on how I’m feeling.”

  His words were no reassurance, and my heart hammered inside me. But I clenched my jaws. I could not let this happen. Gyor had gotten away with enough.

  I inhaled deeply and shoved my elbow into Gyor’s chest with as much force as I could muster. Gyor gasped, bending over to press a hand against his bruised chest, surprised that I decided to fight back. I made a run past Gyor, but I did not get far. Standing before me were the two brothers, blocking my escape. They grabbed each of my arms and brought me back to the fuming Gyor. I twisted from their hold as they inched me forward, but to no avail.

  “No one’s ever defied me,” he snarled, whipping his hand across my cheek. I cried out, my eyes watering. Gyor looked down at me, pleased at himself. But seeing that grin only angered me further. Who does he think he is?

  I kicked out wildly, catching the two bandits by surprise, and the two let me go at my movement.

  The heel of my boot came in contact with Gyor’s abdomen, causing him to drop to his knees this time, wheezing. The two quickly grabbed a hold of me once more and pushed me to the ground, their grip tighter than before, forcing me to kneel before Gyor as he rose to his full height slowly.

  “I’m gonna enjoy stripping every last bit of yer dignity, Duchess,” he seethed, grabbing me by the hair. “And I don’t care what that madman has to say about it!” He sent another slap my way and I heard my neck crack from its force. He dropped me to the ground while I coughed blood. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

  Why was I ever born? I forced myself to look at Owen’s heaving form. Blood was running down his chin and one of his eyes had swollen up. I have only caused pain.

  My vision blurred as the tears continued to fall. I waited for Gyor to drag me off, but nothing happened. I looked up and saw nothing but a gray haze. I shook my head, shakily standing up. Owen was gone, too.

  The haze began to fade away from my feet and I stepped backward, crying out to see myself above a road, hugged by a dense forest. My heart raced, and I could not understand how I was up here or what I was seeing. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and a story scene, like one of Tiran’s projections, played in front of me.

  A blacksmith’s tired eyes followed an eagle in the early dawn sky as he trekked north. The eagle was nothing special, had it not been for the two jagged scars that ran along its chest. The blacksmith absently wondered how it could have acquired them. No arrow could make such a mark, but a sword surely could.

  After watching it for some time, the eagle dove close to him and let out a shrill, warning cry. His horses snorted and shied away from the eagle, frightened, before the bird disappeared into the clouds.

  It was then that the blacksmith noticed several hooded horsemen had begun to circle his carriage. But what concerned him more was his pregnant wife lying within the wagon, their child expected to come any moment.

  Slapping the reins across their backs, the blacksmith urged his horses faster, scolding himself for not traveling any later or with any companions. He needed his wife to be taken to the midwife’s home in Neronis –the King’s city– where he had also planned to have his goods sold to the local merchants.

  The hiss of a blade brought the blacksmith out of his thoughts. One of the rogues gestured to his men, raising his arm in the air before swiping down. His comrades charged.

  The blacksmith’s steeds veered violently to the right, narrowly escaping the rogue’s sword. The blacksmith gripped the reins, his heart racing as he heard his wife’s whimper from within the wagon.

  At once, the eagle he had seen before reappeared, taking a turn to the left, guiding the blacksmith to an unseen forest trail. The blacksmith followed the eagle off the road and into the woods.

  After a few moments of silence, an arrow cut through the air, narrowly missing the blacksmith’s head.

  Believing the rogues were after his inventory, the blacksmith tugged his horses to a halt and jumped down to take his wife to safety. The young woman held onto her husband as he gently lifted her out of the wagon.

  The blacksmith then ran for cover, distancing himself from the loaded wagon as far as he could. He had hoped that by giving what they had come for, the rogues would not harm him or his wife.

  After stumbling through the trees for some time, the blacksmith came to a stop, easing his wife onto the ground. She winced, sweat beading at her temple. The blacksmith sat down at her side, breathing heavily before turning his head to face his wife.

  “Forgive me if I have pained you,” he whispered, brushing the hair from her face. She gripped his wrist, her eyes wide. The sound of distant voices made him look away from her.

  “Vincent? Why have we left the wagon? Is someone after us?” she asked, forcing him to look at her. He sighed, unable to find an answer that would not bring his wife any more distress than she was in now. “Vincent?”

  “Madeline, I need you to stay calm, for our child’s sake.” She shook her head, her eyes tearing up. “Do not worry, I will make sure everything is all right,” he assured her, getting up. He could hear the rustling of trees and crunch of foliage as the moments wore on. The rogues must have followed him into the woods. Vincent knew he had to do something or he could lose her– and the child she carried.

>   Something fluttered in his peripheral vision, and he turned.

  Perched on a low branch was the same eagle that had led Vincent here. It then occurred to him that the eagle was not sitting on a low branch. No, his skilled eyes realized it to be something far more valuable: a sword.

  The eagle flew away just as Vincent made a grab for it. The sword pulled out smoothly from the earth, its metal gleaming black under the shade of the trees.

  Madeline’s scream sliced through Vincent’s initial awe of the blade. He returned and knelt beside her, dropping the sword to his side.

  “Our baby,” she whispered. She sucked in her breath, gripping his shoulder. “Our baby is coming.”

  Time passed in agony as Vincent felt he could do nothing for his wife except hold her hand and comfort her with his words. And in those painful moments, their pursuers ceased to exist. Their child, a girl whom they named Melanie, was soon brought into the world.

  Vincent shrugged off his moist vest, having nothing else to wrap the crying newborn child in. As he did so, the baby girl screeched, her young heart beating in pain. The trees then burst behind them, showering the surrounding area with dirt.

  Three horses circled the couple, snorting, their riders surveying them beneath their dark green hoods. Vincent placed their child in his wife’s arms before he turned to face the horsemen. He furrowed his brow at the sight of the horses they were mounted upon, for they looked ethereal; their eyes were violet-colored and large viridian veins writhed throughout their bodies, coiling beneath their black coat.

  Vincent’s hand reached out for the sword beside him. His fingers tightened around its faded gold hilt as one of the rogues spoke.

  “What do we have here?” one of the horsemen mused aloud, cocking his head to the left. His voice was deep as if it were rumbling from the ground.

  “Please, you may take my things and go,” Vincent pleaded. “I shall not tell a soul–”

  “Silence!” the rogue shouted, startling Vincent. The rider pointed a finger, over Vincent’s shoulder. At Melanie. “We have come for the child.”

  “My child?” he said. “For what purpose would you want my child?”

  The rider ignored his question, and instead, spurred his horse to sidestep towards Madeline.

  “The girl,” the rider said. “We want the girl.”

  Vincent stiffened, hearing his wife gasp.

  “My wife gave birth to a boy,” he lied.

  The rogue narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak when something flashed in front of him, causing his horse to rear up.

  The eagle clawed at him and his steed, shrieking. The horse reared up, dropping his rider before it rampaged blindly into its fellow horsemen. In all the confusion, Vincent caught one of the horses’ reins and cradled his wife and child onto it. He got on behind her and kicked the horse into a full gallop, taking them far from the strange men. And through it all, Vincent had managed to take the sword he found with him.

  After several terror-filled moments, he slowed the horse near the pebbled banks of a bubbling stream. Vincent dismounted and lifting his wife off the horse, he set her down onto the grass. She clutched their child but did not utter a word. Vincent pulled out a handkerchief and walked over to the stream. He hoped the cold water would help relieve his wife of her exhaustion and clean her up.

  Just as he stood up to go, a child’s faint cry caught his attention. He turned back to face Madeline and their child Melanie, assuming the cry had come from their daughter. But the two were quiet, resting.

  Vincent did nothing more to seek out the cause of the cry. But guilt gnawed him the longer he stood there, knowing he himself had narrowly escaped thieves from taking his own daughter.

  Vincent became alert to the child’s cry. He directed himself towards the sound, peering through the trees and stepping softly as he walked. As he did so, Vincent looked back occasionally at his wife and daughter, making sure they remained within his visual field.

  And there, caught in the tall reeds of the stream, was a wicker basket. Its lid was flipped open, a baby lying within it.

  The moment Vincent’s eyes fell upon her, all his worries ceased to exist; the spell that had been placed upon the child just moments after her birth now overcame him. With nothing else in mind, he picked her up, awed.

  A slip of paper fell from the blanket she was wrapped in, and Vincent bent down to look at it.

  One day the bearer shall come;

  from the light, she will rise,

  and into the darkness, she will fall.

  Heed this warning,

  and raise her well,

  for all of Tenebris shall die at her will.

  ~Queen Selina the First

  By the time Vincent had taken the child back to his wife, his mind had been compromised. He no longer worried about the rogues after his firstborn, nor of the rogue’s steed that had mysteriously vanished. All he could think about was caring for the baby girl he had just found.

  And only her.

  I blinked and everything was gone. I barely had any time to process what I had seen –and what had I seen? My own birth? The same eagle I saw now saving my parents’ lives nearly seventeen years ago?– when I felt Gyor lift me by the arm. I forced myself to forget what I had seen and, with my last bit of courage, I called out to the giant staring mournfully at me.

  “Rojer, please spare me from your mother’s fate!”

  Gyor and his men glanced at Rojer where he stood; surprised I was seeking aid from one of their own. Rojer remained as he was, and Gyor shoved me dangerously close to the tent’s entrance.

  “Let ’er go, Gyor.”

  I felt Gyor’s grip on my arm tighten and I winced.

  “Rojer,” Gyor said, “you’ve no business to order me about. Don’t let this sorceress influence you.”

  Rojer stepped forward, his eyes trained on his leader, and hands clenched into fists at his side. But why did Gyor call me a sorceress? I possess no magic.

  “Let ’er go,” he repeated.

  At this warning, Gyor released me from his hold, pushing me in Rojer’s direction. I fell to the ground again with my head bowed and tears in my eyes. I held a hand to my cheek and neck, for the pain still pulsed under my skin.

  “I thank ye, Gyor,” I heard Rojer say before his massive body walked over and knelt down beside me. I held my breath in anticipation of what he would say to me. “And I thank ye, too, Duchess, for making me realize what I’ve been a part of,” he whispered. I looked up to meet his dark, remorseful eyes, seeing the kindness behind them. “Now come,” he said, “yer friend needs you.”

  Rojer helped me to my feet and slowly guided me back to Owen. I dropped to his side, gently helping him to sit upright. I gave him a forced smile and I wiped away the blood from his face with my dress sleeve. Owen bent his forehead to touch mine, his breathing still haggard. We stayed like this for some time, before Gyor spoke.

  “Get to sleep, the lot of you! We’re leaving at dawn.”

  “We ain’t gonna sell ’em back to their family?” Eyjak asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Gyor turned, and over his shoulder said, “They’re not worth the trouble.” And with that he opened his tent’s flap and disappeared inside.

  I settled down beside Owen, trying not to imagine what could have happened if not for Rojer. But I felt safer knowing he was still in the shadows behind us.

  Any sympathy I previously had for these bandits was now gone, replaced by bitterness. How many unfortunate men and women suffered what we had to? Whatever made them this way is no justification for turning against morality.

  Owen bent in my direction, resting against me, and pressing his face into my shoulder. I held him close when suddenly his shoulders began to heave. I gaped as he silently wept, tears streaming down his face.

  My initial shock of his tears faded into a sigh. Everything that had just happened was a sure blow to his pride, and the physical pain that came with it was the kind of whic
h I knew he had never felt before.

  I wiped away his tears and brushed his hair away from his face, feeling my heart weigh down on me. I wished I could do or say something to ease his pain, but I did not know what to do as I was in just as much pain; so, I held him instead, hoping he would understand that I felt his grief.

  I gently traced my hand down to his chest, where the Shadow Reaper had stabbed him. His shirt was soaked with sweat, but the wound had not opened again. I sighed, relieved. I then glanced up at Owen, slightly worried if he found my actions too intimate. But he made no objection.

  As we sat there, there was nothing I missed more now than the crumbling towers of the Solstice Palace. I would rather have been ambushed by a dragon than to have encountered Gyor.

  All the while I wondered why Selenah had not been able to help us. She saved me at the waterfall as I was running from the Dark Mages and when the Shadow Reaper kidnapped me, I recalled, staring into the hissing fire that had become glowing embers. What stopped her now? But I could not focus on her, either, for the scenes I had witnessed in the haze only befuddled my thoughts more. Why did I imagine it? How was I able to conjure up such a story?

  The night sounds would normally keep me awake, but I droned them out. Owen had pulled away from me, and the fire’s dimness made it impossible to see his face clearly. My eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness and I could only see that his gaze was intent on the ground before him.

  “We should go to sleep,” I whispered, turning away.

  “Melanie, wait.”

  I paused, looking over at him.

  “Please stay with me.” I nodded and turned back to him.

  Careful of his bruised side, I allowed him to once more lean against me. I closed my eyes, grateful that the pain in my cheek was fading.

  Sometime before sleep overtook me, I heard Owen whisper something about his inability to fulfill his duty to protect me. I mumbled, “It is all right,” but was unsure if he heard me. I felt his lips brush against the side of my head and it was enough to send me into a peaceful rest.