Thus Falls the Shadow

by Martin Swinford

  “Still think you should try to get out.” His voice was barely audible. I teased the gun from his hand. Stay with me Rilk.

  “Stay with me Rilk.” I squeezed his hand and felt the slightest response.

  “Will...”

  “Hey.” I squeezed his hand again.

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “I know.”

  “Love...”

  “Me too.”

  I sat holding his hand and watched the breeze push the wisps of smoke around the cavern. The mouth of the cave gave me a panoramic view of the sky and as I watched, the last cloud cleared away to give an unbroken view of the dust. The great clouds dominated the sky, an unrelenting sea of colour and form that dwarfed us all. And so I sat, holding his hand, losing myself in the ebb and flow until a wave of pain carried me away.

  Some Sort of End

  LIKE AN AGEING BEAUTY exposed by the morning sun, the strip looked its worst in the cold-filtered pre-dawn of the undercity. I stood in the shadow across from The Rocking Horse and waited. I was wearing a long coat that was really not my style, but even here, openly carrying a shotgun might draw attention. I adjusted the bag that was pulling on my shoulder under the coat. Not long now.

  It had been fifty days since I had sat with Rilk in the cave and waited to die. Fifty days since Ariadne brought the Fading Sun to find us. I can’t remember much, just a hazy image of the ship descending into view, and then when I realised I might get out, insisting that there was something we could not leave without. Ariadne explained it when I was in recovery, after she had removed bullets and stitched wounds, and her agile fingers gradually put me back together. Martha’s ship had put down next to the Fading Sun, immediately scanning it for heat signatures. Finding none, Ariadne smiled at this point, they had assumed the ship was empty. Ariadne in return hacked into their system, found that they were scanning for a tracking device and added the tracker ID to The Fading Sun’s systems. Then, after Martha’s team had left their ship, Ariadne had altered the atmosphere mix so that the remaining four mercenaries slipped into unconsciousness and died. I remember shuddering when she told me this. Once she had the tracker ID it was easy to locate us, she had waited only until she was sure all the rebel ships had left.

  A movement in the doorway opposite brought me back to the present. The barman came out, reached back in to switch off the sign and then shut the door before shuffling away, shoulders hunched and hands thrust deep into pockets. I hurried across the strip and slipped inside.

  As I had planned, the bar was empty, lit only by the light that seeped through the grime on the windows. A single strip of yellow at the back of the bar hinted at the doorway and the room beyond. I crept over and listened, hearing voices in the room beyond, one in particular that I recognised. For another moment I stood with my pulse quickening and my lips starting to tingle as the adrenaline surged. I took a deep breath, shrugged off the coat and kicked open the door.

  “Nobody moves!” I shouted. “And that goes especially for you Romeo!” I pointed at the big Kwa-doon who stepped out of the shadow to my left. “One more step and I swear I’ll blow your bosses face off!”

  The Duke didn’t take his eyes from the gun, he just gestured with his rightmost hand for the bodyguard to step back.

  “Before anyone gets any crazy thoughts,” I continued, “let me say now I’ve got no intention of shooting anyone. I just want to do a little business.”

  The Duke looked his normal dapper self, sitting on his upholstered throne, surrounded by his cronies. If he was scared he certainly didn’t show it.

  “Well, well,” he said. “The smuggler has returned. Don’t tell me you’ve finally brought my delivery.”

  “The coordinates of Kwa Eden?” I shook my head. “No. But I have brought you something else you asked for.”

  “I must confess I’m interested. What is it?”

  “First, you agree to accept this in full payment of the money I owe you.”

  “I don’t see how I can cancel a debt without knowing what I’m getting in return.”

  “Nevertheless,” I said. “That’s the deal.”

  The Duke looked at the shotgun and then at me. He nodded slowly, crossed two of his arms and pointed at me with the other.

  “How about this? You say that I have requested this, whatever it is. How about I agree with your demands as long as this really is something I want?”

  I nodded. “Deal.”

  “Then let’s have a look.”

  I shrugged the bag off my shoulder, held it out with my left hand and upended it over the table. The object thumped solidly onto the table and rolled slightly, leaving a bloody trail as it did. It came to rest facing the Duke so that he could look into the dull eyes and see the lips partly open as if to greet him with a smile.

  The Duke’s eyes flashed purple as he half jumped out of his chair. Then he let out a long, fluting, whistling laugh.

  “Calno old friend,” he crowed. “We meet again!” He laughed again and then looked at me.

  “Okay smuggler, you’ve got your deal. You owe me nothing, but let me tell you this. Show your face on Kwa Nine again and you’re a dead man.”

  “Fine by me.” I replied. “Oh, and just one thing. Anyone who steps outside within the next two minutes gets their head blown off!”

  I backed out keeping the gun trained on The Duke. The last I saw he had picked up Calno’s head with two of his hands and was twisting the nose with the other. As soon as I was outside, I ran.

  I didn’t get very far before the bomb went off. I had guessed at two minutes from the head hitting the table but it was only just enough. I was quite gratified with the results. You can fit a fair amount of explosive inside a human skull, but I had to make room for the pressure trigger and the timer as well so I wasn’t entirely sure how well it would work, but as I watched the whole front of the bar blow out in a cloud of debris I figured it had done the job. I lingered for a second, surveying my handiwork as the plume of smoke swirled up to the roof, nodded to myself, and then headed for The Fading Sun.

  As soon as I was on board, I hit the comm to the bridge.

  “Get her out of here Ariadne, it’s going to get hot pretty quickly.”

  “Your meeting went well then?”

  “Went off with a bang!”

  “Hmm.” Her calm voice sounded slightly disapproving. “I assume that is what humans call a joke.”

  “Well it was meant to be,” I replied. “Get her moving I’m coming up.”

  “You might want to stop by the cabin first. He’s awake.”

  It is hard to describe the feeling of the weight being lifted after so long. I ran to the cabin.

  He was still looking frail, but there was something about him that had changed. I had sat by his bed as he lay in the coma, day after day feeling only his absence, but now I could sense his return. As I walked in he opened his eyes and for a second I thought he didn’t recognise me, but then the ghost of his old smile played over his lips. I sat down on the bed next to him and took his hand.

  END

  Afterword

  I HAVE A BIT OF A WEIRD obsession which revolves around three things: the film Apocalypse Now, the novel Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad and The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot. These three things are already intertwined: Conrad’s writing inspired Eliot’s modernist poetry to the point that he prefaces The Hollow Men with the quote “Mistah Kurtz – he dead” from Heart of Darkness. Apocalypse Now takes Conrad’s story of a man traveling up the Congo into the heart of colonial Africa and transplants it to Vietnam with the mysterious Kurtz recast as a rogue special forces’ colonel. In the final scenes, Kurtz (Marlon Brando) reads T. S. Eliot’s poem.

  These three pieces indirectly influenced to write Thus Falls the Shadow. I say indirectly because I was unaware of their influence at the start, partly because there was no thought or planning at that point. It's a story that I didn't intend to write, a story that crept up on me and took me by
surprise.

  I wrote the first fragment of a short story called 'Dust' in May 2016. I liked what I had written, but I was busy redrafting the first book of my fantasy series, so 'Dust' was put to one side. I returned to it in the September and again in October and by November I had a solid start to a story, some characters I liked and a sense of where it was going. I was still thinking of it as a short story, although longer than any short story I had written before.

  At this point I put it aside. I had decided I would release The Song of Amhar as a series of novellas and was busy with my first attempt at self-publishing. I had also started working on the fourth book on the series but it was here I hit a road block. I had two chapters down but half way through the third I just stopped and couldn't get going again.

  When my Dad had the equivalent of writer's block, he would stick a load of paper on the walls of his studio and just paint anything. He said it just took the pressure off, and eventually he could paint himself out of the corner. I decided to do the same thing and picked up 'Dust' again. It worked, the words came and I found myself writing a bigger story, one that looked like it would be novella length. This was good, but something strange was happening and I realised I was treading a familiar path. I had a story recounted past tense by a man who is searching for something, an elusive shadowy figure to be tracked down and a ship travelling through alien worlds.

  So here was my dilemma, go with the story as it grew or abandon it as not original enough. I decided to go with it and by Easter 2018 I had a Science Fiction novel.

  Thus Falls the Shadow is not Heart of Darkness or Apocalypse Now, and it is certainly not The Hollow Men. In a sense it is my response to these three pieces of art that have had such an influence on me. There are similarities, and I have deliberately referenced all three works in my book. I'm not going to list those references now, they are to there to find when you read it, but I will say that some are there to make you think, others to make you laugh, or at least crack a smile.

  I think the big difference is in the overall themes. Both Apocalypse Now and Heart of Darkness place one man's obsessive search for another against a background of the effects of colonialism. In Thus Falls the Shadow I have added another theme: love. The protagonist (Will) wrestles between his obsessive search for one man and his love for another. This was another bit of the story that took me by surprise, I was going to write in a woman but it just didn't feel right. I like to give my characters some agency and it turned out that Will just wasn't interested in women.

  Anyway, I hope you liked it. If you did, I would really appreciate it if you would leave a review. Just a few words and the start rating is all it needs. You can get to the book’s amazon page here:

  www.amazon.com/dp/B07JKDGM8Y

  If you would like to stay in contact then why not sign up for my email list. I send a letter out about once per month with news, and ebook offers. You can sign up here:

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  If you would like to read more of my work then you can check out The Song of Amhar fantasy series. There are no line-dancing holograms I’m afraid, and no swearing either, but there are great characters, and a cracking adventure. You can get the first book free by signing up (above), but if you want to read the whole series so far then your best bet is the box set:

  www.amazon.com/dp/B07DH78XF9

  Read on for a taste of the story.

  The Warrior

  “YOU THINK YOU CHOSE to be here, but you did not. You are here because hundreds of years ago a king decided you should be. You may think you are strong, that for you it will be easy, or you may think you have no chance and you are scared about what is to come. You may be angry that you have been forced here against your will, or you may be excited about being away from home. None of that matters. You are here to learn to fight and to kill. You will succeed or die in the attempt. Welcome second sons, welcome to the Guild of the Sword.”

  LUAN LIFTED HIS EYES from the figure on the low stage at the centre of the hall. Faded flags hung from the vast roof-beams high above him and ancient coats of arms hung on the walls flanked by windows etched with heraldic symbols from long gone noble families. Across the arch high above were carved the words "Lest Ye Second Son Keep the Kingdom".

  “How old is this place?” he thought. “How many have sat here listening to the speech of introduction?”

  His gaze shifted down and he looked around the ranks of boys that surrounded him. There must have been about two hundred, although the room could have held many more. Each of them had made the journey, leaving home on the last day of the summer of their fourteenth year. Such was the lot of a second son. Born to serve the kingdom, born to be a warrior, born to be a Klaideem.

  HIS EARLIEST MEMORY was of his uncle, Marius, arriving one late summer evening. Luan must have been about five years old at the time but he would always recall the sound of horses’ hooves on the path. He had waited so long for this moment. His uncle, the warrior, the great Klaideem himself was coming to see them. Luan stared eagerly into the dusk, his eyes straining to catch a first glimpse of this mysterious figure.

  He was not to be disappointed. As the last of the light faded into darkness, Luan saw the silhouette of the knight appear where the path crested the brow of the hill above his father’s hall. He heard the stamp of hoof and snort of breath as the horse made its careful way down towards them. Then at last he was there, a towering figure on horseback. Luan, suddenly shy, slipped behind his mother’s skirts for safety. His older brother, Ban, stood as tall as an nine-year-old could next to their father.

  “Hail Klaideem!” Their father spoke the words formally.

  “Hail Cunbran and well met!” replied Marius, his words holding genuine warmth as he dismounted.

  “Well met indeed!” Luan’s father replied and a smile broke out on his face as he stepped forward and clasped his brother in a firm embrace. Marius laughed and threw his arms around his brother, and then looked past him to the two small boys.

  “And who are these fine warriors?” he asked. “Your new bodyguard?”

  “My sons of course: I present to you Ban and Luan.”

  “Hail Ban,” Marius said, smiling at the boy. Then he paused and knelt down.

  “Hail second son,” he said to the five-year-old Luan.

  THAT WAS THE DAY THAT Luan started to realise that his destiny was different from his older brother's. That in time Ban would be the Cunbran, the Clan-Chief, and that it was Luan, the second son, who might one day become one of the Klaideem, the sword warriors.

  Luan’s Choice

  "THE FIRST TEST ON THE path of swords is the one you have already passed. The day you left your home and family was the day you started that first test and the day you arrived here it was complete. Those that failed that test are the ones that did not make it here, the ones who have met with death on the road, or strayed from the path, or decided to follow another."

  LUAN LOOKED AGAIN AT the empty seats in the hall. He tried to imagine the boys who could have been sitting there but for chance or misfortune. Had he known the dangers of the journey, would he have had the courage to set out?

  ALL THROUGH THE SUMMER Luan had felt as if a hard lump was congealing in his stomach. He had long known what was expected of him, that the choice that faced him was really no choice at all. What else could he have done? Refused the calling? Choose to stand in the shadows and do nothing but watch his brother become Clan Chief? Shame would follow him all his days, he would be an embarrassment to his family.

  He thought often of his uncle Marius, and of the last time he saw him. The warrior had been a hero to Luan throughout the boy's life. Ever since that first meeting Luan had looked upon Marius as something out of the old legends. The knight in armour who would appear suddenly, riding out of the darkness and just as quickly be gone. Often, he would bring some small present for Ban and Luan and one well remembered time he had brought toy armour and weapons, a helmet and spear for Ban and a sword and shield for Luan.
That summer they had fought all the old battles of history, the paddocks had been their battlefields and the haystacks their castles to be captured and defended.

  But the last time had been different. Luan had been eight years old and Marius arrived without the ready humour of his previous visits. He had said only a brief word to Luan and Ban, ruffling their hair as he walked in and closeted himself with their father. The boys waited. They could just make out the low voices of their father and uncle. After a while their mother brought food and drink and the boys caught a fragment of conversation, broken off. "...invasion?" their father’s voice and

  "...testing us" in reply.

  "There's going to be a battle." Ban's voice, wavering between child and adult, betrayed excitement. A sudden sense of fear swept through Luan and tears started in his eyes. He blinked them back, struggling to control his feelings. Foreboding filled him with a new awareness of the possibility of loss.

  "Chores to do you two!" Their mother seemed to have a serious aversion to Luan and Ban doing nothing. "Ban! That woodpile's getting low, get the axe. Luan! Fetch some water and then you can finish weeding my garden."

  Pulling the weeds from around the vegetables kept Luan busy but his mind was still in turmoil. As he worked his way along the rows he listened for the sound of his uncle and his father leaving the room where they were closeted. Finally, he heard the bang of the door and the sound of voices. He dropped the trowel and sprinted round to the front of the hall just in time to hear his father order a servant to saddle his uncle's horse. Luan skidded to a stop and then stood still, unsure now what to say but needing to somehow express his feelings. In the end he blurted out the simple distillation of a child's fears.