Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden (3 page)

“Mama, where’s father?”

“Off on one of his wild adventures. You know
how he is, my love. Remember when he camped out up in the old oak
in the courtyard for a week, all trying to find out how many leaves
were on the blasted thing. He was counting and counting until he
finally fell asleep and crashed into the rose bush below.”

“He was covered in thorns!” They both tried
to suppress their giggles until Astrid finally gave another grand
yawn.

“I think it’s time for someone to go to
sleep,” Evanna said, brushing her daughter’s long dark hair from
her face.

Evanna noticed that Astrid was quick to take
her advice and was fast asleep in moments, cradled in her mother’s
arms. With a gentle smile, she laid the girl down next to her and
tucked her in. It was a few hours past midnight and she knew
tomorrow was going to be quite the day. Harvest time was right
around the corner and everyone in the farming district had seemed
to have gone insane. Her sleepy thoughts also drifted to Lestel’s
whereabouts.
I really should go check to see if he’s okay.
She smiled as she thought about her curious little poet, drifting
further into sleep.
Maybe tomorrow.

***

Lestel woke to the echoes of raspy laughter.
He was too afraid to open his eyes.
What have I done?
He lay
there, paralyzed by his fear, quivering like a fragile autumn
leaf.

Open your eyes. See for yourself, there is
nothing to fear. There is worse yet to come.

His eyes were pried open by unseen claws. He
could see the same dark room, the same desk and chair. The age-old
corpse, still rotting away like nothing had happened.

I used to be quite handsome you know. You
could never tell now of course. I could have had any wench I wanted
and no matter how badly I treated her she would still be begging
for my return. Such a lovely feeling. Power. Something you would
know nothing about.

Lestel tried to open his mouth to speak. His
tongue lolled around, numb and clammy. He managed to moan a single
word.

“Whooooo?”

I thought you would never ask.
He felt
himself being dragged upright like a puppet and crashed down upon
his unsteady feet.
I was once an elf. I was flesh and blood
bound together and oh so weak. I once breathed like you do now. Now
I am something entirely different. More—efficient. I have been
reborn. I am vengeance against the living.

I am Luthen.

And there is much to do
.

“
You don’t have to do this, you know,”
Ilsie said, wringing her hands. Merrick could feel her eyes
watching him as he gathered together a sack of traveling
rations.

“
The last time I ignored a vision that
vivid I regretted it. I still regret it,” he said, stopping his
work, his eyes avoided her gaze. The heaviness between them
furthered his hesitation, but did not cease his task.

“
Her death wasn’t your fault. It could
have been anyone of us. Don’t go. Please. The village needs you. I
need you. I’ll not lose another brother to this hell.” She reached
out to touch his arm only to grasp at air. They stood silent in the
dark coolness of the red rock hut. The biting desert wind hissed
sand through the open door, careless of this revered
silence.

“
This hell is our home. And you’re not
going to lose me. But there’s nothing you can say that will
convince me to ignore this and stay.” He looked up for only that
one moment. The pain in his sister’s gaze drove his eyes away,
burning holes in his heart.

“
At least tell me where you’re going.” Her
voice cracked under its own weight.

Merrick stood, his eyes fixed on the open
door, empty of words to ease her suffering.

“
I don’t know.”

Lightning struck, flashing purple against the
billowing clouds of wind-frenzied sand. They tumbled down the
mountainside, spilling into the open desert below. The violent
clouds ripped the dunes apart and shoved the remains to the edge of
the storm. A tumultuous wall swelled, being pushed by the howling
winds behind it.

Only one living soul stood watching the
unfolding mayhem in the distance, perched high on a jagged cliff.
Merrick waited for the approaching chaos, flexing his dominant hand
in his thick leather gloves in tempo with his pounding heart and
shifting his weight from foot to foot, testing the stability of the
creaking wooden glider beneath him. His calm hand rested on a
weathered mast, the thumb resting on a small metal switch. Sweat
burned underneath his heavy desert garb, running down his body,
from the top of his head, streaming around his travel-worn amber
glass goggles, and eventually down to his toes. He felt like a
candle being lit by hell-fire.

He could turn back now. He could rush back to
the village, to the comforts of his own home, a lopsided hut with
cool, worn walls, a welcome shelter from this madness.

Remember the vision. Remember her eyes.
I’ve failed so many times before. I can’t fail her, whoever she
is.
He cleared his head of the flurry of thoughts and focused
on the storm.

The charging wall of sand grew closer and
closer with every beat of his heart. He could now see how may beats
were left, twenty maybe thirty. His stomach clenched and was
flooded with the burning acidity of fear. The rest of his body
tensed, carefully counting the beats. His foot kicked up a sturdy
leather strap attached to the craft’s tiller, grasping it tight in
his counting hand. By now, his heart was beating its way out of his
chest, ticking down to the storm’s arrival. He gripped the leather
strap as hard as his hand would squeeze. He had seen what would
happen if the steering belt were to slip from a desert glider’s
grasp. No one could survive adrift in a storm this size.

The monstrous cloud roared before him. He
waited for the driving wind. If he didn’t open his first sail right
when it hit, there was no way he could gain enough force to propel
him to the very top without being pummeled by the breaching swell
of sand. The wind growled as it approached him. Sand exploded to
his left and right, stampeding its way to the middle, to him. Grit
borrowed its way into the creases of his clothes, stinging his
skin.

Wait. Wait.

He held his breath. Today was not a good day
to die.

Wait.

He shooed away the buzzing regrets and
anxieties from his mind like flies, ignoring the tightening of
fear’s fingers around his throat.

You. Must. Wait.

The wind slammed into him like a titan’s
fist. His thumb triggered the switch without hesitation. He could
see nothing but could feel his glider rushing up and up with an
unspeakable force. Without warning, the glider burst out of the
stinging cloud and rushed up even further. Lightning struck the
sand’s shifting surface near him, glazing it over and ripping open
a bubbling red wound. Lightning struck again, only much closer. He
tensed and veered to the right, molten sand hissing and spitting at
his boots, burning right through to his skin.

The adrenaline masked the resulting pain as
if nothing had happened. He soon veered back to his original course
and began counting down the heartbeats until he released his main
sails.

Three.

Two.

Today was not his day to die.

One.

The two final sails burst from the sides of
the glider, driving him further up into the storm. An unexpected
updraft shook the craft, ripping the steering belt from his
fingers, sending his world spinning into the chaos below.

His vision dimmed in acceptance of his fate.
However, his mind raced for a solution. He knew if he stayed on the
glider it would mean his death. Slipping a dagger from its tattered
sheath at his side, he began to cut the first sail free while
entwining his forearms with each of its ropes. As soon as the last
rope was cut, he was yanked back up into the air by the free sail,
leaving the wooden craft to be torn apart by the madness below.

The storm bore him higher, his arms straining
to at least try to steer his course. He soared up into the purple
veined storm clouds, their moisture saturating the air around him.
The updraft continued further up into the clouds until the moisture
soon turned to ice. His lungs burned from the intense cold, frost
forming on his wind-burnt lips and his limbs ached with a numbing
bite. Suddenly, the clouds began to fade into the sparkling night
sky. Never had he been so high above the world. His mouth hung open
in awe, taking in the beauty of the sea of swirling clouds below
him and the silver spotted sky above.

The sail had begun to drift lazily to the
edge of the storm, past the mountains that cut off the desert from
the rest of the world. He let it drift whichever way it wanted, he
was so happy to be alive. He passed the remainder of the mountains,
over hills and groves of strange, large bushy plants that he only
guessed were trees. He had never seen a tree before. Not a living
one, anyway. Thick gray clouds covered the ground in patchwork
against the lush green. It was then he realized how close the
ground was approaching. He twisted and turned, trying to steer the
sail toward anything that looked soft. A small pond shimmered in
response in the pale moonlight. He pulled and pulled until the sail
billowed in the direction he wanted.

He hit the surface of the water with a large
splash, jarring his body like a rock hitting glass. Throwing his
head up out of the water, he gasped for air to fill his burnt-raw
lungs. He had no idea where he had landed, but he was alive.

Merrick lay still for some time, afraid to
move for fear of discovering pain. He closed his eyes and breathed
in the thick chill air, thanking the dried up old desert gods for
keeping him intact.

“Hey, looky here! What in the hell is that
supposed to be?” A rough hand grabbed him by the nape of the neck
and pulled his limp body out of the murky pond water.

“I wonder how it tastes,” this was another
voice, half snarl and half pure glee.

“Quiet, you pig. Always thinking with your
stomach, you are. We’ll bring him to the Chief. He’ll know what to
do with him.” The gruffer voice jabbed at the snarling one,
enticing a fearful yelp.

“Or how to cook him!” The snarling voice
bobbed from place to place, most likely dodging blows.

“Shut it!” The gruff one jerked Merrick
forward into the patchy gray landscape.

He couldn’t tell what they were, but they
sounded like they wouldn’t put up with any struggling. He would
rather spend his time regaining his strength than starting
something he didn’t intend to finish.

While they dragged his listless body along,
all the time bickering over this and that, he was finally able to
catch a glimpse from the twilight sun of what exactly he was
dealing with. They were gruff, shaggy creatures, with long, slender
horns and flashing yellow eyes. Both creatures wore heavy, dull
leather armor with an abundance of straps and odd shaped pockets.
What really caught his eye, though, were the large gleaming blades
taunting him from their sheaths on both of their backs.

They walked until the sun dipped into the
mist, smothering them in damp night. Soon after darkness had
fallen, Merrick could make out the outlines of a camp flickering by
the light of a fire. The thought of warmth eased his mind in the
wake of his current situation. The chill of the night worked its
way into his bones, causing his body to shiver and shake.

They approached a tent illuminated by
torchlight. The sounds of growling and the clinking of mugs were
muffled by the mottled cloth. Without warning, Merrick was thrown
down onto the gritty, damp soil.

“Hail, Chief Al’Rul, Fanger and Maggot have
returned from patrol and request your audience.” The larger of the
two, Fanger, stood straight as an arrow. Maggot, the snarler, snuck
a swift kick into Merrick’s side. Fanger waited a span of minutes
before continuing, his voice cautious as he called into the
bustling tent.

“My lord, we’ve found something you might
find interesting,” said Fanger, his fists clenched nervously at his
side. If his knuckles weren’t covered in thick brown fur, Merrick
would have guessed they would have been bone white.

“Or tasty!” Slimy giggles poured from
Maggot’s snarling snout as the sounds within the tent suddenly
ceased. Both Fanger and Maggot shrank back from the darkened
opening as a great shadow billowed forth.

A grunt of displeasure splintered the
darkness. The earth crunched and cracked beneath heavy boots as the
two mercenaries flinched, both dropping their gaze down to their
feet.

“What is this? What are you wasting my time
with now?” A large beast with burning yellow eyes, gnarled horns,
and a goat’s blackened face stepped out into the campfire light.
Steam rolled form his nostrils as he ground his jagged teeth in
disapproval.

“He fell from the sky, my lord. Not too far
from here. He may be valuable. Perhaps he’s one of those magical
types, a wizard maybe. That would come in handy, wouldn’t it my
lord?” Fanger looked up at the Chief eager for his approval.

“A wizard could be more trouble than he’s
worth, Fanger. Let’s see his face.” The Chief’s voice tumbled down
like an avalanche, echoing deep within his chest.

The great beast ripped Merrick’s grimy
goggles of amber glass from his face, revealing frantic blue eyes
straining in the dim torchlight. Desert grit covered most of his
angular face but it could not disguise the golden curls peaking
from underneath his leather hood.

“Ha! You fools, it’s only a human. And a
dirty one, by the looks of it.” The Chief puffed a cloud of foul
breath into his face and laughed as he watched him gag.