By

Kelly D. Tolman

Almost with awe, the young mother held her first child to her breast. The smile she wore was bright despite the sweat that clung to her forehead, and the exhaustion that wrapped her body in silence. In her arms the baby slumbered, and for one moment the darkness and chill of the night were swept out of the little one room cabin.

“How do you feel now?” asked Alaina, the young midwife with fiery hair and quick eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. “He put up quite a fight, didn’t he?”

“He’s so beautiful, I never imagined he would be so . . .” Gerna trailed off as the grandeur of the moment overcame her.

“The first one’s always the worst,” said Belna from where she sat across the room. Gerna’s old grandmother smiled also as she remembered the lost moments of her own children’s births. “After that, they all come a little easier. But then, each is a little different in their own way, and you certainly can never tell how they might turn out in the end.”

“Carn,” began Gerna on a wisp of thought, “will be a fine farmer like his father. Honorable and good to the land. He will always have water, and the High One will bless his heart with the courage to face the light and not burn. He will be a fine man.”

“Of course he will,” agreed Alaina heartily. “But that is a long way off still. For now, you should rest and recover your strength. Brand will return soon with a Speaker, and you will need to be strong for him then, and for the Speaker. Belna and I will see that all is in readiness.”

With those words, Alaina immediately began making her way around the room, reordering the already impeccable cabin. Brand would likely come with the dawn, and would expect everything already arranged for the Speaker. Even if it were no more than a tiny farm near a tiny village, appearance and custom were important for the city grown Speakers. So when Gerna finally dozed a little, Alaina carefully put little Carn in the cradle that Brand had so laboriously made months before, and lit the guardian candles on either side. The speaker would not be pleased if homage to the High One was not properly paid. As if the High One had ever blessed the village with more than famine. As if the Speakers did more than take their children, or steal their hard earned harvests. Alaina paused a moment as she realized her knuckles were turning white with the force she used to grip the dust cloth. She felt the lump in her throat, and the burn begin to build in her eyes.

As if reading her thoughts, Belna asked, “how long has it been now? Not yet a year?”

“A year next month, yes, since they carried off little Stev.” A tear trickled down Alaina’s fair chin, and she turned to face the mantle, letting the heat of the flame cover the rush of blood she felt in her face.

“I am sorry that you were reminded like this. They will not take Carn.” Belna trailed off. Gerna would be hurt too badly. She could not have that, not after all she had faced. No more, not after losing Father and Mother, and already a widow once.

“The gift,” murmured Alaina, interrupting Belna’s thoughts.

“What, child?”

“They said that he had the gift. Strong and clean. He would be strong as day, they said. The gift is rare, they said. The High One had blessed our house, they said. They said so much, and still I live with need, without my Stev. You will have others they said, but I do not want others. I want my boy, my darling. That is the blessing I wait for from the High One.”

“One day,” was all the old woman could respond, and Alaina slipped into her own mutterings. On the bed, Gerna slept quietly. Would she wake for the Speaker? Please, as the water runs, let her sleep. Then Belna too slept in the old chair her own hands had helped create years ago.

The sound of horses woke Alaina just as the first parts of sky were turning gray in the distance. She sat up slowly from the place she had taken next to Gerna, careful not to wake the young mother. She checked the infant in silence, and added a new log to the fire. The teapot was quickly set to heat, and a half a loaf of good brown bread and half a round cheese were set out to serve as breakfast. That will have to do, she thought, may the Speaker be pleased. No, not pleased, just content.

Brand held the door as the Speaker entered. A short man, shorter even than Alaina, with a close cut beard of graying black whiskers, and thick curls on a round head. The familiar black garb of the Speakers seemed to fit him, seemed appropriate even from the way he walked. His boots were silent on the wood floor, and his dark eyes shifted and danced to take in the entire room even as he smiled and greeted the woman beside the fire. “May the rain fall always on your house, mistress,” he said in a very formal voice, “and may the light shine only to guide your path.”

“And may the rain follow you, Speaker of the Prophet, and may the High One open your tongue to the prophecy,” Alaina nearly choked on the words even as they came, but somehow the years of form and custom overcame the hatred she had been breeding inside herself. “A meal is ready, Speaker, and every comfort should be satisfactory.”

“That is the woman,” more an observation than a question. He looked a moment at Gerna’s tired face and still form in the bed. “She has strength,” he said after a moment, “great strength. She will have born a strong child, and has the strength to bear many more. The High One has blessed this house much already.” The dark little man took his breakfast, and made pleasant company. Brand seemed ready to collapse after the long midnight journey, but made every effort to hide his exhaustion and be a pleasant host. None of them noticed Benla slumped in her chair near the bed.

“Shall we see the child?” suggested the Speaker as he finished the last of the loaf. “The sun rises already, and soon travel will be difficult. I must make an early start.” Without waiting for a response, he rose and moved to the cradle between the two long ceremonial candles. “Your devotion to the Goddess will not go unnoticed, ” he observed quietly. May the daylight burn you and your Goddess until they cannot find even your ashes, thought Alaina as a foul taste entered her mouth. “You were the mid-wife,” the Speaker said, casting a glance at the flame haired woman.

“Yes.” She kept her voice cool.

“Was it a normal birth?”

“Everything was normal. He came out strong and feisty.”

“How do you mean feisty?”

“She was in a great deal of pain. The labor took longer than expected, but he did not seem to suffer from the struggle. He did not whimper, just clung to his mother’s breast and eventually slept.”

“Was there anything else?”

“No.”

“Are you quite certain?” Alaina nodded finally, and he turned to Belna. “And her? Who is she?”

“That is my wife’s grandmother,” offered Brand helpfully.

“Wake her, I must know what she saw.”

Brand softly shook the old lady in an effort to wake her easily, but his blood froze when he felt the cold of her skin and saw that the gleam in her eye had gone.

“What’s the matter, Brand?” asked Alaina. “Is she ill, it was a difficult night for all of us.”

“Not ill, Alaina,” mumbled Brand. “She has returned to the shade of the Goddess.”

“The High One protect and comfort,” echoed the Speaker.

Alaina sat down at the table, her stomach turning. She felt dizzy, but even as the room swayed, she found herself and managed a little control. The Speaker seemed to ignore Brand and Alaina, and turned once more to the child. Kneeling beside the cradle, the Speaker raised his arms and began to pray, “High One, Goddess of the Shade, shed now the guidance of thy shadow on this thy Speaker’s tongue. What may become of this thy newest child?” Though Alaina neither saw nor felt anything, the Speaker seemed to tense where he knelt. His voice took on a monotone when he continued, but a hint of pain, and what seemed fear or anger edged his tone. “This child, blessed of the Goddess, has born within him the greatness of farmers, the strength of legends, and many precious gifts. Carn, Child of Shade, come to dwell beneath the sun filled with the gift of cool healing, long running, and the power of legends long dead. Thy heritage will not be thine to keep, but thine to give. Blessed child of the High One, thou shalt face the day, but do not flinch, the light does not burn the gifted.” Suddenly the Speaker sloped forward. He let out a long sigh, as if breathing for the first time, and clutched his chest. Alaina almost sprang from her chair. Brand’s face had turned to ash.

“Will he be taken, then?” asked the farmer.

“Yes,” choked the Speaker as his breath returned. “There is no other way to ensure his training and safety. I will take him with me.”

“What about his mother? What will we tell her?”

“She is strong, she will have others. The gifted are few, and never have I seen one with so much strength, so much power of the Goddess.”

“Never?” questioned Alaina, her face filled with skepticism and anger.

“There is a rumor that another with great strength was found near here a year or so ago, but I have never seen the child, and I can not say, but I doubt he could be stronger, or even the equal of this one. This house will be blessed for its sacrifice.”

Alaina felt sick. Her legs were weak and the burning in her cheeks told her that her rage was visible. With a harsh grunt she lifted herself and stormed out the door. She did not hear Brand call after her, or see the shock in the Speaker’s face.

Alaina stumbled blindly past the horses and began running toward the thin road that lead to Trickend. The sun had risen but the dawn was yet cool and grey. The hard, baked earth felt cool beneath her feet. Alaina did not stop running when she reached the road. The broken stones cut her feet in places, but her senses were numb to all but the image of the Speaker. That man, standing there with his easy smile and devotion to the invisible Goddess. His Prophet’s religion, his search for the faithful, all caused her stomach to turn. The sound of hooves on the road ahead brought her to a walk. Sweat had formed on her forehead, and the subtle sting in her feet quickly became a nagging throb. How long had she been running? She was standing near a cluster of rocks at the only place the road curved until it reached Trickend. Around the corner emerged a heavy set man in his middle years, dressed gaily in a bright red shirt, and driving a slow team of four horses. “Ho, Alaina,” he called when he saw her. Apparently he did not notice her feet or sweaty brow, for he continued in the same pleasant tone. “Coming from Brand’s? So, she finally had him? It is a boy isn’t it?”

“Yes, Master Tooksn, it is a strong baby boy. The Speaker is with them now.” Alaina’s tone was colder than she intended, and she could feel herself losing control again.

“Oh, perhaps then I should wait before I see the new parents.”

“That would be wisest,” agreed Alaina as a new thought entered her head. “I was just on my way to Trickend to get a few things for the child, but if you wouldn’t mind, perhaps you could go to the widow Harla, and tell her of the birth. The Speaker should be done before you return.”

“Harla you say? Will you need anything else?” Master Tooksn looked for a moment into his wagon, and said, “I was just bringing along the ceremonial gift of the silver knife and wisdom cakes. It wouldn’t do to have them in the sun, if you would take them ahead for me.”

Alaina accepted the small bundle of cakes, and the silver sheathed knife graciously, and turned back toward the homestead. The beating of hooves faded with the creak of the wagon, only to be replaced by the sound of another horse coming from the farm. Alaina composed herself quietly, and looked up to greet the Speaker. He held the child close to his breast, and rode only as quickly as care and good sense would allow.

“We meet again, miss,” said the Speaker when he saw her, “I see you have the gifts for the Goddess, I shall take them if you please.” When Alaina didn’t respond, the dark man dismounted carefully, his silver earrings reflecting quickly in the growing light. The baby whimpered softly as he balanced the bundle on the saddle. The cry was quiet, and not prolonged, but the sound reached Alaina, and as the memories of her own Stev’s quiet cries returned. The Speaker looked at her with a slight frown. Beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead, and he seemed oddly uncomfortable in the dark clothes beneath the morning sun. Alaina barely noticed as the ceremonial knife slipped from the silver sheath, and she didn’t see the paleness come over the Speaker’s face, or hear his final gasps.

Alaina left the child with Brand, whom she found sobbing quietly in a corner of the tiny cabin. His eyes brightened briefly at the sight of his son, but became once more grave as the midwife left, and he put the boy on his mother’s breast.

THE END

by

Kelly D. Tolman

Two days without food is bad; even one always hurts. By the third day the headache is usually gone and the pangs lessen, but those first six days were utter agony.

For want of bread I left my home. The cottage itself was nothing special; little more than a few boards held together with mud and false hopes. The captain came, and promised bread, so mother put me out of doors with our last half loaf. The captain laughed, but he didn’t send any of us away. Even starved farmers in drought-ridden desolation can carry spears.

The early summer sun was my cloak and cap, while the stars and moon formed the walls of my tent. At once we marched from the tiny collection of ruined houses I had called home. Nearly every man from the village marched with us, and although I was the youngest of the lot, I could tell they all felt as thrown away as I.

The first night was not so bad. There were plenty of others willing to talk, and even some willing to share a sip of wine with an outcast boy. I took what they offered, and listened to their stories. Only a few of us had ever been beyond the last of the fields, but even they did not know the reason for the battles. “There must be trouble in the capital,” was all they could tell me.

“Is that where the king lives?” I questioned.

“Aye,” responded Syven, the shopkeeper, “and all of the princes and lords you could imagine. Not like Craverton. In Harperston, there are merchants and tradesmen, and people so wealthy they ride in golden carriages, and drink fine wine all day long.”

My eyes grew wide at the tales of fabulous golden carriages, and my bread turned to sawdust in my mouth at the thought of fine soft pastries and wonderful golden goblets.

The first day, a corporal in chain armor handed out long wooden spears, and exhorted, “these will save your lives. Obey the captain, and the horde will be conquered.” I didn’t have time to ask the corporal who the horde were, or why we were fighting.

The captain ordered us to march, and we continued on the north road, past the struggling fields of grain, and into the hills. When we reached the hills, the fields disappeared completely, and tall forests of dense trees surrounded us on all sides. The road continued north, and we marched in columns, each man carrying his own spear, and looking as much like a soldier as he could. Towards nightfall, the captain ordered us to create an encampment.

“You men from the village,” he growled, looking at our group of recruits, “you will be known as Eagle platoon. Anik will be your leader,” the captain pointed at the corporal, “do what he tells you to do. Is there a blacksmith among you?” Garold, the village smith raised his hand and stepped forward. “You will not be part of this platoon. Bring one assistant, and come with me.”

Garold looked around our group of village outcasts, and then stopped at me. “Come with me, boy, and do what you are told.”

I nodded, and followed Garold to where the captain waited. The captain nodded to the corporal, and then left the Eagle platoon. We followed him towards the center of the encampment, and he explained to Garold the company’s need for a blacksmith. “We have been without a smith for nearly a month. The last battle was very costly. The dark horde continues to grow in strength while our army continues to slowly weaken. We managed to salvage some equipment, and we took all of the tools from the shop in the village. We will get more iron with time. For now, we need more spears, and our swords need repair. As long as we march, you will march close to my guard. We cannot afford to lose another smith. Your assistant will be trained to handle arms when he is not with you. While we camp you will work. If you must work all night, then so be it. You may sleep in the wagons while we march.” We reached a wagon with a team of oxen nearby. “Set up your shop here. You will have to work as best you can. Treat the horses before the men, and the officers before the recruits. Have you ever made armor before?”

“I have repaired armor before, but I have never made it from the start,” replied Garold.

“And swords?”

“I have made some, a long time ago. I have been with an army before.”

“Make sure the officers have the best equipment you can provide.” As the Captain spoke, another man joined us. His hair was gray and curly beneath a round metal cap. “This is the Quartermaster, Ben. You will do what he tells you to do.” The captain left.

Garold waited, neither smiling nor frowning, until Ben spoke. “You will work at night while we are camped. The animals will be cared for first, then the officers. In two days we will reach a friendly town, where you will find better equipment.”

Ben walked away and Garold told me to help him unload the wagon. We began moving equipment and set up a makeshift forge as best we could. “All we will be able to do, for a while, is sharpen knives and shoe horses,” said Garold. “Pay attention to what I do and say and you will learn what it takes to be a good smith.”

I nodded despite not understanding.

“There will always be wars as long as there is evil in the world, boy, and as long as there are wars soldiers will need blacksmiths. You will learn soon enough that it is better to forge the blade than it is to wield it. You will thank me for saving your life.”

I nodded and said simply, “Yes sir.”

“Do what your officers tell you to do,” he continued as we worked. “How old are you now? Sixteen?”

“Thirteen.”

“Very young. Anyway, do what the officers tell you to do. Learn how to fight; to defend yourself, but do not get caught up in the battles. These men will die because they will fight. We will survive because we will not fight.”

I listened to Garold as he talked, not understanding half of what he said. I did not feel like speaking, so I listened as we worked. Late into the night, by the light of a lantern, he showed me all about horseshoes and all about sharpening knives. I learned about metal, swords, and about his times in the village. Garold knew my mother and my father.

Before daylight we packed everything back into the wagon and prepared to move on with the company. I had never felt so tired as I did after that first night and when the last of the equipment was in the wagon I fell asleep almost immediately.

The second day continued like the first. We marched, and as we marched, Garold and I slept. At times I woke and saw the dust and the soldiers and wondered why we marched. After noon Ben ordered me to drive the wagon. “Just follow the wagon in front of you and stop when they stop.”

Ben was about to leave when I asked, “What is the horde?”

Ben laughed. “The horde is evil, boy.” Then the stout man turned serious and looked at me in the eyes. “A thousand, thousand years ago the wizards conducted experiments in mountain castles far to the north, then they disappeared. The kingdoms to the north died. Starvation spread and the wizards were not heard of, except in stories, where they appear mysteriously to play tricks on good men. One of their number, Pasav, is said to wander the northern wastes. Now monsters issue from the mountains and destroy the towns and villages. The horde is a collection of these strange creatures. If we do not stop them, they will overrun all of our lands. The king has summoned armies from all corners to stop the horde.”

Twisted images of dark shadows crept over my mind as he spoke and I began to feel his fear grow in my heart.

There were no supplies the third day, so Garold and I performed our duties in hunger. My loaf of bread was long ago spent and I resorted to drinking water anywhere I found it.

By the fourth day, I found myself helping Ben during the day almost as much as I helped Garold at night. I slept when I could, and found my body growing weaker by the minute. When the company stopped on the fifth day I felt my spirits rise in hopes of a good meal and a warm place to sleep. Although we saw the village just a short distance away, we did not approach it, and I was not permitted to leave the camp.

A group of armored men on horses came into our camp on the afternoon of the fifth day, and a large man with a short beard went directly to the Captain’s tent. The rest of the horse soldiers stationed themselves outside the tent, and waited for their leader to return.

Another rider came a little while later and waved the guards aside with his hand. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and long beard.

Ben called me to assist him with the chores before I could see anything else, but he in turn was called away by the Captain before we had completed our tasks. I saw the last rider leave the Captain’s tent in a hurry. “Fools,” he said as he went, but he was gone before I could get a good look. When Ben returned, his face and voice were grim.

“The horde is heading towards this village. They will descend from the hills to the north, and overrun the village in the morning. Our general has developed a plan for the battle. We are to gather with the other foot soldiers to the west.”

The Captain had all of the men collected together shortly afterwards, and explained to us the situation. “We will strike the horde from the west, penetrating the flank, and throwing their ranks into disorder. After we attack, the Knights of our King will strike from the east, and together we shall drive a wedge between them. On the morrow, victory will be ours, and the horde shall be driven back into the pits of the north.”

The Captain’s voice gathered energy as he spoke, and the men’s spirits lifted. When he gave the order to march, everyone moved swiftly to obey, and before nightfall we were camped near the top of a hill to the north of the abandoned village below.

Night descended over the camp and the pit of my stomach had still not been filled. Exhaustion overcame me as I had never before felt. I collapsed in a tent near the wagon and did not stir until late the sixth day.

When I woke, the clatter of battle rang in my ears through the soft sound of falling rain. Men screamed and other things snarled. The ringing of metal on metal echoed and re-echoed in my head, mixing with the sounds of death and anger. I searched the barren camp for some spare crumb, but I found nothing. I drank from the tracks the wagons had left and shivered in the cold. Finally, without hope, I took up my spear and went to the top of the hill.

Below me the valley was a writhing mass of men and creatures. Black blood had turned the ground into gore and the gentle rain made the ground slippery and thick. The armies trampled the summer wheat beneath their feet. Untrained spears desperately attempted to hold back fangs and razor-sharp claws. At the bottom of the hill the Captain stood with his sword drawn, shouting orders, and urging the men to engage the enemy wherever possible. My heart sank and I could not bring myself to join the men in the field.

Across the valley, men on horses chased the horde from skirmish to skirmish. Everywhere the horses rode, fresh courage rose in the hearts of the men. I felt energy rising in my own weakened bones as I saw them ride. I was about to rush onto the field of battle when I discovered another great force. Far to the north, I saw a great black beast, dwarfing the horde around it, storm onto the field of battle. Around it fires sprang up and its roars and snarls could be heard easily from my position on the hill. Below me, the hearts of the soldiers faltered. They felt their empty stomachs and sore feet and their spears fumbled in their hands.

Seeing the new threat, the brave horsemen charged their way across the field of battle, leaving behind a trail of carnage. The details of the conflict were difficult for me to see through the rain and cold, but I knew when the general met the beast. A cry of anger rose from the horde, something like a thousand snarling, barking dogs, and the entire battle paused. Around the two, a wide circle opened and then, as if breathing out again, the battle re-commenced. The soldiers fought, and as they fought, the general seemed to gain strength. The horde weakened, but the huge beast seemed to ignore the fierce slashes of the horsemen’s swords.

Before the end of the afternoon, the general’s entire bodyguard had been slain. He fought alone and on foot against the giant beast. Exhausted men weakly lifted spears and swords to fend away the frenzied horde. Within moments, the general fell and the beast began to gorge itself on his crumpled form. The spearmen broke first and fled into the village or up the hill or simply fell where they were. Like a shiver, the fear rippled across the battlefield and men everywhere turned and fled.

In fear and confusion I gripped my spear, not knowing what else to do. Men fell beneath the hungry claws of the horde and within a few moments the black mass reached the desolate village.

When the first beastly form crossed the highway gate it was engulfed immediately in a searing flame. Snarls rang out as flames spread from that one form to every other member of the horde. Like a bright red wave the field became engulfed in fire. The rain turned to steam in the heat and I buried my head in my knees and held my breath to avoid the smell. Had I been able, I am sure I would have wretched a hundred times on the hillside.

When I stopped trembling I looked. Below the fields of wheat were ash and blood. Smoke rose and danced with the steam over the charred bodies of beasts and men. All around me I saw no one.

“You are safe now, boy,” came a deep voice from behind.

I started from my place and nearly fell with my spear down the hill. Behind me stood a tall man in a wide brimmed hat leaning on a sword in a fancy scabbard. I recognized his long beard and the tall horse beside him. I opened my mouth but no words came out.

“The horde is destroyed for a time,” he said. “We have been a long time trying to right our wrongs and today we managed a little. I am sorry that your general did not listen to my warning. Much death could have been avoided.”

I did not understand his words, but I could feel the kindness in them. Finally I muttered, “who are you?”

“Me?” he looked surprised. “I am one of the ancient power, come to dispel the evil we unleashed on this land so long ago. Your general . . .” the man stopped a moment, and looked at my face for the first time. “Of course you do not know your general,” he laughed. “I am a wizard. Pasav is my name. I have come to destroy the horde. What is your name?”

“Kyven,” I said. I looked into his eyes, and he seemed to read my very thoughts.

“Kyven, I have bread and cheese and many other good things for you. Come with me, and leave behind your blacksmith’s hammer. I will show you how to be a good man in the wide world, and how to best serve your village. You will not starve as long as you are with me, but you will earn your bread.”

With a gentle hand Pasav lifted me from the ground, and I let the spear fall. With a willing heart I left the battlefield, and returned only many years later to my village.

THE END

by

Kelly D. Tolman

Days like this they let us wander the courtyard.  I see the clouds sometimes.  I look away from my shadow, up where the sun kisses the concrete towers, and a diamond wells in my eye and wastes itself on my face.  Randy said we are all diamonds in the eyes of God.  The warden had all the trees cleared here and I’ve been told not to talk about them or Randy.  I don’t much, but sometimes when a voice touches me out of the spring breeze, or I catch the meadow larks in the fading sky.

Hard to say if we were pushed our or pulled in.  I believe we just wanted to see the mountains, like always, so we went.  Spent so long up there, poaching, living like Jeremiah Johnson, off the land, the moon and the stars and cloudy nights erased electric lights and T.V.  Met a bear once, just like in the stories, only Randy and me.  Damn near killed Toby.  Toby was the dog, a little good for nothing mutt Randy insisted we bring along.  Black and yappy, ate mushrooms, could always trust him to find good mushrooms.  Me and Randy took off, but that mutt stayed and yapped; one swipe and no more yapping.  Good thing it was just one swipe, or it would have been permanent.

Those were good days for us, living and breathing, no commercials or loud lights jumping out after bullfrogs in the dark.  No more school teachers with their x’s and y’s and square roots of Shakespeare to interfere with hunting and fishing and watching out for Sasquatch.  We moved the lodge after the incident with the bear.  Its pretty hard to find a good place anymore, away from tourists, even then we had trouble, but we found a cliff spot, not far from High Lake, the nicest place in the world, and nobody ever came there, a bit of Eden lost by technology.  Must have passed about ten or twelve years before anyone showed up, and like I always said, society is the cause of all our problems.

We heard society panting through the pines under the August sun, forming a mosquito trail two hundred yards long.  Summer time shorts and shirts, and backpacks.  How they convinced that woman to carry that much, I don’t know.  The funny of it is that for all she carried they still couldn’t light a fire between them.  Randy smelled perfume and clean skinned civilization.  Womanscent on the mountain like a drug and he said, “been a long time since I had a swim, the lake looks nice under the stars,” and a lot of other similar trash.

“You’ll kill the fish,” I said, “I got long hair, and a long beard, but there are no twigs in my memory.  People is trouble, Randy.  You go to that lake, and the woods will cut you off permanent.”

Clouds slipped under the stars, but I was ready when the night barked out, and Toby nuzzled his way back from the lake shaking all over.  I still wonder, did Randy walk up, hair matted with pine needles, smelling like Big Foot, just say “Howdy,” and they pulled out guns.  Or did they laugh and smile because they were drunk and couldn’t see if it was a man or a bear or what, and tried to kill it before it killed them.  Or maybe he had a beer with them before he forgot what society was and did something dumb, like the whole thing wasn’t dumb to start.  He came back, said there had been trouble, like I didn’t know, and I knocked him down and called the dog, and walked away.

Ten more years passed until I walked into a logging camp they built that I didn’t know about.  I got picked up but I didn’t say nothing to nobody, ‘till now.  They say I killed Randy, but I know that it was just the diamonds inside him what he couldn’t find, so he done it himself.  I know he watched the blushing clouds over the lake, and heard the lake spitting him out, the mountain rolling away, and he knew then he could never find his diamonds again, because they was streaming out his face already, so he done it.  Me, I don’t want no trouble, so I don’t talk to nobody, be gone soon anyway.

THE END

Copyright 2009 Kelly David Tolman

Moira pressed the mute on the remote and looked again at the corner of the table.  No she wasn’t imagining it.  The shadow actually lifted off the wood.  Now that was cool, just the sort of thing her mother would warn her about.

“Okay,” she said.  “Let’s see if you can do anything else.  How about a little twist?”  The black fragment of nothing turned as she concentrated.  Moira felt a rush of excitement.  How long had she been reading about the shadow plane?  Wow!  She raced to the bookshelf to see if anything there could offer an explanation.

Moira spent the rest of the night alternately perusing for answers and trying to lift more shadows.  By the time her roommate, Jill, got up she could cause a shadow to turn or lift at will but nothing more.  Unfortunately no one seemed to have written a guide about how to control shadows, so she resolved to hit the library after class.

Jill and Moira shared two classes, and as usual she caught a nap during the American History lecture.  The tests all came out of the book anyway.  Almost all general courses today.  Why did engineers have to take history again?

“You coming to class tonight?” asked Jill.  Jill stood a stout five feet even of solid athleticism.  Moira couldn’t help but be a little jealous of those baby blue eyes and the bouncy blonde hair.  Her own hair never seemed to do anything right.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Moira.

“You really seem to be getting into it.  Who knew martial arts would be your thing,” said Jill.

“It’s fun, but it’s a lot more interesting since Dane starting coming,” admitted Moira.

“You better get some sleep if you want to impress him,” said Jill.  “You look like a zombie.  Are you sure you can handle working nights?  There’s an opening at the greenhouse, I’m sure I could get you in.”

“It’s no big deal.  I got to get to the library before I catch my nap.  See you later.”

Moira had no luck at the library, just a few vague references about the fourth dimension, but nothing about actually controlling shadows.  Her personal collection of books centered more on fiction.  At least they sparked her imagination, although they offered nothing more than possibilities.  Eventually she gave up and drifted into sleep.

Hank’s Kenpo Clinic squished between a narrow side street and a condemned bookstore across the alley from The Pancake Emporium.  On a good night two or three people could find decent parking.  Tonight Moira decided to walk the ten blocks rather than fight the evening pancake crowd.  Crime near the university generally tapered off during the cold months, and November offered plenty of shadows for her to play with along the way.

If only she could carry a shadow with her, it would save time and give her something to do during history.  Of course she had a shadow.  Everyone has a shadow.  Why not?  She stopped just at the edge of a streetlight and looked at her own shadow.

“Okay,” she mumbled, looking around to see if anyone was watching.  She concentrated on the outline of her hair.  A few wispy strands lifted off the concrete.  A tingling sensation shot through her head.  She caressed more of her shadow off the pavement.  The tingling became an itch.  When the tip of the shadow of her head finally slipped from the sidewalk she felt something slap the back of her head.  Pain shot through her eyes and she staggered, losing control of the shadow.

She turned around as quickly as she could, but saw no one behind her.  No footsteps.  No sound of any kind.  In the parking lot across the street a man held the door for his date.  The pain in her eyes felt real enough.  Either her mind had loosened a bit too much or something about playing with shadows could hurt her.  No point holding back.

She held out her hand and concentrated on the shadow of her pinky.  As soon as the shadow lifted from the ground a sharp pain shot through her finger.  She immediately let the shadow return to normal, and massaged her pinky.  Lesson learned; don’t mess with your own shadow.

The pain in her head subsided by the time she joined the class.

“You’re late,” said Jill when she came in.  “I’m glad you made it.  None of the other girls showed.”

Moira knew what a pain it could be sparring with some of the guys in the class.  Most of them treated her nice.  They went out of the way to be helpful.  Tonight, though, Moira spotted a couple of the regular jerks.  At just over six feet Matt had longer reach than anyone in the class, and he liked to spar hard.  Neither he nor his friend Ty worked hard enough to develop the skills to handle more experienced opponents, so they preyed on the weaker and newer students whenever possible.

“I wish Hank would just kick those creeps out,” said Moira.

“They pay just like everyone else,” replied Jill.

“That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it,” said Moira.

“At least it’s practice in case we have to deal with some guy on the street.”  Jill winked.  She always had a way of finding something positive.  “Let’s get warmed up.”

That night they practiced throws and close quarter defense against attackers trying to grab from different angles.  Moira worked through the moves automatically, not really thinking about it.  By no means had she become proficient and she knew she should be trying harder, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her discoveries.

“Sorry to break you up, ladies,” said Hank with less than ten minutes of time left.  “Throwing around someone your own size is one thing, but if you want to be able to handle someone bigger than yourself you’re going to have to practice it.  Are you up for it?”

At first she paired with Dane.  He started coming to class less than a month ago but had already passed all of them.

“You sure learn this stuff fast,” she said.  She couldn’t help looking him over.  At five foot nine, he wasn’t overly tall, but he had a confident muscular build that he carried easily.

“I’ve trained in some other places,” he said.  “There’s no wrestling team or boxing team at the college, so this is my way of working out the stress.”

He guided her through the motions of the moves they had been practicing.  Somehow his touch seemed electric.  Maybe she just imagined it.

“Time to trade up,” said Jill.  She leaned over and lowered her voice to a bare whisper.  “Your turn with the beast.”

Jill had been paired with Matt.  Moira glanced over at the clock.  She could handle two minutes, besides Jill was right, if she wanted to be able to deal with a creep on the street she needed to learn to deal with one here.

They practiced defending a basic grab from behind.  The first time he groped her, it could have been an honest mistake, but nobody makes that mistake twice.  Moira fumed.  She opened her mouth to swear at him when she thought of a better idea.

As they clinched again she concentrated on the shadow near his foot.  Angrily, she bent it off the floor.  Matt gasped in pain and dropped to the ground.  He rolled away grasping his foot and cursing.

“Foot cramp?” asked Moira innocently.  “You should drink more water.”

Moira sipped some water as class wound down.  If bending someone’s shadow off the floor could do that, what else could she do?  Jill wandered over.

“You really are out of it,” said Jill.  Moira realized she had been daydreaming again.  “Want to get something to eat?”

“I got work,” said Moira, a lie, but she needed time to digest what just happened.

Moira waited for Jill to leave before picking up her backpack.  The moon outside had risen full and pale, but bits of cloud covered it from time to time.  The wind smelled of snow, the first warning of winter, but the air felt clear and cool.  Moira cut through another alley behind a couple of small stores.  Everything seemed a little more quiet than usual, but not much happened in this town.

“Interesting work,” said a voice in the darkness.  Moira stopped.  Her heart jumped.  She didn’t recognize the voice.  It rang out low and resonating.  “Shadow bending is nearly a lost art in this world.”

Moira watched as Dane stepped from the shadows about ten feet ahead of her.  She hardly recognized him.  His vacant eyes stared past her, and his skin appeared pale.  Perspiration clouded his face.

When in doubt, ply for time.  “What are you talking about?” she asked, checking the distance to the end of the alley.  It would be closer to turn around if she decided to run.

“No need to play games,” said Dane.  No, not Dane.  That was definitely not Dane’s voice.  “We felt the energy shift and have come to negotiate.”

“We?  Who are you?  Where did you come from?” asked Moira.  She shivered.  “What is it you want?”

“I gather you have seen through the disguise, your powers must be greater than we thought.”  Suddenly Dane opened his mouth and exhaled a thick gray mist for several seconds.  The last of the mist escaped and Dale collapsed on the pavement.  A misty, legless figure, almost the shape of a man with glowing eyes hovered before her in the alley.

Her mind raced.  She choked back a scream.  She glanced at Dane, but she couldn’t tell in the half-light if he was breathing or not.  Whatever this thing was apparently it thought she knew more than she did.

“That’s better,” she said, trying to sound confident.  “Now what exactly do you want?”

“We want you to join us, of course,” said the figure.  “We seek allies in the shadow war.  We are, of course, prepared to barter.”

“First of all, I don’t know who you are.  Secondly, I don’t know anything about any war, and even if I did I don’t want any part of it.  You have the wrong person.”  Moira tried not to sound panicked, but her heart wouldn’t slow down.  Instinctively she looked to the shadows in the alley.  The creature had a faint shadow that shifted as the mist within its body billowed.

“My name is not important,” said the creature.

“It is to me,” replied Moira.

“Very well.  Call me Kierzax.  Enough games.  Name your price.”  Kierzax definitely sounded impatient now.

“Look Kierzax, I already told you, I don’t want any part of your war.  I’m going home now, and you should to,” said Moira.

“I’m certain we can reach a bargain,” said Kierzax.  He pointed a misty finger at Dane.  “I can offer you him.  I believe you find him appealing.”

Moira thought for a moment.  Whatever was happening had gone beyond serious.

“Is there something else you would prefer?  Perhaps some sort of influence here in your home world?” said Kierzax.

“Anything worth that is definitely something I don’t want to do,” said Moira.  “For the last time, go home.  Find someone else.”

“We cannot allow you to join the others,” said Kierzax.  “I have been fair.  If you cannot be persuaded, then you must be eliminated.”  Kierzax’s eyes flared with a sudden inner flame, casting a dim red glow across the alley.

No point stalling now.  Either fight or run.  Moira hesitated only a second before ripping his shadow from the pavement in one swift thought.  Kierzax groaned as his shadow now stood next to Moira, but seemed otherwise unharmed.  He opened his mouth, and fire erupted towards Moira.  She dodged behind Kierzax’s shadow, trying to find some cover.  The flames hit the shadow and Kierzax wailed in agony.  Smoke peeled off his shadow.  The smell of sulfur and burning trash filled the alley.

Desperately Moira tried to think.  Some good Hank’s self defense techniques did now.  If an assailant breathes fire, do I try a wristlock or a hip toss?.  One shadow stopped his fire, so maybe a lot of shadows could stop him.  She pulled the massive shadows from the buildings together.  All around, she quickly wove a semi translucent wall of darkness.  For the moment it seemed to be working.  The barrier stopped a second spout of fire.

Time could not be on her side.  Kierzax started to rise into the air.  She built her wall higher, but he just moved faster.  Soon he would be over the buildings.    She added a ceiling to her wall, and instinctively stretched the shadows to add three more walls, effectively sealing Kierzax in.  What would happen if those walls suddenly collapsed in?  Could she crush him, whatever he was?

Keeping the box together as she collapsed it proved to be more difficult than first imagined.  Shadows by their very nature tend to move, and managing the complex geometry of a shrinking cube required skills she hadn’t yet mastered.  At the last instant, just before the walls completely closed in Kierzax managed to thrust out one smoky claw and grab Moira’s shirt.

The shadows closed in on themselves and Moira found herself spinning, flattening, and lost to any reality she had ever known.  She didn’t lose consciousness, the pain felt too intense.  She closed her eyes and covered her ears against a powerful blinding wind that battered from all sides.  Finally she dropped onto the cold hard pavement.

She opened her eyes.  Kierzax had disappeared, but the faint scent of sulfur hung in the air.  Dane was gone.  The alley looked different, felt different.  The buildings loomed black and flat, not just dark, but blacker than any night she could remember.  No sounds came from the street behind her.  Moira walked back towards the Kenpo Clinic.

Everything appeared washed of all color.  All of the buildings, signs, even the litter varied from black to gray or darker gray.  The streetlight switched from one gray dot to another, emitting no real light.  Moira saw nobody else anywhere.  The silence felt so complete she heard her heart beating and the soft rhythm of her breathing.

A chill wind broke the silence, making her shiver through her winter coat.  Nothing moved with the wind.  The few scattered autumn leaves, the dead grass, and the litter ignored the breeze.  Even her hair seemed unaffected.  The moon floated overhead a pale disk shedding no real light.

She ran to the Kenpo Clinic, then to the Pancake Emporium.  Flat black and gray cars cluttered the parking lot, but no people filled the restaurant.  Suddenly a car door opened.  A dim shape, like an erased pencil drawing seemed to get into the car, or did she imagine it.  The door closed silently.  A few seconds later the car backed out of the stall, though the engine made no sound.  The car pulled away and melted into an unseen fog.  After only about fifty feet it completely disappeared.  When she looked back, the car had returned to the parking stall.

With this many cars, people had to be eating in the restaurant.  Moira went to the front door.  Through the glass she saw nobody.  She pulled on the handle, but it refused to move.  It didn’t feel locked.  The deadbolt would have at least wiggled a little.  She simply couldn’t move it.

“I see you are new to my world,” said a voice behind her.  Moira turned and saw a figure cloaked in blackness.  It had a humanoid shape, but she couldn’t make out any distinct features.  She half expected to see it carrying a scythe, but it had no real hands and held nothing.  Two large black dogs with sleek bodies as if cut from pure obsidian waited only a few feet behind the figure.

“Where?” asked Moira, but she had a feeling she knew exactly where she was.

“The realm of shadows, of course,” replied the figure.  “Odd that you would not know where you are.  Most visitors come here with a purpose.”

“It was an accident,” said Moira.  “I was fighting Kierzax and then I was here.”

“The legion is not welcome here,” said the figure.  The dogs spread out from the figure, baring black teeth.

“Who?  I don’t know anything about any legion,” said Moira.

“Unlikely,” replied the voice.  “All who enter this realm know of our long hatred of your war.”

“I’m not fighting any war,” said Moira desperately.  Realization of her situation seeped in slowly.  Somehow Kierzax must have pulled her into the shadows.  “I just want to go back.”

“You have brought your war here.”  The voice rang sinister.  “It will end here, for you.”

The dogs slowly circled into range to attack.  Moira thought quickly, and saw that the dogs did not cast any shadow, nothing here cast a shadow.  She grasped one of the dog’s legs with her mind.  She focused so intently that she didn’t notice her hands come up to make a twisting motion, as if she held the leg in her hands.  The shadow substance conformed to her will.  The creature let out a hollow, haunting howl as its leg warped suddenly out of shape.  The second dog leapt at her, but she pulled it out of the air with her mind and sent it painfully to the ground.

“A bender with some skill,” said the figure.  “You could abandon your war and help me here.”  The two dogs melted into nothing as it spoke.

“I don’t have a war,” said Moira.  “I don’t want anything to do with your war.  I’m going home.”

“If you intended to leave you would already have gone,” replied the voice.  “If you aren’t here for the war, what is it you want?”

Before Moira could respond, the powerful odor of sulfur washed over them all.  Kierzax seemed to appear out of nothing just a few feet from the figure.

“You can’t have her, Vorgos,” said Kierzax.  “If she will not join me, then she will join no one.”

Kierzax opened his mouth.  Moira expected fire to stream out.  Instead he began coughing violently.  Vorgos raised a hand and a sudden black shape slapped Kierzax in the head.

“You will find that fire requires elements we do not have,” said Vorgos as Kierzax wheeled backwards.  “Your war is unwelcome here.”

Kierzax collapsed into a thick strand of smoke and dodged the blows of the nearly shapeless shadow weapon.  Moira chose this moment of distraction to flee around the corner and back up the alley towards her apartment.  If those two wanted to fight she wasn’t going to get in the way.  Behind her a roar of rage and frustration rang out, but she couldn’t tell which of the two it came from.  As the roar died down, Moira hit a full sprint.

Five blocks later she slowed to a jog, and eventually a walk, breathing heavily.  “Starting tomorrow, I am definitely doing a cardio program,” she thought.  She stopped and leaned against a building to catch her breath.  What had Vorgos meant?  Clearly he, or she or it, thought Moira could leave at any time.

Moira milled this thought over for a few seconds until a column of sulfurous smoke streamed up the street behind her.  Moira caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned to face Kierzax as he took shape.  She didn’t have the energy to run anymore.

“You can still join us,” said Kierzax.

“Not interested,” replied Moira.  She was starting to breathe a little easier now.

“You were a fool to bring us here.  Vorgos will hunt both of us now.  You’ve trapped both of us into a fight that neither of us needs.”

“So,” she said.  “I can’t take it back now.  What do you want?”

“A temporary alliance,” said Kierzax.  “Together we might be able to escape Vorgos.”

“No thanks.”

Kierzax swung a smoky fist towards Moira’s face.  Instinctively she dodged the blow, grateful she had at least learned that much in class.  He tried again.  This time she pulled the sign from a storefront, using her mind to make the shadow block the blow.  Moira gathered substance from all around the street to defend the constant onslaught of sneaky attacks.  Bit by bit she tore up the street as she backed her way up the block.

Suddenly a black shape took hold of Kierzax.  Another of Vorgos’ dogs materialized behind him.  Kierzax writhed in agony as the creature clamped down where his leg should have been.  Then he pounded the dog’s head with a smoky fist, forcing it to release the hold.

Moira used the opportunity to think.  Obviously Kierzax couldn’t escape or else he would have by now, which meant that her instincts were right.  He was just trying to use her.  That didn’t tell her how to get out, though these two seemed to think she should be able to.  An idea finally came to her.  Vorgos walked into view behind his dogs.  The dogs kept Kierzax fully occupied, so once again Moira slipped away down a side street.

Thinking back to her first encounter with Kierzax, she thought how the process could be reversed.  Starting with the ground, she pushed all of the shadows away, building an empty black cylinder around herself.  Light broke through the bottom of the cylinder, nearly blinding her after the constant darkness of the shadow world.

Once again she felt herself falling, being pushed, and thrown into a new world.  Intense pain shocked her again as she found herself sprawled on the sidewalk.  A hundred different smells seemed to reach her at once, but not a hint of sulfur.  Snowflakes glittered in the moonlight as they drifted down the lazy breeze.  Moira stood up slowly and dusted off her pants and coat.

In a building’s shadow across the street, she thought she heard a muffled growl.  Tired or not, she broke into a sprint back to her apartment.  She slowed once to catch her breath, but didn’t stop until she reached the door.  The door was locked.  Moira fumbled for her key.  Inside she found Jill watching television with the lights off.

Moira flipped the light switch, causing Jill to blink a little.  “Who do I need to talk to about that job?” she asked.  “I think I’m done working nights.  I need a little more light in my life.”

THE END

I had prepared to say my name, but my heart froze as I looked into the pale dead eyes that stared unflinching back at me.  Once a fat priest, now the flesh had faded into nothing by thin gray whiteness and the wispy hair drifted into smoky etherealness from behind a once balding pate.  The dead eyes had no pupils, only rolling cloudy orbs above a clear-white face.  As I looked into those eyes I saw not only the depths of fear, anger, and pain, but also the walls and decorations of the temple.  Weapon or not, this foe I could not destroy in battle.  I could not speak for a long time for it held me transfixed in anguish with its stare.  The creature appeared to be waiting, but for what I could not tell.

As if in response to my thoughts the temple door opened and slowly a procession of other smoky-white entities began to file into the large worship hall.  Though many seemed still to be dressed in clear or white versions of their earthly clothes, most had torsos and legs that faded into wispy nothingness with only faces and arms bearing their human resemblance.  Slowly I began to understand.  The eyes of long dead nobility focused on me and the simple offering I had made to my goddess.  Though they barely filled the hall a quarter of the way, the procession ended and the door closed behind them as suddenly as it had opened.  I felt at once trapped, frightened and exhilarated.

I stood, a mere spectator, as events beyond my control unfolded.  I suddenly felt the chill in my blood give way to warmth that encompassed my entire body.  The bright, snowy light I had seen only once before suddenly surrounded the offering pit and began to fill the entire chamber.  Against that brightness the angry spirits became nearly invisible.  The threatening eyes recoiled in confusion and awe.  The majestic, sublime and simple voice addressed them.
“Give way now, my loyal children for the time has come for the world to be healed again.  Your vow to protect my holy place is fulfilled, come now and enter my rest.”

Just as suddenly as it had appeared the light began to fade, but behind me my little fire flared into life beyond its means.  One by one the specters moved forward.  I stepped aside though they now seemed oblivious of my presence.  Each in turn entered my fire, and as they did it flared up until the last, the deadly priest that first addressed me vanished in its heat and the fire died suddenly into cold black ashes.
For the briefest moment I stared about into the encroaching darkness.  I found that I was covered in sweat and grime from the day’s labors and from the intense heat of the fire.  I could not separate the confusion swimming in my head.  Clearly Tylos wanted me for something, but there, alone in a forsaken dead city I could not have guessed my future.

Much later, long after dark I reached our camp.  I approached silently, for that had long become my habit and found them guarding a little fire.  Dina jumped in surprise and fear when I stepped from the shadows but Pascalli merely smiled and quipped, “I see you’ve done well lad.”

“Is there any hot food,” I asked, for I felt my strength had all drained away.  Something about those garish faces seemed to have stolen the life from my limbs.

“Not yet, though we got some meat today,” winked Pascalli.  Dina will cook.”  Dina glared at the wizard and clearly meant to refuse.  I shrugged and went to find their kill, but Pascalli called me back.  “Sit down, Scratch.  By the look of you I’d say you’ve seen death, or worse.  Now go one girl, I’m sure you can manage.”

I found a comfortable spot out of the smoke near our fire and waited.  Dina retrieved a scrawny rabbit, which Pascalli helped her prepare.  After they had it roasting she looked me over, and with some hesitation asked, “What happened?”

I didn’t mean to ignore her, but I couldn’t begin to describe anything.  Pascalli gave her a disapproving look, but said nothing.
“Is there some secret?” she asked.  I sensed the frustration in her voice.  “I feel like I have a right to know what’s going on.  I’m out here too, you know!”

I turned away from her, numbly staring into the flames, but I quickly found that too horrible as my mind kept conjuring images of the dead as they walked into a different fire.

“There are some questions, which cannot be answered,” said Pascalli.  “There are some questions that should not be asked.”

Dina glared, rolled her eyes and sighed.  “Did you at least open the gate?” she asked.

I did not answer, I was still lost in thought, but Pascalli brought me to my senses.  “I believe the young woman asked a question,” he said.

I didn’t care for his tone, but then I didn’t much care for the conversation.  “It’s open,” I said simply.

Pascalli forced me to eat before going to sleep.  I ate mechanically, tasting nothing.  Dina had never before cooked during our journey together, so it should have been a memorable moment, but it was lost to me.  I saw the hurt in her eyes as I ignored them both, but lacked the strength of will to respond.
“Whatever evil remains we will have to face ourselves,” I mumbled.  “The dead have gone, but they left their work behind.”

So many of my memories have been lost in the well of time, but I can never look at a fire without seeing the dead or recalling the night of nightmares that ensued.  If Pascalli or Dina asked me more that night, I didn’t answer.  I drifted into exhausted oblivion, chased by the images of the dead.  For days and nights afterwards I slept only fitfully, and Pascalli did not let me stand watch alone.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman

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