Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden Read online

  Now, while the world’s gone crazy around me, I wait here to die, hiding like a rat behind the wall. I can smell the smoke and hear the angry screams from outside the door. At least they will never find my body.

  I only ask, to any that read this, if it’s ever found, to please recover my poor father’s ring. It deserves to reclaim its rightful place upon the finger of a true ruler.

  Lestel felt his heart thud to a stop and crawl up his throat. No wonder there wasn’t anything here about the past. He couldn’t help but question how many other lies he had been told to keep from inquiring about the actions of his ancestors.

  So many questions, so few answers. He flipped through the rest of the pages only to find nothing. The only thing he knew was that he needed to find that ring. It was his best chance to finding any clues to what had happened so many years ago.

  Let me see, let me see.

  If the fire wasn’t what burned ye,

  Then where can your safe place be?

  It had to be part of the old library. At least that was the best guess he had. Assuming, mind you, the fire that destroyed the old library had been one in the same with the fire set to draw the prince out. It was a risk he was willing to take.

  Lestel circled the room, prying at teetering book shelves and prodding at the damp stone walls. Finding nothing on the first level, he wandered on to the next. He climbed the rickety ladder to the first catwalk above and repeated his inspection. Still finding nothing, he then climbed up to the final top level. He circled around, poking and nudging, still producing nothing. Heaving sighs of exasperation, he propped himself up at a lone round window and looked up at the night sky. The moon smiled down at the world below, like a mother looking in on a sleeping child. His eyes wandered for some spark of inspiration while listening to the muffled thunder. Suddenly, Lestel noticed a small adjoining room hanging from the library’s outer wall, barely ten feet from where he stood. His head quickly shot inside to see, maybe, if there had been a way in he had missed, but only saw nothing but immovable stone wall. He popped his head outside again, trying to figure out how to get inside. He could see a window on the wall facing him, black and gaunt like a hungry, open mouth. A narrow ledge bellow him tugged at his curious mind.

  Maybe. Just maybe. He knew it was a crazy idea, but he was feeling unusually reckless from not sleeping in so long. Besides, it doesn’t look that far down. I’ve had worse falls.

  Lestel slithered his robed body out onto the narrow ledge, his slippers sliding ever so slightly on the slick stone surface. Inch by inch, he crept his way toward the window. Sweat clung to his hair, matting it against his face. His limbs twitched, dreading the solemn drop below him. He was nearly there now, however no matter how much he strained his eyes he could still see nothing inside. He crept closer and closer, realizing that this may have not been the best of ideas. Barely a foot away from the window, his foot slipped, sending his arms flailing in the crisp night air. Panic ripped his heart from his chest as he tried his best to lunge toward the window. His sweaty hands barely managed to grasp the stone ledge. He could feel his feet dangling below him, but thought better of it than to steal a look down. Straining his arms from their unexpected load, he shimmied up and into the room, powered by a final burst of adrenaline. He landed on the bare stone floor with a muffled thump.

  Lestel reveled in his silent victory, panting away the anxiety from the most terrifying moment of his life. He finally managed to stand upright on his shaky limbs, praying that he didn’t have to exit the same way.

  His eyes took a moment to adjust. The moonlight streamed in from behind him, illuminated what appeared to be a bare room, with only a small desk littered with blank parchment and a large shadowy chair pulled up behind it. He edged closer, examining any contents beneath the parchment when his hand suddenly brushed something foreign to the faded pages. It was cool and metal, perhaps a ring. He tried to pick it up for a better look, but it was attached to something heavy and clattering.

  He dropped it immediately upon the realization of what he was holding, or better yet, who. The smell of disturbed decay struck him immediately.

  Lestel moved his body out of the way of the lingering moonlight, revealing a twisted skeleton with leathery flesh clinging to its face with stringy bits of hair swaying gently in the breeze. I’ve found him, thought Lestel as his breath caught in his throat in a mixture of despair for the poor prince and awe. His curiosity had finally led him to something more remarkable than he could have ever dreamed.

  The ring!

  He pulled himself from his thoughts and searched the corpse’s withered fingers. There, in its shriveled grasp, was a black metal ring. It winked in the moonlight against the pale rotting skin. With his breath held, Lestel wriggled the ring free.

  The moonlight faded, replaced by clouds of muffled thunder.

  The ring was quite a beautiful piece of metalwork. It was wide and square, far too big for my queen, Lestel thought while sliding it onto his own finger.

  A shrill hiss pierced the silence of the room.

  Finally, I am free. Your will is mine!

  Lestel’s body crashed into the floor, his limbs quaking and fighting against an unseen force. His body went rigid and cold like a corpse before being smothered in shadow.

  He gave in to the darkness.

  ***

  “Mama, wake up. Mama!” Astrid’s little hands clutched at her mother’s exposed arm, shaking it until she finally woke.

  “Astrid, darling, what’s wrong?” The queen rolled over to face her frightened daughter, her eyes still blurry with exhaustion.

  “I had a nightmare, Mama. And the lightning’s scary! It looked like monsters were coming to get me.”

  “So you ran away and left your sister all alone to defend herself against these monsters?”

  Astrid soured her expression at the mention of her twin sister, Anya. “Ah, they can have her.”

  “Darling, don’t say such things. She’s your sister. Do you know how much I wish I had a sister growing up, let alone a twin? To always have someone there for you your own age, to play with and to love?”

  She reached down and lifted her daughter up into her arms. An abrupt flash of lightening made Astrid hide her face in her mother’s soft, golden hair.

  “Mama, the lightening’s come to take me away!”

  “There, there, no one’s ever going to take you away from me. Not ever.” Evanna gazed at her with warm, smiling eyes. “Let me tell you a story, my love. That will make everything better, you’ll see.”

  “Once there was a fair kingdom, with a people just as fair. They lived in peace and loved everything that drew breath. However one night a fierce storm came, and in that storm was a mighty army of strange creatures no one had ever seen before. The people were quite frightened, and did not know what to do, so they turned to their leader, a wise, kind-eyed old king. He knew there was no way his people would survive an attack from such fearsome creatures, so he did a most remarkable thing. He raised the city into the sky, high above out of the grasp of the evils on the earth below. Do you know of what city I speak, my love?”

  “Alainia! It’s here!” Astrid glowed from her mother’s approving nod.

  “Indeed it is. And it has been safely dwelling in the sky ever since, and always will be.”

  Astrid stifled a yawn, her little nose crinkling like a rabbit’s, and nuzzled closer to her mother’s warmth.

  “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 ha
ir 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.

  Chapter Two

  “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.