Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden (12 page)

As he walked, the sun bled into the grey sky.
The sand glowed red with a welcoming warmth. His thoughts wandered
to his dead wife, Kateri, and his exiled son, Luka. They then
drifted to Amaeya. His heart ached for her most of all, not because
she was lost, but because he had been helpless when she needed him
most, something that he vowed he would never to do to another ever
again.

Merrick choked as tears flooded his cheeks.
He knew could not stop them. He knew better than to try.

***

Luthen waited for the Chief’s arrival. The
lingering mercenaries sat at their fire, casting suspicious looks
over their shoulders when they thought he wasn’t looking. He
struggled to keep his rage at bay. He knew the Chief wouldn’t
appreciate coming back to a camp full of dead Phooka.

Sunlight flooded the hazy meadow outside
Alainia’s underbelly making the shadows seem thicker than before.
White figures emerged from the shaded forest and drifted into the
fields. Luthen yawned, eager to finally be rid of the Phooka
rabble.

Chief Al’Rul led the riders with a stern
gaze. A kicking bundle lay across the neck of his boney horse.
Luthen smiled.
Finally
, he thought,
they’ve done
something right
.

Luthen met the Chief at the shadow’s edge,
his soft childish face itching for a smile.

“So good to see you. I hope the brat wasn’t
too much trouble for your fine warriors here,” he said. He noticed
two other bundles slung over a rider-less mount, their horns
jutting out and glinting in the sun.

The Chief huffed and spat, splattering
Luthen’s boot. He swung his body over the horse and lowered himself
onto the ground. A long branch served as a splint for his bloodied
leg. His yellow eyes glared down at Luthen, sizing up the willowy
elf’s body.

Luthen glanced down at his boot, grimacing at
the glob as it trickled down the leather.

“Give me the girl and be gone,” he said, his
eyes rising to meet the Phooka’s burning stare, “before I lose my
temper and
take her
instead.”

“This one ain’t your girl,” said the Chief.
He threw back the canvas from the bundle revealing a wild mess of
brown curls. A muffled scream rose from the woman as she thrashed
against her bindings. She looked up, gag in mouth, and glared at
the Chief with hateful dark eyes. “This one is my property. It was
stolen from me and I got it back. As for your brat,” he said,
tossing a clump of dark hair at Luthen’s feet, “her body is resting
peacefully at the bottom of a very steep cliff.”

Luthen reached down and lifted the soft dark
hair from the mud. He clenched it in his fists, his face doing
little to conceal his boiling rage. “You
fool
. You let her
get away,” he said, his eyes clouding to black.

“She’s dead, you stubborn demon! No one could
have survived that fall!” The Phooka turned to climb back atop his
steed.

“A handful of hair proves
nothing
.”
Luthen squeezed the bundle of hair in his hand, turning it to dust.
“You will pay for this, Phooka!”

Chief Al’Rul laughed. “I’m done with your
games, demon.”

“Oh, no,” said Luthen as the shadows swirled
around his heaving shoulders, “the games have just begun.”

Tentacles of black mud shot out of the earth,
wrapping tightly around the Chief. He howled as they dragged him to
the ground. The mud forced its way into his mouth, muffling his
cries.

“If your blood wasn’t so foul I would
consider feasting on it while your miserable war party watched,”
said Luthen as he kneeled down beside the writhing Phooka, “but
since we both know how disgusting you are, we shall settle for
something a bit more fitting.” He placed his hand over the Chief’s
eyes. “Since you have put it upon yourself to lose
my
property, you shall spend the rest of your days trying to retrieve
it.” Shadows slithered down his arm, pouring into the Phooka’s
skull. The Chief’s body stiffened, wracked in pain. “Your eyes will
be my eyes. If you find the girl, I will know, and your mistake
forgiven.” Luthen pulled back his hand, smiling a wide empty grin.
He laughed, kicking mangled Phooka. Chief Al’Rul’s face was slack,
his eyes nothing but swirling darkness.

“I’ll be taking your girl to make up for my
missing bounty,” said Luthen, sending black muddy tentacles to
fetch the woman from the horse with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure
her blood is as sweet as honey.”

“I absolutely refuse! She is only a child!”
Merrick slammed his fist hard into the driftwood table. A few of
the older members of the Council flinched, looking baffled and
greatly offended. A flood of murmuring burst from their agape
mouths.

Murmuring was something Grand Sage Hilda
greatly hated.

“
Silence!”
Her weathered voice
rendered the grumbling Council sages’ mouths firmly shut. Her
squinting dark eyes scanned the room and settled their wrath on
Merrick.

“You dare defy an order of the Council? You
know of the risks of bringing someone of such circumstance into our
village. What if this great evil comes looking for her, what then?
Are we supposed to lay down our lives to protect someone who is not
even of the same blood? She should be cast out into the
desert.”

“She is of our blood! She is a princess of
Alainia, the home of our ancestors!”

“You lie!” Barnabas, a withered alchemist,
spat the words from his mouth.

The Grand Sage poured her furious gaze onto
the alchemist, cooling his venomous tongue. “Alainia is said to be
in ruins,” she said, “and even if it still existed, why would we
trust a descendent of those that cast our people out without food
or shelter from the coming winter? Why would we shelter such
wickedness?”

Merrick stood silently, weighing his words
carefully. “Why should we damn this child for the sins of her
forefathers? She is a victim, the last of her bloodline. And in the
end, the same treacherous blood flows through my veins as does
hers.”

Grand Sage Hilda pushed herself back into her
twisted drift wood chair, her eyes matching Merrick’s fire for
fire. “The girl can stay. But only on one condition,” she said,
hanging her words from the tip of her tongue. “You must clear her
memory of her home and family. She must remember nothing of her
past.”

Merrick shut his eyes tight, fighting the
urge to lash out in rage. “I cannot, I dare not, do such a
monstrous thing. Maybe I can erase their cruel fate, to ease her
suffering, but to sweep them entirely from her life is a sin worse
than murder.”

“You cannot, you say?” The Grand Sage raised
herself up from her seat. Though she was small, she towered over
the Council with the burning gaze of a phoenix. “Was I not the one
who taught you how to conquer the gifts of the mind?”

“Yes, Grand Sage, but I—”

“—And has your family not brought enough
misery upon this people?” Her words bit at Merrick’s heart. He
lowered his head, speechless from the heaviness of the truth.

“You will do as you are told, Sage Merrick.
Or find yourself cursed and exiled just like your son.”

The Grand Sage gave a hurried bow of her head
and stormed into her private chambers. The sages of the Council
scurried from the table to a separate sitting room, eager to cast
Merrick’s follies from their minds.

Merrick stood motionless and the end of the
Council’s withered table, the weight of the world crashing in on
him. His heart ached, not only for misfortune, but for Astrid’s,
and for his foolish son’s.

He gathered his strength, praying to his
ancestors to have mercy on him.

Merrick pulled back the tent’s heavy flap and
stepped out into the cool desert night. A million thoughts mingled
with a million more doubts raced through his mind as he walked
toward the distant flickering campfire.

Astrid sat with her knees huddled up to her
chin, gazing into the fire. Smudges of dirt covered her pale face
and her hair hung in uneven clumps around her shoulders. Merrick
kneeled down next to her, not knowing what to say.

“Can I go home now?” Astrid’s voice was a
soft whimper. He could tell by the grey ashen streaks on her face
she had been crying.

“No,” he said. He didn’t know how he could
lie to her and live with himself. “You’re going to have to stay
here.”

“But what about Mama? And Anya? And what’s
happened to Father?” She briefly turned her hardened gaze at him.
He could feel her dark eyes burning at him in the dark.

“The best thing we can do is keep you safe.
And the only way we can is for you to stay hidden in the
desert.”

She pressed her lips together, fighting back
tears.

“Now I want you to look at me. Don’t cry.
Please don’t cry,” said Merrick. He placed both hands on the soft
sides of her face, wiping the tears with his grimy thumbs. “I’m
going to do all that I can to take away the pain. You may not
understand what I’m doing now; maybe you’ll never get the
opportunity to really understand. I’m going to do something I know
we’ll both regret, but it’s still in your best interest. My hand’s
been forced. I just want you to know I’m doing this to keep you
safe. To keep you alive.”

“But I –”

Merrick hushed her and closed his eyes tight.
He could feel the magic flooding into his fingertips. He focused
harder, using every bit of strength he had to enter her mind.
Suddenly, he found himself in a long, dark corridor. On each side
was a door flung open and creaking on its hinges in the midnight
breeze. Faded images could be seen in the rooms behind each door.
He didn’t venture inside any of them, but instead continued
wandering down the hall. These rooms held Astrid’s memories.
Laughter wafted from most, drifting on the wind like autumn leaves.
But there was one that was his first priority to find.

He walked, scanning each door, looking for
any signs of order. They appeared to be chronological, but the
minds of children were hardly ever organized.

Before he knew it, he had wandered up to a
large door way made of charred knotted wood. A sticky puddle of the
deepest red seeped from its hinges. Merrick couldn’t see inside the
room, but he could feel the horror within. He quickly grabbed the
knob and tried to pull the door closed. He could feel it resist his
grasp, the knob pulsing in his hand like a giant vein. After a hard
yank, the door gave way and slammed shut.

One after another, the doors snapped shut, as
if blown by some great wind. He could feel the tendrils of magic
pulling him from her mind. Suddenly, his breath exploded into his
lungs as if he had just broken the surface of a murky sea.

His eyes snapped open. Astrid sat in front of
him, her dark eyes wide and reflecting the firelight like still
water. He sighed and let his hands fall from her face.

Their eyes were linked for some time before
she seemed to wake from her trance. Her eyes fluttered around in
the darkness. She suddenly stopped and gazed at him. Merrick stood
and tried his best to smile at her.

“Who are you?” Astrid squinted up at him as
if the answer was on the tip of her tongue but refused to come.

“I’m nobody,” he said, not knowing what else
to say. He knew plenty that he wanted to say—the truth—but the
shock after just having her memories locked would send her mind
spiraling into madness.

“Nobody? Do you know who I am?”

“Yes…” His throat was dry and his spit was
gritty with the taste of sand. He felt hollow with guilt. His heart
ached for the life he had stolen.

“Won’t you tell me?” Her voice was strangely
calm, enunciating each word as if they were her first.

“No. It’s not my place.”

“Oh,” she said, as if in acceptance. “Where
am I?”

Merrick forced his cracked lips into a smile.
He wanted to run, retreat back into the mountains, and get as far
away from his pain as possible.

“You’re home.”

Merrick could hear the remaining Elders
emerge from the tent. They would take her away and place her
somewhere out of sight, blending her into the people better than a
scorpion hidden in the sand.

To be continued…

Keep reading for a sneak peek of the prologue of the
second installment of the
Shadows of Time
series,
Shadow
Queen.

I am slouched forward, staring at my
trembling hands. So much sadness, for the lost little girl, for the
tragic man, it overwhelms me and flows freely from my eyes. “Why
must you tell me this horrible story?”

His face of fire and metal leans in close to
mine. I feel his warmth drying my tears. It melts into my skin like
sunlight. “You must listen to it. And I must tell it. It is as hard
for me as it is for you.”

“But I don’t understand,” I say, my chest
heaving underneath the weight of such unmerciful tragedy. “These
poor people’s struggles have nothing to do with my own. How does
this explain this prison? Or that atrocity outside? You have given
me nothing but more questions. I feel as if they shall eat me
alive.”

He hangs his head, his face clenched and full
of suffering. “Then I will tell you more. I will—damn, if only
there more time!” He jumps, overturning his chair, and hides his
face from my sight. Before I can speak, I see something strange,
something remarkable. Red glistening feathers cascade down the
stranger’s back. At first, I think it a cloak, but I look closer.
They are wings.

“Please, don’t go. Tell me more. Tell me
about you.”

He turns slowly. I realize the fiery feathers
extend up his neck and onto his face. They smolder in the low
lighting of the room.

He reaches down and sits the chair upon its
feet. He stares at it only for a moment before sliding onto its
seat, flexing his wings to mold themselves around the chair’s body.
Beneath the metal and regret I see something beautiful. Yet the
longer I gaze, the more my heart builds up with sadness.