Valley of the Shadow

by Michael Gardner

  “Shh,” he said, as he started chanting words of power.

  Melinoë’s eyes locked onto his without blinking. She knew the words well and struggled to break free. He held her tight. When he had finished speaking, he took her face in his hands.

  “Forgive me, sister.” He kissed her forehead tenderly. “Melinoë, you are released!”

  Her eyes danced across his face and she opened her mouth to speak but her body dissolved in his arms. He felt a cool breeze on his face and closed his eyes. He felt her spirit drifting away. In the distance he felt a vibration from Tartarus. Eurynomos knew his servant had fallen. Phylasso picked up his sword, planted it in the earth and used it as a prop to stand up. He felt so tired. However he had been drawn back into the world, it had been much too soon. Wrestling with Eurynomos in the Valley of the Shadow had been an ordeal. Even bound, Eurynomos the Rotting had tested his fortitude to its limits. He couldn’t remember how often he had desired to set Eurynomos free, to lie down and become one with the Valley. He could still feel Eurynomos’s tar-slick skin as he struggled. There had been no sound other than the constant buzzing of flies, muddling his thoughts and always the pervasive stink of rot. Phylasso let out a ragged breath and wondered if he would ever fully recover. He blinked as he felt another presence manifest. It was close, hidden until now. The epiphaneia struck his body violently, rattling every bone. He tasted salt and iron as he pulled his sword from the earth. Its welcome bite cleared the haze from his mind. A figure emerged into the light of the burning willow, wreathed in flames as dark and red as fresh-drawn blood. Phylasso clenched his teeth as he recognised his foe.

  “Acabar the Betrayer, Prince of Deceit and The Right Hand of Eurynomos,” he said, in an even tone. “I wondered when you would emerge from the shadows.”

  The flames rippled around Acabar’s body as Phylasso spoke. “You are well-versed in my titles, Phylasso, Beloved of Kronos, Guardian of Men and Father of the Khryseoi.”

  Phylasso hefted his sword. “Why do you shroud yourself in flames? Are you a coward? Show your face!”

  Acabar nodded and the flames wreathing his face and body were extinguished.

  Phylasso stared without blinking for a long moment. “I see,” he said, at last.

  Acabar drew his sword. Phylasso hadn’t heard this blade’s music before. It was as black as Tartarus itself. Acabar raised his hand, beckoning Phylasso to engage him. Phylasso closed both hands around his hilt and marched forward. He eyed the black blade. At best, it was half the length of his sword. He had the advantage of size and reach. He swung, not hard, just enough to loosen his arms. Acabar stepped back, barely avoiding the jagged edge. Phylasso swung again, still without using the full strength of his arms. Acabar skipped to the side. Phylasso drove him back, the heavy swooshes of his sword cutting the air.

  “Is your renown as a swordsman also a lie?” asked Phylasso. He laughed as he drove Acabar in circles. “Surely, you’ve some skill with that toothpick!”

  Acabar was breathing hard, ducking and dodging the broad swings. Phylasso focused on Acabar’s eyes, rather than the glittering edge of the black blade. He took his left hand away from his sword and tucked it behind his back. His great sword reverberated with each stroke. He switched hands, tucking his right behind his back and continued to harry his foe. Acabar’s boot slipped on the wet ground. He faltered and lowered his guard. Phylasso knocked him down with a kick to the chest, sending him sprawling in the mud. Phylasso took his sword in both hands again and lifted it high above his head.

  “I would ask you to give my regards to your master, but you shan’t get the chance!” He drove the blade down with all his strength. Acabar raised his sword, and as the blades met, spoke a word of power. Phylasso’s great sword shattered. The wind rushed in Phylasso’s ears and he heard a distant howl. He closed his eyes, protecting them from the rain of blue-grey shards. Before he could open them again, he felt the black blade pierce his chest.

  “You can tell him yourself,” said Acabar. “Eurynomos bids you welcome to Tartarus. He looks forward to feasting upon your soul.”

  The sword’s song came to a close with a final thrust deep in Phylasso’s chest. The barbs at the base of the blade bit and took hold. Phylasso fell to his knees, opening and closing his mouth, speaking without sound. Acabar leaned close, trying to hear what he said.

  There was little time. Phylasso looked into the future but it was a murky pool. The future was always clouded with raw emotion and uncertainty. Before the war, Phylasso had known Eurynomos would escape Tartarus but not when. Even though his knowledge of the spirit world was great, there was still so much to learn.

  The black blade burned inside his chest. He felt his heart stop and pressure build in his temples. He looked into the past. It was clear, as it always had been. Phylasso gathered his remaining strength and focused on Erfinder. He found him, lying between three women in a brothel. Of all the Khryseoi, Erfinder was Phylasso’s most difficult pupil. He believed himself weak because he wasn’t a warrior and sought distraction in food, wine and women. He didn’t understand his mind was a much more powerful tool than bodily prowess. Phylasso had chosen Erfinder to become a Khryseoi because he had the ability to make the impossible real. His invention, the liquid fire, had turned the tide of the war. Eurynomos had invested too much in making the pile. The Forsaken had been unable to put out the flames and had incinerated themselves trying. Eurynomos’s losses had been great. It had been the beginning of the end.

  Phylasso fought Acabar’s blade, eased his mind and concentrated on being in the small brothel bedroom. He spoke to Erfinder and hoped he had listened well. Without warning, a force tugged at his spirit, pulling him deeper into the past. A figure emerged from the mist. It was Raven, standing at the edge of the blackened earth where Eurynomos’s fortress had stood. Raven looked around as if he were aware of Phylasso’s presence. Now Phylasso understood why Raven was The Enigma. He knew it would be difficult to explain so much to Raven in so short a time, but he had to try if the Khryseoi were to stand alone against Eurynomos. Choosing his words carefully, he tried to speak, but it was difficult with a sword in his chest. He forced the words out. “Remember this place, Raven,” he said.

  Raven turned about, seeking the disembodied voice.

  Phylasso increased his efforts. “This is Eurynomos’s mark upon the land. Even in defeat, he reaches out with his will to cause the lifeless to rot. His scent is carried by everything that decays. It is sweet to flies, his earthly servants. This is to remind you of his power. The war isn’t over. Many of his servants remain. They are weak but will re-emerge in time, more determined to free their master. If they succeed, Eurynomos will lay the world in ruins. You must be vigilant and prepare for their coming. Raven, you are—”

  Before Phylasso could say anything more, he was torn back to the present. The black blade stung. He reached up and touched his assassin’s face with his fingertips. “So... it is meant to be,” he said, letting his hand fall to his side. He coughed wetly and tasted blood. Acabar cocked his head, trying to make sense of Phylasso’s final remark. Then he spoke the words of power. Listening to the words that would unbind him, Phylasso wondered how he would explain his great failure to the Khryseoi suffering at Eurynomos’s hand for eternity. He was to join them, for he had greatly underestimated his enemy. As he prepared himself for the end, he wondered if Eurynomos would give him the chance.

  ~ Chapter 24 ~

  Raven opened an eye cautiously, wary of Melinoë’s noxious gas. The air was cool, clear and fresh after the passing rain. As his head cleared, he wondered how badly he had been hurt. He lifted a hand to his neck, face and head, feeling each in turn with great care. He had dried blood caked in his hair and in crusty patches on his face. His heart pounded in his ears like a drum. He tried to prise both eyes open. One was glued shut with blood, so he loosened it with what little saliva he could produce.

  It was day, not yet noon and he blinked in the light. His vision slowly cleared a
nd blurry forms took shape. The willow tree had burned out. It was now a blackened, split trunk. Rivulets of smoke wafted from its branches and idled in the breeze. He planted a hand on the earth and pushed himself up to a sitting position. His body ached and he stood with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut while he waited for his head to stop spinning. He took a few deep breaths and opened his eyes again. Beyond the wall he saw Windsong face down in the dirt. He stumbled over to her, using the wall for support. Turning her over, he felt for her breath. Her eyes had been gouged out by Melinoë’s talons and blood painted her face like tears. He leaned close and kissed her gently on the lips. She drew a sharp breath and started in his arms. “Shh, it’s all right,” he said. “I’m here.”

  “Raven? I can’t see.” Her voice was hoarse.

  “Your eyes will heal. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.”

  Raven heard a deep groan from beyond the granary, drenched in sorrow. He told Windsong to wait for his return. He felt every muscle ache as he staggered across the ground towards the source of the wailing. Rounding the corner, he saw Tak stooped over Phylasso, plying his shoulders as if he were trying to wake him from a deep sleep. Raven knelt next to Tak and saw Acabar’s sword protruding from Phylasso’s chest. He put his arm around Tak’s shoulder and felt hot tears flow down his cheeks.

  * * *

  The rest of the day passed in confusion. Tak wouldn’t leave Phylasso’s side and continued to grieve until his voice was lost. Raven didn’t know what to do. He walked the perimeter of the village in case Acabar was nearby. There was no noise to be heard apart from Tak’s sobbing. Even the birds were silent, as if Gaia had silenced the earth and all its creatures in respect to the dead. He made a fire and set a pot of water to boil. While it heated, he shredded his tunic for bandages. Once they were boiled and cooled, he cleaned and wrapped Windsong’s eyes. He told her about Phylasso. She said nothing but sat with her back against the wall, chest rising and falling rapidly with shallow breaths.

  Raven wandered about collecting wood. If a Khryseoi fell, they made fire and burned the body. The act had become instinctual, a task to distract them from grief. He felt it welling inside him, beyond the wall of numbness, seeking release. He pushed it aside and kept his mind focused on the task. There were enough large planks from the ruined huts to make two criss-crossed stacks in the clearing in front of the granary. He stuffed the gaps with dry branches fallen from the trees. When he was finished, he looked at the stacks and thought they looked like a good place to sleep.

  The granary was sombre by day. The foundations for the raised floor looked like tiny gravestones, a tomb for those who had been forgotten by time. He saw Solomon’s pendant on the ground where it had fallen from Xi’s hands. It felt particularly cold as he hung it around his neck. He lifted Xi’s body over his shoulder and carried him carefully to the first of the funeral pyres. He took Xi’s sword and placed it on his chest.

  “I think Klinge would want you to keep it,” he said. “I’ll see you on the other side of the Valley.”

  When Raven returned to Phylasso, he found Tak had collapsed at his side, exhausted from grief. The black sword, embedded in Phylasso’s torso, didn’t allow him to lie straight, even in death. Raven tugged at the weapon but it remained firmly lodged in place. He placed a boot against Phylasso’s chest to pull it out, determined to give him some measure of peace. It felt as if it were encased in stone. Raven grasped it with both hands and pulled with all his strength. A piercing chime sounded and Raven fell backwards. As the ringing subsided, Raven looked down. He felt the weight of Acabar’s sword in his hand but it had broken below the barbs, leaving only a finger length of the blade above the hilt. The rest remained in Phylasso. Raven’s attention was drawn away. Tak was sitting up and staring at him. As their eyes met, Tak looked down at the hilt. Raven tucked it into his belt.

  “Come, help me set him on a pyre. This is no place for him to rest.”

  With his head downcast, Tak helped Raven to carry Phylasso to the second pyre. After Phylasso had been laid to rest, Tak stood and stared, his eyes glazed and puffy from weeping. Raven took him gently by the arm, led him to Windsong and sat him down by the fire. She reached out, found Tak’s arm and held his hand.

  “I’ve collected the pieces of Phylasso’s sword,” said Raven, handing Tak the bundle of shards, wrapped in canvas. “I think you should have them.”

  Tak nodded, took the parcel and set it on his lap.

  “What happens now?” said Windsong quietly.

  “I’m not sure,” Raven replied. “I should cook us a meal... check your wounds... build a shelter for the night. I don’t think we’ll be fit to travel any time soon.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh...” Raven rested his hands on his lap. He watched the logs on the campfire slowly burn. “We still have Solomon’s pendant. Acabar’s blade is broken.”

  “Broken?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “So what happens now?” she repeated.

  Raven put his hand to the pendant and felt the great hollow where Phylasso’s spirit had been. “Until last night, we didn’t know if he would return at all. We have to carry on... as if nothing has changed.”

  Tak’s head snapped up, baring his teeth. Nothing has changed? Phylasso created the Khryseoi. He bound us together and kept us close to his will. The Khryseoi that remain are now the last of our kind. There can be no more. Eurynomos’s army is rising again and only we stand in their way. How can we hope to stand against them now? You say nothing has changed? Everything has changed!

  Raven looked at his hands.

  Tak drew a shuddering breath. I’m sorry, Raven.

  “I understand. Come, let’s put a flame to their bodies and offer them dignity in death.”

  Raven helped Windsong to her feet and guided her to a safe distance from the cremation site. Tak lit a branch in the fire. He lit Xi’s pyre first, waited for it to catch and for the flames to build and burn hot. Then he set Phylasso’s pyre ablaze.

  They stood in silence and watched the flames rise high, fall and finally go out. Nothing remained of Phylasso or Xi but fine dust and ash. Raven carefully sifted through the piles with a stick. The blade of Acabar’s sword was also gone. He took a handful of the hot ashes and held it to his chest, not caring that they burned his hand.

  “You’re right,” he said, meeting Tak’s eyes. “Everything has changed. Until last night we still had the hope he would return.” The hilt of the weapon that had taken Phylasso’s life weighed heavy at his hip. He felt Windsong loop her arm through his and the warmth of her body as she pulled herself close. He wanted to put his arm around her, to hold her tight but didn’t want her to know he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking.

  “One of us must take his place,” she said. “You’re the strongest, Raven. Eurynomos must not be allowed to enter this world again. You must lead the Khryseoi.”

  The story resumes in The Hand of the Khryseoi Act II: Daemon Fire

  The loss of Phylasso has the Khryseoi at a grave disadvantage in the war. Raven becomes the reluctant leader of the Khryseoi to halt the continuing rise of Eurynomos’s army. Knowing their plight is desperate, he takes extreme measures to discover the secret of The Unbinding, risking releasing Eurynomos into the world once more. As the Khryseoi reunite to fight Eurynomos’s dark spirits, Tak realises the event he must keep secret from Raven draws near.

  Thank you for buying this book! I’d be grateful if you could leave a review or tell your friends about it. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and even a few words are much appreciated. Thank you for reading!

  MG

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  About the Author

  The marketing experts say authors need a compelling biography. They say we should answer the following four quest
ions, because this is the information you, the reader, really want to know.

  1. Why do I write? I write because I have an obsession with writing which borders on a mental disorder. I’ve often wondered if I can get medicated for this condition, but it’s much cheaper and easier to spend time at a keyboard.

  2. How long have I been at it? I’d love to tell you I had some magical writing awakening, but the truth is I’ve been writing since I could combine a noun and a verb to form a sentence. Not sure when that was or what I used. Probably the red crayon on the kitchen wall incident. It was a good story, but not well-received.

  3. What is my inspiration? I’m inspired to write so I don’t have to find another pastime. I’ve tried stamp collecting, golf and other forms of self-harm, and writing seems to be the least destructive to my mental well-being and the environment. I also I have an allergy to churning out books in a specific genre, which makes me a difficult author to follow. Sorry about that.

  4. Do I have a pet, is it cute and what’s its name? I do have a pet. My wife thinks it’s cute. It’s actually the embodiment of evil with a soft coat. If you’d like to know why, read The End and Other Stories.

  Thanks for reading,

  MG