Shadowsoul

by J D Evergreen

  I nod. She is right, worrying won’t change the outcome. It will just ruin the precious time we have now.

  “Anyway, I have a gift for you,” Mother announces as she reaches into her sleeve and pulls a necklace from it.

  She went to great lengths to keep it hidden throughout my childhood. Knotting it into her hair and stealing thread from the infirmary so she could stitch the necklace to the inside of her shirt. Those are just a few ways she’s managed to keep it hidden from the greedy eyes of those who monitor us.

  She holds it out to me. “Your grandmother gave this to me when I came of age, and now it is time for me to give it to you.”

  I take the necklace and examine it. At its center, lies a teardrop gem, about the size of my thumbnail. White flecks parade throughout the deep blue gemstone, sparkling and glittering in the flickering light cast by the braziers outside of our prison. Silver strips curl around the stone, holding it to a delicate but deceptively strong chain.

  I stare at the glimmering gem. The twinkling colors create a miniature picture of how I imagine the night sky.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whisper. I put on the necklace with a smile.

  “It looks good on you,” she remarks, smiling at me. “Do you remember the stories I used to tell you when you were younger?”

  “The ones about the necklace being magical and giving whoever wears it powers?” I answer with a smile as I remember the bedtime stories Mother used to tell me as a child.

  Mother folds her hands in her lap and fixes me with a serious gaze. “Well, they are not made up stories.”

  I stare at her blankly for a moment as I recall stories of people who could read minds, tell the future, and move items across rooms with just a flick of their hands.

  I let out a snort of laughter. “Yeah, right. You had me for a moment there.”

  The stern look on my mother’s face tells me she isn’t joking.

  “Those stories are real. I can see glimpses of the possible future,” she reveals. “And it has shown me a world where Darkmor does not rule us. A world where you save us.”

  “Me? I wouldn’t put the fate of a self-sporing mushroom in my hands, let alone the fate of the world and everyone in it,” I joke.

  “Claire,” Mother says in a stern voice. “I need you to take this seriously. You must take this to the lands above and discover the power within yourself. Use it to find the others, only then can Darkmor be defeated, only then can our world Katera be saved.”

  “Wait, you’re serious?” I blurt as I stare dumbfounded at my mother. All this time I have been waiting for someone to come save us, and the person I have been waiting on is me?

  “It’s a lot to ask of you,” Admits my mother. “Especially since you are just seventeen summers old, but I know you can do it. You’re certainly stubborn enough.”

  I take a deep breath. This is madness. “Okay, what do I have to do?”

  “Your necklace has five companion pieces. You must find them and work together with their bearers.”

  I nod. “Where will I find them?”

  “That’s a good question,” Mother replies and offers no further comment.

  I rephrase my question, “Do you know where they are, or who has them?”

  “Over the seasons, I have only met one other with a necklace. I met him here, in fact. I treated the young man after an accident in the mines. From what I understood he was just a young man doing his best to look after two sisters.”

  “Was?”

  Mother shifts her knees and leans closer as if speaking too loud will get us caught. “He tried to leave many seasons ago, escaping with his sisters I believe. He was captured, but his two sisters were not. When I checked his body to declare him dead, he no longer had the necklace.”

  “So the guards took it?”

  “Or, he left it with his sisters like I am leaving mine with you now.”

  I ignore the implication.

  I try for a less depressing question, “The necklace gives you the ability to see the future?”

  “No. I said it gives me glimpses of a possible future. Different actions have different outcomes,” Mother says.

  I lift the necklace and inspect it. “Will I see the future too?”

  “Only time will tell,” Mother answers cryptically.

  Marching echoes down the hall and announces the approach of guards.

  Panicked, Mother turns to me and removes my necklace and places it in my hand. “Claire, you need to leave this place, you must fulfill your destiny. I might not return, and I don’t want you to waste away in here, you are too special for that.”

  Confused, I stare at her and take her hands. “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. I love you Claire, but it is time for you to leave.”

  Together we stand face to face and Mother utters the words used for final goodbyes, “May your light guide you to the sun above, to your family and to your love. Our bond is for forever, and goodbyes are not the end. It simply means I’ll miss you, until we meet again.”

  She pulls me into a tight hug and holds me until the march arrives at our cell.

  A whine of metal signals the door opening and a gruff voice speaks, “Medic 1506, it is time for your review.”

  Mother lets go and gives me a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Be free my little bird, you were born to fly.”

  With those final words, she steps away and follows the guards out of the gate, where they shackle her and march her out of sight.

  I stand where my mother left me. I clasp my trembling hands and my stomach twists uncomfortably. She spoke like it was our final goodbye. My mind swirls with what she told me.

  “Leave?” I mutter as I try to come to grips with the last few minutes of my life.

  It’s not like leaving is a choice I can just make. After all who would willingly stay here? I’m a slave inside a heavily fortified and guarded compound; leaving is not as easy as walking through a gate. Mother knows that.

  How am I supposed to deal with this? A magical necklace and orders to save the world are a lot to lump on someone seventeen summers old, particularly one who doesn’t even remember what it’s like to be free.

  I walk over to the cell corner and sink to the floor, exhausted physically and now mentally. I don’t know where to begin to sort out the racing chaos inside my head. And I don’t want to leave my mother here, even if she’s the one who told me to go.

  “That’s if she comes back,” says the nasty voice inside my head. “It’s your fault she is suffering through a review right now.”

  I slam my eyes shut and force the voice into a tiny corner of my mind, doing my best to crush it. But even from there it whispers of my failures.

  I lift the necklace and observe the glittering blue gem in my hand. Memories of Mother’s stories about the world above flood my conscious, most of them too fantastic to be true. But those stories were of a time before Darkmor, before the fall of Katera.

  A time before my people were enslaved by cruel monsters, who delight in our pain and misery. The worst part is not all of those monsters were creatures of Shadowsoul. Some of them were people thought of as friends, family, and neighbors. I glare at the guards posted outside my cell.

  Finding my anger makes it impossible to be idle. I drag myself over to the water trough and drink to fill the aching hunger in my stomach. I cup my hands and do my best to clean the blood and dirt from my body. It takes far more effort than I have the energy for, but I will not sleep with a dead man’s blood all over my arms.

  I crawl over to the corner I had found my mother in and search the area for the needle I knew she kept here. I flip through her blankets and find nothing. I lift my fingers to the wall and run them along the gaps I can reach. Something pierces my finger, and I grasp it. I look at the needle in my hand and the pinprick on my finger. I suppose I should have known borrowing my mother’s things without asking would come at a price.

  I rip a piece of material off my own blanket and w
ork on stitching the cloth to the inside of my shorts. Once finished, I return my mother’s stolen needle and push the necklace into the new pocket. The waistband hides it well.

  I drag myself back over to my corner and slump against the wall, draping my tattered blanket over my knees. I rub my eyes and release a slow breath. Soon the other slaves will return to the cell we share when the bells that signal the end of the digging shift toll. I should try to get some rest while I can.

  I will talk to my mother about these thoughts after her review. My heart lightens with the decision and the overwhelming sense of a task too big for one person fades. I rest my head against the wall beside me and fall asleep.

  Chapter Four

  Plans

  “Claire.” A voice breaks through my sleep. “Claire, wake up.”

  I open my eyes with a smile, expecting to see my mother. A heavy feeling settles in my stomach when I find I have been awoken by my mother’s closest friend instead. It is Kathrine’s job to attend those who review slaves and ensure their comfort while they calmly decide if someone has out lived their usefulness, I look at Kathrine’s sad blue eyes and my heart sinks.

  “Claire, I was in the interview room with your mother,” her voice breaks as she relays the information. “They detained her, regarding an investigation about her lineage.”

  I force down the lump in my throat. “Lineage?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kathrine replies, wringing her hands as she peers through the cell bars. “You are in danger, and you need to leave. If they find out who you are…”

  A loud clang rings throughout the compound signaling the swap time for the workers, soon the workers from our cell will be returning.

  “What do they care about our lineage? We’re no different to anyone else in this damned place.”

  “You are the last one,” Kathrine says as if that answers all my questions. “You need to find a way to escape, and if they come for you, you’re better off dead. Check the perimeter fencing, they issued repair orders for it just today.”

  With those final words, she moves over to the other side of the cell and settles into sleep.

  I put my face in my hands and sit still, fighting the trembles that threaten to overwhelm me. They have detained my mother. She isn’t coming back. The other prisoners that share the cell file in and search for a piece of ground to rest on. They are a welcome distraction. It doesn’t take long for the soft sounds of slumber to fill the cramped space. I’m not surprised. They only have a few hours before they will once again be forced to work in the tunnels. Gone are the evenings of light conversation and storytelling. Ever since Darkmor put all working slaves on double shifts, they come in and pass out. Too exhausted to do more than make it to the cell.

  This expansion of the tunnels is coupled with whispers of an impending invasion of Solaris, the world above. These rumors suggest Darkmor is preparing an army for war, and the expansion is to house them while they are being trained.

  Pain flairs in my heart as thoughts of my mother surge forward. What are they doing to her? What is so important about her—our lineage? And what did Kathrine mean about me being the last one? Thoughts race through my head, chasing each other in circles and doing nothing to bring me any answers.

  The young girl next to me shivers in her sleep, and a small cloud of air escapes her. The poor girl can’t be any older than ten. She pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs her blanket closer, seeking its pitiful warmth. Her tiny frame rattles with a chesty cough. I pull off my blanket and tuck it around her sleeping form. She settles in her sleep, and her shaking abates.

  It hurts to know I will have to leave them here. Taking more people will just increase the chances of getting caught. I know it’s the rational way to see it, but it doesn’t make me feel any less of a monster for abandoning them. I draw my trembling knees to my chest and hug them tightly, I gaze at the little girl and make a silent vow. A promise. I will come back for them, and for my mother. I will rescue them all.

  There is no way to plan for what I am about to do. Planning will just give my brain a chance to tell me all the reasons why my ideas won’t work. Planning also takes time I apparently don’t have.

  Kathrine and my mother had both been insistent about me leaving as soon as possible. Their insistence made me more than a little nervous. Did my mother know they were going to detain her? Is that why she had chosen today to tell me about the necklace and send me on this quest?

  I push the questions from my mind. It doesn’t matter if she knew before, and it doesn’t change what I must do now. I need a weapon, and now I think about it, supplies would be a bonus. That’s my goal—make it to the gearing room. A desire to train will be a good excuse. Luckily I am allowed to train around the compound whenever I want, as fitter, stronger gladiators provide more entertainment in the Arena. Probably because they tend to live longer.

  I push up from the ground and stand, letting out a quiet hiss as pins and needles burn through my legs. I lift my arms in a stretch, and my ribs shift uncomfortably. But the searing pain I had experienced earlier is now just a dull throb.

  Taking care to be quiet, I make my way over to the cell door. I grip the rusted bars and peer through them. Two guards sit on heavy wooden chairs, a card game on the table between them. Judging from the stack of bronze coins in front of the older guard, it would seem he is winning.

  “Hey, let me out,” I call out to them. “I need to go train.” I grip the gate bars and shake them with a soft rattle.

  The older guard picks food out of his long matted beard and stares at me like I had just interrupted the most important thing in his universe. Deciding there are no more leftovers to be had from his beard buffet the guard rises from his seat and struts over to the bars. His massive belly hangs out from under his chest armor and jostles with each step the man takes. He arrives at the cell and leans in towards the cell bars, the lingering smell of rotting meat rides on his breath, gusting my face in its desperate attempt for escape. It takes all of my self-restraint not to dry retch.

  Beads of sweat dot his face, each of them reflecting the flickering firelight of the braziers around us. The guard narrows his eyes. “And why do you want to go train so late at night, Missy?” He asks, blasting my face with his putrid breath and revealing a set of rotting yellow teeth.

  I force my face into a neutral expression and fight back a gag. “If your life was on the line in the Arena would you want your opponents to know your best moves and training strategies? Because I don’t.”

  The guard examines me with his black beady eyes, trying to decide if I am worth his time. We stand this way for a few long moments. He grunts and turns to his comrade, a much younger guard with oily blonde hair that falls past his shoulders. “Oi! Quit sneaking from my winnings and come here.”

  The blonde guard reluctantly withdraws his hand, and his face turns pink. He pulls himself from the chair and scurries over to the cell door.

  “Go with her,” commands the older guard.

  The younger guard responds with a grunt and moves towards the cage door. He makes a show of unhooking the keys from his belt and chooses a large brass one and he shoves it into the lock and twists. The lock clicks and the young guard wrenches the rusted gate open. It creaks in protest. The sound is unbelievably loud in the nights’ relative silence, and a few sleeping prisoners roll over in their sleep, disturbed by the noise.

  I step through the gate, and the young guard shackles me. He is going to be a problem; this late at night there will be few other guards to distract him. The guard moves behind me to lock the gate. I will have to ditch him.

  “I need my armor and weapons to train with,” I demand.

  The older guard mimics me in an exaggerated and high pitched voice. I don’t rise to the bait. I will need that gear if I manage to get out—who knows what I will encounter? And even if I don’t get out, more clothing then shorts and singlet would be nice. If I tick this guy off, I won’t be going anywhere.


  The senior guard meets my eyes with a stare that would intimidate most others. He turns to the blonde. “Take her to the gearing room, and let little Miss Princess here have her precious training equipment.”

  The older guard, laughing at his own joke claps his young comrade on the back and grunts, “Go on Thomas, get on with it.

  Thomas gulps, and after a moment’s hesitation, he pulls his heavy metal baton from his hip and grips it tightly. I doubt any fight with this guard will be a fair one.

  Thomas marches forward, pulling my chains with his free hand. The braziers hang in their brackets, the flames flickering against the damp walls. The dancing lights cast monstrous shadows along the floors and do little to help the hall’s overwhelming darkness. The cobblestones underfoot are uneven and slimy, and it is hard to walk quickly without slipping. Thomas doesn’t slow down, his boots squelching through the gunk, and he has no patience for my attempts at avoiding the slickest stones.

  He yanks my chains, and I take a hasty step, right onto a slime-covered stone. The cold goo oozes between my toes and clings to my skin. I crinkle my nose at the terrible sensation and give up on avoiding the slime. The speed of the guard makes it too hard to avoid it all anyway.

  We round a corner and find two other guards eating a hunk of greasy meat as they lounge on chairs. Their beards and faces glisten with fat. They entertain themselves by flicking scraps at the hungry prisoners inside of the cage they guard. I keep my head down and do my best to avoid their gaze.

  We come to a large wooden door with deep cracks, marking it with lines of age, in the middle hangs a dirty metal plaque that reads, ‘Gladiator equipment.’

  This must be the gearing room. I expected more than the dirty sign and the old wooden door that stands before me. I have never actually been here. Typically my gear is brought to me for matches or training. Maybe this is a perk of a prime gladiator? Getting to choose my equipment and weapons. Or perhaps, I have guards who don’t know any better than to let a gladiator loose in the gearing room.