Shadowless

by Randall McNally

  ‘I would like nothing more than to learn botany and herbalism from the man who can speak with the very plants he is studying,’ Amrodan said. ‘Will you teach me?’

  Dorrin folded his arms. ‘I would love to, I really would. But I am far too busy. I have my research to carry out. Sorry. Now, it is time for you to leave,’ he said, gesturing to Amrodan to stand.

  ‘That is a shame. I am sure I could help you: maybe with your research?’ Amrodan said, making no move.

  All of a sudden, a dark thought entered Dorrin’s head and he sat down across from Amrodan. ‘Well, I mean, if you really want to help, I suppose you could.’

  ‘Good. We can start after supper, if you have the time?’ Amrodan asked.

  ‘But of course,’ Dorrin said with a smile.

  The clouds began to gather and a wind started to pick up as Amrodan took the pot off the fire and the two men sat down to their meal. They chatted about how very different their lives had been, what they had both endured during their existence and what precautions they had both taken to make sure they did not draw attention to themselves.

  Amrodan told him about how he moved from one place to another, citing the fact that a moving target was harder to hit, with Dorrin swearing by the axiom that the authorities could not kill what they could not find and that hiding in one of the largest forests in the Northern Realms far away from civilisation was by far the better option.

  ‘Avoiding detection is safer than evasion,’ Dorrin said, dunking bread into his broth.

  ‘Most of us that survive are nomadic, the ones that stay in one place tend to get caught and killed, eventually,’ Amrodan countered.

  ‘For the ones that do not run, is there anywhere safe?’ the herbalist asked.

  ‘There are a few havens that are definitely safe. Here in Blackwood Forest, it would seem,’ the young man replied. ‘Tarantum is safe; nobody in their right mind would enter that den of turpitude. The islands of Umberöc are safe; the inhabitants built their cities below the nesting grounds of the red dragons. Although, of course that brings its own problems. The giants in the Dodona Mountains mean that the city of Argánthal is pretty much safe: apart from that there are not many places we can go.’

  Dorrin thought about all that he had been told. If his visitor was right then it was nothing but blind luck that he had remained undetected all this time: and yet here he was. As he contemplated his existence, a squall rose outside and worked its way through the forest, rattling the shutters.

  ‘What do you need me to do first, in order to help you with your research?’ Amrodan asked, as he finished his supper.

  ‘I need you to travel into the forest with me and collect materials,’ Dorrin said.

  ‘Oh right, I guess that will be a job for tomorrow morning then? It sounds like there is quite a storm brewing outside,’ the young man said, as he picked up their empty bowls and went to put them in the kitchen.

  ‘We will be going out as soon as the sun sets,’ Dorrin insisted.

  Amrodan didn’t see the sinister smile that crept across his host’s face.

  Dorrin was walking in front with a storm lantern, Amrodan following close behind. As they walked past chestnut trees and low-hanging firs, Amrodan noticed how the trees and bushes parted for Dorrin as he approached, only to close in again as he passed. He whispered to them in tongues incomprehensible to Amrodan, petting them as one would faithful dogs, as he navigated his way through.

  In almost complete darkness they traversed the forest as the howling wind whistled through the trees. The sycamores creaked and the elms swayed under the force of the gale and still the two pushed on.

  ‘Is it far?’ Amrodan shielded his eyes from the debris whipped up from the forest floor.

  ‘It is just up ahead,’ Dorrin replied as he pulled his hat down over his forehead and marched into the gale.

  The lantern swung wildly as the two men trudged from tree to tree. On through the night they went until Amrodan noticed something. The path they were on looked familiar.

  He is leading me in circles, he thought. A sense of dread formed in Amrodan’s mind and he put his hand inside his robes, gripping his dagger.

  ‘We appear to be lost,’ Amrodan shouted, trying to make himself heard above the storm ‘Perhaps we should wait until morning, when we can see better?’

  ‘A few more minutes and we will be there,’ Dorrin shouted back and quickened his pace.

  Amrodan gritted his teeth and followed the swinging light.

  Soon, the trees were less dense and the wind died down.

  ‘There it is.’

  Amrodan could see a clearing up ahead.

  Dorrin halted at the edge of the treeline and pointed to the cave. He marched forward and Amrodan followed, looking for signs of danger. He knew from the visions that Dorrin was dangerous, but was not exactly sure of what he was capable.

  ‘This is it,’ Dorrin stated. ‘Our destination.’

  ‘This cave? I thought you wanted help with your research.’

  ‘Oh, but I do, my friend,’ Dorrin said, excitement in his voice. ‘I really do.’

  ‘What can we find in this cave in the middle of the night?’

  ‘The material for my research is in that cave,’ Dorrin stated, wringing his hands gleefully. ‘Let me explain. My research involves a very rare form of fungus, the thoriztail mushroom. It only grows in a handful of places where lines of magical energy intersect: this cave is one such place. I would like you to go down into the cave and get me one of the mushrooms.’

  Amrodan stared into the darkness, wrinkling his nose.

  ‘What is that smell?’

  ‘Oh that is just the mushrooms, pongy little blighters they are.’

  Despite his wide smile, Amrodan noticed that Dorrin was shaking.

  ‘Why do you not go in and get them yourself? Why bring me here in the dead of night?’

  Dorrin looked at the ground, as though searching for the answers.

  ‘The smell makes my eyes water. Yes, that is it. Once I am down there I can barely see a thing. And the mushrooms are sensitive to light, that is why we are here in the dark,’ Dorrin explained, with a smug grin.

  What a load of horse shit, Amrodan thought.

  ‘What do you need the mushrooms for?’

  ‘My research. I am extracting the goodness from them and distilling it into a potion. I can show you the process in depth when we get back. I think it will cure many ailments.’

  ‘What else is in this cave?’ Amrodan asked. ‘Wolves? Bears? Something worse?’

  ‘No, no wolves, no bears… just mushrooms.’

  ‘Then what?’ Amrodan narrowed his eyes at Dorrin. ‘Look, I know that mushrooms are not the only thing in that cave and until you tell me what else is in there, I’m going nowhere.’

  Dorrin’s smile instantly turned into a frown.

  ‘Crystals,’ he muttered.

  ‘Crystals? What kind of crystals?’

  ‘Crananx crystals,’ Dorrin admitted.

  ‘What are crananx crystals? And what, exactly, do they do?’ Amrodan asked patiently.

  Like a scolded schoolboy, Dorrin put his hands behind his back and shifted on the spot.

  ‘They are crystals that grow in the ground where magical lines intersect. The crystals suck up the magical power and store it until something or someone comes too close, then, zap: they release it. They are where the mushrooms get their power from. They leech the power from the crystals, feeding from their aura and using them as protection.’

  ‘Why did you not just tell me that in the beginning?’ Amrodan took off his rucksack and rolled up his sleeves, walking towards the mouth of the cave.

  ‘But… where are you going?’

  ‘Where do you think? To get you one of these mushrooms,’ Amrodan said over his shoulder.

&nb
sp; Dorrin’s expression changed from disbelief to pleasure as Amrodan disappeared into darkness. He paced up and down before retreating to a safe distance.

  It was a wait he had made many times before and he knew how events would pan out in the cave: a few minutes to creep down the ramp and get to the bottom. A minute or two to take in the sight of the crystals, a minute or so more to select which mushroom to pick…

  There was an explosion and a sudden burst of white light.

  Dorrin jumped as high as he could and cheered, laughing hysterically and dancing in circles.

  ‘Woohoo, hee hee, got you. What a flash, ha ha! Boom, take that, ho ho!’ he said, pretending to duel with an unseen opponent.

  Calming down, he breathed deeply and considered his next move. Then something unexpectedly dawned on him.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ he muttered. ‘Amrodan was like me; he did not have a shadow either. The first time I meet another of my kind and I send him to his death? Why do it Dorrin?’

  Dorrin sat on the grass with his legs folded. He put his face in his hands and lamented the events that had just taken place.

  ‘Is this what you wanted, Dorrin?’

  Amrodan stood there, a mushroom in one hand, physically unscathed. He handed the mushroom to Dorrin.

  ‘What?’ Dorrin stuttered. ‘How?’

  ‘Now you must show me what you do with these things,’ Amrodan said, picking up his rucksack and walking back towards the treeline.

  Dorrin sat staring at the mushroom and then at the man walking away, incredulous at how he had been unharmed from his encounter with the cave.

  As Amrodan disappeared into the trees, Dorrin roused himself, putting the valuable fungus away and, as the storm began to subside, picked up his lantern and followed Amrodan into the forest.

  Safely back in the cottage, Dorrin took Amrodan through to his study. He lit an oil lamp and as he turned the air valve, the light brightened revealing the entire room awash with colour. Amrodan stood back in amazement.

  Exquisite, hand-drawn charts and diagrams of the anatomy of leaves and flowers hung on every inch of the walls, there were work benches in the middle of the floor and around the sides filled with glassware, tongs and clamps, and labelled tubes containing seedlings and pollen lined up in racks.

  Dorrin took the mushroom from his pouch, placing it on a central workbench. He lifted a large glass jar filled with a clear green liquid and inspected it.

  Amrodan could make out the shape of a shrivelled, whitish mushroom inside.

  Pouring the liquid into a glass bowl, Dorrin added a spoonful of an orange powder and stirred it. Then he refilled the jar from a vat in the corner and popped the newly acquired fungus into it, sealing it tightly closed.

  ‘Now what?’ Amrodan asked.

  ‘We wait.’

  Dorrin went into the kitchen and Amrodan followed. He watched Dorrin put wood onto the fire and light it. He could tell the herbalist was in a strange mood and so decided that it was best not to provoke him.

  Amrodan could not help feeling sorry for Dorrin: the herbalist knew nothing of who he was or about the gods. Yet the visions, sent to Amrodan by the pool, had warned him that Dorrin was also dangerous, that is why he lied about his nomadic existence and refused to disclose the existence of Rith. He could see now that the man was obviously a troubled soul who provoked pity and loathing in equal measure.

  As they settled themselves on chairs by the fire, the wood crackled and the sparks worked their way up the chimney to be carried off by the night breeze.

  ‘Being struck by a crananx crystal and living to tell the tale really is some feat,’ Dorrin said at last, without shifting his glance from the fire.

  ‘Who said anything about being struck?’ Amrodan replied coolly.

  ‘My my, you are just full of surprises.’

  Amrodan moved his hand under his cloak, feeling for his dagger.

  ‘I have a few tricks up my sleeve, Mister Brethil.’

  ‘So how did you do it?’ Dorrin asked, the dancing flames reflecting in his turquoise eyes.

  ‘What is the purpose of your research?’ Amrodan ignored his question.

  Dorrin drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and glanced over at the man who had appeared on his doorstep just hours earlier. Then, he took a deep breath and began. ‘Earlier, we talked about being hunted. I came to this forest over three hundred years ago to escape men in blue cloaks who were trying to kill me. I lived alone with only the trees and the plants for company. It was then that I discovered my gift. While wandering through the woods one day I came across a band of adventuring types, exploring the cave that we have just come from. I hid and watched as they all entered it together. It was quite the lightshow. Low on food and clothing, I decided to rob their bodies. Well, they obviously had no more need for their belongings. Then, when I approached the cave, I saw one of the men had plucked a thoriztail mushroom and crawled out of the cave before dying. Most of the plant life in the forest whispers or mutters to me, this thing sang…a dark and ancient song.’

  Dorrin stared into the fire as he spoke, his eyes glazed as if he were in some faraway place or in a dream. Amrodan hung onto his every word, mentally noting the details.

  ‘What did they sing about?’ he whispered.

  ‘A song of power,’ Dorrin replied. ‘They taught me how to extract the raw power that they had sucked from the ground. They instructed me how to concoct the solution that I needed to steep them in in order to draw out the magical force, and for how long. They told me what to mix it with and to evaporate and condense the liquid until the last few drops turn black. Those are what I need. Those last few drops.’

  Dorrin left the room briefly, returning with a flask that was half-full of a black aqueous solution.

  ‘This is the result of my research.’

  Dorrin swirled the contents of the flask.

  ‘What does it do?’ the young man asked.

  ‘It is an elixir of pure power that has been drawn straight from lines of ancient magical force in the ground. One drop of this potion and daisies become snakewort, roses turn to devil’s nightshade and daffodils transform into dragon’s root. Think what I could do with a full flask of power like that. No longer would I have to hide in the woods, no longer would I live in fear. I could return to the place from where I came with a power that surpasses anything in existence. The hunted will become the hunter.’

  Amrodan chose his next words carefully.

  ‘Dorrin, you do not know what a full flask of this potion could do. It could kill you, or worse.’

  ‘I have told you what you have asked, now answer me this: how is it that you survived the blast from the crystal?’

  ‘My gift is that I am unharmed by elemental forces. In the same way that you can converse with plants, I can have fire wash over me like a breeze on a spring day. That is my power.’

  Dorrin looked at the young man, raising an eyebrow.

  Amrodan weighed up the situation. On the one hand his being able to get the mushrooms was of use to Dorrin, but once he’d got enough, he suspected, Dorrin would have no qualms about killing him. He needed to lengthen his odds.

  ‘Taking a blast of that sort of force severely weakens my ability to defend myself against them until I can build up my resistance again,’ Amrodan said, eyeing Dorrin carefully.

  ‘How long does that take?’ the herbalist asked with a grin.

  ‘A while,’ Amrodan snapped.

  ‘How long?’

  ‘A week,’ he said, hoping that would buy him enough time.

  ‘Hmm. So you could get me a mushroom every week, is that right?’

  ‘If I have to. In return, will you teach me all that you know?’

  ‘Your tutelage will begin first thing tomorrow morning. Now we should get some sleep, we have had a long night,’ Dorrin said as
he rose from his chair, lifting the flask with the black liquid and walking up the stairs to bed, taking it with him.

  Amrodan settled down on several bedrolls that Dorrin retrieved from his larder; they were of varying lengths, suggesting they once belonged to different owners. He lay in front of the fire and watched the embers die to ashes while listening to Dorrin snore. When he was confident that his host was fast asleep, he reached deep into his robes and withdrew a blue, faintly glowing crananx crystal, stroking it with a smile on his face.

  Over the next few months Amrodan listened carefully to Dorrin’s teaching about what herbs had what properties, and about their collection, preparation and treatment, from steeping and seething, macerating and distilling, through to drying, grinding, pounding and crushing. He learnt about the anatomy of roots, flowers, seeds and leaves, and found out which plants could be used in compounds to enhance the effects of other herbs, and which plants acted as inhibitors. And, of course, he watched as Dorrin heated up the liquid that was extracted from the mushrooms before evaporating and condensing it, getting those final few black droplets that were added to the flask.

  Dorrin was a patient man when it came to explaining things about herb lore and botanical life; he loved the topics and relayed the information to Amrodan with a childlike enthusiasm.

  They worked for hours, often forgetting to eat meals, as they dissected flowers and seeds, adding drops of different solutions to them and inspecting the results under a series of lenses. Even as the two men built up an unlikely friendship, on every seventh day the tuition would be put on hold and Amrodan would be escorted through the forest to the cave and sent down into it to fetch a thoriztail mushroom before returning to the cottage.

  This cycle continued for almost a year.

  Dorrin taught Amrodan about botany and in turn Amrodan would get him the mushrooms for his potion.

  When Dorrin had passed on all his knowledge about botany he moved on to the preparation and neutralisation of plant-based poisons and toxins; he taught Amrodan about the alchemical discoveries he had made concerning the new plant species that had been created with the help of his potions and even showed him how the material from these new plants could be used by an apothecary to produce more effective balms, remedies and poultices.