A Land in Shadow

by Daniel Whitman

  A Land in Shadow

  Book 1 of Flames of Shadow

  Daniel Whitman

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, companies, brands, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Daniel Whitman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: daniel.i.whitman@gmail.com.

  First paperback edition May 2019

  First ebook edition May 2019

  Book Cover Design by ebooklaunch.com

  ISBN 9781095708088 (paperback)

  To David, Parker, Jacob, Jake, Nick, Brandon, and Sam, the original party that made the adventure happen.

  In our darkest of hours

  And our longest of days

  In the Goddess’s embrace

  And smiting light ray

  From the Flame he extinguish

  And the Shadow he slay

  From the hammer that marked

  And has yet lost all ways

  The Beacon shall come

  And bring back the Light of yesterday

  Prologue

  The woman walked down the dimly lit castle corridor. The passageway was made of aged stone bricks with cracks running along their faces like veins. On the walls hung ancient tapestries of various colors depicting legends long forgotten. Flickering torches dotted the passage, their eerie light sending shadows dancing around the corridor. Ash blackened the aged stone around the torches, and cobwebs hung lifelessly from the worn ceiling. Along the stone floor lay a beautiful red carpet flowing down the length of the passage. Golden tassels adorned its edges and marvelous swirling patterns ran along its length in a river of golden thread.

  The woman hardly noticed; she had walked this passage before. She was an elegant woman of unparalleled beauty. Two, piercing emerald eyes shone from her soft face, and long, silky black hair cascaded over her shoulders in a marvelous braid. A long, gorgeous black skirt flowed out behind her, with splashes of orange and yellow flaring out at the ends of her skirt like flames in the folds of the cloth. A seductive slit ran up the side of the skirt, revealing a perfect, pale leg that seemed to shine in the flickering light. She wore a simple black top that revealed her shining, pale skin, and slim, seductive form. Spectacular pauldrons of gold curved around her shoulders in the pattern of dragon scales, giving her an indomitable majesty, and a beautiful, golden diadem studded with glimmering emeralds crowned her head. Other jewels adorned her body in shining chains of golden splendor. In her left hand she held an intricate sword of the most elegant design. Golden chains and emeralds ran along the length of the copper scabbard, and the hilt seemed to grow out of the blade like the trunk of a tree, creating a natural and comfortable grip to any who wielded it.

  At the far end of the corridor was an aged wooden door banded with iron reinforcements. Upon reaching the door, the woman placed a hand against it, and effortlessly pushed it inwards. Closing the door behind her, she entered the room, and scanned her shining eyes across the chamber, smiling. Everything was still as it should be.

  The room was a small, plain stone chamber brightly illuminated by torches on three of the walls. The floor was made of plain wooden planks, all scuffed and worn with the passage of time. On the far side sat a large wooden desk covered in books and papers. Hunched over in a wooden chair sat a gorgeous woman, pondering the words of one of the texts.

  The woman had fiery red hair that fell over her back in a wave of flame. She had an angular face and fierce, orange eyes. Her smooth, olive skin was marred only by a gruesome scar that cut across her left cheek and ran up to meet her eye. A luxurious red and gold dress flowed around her, making no secret of her attractive curves. Her wrists were clamped by large shackles, tethering her to the wall with long, iron chains. She looked up as the woman entered the room, her eyes shadowed by confusion.

  “Ashyla,” the fiery woman said hesitantly, a questioning look plastered over her face. “It makes no sense. Why would you do that? You saved them.”

  Ashyla smiled. She walked toward the desk, a glimmer of mischief shining in her eyes. “My dear Mariah,” she replied, placing her hands upon the desk. “Did I? Did I truly save them? You should know more than anyone — not everything is always as it seems.”

  Mariah had no answer. She studied Ashyla in an attempt to read her motives, but with little success. Frustrated, Mariah turned back to the book, a scowl shadowing her face.

  A harmonious laugh escaped Ashyla’s lips, and she glanced down to the book. “Oh,” she said, reaching for the tome. “What do we have here?” Her eyes locked onto Mariah, and she held the book out in front of her, a sly smile twisting her gentle face. “The History of the First Night. How… ironic.”

  A green fire lit in Ashyla’s eyes, and the book began to morph and wilt in her hand. Two, graceful wings erupted from the cover, and delicate legs sprouted from the bottom. Ashyla smiled. In her hand was a black butterfly. Its wings were two voids of shadow; its legs needles of night. With a sudden flap of its wings, the butterfly shot into the air, and disappeared into the flickering shadows.

  Mariah narrowed her eyes at Ashyla, a flash of anger crossing her face. “Why are you here, to mock me?” she asked, her voice sharp like a razor.

  “My dear Mariah, when have I ever come just to mock you?” Ashyla laughed. “No, there is so much more to this that even you fail to realize. It’s true that I saved your prophesied Beacon and his group of companions.”

  Mariah studied Ashyla quizzically. “But why? What would you have to gain from that?” she asked, standing up from the desk. “When I uttered the prophecy, I saw great hope in this desolate land of Shadow. I saw the coming of the Beacon who will bring about the end of this dark era. I saw the Beacon come forth from a swirling vortex of black like a shining beam of light. I saw him standing in the heart of the Shadow, locked in a legendary battle between Goddess and mortal. I saw the Shadow fall. I saw the Light return over the lands of Ansalon. Yet all of this could have been nothing but a dream. But you saved them. You saved the Beacon. You saved the one destined to strike you down.”

  Ashyla laughed tauntingly and stepped back from the desk with her hands raised in the air. “My dear Mariah, I know what you saw,” she said, her voice growing softer. “I know more than anyone, perhaps even you. Except …”

  Mariah studied Ashyla, a wary look in her gaze. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Ashyla only smiled. “It matters not,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “Now, as for the Beacon, it is quite simple, really, as to why I let him live. I’d like to think of myself as … generous. I can’t just sit idly by and watch innocent people die.”

  Mariah settled back, doubtful. “Generous. Is that so?” she said while shaking her head, a hard edge cutting into her words.

  “Precisely.”

  “And innocent people! Do you know how many precious innocents were slaughtered because of you?” Mariah exploded, a furious flame in her gaze. “Countless! Don’t pity me with your generosity.”

  “Slaughtered?” Ashyla laughed and ran her flowing braid through her hand. “No, not slaughtered. More so … repurposed.”

  Mariah glared, and she opened her mouth, but Ashyla cut her off with an icy gaze.

  “And as for my generosity,” Ashyla continued. “You’re still alive, are you not?” Ashyla laughed and reached up to stroke the side of Mariah’s face. “My dear Mariah, I could never kill you.”

  Disgusted, Mariah slapped Ashyla’s hand away. �
�Is that what you told the others before you killed them?” She cast an accusing glare at Ashyla, her eyes two orange flames of fury. “Before you cast the Shadow across the land? There could have been balance, yet you were too corrupted by your vengeance! If ...”

  Ashyla’s face turned hard, and she cut off Mariah with a ferocious glare. “Child …” She paused, and shook her head, her cool mask returning and a mischievous twinkle appearing in her eyes. “My dear Mariah, always the feisty one,” Ashyla teased. “As for the Shadow, what’s done is done; there is no changing the past. Not even I could reverse what has happened. But …” — Ashyla winked at Mariah — “perhaps your Beacon can.”

  Mariah sighed in exasperation. “And so it brings me back to my question,” she said, studying Ashyla. “Why? Why did you save them?”

  Ashyla ran her braid through her hand, and she seemed to ponder for a moment, her lips curled into a sly smirk. After a long silence, she glanced up to Mariah. “Entertainment.”

  Mariah turned a questioning eye to Ashyla.

  “Entertainment?” Unable to contain herself, Mariah burst out in a charming laugh. “Entertainment, you say? First generosity, and now this? Don’t play me for a fool.”

  A defiant look in her eyes, Mariah began to strut over to Ashyla, her chains raking against the ground behind her.

  “My dear Ashyla,” she taunted. “You may think yourself above the rest. You may think yourself beyond our struggles, but you’re not. I haven’t just sat idly by for thousands of years. No, I’ve watched you, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you don’t do things for mere entertainment.”

  Ashyla raised an eyebrow, a cheeky smirk appearing on her delicate face. “Oh, is that so?”

  Mariah stopped, staring down at Ashyla like a lioness over its prey. “You always have some deeper reason behind your doings. Never have you done something for such a meaningless reason as entertainment. There is always some end goal you have buried deep within your webs of intrigue and deception.”

  Ashyla stepped back, holding her arms out to the side as a teasing laugh escaped her lips. “Then pray tell, my dear Mariah,” she mocked. “What other reason would I have to save the Beacon, if not entertainment? For why else would I go through the trouble of saving the one destined to strike me down — if not to sit back and see how fate takes its course?”

  Mariah paused; her momentum halted as surely as if she had hit an iron wall. She stepped back; her face clouded by uncertainty.

  “I don’t know,” she sighed, her eyes scanning the ground. “As I said before, none of it makes sense.”

  Ashyla laughed, and she turned away from Mariah, her skirt flowing about like the graceful wing of a butterfly. “What did I say?” she called over her shoulder. “This is most entertaining.” A triumphant gleam in her eyes, Ashyla glanced down to her sword, its golden chains twinkling in the flickering torch-light.

  “Wait.”

  Ashyla paused, and she glanced back to Mariah. “Yes?”

  Mariah studied Ashyla, her eyes swirling in thought. “No, it doesn’t make sense,” she mumbled to herself. “She can’t defeat him. She is bound.”

  Ashyla’s mischievous gaze turned into an icy glare.

  Mariah looked up, her eyes glancing at the marvelous sword in Ashyla's hand. “You can’t defeat him,” she repeated, her voice growing stronger with every word. “You have no power now, that seal —”

  “My dear Mariah …” Ashyla interrupted, her fist clenched about her sword.

  “That seal binds you in an inescapable prison,” Mariah continued triumphantly. “You cannot hope to break it; your power was lost long ago.”

  Ashyla stepped back, her eyes shooting daggers of ice. “Now, my dear Mariah, take care with your next words.”

  Mariah’s eyes gleamed with arrogance, and an insolent smile beamed on her face. “Or what? You have no power here.”

  “Child,” Ashyla hissed, any hint of friendliness erased from her once gentle face.

  “Ever since the Smiter Sergarious —” Mariah was cut off as Ashyla darted forward and placed her hand upon Mariah’s chest. Mariah let out a sharp cry of pain, and her eyes rolled back into her head. She tried to struggle, tried to escape from the damning touch of the Goddess, but Ashyla held her as surely as an iron cage. With a surge of rage, Ashyla threw Mariah back, sending her crashing through the wooden desk and into the far stone wall, sending splinters of shattered wood soaring through the air. The chains attached to Mariah’s wrists suddenly tightened, dragging her up and leaving her splayed tightly against the wall.

  Ashyla stalked forward to the suspended woman as a wolf would to a sheep, a merciless inferno burning in her emerald eyes.

  “I am not the only one who is bound, child,” she spat at Mariah, a furious look twisting her face. Reaching down, Ashyla unsheathed her sword, and placed the razor edge against Mariah’s neck. “You may think you know the workings of the world. You may think you know the workings of a Goddess, but I can assure you that you do not.” Without as much as a blink, Ashyla moved her sword away from Mariah’s neck, then deliberately jabbed the sword into the stone by Mariah’s head. Mariah paled, and she glanced sideways at the sword, fear plastered across her soft face.

  A venomous smile twisting her lips, Ashyla reached up and grabbed Mariah’s face, ripping it down and locking her with an icy glare. “Remember, child, before me you are nothing. It is true that I am bound, yet still here you are, cowering before me.”

  “Only because of your corrupted lackeys,” Mariah spat.

  Ashyla studied Mariah for a moment, before shaking her head. Slowly, she removed her sword from the wall, and re-sheathed it by her side. A vile, mocking laugh escaped her lips, and she ran her thumb across Mariah’s scar. “What a shame, to mar such a beautiful face.” Ashyla drug her thumb up along the gruesome scar and placed it atop Mariah’s eye.

  Mariah tried to struggle free, but she was frozen in place, locked by the will of Ashyla. “No,” she whimpered in a desperate attempt to reason with insane warden in front of her.

  Ashyla steadily pressed with her thumb, threatening to gouge out Mariah’s eye. “I would hate to scar it even more ...” she whispered menacingly, continuing to apply ever more pressure. Mariah tried to tear herself away, but she was trapped. Ashyla held her bound. A silent scream escaped Mariah’s lips, and crystal tears began to stream from her eyes.

  With a final, menacing laugh, Ashyla released Mariah. Ashyla took a step back, her visage returning to the calm, collected expression from before with all signs of mania disappearing.

  “You see, my dear Mariah, it is quite simple,” she said softly. “I don’t enjoy having to do this, especially not to someone as wonderful as you. Just remember your place, and all will be well.” Ashyla shot her a beaming smile and turned to exit the chamber.

  Trembling, Mariah raised her head, and watched Ashyla gracefully stride away, silent.

  Suddenly, Ashyla stopped, and she turned back to Mariah. “Oh, I almost forgot.”

  She raised her hand, and a black butterfly flew out of the flickering shadows and landed upon her palm. With a satisfied smile, Ashyla closed her hand upon the butterfly, and when she reopened it, a large iron key rested on her palm. Striding over to Mariah, Ashyla placed the key into the lock on Mariah’s shackles, and with a twist, the binding restraints fell loose.

  Mariah collapsed, landing heavily on her hands and knees. She glanced up; a look of bewilderment apparent on her face.

  “What? You freed me?” she asked, perplexed. “Why?”

  Ashyla smiled, and she glanced at the iron key in her hand. Her eyes gleamed, and the key morphed back into an inky butterfly, which flew away into the surrounding shadows.

  “Did I?”

  Laughing, Ashyla strode away from Mariah, her elegant braid bobbing behind her.

  Mariah frowned, and she held out her hand. Her orange eyes sparkled, and suddenly a bright flame appeared in her hand, basking the area in a war
m glow. Mariah smiled, reveling in the ecstasy of her freedom. After years of suppression, her power could once again flow rampant throughout her. Closing her hand, she extinguished the flame, and glanced back up to Ashyla. “But why? First you save the Beacon, and now me?”

  Ashyla turned around, laughing. “My dear Mariah, did we not just discuss this? I am most generous.”

  Mariah’s expression shadowed, and she reached up to massage her left eye. “I would hardly say generous ...”

  “No?” Ashyla replied, seemingly taken aback. She let out a gentle laugh. “Stand, my dear Mariah. That’s enough groveling on the floor.”

  Mariah stood up reluctantly, brushing off the dust from the crash. She stretched her wrists, flexing muscles long trapped in the unforgiving clutches of iron. Warily, she looked at Ashyla. “What are you trying to do? You released me; I can strike you down.”

  Ashyla smiled. “But you won’t. There are larger concerns you should be focused on. I cannot stop the Shadow, but ...” A mischievous gleam shot across Ashyla’s eyes, and she brushed her braid through her hand. “I’m sure there are others who would like to see you.”

  Mariah studied Ashyla for a moment, torn. Slowly, she shook her head. “I don’t understand,” she mumbled.

  “You don’t have to.”

  Mariah locked her gaze on Ashyla. “This isn’t some deception?” she asked, doubtful.

  Ashyla shook her head.

  “You are quite free, able to leave at your heart’s content,” she said. “Go to the Flame or go to the Beacon; they are quite lost without you. Guide them, show them the way, for they will soon be overwhelmed in this great land of Shadow.”

  Mariah hesitated, still unsure. She flexed her fingers, and with sudden grandeur, billowing flames burst to life in her hands. Turning, she gave one last, cautious glance at Ashyla.