A Land in Shadow

by Daniel Whitman

  Ro stared at Fasto, a concerned look on his face. Behind him stood Andromeda and a very disgruntled Margaret, who was brushing sand from her hair.

  “Fasto,” the draconian started. “What are you doing?”

  Fasto smiled, a proud pillar of light illuminating his mind. Because of him, his friends would no longer be lost in this shadowy land. He would be their guide through the trenches of destruction.

  “Fasto make map,” he said proudly. “Fasto help friends!”

  “You certainly helped us lose sleep, that's for sure,” Margaret growled.

  “Another map, huh?” Ro sighed.

  “That is definitely not a map.” Andromeda piped in, her tail twitching mischievously. She glanced down, and ran a paw through the map, wiping away some of Fasto’s hard work.

  Fasto scrambled over to stop the feline. He would not let anything destroy his work. It was his gift to his friends. Laughing, Andromeda skipped away, just out of reach. The poor orc glanced down to his handiwork, the mess of gashes, lines, and swirls looking like absolute madness scribbled into the sand. He nodded. Perfect.

  “Uh, what is this supposed to be a map of, my friend?” Ro asked, trying to humor the dull orc. He tried to search for some kind of pattern, but it appeared to be utter nonsense.

  “A map of his dull mind, that’s what,” Margaret spat, turning away with a scowl darkening her face.

  Fasto was not quite sure what she meant by that. Looking back to Ro, he gestured around. “Everything Fasto see,” he said.

  Ro glanced around at the surrounding land, then back to the scribbles in the cold sand. “Ah, right,” he stammered. “Obviously.”

  Before he could continue to entertain Fasto, a rustling sound turned his attention.

  SmibSmob, now awake, approached from behind Ro, anxiety dragging his steps through the earth.

  “Nalgene is still unconscious,” he said, his voice low and grim. As he neared, his eyes were drawn to the tangle of gashes behind Fasto. “As much as your … er … map is a great help, I’m worried for my brother.”

  SmibSmob seemed small without the support of his brother. “I hope —”

  Before the frail gnome could finish, a deafening screeching sound cut through the air, driving deep into the companion’s minds and grinding against their bones. The sound was far from natural, like a knife sliding across a steel plate. Their heads whipped around, searching for the source of the infernal cry. Nothing. The land was barren.

  Another diabolical screech, and the companions scrambled back, desperately trying to protect themselves from the horrendous sound. But the harsh noise burned into their minds, scrambling their thoughts and numbing their bodies.

  Fasto’s eyes cut across the black land. If only he were in a forest, he would be able to identify the source of the dreadful cry. He always felt safe, and at home, in the arms of the oaken trees. But this land was desolate, with no protection for Fasto.

  “Looks like we have some company,” Margaret managed to growl through the pain of the shriek, pointing to the south.

  Floating above the forsaken land like some ghastly specter of death was a large, horrifying wraith. A draping, tattered black cloak covered the undead creature's skeletal figure, and a dark hood shadowed the pale face. An aura of cold death surrounded the rotting ghoul, leaching and suffocating whatever life may have been left in the surrounding land. Reaching out like were two claws, their razor ends glittering with an icy promise of death. But shining out from underneath the hood, like two chasms of icy doom, were two blue eyes, driving a freezing fear deep into the companions.

  Exactly like the dreadknight’s.

  The companions reeled back under the pressuring glare of the wraith. All thoughts of Fasto’s map fled from their minds, and they scrambled to ready their weapons against the approaching menace. But their wounds were still not healed, and so their weapons felt slow and clumsy as they readied them.

  Fasto unslung his brilliant bow and nocked a white arrow. Drawing the string, he took aim at the undead horror. It was a sure shot. Yet his arm was unsteady, and the dreadful gaze of the wraith cut deep into him, causing his once steadfast arm to shake.

  Fasto growled under his breath, and he clenched his teeth in denial.

  Fasto WILL protect friends.

  He took aim once more, his eyes gleaming with a raging ferocity.

  The arrow loosed, cutting through the air like a white beam of light.

  Fasto watched with a cool certainty. It was a sure shot.

  The arrow thudded into the soft ground behind the wraith without so much as glancing the approaching terror. The arrow had missed its target. Fasto had missed!

  The companions turned to Fasto; their eyes wide with shock. Through all their battles in the Shadow, they had never once seen Fasto miss a shot. Even in the midst of raging battles where they were darting about in a desperate attempt to remain alive, Fasto always managed to weave the arrows through the mayhem to strike his targets. But now, with the shackles of exhaustion still heavy on his arms, Fasto had missed.

  Fasto glanced down to his bow, his eyes burning with betrayal. No, he had never missed. It must be the bow. The bow had betrayed him. No other explanation came to his dull mind. It must be the bow. It could not possibly be that he was worn from the previous battle. No. Fasto never missed.

  But while Fasto was lost studying his bow, the wraith pounced upon the companions, its icy claws cutting frosty gashes through the air. Its deathly aura leached at the companions' life force, draining what little energy they had. Its cold, blue eyes instilled a deep terror within them, sapping their very will to fight.

  Ro raised his mighty greatsword and with a thunderous roar charged the wraith, his sword cutting across in a lethal arc. Shrieking, the wraith turned to the draconian, its dreadful gaze halting Ro’s heroic attack. Its claws flashed, and four, massive gashes appeared on the draconian’s arm, drawing a spray of thick blood. Ro howled in pain, and he glanced down to his arm. A vile frost began seeping from the wounds, freezing his arm. His greatsword dropped to the ground. Snarling, he grabbed his shining longsword, and strung his iron shield to his injured arm as best he could manage.

  Andromeda appeared from the shadows behind the wraith and pounced upon its cloaked back, her claws tearing at the undead flesh beneath. Enraged, the wraith flailed about, its claws cutting across in a chilling slash. Just before the massive claws could rend Andromeda’s face, Ro plowed into the wraith, driving it to the ground in a tangle of cloak and claw.

  Shaken, Andromeda gently caressed her face, searching for any signs of frost or damage. Finding none, she gave a ferocious hiss, and her halberd appeared in her slender hand.

  Throwing Ro away like a limp rag doll, the wraith rose into the air, its two blue chasms blazing with an unholy fury. It would end these miserable specks of fire. It turned to Andromeda, eager to finish the deed. But before it could soar at the feline, a shard of ice crashed into it, driving hard into its rotting shoulder. Yet the shard was small and fragile — nothing like the mighty shards from before. Margaret stood next to Andromeda, her demonic arm pulsing wildly at her side, her eyes clouded by doubt.

  The wraith barely noticed the pitiful attack, and with another horrifying screech, it charged, its icy claws cutting in a whirlwind of death.

  Fasto glanced up to the chaos. Ro lay on the ground, struggling to get to his feet, his arm frozen. Andromeda and Margaret danced away from the wraith, barely avoiding lethal strikes from the claws. SmibSmob cowered over his brother, ready to give his own life to protect Nalgene’s. And what was Fasto doing? Was he protecting his friends? No. He shook his head, the scrambling sounds of the battle breaking through his jumbled thoughts. He had missed, yes. But that did not mean he had to sit by and watch as his friends were dismantled by the undead menace. A feral growl escaped Fasto’s lips.

  Fasto protect friends.

  His eyes two red infernos, Fasto grabbed a few stones from the ground, and rose to his feet. Tim
e seemed to move in slow-motion for the orc. Raising his arm, he took aim at the ghastly creature.

  Fasto protect friends.

  The stone whistled through the air. And another. Two holes appeared in the wraith's flowing cloak of darkness.

  The wraith whipped around to face Fasto; its icy eyes boring into the orc. Yet Fasto held his ground. He would face the very Goddess for his friends, so what would this wraith be? He released his remaining stones, and they bounced on the ground by his side. He unstrung his quiver and raised his two fists up before him. He would protect his friends. He did not need some traitorous bow to help him with that.

  The wraith’s eyes burned, and its frosty claw flashed across. The companions watched on with utter horror. What was this dull orc doing? But Fasto had unwavering confidence. He would protect his friends. He would defeat this unholy beast.

  He was delusional.

  The icy claws slashed, cutting across Fasto’s forearms with a wide spray of blood, and tossing the orc to the ground. The icy gashes burned like a touch from death, and the frost began to spread from the gruesome wounds, freezing Fasto’s arms. Fasto glanced at his arms shock. This was not how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to protect his friends. He tried to move his fingers, but they would not respond to his will.

  The wraith reared up to finish the dumbfounded orc, but Ro barreled into it from behind, knocking it away from Fasto.

  “We need to run!” the draconian shouted as he crashed into the wraith. “I’ll keep it busy!”

  They could not hope to win this fight. Ro’s arm was frozen, and he was unable to effectively wield his weapons. Both Margaret and Andromeda panted heavily, even though the battle had barely just begun. SmibSmob refused to leave his brother’s side and was watching with dismay.

  Growling, Fasto rose to his feet and brushed off the sand. His arms were shaking, the frost enveloping his forearms. He turned to the wraith, which was leering down upon a prone Ro, its deadly claws about to rend the draconian’s head. Ro was right. They had to run. There would be no winning this battle. Not now. But something kept Fasto from turning away, something else Ro had shouted.

  I’ll keep it busy.

  Ro was protecting his friends. So Fasto would protect him.

  Growling away his pain, Fasto rushed at the wraith, his boots thundering across the ground in a furious stampede. Fasto did not need his bow. He tried to bring his fists to bear, but his forearms were frozen, and his hands would no longer heed his commands. Fine. Fasto did not need his fists.

  A feral snarl escaping his lips, Fasto crashed into the wraith, his shoulder barreling into the creature’s rotting back. He did not slow. The deathly aura sapped at his strength, but he kept pushing, driving the undead away from his friend. The wraith shrieked and turned upon the orc.

  But Andromeda was there, pouncing upon the wraith and tearing it to the ground.

  Fasto did not notice. His focus was on Ro, who was ready to give his life for the others. A true friend. Reaching down, he wrapped his frozen arms around the draconian’s battered body, and with a strained growl, hoisted the mighty draconian onto his shoulder. Ro’s shining sword and shield fell to the ground, but the orc did not notice. Fasto would protect his friends.

  “Follow me!” SmibSmob called to Fasto, attempting to drag Nalgene toward the nearby river. Perhaps if they crossed the river, they would be safe from the terrifying wraith. It was futile endeavor, but it gave them hope. And that was what the companions needed.

  Fasto glanced to the frail gnome and nodded. Growling with every breath, he marched to SmibSmob. His legs grew weary, but he could not stop until his friends were safe. He would not. He reached down with his free arm and cupped it around the unconscious gnome. His eyes burning with a roaring determination, he hoisted Nalgene onto his other shoulder and began his slow-yet-steady trek to the river. His legs ached under the added weight, and his body urged him to collapse into the soft sand. But he did not. Fasto would not. Fasto would protect his friends.

  SmibSmob watched the orc with awe and respect. So what if the dull orc could not put together a coherent sentence? He did not need to. His actions spoke for him.

  Fasto marched away. Behind him, Andromeda and Margaret still wrestled with the dreadful wraith in a failing attempt to buy the others time. He did not notice. His mind was solely focused on the river and the two he held upon his shoulders. He did not even notice when SmibSmob retrieved his bow and quiver from the ground.

  Another step. Another step closer to safety. Every step was arduous for Fasto, yet still he pushed on. He would not stop.

  Forty more strides.

  His ruby eyes flared.

  Thirty more strides.

  The wraith unleashed another bone-cutting shriek, but Fasto did not turn. SmibSmob marched along beside him, his hands clutching the orc’s weapons as if they were a precious child. From behind, Andromeda came darting past, her breath coming in short, pained gasps, and her back covered with a frosty slash. Margaret followed soon after, and she looked no better off than the feline. They had fought against the wraith with every ounce of their strength, but it was not enough.

  “We couldn’t hold it,” Margaret gasped, her voice barely audible. “It’s coming.”

  Fasto nodded, but he did not slow, and did not look back.

  Twenty more strides.

  The icy aura from the wraith washed over the companions, and another screech penetrated the still air. It was right behind them, its two eyes burning like funeral pyres. They would not escape it. The river would not help them, as it could easily float across the flowing water. Its icy claws flashed out, frosty flakes falling from their razor ends. They would not escape it.

  The companions did not turn, for how could they? All they had left was the river. And so, they pushed forward.

  Ten more strides.

  SmibSmob cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground, an icy gash across his back. Fasto’s bow and quiver fell to the ground by the orc’s feet. The wraith had caught them. There was no more hope. The companions turned; their eyes wide with horror. They could not escape the wraith. As the solemn fact settled over them, the fire in their eyes sputtered out. Only Fasto remained strong in the face of such despair.

  All they could do was watch as the wraith hovered above SmibSmob, its glinting claw ready to end the gnome’s life. Its blue eyes seared with an infernal fire, and yet another diabolical shriek echoed forth from the wraith. Yet it did not strike.

  The companions watched dumbfounded as the wraith stood frozen above the gnome. Its skeletal arm trembled, yearning to slash at the gnome. Yet it could not.

  An obsidian butterfly rested upon the wraith’s arm; its dark needle stuck into the rotting flesh.

  A gentle sound came from the river, as if a boat was coasting through the mild waves. The companions turned. Sure enough, there was Ashyla, sitting upon the bow of a beautiful, white boat. Swirls and engravings covered the hull of the boat in a decorative mosaic, and a large, twisting mast rose from the center. There was no sail.

  The Goddess was draped in her silky, black dress, and her golden jewelry glittered even in the absence of light. She appeared distracted and was busy studying the marvelous sword she held in her hand. She was mumbling to herself, and she kept gently shaking her head. One could only wonder what preoccupied her fractured mind.

  “Oh, look who it is again,” Margaret sneered. “Back to taunt us some more.”

  Ashyla did not look up.

  Fasto gazed at Ashyla, then back to the frozen wraith, and then to his bow upon the ground. He was as lost as ever in Ashyla’s winding webs, yet one thing seemed obvious to him. The wraith was Ashyla’s doing. She had once again tried to kill his friends. It was unacceptable. His eyes two raging infernos, and a rumbling growl escaping his lips, he gently set Ro and Nalgene down upon the ground and reached for his white bow. His hand would not close upon the sleek wood, as his forearm was still frozen. Undeterred, he brought his arm to bear in fro
nt of him. He just had to unfreeze it.

  With a sickening crunch, he slammed his arm down upon his knee, shattering the frozen ice. An explosion of pain bolted through the orc as his frozen muscles stretched and tore, and his bones cracked. But he growled through it. His gaze was locked upon the approaching Goddess. He brought his other arm up, and with the same grisly fortitude, shattered it upon his knee. Blood oozed from his mangled forearms, and they trembled violently under the severe wounds. But that would not stop Fasto.

  He would face the very Goddess for his friends.

  He grasped his white bow tightly in his hand, his arm roaring in protest. His thick blood oozed down his hand and stained the once-brilliant wood a deep crimson. He grabbed an arrow with his other hand and nocked it in the bow. His body would only allow for one shot. He brought the bow to aim and drew the string. Everything shook violently, but his gaze was locked on Ashyla. Fasto never missed.

  The arrow loosed, rocketing forward in a blinding streak of light, its aim true. The bow fell from Fasto’s hands, and his arms fell limp by his side. He would protect his friends. The arrow spiraled through the air, slicing across Ashyla’s cheek and drawing a sharp line of blood and marring her perfect skin.

  Even Ashyla could bleed.

  Ashyla’s emerald gaze shot up, her focus regained. Her hand rose, rubbing across the streak of blood. She glanced down to the crimson stain on her fingers, and smile appeared on her rosy lips. Her eyes locked on the companions.

  “Hello again, my dears,” she said.

  The companions watched Ashyla with wary gazes. SmibSmob had crawled out from underneath the frozen wraith and was crouching next to Nalgene. Both Andromeda and Margaret were ready to strike at a moment's notice, with Andromeda’s tail slashing violently and Margaret’s arm pulsing uncontrollably. Fasto merely glared.