Maal The First Skull- Shadows of the Mind

by Theodore Packwood

  Tchurn dumped the huge arm-load of logs near his gear and thumped past it to the kitchen. His heavy steps sounded like soft drums in the dimming light, weighted by a burden he carried which was far heavier than Erigg’s backpack.

  “What has become such an encumbrance to you?”

  I was painfully sympathetic to it, which surprised me. I wanted to help him somehow, to relieve the emotional burden he carried. Perhaps that would banish the Anguish that hindered me.

  You remind me of Yanell, I almost said. “No! I never knew Yanell!”

  That was the armament I needed to blast away the foundation of the memory. I broke free of the morose feelings and focused on an investigation of nearby objects which might explain why I was here. That was certainly more useful than wasting time to sort out my affectation of Anguish.

  Certainly better than the weakness of compassion, said Indigo.

  Hate was so much more comfortable: I wrapped it about me like a cloak.

  Tchurn looked weary when he returned. I refused to allow my sadness to re-surface, using Hate to buttress against the Anguish: a vicious criticism of his sluggish speed sufficed. He stacked his logs atop the embers in the fireplace near his table, with ample space behind them. He shoved his gleaming coins into his own pack, heaved it off the table, and yanked the drawstring tight before tossing it into the back of the fireplace. He threw his boots next to it, and a pair of mittens. His possessions did not melt nor ignite, even after the logs caught fire.

  He drained a cup he found half-empty, then burped, which led to a comical coughing fit.

  Gathering his furs, he realized a pair of them were missing. eXia had used them to cover Jil while Tchurn was sleeping, and they now rested about her shoulders as her arm cradled her head upon the table. Tchurn looked around the table for them and spotted her. He stared, not moving for several moments. His hand absentmindedly held the clump of furs in one hand, half-raised.

  Abruptly, he dropped the furs and reached for his massive sword. He lifted it off the ground with so little effort it amazed me. A metal sword of that size would weigh more than Erigg, yet he hoisted it with the ease Erigg had hoisted his antlers. The red gleam of the sword in the dying firelight was terrifying and beautiful.

  He stood in the center walkway, facing me, Jil, and the table, balancing the sword on his shoulder with his right hand on the grip. He gripped the furs covering her and flung them away roughly. Why was he not more cautious? Was he hoping she would wake?

  “Jil!” I barked, Fear starting to rise. She was so enwrapped by slumber she did not even twitch.

  “If only you had not taken the black metal,” he said.

  Was that gentleness in his tone?

  Her chain draped down her back, and Tchurn was able to shift the collar to expose more of her neck. Her neck-bones were stark bumps from emaciation, framed by bruises from being choked. Tchurn brought his sword horizontal, hovering against the nape of her neck.

  “May Trorenok purge you of this taint,” he intoned.

  “Jil!” I yelled. I was engorged with Fear, and rushed forward, madly believing I could somehow stop her decapitation.

  Tchurn lifted his sword straight up, careful not to strike the timber overhead. Jil moaned in discontent, her forehead furrowed as a bad dream bothered her. She faced him in her sleep, and the sword hesitated.

  Let the head roll, let the blood spurt! cried Viridian. Squirt, squirt, squirt!

  What do you Fear, Maal? mocked Carmine.

  What does it matter if she dies? said Indigo, with a sneer to his tone.

  Will you perish if Jil does? asked Tawny.

  The latter thought was the awful truth: I did not know, and it terrified me.

  Tchurn lifted his sword again, his face grim.

  “Jil!” I shouted, near panic. I tried to slap her, with no effect.

  With two hands he lifted the sword high over his head, its edge gleaming, as if on fire.

  “Jil!” I screamed. My fingers sparked, not from Hate, but from Fear.

  The sword came down.

  H

  A word came unbidden to my mind in sheer terror.

  “NO!” I screamed.

  My hands were close to Jil’s head as Fear lit out of my fingers and struck the table by her face. Small splinters flew, waking her.

  Jil opened her eyes to see the sword coming down upon her. She raised her arms as she leaned away, with no time to even scream. Her Fear exploded, and I began encircling her with screams.

  Tchurn's blade slammed into Jil's black fist with a loud, reverberating thung. The impact drove Jil's body through the bench, shattering it, and into the wooden floor, cracking three planks and causing an explosion of splinters.

  Jil's fist had taken the entire force of the blow. As I watched, black tendrils snaked beneath her skin from hand to elbow, and the char on her hand crawled over her wrist. Black oil slid across the surface of her eyes, encapsulating them in a film of darkness. At the same moment, the storm of Fear bursting out of her vanished. I ceased my gross sprinting, ending up inside the table.

  Is she dead? cried Amber.

  Tchurn heaved his sword off of her. A half-circle marred the perfect edge, fouled by Jil’s fist. Tiny wisps of black smoke trailed off of it.

  “Impossible,” he said in awe. “How can it already be too late?”

  Jil stared at the ceiling with dark, dark eyes. She looked at her hand, then lowered it. She lifted her torso without using anything but her abdomen, and her chain rolled across her chest to settle between her tiny breasts.

  “Jil?”

  She turned to me. “Yes, Master.”

  “Who are you speaking to?” demanded Tchurn. He lifted his sword again.

  “Prevent him from striking you!” I ordered.

  “Don’t strike me again,” she said flatly, turning back to him. She held her black fist toward him like a warning. Her voice was dull, devoid of the soft, high pitch I was accustomed to; it was uncharacteristic and unsettling.

  Tchurn backed away two steps, resting the sword on his shoulder. His eyes burned.

  “And now, Master?”

  “Ask him why he is afraid of you.”

  “Why are yew afraid of me?” Jil asked, her accent not misplaced. She stood up to face him, Shameless, Fearless, and Hateless. No emotion came from her at all.

  “I am not afraid,” he responded with a similar lack of emotion.

  “Yew refuse to strike me when I’m awake. But yew’ll behead a helpless girl in her sleep.”

  “You would resist me, and I offer a clean death, with no pain. You’ll become an unstoppable monster, and I will prevent it.”

  Jil looked at me. “How does he know this?”

  “How do yew know?” she asked.

  “I have seen it before.”

  “Tell me.”

  Tchurn did not answer; he only stared. He put his sword between him and Jil, with the tip on the ground, holding it vertical with his left hand resting on the hilt. I was not sure if he knew his immaculate blade had been marred.

  “Approach him and coerce the truth from him.”

  We moved closer in unison. I could see her reflection in Tchurn's sword. Her yellow hair glowed in the firelight, bruises mottling her skin like a disease, but her eyes were oh, so dark. With the light behind her, however, it was impossible to see the oily film they had taken on. Over Tchurn’s shoulder, I could see a pair of uXulu were watching. One of them roused eXia, who pinched the bridge of her nose as she sat up, eyes struggling to open.

  “No,” he said. His grip on the hilt changed subtly.

  “I’m too close for yew to swing yer giant sword.” She and I took another step closer to him. She could reach it now.

  “You can still be killed,” he threatened.

  We hesitated.

  “Tell me what yew know,” she demanded. Jil raised her blackened fist.

  “Tell me what you are, first,” he replied.

  “What do yew mean? I’m Jil
.”

  “Jil was timid and terrified. You are not.”

  We stepped up to Tchurn’s blade. It was much taller and wider than her. She reached up on her tiptoes and touched Tchurn’s hand with her good one.

  Tchurn grabbed her wrist with his free hand and yanked. The move pulled her off-balance, into the flat of the sword. As she bounced off of it, Tchurn leaned his sword out of the way and rammed his fist into her face with the impact of a warhammer. Jil’s body flew through the air past me. Her chain caught on a post, altering her fall, snapping her neck. She rolled under the table she had been sleeping at.

  “Jil!” eXia yelled. Another pair of uXulu sat up.

  Yes! cried Viridian. Vi-o-lence!

  Jil struggled to even get her hand underneath her. She was gasping and her eyes fluttered. Her neck was canted, and she did not seem to be able to move her head. Fear assaulted me again—my own Fear, this time—as distress about her death enveloped my mind.

  Is her neck broken? asked Amber, worried.

  Let us hope for it, said some of the others.

  Tchurn was already charging. He held his sword like a lance, ready to impale her.

  “NO!” I screamed again, my terror a pathetic weakness.

  eXia leapt across from the uXulu’s sleeping loft to the food storage loft, to a timber, and down two-footed upon Tchurn’s back, knocking him off balance, causing his sword to jam into the floor and catch. His momentum carried him over his weapon, and his head narrowly missed a thick post. He rolled over his own table and fell in front of the fireplace, darkening the area nearby.

  “No!” he yelled, though not as desperately as I. He tried getting to his feet, but a coughing fit took him. It kept him on his knees, spit spraying from his mouth.

  eXia rushed to the sword, and hopped onto the flat of the blade with both her feet, hissing in pain as she hopped from one foot to another. Yet she settled there, half-crouched, waiting for Tchurn’s next assault.

  “Jil?” she called out. She glanced under the table, but quickly faced Tchurn as he finished coughing and raised his head. Seeing his sword pinned beneath eXia, he stood up and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. With the fire behind him, I could see only a silhouette of fire, and burning red eyes.

  There is your epitome of power, Maal, said Indigo.

  Unfortunate that it is unattainable by you, said Carmine.

  “You must let me slay her,” Tchurn said, his countenance adding menace to his already disconcerting voice. He slowly approached.

  “Why? Why? eXia narrowed her eyes at him, but he halted a long step away.

  “She will kill everyone,” he repeated.

  “How can you know this?” she demanded.

  There was movement from above; a clinking of chains. eXia dared a glance, then put her hand toward the descending uXulu. “As First Stone, I shall not place you in unnecessary danger.” An exaggerated yawn came from the loft, likely aXarelle. “You will not engage, even if he defeats me.”

  “Yes, First Stone,” said a pair of reluctant voices.

  Tchurn lunged, but she was braced. They grappled, Tchurn with a stoic, relentless endurance, eXia with gritted teeth and fierce determination. She was forced to take a step off of the sword. She lost another step. Then another. With a heave Tchurn knocked eXia off-balance and bent over, reaching for his weapon.

  As he grabbed it, eXia caught balance with her back foot and lunged forward, both arms raised. In the firelight, with her arms high above her head, she was a goddess again. I hoped to never forget the image of her on her toes, legs and abdomen taut for the strike, massive breasts high and exposed, bared teeth with a mask of savagery.

  eXia double-fisted him in the center of the back, knocking him to his knees, and drawing a grunt from him. He sought to rise, but eXia’s knee took him in the chin. He lost his grip on his sword and rolled. eXia flung her chain over her shoulder, and stomped one foot at a time on his sword.

  He stood up, rubbing his chin, but seemed otherwise unhurt. “Your people are strong,” he said.

  “I warned you.”

  “I do not need the sword to kill her. It is simply the most painless way.”

  “Why do you care how she dies? She’s a monster, as you say.”

  “I can’t move me legs!” Jil cried out, but could only produce a whisper. Neither Tchurn nor eXia heard her, focused as they were on each other’s movements from the expectation of an attack.

  Jil was using her hands to try to orient her neck. She cried out as she realized how twisted it was, and her Fear coupled with mine to paralyze me. Her body convulsed, and she sucked in a breath. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and her Fear subsided. She lay still.

  I waited, panic building. “She is dead!” I spun, waiting for The Nail to claim me.

  Pathetic, said Carmine, sneering.

  There was a sensation like a strong current, pulling me toward her. The power I had felt build within me earlier was now draining away, leeched out by this vicious drag. I will not admit I cried out in terror.

  Tchurn launched at eXia again, and the wrestling renewed.

  I was drawn toward Jil, fighting the drag with futility. As I was pulled under the table, I heard a loud crack, and watched her neck snap into place.

  Have some of her bruises vanished, as well? asked Tawny.

  Unfortunate, said Indigo. She deserved them.

  eXia suddenly pulled Tchurn toward her, then flung him around her and into a post. He stumbled, caught himself on the post, turned around, and took a deep breath. He glared at her.

  “Jil?” I queried. There was no response, and I thought I saw gnashing teeth, hovering in mid-air, attached to no shadowy form. I fled the underneath of the table.

  “The mountain does not move,” she said with fervor, “no matter what strikes against it.”

  Jil sucked in a breath, and coughed in a vociferous manner.

  “Jil, are you well?” eXia called.

  Fear streamed out of her again as she gingerly tested her head and neck. “I’m fine!” she said, amazed. She carefully sat up, under the table, and turned her neck side to side.

  Tchurn snorted, and bent over as a lengthy, wet set of coughs overtook him. As he slid down to the ground in resignation, his armor scraped off slivers of wood from the post. After a few moments of silence, he cleared his throat and spat.

  “An Orelord of my people found it deep in the bowels of Trorenok, and brought it home to study. His grown son picked it up out of curiosity, and his fist blackened and sealed shut. However, the char was mild in its coating, and much less sharp than Jil’s, at first. He claimed to be no worse off, but he gradually became aggressive, then violent. Each time he hit something with his fist, the char grew up his arm. He was caged after his first murder, but the other Orelords could not discover how to extract the black shard from his fist. One day he broke free, running through the streets, attacking anyone he could. He killed three Lavalier with his bare hands before he was captured and thrown into Trorenok’s blood.”

  “I don’t know what ‘Trorenok’s blood’ is.” eXia stepped off Tchurn’s sword, but kept her stance tight and her arms loose.

  “Humans have an awful, base name for His precious blood. They call it lava.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead and flung it to the floor. “He returned later as a monster, and destroyed the home of my people.”

  eXia narrowed her eyes at him. “But you defeated him.”

  “No!” Tchurn snapped, his face suddenly full of fury. “He destroyed the Tror!” His words seemed to blast through the air, knocking eXia back a step. “We fled, all of us, fled from the monster who could not be stopped even by a hundred Lavalier! Lavalier who had fought an army of ten thousand humans and lived!” Another coughing fit took him.

  Jil crawled out from under the table. She looked at me as she rose, her eyes green again. With it were emotions: Courage and Hate, a delightful mixture that creates Vengeance. “Let me...” she began. She spat blood,
then continued. “Let me become a monster! I’d rather that be me fate, than stay in this chain ‘til I die!” There was enough potency to it that the power she had just drained began to refill.

  I was proud of her then. Vengeance was an emotion I never expected to feel from her, and it was key to my plans for her Hate-fueled training. I almost reached out to her, but contained the foolish gesture. Rewarding her for such a small display could lead to less effort on her part, and she would not be able to feel it. Would she?

  “She will kill you too, eXiaxana.”

  eXia narrowed her eyes at Tchurn, then looked at Jil. “She is like a sister to me, and I have watched helplessly as they use her for their foul pleasures. Such memories will haunt me until I return to the stone!” Her eyes grew wet, but no tears fell. Such control! I saw her face harden, and her tone changed as she said: “She deserves freedom.”

  The Vengeance in Jil slid away, replaced by a foul emotion. I grew sick as the tingling sensation returned, pouring more essence into the power she had drained earlier.

  “She won’t kill only a few uXulu. She will kill all of them.”

  eXiaxana straightened her back. “Let the rock roll where it must.”

  Tchurn frowned. “I am trying to save your entire people!” he said with more desperation than he had said anything else. The force of it rattled the nearby tables.

  eXia turned her back on him and embraced Jil, before heading to the loft. As they climbed, Tchurn called out: “When she comes to your homeland, and slaughters your entire race, you will remember this moment. When the screams of your loved ones pierce your ears with their pain, you will remember this moment. Pray to your stone she does not leave you alive, as I was!”

  eXia looked distressed, but continued upward. Jil watched Tchurn until they were up in the loft, but Vengeance was replaced by a powerful Fear. I was surprised to find I was not dragged with them. Just a short while ago I had been dragged all the way to within touch of Jil.

  “You’re wrong,” oXellona called. “Jil could not become a monster.”