Shadow Kalloire

by Skylar Gentry

  “What is your bidding, my love?” it asked in a raspy voice. A deep inhale was followed by a look of desire. It closed its eyes and grinned. A green tongue moved slowly along its black lips. “Ah…pretty…” it moaned. “She shall be yours, my love.” Pulsating green orbs that cast an eerie glow across its face formed in the being’s palms. They shot into the sky and then dispersed. One streaked south. The other headed east.

  Elinor stumbled forward as she tried to stay ahead of the aurora-hunters that were closing rapidly. Even with her large eyes the riverbed was difficult to navigate at such a swift pace. From the sound of scampering paws coming from behind, Elinor suspected she was severely outnumbered. Choosing to fight would be fatal. She had already made that mistake once and it had resulted in her father’s death. Elinor peered over her shoulder. She saw a silhouette trudging toward her, clinging upside down. Two more moved along the walls. A fourth was proceeding straight down the center. Elinor scanned ahead for an offshoot or a recess where she could hide. Only an endless void stretched in front of her. She tried to think of an alternative to the one option that remained. If she turned to fight, Elinor knew how it would end. Heavy breathing turned to panicked panting, then to suicidal rage as she recalled her father laying helpless in a cave, struggling to breathe while blood seeped from deep lacerations across his chest. She lifted her weapon overhead. Elinor shrieked as she prepared to turn.

  A sudden whistling filled the space that caught Elinor off guard. Instead of turning to face her pursuers she stared ahead in confusion. Her mouth hung loosely open. Before she could react, a bola twirled through the air. It wrapped around her legs and she fell hard.

  “Fire!” a sharp voice bellowed.

  A vanguard released algae-tipped arrows that streaked over Elinor like tracers in the night. The first volley stunned the aurora-hunters. A second slowed them. And the third stopped their advance altogether. Between volleys, shouts of “Reload” rose above the creatures’ wails. They screeched in confusion, searching for targets to attack. Projectiles arrived en mass and far too quickly for them to react to. Within moments the skirmish was over. Elinor stared as a mob formed around her.

  “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” asked the same voice that had been shouting orders.

  Another approached holding a jar filled with algae. Bathed in its glow Elinor gazed up as the group closed around her. Ruddy specks of light formed in her green eyes and scarlet-colored hair. A gasp rose from the group. The leader’s tone changed from suspicion to one of reverence.

  “Forgive us, my lady. We did not know you were a bearer.” The bola was snipped away. Elinor was assisted to her feet. “Water!” barked the leader.

  Elinor gulped water while admiring the group. They were a fierce-looking rabble. Their arms and legs were tattooed with intricate symbols. Faces layered in rich colors of blue and red were pierced by bone shards and metal loops. Molded armor protected torsos and leather sheathing was buckled around forearms. Shin guards covered their legs. Their attire was brash and not dyed in the usual drab pigments Elinor was accustomed to. But most impressive was their choice of weaponry. Sleek crossbows were slung across their chests. A bolt reservoir at the top allowed for rapid fire and iron sights afforded precision targeting. Slashes etched along foregrips and stocks tracked each warriors’ number of kills.

  “What clan is this?” asked Elinor. “I’ve never seen your kind before.”

  “We are the Ma΄Ranie. I am Lower Chief, Ma΄Vastor.”

  “Sky catchers.” Elinor’s face shone with enthusiasm. “I thought your people were a myth.” She looked down, questioning what else she had been wrong about; what other of her beliefs stemmed from ignorance.

  Ma΄Vastor chuckled. “We have been underground since the Great Darkness. But no matter. We know of your like, bearer. Do tell. What news from the south?” Elinor pursed her lips. She blinked several times. Ma΄Vastor nodded in understanding and chose to not press the issue. “Well, you are most welcome here. Come, bearer,” she commanded. “We must go. It is not safe.”

  The Ma΄Ranie vanguard closed ranks. They formed two lines and marched in the direction Elinor had been running. Elinor fell in between Ma΄Vastor and the troop. She struggled to keep up with their nimble pace.

  “You are rather lucky,” Ma΄Vastor said to Elinor. “We were on patrol when we heard those demons coming. Imagine our surprise to find you. How did you come to us?”

  “It’s a long story,” Elinor quietly replied. She felt out of place. Her entire life she had fought side by side with her father. Although she didn’t feel threatened, Morbis had raised her to be cautious when dealing with outsiders. As a light-bearer her power was highly sought. Control a light-bearer and with it, one possessed the ability to make fire. A rare commodity in a land of darkness. Elinor changed the subject. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “To the witan. Upper Chief will wish to speak with you.” Ma΄Vastor trudged ahead. Elinor took several stutter-steps to cross a deep crevice that was followed by a steep incline. She fell behind. When the group reached the top, Ma΄Vastor directed, “Column of files to the right. Move.” The extreme right element kept marching. They slowed and then disappeared through a narrow opening on the right. The left column followed. Elinor was impressed by the troop’s highly disciplined movements. Ma΄Vastor pointed as Elinor caught up to the group. “Your turn, bearer. Stay in formation. It’s easy to get lost.”

  Inside the crevasse it was darker than dark. Algae didn’t grow in the network of side passageways. Carefully shuffling sideways, Elinor held out her arm. She was unable to see the warrior in front. The troop moved swiftly, silently navigating the maze, seemingly aware of every turn and tripping hazard in their path. Elinor was not so nimble. Her worn boots scuffed across the slippery surface. On multiple occasions she tripped, losing her balance, and bumping the warrior in front. Elinor felt heat spreading across her face. She regarded herself a fine warrior. One that had proven her mettle in battle and that didn’t shy from a fight. But in comparison to the Ma΄Ranie, Elinor felt inferior.

  She apologized profusely and then trudged ahead, becoming more unsure of herself with each step. The path ahead became more visible with the appearance of hanging planters. Flora had been transplanted to act as lanterns that exposed a wide rift. A rope suspension bridge had been built across it. A single footrope was connected to handrails, strung together by thin lashing. Elinor stopped at the edge. She examined a load-bearing trestle used as an anchor point. The dense logs appeared solid, but she was reluctant to cross.

  “The bridge is sound,” Ma΄Vastor said from behind. Elinor grabbed both handrails. She stepped forward and then froze. “Do tell, bearer.”

  “I don’t do well with heights.”

  “Keep your eyes trained front. Place one foot in front of the other. Small steps lead to great distances.”

  With a heavy sigh Elinor crept forward. She stared at the warrior ahead of her. The bridge groaned. It took a few steps for Elinor to grow accustomed to how the ropes shifted and stretched. Movement from below caught her eye. She started to tilt her head and immediately snapped forward when Ma΄Vastor commanded, “Eyes front.” Ma΄Vastor’s tone softened. “Steady as you go. You are almost there.” Halfway across, the cave’s stagnant air was refreshed by a slight gust that circulated a honeyed aroma.

  “What is that?” asked Elinor. She had never smelled something so sweet before. She had a sudden urge to look down again.

  “Never mind that, bearer. Focus.” Ma΄Vastor repeated, “You are almost there.” She tried to keep Elinor distracted. “Do tell. I have shared mine, but I do not yet know yours. What do you go by?”

  “Elinor, Daughter of Morbis.” Her urge to look down was increasing with each step. Elinor’s hands were becoming moist and her thoughts were drifting. Instead of being focused on reaching the other side she was becoming obsessed with below.

  “You have a strong name. It shows in your eyes.”

&nbs
p; Elinor stopped moving. “What’s down there?” she asked.

  Ma΄Vastor spoke softly, “Bearer. Focus on my voice. There is nothing down there for you. Only pain. Suffering. Now you must move forward. Remember, one foot in front of the next.”

  Elinor looked forward. She hesitated.

  “Quickly now,” Ma΄Vastor encouraged.

  Elinor started moving again. “Why won’t you tell me what’s down there? It can’t be worse than what I’ve already seen.” The bridge became concealed by increasing fog. Light from the lanterns became distorted. Another gust, this time more powerful, wailed through the opening. Ropes moaned and the bridge shifted. “What’s happening?” Elinor asked over the sound of howling wind.

  “Keep moving forward!” Ma΄Vastor demanded.

  Elinor looked down. She gasped when staggered rows of dermal plates emerged like fins from the water. Powerful wings dispersed the climbing mist and a spiked tail with a flat fluke thrashed side to side. A deep moan reverberated through the canyon. Elinor’s knees buckled. Her hands slipped from the ropes when her chest constricted. She became light-headed and gulped for air. Elinor felt like her insides were being ripped out from within.

  Ma΄Vastor bellowed, “Bearer!”

  The pendant hanging from Elinor’s neck shone brightly. Her fingertips and hair glowed. Light spread across the space revealing translucent, flying creatures circling below. Elinor felt herself slipping into oblivion. Like someone possessed, Ma΄Vastor screeched and lurched forward, lifting Elinor off her feet, and carefully balancing on the footrope while carrying her to safety. Once on steady ground they both collapsed.

  “What are those?” Elinor asked, confused and out of breath.

  “Gargans. Or what is left of them.”

  “What happened? What were they doing to me?”

  Ma΄Vastor ignored the question. “Come now, bearer. We are here.”

  Still searching for clarification of what had happened, Elinor asked, “Where?” as she gazed at an entrance made of obsidian. She saw her reflection and pendant radiating off its glassy surface.

  “The witan.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Elinor followed Ma΄Vastor down a dim corridor. Jars stuffed with glowing mushrooms exposed red-and-black medicine masks. The relics had colorful hair with crooked noses and deep-set eyes accented by brass plates. A satchel of tobacco hung in front of each carved face. They continued past stone pedestals that supported colored crystals. Up ahead it became brighter. Elinor walked under another obsidian opening. Once inside she stopped abruptly, gazing around an expansive room filled with light. It was warm. And had a mild scent of burning ash. To one side, a seating area had woven rugs made from corn husk and rows of rustic benches. Opposite, a channel curved around the wall from one entrance to another with magma slowly creeping through it that provided heat and passive light. In the middle of the room was a U-shaped table built around the symbol of a cluster of six arrows burned in the floor.

  “You have light,” Elinor stated. Her eyes were wide open while admiring the room. A contagious smile spread across her youthful face. “What is this place?”

  “This is where the original alliance between our clans took shape,” replied Ma΄Vastor. “The Ma΄Ranie have sheltered here since the Great Darkness.”

  Elinor’s smile faded. “Why have you not brought others here? You could have shared your fire.”

  “We have found no others. You are the first.” Ma΄Vastor casually took a crossbow bolt and touched it to the magma. It caught fire and sizzled. The moment it was pulled away the fire died. Smoke trickled from the burnt end. “There may be light, but no fire. Dark forces are afoot. Even down here, bearer.”

  Elinor became engrossed by how the returning vanguard was greeted. There was an outpouring of relief for their safe return and a deep admiration of them for providing protection for the rest of the tribe. Elderly, the frail and wounded, along with children, celebrated. Some chanted softly while others embraced. Their behavior transcended social norms that Elinor was accustomed to. The traditional barrier between masculinity and femininity was also blurred. It appeared to not exist at all. Whether the Ma΄Ranie wore their hair long or short, or possessed a slender or stout frame, they appeared similar in nature. Even their voices didn’t suggest gender.

  “You’re not what I imagined,” Elinor said to Ma΄Vastor. “According to legend the Ma΄Ranie were fierce warriors.”

  “Were?”

  “Are,” Elinor corrected. “Masters of the sky and feared by all.”

  “You are disappointed?”

  Elinor continued watching the celebration. Children twirled and laughed as only the innocent could. Percussion instruments designed to hang from the neck, made from marsh reeds and animal hide stretched across a cylindrical casing, released muffled overtones as they were struck with closed fists. The Ma΄Ranie moved in concert with the deep resonance. Those outside the gaggle scattered water over the rousing spectacle by dabbing sponges in bowls.

  “You seem so peaceful and happy,” Elinor replied.

  “Our skill with a bow does not affect the size of our hearts, bearer. We fight because we must. The same as you.”

  A hush fell over the crowd with the sounding of a gong. The celebration dispersed and the Ma΄Ranie gathered in the seating area. An elderly person escorted by two warriors, one on each side, was assisted down a ramp coming from an antechamber near the back of the room.

  One of the guards declared, “Upper Chief, Guardian of the Circle of Six, and Nurturer to the Ma΄Ranie, proclaims the witan in session.”

  The upper chief proceeded gingerly. Moccasins scuffed against the ramp’s heavily worn boards that snaked toward the table as to avoid steam vents and coarse sloping. The upper chief sat at the table. The gong was struck again.

  “We are blessed by the safe return of our brothers and sisters,” the upper chief said. Heads nodded in agreement. Disliking small talk and ceremonial pomp, the upper chief proceeded straight to business. “Lower Chief, how did our patrol fare?”

  Ma΄Vastor stood tableside to address the gathering. “To the north and east the outer rim is secure. We found no trace of activity. To the south, however, we encountered four hunters.” Those in attendance became unsettled by the unexpected development. Ma΄Vastor continued. “All were slain. We suffered no casualties.” There was a collective sigh of relief.

  “What has changed? Why now?” asked the upper chief.

  “They were hunting another.” Whispers rose in volume. The upper chief raised a hand to silence the crowd and then nodded for Ma΄Vastor to continue. “Brothers and sisters,” Ma΄Vastor announced, “good fortune has smiled upon us. We have been blessed by a visitor from the south. A tree-dweller. Friend, please come forward.” Everyone stood, including the upper chief, to get a glimpse of Elinor, who up to that point had gone unnoticed. Ma΄Vastor was forced to speak louder over the rumbling crowd. “This is Elinor, Daughter of Morbis. She is not just any tree-dweller, but one of the famed light-bearers.”

  Disorder descended into a feverish pitch of excitement. Elinor reluctantly moved toward the table, uneasy with being the center of attention among strangers. She stood next to Ma΄Vastor and removed her hood. Shining red hair, pale skin, and large eyes that reacted to the room’s light identified Elinor as a light-bearer. The crowed was shocked into silence.

  “Elinor, Daughter of Morbis, tree-dweller from the south and member of the Circle of Six, possesses the afterglow,” stated the upper chief. “She is indeed a light-bearer.” The Ma΄Ranie cheered. After the declaration that Elinor was in fact who she said she was, she was asked to sit at the table.

  Elinor gazed at the engravings made in front of each of the five chairs and one on the floor to mark the gargan’s place. Four chairs were constructed of wood. The fifth was made of stone and was heavily scorched. She located the image of a flowering tree floating above water. The depiction of her ancestral home inscribed next to other symbols representing more powerful t
ribes was a proud moment for her. With the fewest numbers and not renowned for their warrior prowess, her people had been the last to fall. Elinor felt her chest swell and her heart warm.

  “We are honored to have a member of the Six join us,” continued the upper chief. Tired eyes, heavy and half-closed, gazed at the other symbols carved into the table. “These chairs have remained vacant for far too long.” With a scrunched face that further exposed deep wrinkles, the upper chief grunted. Cracked lips smacked together. “So it is. We must carry on.” Penetrating eyes moved from the table to Elinor. “How did you come to us?” asked the upper chief. “I have not seen another kind since my youth. I feared all were lost.”

  Elinor’s lower lip quivered. “The south has fallen,” she uttered. “None have survived.”

  “I see. It has finally happened, then. You are the last?” Elinor nodded. “Well, we have found each other. Those that stand together are never alone. The Ma΄Ranie, and our allies from the south are one again.” The upper chief instructed a guard, “Find a dwelling for our new friend. Perhaps some attire as well. Elinor, Daughter of Morbis, is now one of us. As such she will reside here in our sanctuary. Many blessings upon her.”

  “I’m grateful, but I can’t stay.”

  Ma΄Vastor joined the conversation. “Where will you go?”

  “I’m heading east. To find the Lancians,” she added.

  “There are no Lancians.”

  “Until you rescued me, I didn’t know the Ma΄Ranie existed. I thought you were a myth too.” Elinor paused. “I made a promise to find them. I intend to keep it.”

  “Bearer, I do not argue Lancians existed. They too sat at this table once. But they are gone. Like the others.”