Shadow Kalloire

by Skylar Gentry

  “You thought everyone was gone. The same as I did. But here we are. If you’re here and I’m here, then there must be others still out there. There must,” repeated Elinor. Her voice cracked. She was surprised by her impassioned belief in the Lancians, a tribe she had denied the existence of only a short time ago.

  “You must be tired,” interjected the upper chief. “This discussion can wait.” The upper chief nodded at the guard. “See to our friend’s needs. The witan is hereby adjourned,” continued the upper chief to the rest of the group. We will reconvene after night frost.”

  The gong sounded. The Ma΄Ranie dispersed in small groups. Hushed conversation filled the room while Elinor stood at the table, feeling alone again. She knew she needed time to recover. But her optimism of locating the Lancians with help from the Ma΄Ranie had taken a hit. It was another unexpected conviction that further confused her. Elinor looked around for Ma΄Vastor. She had so many questions. Ma΄Vastor was nowhere to be found.

  “This way, my lady.” Elinor followed the guard while glancing over her shoulder in search of Ma΄Vastor.

  Shadows danced across steep embankments as a pulsating light zoomed past. A muffled pulse rose and dipped in volume. The orb flew low to the ground while emitting sweeping beams that acted as searchlights. They merged at the center, and then split again while conducting a meticulous scan of the terrain. It crossed a river and settled along the bank, heading upstream. Light reflected off swiftly moving water in a garish glow. Without a sound the orb passed through rotting tree trunks, leaving behind perfectly bored holes. Ahead, the river bent around an escarpment that jutted from the shore. It easily passed through the obstruction and appeared on the other side, continuing along the most sensible route regardless of barriers that hindered its progress. Then it stopped. The orb hovered. Its pulsating hum fell silent. The beams merged, focusing a singular ray that traced dark stains leading from the river, up the embankment and over the crest.

  Inside a steam-filled hollow Elinor leaned against warm rocks. Heat radiated through her body. She stared at her tattered clothes in the corner. They appeared as a pile of worn rags, rank and filthy. Like her, they had been through much. A life of misery, spent constantly on the move, always knowing death was one step behind. The kind of life that sounded heroic and adventurous, but one more suited for fireside tales than reality.

  Elinor was constantly gripped by fear. Throughout her life she had struggled to find peace. Even during sleep, respite was elusive. She had learned to rest easy. Sleeping with one eye open, always prepared to run, to hide, to fight on short notice. Her dreams had become consumed by darkness. Instead of peaceful fantasies or hopeful manifestations of a better life, she dreamt only of death, and aurora-hunters, and other morbid manifestations of an anxiety-filled existence. It was overwhelming, especially for one so young. But instead of complaining and cowering in fear she had faced her situation head-on. It was all she knew. Being a light-bearer came with great responsibility. And as the last one her role had been preordained. Elinor always knew that one day she would have to step from her father’s shadow, she just never imagined in the way events were unfolding.

  Elinor reached for a sponge. She was unable to wash away her past, but could certainly take advantage of a badly needed bath. She scrubbed hard, flinching with pain while she washed around her midsection where the scavenger had snatched her. Layers of dirt and clay dissolved, pooling around her like a red tide. Elinor dipped the sponge again and scrubbed faster. Twisting and turning, bending and stretching, she moved over her body in an agitated state, unable to take her eyes off the water running down her body. Its rusty color took hold of her. An image of Morbis’s blood-covered litter materialized. She envisioned being back in the cave with her dying father, watching his life slowly drain away. Elinor trembled. Her knees gave way.

  “I have you, bearer.” Elinor was too weak to resist, too tired to be startled by Ma΄Vastor’s sudden appearance. She allowed herself to be carried to a ledge next to a steam vent. Ma΄Vastor gently sat her down. Elinor stared blankly ahead, shaking. “Be at peace, Elinor, Daughter of Morbis. You are safe under our watch. No one here will harm you.” Ma΄Vastor pushed Elinor’s bangs to the side, tucking them behind ears that were caked with dirt. “I imagine it must be difficult for you to be in a strange place with no likeness of your own. The heavy load of being a bearer cannot come lightly. My people have a saying. ‘Those that float effortlessly in life, sink like a rock in death’. It means—”

  “A life without struggle is a life not worth living,” mumbled Elinor in response.

  “Yes. That is right, bearer,” said Ma΄Vastor, surprised and cheerful. “Fierce and intelligent.” Ma΄Vastor winked.

  Elinor turned her head. The fog in her eyes had lifted. “I must find the Lancians.”

  “Why do you seek them so? What fire stirs inside that fuels this belief in them?”

  “My poddy believed they were essential to winning this war. He used to say Lancians held the key to light.”

  “In what way?”

  Elinor looked down at her feet. They were covered in clay with streak marks where her pale skin shone through. “I don’t know,” she replied. “All I know is something has changed. I can feel it.”

  “I believe in your conviction, bearer. But we have seen no trace of others.”

  “I have proof,” Elinor blurted and hurried to her satchel, remembering what her father had given her. “Look. My poddy gave me this.” She handed the folded black cloth to Ma΄Vastor.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s a Lancian battle flag.”

  Ma΄Vastor unfolded the heavily worn and damp cloth. “This is no ordinary standard,” Ma΄Vastor stated. A gold embroidered symbol depicting a hybrid that possessed the body of a man with the head of a wolf sparkled in the low light. Its left leg stood forward in a fighting stance. A four-pronged trident was held defiantly across its chest. V-shaped claws and a sneering lip enhanced the figure’s sinister appearance. “This is a sea wolf. The emblem of House Aysgarth. But it proves nothing. It appears very old.” When Ma΄Vastor looked at Elinor, what little color she possessed had drained away again. Elinor was chewing her lower lip. “Do tell, bearer,” Ma΄Vastor said with curiosity.

  “I know that name. I’ve heard it before. In a dream,” Elinor clarified. “I was floating. There where these giant cliffs with waterfalls and birds. White birds, everywhere. I was then in a corridor filled with light.” Elinor pointed at the Lancian standard. “I saw this symbol on the floor in front of an archway. On the other side there were ships. Warships, I think. They were inside a cave and—”

  “You seem to be describing the seamount of Raven Rock,” interrupted Ma΄Vastor. “The great harbor in the east.”

  “I heard his voice. This Aysgarth. He called to me.” Elinor saw the questioning look on Ma΄Vastor’s face. “I also saw a legatius.”

  “Another dream?” asked Ma΄Vastor skeptically.

  “No. When I was traveling topside through Gargan Mount.”

  “That is impossible.”

  Elinor responded passionately. “It’s not impossible. I know what I saw. She spoke to me. I think she was trying to help me.” Elinor paused. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she said in a more measured tone. “I’m experiencing events I too thought impossible. But I can no longer deny what’s happening.”

  A visible change came over Ma΄Vastor. A look usually defined by a placid smile and docile eyes turned more expressive. Ma΄Vastor’s russet-colored skin seemed to shine. A woke smile spread across a sturdy face, highlighted by high cheekbones that became more pronounced when Ma΄Vastor beamed with enthusiasm. “I must seek council with Upper Chief. If what you say is true, this changes everything.” Ma΄Vastor’s expression then turned dark when Elinor stepped from the shadow, fully exposing herself in the delicate light. “Where is your amulet?” Ma΄Vastor demanded to know.

  “Over there.” Elinor casually pointed to her belongings
in the corner.

  “Never take it off. Understand? Here me, bearer. Never let it out of your sight.”

  “Sure. Okay.”

  “Trust no one with it. Not even me.”

  “I got it.” Seeing the sudden change in Ma΄Vastor’s demeanor, Elinor asked, “Are you alright?”

  “Never mind me. Once finished with your cleansing ritual return to your dwelling. I will come for you later.” Ma΄Vastor opened the door fashioned from warped planks and then stopped halfway through the threshold. “Here I was bringing attire more suited for a lady. I am pleased to have found so much more.” The door squeaked shut.

  Elinor grabbed her pendant. She dropped it over her neck and reached for her new attire left behind. She disappeared in a flash of arresting light.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The upper chief sat in a chair made from branches twisted into a sturdy frame. An ancient book artistically crafted with colorful borders and detailed illustrations was being searched for a likeness to Elinor’s pendant. The instant the upper chief had seen it dangling from Elinor’s neck, a distant memory had surfaced. As the sole remaining keeper of knowledge, and leader of the Ma΄Ranie, it was the upper chief’s duty to protect the last remnants of life at any cost. If suspicions were true, then Elinor could not be allowed to leave.

  “Have you heard my words?” Ma΄Vastor asked.

  The upper chief continued thumbing through pages. Incoherent mumbling accompanied throaty grunts. Page after page was scrutinized, one historical account after another as the past was searched for answers to the future. Heavily calloused fingers methodically moved an algae-filled vial, used as a reading light, over each page. The upper chief squinted when a caption or depiction seemed relevant, then quickly moved on in disappointment. “Has she agreed to stay?” asked the upper chief.

  “No,” Ma΄Vastor coolly responded. “I never asked. She insists on finding the Lancians.”

  “Then our course remains true. She cannot be allowed to leave.”

  “We have no right to keep her.” Ma΄Vastor was becoming increasingly frustrated.

  “You have feelings for this girl,” the upper chief said in realization. “Well, I am not surprised. Light has a way of shining in the most remarkable ways.”

  Ma΄Vastor stopped pacing. “You may be my higher, but do not assume to know my heart. The girl and I have only just met. I feel for the bearer as I would any other. Our civility is what separates us from evil.”

  The upper chief grunted. “What do you know of evil? Ma΄Vastor, you have served honorably as my second for many a cycle. Your prowess in battle is unmatched. Your heart is as open as this book. I respect you for that. But your caring nature is what prevents you from ever becoming upper chief—a position that requires great sacrifice to serve the many. I envy you. After so much bloodshed, so many patrols and lost companions, somehow you have managed to retain this decency of yours. A noble quality, but one that does a disservice. No, my friend. As upper chief I do not have the luxury of civility. The girl stays. For the sake of us all.” Ma΄Vastor’s dissent with the upper chief’s differing view on leadership was disrupted by a giddy inhale. “Ahh…there you are.”

  Ma΄Vastor’s agitation faded. “Do tell.”

  “There.” The upper chief pointed. “Precisely as I recalled. A coruscant. Many blessings upon us. Our salvation is here.” Ma΄Vastor peered over the upper chief’s shoulder. Together they gazed at a pear-shaped crystal with a rounded edge. One end was tapered to a point. “The Lancians were not the protectors the girl speaks of. Stay the course, Lower Chief. You are charged to protect your people at any cost. Even at the expense of our new ally’s freedom. If there is even the slightest chance the Lancians are still with us, they must not gain possession of this coruscant.”

  “What of the legata she spoke of?”

  “Nothing more than the hallucinations of a fragile mind.”

  “Upper Chief,” said Ma΄Vastor softly, “if this crystal does what you say, I am not entirely certain the bearer knows what she holds. When we were making the crossing for the witan something riled the gargan spirits. They seemed to react differently to her presence. I assumed their unusual behavior was in response to the bearer holding more light than a Ma΄Ranie. That assumption may have been misguided.”

  “I see.” The upper chief leaned in. “I must know everything. For our very lives depend on it.”

  Light. The most beautiful Elinor had ever seen. It surrounded her. She could feel its radiance warming her skin and healing a wounded heart. In an instant, the weight of a mortal existence had been lifted from her shoulders. Fear, anxiety, hunger, jealousy, and rage, even the concept of time had dissipated.

  Elinor stood in the center of a beam of light wearing new clothes. But not the outfit Ma΄Vastor had given her. She admired a velvety red-and-black brocade tunic that was smooth to the touch. Black fur lined the collar and forearm gantlets. Hardened armor protected her upper body. Across her abdomen was a black belt with a silver buckle depicting a tree floating above a lake. The tree’s roots appeared as beams of light. Elinor looked down. Her black hosen and boots were insulated for warmth. And they were clean. Cleaner than anything Elinor had ever seen. Her polearm was attached to her belt, held in place by a firm leather and iron fastener instead of the inferior old one that had often failed her. She twirled like a child consumed by giddy laughter. Her regal cloak flared as she spun.

  A slit appeared in the beam. It expanded wider to form a transparent opening. Visible on the other side was a valley surrounded by mountains, with rolling hills of flowering trees and golden prairie grass that swayed under the tender touch of an ocean breeze. Elinor stared at the land’s beauty. Lively eyes that for so long had been blinded by darkness gazed for the first time with clarity. A place that Elinor had only imagined from listening to olden stories materialized before her. She was awestruck. She touched the shimmering film that coated the opening. Her fingers tickled. And then without concern Elinor stepped through the opening.

  Hit from behind, Elinor stumbled forward. She fell to one knee. Streaming sunlight was partially blocked by a massive shadow as she looked over her shoulder. Time slowed. A man shrouded in a crimson cape with his back to her, holding a blazing sword, was spinning around. Light flowed through the blade from the hilt to the tip, and then back again. High above the man’s shoulder, Elinor saw the outline of a gargan slithering across the sun, powered by giant wings and a sweeping tail. Her gaze shifted to the man’s silvery eyes that possessed a piercing determination. Elinor turned white. Her eyes widened in fear. Normal time returned.

  “Get down!” the man shouted. Elinor ducked as aurora-hunter mandibles snapped shut above her. Its mouth was pierced by the man’s sword, striking deep into the creature’s throat. It fell instantly. “You must be more careful, El.”

  Elinor recognized the voice.

  “Lord Aysgarth,” another man bellowed from a distance. “Hunters have broken through the Ma΄Ranie flank.”

  “Hold your position, Captain!” Aysgarth calmly relayed orders. “Ice masters,” he shouted, “reinforce the western front.”

  A lemfin legion breached the harbor’s surface. They catapulted through air like round shot propelled from a cannon. Their floppy cheeks jiggled against the air’s resistance. Lemfins hit the ground in full stride and then dashed across the valley to strengthen the Ma΄Ranie line.

  Aysgarth held out his hand. “El, we need to get you inside. You must—”

  His mouth stopped moving. The ensuing battle came to a standstill. Across the battlefield, men and women, friend and foe alike were frozen in place: lemfin next to Ma΄Ranie; Lancian fighting side by side with Elinor’s kin, their billowing red capes stiff as boards; formations of gargans raining molten tar down on hordes of aurora-hunters; ships of the line firing from the harbor; flaccid energy waves from fire beings, which Elinor recalled were depicted in the cave as members of the Circle of Six, shooting fire from what appeared to be scrawny arms; and
most unexpected of all, ancient ones. Protected by a circle of Lancians, they were kneeling on one knee with their staffs jammed in the ground. Their eyes glowed as green as emeralds. Energy streams were shooting skyward from their testalars, striking the vast shadow encompassing Kalloire, and splintering the malevolent shell into jagged pieces. Elinor tried to make sense of it all.

  “How did it come to this?” asked the voice of a child. “Harmony replaced by chaos. A timeless balance that has always been, shifted in favor of one existence over another. Light and darkness are no longer in sync. This saddens me deeply. What do you think, Ellie? Should I choose a side?”

  Elinor remained on the ground, staring at a child sitting with her arms crossed over her knees, resting against a tree. The willow’s wispy branches were stuck in midsway. Falling flower petals hovered around her. The child stood. She walked toward Elinor and paused next to Aysgarth, looking up to admire him.

  “I like this one,” she said fondly. She spoke in a refined manner. “He has a good heart.” With both hands the child reached for Elinor. “Will you walk with me?” she asked. “It’s not often I have company.” The child leaned back and grunted as she helped Elinor up. She held Elinor’s hand while continuing to speak in a high-pitched voice that had a calming force woven in every word. “In some respects, you too are still a child,” she commented in comparison to her own appearance. Then she sighed. “In others not so much. You had great confidence once. That was until Morbis died. Now you’re filled with doubt. You’re haunted by events that were simply out of your control.” She looked at Elinor with eyes that fluctuated in the light between green and hazel. “Ellie, this is so much bigger than one light-bearer. It’s too much for one to carry alone.”

  “Who are you?”

  The child released her hand and skipped forward while looking up. She giggled. “Poor Aysgarth. He can’t tell the difference between my winged companions. He’s forced to paint stripes on their bellies.” The child pointed. “Do you see that one, Ellie? With the blue stripe. That’s Zi. Over there is her offspring. The one with the red stripe. He’s known as Sil.” Then she lowered her eyes from admiring Zi and ran toward an aurora-hunter surrounded by Lancians with their weapons drawn. The child moved a petite hand over its glossy exoskeleton.