Shadow Kalloire

by Skylar Gentry

  When she saw Elinor recoil she replied, “I love all Kalloire’s children. Evil isn’t born. It’s made. I could try to change all of this, of course. But by design imbalance is a perfect imperfection.” She sighed again. “Now we’ve come full circle. Do you now see my dilemma? So, tell me, Ellie. Should I choose a side?”

  Elinor stared at the child with a creeping feeling of disgust moving from her stomach to her throat. Her sense of tranquility was slowly being replaced by more familiar emotions from before. Before the beam of light. Before her gifted attire that she assumed had come from the child. Before sunlight and before walking into an epic battle. And before Aysgarth.

  “I’ve never seen the sun until now,” uttered Elinor. Her fingers were tightly balled. She felt her nails pressing against her skin. “You have the power to stop this?” Elinor blinked several times. Her face throbbed with heat. “What kind of monster would allow this to happen?” Elinor stuttered, “You, you love that thing?” Rage overwhelmed her and she screamed, “They killed my poddy! They killed everyone! Have you ever seen someone eaten by a hunter? Have you?” she roared. Elinor felt faint. She fell to her knees. Her pendant was shimmering brightly. “How could you love them?” she said between heavy breaths. “They’ve taken everything.”

  The child approached. She lovingly put her arms around Elinor. “Not everything,” the child replied. In desperation Elinor tightly embraced the girl. She smelled sweet and earthly. Tears flowed as never before. “Remember, Ellie. You’re never alone. Kalloire’s greatest gift is your capacity to love. Your ability to give and receive affection compares to none other. As a light-bearer you feel emotion more deeply than others. It can be rather overwhelming,” she declared. She wiped Elinor’s tears. The child’s hands felt baby soft against her skin. Then she kissed Elinor’s forehead. “You must forgive yourself,” she whispered. “I have a feeling the rest will work itself out.”

  “Is this a dream?” Elinor asked in a shaky voice.

  “Does it feel like one?”

  “No,” Elinor admitted. “Why am I here?”

  “You needed a friend. And perhaps a nudge in the right direction.” The child paused. “What you’re about to face will try even the strongest of hearts.” Her eyes narrowed when the wind increased. “You must go now. A perverted disturbance is coming. Remember, Ellie. Forgive yourself.” The child touched Elinor’s pendant. Elinor vanished. A storm cloud formed overhead, blocking the sun and casting an ominous shadow over the child. “Yes?” she asked without fear.

  “You…can’t…save…her…” a booming voice declared. “They…must…pay…”

  “Have we not suffered enough?”

  “Not…until…the…last…one…is…destroyed…” Lightning shot across the sky. “You…are…powerless…to…stop…me…” Thunder reverberated across the distant land. “This…reality…will never…come to pass…”

  The child beamed with joy. “Never forget, sister. My love for you is endless.”

  A thunderbolt struck the willow the child stood next to, splintering the trunk. Branches were engulfed by flames. Ash billowed from the fire and rose to re-form the shadow that covered Kalloire. Another streak honed in on the child. Her simplistic frock ignited. Her chestnut curls burned. Aurora-hunters were freed from their immobile state while tribes remained trapped in time. They charged with overpowering numbers, tearing the alliance to shreds. Enhanced by the mountains, a malevolent laugh reverberated through the valley.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Song and dance. Laughter and music filled the witan. A minor feast of algae cakes, mushrooms, root vegetables, and meat from a recently killed scavenger were lined on rocks placed around a lava flow. A sweet aroma of roasting vegetables mixing with the nutty smell from searing meat wafted through the cavern. Potato moonshine flowed from glass vats supported by bamboo frames. Playful children darted between lines of Ma΄Ranie waiting for food and drink, shrieking like banshees. They chased an older child who wore a head covering made from aurora-hunter mandibles to symbolize the hunted. In a sporting area away from the main gathering, warriors participated in a game of skill that focused on who could hit a target with a one-handed crossbow shot by first passing a bolt through several rings. In anticipation of Elinor’s arrival, the main seating area had been rearranged around a pile of wood. Conversation revolved around her. When would she arrive? How did a light-bearer possess and control fire? How long would the flames last? And on and on it went. There was no shortage of questions or speculation. The Ma΄Ranie were in a state of bliss. Smiles and positive outlooks were feeding palpable euphoria. The gong sounded.

  Helped by Ma΄Vastor, the upper chief proceeded to the table. Grateful cheers paid homage to the Ma΄Ranie’s good fortune and appreciation of the feast. Elation turned to jeers when the mass of children ran in front of the upper chief’s procession. They quickly froze and stood aside to observe respectful etiquette. The upper chief smiled and with a hand gesture the children were instructed to carry on, as did the rest of the Ma΄Ranie.

  Back inside the sauna, Elinor sat holding her head. She was more confused than ever. She had no idea where she had been or who she had spoken with. The child talked about forgiveness and had informed Elinor she needed encouragement to find the right path. But she had no idea what path to choose. What she found most discouraging was what the child had said about her future. Elinor struggled to imagine that events could get worse. She needed to find Ma΄Vastor. On her way out she glimpsed her belongings still piled in the corner. Elinor stopped to inspect her new attire, realizing wherever she had gone was not a vision, or a dream, or some manifestation of a troubled mind. It was real and had taken place in the present. And whatever it was, the phenomenon was exuding more control over her as time passed. Elinor needed answers. She could think of only one individual that may have them. So instead of returning to her assigned space as instructed, Elinor raced down an adjourning corridor. She found a sentry at the intersection of several tunnels and asked, “Have you seen Ma΄Vastor?”

  “The lower chief is in the witan with the others.” The guard pointed to the correct route.

  The tunnel curved downward. The surface was moist and slippery. Elinor scooted along the side to avoid water that trickled down the center. She walked gingerly at first, used to traveling on worn and shoddy footwear that forced her to traverse barren terrain as if on ice. The firm traction provided by her new boots was a pleasant surprise, and she quickly gained confidence. Ahead she heard music and laughter. Light became brighter. Elinor raised her hood to conceal her afterglow and entered the witan, searching for Ma΄Vastor. She wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

  Standing next to the upper chief who was slouched in the usual spot, Ma΄Vastor was watching the shooting contest with keen interest. Taking the most direct route to get to her, Elinor leapt a steam vent, crossed the boardwalk, took several stutter steps down a steep incline, and then ran for the table. “Vas,” she called. Her words came out louder than intended.

  Ma΄Vastor turned. “I told you I would come for you, bearer. You should not be traveling without escort. The caves can be perilous.”

  Elinor ignored the harsh warning. “I need to speak with you,” she said excitedly. Elinor swallowed. “I need your help. We need to find the legata I told you about. Something has happened.”

  “Where did you get these clothes?”

  “I was in this place, with a child. There were hunters and—”

  “Here? Where?” barked Ma΄Vastor.

  “No, not here. I had another dream. But this time it wasn’t a dream. It was real. Everyone was there. Ma΄Ranie, lemfins, those fire people, gargans.” Elinor took a deep breath. “Everyone,” she continued. “I saw him. Lord Aysgarth,” she clarified. “He’s real.” Ma΄Vastor and the upper chief exchanged a suspicious look. “I’m not crazy,” insisted Elinor. “I know what I saw. Something is happening!”

  A crowd formed around the table, clapping and chanting at Elinor’s arrival.
They tapped and shuffled their feet in cadence with thumping drums. Her new attire was revered with shocked smiles and lively eyes. She tried to retreat into her cloak by lowering her head and raising her shoulders. Elinor felt embarrassment spreading across her face. Ma΄Vastor pulled her aside.

  “I believe you, bearer. We can discuss this matter later.” Ma΄Vastor leaned down to peer under Elinor’s hood. “But in this instant, I require your assistance. It was improper for us to not have asked first. Now it is too late.” Ma΄Vastor pointed at the wood pile. The crowd parted, giving Elinor a clear view.

  Elinor responded, “You want fire.”

  “I know not how your gift works. Nor how long it will last. But if you could offer this small token to my people, I would be forever grateful.”

  In her usual accommodating manner, Elinor stepped forward. She stopped. “Help me find the legata. That is my price for fire.”

  “Your request is not so easy.”

  “I never said it would be.” Elinor smiled. “Those that float effortlessly in life sink like a rock in death,” she stated slowly.

  Ma΄Vastor grunted when the Ma΄Ranie proverb was used as leverage. “Very well, bearer. You strike a hard bargain. This arrangement must remain between us though, and us alone. Agreed?”

  Elinor nodded. She walked around the table making sure to avoid eye contact with everyone staring at her. Her thoughts were focused on whether giving the Ma΄Ranie fire, only to have it taken away when she left, would be too harsh. That was the cruel aspect of a light-bearer’s gift, which some called a curse. It only worked if a light-bearer remained close to the flames. Elinor had every intention of leaving in the morning. With Ma΄Vastor’s support, she was confident the ancient one could be located.

  Elinor removed her hood and knelt by the pile. It felt as though thousands of eyes were burning a hole through her newly acquired armor. Besides Morbis, giving the Ma΄Ranie fire would be the first time she had used her power in front of another. And the bonfire would be the first flames most had seen. Elinor felt the significance of the moment weighing heavily on her. She rolled her shoulders and flexed her fingers while recalling her lessons.

  It had taken Elinor longer than other light-bearers to perfect her skill. Morbis had been patient. He taught her how emotion could be harnessed, a necessity for the creation of fire, by freeing the body. Once the body was relaxed, next came the mind. Elinor had learned to find her inner peace by focusing on a single image—Morbis’s pendant that was now hers. It had always been with her. From infancy it had been dangled it front of her like a shiny toy. Whenever Morbis bent over to care for her or to soothe a child’s restlessness, the pendant had been there. Elinor would reach for it. She found comfort in its smooth texture and beveled edges, its sparkly appearance, and how it warmed her fingers.

  Elinor imagined the pendant swaying in front of her. The crowd around her disappeared. The room quieted. She focused only on the pendant as its glossy appearance spun in her mind. Energy built within her stomach and flowed outward. Fingertips warmed and her afterglow shone brightly. Elinor opened her eyes to cheers. Smoke trickled from burning kindling as flames ignited broken branches and spliced wood.

  “Many a thanks, bearer. You have blessed this night. It will not be forgotten.” Ma΄Vastor and Elinor held a steady gaze while looking into the eyes of the other. “Come, let us enjoy a drink together. You must tell me how this medicine of yours works.”

  “A drink?” asked Elinor.

  “Why, bearer. Do tell. Have you never had a drink before?”

  “Well, no.”

  Ma΄Vastor put an arm around Elinor. “Then, come. We will rejoice together.”

  The orb exploded from the scavenger’s lair. It picked up Elinor’s trail and continued following the dry riverbed. An unnerving ruddiness filled the space, exposing assortments of paintings, glyphs, etchings, and writing that formed a timeline.

  At the beginning of it, war raged, and chaos ensued. Tribe killing tribe, battle after battle. A great peace emerged, depicted by white ravens gliding across cave walls and above the Circle of Six. Celebrations were linked with images of bounty—baskets loaded with wheat and nuts, fruit and leafy plants; long tables covered by steaming crocks of stew and soup and baked pudding; silos overflowing with grain and thatched windmills surrounded by harnessed oxen; and lush farms fed by elaborate aqueducts. There were rituals to signify new unions and the coming together of once warring factions in celebration of love and new beginnings. Toasts were made, bonds forged, and life seemed good. Then events shifted on the timeline. The orb’s ghoulish light identified a Lancian held in the arms of an ancient one. Dark clouds hung above them. Next to the image was a gruesome battle of Lancian fighting Lancian, depictions of a turbulent civil war that fractured the peace. A black tree consumed by flames ended the timeline.

  The orb came upon the aurora-hunters that had been killed by the Ma΄Ranie. Sweeping beams searched the area. It flashed brightly, then accelerated rapidly down the tunnel.

  The upper chief’s interest in watching Ma΄Vastor swoop Elinor away shifted to the witan’s exterior corridor. A dim disturbance was reflecting off the obsidian opening. The greenish glow intensified. Warnings were shouted by guards patrolling the entrance as a blistering orb penetrated the jovial atmosphere. The upper chief’s drooping face went stone-cold, eyes narrowed, and displayed defiance by a shrewd grimace. Sounds of laughter ceased when guards stormed in and surrounded the unknown object.

  “What is it?” Ma΄Vastor asked in alarm.

  The upper chief stood. “The eyes of a woolȧrook,” came a fearful reply. “Lower Chief, protect the coruscant. It is our last salvation. Light must return.” The upper chief screamed, “Ma΄Ranie, Van…guard!” Children and the feeble fell back. They ran for safety of the tunnels. A skeleton crew of warriors formed a skirmish line while others ran for their crossbows. Their voices combined into a piercing battle cry.

  “Ma΄Ra!” echoed through the chamber.

  The orb wobbled. Light flashed in a blinding pulse and the orb condensed from the size of an adolescent child to that of an infant. It fell flat against the stone floor and then elongated. A hairless being made from darkness and shadow—the embodiment of pure evil and charged with finding Elinor—erupted from the portal. The woolȧrook sprang up and to the side, landing on all fours like a predator waiting to strike. Affects from the portal fluctuated between hues of rosy reds and greenish blues that spread across the witan in a kaleidoscope of color. The woolȧrook snarled.

  “Fire!” bellowed the upper chief. The command was followed by “Charge!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Horrific screams concealed sounds of flesh being ripped as limbs were twisted and torn. The vanguard closed ranks to fill gaps left by fallen warriors. The woolȧrook moved with unnatural speed. It darted forward, struck the line, tore flesh, inflicted a mortal wound, fell back, and attacked again all while keeping clear of flying bolts. The Ma΄Ranie were in disarray. Every attempt to counter the woolȧrook’s tactics was met with an adjustment of its own. Pooling blood made maneuvering difficult. While the woolȧrook used spiked claws for grip, the Ma΄Ranies’ lace-up moccasins were useless on the slippery surface. Aurora-hunters filed through the tunnel, entering the witan with shrill screeching that heightened the dreadful resonance of a battle turned slaughter.

  Elinor was dragged through a passageway connected to an external shaft once used by gargans to enter the witan. Ma΄Vastor held a crossbow in one hand while pulling Elinor with the other. They ducked through a smaller opening constructed of timber and stone. On the other side, a cavernous space emerged. Elinor staggered forward. Her legs felt like jelly. Since her last battle with her father by her side, she had not fully recovered. And once again she was running for her life. When she turned from glancing back to see whether they were being pursued, Elinor was astonished to gaze upon one of the legendary Ma΄Ranie ships.

  Overlapping planks riveted together formed the slender hull of
a symmetrical-shaped vessel. The front and back mirrored one another, with medicine masks carved in each end. Ropes and pulleys were attached to retracted sails folded back along a protective bulkhead that circled the upper deck. The hull was encased by a membrane that looked like a dry sea sponge.

  Ma΄Vastor pointed to a rope ladder and commanded, “Get in.”

  Elinor grabbed a rung and looked up. She stood with a panicked expression. Her hands trembled and her mind went blank.

  “You must overcome your fear of heights, bearer.” Agitated clicks echoed through the tunnel. Ma΄Vastor’s crossbow was raised to eye level. A bolt whizzed past Elinor’s head. Wood splintered as it slammed against the hull. Elinor turned to face Ma΄Vastor with blistering eyes. “The next one will not miss. Now, move!” screamed Ma΄Vastor. Elinor awkwardly started climbing. As the ladder twisted, she lost her balance. Her feet dangled. She regained her footing and clutched the ladder close to her chest. Elinor looked down in fear. “Stay in the center for balance. Steady, bearer. Steady.” Ma΄Vastor raced for a curved handle that extended from the wall. The crossbow was slung over Ma΄Vastor’s back and with a heavy grunt the handle was pulled down. It jammed halfway. Ma΄Vastor maneuvered up the wall and stood on the handle. Slowly, it dropped.

  “Now what?” Elinor asked. She was standing on the deck, paler than usual.

  “Go below. Grab as many jars as you can and bring them topside.” Ma΄Vastor leapt off the handle and ran for a rope wrapped around a cleat bolted to the cavern wall. Massive boulders contained by nets plummeted from above when the rope was cut. Ropes zipped across grooved pulleys as the counterweights fell. At the top of the shaft a hinged hatch began opening to the outside. Elinor reappeared. Her arms were wrapped around slim jars half her size that contained captured sky.