Shadow Kalloire

by Skylar Gentry

  Its hands rapidly came together, twice. A claw tapped the drawing and then the scavenger proceeded to point at Elinor’s chest. Again, its hands slapped together, and its tail wiped across the floor in excitement. The scavenger leaned over. Elinor climbed on its back and wrapped her fatigued arms around its neck.

  Simtoren fled the lake. His lapse in maintaining noise discipline had led aurora-hunters straight to the temple. When he first saw them gathering along the shore, he remained hopeful. There was no way for them to cross. But when he saw the Blood Queen appear, he knew his time was up. Their bargain had been clear. He was tasked with retrieving the coruscant. Once it was in her possession, she would allow Simtoren and Elinor to exist in peace. They could have a life together, she had told him. Simtoren was referred to as the backup plan. He agreed to her terms and was released from Brim Hall with instructions to find Elinor. But as time passed and he failed to locate her, he assumed the Blood Queen had already found her, and no longer cared about him. He decided to return to the temple to die in peace. But instead of finding Elinor, she had found him.

  The bond he felt with Elinor at her birth had only grown stronger with time. But as she got older, Morbis had become uncomfortable with how Simtoren doted on his daughter. When she was able to travel on her own, in the dead of night while Simtoren slept, Morbis had fled with Elinor. He left only a note stating that Elinor was not some prize to be had. Simtoren spent the better half of an entire moon frost scouring the caves and Lower Lightendom in search of them. But all he encountered was the Blood Queen.

  During his captivity, Simtoren was subjected to cruel conditions. He was made to sleep in the open without bedding or shelter; entombed for hours in a chest buried underground, only to be dug up when it suited the Blood Queen; starved and denied water, then paraded in front of her as she ate; and through it all he managed to somehow survive. But it was the Blood Queen’s perverted ways that did the most damage.

  She would subject him to days of torture, beat him unconscious to the edge of death, then have him taken to be bathed and clothed by her Ma΄Ranie slaves before being delivered to her bedchamber. That is the way she enjoyed him; clean and fully clothed in attire worn by the Lancian Guard. But it wasn’t just any warrior’s uniform. It had to be the one worn by those loyal to House Aysgarth. His worn battle dress was too dreadful for her taste, but she had plenty of new ones to go around. Simtoren never understood her obsession with Aysgarth, but fearing further punishment, he obeyed her commands.

  She would fit him with a leather collar and tether and make him crawl on his hands and knees while he was made to howl like a wild beast. He was forced to drink from a bowl. But it was the sexual pleasures that drove him to the brink of madness. For hours he was required to lick her entire body, starting at her toes and slowly working his way up. On one occasion he mistakenly kissed her on the mouth. As punishment, Simtoren was held down while the Blood Queen removed his molars with her fingers. He bled for days. She would also make him pleasure himself while she watched. When he finished, Simtoren had to lick his seed off the floor while being flogged. If he tried to resist his release by slowing his strokes or dulling his senses, the consequences were far worse. Then there was the horror of penetration. The Blood Queen would straddle Simtoren and ride him until he was raw. If he got soft or released inside of her, Simtoren would be made to eat excrement from a bucket swarming with flies.

  That’s what wolves do, the Blood Queen would scream. They eat shit! Or would you rather be a raven? The first time he was given a choice Simtoren said, Yes, that he would indeed prefer to be a raven. He was launched out the window and landed atop a loggia, bloodied and broken. As he looked at the sun, waiting for death, he heard the Blood Queen’s cackle. She hovered over him looking down and smiling. And then with a wave of her hand he was brought back. Death is too good for you, she had whispered in his ear.

  Simtoren always held on to the memory of Elinor. He blamed Morbis for his capture and for taking Elinor from him. He meant her no harm. Why was Morbis so concerned about his affection for Elinor? he often wondered. There was an undeniable connection between them. Simtoren felt it the moment they first touched. He also believed Elinor could sense it too. Why, why would Morbis deny his daughter the affection of another man? Another man that could help protect her. That is all Simtoren wanted. Something deep inside him, something he could not explain, required him to keep her safe. It was Morbis’s fault he had been robbed of that honor, and instead was destined to be the sex slave of the Blood Queen. He was jealous, Simtoren had finally concluded.

  It wasn’t always bad for Simtoren. On rare occasions, when the frost moon appeared, the Blood Queen would show kindness to him. He would be allowed to sit at her table as an equal. During those nights there was no punishment or perverse treatment. All he had to do was obey two simple commands—never speak unless instructed, and to listen while the Blood Queen mourned her daughter. If her terms were met, then Simtoren could enjoy one night each moon frost, free of pain and filled with the pleasant kind of carnal pleasure. Instead of being forced to please her, she took care of him. Afterward, they would lie in bed talking about her daughter. He would fall asleep in her arms and when he woke in the morning, his shepherding back to the dungeon was done humanly. But once the iron bars of his cell were shut, Simtoren would have to wait an entire cycle before being treated kindly again.

  The irony of it all was how during those rare nights the Blood Queen became someone else. It was like fire and water. Usually she was the fire that burns with no regard for the destruction it leaves behind. Collateral damage was her way of existence. But Simtoren knew her as the water as well. A calming presence that could quell even the darkest of flames. He never fully understood who her daughter was exactly. The way the Blood Queen described her made her seem unique, often mentioning how she was one of a kind. Simtoren knew of only one other that matched this description, but he thought it best for his sake to never ask. The Blood Queen also implied her daughter had been taken from her unfairly, by her sister. It was made clear to Simtoren that her death was preventable and that a choice had been made to let her die.

  During one of their discussions, Simtoren tried to relate to her pain by making a comparison to Elinor. He explained that his devotion to the light-bearer was similar to hers and that he loved her like he would his own daughter. At the mention of Elinor and how they both had experienced loss, the Blood Queen become irate. But her anger was brief. Her fire quickly turned to water again as Simtoren was encouraged to share more. He was lulled into telling her about his time spent with Elinor. Simtoren elaborated how Morbis used the underground network of caves and tunnels to evade capture: that he used fire to create sound diversions by making timed fuses tied to piles of rocks; his tactic of backtracking to areas already searched by aurora-hunters; and the greatest betrayal of all, by telling her that Morbis took Elinor from him for being jealous of their bond. It was no surprise then when the Blood Queen eventually offered him a deal.

  During Simtoren’s dash from the lake he devised a plan. He intended to take the coruscant from Elinor, by force if necessary, and then he would plead with the Blood Queen to adhere to their original agreement. She could be reasoned with; Simtoren had witnessed it firsthand. He would invoke the memory of her dead daughter as a catalyst to appeal to her softer side. Although rare, the Blood Queen was capable of compassion. He rounded a bend in the corridor that led to Elinor’s bedchamber. Panic turned to rage when he saw her pet blocking the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  It was a daunting process, slower than she would have wanted under the dire circumstances, but Elinor managed to finish her wardrobe change with the fastening of her belt. She hobbled to the table next to her bedding. Even the thought of sliding the table open seemed like a challenging process. As her hands gripped the sides, a blast struck the tree. The temple shuttered and layers of dust that had up to that point remained undisturbed filled the air. Elinor’s entire body ached as she
coughed. Another resounding thud landed. The temple was under attack.

  As the onslaught intensified, Elinor heard faint droning rising above the sizzling hiss and thunderous impacts of the barrage. She strained to listen. The muffled cadence became louder. It sounded like the clicks and moans made by a gargan. But Elinor had watched Zi flee the temple. And there was no way that she would be able to hear her from so deep within the tree. Elinor tried to hone in on the origin of the sound. A beautiful, cascading song of simplicity. It made her feel…Elinor searched for the right word to properly describe the phenomenon. Whole! Her heavy eyes became lively in realization the humming was coming from her pendant.

  She opened the table and was flooded by warmth and light. Her pendant was thumping like a racing heart. Inside its glossy surface, Zi appeared. She was soaring within a violent storm. Her wings and tail remained stationary while she glided through a claret sky, her eyes pulsating in sync with Elinor’s beating pendant. An effervescent trail was left in her wake as she fed on the storm’s energy. Her scales became saturated by light that streamed across her thermal plates and down her tail. Zi’s blue-and-yellow spots turned crimson. Her horn released silvery light that matched the color emanating from the pendant. Lightning struck, thunder rumbled, and wind wailed like nothing Elinor had ever witnessed.

  The pendant was draped over Elinor’s neck. She understood the song’s message and finally knew how to regain her powers. With renewed hope, she excitedly turned and saw the scavenger eagerly watching her. Its scrutinizing expression was no longer taciturn, but tender. It too had heard the gargan song and understood its message of unity. The scavenger curled its lips. Elinor returned the scavenger’s attempt at a smile with one of her own.

  From behind, a sword penetrated the scavenger’s shell and pierced its chest. The look of admiration it expressed for Elinor remained plastered on its slimy face. Purple blood spilled onto the floor. Elinor gasped and fell back against the wall, knocking the table over, and losing her polearm in the process.

  Simtoren screamed, “Die, cretin!” He pulled back on his sword and then ran the scavenger through again. It fell to the floor twitching.

  “No!” sobbed Elinor. “What have you done?”

  “Saved you.”

  “She was my friend. Why would you kill her?”

  Simtoren eyed the pendant. “Hand over the coruscant,” he demanded.

  “What?” Elinor’s face darkened. Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. Between gritted teeth she replied, “Never.”

  There was a time when she would have been glad to be rid of what she considered a burden. Even as recent as her time spent with the Ma΄Ranie, Elinor was dismissive of the importance of her pendant and at times refrained from protecting it as Morbis had instructed her. Simtoren snatched the pendant from Elinor’s neck. She was too weak to mount a strong resistance.

  “The Blood Queen has come for it.”

  Elinor was devastated. “You’re working for her? Traitor!” she screamed.

  “A survivor, my lady,” corrected Simtoren. “You would be wise to follow my lead. Look at you. A frail and timid little girl. Lost without your dear poddy to protect you. Well, Simtoren is here now. You will do as I say.” He held up the pendant that had dimmed dramatically after he took possession of it. “This stupid crystal will be our salvation. Once she has it, we can finally be together. We will live as I decide. There will be no further need to run. Or to hide in caves.” Simtoren lunged forward. “And most certainly no more discussions of Light Fall,” he bellowed.

  Elinor calmed her voice. “I will never be with you,” she stated emphatically. “I would rather die, than lie with a traitor like you.”

  “We will see about that.” Simtoren sneered and then stormed out of the room.

  Elinor had to act fast. She summoned her remaining energy by channeling positive emotions. She recalled her father’s love and how he had appeared to her to disclose the true meaning of what it meant to be a light-bearer; Ma΄Vastor’s passion and the way she cared for her people; the scavenger’s choice to turn from its dark nature to become a force for good; and how Aysgarth exerted an uncanny force over her that made Elinor feel capable of conquering any challenge Kalloire could summon—his willpower and unyielding spirit were fierce. She clutched her weapon and forced herself down the corridor.

  Her ungraceful approach allowed Simtoren to easily dodge her attack. Elinor was too exhausted to swing her ax effectively. He sidestepped her feeble thrust and disarmed her. The polearm was kicked out of reach. Elinor was violently slammed against the floor and Simtoren used his leg to pin her down.

  “Silly girl,” he mocked. “Is this the kind of fighter Morbis trained you to be?” He grabbed Elinor’s bangs and lifted her head. “I expect you to be ready when I get back from saving your ass. Make sure you take a bath. I will enjoy you, fresh.”

  Elinor pulled her dagger and stabbed Simtoren’s hand. He released her with a howling scream. The dagger was then driven forcefully into his boot. The pendant fell to the floor as he hobbled in pain. Elinor snatched it and scurried for the nearest air vent. She disappeared down it. Simtoren raged. He snatched Elinor’s ax and headed for the stairs. He knew precisely where she would emerge.

  Ka΄Phar glowered at the approaching squall. She launched another barrage to drive Elinor into the open. Without her afterglow, she would be no match for Ka΄Phar. Her weakened state needed to be exploited before the storm arrived. Not even Ka΄Phar dared enter the Eternal Tree. Although the natural balance had been shifted in her favor, there were still many uncertainties. Like the one she had experienced in the Nord Pass. Ka΄Phar was not the sort to second-guess herself. Confidence oozed from her very being. But the occurrence had left her uneasy. The thought that Kalloire might produce another mystic or would attempt to fight back was not something she had considered. One pressing obstacle already existed in the form of the ancient ones. She certainly didn’t need another complication. After the light-bearer was finished off, she would deal with the collective. Her priority had to remain getting her hands on the coruscant.

  She raged when abrupt cracking that sounded like an ax splitting wood signaled the rebirth had begun. Ka΄Phar’s need for urgency outweighed any concern she had of ancient ones or another mystic interfering. She clenched her fists and ordered the first wave to attack. In tight formation, scavengers poured into the lake. Starting at the shore and working their way toward the tree, they bobbed on the surface with their shells butted together. They locked arms. Along both flanks more scavengers joined the gathering and then merged with the main cluster, swimming in opposing directions. Scavengers on one side exerted force against those on the other to tighten gaps and keep the mass together. Aurora-hunters swarmed across the improvised bridge.

  Ka΄Phar smiled. Soon, she would have the coruscant. The remaining light-bearer would be gone and she could finally have closure for her daughter’s death. Kalloire’s transformation would be complete with no hope of returning to an unjust balance. After, she intended to rebuild her family as she envisioned, without her sister’s meddling.

  Her joy was short-lived, however, when Zi burst from cloud cover. She was twice as big and had regained her full strength. Energy rippled across her body and her horn was broadcasting a lustrous beam. Her layered scales were scorching hot. Zi dove for the scavenger bridge.

  Out of breath and sprawled on the floor in severe pain, Elinor was unable to go any farther. The last of her strength had been exhausted fighting Simtoren. She was so close to her destination that she could smell water. All she had to do was reach the birthing pool. The rest would take care of itself, just like the child had predicted. At the present the woman had the upper hand, but Elinor now understood her role and how important she was. Light-bearers were the link between the spiritual and physical planes, serving as Kalloire’s conduit. Without them the Origin was unable to connect to mystics, celestials, and mortals alike. This is what the woman had intended all along. Her hatred of
Elinor wasn’t only about taking possession of her pendant but ensuring the balance could not be restored.

  Elinor cringed at the sound of heavy footfalls coming her way. If only she could get to the water. Simtoren entered, dragging Elinor’s polearm behind him. She made another attempt to crawl. It was useless. She had nothing left. Simtoren raised the polearm and forcefully brought it down next to her head. She screamed and wiggled away. He struck the floor on the other side. Elinor winced and made another feeble attempt to dodge the blow.

  “See, my lady. You can follow instructions.” Simtoren appeared delirious with rage. Captivity had taught him how effective fear and intimidation could be when dealing with a defiant spirit. From one side to the other, he continued tormenting Elinor. She balled her body to protect herself as his anger intensified. “You ungrateful bitch!” he howled. “Here I am trying to save you. The least you could do is show some gratitude to Simtoren.” He raised the weapon over his head.

  Elinor rolled on her back and screamed, “Stop!” For a moment she didn’t know whether Simtoren had heard her. He stood trembling with an idle stare that reminded Elinor of the Ma΄Ranie slaves she encountered at Brim Hall. It was the look of someone not in control of their actions. “I’ll lie with you,” Elinor continued. “I’ll take a bath like you asked. That is what you want, right?” She dared not move a muscle for fear he would lower the ax blade. “But I need your help so I can be clean for you. Would you do that for me? Will you help me to the pool?”

  A profound sound of splintering wood carried through the temple and snapped Simtoren from his fit of rage. In an instant his vague look became highly attentive with clear eyes and enlarged pupils. He lowered Elinor’s polearm.

  “I wish for nothing more, my lady,” he replied kindly. “Though your gracious offer is not necessary. You are perfect as is.” The weapon clattered to the floor and Simtoren took Elinor in his arms. He caressed her head and nuzzled her face. “I would never hurt you, Elinor. We are meant to be together. The moment I held you in my arms I felt the bond between us.” He repeatedly kissed her forehead. “All is forgiven, little mouse. I know you never meant to leave me. Your father is to blame.” Simtoren stared into Elinor’s bold eyes. “You have nothing to fear now. I will take the coruscant to the Blood Queen. She will listen to me. Then I’ll return and tend to your needs.” He reached for the pendant, then stopped when he saw the appalled look on Elinor’s face. His mood swiftly darkened. “Whore!” he wailed. “Trickery. Everyone takes from Simtoren. With nothing in return. Well, not anymore.” He released Elinor and reached for the weapon again, placing an ax blade across her neck. “Get ready,” he muttered. “I have been waiting a long time for this.”