by Kiki Howell
Glancing around, the vegetation was either dead or still dormant. There was nothing to be consumed that I could see. There was also nothing I could note that would pass for shelter. I was going to have to step it up and get to a new area, or erect something myself. As thick gray clouds obliterated, and fractured the light source, I also had no notion of what time of day it was, though at least it was day.
I decided to split the difference. I would give myself a little bit longer, but if the light started to diminish, I would stop and do something, though what something, was unknown. Survival skills were not unknown to me, though I had not employed them since I learned them. What I could, or could not, remember, would likely be the difference between survival and death.
I was maniacally glad to come across a small stream. This much, I remembered clearly. Stay along the shore, and follow it up or downstream. I couldn’t recall if up or down made a difference, so I chose down. All waterways empty to the ocean, don’t they?
A meal, consisting of the tiniest fish I’ve ever seen, only served to make me hungrier. But, there were no more. The few I had managed, had been the slow unlucky ones of the bunch that scattered quickly. I stayed to the shoreline and continued one step at a time. Leave it to me to find the one stream in the area that cut through a dormant field, instead of an area that might have some place that would offer shelter. As the diffused light grew dim, I knew I would be walking through the dark.
Angry, I was cursing myself for my knee-jerk decision. The only thing keeping me warm now was locomotion. That, and the stubborn streak within me that would not let me die this way. I should’ve been paying better attention to where I was going, but once again, busily lost in my own thoughts and ramblings, I missed the step, and ended up in the stream. As if cold and hungry weren’t bad enough, I now added soaked to the bone.
I absently heard the whistle on the wind, but not quickly enough, or soon enough, to do anything to avoid the strike. My thrashing and splashing around to get out of the stream had evidently drawn attention. As I looked, the water now held a distinct current of red. The arrowhead protruding out the front of my shoulder, was the easy, obvious source. I was newly irate to find I could not push up with my right arm to regain my feet, or balance.
My irritation became full-blown anger when I realized my staff had been tossed into the stream when the arrow struck. I scrambled to retrieve it. Of course, following the lucky string of recent events, it was being carried by the one decent current, through the one unobstructed path in the water. I already hated to run.
No sooner did I manage to wrap my fingers around it and snag it back to me, when the whine of another arrow in flight broke the quiet. I was not as able from the left side. My attempt to deflect the hit was out of time to the trajectory and flight. This arrow lodged from front to back, through my upper left arm. Either the shooter had incredibly bad aim, or killing me was not the goal. Time would tell.
Determined not to become the quiver for a third arrow, I sat down and waited. I was shocked when the shooter finally appeared. Firstly, because it was not an individual, but a group of three. Secondly, and more significantly, because one among the group was Anwar.
“You?” I challenged.
He didn’t acknowledge me, or so much as make eye contact. Turning to the others in his party, he spoke, “That’s her.”
“I’m talking to you Anwar.” I sneered. “What do you want?”
His body double, notably, the one who had the bow, replied. “We’ll be taking that.” He said, head canting toward my staff.
“I don’t think so.” I said with far more bravado than I felt I had.
“It wasn’t really a request, sweetie. We know that given the proper motivation, you’ll hand it over.” He retorted, holding his hand out as if I would just give him my staff.
“Get your own stick dude. This one is mine.”
Without warning, I watched him notch an arrow, pull back, and release it in my general direction without as much as a concentrated aim. Judging by the flight, I expected it to go well wide of my perch. It was a miscalculation I paid for quickly as the arrow came around and struck through my thigh, effectively pinning my leg to the ground where I sat.
As though I weren’t sitting there listening, he turned to Anwar. “You’re sure she’s got it? I’d really hate to waste this many arrows if she doesn’t.”
Anwar was nodding. “The Shadow’s blade? Yes, I’d bet my life that she’s got it, and it’s inside that staff. I saw Goodman’s body before I burned Gavern’s Inn down.”
The shooter glanced back at me. He made a dramatic display of notching a fourth arrow before he spoke. “He says you have the Shadow’s blade. You say you don’t.” He glanced between us. “Me? I don’t know. He says you were with Goodman before Goodman died, and he says Goodman was killed by the Shadow’s blade. That too, I don’t know, I wasn’t there. But, he said he knew how to get you to leave the camp. And, here you are. So, when it comes to what people have said, that has turned out to be true, his scorecard is higher than yours. How about you save me from putting another arrow through you somewhere, and just hand it over.”
My brain was immediately working overtime. I knew Needah was a shadow-walker. I also knew he had had the Una-Mor in his possession more than once. Had he failed to disclose the true identity of the sword he held at the time to the rest of the shadow-walker community? Had he instead, created a legend of his own for the sword? Was it that they, so many years later, believed there was a sword of legend for their kind?
As near as I knew, anyone, besides my original family, who knew that I was in possession of the suicide blade, had not lived to share the information. Could it be they do not know that there is a true master of the sword now? Is there more than one sword? Do they mistakenly believe...what do they believe? How do I find out?
“I’ve never heard of the Shadow’s blade.” I challenged.
The shooter eased the tension on the string as he laughed openly. “Everyone has heard of the Shadow’s blade.” He sneered.
“I haven’t.”
“Then let me enlighten you.” He began, “The Shadow’s blade was stolen from the shadow-walkers by a coward in the night. It has been missing for hundreds of years. How it came into your possession, I don’t care. We want it back. The rightful owner is waiting.”
“Owner? You said it was taken from the shadow-walkers, plural. So which is it?” I baited.
The shooter’s color drained before his face flushed crimson. “I will not play with you. I had thought to give you hope, and directions to find your missing demon. But, I’ve decided I’m tired of your games. Give me back my sword.”
“My missing demon?” I queried. “And, your sword? Who are you?”
A vein in his forehead throbbed visibly. “Correction,” he stared, spittle dripping from his lips as he spoke, “your dead demon. And, my name is Needah. Who the hell are you?”
It was my turn to blanch. Was Arce a demon? I didn’t know. Suddenly, I really needed to know. “Dead demon? Who wants a dead demon? And, why would you think they were mine?”
Anwar actually responded to me for a change. “You bear his marks. I saw them made. And, I daresay you were not object to receiving them when it happened. Should I go on?” he sneered.
Well, that answered that. And, if I was being honest with myself, the blade inside my staff was the one they were seeking, even if they didn’t know the true nature of it at this time. Stuck to the ground as I was, it wasn’t like I could actually fight. I was going to have to trust the legend, in fact, the blade itself, to take care of the problem.
“As you have effectively pinned me to the ground with your arrow, I do hope you won’t mind if I don’t get up to present you with my sword. I do have serious doubts that it is the one you believe it to be, but who am I?” I said as calmly as I could manage. “You’ll have to come get it.”
Needah turned to Anwar. “Retrieve the staff and bring it to me.”
Anwar, as before, did as he was bid to do. I was doing my best not to shiver and shake where I sat. The wounds would heal eventually, but not if I continued to tear at the edges before they could seal. I allowed just enough movement for the blood to continue to flow. There was no reason to let them have any more information about me than they evidently already had.
The great amount of ceremony that Anwar used to present my staff to Needah was not lost on me. I did my best to remain calm and neutral as Needah accepted it from him. If what I believed was going to happen, happened, this was about to be a bloodbath.
Wounded
I WAS SHOCKED. I expected he would pop the cap and remove the sword from the staff, but he didn’t. Instead, they turned to leave as though their business was concluded. That wasn’t going to work for me.
“Aren’t you going to check?” I baited challengingly. “You know...confirm that it’s your sword, and not mine that you are stealing from me while I am unable to lift a finger to reclaim my possession?”
The group turned back. “I’m not sure I owe you that, though, as you have no choice but to sit here bleeding, polluting the stream, I’ll humor you.”
He popped the staff top open, tossing the cap aside. I bit on my tongue to keep from smirking, actually forcing myself not to blink as the next events unfolded. As expected, as soon as the hilt made contact with his hand, the struggle began. Anwar reached out to grasp the staff as Needah fought to keep it sheathed. The third member of their group, who had offered nothing to the exchange thus far, was the first to fall as the blade swiped sideways once it was freed from the casing.
Surprisingly, Needah was able to speak as he fought. “What have you done to my sword?” He challenged.
“You mean my sword.” I shot back.
Anwar, mistakenly cast a glance in my direction at my words. He was distracted long enough to miss the swing of the Una-Mor as it came around. Two down, one to go.
I folded my hands loosely in my lap as I watched the battle play out. To his credit, Needah did not fall quickly. He parried and dodged the blade several times before the killing blow landed. His eyes locked on mine as he fell. His final words were amusing as he realized the truth. “It can’t be.”
“Oh, but it can. I told you it was mine.” I replied to his now lifeless corpse.
Unlike before, the sword did not return to my hand. It was not somehow magically carried back to where I sat, but fell to the ground near its last victim. The hilt was situated toward my person, but unable to reach me. It would be up to me to reclaim it now.
I broke the length of the arrow in my leg just below the flights, and did my best to only wince, but not make a louder sound, as I lifted myself off the shaft. I would heal, but that made it no less painful. I crawled to collect the sword, the hollow staff, and the cap. It was an excruciating exercise. Once accomplished, I tried to dislodge the other two arrows. Unfortunately, the one through my right shoulder was making every movement difficult.
There was no way I could walk around with two arrows protruding from my upper body. I would have to find a way to remove them before I was found. Then again, I was still unaware of exactly where I was, to have any notion how soon that might be. That, and though the three shadow-walkers who had found me were now dead, that did not preclude the possibility that there were others around whom I had not been able to see. I needed to work under the assumption that they were not alone. And, if that was true, I needed to get out of the area quickly.
I reached up, managing to break the flights off of the arrow through my left arm by force of will. Finding a way to pull the rest of the arrow free, from the back where the arrow head protruded, would take time. The first arrow however, was more difficult, and urgent. I could not reach back to break off the flights, nor could I find a way to accomplish it. Eventually, I had to double back and follow the stream up to reach the area I had started in that had a tree line, miniscule though it was.
Locating one that had a narrow enough vee in the branches took far longer than anticipated. The first attempt nearly made me pass out as I squatted back against the tree and tried to wedge the arrow into the V-shaped notch. I finally managed to get enough traction after the fourth try. Holding the arrow head with my left hand and turning, I was able to exert enough force to crack the shaft and break it. Pulling that arrow through was not a small task. Eventually however, I was able to control the pain enough to attempt the second one, still lodged in my arm.
Pushing the staff of the arrow through enough to expose the whole notching of the arrow head, I tried to lodge it in the same V-shaped section of branches. It would have been easier if I could have somehow reached around to grab it and pull it through. The angle was too sharp and I couldn’t manage it. My shirt, still damp from my fall into the stream, was newly saturated, this time with the fresh blood flow from the wound as I tried to snare the arrow head to pull it free.
Once it was finally dislodged, I slumped. Cold, tired, hungry, wet, and now suffering from an indeterminate amount of blood loss, I didn’t have the energy to go on. I wanted to. I needed to. I simply could not muster the strength to do so.
There was still no shelter. There were no food options. There was also no hope of getting warm, or dry, anytime soon. I tried to force myself to rage, hoping it would be enough to get me up and moving, but it too was a futile effort. I finally resigned myself that if the Goddess wanted me to die here, I would. If not, a short break wouldn’t hurt.
Shadowed Savior
WHEN I AWOKE, I was, once again, in an unfamiliar place. This time, I knew I was not alone. I heard the deep, even breathing of someone else. Cracking an eyelid, I saw only one someone else, but I also saw a fire, and food. Unwittingly, my stomach roared.
The prone form on the far side of the fire jumped. “Who’s here?”
I did my best not to giggle. Obviously they knew I was there, they had to have brought me, or been aware when I was left. “Where’s here?” I asked quietly.
I watched as they rubbed their eyes and got their bearings. “Oh, it’s you. I’m sorry if I woke you. I heard a noise.”
“I made the noise.” I answered.
“You?”
“Yes, me. Or, my stomach anyway.” I replied.
They chuckled. The sound was nice. I tried to be subtle as I rolled my shoulder and flexed my other arm. I had healed well enough to leave. And, as near as I could tell, only the inside of my shoes were still wet. Everything else was reasonably dry, thanks to the fire.
“So you’re hungry?” He finally asked.
“I am. But, I won’t ask you to share. I can easily do my own hunting. I will say thank you though, I appreciate the spot near the fire.”
When he finally emerged from the shadows, he was quite striking. His skin was tanned from the elements, and worn, the way soft leather looked. His eyes were a robust, icy blue, and his smile was easy. As he approached, I realized he was far larger than I initially assessed him to be. Broad shoulders and narrow hips completed a pleasing package.
“Don’t be silly. Eat something. You were quite compromised when I found you. Trying to force food into you then was not an option. Eat now.” He offered forcefully.
“I don’t know you.” I answered.
“You will.”
My eyes widened. “Do you infer that I will not be leaving?”
“If you wish to leave, you will leave. I will not keep you here against your will. But, I believe in time, you will choose to stay.” He offered gently.
I studied him. His comments were not threatening or ominous. He spoke kindly, and quietly. And, there was something about his tone that made me believe I had no reason to question his intentions.
“What? He asked when I didn’t speak.
“For having just met me, you seem extremely sure of yourself, and of what I will, or won’t, choose.” I answered.
His smile was nearly blinding, even next to the raging fire. “I am quite sure of myself. And I suspect, that when you learn all
that there is to learn, I can be confident in what I believe as well.”
“Why is that?”
“Because Asa,” he smiled and held up a hand when I gasped, “yes, I know who you are. I know what you are. And, I am willing, and able, to help you answer the other questions I’m sure you must have. I’ve been searching for you for a long time.”
“How do you... How do you know who I am?” I stammered as I used my butt cheeks to scoot backwards.
“That is a long story. How about you eat first, and then we talk?” He offered as he slid a rough tray towards me.
“You have me at a disadvantage. I will eat, but tell me who you are.”
“My name is Ciannait, but everyone calls me Nat.” He answered quietly, stepping back to sit beside the fire, giving me space.
“Okay Nat, tell me this, where’s my staff?” I asked as non-threateningly as I could manage.
“Staff? Your walking stick?” He asked, watching as I nodded. He looked around for a moment before answering, “It’s behind you against the wall. You clung to it so fiercely when I tried to move you, I didn’t dare try to pry it free. You were wrapped around it quite tightly when I laid you down.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if he had any notion what was contained within the shaft of the staff. If he did, he certainly didn’t betray his curiosity, or if he had attempted to snoop. That he was still here, and alive, led me to believe that he had not opened it, even if he had been curious about it.
The offerings on the tray were modest. The bits of dried meat and stale bread easily became the best thing I’d eaten since I couldn’t remember when. I forced myself to chew slowly, keeping my mouth full so I would not have to speak as I studied him. He was definitely other. What variety of other, I had no idea. There was something insanely familiar about him, but I could not place why.
