The Orphan and the Shadow Walker

by Graeme Bourke

  “You will soon be able to make your own clothes at this rate,” said Mica as she handed the cloth back to Robin.

  “Do you really think so?” asked Robin, her angelic face beaming with pride and enthusiasm.

  “It’s only a matter of time and work.”

  “Are you going to read to us tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll go and tell the other children,” she said as she ran off.

  “You spoil that girl,” said Gabriel, who was sitting in front of the fire with smoking embers puffing on his pipe.

  “I only wish I had had someone to spoil me at that age,” she said sitting down on the dry log that had been pulled up as a seat.

  “Thinking back, ones childhood seems to go far too quickly.”

  “That it does Gabriel, that it does.”

  “Where is Elijah?”

  “Down in one of the inns plying his trade.”

  Adar came back with an armful of wood. He deposited some of the logs on the fire and put the rest aside for later. “Mica going to read tonight?” he asked as he sat down, leaning forward and checking the blackened pot to see if the water was hot.

  “It doesn’t take long for word to get round.”

  “Everyone loves your stories, Mica, even some of the adults,” added Gabriel.

  Mica enjoyed reading the fairy tales to the children. It gave her so much pleasure as she looked into the faces of the children and saw their reactions. Fear and concern when the dragon or the evil king was winning or plotting the demise of the hero or heroine, joy and laughter when all ended well as fairy tales should. It also brought back snippets of memories for her even though they were scattered memories, much like the pieces of a jigsaw, but this jigsaw would not fit back together. She was never able to link up the pieces and create the one picture she longed for.

  That night Mica found it difficult to sleep, she was worried about the next day, worried about the children and their parents. If the soldiers came there would be fighting and they would all be in danger. She thought of the caped figure, the man she was sure was a Shadow Walker and wondered where he was and what he was doing. Would he help her? Would he acknowledge his own existence and strike out for the people if it came to a fight? Would he be a beacon for them? She couldn’t be sure as she felt that he was battling his own personal problems, his own demons.

  Brannigan watched his master pace back and forth across the entrance to the cave; he had changed these last few days. He seemed somewhat agitated, seemed preoccupied with his thoughts. For the last fifteen years had served him, had lived with him high in the mountains, moving from temple to temple as his master sought the training; sought those with the knowledge of ancient times. He trained hard and became a man of iron, with immeasurable strength, patience and endurance. In the beginning he could stand up to his master with the sword, spear or knife, but now he lasted mere seconds when he fought against him. He had never seen a warrior so strong, so perfect a killing machine, yet his master had not raised his sword in anger all these years.

  “Brannigan,” he said turning to face him, “tomorrow before dawn I want you to go to the marshes and watch for a woman dressed as a man, wearing a sword, and her brethren. If they cross the marsh, follow them and then let me know where they are.”

  “And you, Master, what will you be doing?”

  “I have to retrieve something, something that belongs to me.”

  “Might I ask what is going on, Master?”

  “The soldiers are coming, Brannigan, and I fear for the people in Tursy.”

  “And the woman?”

  “She means to fight them; she has been warned of the approaching soldiers and has prepared an escape route across the marsh.”

  “She must be a brave woman, Master. There are many strong men, warriors who have known battle but they do not cross swords with the Lothians.”

  “She is a remarkable woman, Brannigan. She has fire in her belly, she is not afraid and I suspect she is on some sort of mission, and she will not thwarted by anyone, least of all Lothian soldiers.”

  “What is her name, Master?”

  “Mica, and she is a very beautiful woman, Brannigan.”

  That explained it all, now he understood why his master had been somewhat agitated and deep in thought, he had met a woman, a woman who had managed to penetrate the hard shell his master had encased around himself. For the first time in fifteen years he was having feelings, feelings that had been buried beneath the pain and anguish he had suffered. Was this woman the spark that would see his master accept what he was, what he had become, and what he had to do?

  “The name means nothing to me, Master.”

  “Nor to me, Brannigan, but we will hear more of it. That, I guarantee you.”

  * * *

  Mica woke suddenly, instinctively her hand reach for the dagger beneath the blanket, something was not right. She listened for any sound that would betray what had roused her, but there was nothing. She knew then that it was something else. The Sight was trying to warn her. Mica turned her head and looked to the east, grey horizontal streaks of light filtered through the mist that hung around valleys and troughs of the mountains. The soldiers were here!

  She removed the blanket, clipped on her sword and re-sheathed her dagger. She shivered in the cold, but it was a refreshing cold. A small moment of indecision entered her mind. Should they flee now and avoid any confrontation, or should they wait? Her escape plan was good and it had no faults as far as she could see. If the soldiers came to their camp it would be better if they saw people going about their normal business, women and children in view, seemingly easy prey that would put them off guard. If they found an empty camp they would begin searching straight away, the swamp would only keep them at bay for a couple of hours. They needed at least four or five hours to climb into the hills where they would be harder to find. She decided to stick to her original plan.

  Deliberately and with some stealth she moved about the camp rousing each person, each family, until they were all awake and gathered together in the centre of the wagons around the charred coals of the cooking fire. They stared at her bleary eyed, each of them feeling the crispness of the morning air as they pulled on coats or wrapped blankets around themselves.

  “What’s going on?” asked Elijah.

  “The soldiers are coming. We need to put our plan into action.”

  “How do you know this?” enquired Stan, the newlywed as he held onto his wife, Lucy’s hand.

  “Trust me, I know.”

  The campfire was lit and they cooked themselves a hearty breakfast, it might be the last substantial meal they would have for a while. At the same time they packed only what they could carry; weapons, food, spare clothing and any money they had. Underneath each of the two wagons was an entrance to a small area, screened by some tarps and barrels. Here, those that would do the fighting would hide. Gabriel and Elijah would sit to the rear of the women and children, close to the forest. If and when the fighting started they would lead the women and children through the forest and down into the swamp.

  “I must warn Martin and his family,” said Elijah.

  “It’s too risky Elijah, if the troops come when you are in the camp you will be cut off. They will have to fend for themselves.”

  Mica saw that Elijah was not convinced. “Elijah, you are the only real friend I have, I’ve had very few friends and companions and I have no wish to lose anyone.”

  Elijah stared at Mica. He didn’t know she felt that way about him. He also didn’t want to lose the friendship he had with Mica, Gabriel and all the others in the small caravan, but he still felt he should warn Martin and his family whatever the consequences. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to them.”

  “It still might, regardless.”

  “I’ll be quick,” said Elijah.

  Mica relented although she felt uneasy about it as Elijah hurried off. She had lost those who had been dear to her once before,
now she had new friends, a new life to live, she didn’t want that life destroyed again. She turned back to the others as they sat waiting for her to continue the instructions. They were putting their trust in Mica, accepting her as their leader and hoping that she could protect them and lead them to safety.

  “If they attack, none of them must escape, we have to kill them all,” said Mica as she peered into their eyes, eyes that showed fear and apprehension. She knew that they still clung to a small shred of hope that they would not have to do this, not have to flee for their lives. Some of them prayed, others moved back to their wagons.

  Mica noticed that Robin was still standing there looking up at her. “Are the soldiers going to kill us?”

  “No,” said Mica with a lump in her throat. “I’ll protect you. You have nothing to fear as long as I’m with you.”

  Mica watched Robin walk slowly back to her wagon, to her parents. She was angry now, angry at the world, at a God that would allow small children to know fear, to be frightened and scared. She knew what it was like and she had no wish to see it happen to any other children. She would protect Robin and all the others with her life if she had too.

  The sun rose and spread its warmth across the land, the soldiers had not appeared. Already the High Priests from the church were conducting the blessings. They needed to start early if they were going to bless all that were here. The sun was well and truly in the sky when she saw them. It was then she saw Elijah return, she breathed a sigh of relief. “You only just made it, look behind you.”

  Elijah looked around and saw the mounted cavalry spread out across the saddle overlooking the camp, flashes of sunlight glinted off their armour and plumed helmets. They looked formidable in their rigid formations. Elijah and Mica watched as they saw them split into two columns, one to the right and one to the left. It looked liked they were going to encircle the camp.

  For a moment Mica thought that they were going to leave them alone, leave them be. Then she saw a small group of riders break away and head toward them. “They are coming,” yelled Mica.

  Everyone began moving into their positions. Mica unsheathed her sword and sat on a log seat just inside the entrance where the riders would have to file through. The moment had arrived. They were as prepared as they could be.

  Fodor led his small group of men up the gentle grassy slope to the tiny circle of wagons, to the only gap he could see. His thoughts were of easy pickings, some booty and some pleasure at the expense of the pilgrims. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he failed see the danger as he rode into the gap where he saw the women and children sitting calmly to the rear. The fact that very few men were visible never registered in his mind. Sitting on a log in front of him and barring his way was a young woman with a sword resting across her legs. His men behind him climbed from their horses. There wasn’t enough room for them to pass by their leader. Fodor also climbed down from his horse and took a step closer toward the young woman, his eyes not missing the delicate curves, the ebony eyes and the fine facial features. This woman he would keep for himself.

  “You might wish to choose another path?” said the young woman in a calm controlled manner.

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because only death awaits you here.”

  The grizzled veteran drew his heavy cavalry sword. Mica did not move. He put the point of the sword in the ground and leant his two huge battle scarred hands on the handle. He laughed, a hoary laugh. The men behind him joined in. “I suppose it’s you that is going to slay me?”

  “Yes, you and all your men.”

  “Your impudence exceeds you, but it will not save you,” he said, losing his smile.

  It was then that Mica made her move, she rolled over, head down and shoulders tucked in and as she started to come to her feet next to Fodor she drove her sword deep into his groin. He hadn’t even had time to fully raise his sword, the surprise, the shock on his face at the speed of her move and the sword thrust had immobilized him. He stood there staring into space as blood spurted onto the ground like a fountain. He knew it was a fatal wound, the artery had been cut. He was dying.

  Mica stepped to the side and parried the sweep of a sword from the nearest soldier. It was then that Adar and the other men burst from their hiding places beneath the wagons. The soldiers were taken completely by surprise, indecision on their faces. They were being attacked from both sides.

  Adar hit one of the soldiers full in the face and continued on with the momentum of his staff to hit the knee of his opponent, who didn’t know whether to hold his face or grab for his knee as he crumpled to the ground in agony. Mica dispatched the man she was fighting, then another in quick succession, and when she looked around for someone else to fight there was no one left standing. It had all happened so quickly and now nine men lay dead, dying, or injured on the grassy turf.

  In the distance she could hear yelling and screaming, there was nothing she could do about that.

  Gabriel and Elijah were already leading the children off into the forest followed closely by their mothers with their tiny bundles. There was no panic, everything was going to plan. Mica and the men would bring up the rear and were prepared to fight off any more soldiers who appeared. They need not have worried as the terror and confusion in the main camp had masked what had happened, masked their escape.

  The ladders hidden in the undergrowth were dragged out and systematically placed across the marsh and within an hour all the women and children had crossed the marsh, the men then followed pulling the ladders up as they went.

  * * *

  Penner was in his element as he stormed through the town oblivious to any pedestrians in the paved streets, some of whom were swept under the horses, their screams cut short by successive striking of hooves as he made his way to the church. With his sword in his hand he rode the big grey up the stone steps of the church and burst through the arched doorway where he was met by Father Adams. “What do you think you are doing? You can’t bring a horse in here.”

  “I can do whatever I bloody well like,” yelled Penner as he swept his sword down at an angle across Father Adams’ shoulder at the neck, his head almost came away from his body.

  “Search the church,” he said to his men who were pushing past him and spreading out into the building. He pushed his horse down toward the altar, trampling Father Adams’ body as he went.

  He climbed down from the saddle as two of his men came in from a side door holding a struggling priest who had blood running from a cut on the side of his head, his eyes glaring defiantly at Penner. “What do you think you are doing, this is sacrilege; you will burn in hell for this.”

  Penner snorted with what was left of his nose and laughed at the priest. “Hell has been preparing a place for me for years, Father. It makes little difference what I do now.”

  “The king will here of this.”

  “It was the king who ordered this. He is fed up with your drivel, your meaningless blessings, your bowing and scraping to something that doesn’t exist. There are no Shadow Walkers and I doubt there ever were. We need to put this to rest once and for all. Where is the flag?”

  Father Paul was astonished to learn that the king had ordered this, but was not surprised as the king had a reputation for treachery and for changing his mind. His word was never to be trusted. “The flag is not here, it is gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “It was kept beneath the altar in a secret compartment. This morning when the High Priest went to retrieve it he found the compartment empty.”

  “Show me this hiding place.”

  The soldiers let go of Father Paul. He made his way to the altar, knelt down and removed a flat-grey stone to reveal an empty cubicle. “You see, it is empty,” he said, as he looked up at Penner.

  “So it is,” he replied as he swung his sword, severing Father Paul’s head. Blood spurted out over the altar. “If there is no flag then what do we need priests for.” He turned to his men. “Burn the c
hurch and all the buildings. If you find any more priests kill them.”

  Argon was woken from his alcohol-induced haze by the sound of horses in the street, of screaming. It was a sound he was all too familiar with from his time in the army. He reached for his sword and clasped it tightly in his hand as he rose quickly from his straw pallet. He staggered to the door shaking his head in an effort to clear the mist in his mind. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs he was thinking and seeing clearly.

  Ed Lowry was at the partially opened door, holding a sword in his hand. He turned and stared at Argon. “Some have already gone out and been slain,” he said as he leant his sword up against the wall. Closing the door he grabbed hold of a stout piece of timber that was used to bar the door and jammed it in place. “My advice to you old friend is to stay here. Penner is on a rampage.”

  “Penner! What is he doing here?”

  Argon knew Penner from his time in the army. He was a man dedicated to his work, to killing for the sake of killing. He was a man to be feared.

  “As you know there can only be one reason for him to be here,” answered Ed. “We can do nothing but await the outcome and hope that we are to be spared.”

  “Is there no way to escape?”

  “No, they will have the town surrounded. Join me in a drink Argon and if they come for us we will take as many of them as we can.”

  “It is all we can do,” said Argon with some resignation and fear.

  Goran stood impassively inside his huge tent. He stared at the soldier standing before him with the aid of a crudely made crutch that had been cut from the fork of a tree. His right leg was broken and both eyes were blackened, dried blood was still caked on his face, his eyes reflected pain and some fear.