The Orphan and the Shadow Walker

by Graeme Bourke

  “Too late, Mr Shadow Walker, you are already in our trap,” said a cold indifferent voice from out of the darkness as another flint was struck. A candle beside the bed was lit, giving enough light for them all to see. The young man who lit the candle was standing beside the bed. This would have to be the youngest of Benjamin’s three sons. He proceeded to light more candles revealing the crumpled body on the floor.

  “Pity about Craig,” said the other son, the one with the long dark hair and beard and cruel eyes. He was leaning on his sword. “But sometimes sacrifices have to be made.”

  This would have to be Luther, Benjamin’s eldest son, the one the people feared the most; the other son that he now knew he would have to kill.

  Aaron moved forward and knelt at his brother’s side, holding him. He looked up at the Shadow Walker with anger in his eyes. “You have killed him!”

  Luther reached across and pulled at the tasseled rope beside the bed. It would ring the bell in the kitchen. “In a few minutes the soldiers will be here, you may as well give up now.”

  “A wolf in a trap never gives up, you should know that.”

  Aaron, seething with anger, reached for his sword while the Shadow Walker was seemingly distracted but before he could remove his sword from its scabbard the Shadow Walker’s sword tip was at his throat. “Don’t be so bloody stupid, you don’t have a chance in hell against me.”

  Suddenly there was banging and rattling on the door. Luther looked and saw the wooden bar. “It won’t matter,” he said, rather smugly. “They will chop the door down.”

  Aaron stood up. There was blood on his clothes. He backed away from the Shadow Walker.

  “Where is your father?” asked the Shadow Walker.

  “He is quite safe,” replied Luther.

  The thumping of axe blades on the door resonated through the room.

  Aaron stood quietly, unsure of what to do, he felt that he should do something, attack this black-hooded figure, show some sort of aggression, but his body refused to respond. He stood transfixed as if in awe of this tall, broad, strong looking individual.

  Luther raised his sword and advanced toward the Shadow Walker as the first of the axe blades bit through the timber. “There are no Shadow Walkers, you are just a man dressed in getup, you will bleed and die like anyone else.”

  “That may be true, but I have the advantage over you,” he said raising his own sword. “For ten years I trained against four men, every day. I defeated those four men in combat, to fight one man is a luxury, it becomes so easy.”

  “You’ll not find me easy,” said Luther as he slashed with his sword.

  Luther was confident now that the door was beginning to disintegrate. He tried all the tricks he knew but the Shadow Walker parried all of his moves. Luther began to realise that this man would not be easily taken, but it did not matter, in seconds the door would crumple and his soldiers would pour into the room. All he had to do was hold the Shadow Walker for a few more seconds.

  The Shadow Walker then began his true onslaught, driving Luther back against the stone wall of the bedroom, fear now showing in his eyes as he stared hopefully at the door. A soldier burst through the shattered doorway and at that very moment Luther gave a knowing smirk. But it soon changed to a look of anguish and pain as the Shadow Walker’s sword pierced his stomach, wounding him fatally.

  He then turned on the soldier and cut him down with a slice to the neck, a stream of blood pumping out on the floor. A second soldier was trying to push his way through the door but was soon stopped with a deep thrust into his stomach. The door was now blocked. The Shadow Walker turned, glanced at Aaron, who was still standing there staring at him in amazement. He jumped up onto the window sill and lowered himself down to the balcony below.

  “After him,” yelled Aaron as the soldiers pushed their way into the room. “He’s on the next floor.”

  Some of the soldiers peered out the window, but could see nothing in the darkness. Others turned and headed for the stairs. Aaron left the room and quickly strode down the corridor and thumped onto the door of the bed chamber where his mother and father were sleeping. He and Luther had earlier convinced his father and mother to move out of their usual bedroom and place two guards at the door.

  One of the guards opened the door with his short spear ready. When he saw Aaron he opened the door. His father was already rising from his bed. “What’s going on?”

  “The Shadow Walker! We had him trapped but he has escaped.”

  Benjamin dressed quickly. “Where is Luther?”

  Aaron stood quietly, looking at his mother who was now pulling on her dressing gown. She was staring at him, already aware that something was terribly wrong.

  There was no easy way to tell them. “The Shadow Walker, he killed Luther and Craig.”

  For a brief moment there was stunned silence, it was his father who broke the silence with an angry voice. “Stay with your mother, I’ll see to this,” he fumed as he strapped on his sword and left the room followed by the two guards.

  “I must see them,” said his mother as she tried to push past him.

  Aaron stopped her, held her to his breast as the tears began to flow. “Not now, Mother, later when we have laid them out properly.”

  “Why did he kill them,” she sobbed.

  “I don’t know, Mother,” said Aaron, holding her tightly as he recalled the frightening moment when the Shadow Walker had placed the tip of his sword at his throat. He had not hesitated to kill Craig or Luther, but he had spared him. Why?

  The Shadow Walker quickly and silently made his way to the hidden entrance. He would like to have looked into Benjamin’s eyes, would like to have taunted him in his death throes, but maybe it was better this way and less personal. He had slain the two sons, the ones who would have followed in their father’s footsteps. When the body of the snake had been cut off, the head would never be the same!

  Arriving back in the stable he lowered the paver, covered it with straw and dirt and checked the horses. Everything was packed and ready to go. Hopefully the soldiers would waste their time searching the palace, not thinking to make sure the city gates were closed. They had to move fast!

  It was cold in the stables as the Shadow Walker changed his clothes. Already the first mustard, yellow tinges were lighting up the sky. Then he saw the first signs of the fire over the rooftops of the houses. Brannigan had succeeded in setting fire to the soldier’s stables. They would be kept busy fighting the fire and trying to save the horses. He opened the door of the stable, mounted the black stallion and galloped out into the street. He shivered in the cold morning air as he made his way to the western gate. He slowed as he neared the gate. Brannigan was to meet him here. Then he saw him up ahead, waving from a side alley.

  “Everything went well, I presume?” enquired the Shadow Walker.

  “Too bloody well, I lit the fire deep in the stables and it took off so quick I only just made it out,” said Brannigan, scramblng up onto his horse. “Now all we have to do is make it out the gate.”

  The soldiers at the gate were all looking to the sky, to the whorl of burning ash. The gate was still wide open.

  “What is going on?” asked one of the soldiers.

  “I have no idea,” replied Brannigan, but that looks like a pretty big fire.”

  “Certainly is,” said the soldier, his eyes reflecting the bright orange flames that were now visible above the rooftops.

  “I hope they get it under control,” said Brannigan, urging his horse through the gate. The soldiers didn’t give them a second glance.

  “That was too easy,” laughed the Shadow Walker as they upped the pace on their horses. They would need to put some distance between them and Darfor.

  Benjamin searched the palace from top to bottom but found no one who shouldn’t have been there. Then he saw the fire in the distance. He yelled out to one of the soldiers to go and find out what was going on. He and his men continued the search in the grounds and the
outbuildings. A soldier returned and told him the stables were on fire and that the barracks and surrounding houses were threatened; every available man was fighting the fire. Benjamin stood quietly, taking in everything the soldier was saying. This was too much of a coincidence. “The gates,” he yelled to the soldier, “have all the city gates closed, no one is to leave.”

  He stormed back into the palace, furious that he’d not thought of that first. In his own mind he knew it was too late. The fire had been a distraction. The Shadow walker would have made good his escape. But then he smiled to himself; he was still alive, even though it had cost him two of his sons. He could only concede that Aaron’s precautions, Aaron’s idea had thwarted the Shadow Walker’s plans. It would have been nice to have captured him, to have found out the identity of this supposed Shadow Walker. Now he may never know for sure.

  Luther and Craig were to be given military funerals with all the pomp and ceremony of their class. The people were expected to mourn the passing of the two sons. An order was given that no inns were allowed to be open, that everyone in the city had to wear black until after the funeral. A few disobeyed this order and were thrown into the dungeons. Benjamin’s tyranny had not waned. In fact, his anger was such that he intended to make even more example of his power in the days to come. For the moment though, he consoled his wife.

  Aaron had hardly spoken to his father since the death of his two brothers. The distance, the void between them had grown wider. His father had learnt nothing from this. He seemed to be placing himself even higher on his pedestal. Aaron knew that after the funerals he would take further reprisals against the population. Even though he himself wanted revenge for the death of his brothers, killing innocent citizens was not the way to do it.

  Sleep eluded him. He would wake up in a sweat, trembling, as his mind recalled the sharp point of the Shadow Walker’s sword at his throat. The night before the funeral he could not sleep at all. There was only one person he could talk to about this. He lit a candle, dressed and made his way down to the basement once again. He knocked on the door rather tentatively; he wasn’t sure how Father Hannibal would receive him.

  Surprisingly, the door opened almost straight away. Father Hannibal, dressed in a thick, white robe reaching to the floor, and a matching white night cap, peered at Aaron through sleepy eyes.

  “I was expecting you,” he said, moving back inside and leaving the door open.

  “You must sleep lightly, Father?”

  “That I do, have done for many a year, ever since Steppland was defeated.”

  Aaron, sensed the irony in Father Hannibal’s words, he closed the door. “You are to officiate at the funerals tomorrow?”

  Aaron poured some hot wax from the top of the candle onto the still cluttered table and sat the candle in the molten wax, held it there for a moment, and withdrew his hand. He sat down.

  Father Hannibal shuffled to his a seat at the opposite end of the table. “Yes, I’ve been given the honour of conducting the service.”

  “You said that you were expecting me?”

  “I know you too well, Aaron, so much more than your own father or mother. You are troubled by what has happened?”

  “The Shadow Walker let me live, Father, he could have slain me just as he did my brothers.”

  “And you feel guilty about this?”

  “Yes, I should have done more, I should have fought him.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “He said: ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid, you don’t have a chance in hell against me.’

  “It’s obvious he didn’t want to kill you, maybe he saw the same thing in you that I have seen. Maybe he is giving you a chance.”

  “A chance at what, Father?”

  “I think you know the answer to that question yourself without me telling you.”

  “In a way I beat him, thwarted him, my father is still alive.”

  “So it seems.”

  “You don’t sound so confident, Father.”

  “Who knows what goes on in the mind of a Shadow Walker, he may be as devious as he is cunning. Killing the heirs to Steppland creates a problem for your father; he now has to consider you as his sole heir.”

  Aaron had never thought of taking over from his father as it was always going to be Luther, the eldest son, who would be the next governor. The stark reality of it struck him like an arrow to his heart. He could not slay his subjects for no reason as his father, Luther and Craig had, it was not in his nature. He could not make the hard decisions that a governor had to make; the task he feared was too daunting, too demanding. “I don’t think I want to be his heir.”

  Father Hannibal raised his eyebrows at Aaron’s words as he stared at him through the gloom of the candlelight. “You may have no choice in the matter.”

  “I will decide what I am going to do with my future,” said Aaron in a distinctively defiant tone.

  Father Hannibal smiled inwardly to himself. That was what he wanted to see in Aaron, some fire, some anger. Aaron would initially make all the excuses under the sun why he shouldn’t be the next governor, but Father Hannibal knew that if Aaron took the seat of power in Steppland his rule would be vastly different. Benjamin liked to keep his people subjugated; that would not be Aaron’s way.

  “Yes, you are right, Master, you should prepare yourself for your own future, whatever that may be.”

  Aaron took the candle from the table and stood up. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the funeral,” he said calmly, his mind now clear.

  After the funeral, relatives and friends adjourned to the castle for the wake. It was a solemn affair, no one talked about what was really on their minds. They all knew that Governor Benjamin Simms and his last son, Aaron, had vastly different natures and personalities. It was inevitable that there would be conflict between them. What would that mean for them, for the people of Darfor and for Steppland. Aaron was now the sole heir to the governorship.

  Some of the younger men tried to induce Aaron to go hunting, but Aaron was going nowhere, he knew he must declare himself to his father, lay down his own path, whatever the consequences.

  The other women were doting on his mother as she sat on the couch, looking pale and sad. She caught her son’s eye and nodded to him. It was her way of saying that she wished to talk with him. He left the group of young men and put out his hand to his mother. She took his hand and stood up. “You will excuse me ladies, I wish to speak to my son.”

  Aaron led her out onto the balcony, the very balcony that the Shadow Walker had climbed onto before disappearing.

  Aaron’s mother turned to him with pain, concern and anguish imprinted on her face. “I want you to promise me that you will try to work with your father.”

  “You mean, help him kill people?”

  “No, I do not mean that. You must find some common ground.”

  “You know he holds the people of Darfor responsible for the death of Luther and Craig. He suspects that they are complicit in aiding the Shadow Walker, or whoever he may be.”

  “You are all I have left, Aaron, the last of my sons.” Her voice faltered and there were tears in her eyes. “If anything happened to you I would surely die.”

  Aaron reached out to his mother and held her firmly. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Mother, but there may well be some changes.”

  “Promise me you will try to get on with your father.”

  “I cannot make that promise, Mother. You know very well I don’t agree with the way father rules Steppland.”

  “Are you going to challenge him?” she said, leaving his arms and wiping away her tears with a white handkerchief.

  “Let’s just call it a process of succession, which will in the end, be better for everyone concerned.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Aaron.”

  “Trust me, Mother, it will be all right.”

  He led her back into the room.

  The next day Aaron went to the gates of the city and questioned the
guards. He asked them who had passed through the gates while the fire was burning. At three of the gates the guards said that no one came through until long after the fire, but at the western gate they recalled two men, one of them riding a black stallion, his face covered with a scarf and hood.

  It must have been the Shadow Walker. How in the hell had he escaped from the palace? Was there a way out of the palace that no one knew about, a tunnel or passage perhaps? He recalled that his father had often told the story of their taking of the castle all those years ago. He and Hugo in their drunken tirades spoke of their opening of the gates, of the fight that ensued. It was a high point in their lives and they liked to relive it again and again. But there was one thing that had always puzzled them – how had the queen escaped? She had simply disappeared.

  It was then he remembered something, the mention of the black stallion. The boy was leading a black stallion, it supposedly belong to a trader who was staying in the small cottage near the castle. He quickly climbed back onto his horse and made his way back toward the palace. He hadn’t gone far when he came across some soldiers dragging two men from a house. A crowd was gathering, an angry looking crowd. An arrow came from nowhere and struck one of the soldiers square in the back. With flaying arms the soldier tried to reach for the arrow as he slowly sank to the ground. The crowd surged forward, swords and spears appeared. The soldiers didn’t have a hope.

  He quickly made his way past the incensed crowd. There were spot fires of fighting in the streets; twice Aaron had to back away and find another route back to the palace. On arriving he found the gates closed. It would not have mattered if they were open anyway, he would not have been able to pass by the enraged mob that was gathering.

  There might just be another way into the castle though. On reaching the cottage he thumped on the door as he peered around, people were watching him. At that very moment he feared for his life.

  “Who is it?” enquired a muffled, frightened voice from within.

  “It’s Aaron, the governor’s son.”