Two Wolves, One Shadow

by Chris Smith

With his energy restored, but looking rather dishevelled from his encounter with the maggots, James stood up cautiously. The insect was awesome. It stretched its magnificent wings to their full extent, happy to be free from its cramped home. The body of the creature was silky smooth, its wings similar to those of a bat, and it had the long tail of a scorpion, which writhed like a snake being tortured.

  The creature was instantly recognisable to James, having created it in his now notorious painting of Pete and his cronies. Somehow it had come to life here in the shadow underworld. James remembered back to when he had created the portrait; how he’d designed several scorpion bees with venomous stingers, armed them with a black poison which he injected into the rotting faces of his three victims. He had designed these pests to hurt their victims, and to keep hurting them, without pause or mercy. Creating them had given him great pleasure, imagining the suffering they would inflict.

  His momentary fixation on the bee gave way to an instinct to flee before the insect became aware of him. However, before his thoughts could be translated into action, the sound of other shells erupting behind him demanded his attention. Two more scorpion bees had hatched. The squirming maggots he’d previously waded through were all transforming, leaving him surrounded by a mass of pupae, ripening, ready to give birth. Thankfully, the hatched creatures had not detected him yet. But James knew they would if he didn’t get away soon.

  ‘Follow the light!’ The command echoed in his head.

  James picked out a way to the other side of the cave where the guiding light waited. Maggots and pupae blocked large areas of the tunnel; however, the route seemed reasonably clear except for a few troublesome areas. In these unavoidable spots unhatched pupae lay maturing. James moved through the tunnel as quietly as possible. Desperate to remain undetected he made his way over towards the waiting light, moving as fast as he dared. He stepped lightly over the top of the pupae where possible; alternatively, he’d carefully roll them aside with his foot. The short journey felt long even though, in reality, it took him only a few moments to cross the tunnel. When he was almost there he heard a pupa’s shell crack at his feet. The pupa exploded as its occupant burst out of the shell. The creature’s venomous tail flicked against James’ leg. Panic stricken, he pulled it away, letting out an involuntary cry which he quickly stifled. He rubbed the area, relieved the stinger had not penetrated his flesh. The creature’s head remained trapped inside the shell. James moved on and reached his destination without further incident.

  The guiding light flew upwards a couple of metres and out of the hole James had fallen through. James scrambled up, grabbed the edge of the hole and then lifted himself through. With his legs flaying under him he kicked a hatching scorpion half out of its shell into a cluster of pupae. The noise of the angry insects resounded from below. Thinking of the scorpion bees bursting out beneath him, no doubt preparing to attack, James moved quickly up and away from the hole.

  As soon as he had pulled free from the nest, the guiding light took off ahead of him at a phenomenal pace. The star zig—zagged across the surface of the warren. Somehow it found the invisible safe spots where the ground could support his weight. Despite the odd crack underfoot, James raced after his guide without hesitation. Occasionally he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see insects in pursuit, but all was clear. They hurried out of the mist which for so long had restricted James’ vision. He could see once more the rivers of light rays in the sky, flowing ahead of them towards the king’s palace. In the distance, a forest with huge imposing trees and massive branches loomed ahead. They raced towards it. As they got closer, James could see the large deep shadows cast by the foliage. For the first time he began to doubt his guide. Anything could be lurking in the forest. And as he got nearer to the trees, with the thick undergrowth of the forest becoming visible, a strange feeling began to grow inside him. Unable to determine the reason for his uneasiness, James threw caution to the wind and charged into the undergrowth, following the light as it manoeuvred its way quickly through the forest. Running between the trees, James became disorientated and confused. He was now dependent on the light for direction; without its help he would never find his way out.

  Thankfully, the guiding light eventually slowed down to a more sedate pace. A stitch was making itself felt in James’ side. Attempting to reduce his heart rate after the marathon run, he drew deep breaths. He took the air in through his nose and expelled it out through his mouth with a sigh. He assumed that the light had decided they were out of danger for the time being. However, they continued through the forest at a fast walking pace. Relaxing a little as his heart rate settled, James began looking around at the surrounding vegetation. Mostly he saw what you would expect to see in a forest, except that it was devoid of colour. The trees and bushes appeared to be infected with a disease; the foliage was dying in sickening shades of black and grey. The umbrella of branches shut out the rivers of light rays in the sky heading for the palace. Darkness crowded in on him and his guiding light.

  Once or twice, in the dark undergrowth, James thought he saw something glint in the bushes. But he was unable to stop because then he would lose sight of the guiding light. The further on he went, the more often he saw it. Each time, the uneasy feeling from earlier grew until he finally realised the reason for his discomfort: with complete certainty, he knew something or someone was stalking him.

  For the rest of the long hike, James kept alert for further signs of the prowler as he trudged behind the light. The speed at which the light moved meant his efforts were half hearted. His fear of losing sight of his guide far outweighed the fear of his stalker. Moreover, its presence wasn’t threatening; in fact, James sensed no impending danger whatsoever. He assumed that the prowler would have attacked by now if it was going to.

  James followed the light through some dense bush. He burst through the thickets into a small opening. The guardian light stopped. It had brought him to a strange barren garden. He recognised it as a garden because of the beautifully prepared plant beds. James bent down and plunged his hand into the fertile soil. Letting the moist compost run through his fingers, he began wondering what sort of plants grew here and who had prepared the beds for sowing. The garden struck James as peculiar because absolutely nothing was growing in it. Absent of all signs of life: birds, insects, bushes, flowers or plants of any kind, the place was silent. Even the rustling of leaves from the trees, which provided a canopy over the garden, was nonexistent. James saw an old wooden bench made from twisted tree roots. A stone cobbled path writhed like a snake between the plant beds to a circular stone platform where the bench sat, right in the middle of the garden. James walked over to the bench and sat down. With no idea what to expect, he waited. His heavy breathing returned to normal. In contrast to the deadly stillness, he moved his body, adjusting to the contours of the bench. In tune with the absence of thoughts in James’ mind, the sound of silence stretched on forever, waiting in anticipation.

  Where is it? Sensing the eyes of the prowler on him, he scanned the terrain surrounding the garden. He saw no signs of an intruder. The bushes behind him rustled and James spun around. Thinking he’d caught a glimpse of a dark figure scurrying away into the undergrowth, he raced to the edge of the trees. The darkness of the woods seemed much more intimidating and dangerous than before. Was something hiding in there? He wasn’t sure. He stood, waiting for any sign of movement, but all was still. Deciding he’d been mistaken, he returned to the bench and the garden with its veil of silence. As James approached the seat he could see the guiding light resting motionless on one of the bench arms. But it was not resting directly on the bench, he soon realised; it was perched on something so striking that he wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before.

  What is that? Reading his mind, the light flittered out of the way. Underneath, James saw a silky smooth object, about the size of a golf ball and shaped like a seed. He was intrigued; all thoughts of the intruder vanished. He sat down and picked up the object to i
nspect it. Maybe I’m supposed to plant this, he thought. But, perhaps it isn’t a seed at all. The object danced with colours which drifted across its surface like clouds in the sky. James couldn’t resist jiggling it between his fingers. He rolled it over and over in his palm, and for a brief moment his mind became as empty as the beautiful flowerbeds in the garden; as open as an abyss.

  Then James remembered Grandpa warning him about the dark and dangerous things occupying this land. He became conscious of his surroundings again. And yet nothing in this garden threatened him. He absentmindedly jiggled the object through his fingers as his mind wandered…

  How can they treat me like, I’m a worthless…maggot? It just isn’t right: it’s not fair. James once again explored his feelings about the persecution being inflicted upon him. I have rights. I have rights. Can anyone hear me? I have rights! But why do I constantly jump to their tune, to my shadow’s tune. Thanks Grandpa. At least I know it’s my shadow now. I hate how his whispers push and shove me. I hate that he rides me with his demands to do this, act like that; it drives me mad. But thinking about it is useless; no matter how much I think it should be different, it isn’t. And that relentless bleating of its voice and its demands to fix things is draining me. But I shouldn’t have to fix anything. Am I not entitled to a little respect, to be treated fairly? he reasoned. Where’s the justice; we are all entitled to justice, to be given basic respect — aren’t we?

  ‘Who’s going to respect a weak fool like you?’ Jake the Rake’s hissing voice rang out in the helmet. James knew Jake wasn’t there. How could he be? And then he heard his own voice answering back.

  ‘You’d better not talk to me like that.’

  ‘Or what, Mr. Pathetic.’

  ‘I’ll drop you in it with Mr. Preacher.’ James cringed in embarrassment at the sound of his voice running for the rescue of Mr. Preacher. Why on earth would he think that that fool of a teacher could help? But then again, isn’t that what teachers are meant to do?

  ‘See if I care, wimp. Everyone will know you’re a yellow-bellied snitch, a spineless jellyfish.’

  James couldn’t quite come to terms with the sound of his voice arguing with Jake. He wondered if he’d lost his marbles. He wanted to join in as the exchange developed. That stupid saying, ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me,’ came to mind. Jakes name calling hurt like hell; he’d developed a great skill with words. James’ eyes reddened in outrage as he listened to more spite pour forth from Jake’s mouth. Where the hell does he get the right to talk to me as if I’m a piece of dirt? He thought. At that moment, he wanted to rip Jake’s vile tongue from his filthy mouth.

  ‘You are the vermin,’ James’ voice spoke out in his defence. ‘You’re like a snake, or a filthy little rat.’

  ‘Oooh, who’s the one calling names now? Coming down to my level are we? Perhaps I’ll be the one telling on you. Then everyone will know what a nasty piece of work you really are.’

  The thought of Jake calling him on their similarities stung him. James wanted revenge. He wanted Jake to cry out in pain, for everyone to witness his pathetic plea for mercy. Wishing he could conjure up his scorpion bees, he imagined them on their way to attack his enemy; they would strike Jake at any moment. He imagined their hum growing into an excited buzz. Then suddenly it occurred to James that he really could hear the bees; the sound was not a figment of his imagination but was real, and to make matters worse, not far away.

  The hum of the bees yanked his attention back to the garden, which had transformed. Black weeds were now spilling out from the flowerbeds, covering everything. They were growing as thick and dense as thickets. Their vines had wrapped themselves around the bench to bind him to its frame. In the air, a sickly smell touched his nostrils. It emanated from a solitary red flower sitting upon his shoulder. It was a beacon for the bees. .

  Desperately, James wriggled to get free. But no matter how much he squirmed, the vines held him tightly in their clutches. To make matters worse, his frantic movements were causing thick pollen to fly into the air from the flower. The nectar descended like snow, covering him in a fine layer of dust.

  ‘Arrhhh’ James screamed in frustration.

  The scorpion bees were close now. A tidal wave of panic surged inside him at the thought of what might happen next. His heart sank. He could hear that the bees were just moments away.

  Filling the garden with noise, the scorpion bees burst through the trees in one huge rush. The once peaceful refuge was now chaotic and frightening. In an effort to remain undetected, James stopped struggling to break free from the vines and instead tried to keep perfectly still. But his efforts were in vain. Attracted by the scent, the swarm gravitated to him as though he were a magnet. They descended on him in a fury. James’ only option was to prevent them from settling on him, so he jerked his body violently whenever one landed. This tactic had some success even though his movements were restricted. But then the pain hit. Having managed to land on his arm, one of the scorpion bees was drilling its stinger deep into his flesh. Deeper and deeper the stinger plunged. James watched helplessly as the creature injected its black poison into his vein. He could see the venom travelling up inside his arm, turning the muscle black. Overcome with fear, James tried again to break free from his bindings, but his efforts were futile.

  ‘Don’t think you can come into my world and get away with it, fool,’ the voice of James’ shadow was accusing. ‘Pay the price, feel the pain.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ James blurted out, inexplicability. The poison stung as it made its slow progress up his arm. ‘Why this? It isn’t fair’, he cried.

  ‘Shut up, blubbering is only going to make it worse.’

  Then a second jab hit him in the left thigh. The voice of the Shadow screaming, combined with the searing pain in his leg, was overwhelming. ‘You idiot; you pathetic lump of nothing, don’t you know they can sense you, read your thoughts? You feeble clown, just how stupid can you be?’

  James believed the Shadow. Who else but someone as stupid, weak, and insipid as me would get caught like this? He thought. Where is my damn guiding light anyway? He couldn’t see his guide anywhere.

  ‘Bloody thing,’ he shouted.

  Severe pain hit him again as another scorpion bee injected its poison into the back of his neck. The black venom burned its way down his spine leaving him almost paralysed. His arm had already turned black, the venom having progressed up to his neck. Under his shirt, James felt the sickness spreading into his chest. His veins pulsated, ready to burst. His spine felt like it was on fire and he could only sit helplessly as the poison closed in on his heart. James knew that if it reached there all hope of rescue would be extinguished. The blackness would have him, forever.

  Pain, not more pain. James grasped the seed so tightly that the object cut into his hand. The sharpness nagged its way into his mind, breaking through his focus on the burning sensation in his back. Concentrating hard, James opened his hand; he had to mentally prize each finger open, one at a time. The seed lay in his palm, pitch black like the poison surrounding his heart. He prayed for help. To his surprise, it arrived in the shape of a series of thoughts.

  Why is this thing black? Isn’t it a gift, like the helmet? It feels more like a burden. This isn’t right. How can it be black when it was so colourful before, just as bright as I was feeling.

  Now it’s heavy and dark, and I’m trapped here... What am I supposed to do?

  James glimpsed something stir inside the object. What’s that? I saw it sparkle. Holy shit, it’s my guiding light! Once more James remembered Grandpa’s instructions to ’follow the light, wherever it goes.’ But how the hell can I go in there?’ Suddenly, as though a light bulb had been turned on, he saw the answer. Use my mind: my thoughts can change it.

  The guiding light grew bigger with each word and soon it had resumed its original size. James was encouraged by this outcome and wondered if, perhaps, his negative thoughts had caused the objec
t to turn black. If so, he reasoned, positive thoughts might well change it back.

  Concentrating his thoughts on the things he loved most, like painting, James attempted to change his attitude. The seed responded, the darkness giving way to speckles of white and other colours. He thought of the other great things about himself too: he acknowledged his resilience through all the difficulties at school; his courage in facing the terrible things inflicted upon him; and his willingness to make things better. Actually, I’ve always tried my best, he concluded. In fact, I’ve always done my best.

  The seed continued to change before his eyes until the blackness was all but gone. The black venom too, was dissipating from his veins. One or two tears ran down his face. Acknowledging these things made him feel uncomfortable, but better and stronger at the same time. As he experienced the power of his thoughts, James saw with clarity that he couldn’t change past events. He couldn’t control what happened. However, he could change how he related to his experiences and, more importantly, how he felt about himself.

  The guiding light shone brightly before bursting free from the seed with a flash of light. His eyes took a second to recover from the sudden glare. When they did, James saw a very different garden. The weeds now lay withered. Huge sunflowers had sprouted up to replace them. James looked with wonder across the amazing sea of yellow. Happily at their work, the scorpion bees hopped from flower to flower collecting nectar. James loved the taste of honey. He could see the hive amid the branches of a nearby tree. How had he missed it? A cheeky idea jumped into his head, causing a smile to spread across his face.

  Taste the honey. Go on, you deserve it.

  With the pain gone from his back he was easily able to break the weakened weeds that minutes ago had clamped him with a vice like grip to the bench. James walked over to the hive and manoeuvred his hand into the cavity, pulling out a handful of deep rich honey. The taste made his body tingle with pleasure. Could anything taste better, he wondered? But the honey gave him more than pleasure; inside, he experienced a comforting warmth. This comfort empowered him, giving him a sense of his real strength, a feeling that he could master the worst this land had to offer.

  But more than this, he began considering the events in the garden and how this wonderful honey had come to exist. As the seed changed so did the garden, but he’d changed the seed with his mind. This seed flourishes on thoughts, James deduced. He considered his experiences further and decided that the object was indeed a seed, perhaps the seed that gives birth to ideas. With the sweet taste of honey lingering on his lips, he thought about how the weeds had taken root in the garden and then held him down, making him vulnerable to attack; how the plants had grown without him realising, because he had been deep in thought; how the vines had bound him to the bench while he wrestled with Jake’s sniping voice. They had, he now comprehended, taken control during his blackest thoughts, while he was considering how to hurt Jake. Furthermore, he had somehow called the Scorpion Bees. At last, James understood the significance of the seed. My thoughts are seeds, which germinate and come into flower if I tend and, nourish them. But I control my thinking. I create my own thoughts: I can call the bees or taste the honey.

  The guiding light, understanding James’ reasoning, headed off in a new direction. James followed it out of the garden and back into the forest.