Two Wolves, One Shadow

by Chris Smith

  ***

  James did his best to avoid any further cuts. He shifted through the glass rubble under the directive of the demons. The glass pieces slipped and slid precariously on top of each other and no matter how carefully he moved it was inevitable that he would collect a few cuts in the process. Most of these nicks were on his leg as shards slipped past him. The resulting wounds turned large parts of his jeans dark red.

  Much of the glass he collected appeared useless, too small or scratched, but Hogster insisted on James grabbing everything he was directed to.

  ‘No, no, no, no, yes, that one. Okay. No, no, yes.’

  ‘Look mate, this one’s all scratched, what’s the point of that?’ Des said.

  ‘It’s not that bad.’ Hogster defended the work he’d gotten James to do.

  ‘It’s useless.’

  ‘I’m keeping it anyway, you’ll see.’

  Hogster’s pile of useless rubble, acquired through James’ hard work, had grown significantly. James thought the demon’s madness might have method after all. It may well happen that the good glass ran out. If that occurred, the others would be in need of his stash, and he would have the power.

  From where he had been lurking in the background, the final master demon slinked up to James unnoticed.

  ‘Don’t you wish you looked as good as that?’ He indicated the monument.

  ‘Yes, of course, who wouldn’t?’ James replied.

  ‘Well, if you steal the black dragon for me, I’ll help you.’

  Pigme had already finished the black dragon, which was now perched on a makeshift table, ready to be attached to the crest. James was awestruck by the beauty of Pigme’s detailed work; it looked like it should have taken weeks, not hours, to create. James empathised with the seventh master demon’s desire. He too had felt the lure of desirable things, felt the extreme power of envy. When someone has what you desperately want, the emotional turmoil provokes the capacity for anything.

  ‘What if I get caught’?

  ‘What if you don’t?’

  ‘How will you help me?’ James asked.

  ‘I’ll give you a chance to get out of here, my friend. I’ll give you my sword so that you can fight your way out.’

  Somehow, the demon didn’t feel like his friend, and the sword, where was it? Although the temptation was great, James sensed a trap. He politely refused the demon’s offer. The demon didn’t see it that way though. Angered by James refusal to help him, he hit him with a bolt of lightning, then again, and again.

  ‘Good lad, Itch. What did he do?’ asked Mal.

  ‘Said he’d steal the dragon for me if I helped him,’ said Itch.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Ritz. All the master demons had congregated around the commotion. ‘Sounds a bit suss, if you ask me.’

  ‘Are you calling me a liar, Mr. Beautiful?’

  ‘Cut it out,’ intervened Hogster. ‘Don’t you think you should stop, Itch?’

  ‘Look he’s useless now, we’ll have to finish the monument ourselves, idiot’ said Slug.

  James lay dead still on the ground trying to appear on the edge of death, which wasn’t too far from the truth. Mal attached the chain to his collar. Four demons helped him drag James across to the monument, near the throne, stopping between its feet. His restraints were pegged to the ground as James continued to play dead. At least he could rest and recover now, despite the buzz of electricity still reverberating through his bones.

  James struggled to stay in touch with the events unfolding around him. It was impossible to be cognisant of the demons’ activities without giving his condition away. After a while he gave in to his need for sleep, allowing himself to drift away. He slept heavily and for what felt like a long time until his subconscious sensed movement and stirred him to wakefulness.

  James stood up, shaking off the remaining drowsiness. The chain attached to his neck pulled taught as he strained against its anchor in the floor. Not really expecting it to give, he went through the motion of testing the strength of its hold. Having satisfied his presumption, James surveyed the temple. It had been transformed during his sleep. Directly in front of him a sort of boxing ring had been erected. Around the boxing ring, stands or terraces covered the three sides of the square facing the monument, which was now complete. The image of Pete was now encased by rings of thorns overlaid at angles on one another to create a sort of birdcage around the monument. At the foot of the statue, James saw a familiar figure sitting regally on the king’s throne. The sight of his shadow confused him. Why was he sitting there as if he was the King — surely, Pete was the king? If not, what the hell was this monument for?

  Noise burst into the temple, shouting, aggressive noise. Hundreds of demons poured onto the terraces, screaming abuse at him, gesturing with their hands their hatred of him. Behind the demons, shadows followed. How many there were was impossible to say, but they outnumbered the demons at least two to one. Had they stood next to his own shadow sitting on the throne it would have been impossible to tell them apart.

  Packed in tightly on the terraces, the hoard continued to assault him with their profanities. The intensity of the abuse escalated before the noise suddenly ceased. At the furthest end of the ring, James noticed a shadow climbing through the ropes. James studied the dark figure. At first, its appearance was much the same as the other shadows, including his own, but then a change took place. The figure began to wither, turning into a new creature with a thin, snake-like body. By the time it had finished its transformation, the creature was looking familiar. Up in the ring, Jake’s shadow beckoned James to join it.

  The audience, responding to Jake’s gesture as though released from their silence, went wild as Jake pranced around the stage like a champion fighter. Mal moved forward and with a hit from his spear broke the anchor that held James. The demon then led him by the chain to the ring, supported by the hissing encouragement of his spear, lightning flashing at its tip. Flicking its fingers, Jake’s dark shadow excitedly awaited his entrance.

  James climbed into the ring. The other six master demons sat down at the ringside in prime position. Itch held in his hands the sword he’d offered James. The demon threw it into the ring. It landed, point down, halfway between Jake’s shadow and James. The blade, long and true, radiated brighter than lightning. They both moved at the same moment but James was just a little quicker. Plucking the sword from the mat he swung it through the air, feeling the power, much as King Arthur must have when he first plucked Excalibur from the stone. Jake’s shadow sucked in its gut as the sword flashed by without connecting, and then nervously backed away. James sensed the dark figure’s fear. But before he could decide what he was actually going to do, a second sword of black glass, razor sharp, was thrown at the feet of his opponent. From the rafters a chant broke out, ‘Fight, Fight, Fight, Fight.’ And James saw that familiar wicked smile of Jake’s slither across the shadow’s face.