by Dan O'Brien
His brain was sweltering.
His mind thundered.
It was a recipe for foolishness.
Craning back his arm, he lifted his front leg. With a rush of air, he chucked the pistol end over end at the scorpion. The pistol struck the scorpion, causing it to reel back in anguish. It struck the pistol over and over, its giant stinger denting the exterior of the weapon.
Marlowe laughed and dashed up the side of the dune. His wild laughter echoed and rolled across the desert, startling mice and snakes alike that trudged underfoot. He dug his hands into the hot sand, crawling, scampering up the hill like a madman. And as he crested it, he stopped in his tracks.
There was a wall.
It was a wall of darkness: the Wall of Shadows.
He looked at it in awe, his tanned face shielded with one hand. “What is that doing here?” he whispered. As he neared it, the sunlight changed. It disappeared. The wall vanished as if it had never been there. “Now that is the most amazing thing I have ever seen. And I have seen some things,” he laughed to himself.
He walked closer and closer.
With each shift of the light, the wall came into focus and then disappeared again. “An optical illusion,” he murmured as he pushed forward. “I wonder what could be hiding behind a wall of darkness that disappears and reappears at will. This is not exactly promising.”
He continued forward. Shrouded in all its glory, the dark stone was glossy. It sparkled as if illuminated from within.
He leaned his face in close.
A face faded through the stone. Hollow jaw and eyes: it was a broken skull that resembled a man. As if a maestro commanded them as a grand symphony, they rose from the wall, reaching, clawing from within.
Marlowe fell back into the sand.
Digging his hands into the ground, he gritted his teeth as he watched the wall of dismembered hands and dead faces stare at him curiously. They writhed against one another. It was a mass of decaying flesh and pain that watched with prejudice.
“What––why,” he mumbled as he backed away in jagged motions. At its center was a black gate, massive and thick. Slowly, the material moved until Marlowe made out clearly that a massive eye had erupted from the gate. An iris of fire watched him, unblinking.
“I think I’ve gone mad from the heat.”
The gate creaked.
The eye looked around in panic as it swung wide. Marlowe peered through the opening gate and saw that on the other side was sunlight again. Only in the shadow of the wall were there denizens of pain. “I’m dead. That is what this is. I’m dead and I’m walking around in hell.”
A form passed underneath the arch, neither dead nor demon. It looked at Marlowe. “This is not hell. This is Shadowfall.”
XX
A
rmon hated the desert––from the oppressive sun that beat overhead to the cold nights that blew frigid winds atop sunburnt skin. He watched as the soldiers huddled together. This was their first night in the desert.
They had progressed only one-eighth as far as they had hoped. Two men had fallen ill from the heat almost immediately. When the sun had begun to set, some men started to complain, whisper that they would go no farther until they had rest.
And so rest is what they received.
They had found a place to camp beneath one of the high dunes of the desert. Some shallow rocks protruded from the small valley of sand. That is where Armon had found a quiet moment. He heard the other men talk amongst themselves; most wanted to return home. Many did not even know why they were trudging through the desert, camping in strange sand canyons.
Some spoke of seeing a patch of cactus not far off.
The voice was laced with unabashed fear. “Sir.”
Armon lifted himself from his recline on the rock. A soldier dashed toward him, sacrificing sure footing for haste, which resulted in a nasty fall. Twice he tumbled, head over foot, until he came to a stop near the rocks upon which Armon was perched.
Thunder echoed across the desert. The ground shook and the air above melted into surreal colors. Armon looked at the man. His leg was twisted in a way that was not natural. He knelt beside the man. “What was that? Why did you do this to yourself?”
He groaned.
His teeth were stained in blood. “There was….”
Armon grabbed the back of the man’s helmet. The faceplate had cracked and he could see the anguished features of the soldier. “Tell me, soldier.”
He tried to point behind him, but another thunderous tremble assaulted the desert. “There was something underneath,” he hissed, his voice gargled. The thunder came again, this time close, and threw Armon from his kneeling position.
He looked across the rocks at the fallen soldier.
He was not moving.
Armon moved up the face of the dunes. As he reached the top, he scanned the stretch of desert before him. Something thundered forward in the dark. A great mass of sand swirled about and the screams of men and gunfire mixed in the night. Like the footfalls of prehistoric animals, each thunderous burst unbalanced Armon further. A soldier ran past, blood splattered across his helmet and torso armor.
Armon grabbed him hard, steadying him.
“What is going on?”
The sand dissipated and a shadow fell across them. An enormous black form blotted out the moon. The rumble was deafening now and erupted from the massive shadow that covered the entire company.
The soldier pointed at it. “It came out of the ground near the cactus that we found. We can’t stop it.”
Armon turned to look again, letting go of the man. The shadow was amorphous and gargantuan. The screams of the men were dwarfed by a monumental shriek that pierced the night. And again the ground trembled, forcing Armon to the ground, his hands covering his ears.
He watched a soldier run past, only to see a black tendril shoot out from shadow and draw the soldier back toward it. The man groaned; his wail lost as he was pulled deeper into the sandy darkness.
“Corporal,” screamed Armon “Corporal, get control of these men.” The roar came again, the horrendous screech that claimed the screams of agony. Armon ran alongside the shadow, grabbing men and pulling them back from it. And then as quickly as the thunder had come, it left. A great swirl of sand fluttered into the air and the shadow retreated, the moon and night sky clear once more.
The screams of men were heard long into the night.
*
Marlowe walked as if he were in a trance. After passing through the arch, the man had led him farther into the desert. Jagged rock canyons carved the path that they traversed. His guide was thin. Taut musculature was hidden beneath the draped white clothing that reflected the heat of the day.
“What is this?” he called out ahead, still not entirely certain he wasn’t dreaming.
The man did not turn. His tanned, shaven skull was marked with a single line of runes that disappeared over the crown of his head. “This is Shadowfall.”
“And what precisely is Shadowfall?” called Marlowe as he jogged up next to the man. “And who exactly are you?”
Marlowe stood in his path.
Though the man was thin, he was Marlowe’s height. Wider in the shoulders and far paler, Marlowe looked amiss in his present surroundings. “I would like an answer.”
The man looked at him quizzically. “This is Shadowfall,” he replied, indicating the surroundings with his hands. “And I am Holarian. We do not have many visitors I am afraid.”
Marlowe’s shoulders slumped.
“That was an articulate answer. Damn. I must not be dreaming.” He touched his chin with his hand. “You see usually, when I’m dreaming, you would’ve been surly or spoken in some crazy language that I couldn’t understand, or would’ve tried to attack me.”
Holarian stood still and watched him.
Marlowe shook his head.
“You see that simply wouldn’t have happened if this were a hallucination. You would have laughed manically or run up t
he walls or done something equally odd and infuriating. Instead, you waited.”
The man smiled.
“I think I liked it better when I thought I was dreaming.” The man continued to wait, staring at Marlowe. Marlowe tilted his head. “Is there something else, Holarian?”
The man smirked.
“I have introduced myself. You have not.”
“Ah, I see. Pardon me. Stumbling through the desert, hallucinating in the heat, and running from every manner of person I can imagine has dampened my social skills. I am Alexander Marlowe and I am looking for a young girl.”
The man opened his mouth to speak, but Marlowe continued. “I’m sorry, that sounded really bad. I’m not a weirdo or anything looking for a young girl. I’m looking for someone I was traveling with. Tiny gal, blonde hair, silver eyes. About this tall.” He indicated with his hand her approximate height.
Holarian gestured out ahead of them both. “In the village, there is a girl who matches that description. The Elder’s daughter, Sephes, found her in the deep desert. I believe that she has been looking for you.”
Marlowe felt his heart pound.
She was here.
He had found a way to her.
“Are you sure? What was her name?”
Holarian smiled.
“Her name is Dana and she is in one of the shaman’s huts. We can go to her if you like.” Marlowe didn’t bother for further instruction and instead ran full speed down the winding road through the canyon. His blade bounced on his back as he moved. The village opened out in front of him just beyond the bend of the rocks.
He could not believe his eyes.
Destroyed buildings that had once been skyscrapers of a mighty city littered his vision. Most had been beaten and compressed to form simpler housing, but it could not hide the fact that the structures had once been modern. The ground was concrete in places, some upturned by undergrowth. There had once been a sprawling metropolis where there was now a village.
Marlowe knew this for certain.
He turned, looking at the clothing on Holarian and then on a passing child. The white-layered fabrics were too simple to account for the departed world he was witnessing. “What is this?”
He spread his hands out. “This is Shadowfall.”
Marlowe shook his head, swallowing hard, desperately trying to find the words. He grabbed the man’s clothing and tugged on it. “What you are wearing,” and then gesturing to the buildings, “and what I see do not match up, my new friend. What is this? This is not a desert village. This was a city.”
Holarian stared at Marlowe.
“This is Shadowfall,” he repeated.
Marlowe stepped away and shook his head, laughing. “Where is Dana? One thing at a time. Take me to Dana.”
Holarian nodded and moved past Marlowe into a throng of villagers, their collective stares on Marlowe as he walked past. The buildings grew more and more rundown, but the remnants of what had once been a metropolis did not escape his perception. He pushed it from his mind, focusing instead on Dana.
They rounded a corner, nearly tripping over a faded fire hydrant. Marlowe pointed at it, mouth open. “Forget I said anything. It shouldn’t be here. None of this should be here,” he murmured as he fell back into step.
Holarian stopped in front of a dilapidated enclosure that could have previously been a business office. It was a shaman’s hut now. He bowed to Marlowe. “This is where your friend is,” he spoke, gesturing inside.
Where there might have once been a glass door was a wall of beads. Marlowe moved forward, but Holarian’s hand stopped him. “Yes, Holarian?”
The man leaned in closer.
“Are you really my friend?” he asked.
Marlowe looked at the man and patted him on the back. “Yes, Holarian. You are my friend. Can I go inside and see my other friend now?”
The man nodded and stood straight, his back to the wall of the enclosure. Marlowe shook his head and ducked underneath the beads. The interior was darkened and humid.
“Dana?” he called out.
He heard a murmur.
“Dana?”
There was a whisper and then a voice. A voice he knew well. “Marlowe?” she replied, her voice cracked.
He moved forward, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. He saw her on the cot. Next to her there was another form: a girl. “Is that you, Dana?” he called again, moving closer to the cot.
His heart leapt.
“Dana, it is you,” he replied, his muscles feeling fatigue finally. He thought he might fall over. She pushed up herself so that she was sitting and reached out her arms. He hugged her gently, noticing that she was in a bed.
“I thought I would never see you again,” she cried, tears filling her eyes and streaming down her cheeks.
Marlowe sat on the edge of the cot. “Me neither. It has been quite a journey. I have a lot to tell you.” He looked at the girl. “Who is this? Is this Sephes, the young woman who found you in the desert?”
Dana looked at him in mock suspicion.
“How did you know that?”
Marlowe smiled, his lips cracked.
“My new friend filled me in.”
Sephes shifted uncomfortably on the ground.
“You are Marlowe?”
Marlowe reached out a hand in greeting.
Sephes glanced at Dana and then stood, brushing past Marlowe. He watched as she pushed through the beads. Holarian poked his head in questioningly. Marlowe waved him away with a shake of his hand.
“Did I say something wrong?’
Dana looked at him as if she had not seen him in years.
“No, she is awkward. She is….”
Marlowe understood and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “No need to explain, Dana. You can explain to her later that I’m not a threat, but we need to keep moving. Armon is still coming.”
She looked at him panicked, wiping the tears from her eyes and face. “The assassin from Orion? Did you see him?”
Marlowe sat back against the wall with a sigh. “No. When I broke free of the underground caverns I had fallen into…”
Dana chuckled. “Mograli was right.”
“Mograli? What is a Mograli?”
She shook her head. “Later. Continue.”
“Anyways, after I got out of the caverns, I stumbled upon a cave in a sand valley that you and Sephes must have used. I followed your trail and found the pack.”
“The pack,” she exclaimed. “I left it behind. I am sorry, Marlowe.”
He swiped his hand dismissively. “It was a good thing you did. It might have been difficult to find you otherwise. Inside the pack was a sphere, a communications device of some sort. A woman spoke to me thinking I was Armon. She said that he was in trouble with some lord if he did not retrieve us. He did not strike me as the kind of man who would be deterred easily.” Marlowe looked at the entrance and added: “Actually, I think he said something to that effect as I tore the pack from him.”
“I can’t go yet,” she replied, not meeting his eyes.
He stood up and gestured outside. “This place is not what it seems. Have you been outside?”
She shook her head.
“I’m sick, Marlowe. I haven’t left this bed.”
The beads clacked against one another.
The sound caused Marlowe to draw his blade from his back in a smooth motion. Sephan and Mograli entered, Sephes hiding just behind her father. “You must be Marlowe,” spoke Sephan, extending his hand.
Marlowe looked at Dana, who nodded. Slipping his blade into its sheath once more, he grasped Sephan’s hand. “I am. Who are you?”
Sephan smiled widely.
“I am Sephan.” He gestured to Sephes. “I am Sephes’ father and Elder of Shadowfall. My daughter found Dana in the desert and brought her here. We have been caring for her.”
Marlowe nodded, glancing at Mograli.
“I thank you then.”
“We had thought the Mim
ic might have gotten you,” spoke Mograli, his deep voice resonating. “It seems that Dana’s guardian is more resilient than many who have walked the desert.”
“Why does Shadowfall sit on an old city? What happened to what was here?”
Sephan shifted his gaze to Mograli. They exchanged worried looks. Mograli stepped past the Elder. “I can grant you the answers you seek. But they require a price, to trust the spirits of old.”
Marlowe looked back at Dana.
“We don’t have time for this.”
“Why?” queried Sephan, interested.
Marlowe paced toward him. Though equally as wide as the Elder in the shoulders, there was a height discrepancy; the advantage was Sephan’s. “They’re coming for us. They are coming.”
Dana coughed and tried to lean forward into the conversation. Sephes darted past her father, and even Marlowe, positioning herself to comfort the girl.
“That is what I said. I remember now. I said the Lurking was coming. That is why it is familiar. The doctor told me that the Lurking would seek me out.”
Marlowe fixed his eyes on the reactions of Sephan and Mograli. They had exchanged grim glances. “Something is coming. It’s not what I fear, but what the two of you fear, that is of interest to me. What did she say that would strike such fear into you?”
“The Lurking. We have heard such talk before. I fear you need to come with me, now more than ever, Marlowe of Orion. There is much you need to see, perhaps much we all need to see before the end,” pressed Mograli.
Marlowe would not be deterred. “They will be upon Shadowfall before too long. They will burn this place to the ground to find her.”
Mograli remained impassive.
“It will not take long.”
Dana lay back against the comforters of her cot. Sephes pressed a damp fabric to her head. She turned to the others in anguish. “She is very warm. Her fever has not yet broken.”
Sephan touched Marlowe’s shoulder. “Perhaps what Mograli has to show you will help Dana.”
“You don’t know what he wishes to show me?”
Sephan shook his head. “Mograli has lived many more moons than I. He is the wisest in Shadowfall. If there are answers to be found, then he shall find them.”
