Ascending Shadows

by Everet Martins

  There wasn’t a soul in sight. No faces peeking out from behind shuttered windows, no one roaming the empty street. A sign carved to resemble a loaf of bread creaked on the wind. A bakery, Isa reckoned. Maybe the Tigerians ate more than just meat. The sign was probably the most immaculate part of the village, the only shop of a few that looked to be maintained. There looked to be a smithy at the other end of the street and maybe a general store.

  Half of the Whisperers were crowded around something. It was hard to get a proper look with all the bodies and shifting Tougere legs. There was a familiar buzzing in the air that made Isa’s guts churn. Three red carrion birds lazily circled above them, occasionally letting out angry squawks. The water cooling his body was already evaporating, the sun’s bite returning with a vengeance.

  “You see anything?” Greyson asked.

  Isa shook his head. “No, you?” A fly landed on his cheek, and he swatted it away.

  “No.” Greyson craned his neck and stood on his toes, his hair now a bright red since it had been washed. The Tigerians leading them stopped them at the mouth of the road. Isa looked over at Senka and Juzo, both shifting to try to get a look at whatever the Tigerians were staring at.

  Tatlat issued a series of orders, his men fanning out down the street with weapons drawn. He watched them head for houses, pushing open doors. No screams came from their occupants, no sounds of resistance, only doors squealing on rusty hinges. He saw why.

  A pile of bodies, more like shredded flesh, were in the center of the road. There were at least twenty Tigerian corpses riddled with gaping wounds, their flesh ripped apart as if they had exploded from within. He saw vertebrae standing out from a ragged neck, exposed ribs, spilled offal. There were countless severed limbs, blood matted fur crushed up between them. He spotted a few boils that hadn’t opened yet, flesh thinned and threatening to split with the slightest movement. The Shadow plague had spread.

  He looked at Senka, who was looking back at him wide-eyed. “She’s here,” Senka squeaked.

  “Who’s here?” Greyson asked. “You know who did this? Who-who’s capable of doing th-this atrocity?”

  Juzo was on his feet, red eye scanning the windows, the rooftops, and the road with a frantic energy.

  “What in Lord Ashrath’s name could’ve done that,” the man beside him whispered.

  Ashrath, not only a city then. A god? A prophet? Isa thought distantly. He could only stare, swatting away the occasional fly. “Something about this just doesn’t feel right,” he said. And it wasn’t because there was a pile of bodies. It was something he couldn’t place, a vile presence on the air, a feeling that made him want to run the other way. It was the same way he felt when they reached the first Tigerian village.

  All they could do was wait. Tatlat’s men eventually returned, again crowding in around the bodies with expressions that could only be puzzlement, though it was hard to tell. Most had stowed their weapons in their ornamented sheaths. They all looked so much the same to him. An arm shuddered in the pile of the dead, its clawed fingers twitching.

  “Get back,” Isa said. The same brown-haired arm quivered again. “Get back!” he screamed. Tatlat’s eyes shifted to him, then followed Isa’s back to the pile.

  There was a fleshy pop and dark globs of blood sprayed across a pair of Tigerians. Their Tougeres reeled in surprise, both of them hurled from their saddles and onto the dirt, throwing up dust. One of the remaining boils had opened, something slithering out. One riderless Tougere padded back from the pile, the other pounding off down the street.

  A hooded cobra rose up slow as mud, its violet eyes shining like amethysts. Its head split apart down the middle, flesh reforming into two heads. The two became four then four became eight hissing heads, tongues slithering in mirrored copies. All their heads formed a shifting semi-circle.

  Men screamed, Tougeres growled, and Tigerians shouted. The fleeing Tougere never stopped, blurring in the haze at the other end of the village.

  “By the—” Greyson choked off.

  “Get back,” Isa said cautiously. “Everyone get back.” He started inching back, tugging on the chains at his sides to direct the others next to him, hoping they’d follow.

  The Tigerians that had led them to the village fanned out around the pile of bodies and filled in where there were gaps.

  Someone near Senka shrieked and tried to sprint away, making it two steps before being snapped back by his chains. “Stop!” Senka hissed. “You’ll take its attention!”

  And so it did. The snake whirled on them, all of its shimmering eyes staring between Tigerians and Senka. The man screamed again, writhing back, making his chains jingle. “Quiet!” Senka snorted, raised her hand up and gave him a hard punch behind the ear. The man’s body went limp, falling with a thud.

  The cobra surveyed the Whisperers hemming it in. The nearest Tigerian was transfixed, mouth hanging open, a rivulet of drool slipping from the corner of his lip. The cobra pulled back, all its mouths hissing a deadly warning. It darted in, and something flashed past, tearing all of its heads free from its body. Both its heads and body flopped to the ground, lifeless as the bodies below it. Tatlat growled at the beheaded snake, his blade streaked with glowing violet blood.

  The Tigerian under its peculiar spell snapped to his senses, jaw closing, stumbling back, breath coming in panicked waves. He unsheathd his sword and hacked into the snake, cutting it into three sections. The Tigerian growled at the dead snake, started to sheath his sword when another snake darted from the pile.

  He drew his blade, swiped, and missed. The snake latched onto his neck, hissing, smoke curling into the air where it bit him. He snatched the snake from his neck by the tail and bashed its head into the ground, spraying out violet. He roared, one hand clutching his wound, raised his boot and stomped its head flat.

  They all had their weapons drawn back, ready to strike at anything else that decided to emerge from the pile. Nothing did.

  The bitten Tigerian stumbled back, a mix of red and violet blood streaming down his chest. He procured some supplies from a hip pouch and started wrapping a bandage around his neck.

  “You have to kill him,” Isa said it loud enough that Tatlat would hear.

  The bitten Tigerian stared at him with hate in his eyes as he worked on securing a knot for his bandage.

  “You know I speak the truth,” Isa said. Tatlat regarded him flatly then looked at his bitten soldier. “He’s a liability. He must die. The disease will spread, everyone will die. There will be more snakes if you don’t. The Shadow—” Isa cut off as the bitten Tigerian rose up, amber colored fur fluttering in the wind. The bitten Tigerian marched for him. “Hurry. You must kill him! He has to die.” The Tigerian grabbed Isa’s chains, dragged him off his feet, and drove a fist into his gut.

  Isa choked, felt all the water in his stomach pressed from his lips in a mouth spreading bolus of vomit. He fell to the ground, surprised at the weakness filling his body. Everyone had their breaking point. Had his body already taken more than it could handle? He supposed he was severely weakened by Corin’s beating and the abject lack of recovery. He watched the watery mix spread between his knees, greedily sucked into the earth.

  He thought he might have heard Senka starting to protest. The same Tigerian made his way for her and rose his arm back before Tatlat whistled a command, stopping him. Tatlat made the sound that meant it was time to move on, a series of three quick grunts. His men were vicious, but they were obedient.

  Tatlat had the bodies put to fire, leaving the pile of burning dead behind them. The black smoke curled up to the sky, twisted by the wind, fading to a curling reed in the background as they marched on. The next black hump on the horizon started taking shape, another village a few miles away.

  Isa tried to wrap his mind around what happened. Somehow the Shadow princess was still alive. The thought made a shiver run down his legs. She was alive and close by. Those bodies were hardly a day old. Somehow she’d escaped, but he could’
ve sworn she was dead. He saw Senka slit her throat, watched the blood spill from her wounds. He remembered looking back to check on Senka, peering back down to find the Shadow princess gone as if never there. He couldn’t explain it, not that his knowledge of magic went deep. The only part of her that remained then was her violet blood. It should’ve been impossible, but that was magic. Magic made the impossible into reality. Magic had made him hairless, given him strength, speed, and pain resistance.

  Isa closely watched the bitten Tigerian. Here was an opportunity to see how the disease process progressed. The Arch Wizard would want to know of this. The bitten Tigerian was forced to walk as his mount was the one who had torn off, never to return. Dogs were more loyal. It seemed like walking might have been considered a shameful thing to them as he plodded along behind the slaves a fair distance away. Or maybe he was just dying. Isa’s bet was on the latter.

  The water that had dampened Isa’s clothing, giving relief from the sun, had evaporated. It left his shirt stiffened by crusting white minerals. Something on the horizon caught his eye, and his heart lurched into this throat. There were figures on the horizon, one wearing an unmistakable armor in a burnished red. He stopped and blinked, then started to point. “Do you see—?” he let his hand drop. The figures were gone.

  “What do you see?” Greyson asked, raising a hand to shield his eyes. The skin on his face was badly burned and blistered, some spots peeling in broken sheets.

  “Nothing. Don’t see anything. A trick of the light,” Isa muttered. Maybe they were there, maybe they weren’t. The murky horizon shimmered in browns and blues. Not much he could do about it either way. No sense in causing a needless panic. The voice of truth deep in his heart cut through his own lies. She was there. He nodded to himself. She was stalking them, maybe planning revenge. Maybe she could sense the bitten Tigerian. “Should’ve killed him,” he whispered.

  “A trick of the light. Just like the water?” Greyson grinned at him good-naturedly.

  “Huh? Right, yeah. You didn’t see anything, did you?”

  Greyson shook his head. “Been watching the next village. Looks like there are at least living Tigerians there. Humor me, anyway. What did you think you didn’t see?”

  “Trust me. You don’t want to know.” Isa narrowed his eyes against the wind.

  “I want to know,” Greyson insisted.

  “Alright,” Isa groaned, one of his knees starting to badly ache. He must’ve injured it at some point, didn’t remember when. “Think I saw the Shadow princess, daughter of the Shadow god. Over there, cresting the horizon.” He pointed at the spot.

  Greyson stopped, the blood draining from his face, and the man behind him bumped into him. “Watch where you’re going.” He scowled at the man.

  “Get your bloody fucking legs moving. Go on, keep moving, asshole,” the man growled back. The other half of the train of chained men came to a halt, others bumping into each other and spitting curses. It was a common occurrence now. The occasional man fainted or flat out gave up, had to be dragged up by his peers.

  Greyson got his feet moving. “You can’t be serious. How do you know it was her? I’ve read about it in Tower accounts, but how can you possibly know what she looks like?”

  “Told you, you didn’t want to know. I was there.”

  “Where?” Greyson’s breath became labored.

  “In the Shadow Realm. I was at the Tower when it was reclaimed. Witnessed the fall of Walter Glade, saw all of it.”

  “You did?” Greyson asked with bated breath.

  “Mhm. Why do you think I’m here now? It’s not for map making, not for trade. Tying up loose ends. Not even sure why I’m telling you this.” Isa shook his head with a groan.

  “Because you’re impressed by my good graces, of course.” Greyson grinned at him, and Isa snickered. The man was a bastard and a coward, but you had to take friends where you could find them in situations like these. He knew Greyson wasn’t a man to be relied upon in a battle, but at least he wouldn’t try to put a knife in his back. That was something.

  Isa continued. Someone else had to know if they failed in their mission. “She wears red armor. She killed those Tigerians in the last village. That snake was her too. Part of her, I think. Not sure why or how, but it was. You’ll want to keep an eye on our friend back there.” Isa nodded back towards the bitten Tigerian. “Don’t let those things bite you.”

  “That much was obvious, the biting part, I mean. All very interesting, however.” Greyson sniffed. “She sent you then?”

  “She?” Isa asked.

  “The Arch Wizard, of course,” Greyson raised his chin with a measure of pride, beads of sweat shimmering from his sharp nose.

  “She did. Why?”

  “Just curious.” He shrugged, but his lips turned down in a frown before his face twisted into an angry scowl.

  There was something else there, but Isa had enough conversation for one day and was too tired to care. He set his vision on the approaching village. Greyson said some other things, but Isa ignored him, tuning him out like a crying child. The sound of his voice became a grating noise in his ears. The things he would do for a glass of Midgaard whiskey and a steak. Was there any combination of foods more flavorful? He thought not.

  “Are you even listening to me?” Greyson squawked in his ear, cutting through Isa’s moment of reverie.

  “Shh.” Isa raised his palm as if he would block his mouth with it if he continued.

  This village was at least twice as large as the last and had a sign hanging above a closed gate that read ‘Zeellist.’ Things were quite different here. There was a wooden wall surrounding the perimeter at least three times as tall as a man and tipped with grisly spikes. A few Tigerian guards stood along the battlements with enormous bows at their sides, ready to be drawn if needed. It must have been an incredible feat of strength to draw those bows, Isa thought. There were barrels strewn along the wall and well stocked with arrows. The guards wore plate armor in all hard angles, mirror bright and reflecting the sun like diamonds.

  The Whisperers made their approach slow and casual, trying to look non-threatening by Isa’s guess.

  “Halt!” one of the guards cried out. A few guards drew back creaking bowstrings to nock arrows. Isa stiffened, felt the men near him do the same. Feline eyes narrowed as they picked their targets. These guards were well trained, Isa thought appreciatively. The first real soldiers he’d seen since their arrival.

  Tatlat raised his hands in a show of innocence and said something in the Tigerian tongue. It was nothing but grunts and growls in Isa’s ears. His Tougere padded around in a lazy circle, making him sway upon its back.

  “You still speak common? For your captives?” the same guard shouted. There were tattoos on one side of his face in a pattern that resembled the branches of a thorned bush. Perhaps that was an indication of rank.

  Tatlat shrugged. “Bad common.” His voice carried up the wall. “But get better.”

  “What brings you to Zeelist?” The Tigerian asked with an air of suspicion. He had a long mane of white trailing below his feline lips, eyes a blazing orange, face sharp as a hawk’s, which was odd for a Tigerian.

  “Same that always bring, Orin. Trade. Water. Rest.” Tatlat twiddled one his dark ears, his hands resting on his saddle’s pommel. His Tougere pawed at the ground, made a black beetle as big as Isa’s hand come up writhing from under the dirt. The Tougere snatched it up with its tongue then crunched on the body. Isa was impressed.

  Orin leaned over the wall, set his appraising eyes over the captives. “Still selling flesh. A dark business, Tatlat. Zeelist no longer welcome slaves and slavers. We will buy no more,” he said with a wave.

  “Yes, good. Fine.” Tatlat nodded. “Leave them out here. Chain to shade tree. We will take rest. Bring to Ashrath.”

  “What ill troubles him?” Orin pointed with his sword at the bitten Tigerian looming at Isa’s back. His fur was now matted with sweat, his jaw hanging dumbly open
, His posture drooped as if he hardly had the strength to hold himself upright.

  “Too much light.” Tatlat shrugged. “Need rest. We pay well, always pay.” Tatlat gave a sharp whistle and started for the gate, his men following. A few more guards filled in along the wall.

  “No.” Orin’s voice cut the air. “Black tidings come from the south. From where you came, is it not?”

  Tatlat tugged on his Tougere’s reins to make it come to a shuffling stop. The Tougere gave a shake, not unlike a dog’s, traveling from head to tail. A few more bows were raised by the new guards and leveled at Tatlat.

  Isa heard Scab nervously laugh down the line. “Your negotiating skills have gone to shit. Should’ve let me do the talking.”

  Senka watched with curiosity, Juzo with a smirk.

  “Orin. You do this why?” Tatlat asked in a baffled tone.

  “Darkness travels the lands. The dark will not enter this place.” Orin said with a chop of his paw.

  “Slaves no enter,” Tatlat barked with frustration. “Tie to shade tree, I say!”

  “Darkness already travels within your ranks. Within him.” Orin pointed at the infected Tigerian. All turned to face him, even the captives.

  Isa stifled a gasp at seeing a boil forming on the wounded Tigerian’s cheek, growing bigger by the minute. “By the Dragon.” The captives spat curses and prayers as they saw it. It didn’t start at his cheek he realized, but at his neck and had worked its way up his jaw. The skin under his fur looked thin as paper, stretching out and close to its breaking point. Something shimmered under the skin, made the pustule flex and waver. The Tigerian clamped his hand over it and started shaking his head, staggering back.

  Tatlat gave his mount a kick and bounded over to the wounded Tigerian, now stumbling on unsure legs. He tried to run but didn’t get very far before Tatlat was upon him. Without bothering to stop, Tatlat drew his blade and chopped through the Tigerian’s neck, sending his head tumbling across the sand. A severed snake writhed from his throat like a worm emerging from the ground after a heavy rain, violet blood glowing bright in the high sun. The Tigerian’s rolling head left a line of a spattered blood while more blood gurgled out of the Tigerian’s throat.