Shadows Falling Season One: Thrice Dead Men

by T. E. Hodden

  “That night I was watching television, and I saw this... movement. I glanced up, and for just a second I thought I saw something moving through the flat. I went to check on Simon, and there he was, stood staring into the corner, with this strange smile on his lips. It should have been serene, but it was, I don't know, wrong. Fake. It was like somebody had seen smiles and tried to copy them. I tried to bring him with me, to wake him up and check he was okay, but there was this noise behind me, in the kitchen. I turned and looked, and...” Singer had to stop and brace herself to go on. “The hooded man was in my kitchen. Just for a second, for as long as it took to blink, he was there, his head scraping the ceiling, looming over me, and his eyes were glowing so I could see a face. It was a skull, skin like parchment drawn tight against it, and this mouth with far, far too many teeth. I screamed, and turned to grab Simon and...”

  “He was gone?” Corvus asked.

  “I told the Police enough of the truth. That we thought somebody had watched us that day. That he talked about hooded man scaring him. That I was sure there was somebody in the flat with me. I don't know if the Police believed me, or if they thought I was a mess of nerves.” Singer gave a nervous laugh. “It was as much of the truth I could tell them, without them thinking I was mad, right?”

  I laid a map of the Overground on the coffee table. “Do you know which stations you were between when you saw him?”

  Singer nodded. She pointed between two out in the fringes of the system.

  “And...” I put a hand on hers. “I have one more question, that will sound odd.”

  “What doesn't?” Singer muttered.

  “Between seeing the figure, and Simon vanishing, did he learn a rhyme or a song?” I asked.

  “Like a nursery rhyme?” Corvus suggested.

  “You do know about him, don't you?” Simon was suspicious. “Yes. He started singing something when he was scared. It was... Once in a shadow, once in my name, once to hang, and always to blame.”

  I winced at the words.

  The Kyllan. The thought of the creature knotted my stomach. He stole away children in the dead of night, and stole away their future, every year, every moment, they should have lived, to fuel his dark magic. Long exposure to the most dangerous kinds of spells, had corrupted his soul and twisted his body.

  The scars on my throat tightened like a noose every time I remembered the dry grinding of his breath.

  “Thank you,” Corvus said, with a genteel smile. “I know we have imposed, and that is not easy.”

  “You said this... thing... had been in London before?” Singer asked.

  “Once,” I said, softly. “When I was a boy.”

  “You saw him?” Singer asked.

  I nodded again.

  “Can you find him?” Singer demanded.

  “We will do all we can,” Corvus promised.

  “And if you find him?” Singer whispered.

  I thought it best not to answer that.

  *

  Corvus resisted asking until we were walking the residential streets on either side of the railway cutting.

  “You have seen it before?” She asked.

  I nodded.

  “You can't have.” She stopped walking and folded her arms. “You have never been to the Autumn Court.”

  “And?” I stopped to look down an alleyway between two streets.

  “And The Kyllan escaped days ago, before that, he was locked away in the court for twenty something years ago, so when could you have seen him?” She gave me a calculating look.

  “When I was elven years old,” I answered, moving on. “Over twenty years ago. The night I learned about magic, demons, and the Court.”

  “Eleven?” Her tone dropped, and her eyes filled with worries. “What happened?”

  “We were driving home from my Grandparent's and we saw him, on the side of the motorway, watching us. Mum, being Mum, took it in her stride. She said she would get Dad to help us. She always told me Dad was a soldier, so I thought this guy was going to turn up and guard us. Instead a foppish guy knocked on our door to tell us it was being looked into. He didn't want to come in, or see me, or... anything. A few nights later, I woke up, and Mum was singing this rhyme over and over. I went in the kitchen, and he was... holding her by her throat. There was a snap, and everything that was her, all her life, all her joy, her smile, her kindness, it just left her, and what fell to the floor was a just...dead.” I looked to the floor. Putting the memory into words contained the memory. They had less feelings, less nausea, and less dread, than the real memories. “He turned on me, and sang that rhyme. I was supposed to sleep. I was supposed to fall into a dream and let him drag me away, to his lair. But I could feel the magic, and I screamed 'No'. The scream came out of me as fire.” I felt a smile twitch. “And when I let myself burn, Maysan was there. She told me that I could be safe, but I would have to do everything she said. She... she was there. She kept me safe. She dragged the monster away.”

  “Damn it!” Corvus closed her eyes and clenched her fists. She made an angry squeaking noise. “Your mother is dead?”

  “Yes.” I cocked my head. “That tends to happen when your neck is broken and your spinal cord severed.”

  “The one I called a whore?”

  “I only had the one.”

  “I shouldn't have called her a whore.” Corvus said, in an earnest tone. Her expression was pained. “I should not have spoken ill of the dead, even if she was...”

  “Was what?” I asked, evenly.

  “Well, I am sure she would not have worked as... you know... an escort, if circumstance would have allowed her anything else.” She flustered with every word, and suddenly seemed to have no idea what she was meant to be doing with her hands. “One should not speak ill of the dead, or pretend any man is defined by their lowest ebb...”

  “My mother was not an escort,” I told her, in what I hoped was a kind and patient tone, but fear was considerably more barbed.

  “Yes she was,” Corvus said, with a confidence like armour plating. “My Uncle Braccus, explained it to me. My father was wild in his youth, and would come here for adventures that were considered unseemly in the Court. There was ale, and...entertainment, and parties, and one night he met a-”

  “My mother worked in catering,” I said, my patience worn thin.

  “Catering?” Corvus asked, weakly.

  “She was catering at a party held by an artist. Our father was absolutely amazed by glazed doughnuts with a crème Anglais filling. He demanded to know how they were made, that became a conversation, which for an autumn, became more, and nine months later I was born.”

  “You are sure?” Corvus frowned at me. “Because Braccus was very-”

  “I am sure!” I put a finger over her lips. “Corvus, you were born with two eyes, two ears, and one mouth, and that is the ratio that you should be using them in. Before you say another word, try to be bloody sure you have some inkling of the facts.”

  “I meant no insult,” she said, quietly.

  That, at least, was true. I drew my finger away, and started walking down the alley.

  I stopped and took a step back. There was hum of magic resonating in the air, like the bass note of a pipe organ. I could feel it shaking the Earth. I looked at Corvus. She nodded, and turned on her toes. She licked a finger, and held it up. She pointed to the railway bridge at the end of the alley. With a skip in her step she ran to the bridge, and started feeling her way around the bricks on the inside of the arch.

  “He is here,” she whispered. “I can feel it. He has built his lair here.”

  I felt the hum of magic shaking the world around me. I gently eased Corvus aside and reached under my coat for my knife. I ran the blade across the bricks and felt the snag between worlds. I slipped my knife inside, and twisted, until the brick wall folded open, revealing the lair within.

  Corvus reached under her coat, and produced her sabre from nowhere, the curved blade shone dangerously, and crackled with
fingers of pink and purple lightning. She gave me a confident smile, her sweater turning to a fine chain mail.

  I let flames light on the bade of my dagger as we stepped into the gloom.

  The lair was a burrow of dirt, clay, and tree roots, the size of a cathedral. The Kyllan stood at the far end of the lair. He was sharpening the head of a spear, with a whetstone, in the light of a brazier. The boy was suspended from the ceiling, held in place by a noose of tree roots that gnawed and twisted against his throat. His arms and legs were bound by ropes of branches and vines. His eyes were closed, in an unnatural sleep.

  The Kyllan let out a long breath as he rose up and turned to face us.

  “Ah.” He growled, his voice like millstones grinding. His eyes glowed within his hood. “And there you are. As promised, you deliver yourself to me.”

  “Let the boy go,” I said, bile filling the back of my throat. “If you let him go and surrender quietly, nobody has to be hurt.”

  The lair closed in around us. Corvus found her footing, and adopted a ready stance, her sword held high, her grip flexing.

  “The boy is bait!” Kyllan strode towards me. “I promised to end you and your mother, long ago. I will not fail again, boy. You are here to die.”

  Corvus rushed to meet him, her blade singing as she swung it at him. He caught the blade in his talon fingers and thrust the spear at her. She twisted aside, and kicked him back a step. He dived at her again with his spear. I hurled my knife and it hit the spear, slicing the razor head away. Corvus made a run for her sword, but as her fingertips touched the hilt, a whip of roots and vines caught her and snatched her up to the ceiling.

  I let the flames flow. They poured from me in a liquid jet. Kyllan snatched up the sword and span to meet the flames. The blade glowed as sheaved it in magic, and braced himself. The flames parted around him, deflecting away from the enchantments in the blade. He let out a howl and charged at me, swinging the blade. I rolled aside, and the blade missed me by a hair's breadth. I wrapped my hand in flames and caught his wrist.

  The Kyllan howled in pain as he dropped the sword. I caught it by the blunt side of the blade and threw it up to Corvus. She caught it, and began to cut herself free.

  “Enough!” The Kyllan caught my neck, in talon fingers, and lifted me from the floor, choking away my breath and muffling my cry of pain.

  He stared at me, with glowing red eyes. I clawed at his wrist, and tried to pull his fingers from my throat.

  “Your life is worth nothing to me. You are just another Earth Worm. Your death however, is worth so much more than you can imagine.” Kyllan rasped, with gusto.

  “No!” Corvus drove her sword into Kyllan's back.

  He howled in pain and let me go, spinning to swat her away. She met his clawed hand with her blade, cutting it off. I rushed forwards, put my hands over his hood, and unleashed an inferno. The monster bucked and writhed, as I burned away his magic. The cloak and hood were consumed by the flames, as the spells and enchantments boiled away. There was a flash of white light, and a shrivelled, mummy-like husk fell to the floor, whimpering, in tattered rags.

  Corvus put her sword under his chin, and shook her head. “Cede.”

  “I.. will... kill... you... for... this...” He gurgled.

  “No.” She glanced at me. “You will go back to your prison, and we shall not spare you another thought.”

  I found my knife, and set about cutting Simon free. He slumped into my eyes, breathing gently as he writhed in restless dreams. I reached into the spell, and broke it free. His sleep would be deep, but he would wake up naturally, and his dreams would be his own.

  “And... there...she...is...” Kyllan gurgled on a laugh.

  And here I am. Maysan stepped from the shadows. Robert, take the child home. I will deal with this.. creature.

  “May!” Corvus found the enthusiasm for a renewed smile. “With your permission, I would help you escort-”

  Go with Robert. There was a note of finality to Maysan's tone.

  Corvus nodded, and followed me from the lair.

  *

  We delivered the boy home. Singer was crying with relief as she cradled her son on their sofa, squeezing him in a paternal hug.

  Corvus said nothing as we slipped away, or on the journey back to my flat.

  She said little as she sat on my balcony watching the sunset, sipping her mug of tea. Eventually she came into the lounge and flopped onto the sofa beside me. She took a deep breath.

  “I was just a girl,” she said, at last. “One night my father was called away to the mortal realm on an emergency. When he returned, there were arguments. They were loud, and full of fury, and could be heard from end of the palace to the other.”

  “Palace?” I asked.

  “Emberleaf Palace. My home.” She cradled her mug in white knuckles. “Mother and father were falling apart, not because they hated each other, but... because they loved each other and the secret hurt them. A woman my father had... known, before he was married, and a son he had never told my mother of. I did not understand of course. I had to ask my Uncle Braccus, and he told me... more than I really should have heard. He was an experienced knight, he was a man, and I thought he knew how things worked. He told me of young knights coming here, before they were Sworn, for adventures. Like... a rite of passage. There were drinks, and parties, decadence, indulgence, and... certain men who made all the mistakes a man should make. I thought if it was true of him, it must have been true of my father.”

  She paused.

  “I hated you,” she whispered. “Not as a person, but because you existed. You fractured my family. You drove the wedge between my parents. You.. or rather the villain I imagined you to be, was somebody to hate, somebody to blame. Your mother seduced my father, or so I believed, which meant it was not really his fault. It was an enchantment, a trap, a wound somebody else had cast. Which let him remain my hero, my father, my... role model, with honour intact.”

  I patted her hand.

  “I believed it all, because... it was easier not to look to closely. If I asked questions, if I spared it too much thought, I might have found answers I did not like.” She tried a smile. It was thin and shaky. “It did not occur to me that you might be a good person. I could not imagine it. You were a troll. A nightmare. A story.”

  “And now?” I asked.

  “Now I know better,” she smiled. “Or at least I know how little I know, of you and yours.”

  I squeezed her shoulder. She curled against me.

  “And you are right.” She looked around my flat. “There really are worse places I could be made to stay.”

  My scowl just made her laugh.

  An Interlude

  The Kyllan is dead.

  I sipped my coffee and watched the sun rise from my balcony. “Dead? How?”

  Disintegration. Maysan lurked in the fringe of my vision, leaning against the railings. Her voice was heavy in my thoughts. The Provost Marshall, my dear sister, felt that there was too much risk in containing the Kyllan. She claimed that we did not know who helped him escape before, and could not risk the conspiracy reaching him once more. He was exposed to the Loom itself, and melted away by the energies of the maelstrom between worlds.

  “I always thought I would be pleased to hear that,” I sighed. “All I feel is...cold.” I paused. “Your sister? That would be Corvus' mother?”

  Araya, yes.

  “Who is Braccus?” I asked, evenly.

  A drunken fool.

  “Did he know my mother?” I asked.

  No. Maysan came closer to laughing than I had ever known. Why?

  “I think that when my mother died, when my existence caused scandal in your family, he told Corvus my mother was...” I cleared my throat. “I am not entirely sure the opinion she expressed on our first meeting was entirely her own.”

  She has always held him in high esteem. Maysan shook her head. He is amiable, and kind. As a girl he was her favourite. He also told her that humans
believed that tooth fairies visited naughty Earth children and stole their teeth away.

  “I was not the Kyllan's target, was I?” I asked.

  I believe not.

  “Somebody knew you had left Corvus in my care, and chose her as a target?” I asked.

  That is my theory.

  “I should tell her.”

  No. I do not know who our foe is. I do not want to risk them knowing too much of my investigations. I trust my family, but I do not know how deep this threat has infiltrated.

  There was a moment of silence.

  “You have a Palace?” I said, quietly.

  Things in the Court are built to a grander scale. We have a Palace. It is made from honey stone, decorated with amber and opal from the mines where, in antiquity, our family made their fortune. Far to the South we have vineyards and a villa, hewn from stone decorated with fossils of seaweeds and ferns. We raise horses, and ride along beaches of ivory sand beneath azure skies, by vine clad cliffs. She exhaled. Do you know where I am?

  “I think so. I have dreams sometimes, and I think they are of the Court. I see a large domed building, surrounded by needle spires covered in monoliths, and raised garden, on overlapping platforms, of fruit trees, bushes, and flowers in brilliant colours. There is a cloistered square near the dome, where members of the court debate and talk.” I rubbed my neck. “I thought one of them was you.”

  That is the Forum in the Court. Maysan pondered the thought. Do you just observe, or do you walk through the vision?

  “It's a dream. Sometimes Mum is there, or people from the TV, or whatever. It's just images.”

  Interesting. She cocked her head. No. I am not in the Court, or in the city of Spiremouth. Or rather I am there in spirit only, the same way I am here. My flesh and bones are in the mountains, in our Keep by the old mines, where the clear air is supposed to help my health. Every morning I see a sunrise in shades of purple and pink you do not see on Earth, as the sun lumbers up between the peaks and catches the snow and ice...

  I closed my eyes, wondering if I could picture it.

  “Want to give me a penny for them?” Emily shouted, from her balcony.