Bishta the Black

by Jada Fisher

  Baerdon and Ivara had never seen anything like it. Of course, they’d faced many terrifying things together. Feral mermaids, a sandrake, the undead. She’d seen a fearsome demon destroy her home and kill many of her people. But none of those things were like this mass of shadow.

  Even Gayla was unsure of what they were, but every night, they surrounded their campsite, a swirling mass of writhing wraiths. They never entered the light, never made any cries or noise at all aside from the wriggling of their bodies. Gayla called them shades, but she sounded uncertain.

  “Are they spirits?” Baerdon asked, a hand on the hilt of his sword—though his sword would do no good. Mortal weapons had no effect on most spirits. One would need magical potions to have effect, and he was no alchemist.

  “Impossible,” chimed Ivara quickly. “There are no spirits in the Human Plains.”

  Gayla fingered her chin and looked away, her expression troubled. “I am uncertain. These shades do not have the aura of a spirit. In my long life, I have only encountered them a few times, and each time, they managed to slip away before I could properly examine them. Truth be told, I don’t know.”

  Well, if a thousand-year-old witch doesn’t know what they are, then they’re probably trouble.

  They’d had some variation of that conversation a few times over the last couple of nights, yet they were no closer to finding his tribe, and no wiser to what was going on in the plains.

  A demon appears and destroys everything in its path, the dead begin to rise, then his tribe vanishes without a trace, weird voices sound in the night, and the shadows come to life? Baerdon had no answers to any of these things. His life had been simple in the grand scheme of things. No spirits or magic or anything truly bizarre. Just hunting and warring and drinking and doing what was best for his tribe. For the most part.

  Everything was changing, dramatically so, and Baerdon didn’t know what to do.

  Finally, on the sixth night of their search, things took another turn. As they sat around the fire in silence and ate what meager food they had as the whispering voices grated at their ears and the shadows swirled around them, a sudden change came about. Baerdon felt it before he saw it, as did Gayla, who stood, and Ivara, who lowered her hunk of bread, eyes wide.

  The shadows parted like a linen curtain to show something else entirely. Standing in the space between the shadows was a lone figure. It wasn’t human, though it was similar in size, but it had long, long arms that let its clawed hands hang around its feet. Its skin was a deep umber with a purplish hue in the moonlight, and a faint blue glow surrounded it. When its face looked at the trio, Baerdon’s breath caught in his throat, for there was no face upon its head.

  Just a void of malice that stared back at them. Somehow, that was worse than if it had terrible beady eyes or a mouth full of bloody daggerlike teeth.

  This was a spirit, he was sure of it. There was a presence about it, an aura of power that was palpable on his skin, and it felt wrong. It was a spirit, but it was nothing like he’d ever felt. Of course, being that spirits didn’t occupy the human plains, he had little experience, but he knew wrongness when he felt it.

  This spirit made his skin crawl.

  “What… What is that?” Ivara asked shakily. She unsheathed her sword, though it was probably more for her own comfort than usability.

  “It’s a dark spirit,” Gayla said sharply, her lips contorted in a grimace as she held her flowery staff in front of her with both arms extended. Baerdon took her word for it. The spirit definitely felt not-right to him.

  He brought out his sword too, despite the uselessness of it. Gripping the worn leather hilt made him feel better. It fed him with strength.

  “What do we do?” he asked, eyes squarely on the shambling thing coming toward them.

  Gayla gave her staff a twirl and took a step in front of him and Ivara, the fire between her and them. “You do nothing. I will handle this.”

  He wasn’t able to offer a rebuttal to that before the spirit lunged at her. They all startled. It had been so slow for that brief minute, but the way it moved now was unnervingly fast. It made a grating moan that seemed to freeze Baerdon’s blood.

  Though the sage looked like a young girl, she was far from it. She was an ancient witch of immense power who’d seen many awful and terrifying things in her many lifetimes, and to her credit, she didn’t flinch as the dark creature attacked her.

  “Ackala lys!” she cried and slammed her staff against the ground at her feet. Nothing seemed to happen in that split-second between the staff hitting the ground and the spirit’s lunge. It cocked one lanky arm back, claws extended, and brought it forward. Gayla wouldn’t be able to block it. Did her magic fail? he wondered in a panic.

  No. No, it did not.

  The claw slammed against an invisible magical barrier, and with a blinding flash of crackling energy, it recoiled from Gayla and was thrown free of their campsite.

  That wasn’t the end of the dark spirit, however. It rose slowly, its body bending in an uncomfortable shape. Of course, it seemed uncomfortable to him and painful, but for all he knew, the spirit didn’t have bones or could even feel pain.

  “That’s not good,” Baerdon said with a grimace.

  Gayla managed a sideways smirk as she threw a glance back at him. “Not to worry. I have this covered, young warrior.”

  “Can you defeat it?” Ivara asked the very question he was wondering. She had an annoying affinity of being able to voice things he wanted to before he got the chance. Sometimes he found it endearing, while other times it annoyed him beyond madness.

  “I have to dispel this spirit,” the sage answered, her brows knotted tight as she stared ahead at the dark spirit. “But it will take some time. I fear that once it realizes what I’m doing, the shades will attack us. I need you two to defend me in the meantime.”

  Ivara gave Baerdon a glance. “I’d love to, but swords don’t work on spirits?”

  The spirit lunged again and slammed against the barrier. Another flash, another crackle of magical energy, and the dark spirit was thrown back again. Baerdon shielded his eyes, but he could have sworn that the light was fainter than before.

  Gayla took a laborious breath. “You’re right, Ivara. Mortal swords do not work on creatures such as these, even though I am uncertain what these shades really are. But I can help with that. To me, hurry!”

  Baerdon and Ivara didn’t hesitate. They moved to the sage’s side, converging around the fire to stand at her back. They had their swords up, though they were still unsure if that was even something they needed to do.

  The spirit attacked yet again, with the same reckless abandon and ferocity. The barrier flashed and the spirit stumbled back this time, not thrown. So, I was right, Baerdon thought with a frown. The barrier is weakening. Whatever the sage was going to do, she needed to do it fast.

  As the spirit recovered, Gayla quickly turned to them and clutched her staff to her chest. “Place your sword against the staff,” she ordered. They obeyed, placing the flat of their blades against the stem-like surface.

  With wide eyes, Baerdon watched as the sage closed her eyes and began to chant in that magical language of spells. Her words were mumbled yet rapid, and a faint golden glow encircled her for a moment before spreading out like whisps of brilliant smoke and settling on Baerdon and Ivara’s blades. As the magic settled on the iron, his sword felt lighter, and it hummed with some latent power that he’d never felt.

  It felt like this blade could help him conquer the world. It was an amazing feeling, even though Lorrickson knew it was just the sage’s magic and probably temporary.

  Gayla let out a gasp when she was finished, her shoulders slumping. “There, your blades should be useful to you now.”

  The chiefling held his weapon closer to his face. The power that radiated from it was enough to get him drunk, but he shook his head and cleared his mind. He had a job to do. He gripped the hilt with both hands and stood at the ready. He whistled for
Tuk to come to their side. The huge, leathery-skinned rhinodog had been whining the whole time and scampered to him. Tuk may have been immense and brimming with muscle and strength, but that would do little against these shades. Or maybe it would. Baerdon didn’t know, but he didn’t want to risk his faithful hound and find out.

  In his peripheral vision, the dark spirit rose yet again.

  Gayla let out a heavy sigh. “I will now begin. Please keep the shadows away.”

  “Will your barrier hold off that spirit?” Ivara asked, the same question that had been worrying Baerdon.

  “It should. But I fear with so many shades, they would overwhelm my protection. It is strong, but it has its limits. That is why I need you to keep me clean, warriors.”

  “We’ll keep you spotless, don’t you worry,” Baerdon said with a wicked grin.

  “Not a scratch,” Ivara chimed.

  The sage gave them an easy, relieved grin, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. He was happy to give her some reassurance. “I am glad. I trust you. Now, let’s get started.”

  At that, the dark spirit attacked yet again. This time, when it bounced off the sage’s shield, the swirling winds of black shadows stopped their dance and stood, looking like a terrifying legion of black, faceless monsters.

  Baerdon licked his lips and renewed his grip. His confidence suddenly took a hit. This wasn’t going to be as fun as he might have thought. Then again, he had a severe problem with enjoying life-and-death situations. They weren’t supposed to be fun, were they? He usually enjoyed it when he was fairly certain that he would prevail in the end, but in this situation, that outcome was cloudy.

  The world seemed to hold its breath as he and Ivara stared down the shades and their dark forms. Some of them looked humanoid. Most, really, but a lot of them had wild and unnatural proportions like the dark spirit had. Some with too large or small heads, tiny arms on tall bodies or torsos with mini legs. Some had shadowy horns or tails writhing with their smoky bodies. All of it together was a dark army that stared back at him with soulless faces.

  Then, without warning, with silent agreement, that dark force rushed at them.

  Baerdon looked one last time at Ivara, wondering if he and the woman he once loved would make it through this night. They’d seen so many fights together, against crazy, fantastical beasts, but none like this. He had to trust in their skills.

  We will prevail.

  The first of the shades approached him. More or less human in shape and stature, this one bulged with equal muscle to Baerdon, but it sported glinting inky claws at the end of its fingers and small antler-like horns from its head.

  It made no sound whatsoever as it rushed him and swung its clawed hand Baerdon’s way. The young warrior sidestepped it and answered in kind with the swing of his blade.

  The sword arched horizontally to his side to catch the shade. For a split-second, he worried that perhaps the magic wouldn’t take, and his sword wouldn’t work. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the sage and her magic, but he had so little experience with dealing with it and creatures like this that his mind still worried he would be left defenseless.

  But then the sword cut it in two like it was cutting through a soft cotton sheet. He could have laughed. The spell worked after all.

  They came like a wave after that, and he cut them down with ease. A single swing of his sword was all it took to cleave them in two and make them evaporate like a puddle after a summer storm. There was so many of them, though, that he had no time to catch a breath. As soon as he followed through with his swing, he’d have to bring another swipe back around to fend off the five shades behind the half-dozen he’d just killed. On and on that went. They were easy to defeat, but they were an army of ants and he a spider. He was mighty, but he feared their numbers would soon overwhelm him.

  Baerdon couldn’t—wouldn’t—give up. The occasional flash of the magical barrier was like a jolt that kept him going. It was a signal that they were still in the fight, that Gayla was still alive and working to defeat the dark spirit. When that light failed to flare, he would know that she had failed, and they were doomed.

  Until that point came, he would give it his all and fight for his life.

  They went on for a long time. Minutes came and went with each breath, and his body cried out for him to stop. He wouldn’t listen, so eventually, it stopped for him, right as he cut down another three shades. There was a lull in the attack beyond them, but there were still dozens and dozens more of the terrible shadows, an unending tide that simply had to keep coming until he and Ivara couldn’t fight anymore.

  And that was exactly what happened.

  The shadows gathered up and came again. Baerdon prepared himself for the next wave, but with a horrifying jolt, his body wouldn’t listen to his commands. One knee buckled and he dropped to a crouch. His arms sagged under the strain.

  This was it. He was too tired to even lift his sword. He tried to raise his arm, but his arms trembled under the weight of his blade. What had felt as light as air earlier now felt like the regular heavy iron he was used to, only now he was sapped of strength. Had the spell on his sword gone out? Was he doomed?

  Somehow, he managed a glance at Ivara a few paces away. She was still swinging away, but she was down on one knee, and her face was covered in sweat and marred by an exhausted grimace. Her whole body was blasted with tremors of exertion as she tried her best to soldier on and fight.

  He actually snorted. Of course, when I give out, Ivara would be the one still standing.

  Still, it was obvious how exhausted she was. He doubted she’d be any different than him.

  With his heart racing, he turned his attention back to his own enemies. He didn’t have a lot of time left. The shades came at him one last time, a wall of them like a crashing tidal wave ready to crush him. He tried to raise his sword to block them, but even if he could, what good would that do? A single blade could maybe keep three of them at bay, but this onslaught of writhing, inky shadows was more than two dozen. He was finished.

  Tuk whimpered at his back, and he wished his hound would run and live a long life. Rhinodogs were bred for war, but it was possible to find wild ones, albeit skinnier ones, roaming the plains. Tuk deserved that end. Not this violent one.

  And Ivara… He couldn’t even look at her. Didn’t want to, for fear that he’d see her already overwhelmed. He did anyway. She was on both knees now, her sword jammed into the ground as she leaned against it. She turned her head and their eyes met. She smiled.

  See you on Rosk’s eternal hunt, her eyes seemed to say. He hoped that his conveyed the same message. They’d been in this position, what, three or four times on this journey? It was a bit tiring if he was being honest, but he knew that their luck was going to run out eventually. And so it did.

  He turned back to the shades. They were just about on him. He prayed to Rosk and asked for his father and brother’s forgiveness, wherever they were. Baerdon closed his eyes and waited for the shadows to crash over him.

  And they did. It was like hot sludge rushing around him with the force of fierce wind. But that was it. No pain, no searing heat or stabbing or cuts or the scent of blood. He stayed perfectly still as everything returned to the silence of night. He risked a breath. He tasted the humid air. He risked opening an eye. The night greeted him.

  His arms and hands trembled, but they were fine. Not cuts, no blood, nothing. He was okay. He looked at Ivara, who stared around with the same bewilderment that he felt. They were alive. There wasn’t a trace of the shades anymore. He looked back and found Gayla lying on her back, eyes on the stars. Her staff was in her outstretched fingers, glowing faintly with a pleasant green light. And the dark spirit? It was nowhere to be seen.

  She did it. He exhaled.

  The shadows went away, leaving them in peace for the first time in five nights. The whispers faded even more, though Baerdon still heard the faintest of words whisp against his ears. Did the voices belong to the shades?
Seemed like the obvious answer, but he wasn’t ready to make that assumption for certain.

  They stayed perfectly still for a long while, a heavy silence falling over them, the only sound belonging to the crackling fire. Baerdon’s heart still pounded against his chest, and his blood was a roaring river within him.

  Baerdon couldn’t help it. He fell back onto his rear, draped his arms over his knees, and let out a laugh.

  “Well, that was exhilarating, wasn’t it?”

  The shink of Ivara’s sword sliding back into its scabbard sounded to his left. She shook her head, though her stern coolness was undercut by her haggard breathing and the mess of hair plastered to her forehead.

  “You’re just an idiot,” she breathed.

  He gave her a cheeky smile. That just made her roll her eyes, but he spied that hint of a smirk threatening the corner of her lips.

  “You two did well,” Gayla said, coming to sit next to him. She unceremoniously dropped her staff in the grass and collapsed onto her back. Her chest rose and fell dramatically, her breaths as deep as the ocean depths.

  Ivara knelt at her side and placed a tender hand on the sage’s bronze shoulder. “Are you alright?”

  Gayla smiled through her harsh breathing as she draped a forearm over her sweat-dappled face. “Yes, just tired. I may be a sage but casting certain powerful spells can still take a good deal from us. Dispelling a dark spirit is one such spell.”

  Keet shifted into a more comfortable position. Her hand fell away from the sage’s shoulder, though the young chief still looked like she was ready to wrap the ancient sage in bandages. Baerdon admired Ivara’s caring, but he thought that sage was probably a lot hardier than her outward appearance would suggest.

  “How did a spirit come to be here, Sage?” Ivara asked, her eyes staring into the flames.

  Gayla took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I do not have an answer for you. That’s yet another mystery that needs solving.”