The Shadow City

by Ryan Wieser

  She didn’t know if that were true or not. Around Urdo, Jessop felt like a pupil, knowing her arrogance had led her astray. For all of her and Falco’s abilities, they had sincerely thought there was nothing of the blade or Sentio left to learn. She wondered what she may have learnt, had she spent her time in the Blade with an open mind as opposed to one fixed on an agenda.

  As he closed his eyes, she did the same. They took deep breaths for what felt like several minutes. Jessop found that as they breathed, the noises around them died out. She could no longer hear the warriors rifling in the other room, she could not make out their Kuroi dialect. She did not still hear the wind, which had been so sharp around the corners of the building, so angry against the windows. She saw nothing in her mind. Not Falco, not Kohl, nothing but darkness. Far from alarming, she felt completely at peace. She wondered, for the briefest of moments, if it were the breathing that achieved this, or if it were an extension of Urdo’s powers.

  “View your abilities like a light, travelling out from our hands, searching the city.” His voice was slow and deep, his instructions spoken through measured tones. She did as he said, envisioning her powers escaping out from her hands. Though she kept her eyes shut, she felt as though she could see the light moving from them both, dancing between them like a sandstorm before dashing out of the cracks in the windows and walls. She could follow the light, like a bird, as it made its way through the Shadow City.

  It swirled and grew larger, faster; it spread out, searching the shadows. Jessop’s breath caught as she saw families hiding, raiders drinking in an abandoned tavern, people packing up their belongings. She was traveling through her city, and yet she hadn’t left the floor from which she sat. The light moved past the Arantholi, for they were not who Jessop searched for. She followed it through the dark streets, under kiosks, down alleyways, and through cracked windows.

  They moved deeper into the Shadow City, turning over errant baskets and crates, moving faster and faster. Their light grew in strength and determination, and Jessop realized that together, their powers were hunting.

  “Push harder, we nearly have them, Jessop,” Urdo urged her. She took a deep breath and exhaled deeply from her lungs. The light shifted, growing, moving through the streets not like a stream, but a wave. It washed around corners, it swam through buildings, it scaled walls and cleared alleys.

  She saw the onyx tower. The light travelled to its very tip, and as it had no roof, it easily spilled through, devouring the black walls, searching, hungry, hunting…

  Jessop opened her eyes, loosening her hold on Urdo’s hands. “I know where they are.”

  * * * *

  Jessop moved through the city with ease. Aranthol had been built for her, and few knew its back streets better. She travelled undetected, though there were none out in the streets to detect her. Kohl would know by now that she had arrived, and with an army. He would have heard how his ambush had failed. She wondered what he thought of, knowing she was so near, knowing he was no match for her with a blade, knowing it would be the first time he laid eyes on her since he had nearly killed her.

  Jessop didn’t know what Kohl sought to achieve by resisting Falco so boldly. She knew what Urdo had said, that it was not Falco he turned from, but her…It was difficult for her to believe that he would go to such lengths to punish her, difficult for her to live with the result of her actions against him. She leapt over an overturned kiosk and found herself standing before the black tower. Her heart raced, knowing he was near, sensing the powers of another nearby.

  She could easily remember her first fight with Kohl—not one of blades, but one of heart. It had been the first time she tried to show him who she really was, what she could do. She had pleaded with him, but it had been futile.

  “Kohl, please—”

  “I held you in my arms. I trained with you.”

  She had taken a step towards him, reaching out for him, but he resisted her.

  “I made love to you,” he whispered, his voice thick with disgust.

  Jessop had brought him to his knees, angry and embarrassed. She had taken his memories, knowing he couldn’t ever see her for who she truly was.

  Jessop suppressed the memory as she moved towards the onyx steps leading up to the great hall. Suddenly, her stomach convulsed violently. She struggled to catch her breath. She fell to her knee, sharply cutting skin on the edge of the step. She thought she would heave, when suddenly the world around her transformed. She was no longer on the stairs in Aranthol, no longer in the middle of a battle. She was back in the Blade.

  She was naked, half-drowned, the eyes of all the Councilmen on her exhausted body. She was in his arms. He was trying to conceal her, trying to protect her. He was yelling at them, turning his back on them, for her. He carried her down the clinically clean halls. He kept her shivering, naked body pressed tightly against his. He looked down into her green eyes with his brilliant golden ones, and seemed to feel all the devastation imaginable. She could feel his instant love for her.

  Jessop forced against the illusion, knowing it to be just another memory. She blinked and found she was back on the black stairs, her hands clutching the steps, her heart racing. Someone had forced themselves into her mind. She knew no one capable of the task; no Hunter alive had powers that exceeded her own. She scanned the streets, desperate to find her attacker. She looked up the stairs, scrambling on all fours. She saw no one. How was she being forced to—?

  She was kissing him. She ran her hands through his golden hair, her strong legs tensing around his hips, her breast hot against his chest. He moved inside her, his breath warm on her lips, the taste of him fresh on her tongue. She wanted to hate it, she wanted it all to be a show, but it wasn’t, it couldn’t be. He had a practiced touch and she couldn’t pretend that some part of her hadn’t longed for him.

  She was wrenched back to the moment. Sweat trailed down her brow as she fought to regain control of her mind. She scurried up the stairs. “Stop!”

  She didn’t care if she alerted an entire army to her presence—she couldn’t stand to relive their memories, couldn’t tolerate someone rifling around her mind, forcing thoughts and images to the surface. She ran up the remainder of the stairs, nearly collapsing against the heavy doors. She grabbed the massive metal handles and used all her might to force the giant black doors open. Her breath caught as she laid eyes on a man she had never seen before, standing in the great hall.

  He wore blue robes, and while he had a shaved head, he possessed a long beard. The most distinguishing of his features, though, were his completely white eyes. He was a desert mage. The first she had faced since the one who shredded her back. The man regarded her without surprise or sympathy. “Collect yourself, woman—you do not know what I am capable of.”

  Jessop bristled at his words, taking angry step after angry step forward. She saw only his white eyes. She could feel the leather lashing her once more, her scars on fire. He looked so like the one who had once attacked her that Jessop felt nothing but rage. Nothing but the desire to demonstrate all she had become capable of. The mage attempted to force his way into her mind, but seeing the source of her agony gave Jessop focus, and with a wave of her arm, she cut through his abilities. The shock on his face brought joy to her heart. “I take it he didn’t tell you what I was capable of, fool.”

  At her words, she twisted her hand sharply in the air, snapping the mage’s neck. He fell to the ground, his lifeless body hitting the black stone with a satisfying thump.

  She stared down at his body. She knew he wasn’t the man who had attacked her, for Falco had long ago killed him, but he was a desert mage. He had the same powers, and however great, they had no control over her once she confronted them. As her breathing slowed, she realized that Kohl had procured a mage to do what he could not.

  She didn’t know why it surprised her, that he would have someone invade her mind—he had already
tried to kill her twice—but nonetheless, it did. Jessop felt that while he had never really known her, she had known him, truly known him. She felt foolish once again. Clearly, she hadn’t known the real Kohl O’Hanlon. Which was much easier to believe than the alternative—that she had broken him so greatly, he was simply no longer the same man he had once been.

  As if on cue, she could feel him. She didn’t turn around immediately, but she knew when he stood behind her. The sensation was similar to smooth cloth running slowly over bare skin. Her senses were sharp, teased by his presence. Her heart sped up and she focused on calming it once again, slowing her adrenaline. The time had finally come for them to be reunited. Despite having killed the desert mage, the memories flooded her mind.

  His lips pulled softly at hers…She leaned against the wall and watched him watch her. His fingers ran softly over her lips, her chin, down her neck. He drew his hand across her bare chest…He ran a line down her with his hot fingers, moving from the base of her neck, between her bare breasts, down to her navel…

  She forced the memory back and took deep breaths, trying to regain the sense of calm and focus Urdo had helped her find earlier. She could remember so vividly though, the way he kissed her collarbone, the strength of his hands as they held her hips, the heat of his breath against her…She shook her head, resisting the memories.

  Slowly, he came around her, into view. He clapped slowly, derisively, before letting his hands fall to his sides. His blond hair was tied back in a knot, his lip was cut, and he had a bruise on his cheekbone. He wore a dirty white tunic under an open leather vest, though not his Hunter’s leather, and dark breeches. His sword was sheathed at his hip. He looked the same, and yet different…In his golden eyes she saw no hope or youthfulness. He no longer carried himself with the same fresh optimism he once had—there was nothing young or immature in his gait. He was hardened, rugged, toughened by whatever life he had been living since fleeing the Blade.

  He nodded at her slowly. “You look different too.”

  He, unlike his hired help, could not enter her mind without her permission. He simply knew her thoughts from once having known her.

  She held his stare, and as the memories of his touch abated, her anger restored. “You would have a mage attack me.”

  He shrugged. “I simply wanted you to remember all we had.”

  “What we had wasn’t real, Kohl,” she shook her head.

  “Of that, I am acutely aware!” he barked, throwing his hands out to the side.

  She remained silent and still as he began to pace.

  “You know, I’ve been all around this…place. This dark palace he built for you. I’ve seen where you trained, where you ate, where you slept…I’ve sat in Falco’s dark throne. I met Corin—he says hello.”

  Jessop’s fists clenched.

  “I even lay in your bed. In the beginning, I didn’t know why I wanted to come here so badly, why, when given the opportunity to escape you and Falco forever, I would find myself needing to get into the Shadow City. It came to me of course, as I got to see more of your life as it was here. I wanted to know you as you knew me. I wanted to see what was behind all the rage and treachery.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek, listening to him. She felt violated, as though he had taken from her something she had not offered up. She understood that this was how he had felt, sharing his life in the Blade with her, only to be made the fool.

  He finally stopped pacing. “He made a city of darkness just for you.” He seemed to think long on his words, as he looked up to dark sky above them. His golden gaze finally fell back to her. “I truly believe no two people were ever more suited to one another.”

  He walked past her, causing her to turn on her heel and follow him with her eyes. “I imagine Urdo showed you how to sense where my army was. An ability of the seasoned Hunter—obviously it would come easily to you.”

  He kept his eyes trained on the large doorway, out into the dark streets. She watched him warily. “Yes.”

  “Falco built Aranthol so that you both could live in the Shadows, like the dark lords you are, so that you could prosper at his side and never face the harsh light of fire ever again. How greatly you must hate Azgul.”

  She did not respond, but his drawn-out tone made her grow more cautious, and she rested a hand on her hilt. He was waiting on something, she knew as much. She wanted to cease being surprised by Kohl O’Hanlon, and yet, no matter all she knew, the hatred in his voice wounded her.

  “How greatly you must hate me,” he added, turning his head just enough to glance back at her.

  The first of his words to sound soft and sincere, as they had always been with her before, pulled at her heart—though she did not loosen her grip on her hilt. “I’ve never hated you, Kohl.”

  He spun around at her words. “How can you say that to me? You destroyed my life and all we had.”

  She shook her head at him, frustrated and guilt-stricken. “We had nothing, Kohl.”

  “That is a lie! It might have all been a ruse to you, but I didn’t know that, did I? It was real for me.” His voice cracked over his words, emotion overwhelming him.

  She nodded, and some part of her wanted to move towards him, to take his hand and apologize, the way she had wanted to so many times before. But she couldn’t touch him. Not after the way she had touched him before. Not after the way he had nearly killed her. “Kohl, I’m sorry,” she spoke, her own voice a whisper.

  “Save your apologies, you cannot give me what I want,” he spat, his anger still brimming.

  “What is it you want? To know why I did it? To kill me? Falco? Tell me what you want—”

  “You! I wanted you, Jessop.”

  She felt a wrenching pain in her chest. She wished for things to have been different between them. She wished she had sought out any other Hunter that day in the tavern, one whose heart hadn’t been so easy to win over. No matter how many fell on her blade, it was the damage she had caused Kohl that tormented her. He haunted her dreams, his memory living forever at her side, pulling at her, nagging her to recall all they had shared.

  “Kohl…” she began, but let her voice trail off. She didn’t know what could be said.

  He shook his head. “It’s fine…If we can’t have the life I wanted for us, I can do the next best thing.”

  She waited, her breath frozen in her lungs, her hand twitching—always ready to go for her blade.

  “I can take the life he built for you,” he whispered, turning back to face the doorway, his eyes on the dark streets. She looked past him but saw nothing. She took several steps towards him, looking over his shoulder, but still, she could not make out what he looked for. Then, something caught her eye. A bright light, something flickering in the distance. She narrowed her gaze on it, uncertain of what she was seeing. The light was growing in both hue and size as it became more distinct.

  Then there was another…and another. They appeared throughout the city, illuminating the streets, surrounding the borders of Aranthol. Fire.

  “Kohl, no!” she shrieked, attempting to dart past him, but he grabbed her with a surprising force and flung her back. She slid over the onyx floor, remembering his strength. He had once told her, with such seriousness, that he wasn’t fragile. “The hurt is intrinsic to my way of life…” They had been his words but he hadn’t known what kind of hurt had awaited him then.

  “Your city will burn to the ground,” he spoke, his voice low and serious. She got to her feet slowly, unable to ignore the smell of smoke that had already reached them. She could hear people screaming.

  He reached for her, as though to touch her face, his hand falling just short. “And along with the city, all those you hold dear,” he added. Suddenly, the sound of quick marching erupted all around her. His army, a band of hired swords, appeared from the hall hidden behind Falco’s throne. Their emergence did not surprise
her; she had known where they hid. She did not fear his army, and she did not fear him. All she could think of was Aranthol burning to the ground…until she heard his voice.

  “Jessop!”

  She pivoted around and saw Korend’a, his arms and legs bound, being carried by several mercenaries. Corin was being shuffled along beside him, gagged.

  “Kohl—release them,” she warned.

  He shook his head slowly.

  The sympathy she felt for him began to pale. She would not let harm come to Korend’a or Corin. She locked eyes with Kohl. “I warn you, I will kill you where you stand,” she yelled, her voice loud and deep, echoing about the dark hall.

  “Do it, then!” he screamed back, waving his hands out to the side, expanding his chest as he offered it up as a target for her.

  “Don’t test me, Kohl!”

  “Do it!”

  She understood then, what it was he wanted. He wanted to die. She reached over her shoulder, grabbed her short dagger, and flung it at him. With easy aim, she struck him in the shoulder, the blade thrusting deep into him. He fell to his knee, a look of agony painted across his face. He touched the hilt gingerly, contemplating pulling it out, but hesitated at the sensation of pain. With the strength of a Hunter, he slowly rose back to his feet. With an easy flick, Jessop released her second dagger, stabbing him in the opposite shoulder. He fell to the ground, grabbing his chest. The wounds would not kill him, but he would not get to his feet quickly.

  “We are not done,” she growled at him, and turning to face the mercenaries, she unsheathed her Hunter’s blade.

  CHAPTER 15

  Jessop flung her arm out and a wave of the mercenary soldiers flew to the ground, visibly stunned. She raced through the minds of those who held Korend’a, and crippled them instantly. He rolled away from them, quick to begin working on the binds on his legs. She approached the wall of soldiers with confidence, alone, prepared to fight what would be an unwinnable battle to any other, for she was unable to rely on anyone—