Shadow of the Conqueror

by Shad M Brooks

  It was the power itself, Daylen realized. It felt really weird; like an invisible muscle he had never used needing rest. Daylen tried to push on, but with every step it became harder and harder to maintain the bonds, that invisible muscle feeling more and more stress until finally Daylen’s bonds simply ceased.

  Daylen leaned down and by instinct breathed heavily to try and catch his breath, yet there was no breath to catch. He wasn’t winded. He felt he could go on and run with no lightbinding, like he had just woken up from a nap, yet his body was sweating. Some new part of him had been pushed to its limit.

  Daylen could still feel the light around him as if it were a physical thing, yet as he tried to draw it in, his legs gave way and he fell to his knees.

  “Whoa!” he said as he fell.

  That was one of the odder sensations he had ever felt, his body giving way, even collapsing, while feeling physically fine. He got up without a problem.

  “There’s clearly a limit to how much I can use my powers,” he said to himself. Whatever new ability he had that allowed him to draw in light fatigued him when used too long. “Makes sense. These powers are very intuitive.”

  He would have tried to use his powers in healing to help them recover faster, but at that moment his powers were gone.

  Daylen walked on, letting them rest.

  He had already crossed a considerable distance with his speed increased, and yet it took the remainder of Low Fall to reach the farm, hiking through uncultivated lands, wild forests, and even a few old ruins.

  Before climbing over the post and railing fence that enclosed one of the nearer paddocks to the farmhouse, Daylen tentatively drew on the light. It came with a little resistance.

  “So I’ve recovered a little, but with my power back, can I speed it up?”

  He channeled the light into healing, expecting the channeling to get easier as a result. It didn’t. “So healing doesn’t restore my channeling ability, but can I channel light into my ability to channel and help it recover?” Daylen tried to switch the bond to his channeling ability, willing in his mind the same way he willed the light into other attributes.

  The light within him was repelled as powerfully as if he had tried to drop an ice cube into boiling oil, rebounding and hitting the inside of his chest with such force it knocked him off his feet.

  Daylen fell on his back like he had just been kicked by a horse, every bit of wind knocked out of him.

  He writhed and gasped for air before finally managing to say, “Wow, that was weird.”

  After a few minutes he had recovered enough to climb to his feet. “Okay,” he said, “don’t touch the power with the power. Noted.”

  His chest ached. Daylen cautiously drew in light and channeled it to his healing ability. The light flowed through his body sluggishly, and though he could feel his fatigue disappear, the pain in his chest remained.

  “Interesting. I hope I haven’t broken something.”

  Daylen rested on the fence rail for a minute before jumping over it.

  The pain spiked with exertion, but he was used to pain.

  He rubbed his chest as he walked.

  The farmstead comprised a quaint cottage of the old wattle-and-daub type, with a tiled roof, two animal shelters, a wood shack, a chicken coop, and a larger barn.

  Smoke rose from the house chimney and flowers bloomed on vines that grew up one of the walls of the house and in garden beds near the door.

  It was the morn of High Fall and a man was already up and about chopping wood in front of the shack that housed it.

  Daylen approached the young man who, after noticing Daylen, leaned his axe beside the chopping block and waited cautiously.

  “Light to you,” Daylen said as he got close enough.

  The farmer had a swollen face with sharp amber eyes. A rotund belly rested on his waistline, as round as his arms and shoulders. His blood-red hair was streaked with green; no tassel hanging from it. Had Daylen fallen into the western border of Frey?

  “And light to you, lad,” the farmer said in a voice as deep as his Freysian accent, which answered Daylen’s question.

  He calls me lad, and the man’s nothing but a pup. Who does this disrespectful sunspot think he… Oh.

  To Daylen, the man looked young enough to be his grandson—maybe forty years old—but to everyone else, Daylen himself was nothing but a hormone-addled teen. This was going to take some getting used to.

  “What brings you here so early in the fall?” the farmer asked.

  Daylen couldn’t exactly say he had just fallen from the continent without prompting a deluge of questions.

  “Well, out with it! I have work to be about.”

  His condescending tone almost provoked a good tongue lashing, but Daylen held back—barely. “I…um… I’m lost.”

  “You look it. Truly, boy, did you take a walk through the brambles or something?”

  “Boy? Boy! I’m no more a boy than you are a goat! Why I’m old enough to be… Well, I’m plenty old, all right,” Daylen finished lamely.

  “Aye,” the farmer said, nodding in understanding. “I was once your age, too…”

  No, you most certainly have never been my age, Daylen thought.

  “My son’s going through the same thing. Wants more respect, yet shirks responsibility.” The man turned and yelled, “Gaidan, you out of bed? Your chores are still needing to be done!”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Daylen said. “I’ve had a long and complicated few falls and all I seek is a bed to rest in. Could I impose upon you for that, just for a fall?”

  “Well, you’re polite enough when you think to be,” the man said, “and you’re clearly in some need. Come, I’ll show you a bed.”

  Daylen was shown to a loft in the farmer’s barn, where two low beds sat.

  “This is where my brother and I sleep when he and his wife visit. It should serve well enough.”

  Yep, most definitely a Freysian. That this man would give his brother’s wife his own bed in the house when they visited confirmed it, what with how women were revered in their culture.

  “Thank you, and my name is Daylen.”

  “I’m Taigo. Get some sleep and I’ll find you something to eat when you wake.”

  Daylen fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and awoke a good twelve hours later with the sound of rain falling on the shingled roof of the barn.

  Daylen rose from the cot-like bed and, looking down from the loft, saw that the animals had been brought in for the low.

  Two milking cows stared at him in a way that said he wasn’t welcome.

  Feeling at his chest, Daylen was pleased to find the pain gone. He stretched out his hand and felt for the light. With the overcast from the rain and the cover of the barn, there was barely any light to be felt.

  Daylen tried to draw in what he could, and his ability to do so responded instantly.

  “Looks like they’ve recovered,” he said, but he noted how sluggish the light came in when trying to channel in such a dark place.

  Daylen bound the light to his strength and found that he would not be able to make any additional bonds without more light.

  He stepped from the loft and fell four meters before landing easily.

  One of the cows mooed in surprise, stumbling away.

  Walking to the single door built into the two larger double doors of the barn, Daylen stepped outside.

  The barn roof had an eave large enough for there to be some shelter from the rain adjacent to the wall outside.

  The day was so overcast that fall that Daylen could see glowing light shining out of the cottage’s windows from the sunstones within. Most people of the world despised this type of overcast, feeling it was too like the night. This showed they knew nothing about what true night was like. Overcast falls like this simply showed what a regular fall was like in the desolate Shadowlands, where the southern end of the continent sat under the shadow of itself causing little to grow and therefore was uninhabited.


  He would have left the farm that very moment if not for how hungry he was. Taigo’s offering of food was too much for him to deny.

  Daylen ran through the rain to the cottage, knocking on the door.

  Taigo opened it. “Come in, lad, before you get soaked.”

  Daylen’s teeth grated at being called a lad, but he did so.

  He walked into a brightly lit home, the light feeling wonderful. The cottage’s kitchen lay directly to his right, the family’s dining table to his left, where Taigo’s whole family was sitting. A sitting room and laundry sat beyond the other rooms with bedrooms on the upper floors.

  “Oh, you’re having dinner. Sorry, I’ll…”

  “No, my wife has invited you to join us.”

  Taigo’s wife, a very large woman with breasts the size of melons, sat at the head of the table, like all proper Freysian households. Her scarlet-red hair was tied in a bun, her rosy round cheeks and smile so warm they might dry Daylen’s clothes on their own.

  Two young girls sat at the table’s left, a shuttered window at their back, and giggled whenever they looked at Daylen. One was on her way to being as plump as her parents, but the other was uncharacteristically skinny for this family, which meant she was only slightly thick of neck.

  Across the table from the girls sat an older boy, very much the image of his father in girth and face. A bare seat was next to him, awaiting Daylen.

  “With your blessing, Matron,” Daylen said, bowing to the wife.

  Her smile deepened at that, and she nodded.

  Daylen took his seat with Taigo doing the same.

  “By the looks of you I thought you were Hamahran,” the wife said.

  “I am, Matron.”

  “But you call me Matron with all the respect of a native-born Freysian.”

  “I know a lot about Frey and the world.” Light, I ruled most of it once.

  “You’re a credit to your parents, then. I’m Luciana. This is Aliciana, Mariana, and Gaidan.”

  The pup next to Daylen, Gaidan, glanced to him and nodded. “Hi,” he said, with a level of familiarity that caught Daylen off guard.

  “Uh, hi,” Daylen said back.

  “Which part of Hamahra you from?” Gaidan asked. He must have been eighteen years old.

  “The Trireme Prefecture of old Sunsen. A small town named Karadale, about a hundred kilometers east of Treremain.”

  “I know of Sunsen,” Gaidan said. “Treremain sounds familiar, too.”

  “You’re leagues from home, lad,” Taigo said.

  Daylen cringed inwardly at the use of that unit of measurement. The “league” had been used to represent so many values over the past that it was now completely unreliable, but Daylen guessed the farmer was using it in the more modern and unofficial way to mean one thousand kilometers.

  Taigo continued, “How did you come all the way to Frey, and to Baisen, by all that’s good? There’s no main road here from the west.”

  “No offense, Taigo, but that’s my business.”

  “It is,” Luciana said. “Taigo, you should mind your manners.”

  “Sorry, my wife.”

  Luciana saved them from awkward silence by asking Aliciana, the larger of the daughters, to bless the food.

  According to Freysian religion, called Matriology, because women gave birth, they possessed a sliver of creation and thereby shared some of the Godmother’s own power, which was why only women could offer blessings. In Daylen’s opinion this was contradicted by the fact that men and women could receive divine powers as Lightbringers.

  According to Matriology, women created life and men took life, both necessary acts as they saw it. A devout Matrian woman wouldn’t even uproot a craggot or pull a fruit from a tree and thereby end its life—that was the duty of a man. But as women created life, they were also the caretakers of life and they would see to raising the children, keeping their house in order and pleasing their husbands. This meant they would prepare the food after it had been killed, and Light help anyone who got in the way of a Matrian woman and her kitchen.

  Everyone bowed their heads as Aliciana spoke, though she giggled once when sneaking a peek at Daylen.

  Light, that was annoying.

  “I bless this food that it will be healthy to our bodies and souls and dedicate it to all that is good.”

  Daylen joined them all in repeating the words, “To all that is good.”

  Taigo eyed him as the younger sister served the stew. “You’re a Matrian?” he asked.

  “No,” Daylen said, “but dedicating anything to all that is good is something I’m all too happy to do.”

  “Hmm, would you object to learning more of Matriology? My wife is ordained.”

  “Sorry, I’m a Lightseeker.”

  “But Lightseeking has a blatant hole in its doctrine,” the Matron said.

  “So I’ve heard. You believe there must be a specific act to purify someone of their sins…”

  “Only after they repent,” Taigo interjected.

  “Yes,” Daylen said. “And Matrians disagree with Lightseekers, who believe the Light can forgive sin by its own power without the need for a cleansing ordinance…as little objection anyone would have to Mariology’s cleansing ordinance.”

  “You mean the sacrament, which can only be properly performed in marriage,” Taigo said, pointing with his spoon.

  Mariana passed Daylen a bowl of stew, which he took with a nod of gratitude.

  “Yeah, but you can’t tell me it’s not enjoyable,” Daylen said.

  That comment made Aliciana and Mariana blush. Gaidan huffed a chuckle.

  “As it should be,” Luciana said. “Redemption is a joyful thing, the very reason the Godmother made the sacrament so. And the cleansing of sin is not about power. The Godmother has all power and could make it that trees simply appear in the world fully grown. And yet she has seen fit that trees grow in the way that she has prescribed, as she has with cleansing the corruption that sin leaves within us.”

  Daylen swallowed a spoonful of stew. Light, it was good. You could always trust plump people to make good food. “I can agree that the Light will prescribe what it sees fit, including what one must do to be redeemed…or what one must suffer for their sins.” Daylen’s expression must have conveyed a measure of his feelings on the matter, for Taigo and Luciana looked at each other in concern. “Anyway,” Daylen said, “we could discuss this through the fall and get nowhere. There’s enough disagreement within Matriology’s own denominations to prove that. You and your husband are clearly Matrian Orthodox, as Taigo claimed the sacrament only cleanses sin in proper marriage. There’s enough Spousums throughout Frey that proclaim a different interpretation.”

  Luciana scowled. “They’re glorified whorehouses.”

  The son, Gaidan, stifled a childish laugh.

  Luciana turned to him. “And if you ever visit one of them, I’ll cut off your manhood!”

  “I know, Mother. You tell me whenever they’re mentioned.”

  “Yes, and may the Godmother see that you remember.”

  They all returned to the food, only the casual comment or question breaking the silence.

  “Remember to keep Daylen’s bowl full, Mariana,” Luciana said to her daughter. “When married, it’ll be your honor to see that your men and boys are fed. Daylen’s a growing boy, after all, and he needs his strength.”

  There was too much intention in Luciana’s eyes as she said that, clearly weighing up Daylen as husband material.

  Marianna refilled his bowl and handed it back to Daylen, who was all too happy to have another serving. Light, he was hungry.

  The girls giggled once more while looking at Daylen and he snapped, slamming his hand on the table while glaring at the little nits. “What in Light’s Reach is so blackened funny?”

  “Now, now!” Luciana said angrily. “You’ll watch your tongue under my roof.”

  Feeling both shame and resentment at being addressed so by a lowly farmer,
Daylen forced out an awkward apology. “I’m sorry, Matron. My temper can get away from me.”

  If this woman knew who Daylen really was, she would piss herself and then run to the hills with her family.

  “Tis a failing all young men have, I’m afraid,” the woman said with a glance to her son. “Now, girls, why don’t you answer young Daylen’s question.”

  Taigo sat there silently, but seemed to be enjoying the drama.

  The girls blushed and squirmed in their seats. “Um, nothing’s funny.”

  “Then I expect to hear no more laughter from the two of you.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Everyone returned to their meals until Taigo asked Daylen another question.

  “Your parents must be worried about you, being so far from home.”

  Too many questions. There was no real harm with these simple folk, but if anyone more official pried like this, there could be trouble.

  Daylen needed to reach the capital sooner rather than later.

  For now, he spoke the truth. “My parents are dead.”

  “How do you take care of yourself?” Luciana asked.

  “I fix things. Most people call me a tinker.”

  Luciana swallowed a mouthful of stew. “Ah, a tinker. You must be good with your hands and have a sharp head to make enough money from such a trade.”

  “I get by.”

  “I hope you would tell us if you were in some form of trouble.”

  “No, not really.”

  Luciana looked at Daylen, a bit stunned. “Very well. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need, so long as you work.”

  Daylen looked outside and was relieved to see the rain letting up. “Thank you, Matron, but I’ll be heading out after dinner. And thank you for the food. It’s delicious.”

  Luciana beamed. “Follow the road heading east. That will take you to Aidra’s Brook, a small village, but the weekly coach is two falls past. You’ll have to make your way to Bukenbright along the main road. It’s about a four-hour walk.”

  “Then that’s where I’ll head.”

  Taigo nodded to Daylen. “Now, lad, you should be carrying a sword while you travel.”