The Robert Stanek Short Story & Novella Collection
Page 16
Ky’el thundered toward the line, his silver cloak streaming from his shoulders. Amir tried to follow.
Dust seemed to be blowing everywhere. Keeping up with the shadowy figure charging into the battle required his full attention.
The besiegers began screaming and cheering as the packs set into the lines, their screams and cheers in stark contrast to the cries of pain from the defenders, the sound of it all very nearly blocking out the strange whistling from above. By the time Amir saw the first black-feathered arrow strike one of his fellows, it was too late.
An arrow hit him full in the chest, piercing his breastplate. An instant later, he found himself on the other side. “Am I dead or am I dreaming?” he asked himself as he floated in the void.
“Not dead,” said the voice from out of the void—the voice Amir would in later years come to know as Noman’s. “Your path continues far beyond this place.”
“Where am I? Why am I here?”
“Ky’el’s time comes to an end. Look, the arrow has pierced his heart, not yours.” It was the first use of the compelling voice Amir had encountered and it was in that moment that he realized he was cradling Ky’el—that the arrow had pierced Ky’el’s armor not his own.
Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. The battle was all but over.
“What am I to do?”
“You shall find out soon. Now is not the time.”
“What is this place?”
“The world of dreams and reality are closely knit, very closely knit,” Noman said. “Ofttimes the two appear as one and the same, or perhaps another. Some exist in a state of perpetual dream, others in a state of eternal life, and a few in a state of the dream within their eternal life. You, my young friend, find the dream at a time when life’s need is at its greatest.”
Amir was halfway through a response when he realized he was back in the present, sitting in the great window with the fading sun casting his shadow long upon the floor. Hours had passed. Noman had laid out the final path upon the table. “Is it—?” he started to ask but was interrupted.
“Must you always dwell in the past?” Noman asked.
“There, you see, even when I think, I cannot be alone.”
“That is as it must be. Come, even you must eat. Ah, and before you complain, this is what you wanted. I know it is.”
Amir looked at the food spread out in front of him like a feast. “Yes, but I changed my mind.”
“No you didn’t. You shouldn’t fool with an old man’s mind.”
“An old man? You are the one who taught me that appearance is meaningless.”
Noman’s eyes flashed. “Appearance is everything; you would do well to remember that.”
Amir made no further comment and instead ate until he was content then walked back to his window to continue his watch. Time passed without change. As Noman stared at the Destiny Sticks and busily consulted his books, Amir waited in silence as the sun disappeared over the horizon.
The next day brought more restlessness. Amir paced back and forth, occasionally glancing out the window. Both he and Noman could sense a change, a presence that could not be explained in words. Noman didn’t show his anxiety as much as Amir did although within he was indeed anxious. He could sense it just as much as Amir could.
Seeking to ease the tension, Noman began to concentrate, focusing his thoughts, cycling the Magicks through his body discreetly. His hope was to catch Amir off guard; but after centuries of being with Noman, Amir responded to the attack with catlike grace, unsheathing his goliath, double-edged bastard sword, turning, lifting, and striking out at his invisible opponent in the time it took most to inhale a single breath.
The resonant clang of metal striking metal soon filled the air. Amir knew his opposition well; after all, it was himself. He fought his own shadow as always and it knew his every move, his every trick. It remembered each time that Amir had overcome it in the past. It fed on those defeats so that each time Amir was forced to think differently or to act differently, thus improving his performance or making him stronger and faster so he could defeat it.
He charged repeatedly, wielding his weapon with the ease and skill of a master, the generous weight of its mass carefully balanced in his hands. He attempted a simple combination, thrust, parry, thrust, followed quickly by a thrust, slice, and a feint. The shadow seemed to mock him as it followed his every move and counter.
“Will I ever be able to fight this beast in reality?” Amir asked, gritting his teeth, circling left.
“Concentrate,” Noman responded, “Concentrate or you will become the shadow.”
Amir dropped, rolled and thrust upward with his blade. The shadow blocked and circled.
“It seems so fruitless, all this training, all this waiting. What will happen then, afterward?”
Noman raised his eyebrows, sensing the intent in the words. “Do not fret so. The day comes, revel in that, but trust me when I say you will wish it hadn’t.”
Through the afternoon the assault continued. Amir’s blade broke the air about him wildly, pushing the shadow into a corner. He was nearly winded but he couldn’t let his fatigue show. The shadow had an advantage over him. It never tired, it was relentless, it learned with every breath. So even as Amir moved in for the kill, the shadow countered and waited for the lunge that was meant to end its existence; then it cackled in delight.
As Amir’s blade met empty air, he shouted, “This is going nowhere!”
“Your mind is overly occupied elsewhere. You should not be thinking of Ashwar and the clansmen! Focus upon what is important!”
“Concentrate, concentrate,” Amir exhorted himself. Nearing exhaustion, his only resource left was a gambit. He jumped into the air. Midway through a forward somersault, he struck down, only to slice empty air.
He landed, recovered from the momentary surprise, dodged a well-timed blow from the shadow, spun, and then hurled his sword outward. This time his blade struck true and the creature roared its defeat. The shadow had done exactly what Amir expected it to do. It had dodged his first attack and tried to attack him from behind as he landed. The next sweep of the creature’s blade should have caught him except that Amir spun to the right instead of to the left where the shadow had been; and as it countered, Amir struck outward with the lethal blow, ending the match in victory as always.
Sweat glistening from his muscular body, Amir sheathed his sword and wiped perspiration from his brow. He was tired, very tired, though he would not show it. He had learned from the shadow as much as it had learned from him and he would not forget the lesson. Steadying himself, he returned to the great window and his vigil.
That evening the two supped in silence, lost in thought. As the last light of the day gave way to the darkness of the night, Noman looked up from his books. “You must be patient. Watch, but take no action.” His guarded expression said everything. The hour had come; the long wait was over. Amir cast the orb at his feet, but before he could step into the spinning circle of light, Noman spoke again. “Heed my warning, take no action. Watch, and when it is over, return to report.”
Amir stepped into the circle of light, disappearing and reappearing on the desolate sands of the Barrens. The air in the high mountain desert was chill and growing colder by the moment as the wind sucked the warmth of the day from the sand. In the distance he could see a bonfire, its dull orange glow a beacon in the darkness. Two figures moved around the fire; but it was the third, lying in sleep, that interested him the most. He called out a challenge to the wind and waited.
About the Author
Robert Stanek has written many books for young people and adults. Robert was born in Burlington Wisconsin. He is the second youngest of five children. In 1985 he enlisted in the Air Force and entered a 2-year training program in Intelligence and Linguistics at the Defense Language Institute. After graduation he served in various field operations duties in Asia and Europe. In 1990 he won an appointment to Air Combat School and shortly after graduation serve
d in the Persian Gulf War as a combat crewmember on an electronic warfare aircraft. During his two tours in the Persian Gulf War, Robert flew numerous combat and combat support missions, logging over two hundred combat flight hours. His distinguished accomplishments during the war earned him nine medals, including the United States of America’s highest flying honor, the Air Force Distinguished Flying Cross, the Air Medal, the Air Force Commendation Medal, and the Humanitarian Service Medal. He earned 29 decorations in his 11-year military career.
Born into a family of readers, Robert was always reading and creating stories. Even before he started school, he read classics like Treasure Island, The Swiss Family Robinson, Kidnapped, Robinson Crusoe, and The Three Musketeers. Later in his childhood, he started reading Jules Verne, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Ray Bradbury, Herman Melville, Jack London, Charles Dickens, and Edgar Allan Poe. Of that he says, "Edgar Allan Poe can be pretty bleak and dark, especially when you’re ten years old. But I remember being fascinated with his stories."
Robert completed his first novel in 1986 when he was stationed in Japan but it wasn’t until nearly a decade later that his first book was published. After writing his master’s thesis on the Internet and electronic publishing revolution, his professor encouraged him to get it published and that is exactly what he set out to do. His first book became a bestseller as did his next two books. Since then, he has written and had published more than 150 books.
Robert has won many awards from his colleagues and the publishing industry. Currently, he resides in the Pacific Northwest with his wife and children. For fun he used to spend a lot of time mountain biking and hiking, but now his adventures in the great outdoors are mostly restricted to short treks around the Pacific Northwest.
Learn more at www.robertstanek.com
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