Shackles of Light

by Christopher A. Nooner

  If that wasn’t enough torture, something clawed into his shoulders. He tried to scream but the cold contracted his lungs and closed his throat.

  Eli felt the newly formed scar tissue in his shoulder rip as that something dug deep and forced its way through the other side.

  He would have laughed at his continuous bad luck had it not hurt so bad. He was the only idiot in the world who could fall to his death and be attacked at the same time.

  Agony upon indignation.

  He looked down at the ground. He hoped that it was near enough to end this torment.

  It was not.

  He still had a death grip on Qerach though. That was something of a miracle. Maybe he could stab himself to death.

  Why was this fall taking so damn long?

  The pain spread from his shoulder blades down each side of his spine, and yet his body held onto consciousness like a wild dog held a bone in the winter.

  That was when the pain began for real.

  A part of him was amazed when the wings of his breastplate unfolded and pressed with agonizing precision against the forces of wind and gravity.

  Most of him was overwhelmed by the torment of it.

  His body felt like it had ripped in half.

  The parasitic wings began to beat, and then he was rising.

  The agony eased to an ache, and the air lost the long fangs of its cold bite. His stomach rolled with exhilaration as he hit an air pocket. He plummeted a quick twenty feet before his wings caught again and shot him through the sky.

  He was flying. Hundreds of feet above the rugged terrain.

  The ache in his shoulders and back was just a ghost when he angled and climbed the current to the flat top of the plateau.

  He shot past the lip of the cliff and hovered fifteen feet above the ground.

  He tried to put together what had happened since his tumbling departure.

  Usok and Eskeilay still occupied the Piasa, but both were slowing with fatigue. It was only a matter of time before the demon connected with one or both. He couldn't help them without the Ekaterin bead.

  He searched for Keezie, but she was gone. That was concerning, but there were other more immediate matters that he had to attend to.

  He swung to his father.

  He was clearly a better swordsman than Kish, but his uncle could dematerialize and coalesce behind him. Asahel should have burned him to a crisp but each time, met only smoke.

  He dipped his shoulder and dove in their direction. His intent was to take Kish from behind. Instead his father looked up and paid for his glance with a gash from Kish’s blade.

  His father staggered backward. and touched his hand to his face and neck. Slick blood covered his fingertips and forced him to clamp his hand over the wound.

  A thin line of blood seeped through his tight pressed fingers.

  Eli dove hard, but Kish slipped away. Too savvy to miss that something behind him had caused Cleve’s lapse.

  Eli skimmed the earth, marveling through the intensity of the moment at the ease his body had adapted to the wings and flight.

  He touched down beside his father. "Are you okay?" he asked.

  Cleve nodded, and pointed the tip of his blade toward the smirking Kish.

  Eli understood. He leaped into the air. His goal was to attack from above and behind while his father engaged from the front.

  As natural as his new form of motion was, swordplay was a different matter. His leverage in the air was nonexistent and made his normal method of attack weak and ineffective.

  He tried multiple stratagem, from repeatedly diving and slashing, much like a bird protecting its nest, to hovering and stabbing as he began to fall.

  He settled on the diving and slashing attack. He tried to time his swing in the lull between his father's.

  Kish was brilliant. It was no wonder he had survived so long. He twisted and spun, using his blade like a shield rather than a weapon, dematerializing only when necessary to survive a perfect slash or jab.

  He waited patiently for another opening.

  Somehow Cleve managed to smear his wound with what looked like yarrow and possibly alfalfa. Whatever it was it had stopped the bleeding. He fought like a swordsman of Nvnehi legend.

  The man was remarkable. Eli found himself in awe.

  Eventually, Eli thought he found Kish’s tell. When he was about to turn to vapor his skin would darken for a split second.

  When he was sure he was right, he attacked just enough to not draw suspicion until he thought he saw a stab from his father that would pierce a normal opponent.

  At the very moment Kish darkened, Eli swung. He cursed when his blade passed through again. He had timed it incorrectly or he was wrong. He was too early.

  A second later Asahel’s scorching heat hit the super cooled vapors left by Qerach's passage. The air exploded.

  Kish howled. His body slammed back minus his left hand. The oily little man pulled it to his chest and dissipated.

  Cleve spun wildly searching for him, but he was gone.

  Eli saw the dark stain of his great uncle streak towards the woods just to the West.

  "I think he's gone," Eli shouted as he sheathed Qerach and set down.

  His wings folded themselves over his shoulders and resumed their innocent guise as mere armor.

  "Licking his wounds, no doubt." Cleve panted.

  A howl interrupted their small celebration.

  Eli turned to see Usok picking himself up from the snow where the Piasa had tossed him.

  "The bead!" he urged his father, but it was already in the air.

  The great hound wobbled and collapsed.

  Eli rushed to his side. There was little blood, so if there were damage it must be internal.

  He ran his hand through thick fur searching for bumps or soft spots.

  He was halfway down the dog's body when he found himself sucked toward the Piasa without grip or purchase to stop.

  Panicked, he held his hands over his face. His body somersaulted, but he skidded to a stop only couple of feet from where he started.

  "Sorry!" his father called from where he knelt next to the dark lump that Eskeilay and Usok had fought to protect. "Forgot to warn you about that."

  Usok stood and butted his head against Eli's leg.

  "You all right, boy?" he asked his friend. He was surprised at the relief he felt when the dog chuffed and nodded his head.

  "What is it?" Eli asked his father.

  Cleve stood and pointed toward the Naaldlooshii woman, "Her.”

  Eskeilay's smile was a frightening combination of madness and a complete lack of fear. She circled west angling a bit south, well away from the dangerous drop of the cliff to the north. "There are two horses inside the woods," she purred. Sweat glistened on her naked skin or sleek black coat, whichever she happened to be at the moment. She either couldn't decide, couldn't control it, or didn't care. "Consider my debt paid, Mal'Ak."

  “What debt?” Cleve demanded. He turned with the shapeshifter never allowing her to circle behind him.

  Her laugh fell like ice on the snow. "But I do, and now it's paid." She stopped when her arc brought her due south. "Goodbye.” She was gone before either could reply; a blur of black against the brilliant white snow.

  Eli's curse brought Cleve back around. He pointed to the space that had been occupied by the other skin walker. She was gone as well. “I think she took the bead." He wasn't surprised.

  Cleve muttered something he couldn't understand.

  "What?" Eli asked, but his father just shook his head, and touched his neck which was oozing again.

  "We should find your friend, and finish killing Kish."

  Eli nodded, "She shouldn't be hard to track."

  Cleve opened his coat and peeked at the baby. That the boy was asleep astonished Eli. He’d lost that ability somewhere along the way. Now he needed curses, and banished creatures to put him to sleep.

  The horses were exactly where Eskeilay said they w
ould be, and, as Eli predicted, Keezie was easy enough to track.

  They led the horses. It was as much for the animal's benefit as for their own. Tracking was easier on foot.

  Cleve recognized the horses from his village, but they were skittish. Too much blood and excitement, though neither horse minded Usok.

  Keezie's tracks were irregular, like she was hurt or dazed. Not like a person running to hide. It took them an hour to catch up.

  When they found her, she sat on a large boulder that overlooked the well-worn deer trail they followed.

  "I thought I killed you." She stated flatly. “I wish I had.”

  "Me, too,” he responded. He waited while the silence built between them. He knew she would be compelled to break it.

  It was torture.

  "Why? Why would you kill him, Eli? Why would you take him from me?” She screamed. "I loved him so much."

  "I'm sorry, Keezie, but it’s not what you think. He wasn’t what you think he was.”

  "How the hell is he not what I think?" She demanded. "You. Killed. My. Mampa." She jabbed her finger at him with each word. “He was my world.”

  "Okay, but it wasn’t when you think I killed him,” he told her.

  "What does that even mean?"

  Eli's mouth scrunched together as he thought. Finally, he spoke, "I killed him outside of Nisquasi.” He let that sit in the air.

  When her eyes squinted, and her head cocked, he went on, "When you had the Stygian inside you."

  "No. He wasn't there."

  "He was. He did this thing to you. It's what he was after your whole life. You. A pure vessel. Ask Ammonih, or any of the Nvnehi, really. No, ask Joseph."

  She shook her head vehemently. "It’s not possible," she muttered. Then she lifted her head and met his eyes. "Doesn’t matter. I will never forgive you."

  Words had never hit him with such force. It felt like a blow to the gut. He was dizzy and sick.

  Cleve motioned at her. "Come down, girl. Let's finish this and get you home."

  Eli didn't think she would listen, but she slid down, brushed herself off, and waited.

  He tried to catch her eye, but she refused to acknowledge him.

  He was grateful for his father's hand on his shoulder as he walked by. Eli dropped his head and stared at the forest floor as they continued.

  Eli noticed his father stumble on two different occasions, and his concern grew to fright when the older man had to brace himself on a nearby tree.

  He could see the edge of the forest by the time night fell.

  "We’ll camp here tonight," Cleve informed them. “I’ll take first watch. Son, you can take second."

  "Fine by me." He wanted to ask his father if he was okay, but couldn't find the courage. "How do we find Kish?" he asked.

  "We don't." Cleve smiled at the puzzlement on Eli's face. "Don't worry, I know my uncle. He'll find us."

  "How do you know?" Keezie demanded.

  "We have something he desperately wants." He pointed to his chest. "He was careful with his blade. Never once did it come close to Donehegowa.”

  Eli felt stupid. Of course. "He wants his own Mal'Ak. One the Mahan can control. He wants me."

  Cleve nodded. "Now, sleep if you can. I'll build a fire and wake you later."

  Eli was asleep before his father finished stacking wood.

  The battle of the colossuses wasn't covering as much ground now. Joseph was exhausted, and the Piasa couldn't fly with half a quiver of arrows under its wing.

  It hopped and flapped like a Killdeer trying to distract a predator.

  It was a slow and grueling process. It took hours to fire twelve arrows into the Piasa's underwing.

  Ammonih wasn't sure if it was enough, but it was half of what he had left. He was sure he had to do the other side as well.

  He had just gotten himself into position on the right side when Joseph fell to a knee, grabbing his head. The air around his golem friend began to shimmer.

  That was a bad sign. Very bad. Joseph was going to transform back to a man. His magic was running out.

  The monster, sensing weakness, redoubled his attacks.

  With no time to be picky Ammonih ran into the open and sent an arrow under the monster's outstretched wing.

  The hateful eyes turned to him when the message reached its brain that there was pain.

  The ground shook as it bounded in his direction.

  He was sure he was done for when Joseph snagged one of its legs and sent it crashing face first into the forest floor.

  Ammonih whooped and scampered back to the cover of trees.

  It was on, and between him and his Stone Clad friend they would kill this nasty beast one way or another.

  Sometime during the night Eli woke to buckles jangling. He cracked his eyes to see his father easing his armor into a rucksack. He was half in shadows. They danced and darted with the flickering of the firelight. Even tricks of light couldn't hide the love the man had for his son.

  He ran a dirty finger down the child's cheek.

  Eli watched as the warrior took the medallion from around his neck and placed it over his tiny son's head.

  He turned. It was just enough to give Eli a clear view of his neck. The wound looked bad. Rotten. Veiny and black.

  Tears sprung to his eyes. His heart felt like it would never beat again.

  His father put the rucksack on his back and pulled the furs back around him. That done, he neared the fire again, and sat.

  "Eli," his father's voice was soft. It barely carried over the crack of the fire. Eli adjusted his head and opened his eyes the rest of the way.

  "You go by Eli, do you not?" his father asked.

  He raised his chin in affirmation, then slowly pushed himself upright.

  His muscles ached. His joints were sore, and he was pretty sure his head throbbed.

  "Come sit by me."

  He shook his head. He knew that look. He had seen it too many times. It was the look of a man who knew he was about to die. He bit his lip and looked away.

  "Please," his father pleaded. "Let me give you something." Eli saw him pat the ground by his side.

  Reluctantly he crossed the small space between them and sat.

  "What is the name you know yourself by? The name that is yours?" It was a strange question. One he had never considered. He was himself. Eli.

  He nodded as he answered, "Elihu Seven Crow."

  Cleve rested his hand on Eli's arm. "There's not time to tell you all the things a father should tell his son. There never is." He paused to clear the emotion from his voice. "But I’ll tell you this. The calling of Danawa is conferred on the death of the Eldest Mal'Ak to his heir. That is how it has always happened, but it is not the only way it can happen.” Eli wasn't sure why his father's voice failed him but he felt the solemnity of the moment, so he waited quietly. "It can be conferred. The Danawa can pass it to his heir. That’s what I must do. I need to pass it to you.”

  "No." His refusal was flat and final.

  Cleve's warm hand clasped the back of his neck. "Yes." His reply was simple and gentle. "I can save you," he pointed to the burden beneath his coat, “but you need to save us all.”

  "How?" Once again, he was being asked to do the impossible. Once again life was screwing him over.

  “Accept your calling and be who you are. Can you do that?"

  "I don't even know what that means," Eli snapped.

  "Some things a man sees can either scar and mangle him or help him blossom into what the Great Spirit knows he can be. I know you've seen such things. Your life has obviously been full of them, but don't let go of the joy. Life is meant to be enjoyed, even the hardest parts. There is beauty in tragedy. Pleasure in pain.” Cleve looked pointedly at the sleeping Keezie. “Fall in love.”

  He tried to speak, but the look in his father's eyes stopped his angry words.

  "Elihu Seven Crow, Donehegowa, will you accept the call of Danawa Mal'Ak? Will you live the life The Great Spirit
needs you to live? Protect our people, our ways, and our world?"

  The words had power. They shocked his soul. Electricity passed through his father's hand into the core of him. Real power. Power like he had never known.

  Tears streamed down his face. He didn't want this. He couldn't lose this man, yet. He wasn't prepared.

  He found himself nodding. He wanted to stop, he wanted to deny it, he wanted to take it back; but he wouldn't let his father down. He prayed he wouldn't.

  “Say it,” Cleve prompted.

  “Yes.”

  "I name you Danawa. With all the power and responsibility that the calling entails. I pass my strength, my will, my life, and my calling to you. May the Great Spirit keep you until the days of your work are done. Let The Ablution be finished. So, let it be done. So let it be done."

  Something swirled in Eli's chest, tickled his lungs, warmed his belly. He looked up.

  The sun peaked its red eye over the horizon and plastered the snow beyond the trees with red and orange.

  He caught his father as the older man slumped forward. "Put me on a horse."

  "What?" Eli asked confused.

  "Hurry. He’s coming. I must be gone."

  Eli called Usok. "Keep them safe," he implored. The hound pressed hard into his leg.

  He stood and pulled his father to his feet. Awkwardly he helped him throw his leg over the saddle of the larger horse.

  Cleve slipped his feet in stirrups that were just a bit too long, leaned forward, gripped the horse’s mane, and nodded his goodbye.

  Eli stepped back and swatted the horse on the rump. It surged from the trees into the deep snow of the field. He watched his father ride away, Usok loping beside him. It would be a bad memory in a sea of nightmares. He hoped it would be enough to keep them safe.

  Kish’s greasy smirk greeted him in the dim light.

  "We've been here before, Mal'Ak," Kish spat the last word at him as if it were poison.

  Keezie knelt on the ground in front of the little man. One hand was wound in her hair, the other held a long thin dagger at the base of her throat. His right foot pressed hard on the back of her right knee.

  Eli refused to look at Keezie. He kept his eyes on his great uncle. "No, we have not." He was pleased at the steadiness of his voice, and a little surprised considering the reappearance of Kish’s hand. It was never fair. Light was always shackled, and dark was always unfettered.