Greatshadow

by James Maxey

  Aurora raised her fist as an ice gauntlet formed around it. “Actually, the jungle enhances my powers. Ice magic depends on moisture. The atmosphere of my homeland was arid; here, water is plentiful. Spells that take minutes back home can be cast in seconds. Plus, though you wouldn’t know it from the heat outside, it is nearly the winter solstice, the time of year when my powers are at their peak.”

  “I asked my question of Blade, not of you, ogress,” said Father Ver. He turned once more to the albino. “The Whisper says you need my powers.”

  “These two,” said Blade, nodding toward Infidel and Relic. “They showed up uninvited. Aurora vouches for them, but—”

  The Truthspeaker raised his hand as he glared at Relic and asked, “Who are you and why are you here?”

  Relic stared directly into Father Ver’s eyes as he said, “I was once known as Urthric,” before launching into his tale of being a survivor of the Vanished Kingdom and the author of the map.

  During Relic’s monologue, Father Ver gave no reaction beyond his default scowl. Finally, Relic finished. Father Ver continued to glare down into the hunchback’s face. I noticed the Whisper slip up next to Ivory Blade. She stood on her tiptoes and placed her lips to his ear. As she spoke so softly only he could hear, I noticed that she ran her hand along Blade’s face and hair in a gesture that told me their relationship was more than simply teammates.

  “Oh, right,” said Blade. “You should also know the hunchback is afflicted with a potentially contagious flesh-eating disease.”

  “This information would be important only if we were considering allowing him to join our mission,” said Father Ver.

  “So he’s lying?”

  “He speaks the truth, or believes he does,” said Father Ver. “It doesn’t matter. I advise we kill him, and dismantle this abomination.” He gave Infidel only the barest glance as he spoke. Again, I couldn’t help but suspect there was something odd going on with the way the king’s men were ignoring her.

  Blade leaned back against the boulder, scratching his chin as he thought. The Whisper wrapped her arms around him and began to plant soft, silent kisses along the side of his neck. Blade’s voice remained steady despite this as he said, “If he’s telling the truth, killing him seems short-sighted. Physically, he’s no asset, but the War Doll offsets this liability.”

  “I don’t understand why the king feels we need to hire mercenaries,” grumbled Father Ver. “It shows a lack of faith.”

  “I’m not going to second guess the king. And, now that we’re actually on the mission, the decision of who we hire isn’t mine to make. Tower will have to decide.”

  Menagerie asked, “Where is Lord Tower anyway? Isn’t it time we meet the man leading this mission?”

  “Tower can only carry one other adult with him when he flies,” said Blade. “He’ll be back soon enough with the final members of the team.”

  “Flies?” asked Menagerie. “He can turn into a bird as well?”

  “No. Flight is a power granted by the Gloryhammer.”

  “What’s a hammer got to do with flying?” asked Reeker.

  “Kumuk yuh fuh wut wuh,” said No-Face.

  “Just try it,” said Reeker.

  Before anyone else could ask for a translation, a shadow flickered across the cavern floor. I’d never met Lord Tower, but there was no mistaking the identity of the man who descended slowly through the shaft toward us. He was covered in plate armor polished to a mirror finish; Aurora raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare. He had his right arm thrust straight out, grasping the Gloryhammer. The sacred artifact was a sledgehammer carved from a single glorystone, blazing with a bright white intensity.

  Tower’s right arm was wrapped around a slender figure; at first, I thought it was a woman, but as he drew closer to us I could see it was a man. He had black hair gathered into a pony-tail, and priestly robes of the same style as Father Ver’s, only bright red. His arms were tightly wrapped around Tower’s torso, his eyes wide with terror as he gazed at the ground. Of course, the look of fear wasn’t the first thing I noticed about his face. I couldn’t help but wonder why he had a large letter ‘D’ tattooed onto his forehead in blood-red ink.

  The terrified man wasn’t Lord Tower’s only passenger. There was also a bored-looking boy standing on Lord Tower’s left boot. He balanced there on one foot, with one hand gripping Tower’s belt, looking quite relaxed as Tower descended. The boy looked no older than ten. His head was shaved; he wore no shirt, only a pair of white cotton britches. He was heavily tanned, the shade of a loaf of bread fresh from an oven. The boy hopped from Tower’s boot with the ground still ten feet away, dropping to a silent touchdown on the gravel. Tower’s metal boots came to rest seconds later with a loud CLANK. The man in the red robes fell to the rocky ground, groveling at the knight’s feet. It took a second to realize he wasn’t showing gratitude to Lord Tower but was, instead, kissing the ground.

  Tower’s face was hidden behind his steel faceplate. His eyes could barely be seen through twin slits in the mirrored surface. He surveyed everyone in the room; glancing quickly at Reeker and Menagerie, pausing at No-Face. I detected a slight shudder before he moved on to Aurora. His eyes narrowed; she returned his gaze without flinching. He then sized up Relic, and, apparently judging him harmless, turned his attention to Infidel.

  His eyes lingered on the metal bra longer than necessary. Infidel didn’t move a muscle. He raised his eyes to her face. Again, his gaze lingered for longer than it should have.

  He said, finally, “I see we have... guests.”

  “Trespassers,” said Father Ver.

  “Applicants,” said Blade. “Who did quite admirably on their interview, I thought.”

  The sun-tanned boy had been studying everyone as well. He said, “The hunchback and the painted woman are seeking to join our mission?”

  “Correct,” said Blade. “I think they could prove valuable.”

  “All they prove is that someone has already compromised our mission,” said Father Ver. “Killing them will set an example to those who might seek to betray us.” He looked directly at the man in the red robes as he spoke.

  I found it curious that Blade and Father Ver were addressing the boy instead of Lord Tower, the supposed leader of this mission. Just who was this kid?

  The boy walked up to Relic. “You appear too old and feeble to make the journey.”

  Unlike Father Ver, the child spoke in a neutral, observational tone, with no hint of scorn or disdain.

  “Hiring only my body would be a poor investment,” Relic said. “It is my knowledge that will be of value.”

  “Your knowledge is of little use if you cannot survive the tests before us.”

  “I assure you, I will be alive long after everyone in this room has returned to dust. As for my diminished physicality, the War Doll more than compensates. She is the ultimate fighting machine; no one in this room is her match.”

  “That,” said the boy, cracking his knuckles, “sounds like a challenge.” He clasped his hands together prayerfully and bowed toward Relic. “I accept.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE GOLDEN CHILD

  RELIC TILTED HIS head quizzically. “Are you challenging the War Doll?”

  “Yes,” said the child. Despite the fact that he was well-muscled for his age, the boy didn’t look like a fighter. Most boys of a combative nature were covered with scabs and scars, but this kid didn’t look like he’d ever even been scratched. Despite his modest attire, his gray eyes hinted at a royal lineage. Perhaps, if he’d been in fights before, it had been against opponents who understood the political advantages of not landing a punch.

  “I mean no disrespect, but you don’t understand the danger,” said Relic. “The War Doll is a finely tuned killing machine. Her bones are solid steel; her artificial skin is impervious to the sharpest blade. Her mesh-cable muscles can crush a man’s skull like an eggshell.”

  The boy responded with a serene smile. “Y
ou’re lying. Your companion is a woman with painted skin, not a machine. Your dire warnings are nothing but a bluff. Isn’t that right, Father Ver?”

  The Truthspeaker frowned. “The hunchback believes he is telling the truth.”

  The boy furrowed his brow. “There is an aura of magic around you, creature. Somehow, you are fooling Father Ver.”

  “No magic could conceal the truth from a servant of the Divine Author, could it?” Relic replied.

  The boy frowned as he continued to study Relic and Infidel. Finally, he said, “If your ‘War Doll’ can simply knock me from my feet, we shall consider that a victory. I’ll acknowledge that she’s not a painted woman, despite the plain evidence of my senses.”

  “And if you knock her from her feet?” asked Relic.

  “She is welcome to continue the fight,” said the boy. “My intention is to prove that she’s a fraud. I shall do so by breaking the woman’s bones until she confesses, proving that there’s no steel within her.”

  “Fierce little bastard, ain’t he?” Reeker said with a chuckle.

  “You will hold your blasphemous tongue!” shouted the Truthspeaker.

  Reeker opened his jaw so wide I worried his cheeks would tear. He thrust both hands toward his mouth and grabbed his tongue in a death grip.

  “This is the Golden Child,” said Ivory Blade, glaring at the skunk-man. “He is the culmination of generations of pious men and women who have faithfully adhered to the teachings of the One True Book. He is the perfect blend of body, spirit, and truth, untainted by falsehood.”

  Father Ver placed his hand upon Blade’s shoulders. “Be careful with your words,” he counseled. “While there is evidence that Numinous Pilgrim is the Golden Child, we do not have the final proof. Perhaps one day he shall be the Omega Reader; first he must conclude the seventeen sacred tests.”

  Numinous? I felt sympathy for the boy. His name was even worse than the one I’d been stuck with as a baby. Menagerie apparently found the name amusing as well, since he looked as if he was fighting back a laugh.

  The Truthspeaker glowered as he saw the look on Menagerie’s face. “Do you have something to say, mercenary?”

  The tattooed man gave Reeker a sideways glance. His fellow Goon was still wrestling with his tongue. “I’m good,” said Menagerie.

  “Now that you know who I am,” said Numinous, “you know it is futile to attempt to deceive me.”

  “Of course,” said Relic. “I wouldn’t want a person of your sacred esteem to doubt my claim. I accept your challenge.”

  Infidel, standing beside Relic, casually placed a hand upon his shoulder. There was a faint crunching sound.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” said Relic, speaking through clenched teeth, “I will require only a moment to fine tune the War Doll before battle.”

  He hobbled toward the shadows, with Infidel clamped to his shoulder. Once they were out of earshot, she leaned close and whispered, “Are you out of your mind? I can’t fight a little boy!”

  Relic nodded. His voice was barely audible as he said, “From the mind of Ivory Blade, I’ve learned that Numinous has already completed twelve of the seventeen sacred tests. If the boy truly is the Omega Reader, all our planning may be for naught. Your fear may be justified.”

  “Fear? I’m not... look, I just won’t beat up a kid. I only fight people bigger than me.”

  “You’ve fought pygmies,” said Relic. “You’ve slaughtered them and stacked their bodies like firewood.”

  Infidel frowned.

  Relic continued, “I know you don’t wish to be a bully. But if you fail to beat Numinous, we shall be exposed.”

  Infidel glanced back toward the circle of light. The Golden Child stared into the shadows as if he could see them clearly. “He’s so skinny. I’m worried I’ll break him.”

  “Break him if you can,” said Relic. “The Golden Child’s senses are uncluttered by falsehood. He can hear your heart beating. He can smell your sweat. He alone can expose you.”

  “What about Lord Tower?” asked Infidel. “Have we fooled him? I thought I saw something in his eyes. I don’t know if it was recognition, or... or something else.”

  Relic shook his head. “While he wears his armor, I cannot read his thoughts, let alone manipulate them.”

  Infidel cocked her head. “You manipulate thoughts?”

  “To a degree,” said Relic. “I’m no puppet-master, controlling the actions of others. But, I have the power to subtly guide the focus of men. Our ruse would crumble if Father Ver thought to ask you the truth of your identity. Fortunately, I’ve managed to keep his attention fixed upon me. Even though he can see you, he’s too distracted to focus on you. The same is true of Blade. Alas, Numinous and Tower are beyond the reach of my powers.”

  “I wondered why I was being ignored in this outfit,” said Infidel.

  “Back to the matter at hand: you need only knock Numinous from his feet to silence him. He’s given his word and dare not go back on it. If he is the true Omega Reader, he must never make a false promise.”

  “I don’t think knocking him down is a real problem,” she said, clenching her fists. “This is going to be my shortest fight ever.”

  Relic shook his head. “Don’t be overly confident.”

  “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

  They headed back toward the sunlit circle.

  “The War Doll is ready,” Relic announced as they returned.

  Lord Tower’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Infidel. She had a sword on one hip, a mace on the other, and still had my knife in her boot. The knight held up his gleaming gauntlet and said, “There’s no need to shed blood. Your gladiator must relinquish her weapons.”

  “As you wish,” said Relic.

  “This is an unnecessary precaution,” said Numinous. “Even if she was armed with the Gloryhammer, she could not harm me.”

  Infidel’s face was passive as she handed Relic her weapons. I felt a shiver pass down my non-existent spine as he grasped the hilt of the knife.

  The king’s men and the Goons retreated to the edge of the sunlit circle, forming an impromptu arena. I noticed that Reeker had finally let go of his tongue; apparently the Truthspeaker’s command wasn’t permanent. The boy stood in the center of the circle, his stance loose, his arms dangling. His eyes were fixed on Infidel’s face. She stopped about six feet away and raised her fists, planting her feet in a boxer’s stance.

  Seconds passed into moments as the two studied each other. Infidel bobbed back and forth as she waited for the boy to make his move. I could tell she still worried about hurting the kid. With his placid face, Numinous looked more like a bored observer of the fight than a participant.

  Infidel was the first to lose patience. She jumped toward the boy, kicking out, her foot aimed at his gut. Numinous stepped aside fluidly, placing one hand on her ankle, another behind her knee as she flew into the space where he’d just stood. With an ear-splitting cry of “Yiaiiah!” he spun her in the air, slamming her face-down into the gravel. Before she could pick herself up, he leapt into the air, shouted, “Hiaaayah!” and landed with his full weight on the back of her neck, burying her head deeper into the small stones. He bounced off, landing gracefully. He looked down at Infidel with a smug expression. Infidel didn’t move a muscle.

  “That didn’t take long,” Ivory Blade said from the edge of the circle.

  “It’s not over,” said Numinous. “She’s still conscious.”

  As he said this, Infidel’s fists closed around big handfuls of gravel. In a flash, she sat up and whipped her arms toward the Golden Child, letting the gravel fly in a dangerous hail of stone shrapnel. Yet before the gravel had even left her fingers, Numinous dove toward her. His body twisted as he spun through the stony cloud, avoiding every last piece. The gravel sparked as it struck the boulders beyond.

  Infidel was still sitting with her arms out when the boy reached her. His leg blurred as he kicked her three times in the throat with cries of
“Hyia! Hyia! Hyia!” She went down, flat on her back, her arms limp. The boy landed, hopping on a single foot. His placid expression was replaced by an unmistakable frown. He winced as he placed weight on his kicking-foot.

  Infidel sat back up, rubbing her wind-pipe. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered.

  Among the king’s men, there was a simultaneous furrowing of brows.

  Relic cleared his throat. “The War Doll has been programmed to utter simple phrases to simulate pain or frustration. The old kings demanded this verisimilitude.”

  The boy wasn’t distracted by the conversation at the edge of the arena. His eyes were locked on Infidel as she rose. The kicks to the throat might have decapitated an ordinary woman. Right about now, the Golden Child was probably starting to wonder about the possibility of steel bones after all.

  Infidel made it back to her feet. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. She leaned forward slightly and the boy danced back. Even with a sore foot, he was still as nimble as a cat. Maybe he was going to have a hard time breaking Infidel, but she faced an equally tough challenge in knocking him down.

  Infidel lunged toward the boy. Instead of aiming a blow at the child, she raised both fists above her head, then dropped to her knees, delivering a powerful two-fisted strike to the ground. Gravel flew into the air in a wave. I gave the cave roof a worried glance as the shock toppled boulders and popped tent pegs. Numinous merely lifted his feet into the air as the destructive energy passed beneath him. When he landed, he somersaulted toward Infidel. She rose, punching out, and he used her outstretched arm as a springboard. He landed behind her and shouted, “Hyuh!” as he kicked into the bend of her knees. Infidel’s legs folded beneath her, but before she hit the ground, the boy unleashed a whirlwind of blows —“Hyi! Hyun! Haih! Yah! Huu!” — as he aimed precise strikes at nerves in her spine, elbows, and shoulders.

  Infidel sucked in air as her face twisted in pain. She rolled to her back as the Golden Child dropped toward her, sinking both knees into her gut just beneath her ribs, then rolling forward and cuffing both ears simultaneously as he shouted, “Kiii!” His momentum carried him out of Infidel’s reach as she flailed her arms uselessly in the air.