by Kade Cook
He has been to see Madorrah many times but it never ceases to capture his curiosity to think of how she did all of this. He stands open-jawed, taking it all in, and wonders how such beauty can come from such a simplistic soul. It makes him adore the old crooked woman even more—especially with her straight to the point, no nonsense attitude and gruff ways.
“Well, I ain’t got all day, ya know.”
He lets out a chuckle and trudges forward, following the sound of her voice through the archway ahead. Shane peeks his head into the opening, searching the hollowed-out space split into three different rooms—left, right, and center…kind of. Not seeing her in any of them, he listens for a cue of noise before deciding which to enter. A shuffle and a scrape of heavy objects being pushed and drug around echoes to his left so with that, his decision is made.
He has never ventured far past the main room—there was never any need. But today, things are different. Today is important.
He enters the small room he assumes is a storage facility. More wooden boxes, like the one he holds in his arms, line the walls, filled with trinkets of sorts—all in place and in an orderly fashion. A makeshift closet holds garments of colourless fabric, toughened and weathered by their constant wear due to her limited collection. Once in a while, Shane made it a point to stop by with a gift she would accept with a curt grumble but Shane knew she was secretly delighted with.
Along the side of the far wall is another opening—a flickering of light gives away its secluded position. Still no sign of her, he edges begrudgingly toward the opening in the floor—another level down is where she is, waiting for him to find her.
It is down there that Madorrah spends most of her time, doing what she does best—wielding her gift for those whom she chooses to bestow it upon. It is in this space she works with her stones, a collection of pebbles collected over centuries in her explorations underground. Stones filled with earth magic, some so precious she keeps them hidden away from the world, and securely placed within her special case—a box she has spent her whole life vowing to protect.
Madorrah’s gift is much like her stones, bits and baubles of other things all combined into one. She is indeed of Schaeduwe blood just like Shane himself, and fully accepted as one of them, but in the eyes of the people she is that, and just a little bit more. She is a Reaper—the only known one to the Realm. Her existence is merely a whispered rumor. Legend has it she passed many years back—her body claimed and absorbed back into the earth’s magic with her soul living within each and every stone. But the legends are wrong and she likes it that way. She has fought enough battles, surviving them all, and now all she wants is peace and to protect her treasure of rocks.
Madorrah remained underground in her hovel for a long time until Shane bought up the property above her abode. She watched as he built his little sanctuary from the shadows. It chiseled down her armor and defused some of her fears about the world, or maybe it was because she had spent enough time in hiding so to the new world she was invisible—a long forgotten ghost. Studying him made her think that maybe it was time to re-surface and give the world another chance, or at least give him one.
So, she made her presence known.
At first, he had been taken back by the little hobbit-like creature. Her rough exterior melted his calloused heart in no time, and Shane gave her back that chance—welcoming her humble existence to be part of his world. Once Madorrah let him in on who and what she truly was, he reveled in the remembrance of growing up and admiring the legends of this once regal and striking Shadow Walker, therefore taking it upon himself to be the guardian of her ghost.
Shane slouches as he treks down the narrow stairwell to keep from rubbing his head on the sod ceiling above him. Hearing her call for him below, he squeezes his full arms inward—holding the box out in front of him as he descends. A tricky chore but he does it happily, barely fitting into the contracted stairwell.
Reaching the bottom, his footing is secured upon a softer surface—compacted earth. No large stones to step on, no wooded planks wedged together for a path, just soft earth mixed with sand and pebbles pressed tightly together to halt his heavy frame from sinking through.
The warm glow of a flickering flame plays with his sight, but his Schaeduwe eyes are quick to absorb the reflective particles in the room and the dimensions of the walls around him form. He searches the space for his tiny little friend, and with no other exit points in sight, he knows where she is.
“Madorrah,” Shane whispers, setting the wooden box of tools down neatly against the wall.
With no answer, he sighs and steps to his left to inspect a worn wooden crate that looks to be used as a stool. From the root-webbed wall beside it, a large smooth piece of marble hangs in midair, jutting outward and floating above the floor. It reminds him of the stone partitions within the Covenant of Shadows but this rock is cut smooth from hard work, not altered by magic. Lowering on his haunches, he settles himself down upon the crate and awaits the crooked little woman’s return from the Veil.
13
MADORRAH’S BOX
From within the darkness, Madorrah returns clasping something tightly within her hands. It is a long tubular metal contraption that Shane has never laid his eyes on before, but he has a hunch about what it is and what it may contain—her treasure box, the mystical holding device that she stores her most precious stones in.
Madorrah’s cloudy eyes reach his and her twisted smile flattens into a beautiful sweet curve of her lips.
“Do you want to take a peek?” She giggles girlishly as she moves toward him, dragging her right foot a step behind.
Her handsome guest grins at her invite but then growls at her playfully when she waves her arm at him, shooing him out of her seat. He pushes with his legs to the side, exiting his position and she scoots in as quickly as a rabbit with her prize in front of her, giving him a shove with her free hand to help him with his relocation.
Cupping the wooden box that Shane carried down into the bowels of her home, he picks it up and sets it at the stone table, just to the right of her. Then he lowers his body once again to perch on the edge of his wooden seat, mindful not to pierce himself with the tools inside.
Madorrah rubs her hands along the sides of the tube. Her delight of touching it shows vividly across her face. The bits of green still left visible in her eyes sparkle even in the dimly lit room as she gazes upon the vessel. The old woman abandons her fixation for a moment and her focus jumps to her guest. She watches in silence as he inspects the apparatus and rocks his head from side to side like a dog trying to figure out the mechanics of it.
“It doesn’t look like much,” he says, rubbing his thumb across his plump lower lip in a meditative way. His eyebrow lifts as he glances at her briefly. “This is the impenetrable safe that is whispered about throughout the Realm?”
His snarky comment doesn’t seem to jar her confidence any, in fact it makes Madorrah squirm on her wooden crate with delight. Her lips grow thin across her mouth into an impish grin. “All right, hot shot, do you want to give it a go and open it up then?”
Shane snorts at the old woman and sits up straighter. A shrill scraping sound cuts through the silence as she slides her treasure across the stone table, resting it in front of him with the consent to touch it. His mouth curves into a crooked smile as he picks up the vessel and inspects it more closely than he had earlier. Melds of crude metals curve and twist, interlocked together in a way that looks brittle and weak to the eye.
“Piece of cake, old girl,” he says and begins to twist the tube. The smirk he had worn on his plump lips is quickly replaced by teeth that threaten to tear into his bottom lip. He furrows his brow, straining the muscles in his forearms as they tense in his struggle to release the precious stones from their encasement.
Madorrah leans back against the wall behind—settling in for the show—and crosses her arms across her chest. Her eyes twinkle, the crow’s feet at their edges growing more defined, and her mout
h wears a confident grin of knowing.
Refusing to give up, Shane tucks the tube between his rib cage and his bicep and wrenches on it with his right hand until he manages to tear the skin off the underside of the fleshy part of his thumb. Seeing the crimson tell of his futile efforts, she straightens on her stool. If she doesn’t stop him, knowing his stubbornness, he will continue until he does more damage than a simple band-aid can fix. She has had her fun. It is time to get down to business.
“Okay, hand it over before you rip yourself apart.” Madorrah reaches her hand toward him.
Shane pulls one more time on the metal anomaly before he concedes to her request, abandoning his efforts and his pride. Madorrah’s fingers wriggle with excitement as he relinquishes his hold on the object and hands it back to her.
“You see, even if someone manages to find the vessel, which would be a miracle in itself, and should it fall into the wrong hands, they still need to be able to open it in order to use the powers within.” She sets the tube down in front of her. Turning her tiny twisted body to the side, she presses her hands against her thigh and leans forward, grunting in an effort to rise. She leaves her crate and waddles to the other side of the room, retrieving a folded cream-coloured cloth from the small hollowed-out shelf in the wall. Scuffing her feet, she returns to where she began with a breathy huff.
Standing to the side of him, she reaches out and clasps hold of Shane’s torn hand. Not resisting, he allows his arm to follow her gentle but demanding tug. Laying his injured hand upturned and flat against the table in front of them, she tucks the cloth underneath his tanned knuckles, pulling it tight around his skin and swaddles it, covering the ripped flesh within his palm. Having secured the other end of the cloth, snug beneath the fold, she takes his hand and raises it to her mouth for a gentle kiss and pats it with her contorted hand, releasing it to it is owner.
“To protect something well from those who mean to abuse. It is not the brawn that worries me, dear boy, but the brains that seek it.”
Shane tucks his wounded hand into his lap but then the statement catches and he shoots her an impish glare as the words sink in. “Hey now, are you calling me stupid?”
She gives him a playful clout upside the head, tousling his chaotic curls.
“No, child, not at all. All I mean is that using brute force is sometimes overrated. The key to survival is a tricky one and sometimes, most of the time, one needs to learn how to use the squishy thing between your ears as effectively as you can,” she says, tapping the side of her gray braided hair, and takes her seat again. Holding the tube gently within her fingers, she lifts it up, twisting it in the air, and watches the metal gleam against the dim particles of light in the room.
Shane’s face grows flat of expression and he glares at her as she daydreams about what is inside, knowing she is toying with him.
“Really, Maddy?” he spits out, short and sarcastic. “Open the damn thing already.”
Her face crinkles and Madorrah bats her eyes at him, showing off all her heavily disguised scars. She lets go of her trinket and waves a hand at him and his impatience. “You are just no fun at all these days.”
He lifts his brow at her. Seems to him that the little wrestling show he just had was nothing more than her having plenty of fun at his expense.
“Fine, fine, close your eyes.”
“What?”
“What do you mean what? You heard me right—I said close your eyes.”
He sighs, wondering if this is just another one of her eccentric games but does as he is asked.
Madorrah searches his face. “No peeking.”
Shaking his head at her child-like demand, he raises his hands in surrender. Eyes closed, grin and all.
Studying his promise to obey, she stands to peer closer. Satisfied with his compliance, she pulls at the leather bind hanging discreetly around her neck. From beneath her cloak, at the end of the strap, she retrieves a small round stone—or what looks like a stone.
“Remember, no peeking until I say.”
“Madorrah!” Shane growls at her.
Wrinkling her nose and flashing a toothy grin, she holds the round nugget within the palm of her hand, clasping it gently out of habit. Cleaning her face of her coyness for Shane, she lowers herself near the vessel. Pulling it in closer, she puts the worry stone upon the center of the tube. A low quick click emanates from within the device and she hurriedly tucks her stone beneath her cloak once more, away for safe keeping.
Exhaling the breath she held, she grins. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”
Shane’s sea green eyes open to minimal crack at first then he widens them and peers down at the tube still intact and frowns, unimpressed.
“Well? That’s it?” He shoots a glare with creases deepening at the top of his nose. “It still looks the same.”
“Does it?” she taunts with another toothy grin.
She places her fingers on each end of the tube and presses inward in a slow but steady compression. The contraption clicks against the pressure and the center releases it sentry. The sides twist sequentially and fall backward against the table, abandoning the guardianship on its yield inside.
14
THE MAGIC WITHIN
“What the—” Shane exhales, scraping the edges of his shadowed jawline gently with his fingernails. He grabs his injured hand, unsure of what kind of trickery she has conjured up to pull this off then succumbs to the defeat of her game and concedes. He crosses his arms and leans back a bit, but straightens his spine again—leaning in. His eyes scowl from across the table at her smug, chessy cat grin boldly displaying on her mouth. “Okay, you win. I give up.”
She continues to beam as she taps the side of her head mockingly at the young Schaeduwe she entrusts her life to. Happy with her victory, she drops her humour as quick as she held it then reaches forward to the unprotected loot. Her eyes flare as her hands touch the blackened leather satchel that had once lain within the belly of the vessel, and her hands’ steadiness fails, trembling before her.
Shane can’t help but wonder if her shaking is due to the pure joy of seeing the treasure or if it is somehow draining her of energy.
“Maddy, are you okay?” he asks, leaning toward her with eyes wide and sincere. “We don’t have to do this.”
She shoots him an evil glare over her the bridge of her nose, not turning to face him. “Yes, we do,” she snaps.
“We do?” Taken aback by her sudden seriousness, he leans away and relaxes a bit, still concerned.
“I have my orders.”
“What? Your orders?” he mumbles, not quite understanding the strangeness in her words. “You know, when I had a gift in mind I didn’t realize that you would take it so seriously.”
“Not your orders,” she huffs out, not looking at him.
His face contorts into a state of confusion, completely lost in her meaning. “Well then, who’s?”
“Just you never mind about all of that. I need to concentrate.”
Shane’s face remains unchanged, flinching with internal thoughts of who in the Realm, if not him, ordered her to make this happen. But he remains silent. Her cryptic slip has his mind whirling, wondering if there is more to this gift than he wants to know.
Madorrah grabs a turned wooden bowl from the side of the table and edges her fingers toward the satchel to dump its contents into the bowl, careful not to touch any of the stones. Her eyes latch upon the multitude of different coloured chunks of time, pressed tightly into jewels of earth magic. She slaps her boney hands with a loud crack and rubs them together briskly before shaking them out at her sides. She inhales the musty air around her and closes her eyes. Her hands lift and hover above the bowl from left to right and back again, over and over until all at once they stop.
Her eyes fly open, pupils dilated and all the colour that had been held within her cloudy irises vanishes. She smiles triumphantly and lowers her gaze down to assess what her senses have decided before reaching for a to
ng-shaped utility hung beside her upon a wide root protruding from the wall. Slipping it tenderly around a specked oval-shaped stone, Shane gasps at her choice.
“This is the one.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, barely able to contain his surprise.
She throws him an irritated glance that silences him. Shane had wanted to give Gabrian a gift of his devotion—one that would help her mind settle and maybe help ward away the nightmares—but he wasn’t counting on this. He hadn’t dreamed for something this precious.
Madorrah, or whatever energy that helps her choose, has chosen one of earth’s most honoured and sought-after gifts—the Azurite stone. A rare strand specially sought out and cultivated from deep within the grounds of France, its existence has sparked the winds of War by men and woman of the world who yearn to possess it for the tremendous bounty of power it wields. The power of great persuasion, of mind control, and the ability to expel its influence over a great many masses is not something that should be held without great caution.
Her eyes soften their intense oddity. She blinks a couple of times and turns to rest them upon her young friend and his disbelieving gaped mouth. She lifts her hand to push his mouth closed and pinches his chin gently.
“You are certain?” he whispers as if someone might hear his question.
She nods once, a strand of loosened grey hair slipping forward as she does, and her hands clasp over the stone. Shane’s eyes widen as a dim glow forces its way out in between the cracks in her curled fingers. Madorrah’s eyes grow heavy once more as the earth sparks within her takes over. Shane can feel the heat radiating off his crooked little friend as the metamorphosis takes place before him.
