Shadowborne

by Matthew Callahan

  What happened next was a perfect storm. As the man stood stupefied, his cigarette turning to ash in his hand, a flash of light split the darkness and Will heard a screech of tires, rousing him from his own shock. A truck, previously unnoticed, was barreling toward them. The wheels locked up as the driver slammed on the brakes. The man, mouth still agape, stood stock-still as his body became illuminated against the night by the headlights.

  Adrenaline surged through Will. He lunged forward into the path of the truck, toward the frozen man, and yelled. To his amazement, the shadows moved with him, enveloping the man as Will dove to reach him. The truck was already upon them though. As Will latched on to the man’s arm and pulled him away he felt the shocking tremor of an impact behind him. He heard the crunch of metal colliding.

  Will turned around, steeling himself for the horrific vision he was sure to see. Yet he found the man on the ground alive, completely unscathed. The truck was stopped, the front quarter panel ruined by the force of impact. Will’s mind raced. Impact upon what? He crept back toward the sidewalk as the man emerged from his shock, frantically looking around.

  “Hey, buddy! Are you okay? You alive over there?” Shouting, the driver of the truck had emerged and was running toward them. “Sweet Jesus, buddy, please be alive!”

  The driver reached the man as he was struggling to his feet, thumbing his broken cigarette and glancing about. “The kid, where is he? Where’s the kid?”

  The driver was staring in disbelief at the unharmed man. “There was a kid? Jesus, I never saw a kid, oh Jesus.”

  “He just vanished, right in front of me.” The man was babbling now. “Where is the kid?”

  “There was only you, man, only you and you flew!” The driver was shaking his head, still staring. “You flew and my truck stopped! I thought for sure I’d hit you and you’d be dead! How did you do that, man?”

  But the man wasn’t listening. He just shuffled a few steps and kept on looking around, more than once staring straight at Will. “The kid…where’s the kid…he just disappeared…”

  The darkness continued to envelop Will as he backed away step by step, abandoning the pair to the night. He was stricken, terrified. The swirling shadows were a twisting cloud. He felt faint and cold as the world spun around him. He stumbled aimlessly, one street at a time, until he suddenly realized that the darkness surrounding him had vanished. He spun, searching for any trace of whatever it had been, but it was gone.

  Will trekked home in a daze. The crisp night sky was just starting to lighten as he arrived. The house was still dark, but he could see the flicker of firelight from the windows and smoke rising from the chimney. He made his way to his window but stopped before climbing through. His trembling hand rested on the windowsill. His knees bent and he dropped to the ground, shivering as he rested his head against the house. He stared at the ground. Something had happened, something he couldn’t explain. Something terrifying and something shocking. Something he desperately needed to uncover the truth of.

  His grandfather was awake already, the smoke told him that much. Grandda with his fantastical stories. Grandda with his exhausting lessons. Grandda with his ceaseless knowledge. Will glowered in the darkness. His grandfather knew something about this, he was sure of it. Steeling himself with the self-assured confidence that only a twelve-year-old can muster, William stood up and marched straight in the front door.

  2

  A World Revealed

  Jervin sat in his chair in front of a small fire, reading. He was sore, the bruises on his arms from carrying too much wood visible beneath the tattered plaid shirt he wore. It was unbuttoned and against his chest were the small, corded keys he was never without. He ran a hand through his short grey hair as he sensed Will approaching. He checked the time and shook his head slightly, a tired smile tugging at his cheeks in sharp contrast against his strong jawline. He didn’t look up as Will entered the house, only turned a page in his book.

  “You’ve awakened earlier than I expected,” he said.

  He could feel cool anger bubbling within Will, that frustration and overconfidence. “I’ve been awake all night, actually,” the boy said. “I never even went to sleep. I went out.”

  Jervin closed the book and finally looked up, his face seemingly absent of emotion in the way parents always manage just before a lecture. “I know. You’ve been sneaking out for some time now, Will. You’re not as quiet as you think.” He paused and smiled. “But that’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh yeah?” Will said. “Well just what do you mean, Grandda? If you’re so smart about me sneaking out, what else do you think you know about me?” As he spoke, he stormed over to Jervin and stood in front of his chair, the flames of the dying fire flickering with the movement.

  Jervin closed the book and set it aside. He leaned forward in his chair and met Will’s glare with a patient smile. “What should I know, Will? Why don’t you tell me what you think I should know.”

  And then William did what any angry, confused, frustrated twelve-year-old would do: He burst into tears. He started screaming at Jervin. Through his shouts, Jervin learned everything about his night out, minus Will’s natural embellishments. All the while, the child’s voice was shaking and tears streamed down his face.

  Jervin’s heart ached for the boy. He could see he was absolutely terrified. Sitting patiently and listening, Jervin’s gentle smile never wavered as William yelled. He didn’t react to any of the harsh names Will called him, never interrupted him as he ran through the whole story. As it reached its end, the boy collapsed onto the fireplace ledge and began sobbing into his hands.

  Jervin moved from the chair and sat next to Will, wrapping him in his arms and letting him cry. He whispered all the sentiments that parents do to calm their children down until Will’s body was finally exhausted. Tears having run dry, he broke into small, scared quakes. Finally, even those subsided and the two of them sat together in silence for a time.

  While the fire smoldered behind them, Will asked the question that was burning in his mind.

  “What’s wrong with me, Grandda?”

  Jervin couldn’t stop the sad, heartbroken breath that escaped his body. “Nothing, Will, nothing. You’re as perfect as you’ve always been.” He held the boy closer, his own eyes welling with tears. “This is my fault. I’m sorry.”

  “What’s your fault?”

  Will’s head shot up from where it had been buried in his grandfather’s chest and saw his brother leaning against the doorframe. Madigan’s hair was tousled from blankets and his sharp eyes were still puffy from sleep. Will squirmed to get free of his grandfather and compose himself.

  “Mad, come sit,” Jervin said. “It’s time the three of us had a long-overdue talk.”

  The morning sun was peering through the window and casting light beams on the wall. Madigan sighed and grabbed a blanket from the back of a chair and, wrapping it around himself, flopped onto the couch across from them. The two boys watched their grandfather, Will’s wide eyes begging for an explanation and Mad’s, drowsy with sleep, struggling to stay open.

  Finally, Jervin spoke. “Where to begin? This is going to be difficult. I keep wondering if it would have been wiser to start this conversation years ago but…actually…William, what do you recall of Dorian Valmont?”

  Caught off guard by the bizarre question, Will opened his mouth to speak but paused. He gave an uncertain glance at Madigan, but the older boy had only burrowed deeper into his blankets. He looked back at Jervin with a confused expectation as he struggled to answer.

  “Just ghost stories, really,” Will said. “Campfire games that Mad and I played. Battles between good and evil, dark magic and light magic, legendary wizards and dragons, that kind of stuff.”

  Jervin nodded. “That’s good, Will, but what about the stories themselves? Do you remember them?”

  “Well”—doubt clouded the boy’s features—“Valmont was a sorcerer who went crazy and battled the Gods.”

&nb
sp; “Close enough,” Jervin said as he chuckled under his breath. “Keep going.”

  “He was trained by a warrior, the greatest swordsman who ever lived,” Will continued. His voice grew more confident as the memories began to return. “He studied Shadow magic in the Vale of Shadows. He challenged the Gods of his world but was defeated and then disappeared after killing those who judged him, never to be heard from again. Supposedly he haunts children’s dreams and appears to—”

  “That’s fine, we don’t need to go into the superstitions,” Jervin interrupted, “and it was the Halls of Shadow, not the Vale. Madigan, anything to add?”

  “He was a genius and then turned to evil.” Madigan shrugged and burrowed deeper into his blanket. “He was always fun to play because he raised an army of followers and he could cheat death. That was his ultimate secret.”

  “Good,” Jervin said with a sigh. “Good.” His eyes hardened and his voice became serious. “Before getting too ahead of myself with what’s going on with you, William, will you allow me to tell one of my stories?”

  Will bit his lip, glanced at his brother, then nodded.

  “Thank you,” Jervin said. “I know you have a lot of questions but maybe this will help.” He looked at each of the boys and smiled. “Very well,” he said as he turned and began stoking the last dying embers of the fire. “Let’s begin.”

  He reached for a small bundle of kindling and added more fuel to the few remaining coals. “Magic exists,” he said simply. “It is not as prevalent in this world as it once was, nor as easily accessed as stories would have us believe, but in one form or another it exists.”

  He prodded the glowing coals as the kindling began to catch fire. “There is an energy that permeates all things in all worlds, an energy that weaves its way into everything and flows within it, timeless. Everyone senses its effects, though the majority of humanity is not even aware of what they’re feeling. It is found in cold shivers on a cloudless summer’s day, in a sense of dread in a darkened room, when you pass through a doorway and have no memory of why you did so, or when you catch something out of the corner of your eye, only to look and find nothing. All such things are signs that the magics of the universe are speaking to you. For some, it is possible to read these magical flows, to sense them always, and even to manipulate them for one’s own use.

  “Since time began, for ages beyond remembrance, there have been stories of other worlds and mystical, magical creatures. Countless beings have devoted their entire existence to studying the universe into which they were born in an effort to gain greater understanding of it. They explored their curiosity, their wonder, and along the way discovered the magics that make up reality.

  “The magics, however, were not the illusionary parlor tricks of the modern age. They were forces of their own, primal and raw, and the manipulation of them did not stem from mastery but from symbiotic link. While the races of the universe found power and knowledge in the magics, it is unknown what the magics found in them. The mortal races linked with the forces, were carried by them—were Borne, as it came to be known.

  “The Hesperawn sent down mighty Guardians to educate the mortals, to guide them and find harmony. Orders were adopted. Paths were forged. And, ultimately, wars were fought. On the prime of the mortal worlds, Aeril, great men such as Velier of the Crimson Twilight sought order amongst the chaos. Dorian Valmont, the Bloodbane, and Jero din’Dael of the Maddened Flame undid millennia of that peace in a clash that resulted from the pursuit of their own ends. The golden age passed, and the Paths fell into decay.

  “Of the primordial magics, only Shadow maintained its strength and found power in the new age. Valmont had won renown in the wars but it twisted his mind. He believed too much in his own power while doubting the might of the Hesperawn. He fought them and lost, and in losing, he destroyed countless lives and left Aeril broken.

  “Valmont’s lesson is a lesson in humility. All the knowledge and training in the world cannot prepare one for a taste of true power, no matter who you are. It is up to you to determine what kind of person each of you will be and how you will handle the power you will acquire. It is my hope and belief that each of you will grow into wonderful, just men.”

  Will, bristling with questions, shifted in his seat as his grandfather’s story ended. The cresting morning sun began pouring in, illuminating the quiet room. The cadence of his grandfather’s voice always created vivid imagery in Will’s mind, the gaps filling in gradually from countless stories over the years.

  “And here I thought we were going to hear something new.” Madigan yawned extravagantly. “Don’t get me wrong, Grandda, your stories are still fun but what, exactly, merited this retelling so early in the morning?”

  Jervin gestured to Will. “Ask your brother.”

  “What?” Will said as Mad gave him an expectant look. His words jumbled together. “Um, what do you want me to say?” Jervin didn’t offer any help and Madigan continued to stare at him, giving slow, measured blinks, his mouth twisted in a smirk. “Okay. Well, Mad,” Will said, sitting up straight and giving his brother the most level, serious look possible. “I can become invisible.”

  Madigan’s face broke and he burst out laughing. Will turned his eyes to the floor and huddled into himself.

  “Enough, Mad,” Jervin said. “And Will, that’s not exactly it.”

  Mad’s brow furrowed. “Wait, what?”

  “You don’t become invisible, William. More that the dark energy just allows the eye to move past you.”

  “Hang on a second, what?” Madigan sat up from the couch, suddenly more attentive. “What are you talking about?”

  “And, truth be told, that is only scratching the surface of possibility.”

  “Grandda! What is going on?” Mad was leaning forward and staring at Will with the look of a five-year-old who just found a squished slug on the sidewalk.

  “Humor me for a moment, Madigan,” Jervin said, his hand held up for a pause. “Just for a moment, imagine that everything I told you was true. Imagine that you, me, and your brother were all a part of that story.”

  Mad’s eyes darted between his grandfather and his brother before he shrugged and muttered, “Fine, whatever.”

  “In that story, Mad, in our story, William can do fantastical things.”

  Mad slumped back into the couch and rolled his eyes. “Fantastically annoying, maybe.”

  Jervin gestured toward Will and gave an expectant look. “Show him, Will.”

  Will bit his lip and looked at his grandfather. Jervin always excelled at pushing his limits, but in this case he genuinely had no idea where to begin. He rose to his feet, grit his teeth, and clenched his fists. He tried his hardest to produce something but only succeeded in feeling exceedingly self-conscious. Jervin, seeing his frustration, stood and moved behind him, placing one hand at the base of the boy’s skull and the other between his shoulder blades.

  “Now, just breathe.”

  And, just like that, the sun pouring into the room faded away and darkness flooded through. For a moment, black tendrils coiled at Will’s feet like snakes ready to strike. The darkened cords surrounded his clenched fists and ran up his arms. They were the most terrible and beautiful things he had ever seen.

  Madigan flew to his feet, cursing, and scrambled backward on the couch before tumbling over the back of it. When Jervin released his hands and stepped away from Will, the darkness remained. And yet, it wasn’t truly darkness. The sensation was cool yet temperate, a breeze passing through shade on a hot summer’s day. While Madigan was cowering in fear, Will’s own senses were relieved and alive and exhilarated all at once.

  “Shade, Will,” Jervin said. “It’s commonly referred to as a Shade. Or, more appropriately, your Shade.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Madigan called from behind the couch.

  “Come on out,” Jervin said gently. “Everything is fine.”

  “What the hell?” Mad repeated as his head popped up. “What th
e hell was that?”

  “Like I said, Mad,” Jervin said. “In that story, Will can do fantastical things.”

  Will’s brother stood and stared at him while his own head was swimming at the rapid changes to his world. Easing himself to the floor, Will put his head between his knees and focused on breathing. He looked at the darkness of the Shade and reached out a trembling hand to touch it. A thin tendril wound its way around his finger on contact, somehow both solid and immaterial, pliable but sturdy.

  “Grandda, are you saying that the stories are true?” Will asked.

  Jervin smiled. “I am.”

  Will pushed at the Shade with his mind, trying to imagine it into some sense of logical density. To his surprise, the more he focused, the more stable his control seemed. The changes were subtle changes, yes, but changes nonetheless. He couldn’t see where it attached to him, not like a normal shadow that has a clear line of sight. Instead, any connection seemed to disappear just before he looked at it.

  “All these years, all these lessons in swordplay and fighting and”—Madigan’s voice was shaky—“it was because it’s real? It’s really real?”

  Will raised his eyes. His grandfather nodded.

  “And Will, he’s one of those shadow people?” Mad’s voice lost its tremor, becoming cool and considered once more.

  “Your brother is Borne by Shadow, yes,” Jervin said.

  Will stared at the two of them and reached out with the Shade, his heart racing as he saw the coiled tendrils begin to slink across the floor. When he was ten, he had gotten stitches for the first time. As his Grandda skillfully sutured the wound, Will couldn’t help but laugh at the sensation of the thread tickling him with each pull. Stretching the Shade outward, the sensation came again. Giggling, he focused harder and stretched it out nearly eight feet before that same light tug turned into a wretched ache, like he had been smacked hard between the legs. The Shade recoiled and vanished as Will doubled over, gasping.