Shadowborne

by Matthew Callahan

  While Jervin worked with Madigan, Will’s eyes fell to the two remaining objects atop the wooden box: the knives. They were elegant in their simplicity, the dull grey marked by imperfections and frequent notches in the blades. The scars added to his curiosity, evidence of past adventures, stories of the blades’ use over the years. Surely, if the noctori was for Madigan, the knives were for him, yes? Surely so. He couldn’t help himself; a closer examination while he waited for his grandfather couldn’t hurt.

  He picked up the smaller of the two and grasped the hilt, raising the strange weapon to his eyes for closer inspection. The leather was soft and warm to the touch. His hand gripped it snug and comfortable, as if he had been the one to wear the leather in over the years. Touching the blade of the knife, Will was surprised to be met with not the cool feel of metal but something akin to smooth stone. His curiosity building, he ran a fingertip along the edge, his fascination for the weapon overcoming any caution. Warmth poured into his finger and extended through his hand and forearm. Upon reaching the tip of the blade, he caressed the curve and jerked his hand back as the fine point pierced his skin.

  Will’s world became fire and ash. His stomach clenched. His hand burned as if it had been thrust into the heart of a volcanic flame. He struggled to catch his breath, falling to the ground in agony as the scorching sensation spread throughout his limbs, consuming every fiber of his body. He writhed and the world ceased to exist—no time, no memory, only the blazing agony. A distant shout registered against the cacophony of heartbeats and sobs as the world twisted and he felt his body bursting into flame. Dying, I’m dying. His blood boiled in his veins, his own life force murdering him from the inside out.

  And then it was over. Gasping and sputtering, the cool normalcy of the world shocked Will. He tried to sit up and felt a hand braced against his chest, steadying him.

  “Slow down there, tiger,” Jervin said, reaching for the water jug by the footlocker. “Looks like someone got a bit overzealous, eh?”

  Will gulped down the water. “What the hell happened?” Warily taking stock of his body, he realized that he was totally fine. His skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat but there was no residue of the fire. He was unburnt, completely unchanged with only a bit of dirt still clinging to his sweaty body from the day’s activities.

  Looking at Madigan for reassurance, Will found his brother with arms crossed, smirking in his direction. Next to him was a three-foot shadowblade thrust into the ground. Madigan was leaning against the pommel as if it was the most natural thing he’d ever done.

  “Wow, Will,” he said with a chuckle. “I haven’t heard you scream like that since you were a baby.”

  “What?” Will said, confusion crossing his features.

  Madigan laughed. “Squirming around on the ground and staring at your hands with your mouth open, wailing. Did the firewood give you a sliver there, kiddo?”

  “A sliver? I was dying, you ass!”

  “No, you weren’t,” Jervin said. His voice was smooth and calming but Madigan laughed aloud. “You were just a bit overwhelmed. The fang releases a toxin into the body to incapacitate its victim. Thought you were burning alive, didn’t you?”

  Will nodded while Madigan kept chuckling and picked up the noctori, stepping away and guiding himself through various martial forms. Sighing, Will looked at the knife still clutched in his hand. “That was terrifying.”

  His grandfather was suddenly ruffling his hair like he was six again. Jervin smiled and helped Will to his feet. “You will find that dragon fangs are unique in many ways, William,” he said. “Fire was the dragon’s weapon in more ways than one.”

  “Dragon fangs?” Will stared at the object in his hand. Realization dawned on him. The knife wasn’t metal. It wasn’t stone. It was the tooth of a dragon. “But, dragons? Real dragons? They exist?”

  “They did long ago,” Jervin answered, “in a better time. No longer, unfortunately. The last of them was murdered by Valmont in the destruction he wrought when he escaped.” He raised the companion blade to the one Will still clutched and for a moment he became that same terrifying warrior as before. Only this time, it seemed to Will, this time there was something hollow about the man. Some part of his strength had vanished.

  “A Disciple of Shadow was trained to wield dragon fangs most effectively,” Jervin said, “able to manipulate the primordial flows of life and death equally. The root of the tooth is wrapped in dragon hide to protect the wielder, as is the sheath in which they are held. Of all the weapons and tools found in the realms, dragon fangs were both the most feared and most desired. Unfortunately, their proper use is now lost to the ages, thanks to Valmont.”

  “What was their proper use?” Will said as he accepted the second weapon from Jervin, extra mindful of the blade’s edge. They each felt like extensions of his own arms, natural and comfortable, and the leather continued to warm his skin. With reluctance, he replaced them in their belted sheathes and looked at Jervin. The old man smiled and nodded, gesturing at the belt. An excited grin spread across Will’s face as he lifted the belt and fastened the weapons around his waist.

  “Life, as well as death.” Jervin’s eyes were sharp as Will drew and tested out the maneuverability of his new gifts. “But that ability is, unfortunately, gone. The blades still maintain their lethality despite the diminishment of their other powers. Just as strong and deadly as Madigan’s noctori but with surprises of their own.”

  He paused and beckoned for Madigan to come listen. Madigan stopped the motion of his blade and paused, closing his eyes for a moment, and then allowed the weapon to flicker into nothingness. He stretched his arms above his head as he made his way over, looking remarkably at ease.

  “A Blade from Umbriferum, the Halls of Shadow, was trained equally in both of these weapons, with Adepts of Shadow wielding the noctori and Disciples of Shadow learning the art of the Blood Fang. Blades were chosen from the most worthy of each order separately and then trained to mastery with both, along with other, now forgotten, skills.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to teach you the intricacies of these weapons right now, but trust me on this,” Jervin said as he put a hand on each boy’s shoulder. “You two need each other. Madigan, you have mastered the sword all these years for this purpose, to act as an Adept, to wield a noctori. William, dexterity and speed were always more your allies than any sword, and so you were focused on short weapons, blades similar to the blood fang, so that you would be aided along the path of Disciple. Together, the two of you have the weapon proficiency of a Blade of Shadow. It is not enough but it is a start.”

  “Hell, Grandda, this is plenty,” Mad said as Will nodded in agreement.

  “I appreciate that, boys,” Jervin said. “Nonetheless, there is one more thing.”

  Will glanced back at the final item that remained: the note. Yet, rather than reaching for it, Jervin lowered his head and removed the long leather necklace he always wore. On it were the two intricate keys, dark with silvered hues. Will had seen them countless times in his life, yet now he eyed them with a new curiosity, speculating what secret of his grandfather’s they held. Jervin held the leather tightly in his grip and looked at the boys. To Will, it seemed like his eyes were filled with hope and reverence.

  “What are they?” Madigan asked, taking a step forward. “What do they open?”

  “Just your minds, boys,” Jervin said. “Your minds and your spirits.” As he spoke, he pulled and broke the leather cord into two pieces and wove one key into each. He took a deep breath and drew himself to his full height, extending his hands forward with a key in each palm. “William, you won the day. Here is your prize.” He smiled. “First choice.”

  Will smirked and nudged Madigan, goading him in the way that only siblings can. Approaching Jervin, he made a show of gazing intently at the keys as Madigan groaned behind him. After a moment though, Will’s gaze changed from whimsical intent to serious. The keys both appeared identical and yet he
could sense something unique and different in each. He could feel it. Something in the keys made the back of his mind tingle. He noticed small differences in color, an ever-present shifting of patterns amongst the darkness. Each key seemed to exude a magnetic pull directly upon him.

  He ran his fingers along the first one, feeling its cool temperature and smooth surface. A sense of peace came over his mind as he caressed it. The key called to him, as inviting as a swim in a warm pool on a cloudless night. His mind relaxed, the tingling subsided. Smiling, he was about to voice his decision but paused and reminded himself to look at its partner to be certain.

  Reaching forward to touch it, he felt a burning shock against his fingertips before it instantly changed to a calm and soothing balm. The darkness revealed hues of purple and silver and orange that seemed to appear and disappear, a reflection of the night sky stretching outward to embrace dusk. Forked patterns of darkness and light danced hypnotically across its surface. Will was enraptured by its beauty and magnificence, like the eye of an eternal hurricane. On and on the delicate dance played across his senses.

  “This one.”

  The sound of his own voice broke Will’s reverie and he glanced around him, blinking against the day’s sun. He hadn’t even meant to speak but withdrew his hand and nodded to Jervin. His grandfather smiled, but his eyes looked different, pained somehow. Nonetheless, he gestured for Madigan to step forward.

  Madigan grasped the unchosen key and touched its surface. Will could imagine the cool metal lightly numbing his fingertips the same way it had his own. Mad’s face betrayed nothing, however. Perhaps it affects different people in different ways?

  Mad glanced at Will before turning back to Jervin. “And I shall take this one with much gratitude, Grandda,” he said, embellishing his speech as he teased Will, “unlike some people who appear to have forgotten their manners.”

  A hearty laugh broke from Jervin. Will sputtered and blinked, lost again in his own thoughts. “Oh, right,” he said. “Sorry, Grandda. Thank you very much.”

  “Of course, boys, of course,” Jervin said. He smiled and placed the keys into his pockets. “They’ll be yours before the sun goes down. Now, have a seat again, we have much to discuss and I’m not certain how much time in which to do it.”

  “Grandda, what about that?” Will said as he pointed down to the note.

  Jervin’s soft sigh was almost imperceptible but his face melted into weary fatigue. Gone was the energetic man and in his place was a stricken shell. When he spoke, his voice was harsh and forced. “That,” he said, “that is the last known message from Valmont. That is…” He bent and, as though it caused him pain, lifted the note. He did not open it but extended it to Will.

  The hairs on the back of Will’s neck prickled as he reached out to accept it. Unfolding it, the flowing script of the writing took his eyes a moment to adjust to. There was something jarring about it, something repulsive.

  I am near the end. I’ve left a legacy of nothing. No more. I will endure, even if I must rip the very fabric of nature and watch the heavens bleed from the sky. Mortals know too little. There is no time. If knowledge is power, then I shall become a walking god. This is the first, you will not find the rest.

  I am the first, there shall be no others. Cthonaex terraq’uillian Cthonguinos.

  Will handed the note to Madigan, thankful to release it from his fingers. While Mad scanned it, Will glanced back at their grandfather who still looked shaken. Madigan’s voice broke the silence.

  “Arrogant man, wasn’t he?”

  Jervin barked a laugh and the weathered expression faded. “Yes, my boy, that he was.”

  6

  The Keeper's Plans

  At a gesture from Jervin, the three of them took their seats again. Madigan began testing out smaller blades on his noctori while Will thumbed the gems on the dragon fangs. But he was distracted. The note had shaken him for reasons he couldn’t explain.

  “All things aside, Grandda, you never answered Will’s question,” Madigan said. “What exactly was this all about today? I mean, we’re taking everything as it comes, and I’ll admit the noctori and the keys are amazing, but a bit of actual explanation beyond the basics would be much appreciated.”

  “And so we come to it,” Jervin said before sipping his water. “Fair enough. I’d planned to wait longer but the truth is, you’ve both far exceeded my expectations. What I propose is this: We reopen the Cascanian path to the Ways and enter Aeril. From there we make our way to Undermyre. It is, for all intents and purposes, the capital of Aeril.”

  Will clapped his brother on the back and laughed in excitement as Madigan broke out into a wide grin. I was right, Will mused, it’s finally time.

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Jervin said, raising a hand to quiet them, “but you must understand that we’ll be trekking into a world far different than this one. There are elements of similarity, yes, but it is more dangerous than this. There is no true governing force. Laws are brutal, unforgiving. In the old days, people who travelled to Aeril from the Ways needed to present themselves to the council of Undermyre, a check-in of sorts. I don’t know how much has changed but that will be our first point of business. From there, the journey will only become more perilous.”

  He paused and drank from his cup. Will fidgeted, his mind still distracted. If there were dangers, surely the three of them could handle them. He was more concerned with the note. And then there was the key and its intricate designs and the hypnotic effect it had on him. All in all, he was finding it quite difficult to focus on what Jervin was saying.

  Looking at Madigan, he saw that his brother’s attention was fixed firmly on their grandfather. Mad seemed to hardly blink, drinking in every word the old man uttered. Will had rarely seen his brother so focused on anything outside of the sparring ring, while to him the conversation felt rather anticlimactic. That troubled him. Probably nerves, that’s all. I don’t think there’s a written guide on how to take this kind of thing in.

  Jervin set his cup down and wiped the moisture from his lips with the back of his hand before continuing. “Originally, I’d hoped to spring this on you and then have more time to teach you the great history of Aeril, but we can do that there. We’ll have the right books, the right tools. The education you’ve received so far has been a warrior’s education, you have to remember that. My skills were in sword and strategy in my home, but the intricacies between Radiance and Shadow and the subtle maneuvering of politics have never been my strength.”

  “We’ll manage, Grandda,” Mad said. “You’ve trained us well.”

  “Thank you,” Jervin said, shaking his head. “But for us to truly find our home in Aeril, you’ll need more than just your wits and physical strength. Politics are unavoidable and always slow things down. As I said, there are similarities with this realm, but you must always remember that it is vastly different from what you’ve known up till now. It will take time to adjust.”

  “Wait,” said Madigan. “What do you mean when you say politics?”

  “We need the ruling council to guide us to any remnants of the Halls of Shadow to elevate Will’s training,” Jervin responded. “I taught the Blades of Shadow how to fight, but only a true Blade will be able to teach you to control your ability to any real extent, William.”

  Will had been absentmindedly caressing the gem in his knives again and musing about the key but finally looked up. “Control? I have control, Grandda. I know how to hide it.”

  “Ah, but hiding it is the last thing you’ll ever want to do with it again, my boy,” Jervin said with a smile. “Did you think this power was only a passive part of you? No, Will, a Blade of Shadow is far more than that. And as Shadowborne, well, when I left Aeril it had been quite some time since the Halls of Shadow had seen any Borne with the raw power you possess.”

  Will cocked his head to the side. “So, I’m something special then?”

  Jervin laughed. “Well of course you’re something special, W
ill. You both are,” he said, giving Madigan a wink. “But on this topic, I’d say it’s more akin to having a head start. You’ll see once you reach Umbriferum.”

  “Wait, are you saying we’re going to split up?” Madigan asked, interrupting his grandfather. “As soon as we arrive, Will will be leaving us?”

  Jervin shook his head. “No, not if all goes according to plan. Like I said, these things take time and we should be able to get established well before Will leaves for training. And even then, it won’t be for long.”

  “How long?” Will said, growing nervous at the prospect of being separated from his family in an unknown land.

  “The isolation period as one initiated into the Halls of Shadow is generally no more than five to ten years,” Jervin said. “Although it may be a bit longer now, depending on the state of the Order. We’ll just have to see when we get there.”

  “Five to ten years?” Will said, his eyes growing wide. “But that’s a lifetime!”

  Jervin chuckled and leveled his eyes at his grandson. “It’s a far cry from a lifetime, William. It’s a blink of an eye. Time in Aeril does not exist in the same sense that it does here. You’ll be fine.”

  “But, Grandda.” It felt to Will that his lip had a slight tremble to it as he spoke. “I couldn’t go. I just couldn’t.”

  Jervin laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Trust me, Will,” he said. “You’re far more capable than you know. You’ll see when we get there.”

  “And what about us, Grandda?” Madigan said as Will gaped. “Do we simply wait this whole time?”

  “No, Mad.” Jervin’s eyes still shone in the dimming afternoon light as he spoke. “We shall integrate you into Undermyrian society. We’ll continue your own education and build alliances with my former contacts. We shall build a life.”

  Madigan shifted in his seat. “It sounds like you’re grooming me for politics, Grandda.”