Shadowborne

by Matthew Callahan

  Will’s eyes were drawn to the far wall where a large grandfather clock stood. It had a face unlike any he had ever seen before, with no hands but rather there was an exposed network of brass and silver gears all spinning rapidly. The scrolling filigree surrounding its face glowed like firelight in the dark room, while just the faintest hints of a vibrant, smoky darkness edged the farthest fringes of the design. On its face, bright sparkles swirled and collided with the smoky darkness, but always the same amount of each remained. The curious piece held his attention as the colors interwove and separated repeatedly.

  “I imagine you have not seen such an exquisitely designed Measure before, hmm?” the Crow said. His voice snapped Will back to attention. The man walked forward and handed each of the boys an amber-filled glass. “I do not think that your grandfather would have had such, ah, questionable pieces where you lived, no?”

  “No”—Madigan swirled the liquid in the glass as he looked down—“I’m afraid we’re unfamiliar with it.”

  The Crow nodded. “Unfortunate, but understandable. Come, sit.” He moved to the corner desk and sat. Passing by the center chair, Mad and Will seated themselves. A small tray between them held warm, damp cloths. The Crow gestured to them and inclined his head. The brothers each took one and methodically started wiping the dried blood and grime from their faces, wincing as they touched the more tender spots.

  “Drink,” the Crow said as they drew to a finish. “It will help.”

  The liquid in Will’s glass was somehow both warm and cool at the same time, the smell of it combining cardamom and vetiver with a hint of something he couldn’t place. Vanilla, perhaps? No, it was something subtler, something completely foreign. Catching Madigan’s eye, Will halfheartedly smiled and raised the beverage to his lips and took a small sip. It tasted divine.

  “Good, is it not?” the Crow said with a smile, one far less pinched than before. “Atlantean, their finest vintage. Shame there will never be another crop.”

  “Atlantean?” Madigan said, squinting as he stared at the glass in his hands. “As in, Atlantis?”

  The Crow nodded to Madigan and inhaled deeply, swirling the liquid. “Yes, that’s right. Have you not…ah of course, Cascs have built a mythology around it, yes? A fable. Hmm, that means you are the first native Cascs to have tasted Atlantean wine in quite some time.” The Crow smiled and raised his glass to the brothers. “I hope you enjoy the experience.”

  Will raised his glass and nodded appreciatively. Madigan’s swollen eyes widened as his lips touched the liquid. Another small sip and Will felt less fatigued, less starving, less empty. “You called us native Cascs,” he said. “What do you mean?”

  The Crow set down his glass and leaned back in his chair. “Your grandfather certainly did not educate you much on the basics, did he? Fine, fine. You’re familiar with the Ways, that much is at least certain. The Ways pass beneath the realms, connecting them, yes? Your realm is known to most as Cascania.”

  Madigan chuckled and gazed appreciatively at his glass. “Funny, back where we live it’s called Cascadia,” he said. “You obviously knew our grandfather, then. How?”

  The Crow was quiet for a moment as he studied their faces. Setting down his drink, he steepled his hands and looked to the ceiling. “Jervin Thorne and I had many and varied interactions over the years,” he said, finally. “We were not friends, know that, but we were not enemies either. He was the Keeper before he became the Breaker, and for that much he had my gratitude.”

  “Keeper and Breaker,” Will said. Another sip of the liquor had landed him at fully content, as though he had slept hard for an entire night after a filling meal. “I heard him say both of those once. What do they mean?”

  The Crow waved his hands dismissively. “Unnecessary details for now,” he said. “Another time. You said certain matters were best discussed in private. Here we are. I trust you see I have no intention to harm you, so if you would kindly honor me with your names…”

  “Madigan Davis,” Mad said. “And this is my brother, William.”

  “Well, brothers Davis,” said the Crow, his smile broadening again into the too-tight, toothy grin. “Welcome to Undermyre. Now, why are you here?”

  Will shifted in his seat. Their grandfather had told them to get to the ruling council of Undermyre, but he felt uncomfortable with the idea of divulging everything. When they had been sitting atop the cliffside, marveling at the keys and weapons and stories, everything seemed so grand and adventurous. But now, after all that they had gone through since, the horrible tunnels and getting captured and battling in the chamber just outside, now that he had a chance to sit, suddenly he began to question everything. Why, exactly, were they there? What did they really expect to accomplish?

  “After the death of our grandfather,” Madigan said after a moment, “we realized we had no true home. Growing up, he told us stories about this place. For years we believed them a fantasy. When we learned they were true, well, we wanted to come here and experience the world he spoke of. We set out not really planning on ever actually finding the place, and when we did, well, things just got away from us.”

  “Yeah,” Will said, nodding in agreement. “You could say we got a bit caught up in the moment as everything just happened. We didn’t really think things through.”

  The Crow gave the brothers a measured look and then nodded. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “The weapons you carry, gifts from your grandfather, then?” Will and Madigan nodded. “Very fine. Did he pass anything else on to you from this realm?”

  The key sat against Will’s chest, cold and tingling. Something about it burned in his mind. Like his Shade, a part of him was always aware of it, always conscious of its pulses and vibrations. He looked to the Crow and shook his head as Madigan spoke for both of them. “Just stories,” he said. “Stories with the proof being these gifts.”

  “And your gift, William Davis.” The Crow gestured to Will and raised his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly.

  Startled, Will glanced from Madigan to the Crow, hand absentmindedly reaching to the key at his neck. “My gift?”

  “Tell me,” the Crow said. Beneath his gaze, Will felt laid bare. “When did you first awake, Shadowborne?”

  Of course, Shadowborne. Will’s hand dropped from the key. Suddenly, however, he felt even more protective of it. “A few years ago.”

  “Remarkable,” the Crow said, his eyes narrowing. “And Jervin managed to teach you to control it?”

  “He did what he could,” Will said. He was determined to make things as vague as possible. The Crow and Madigan may have sworn oaths, but Will was dubious. Something still wasn’t sitting right, he just didn’t know what. “Generally, I just focused on keeping it hidden.”

  “Fascinating,” the Crow said as he leaned back in his chair. He took another drink before looking at Madigan. “And you, Madigan, are you Shadowborne as well?”

  Mad shook his head. “No, Crow, I am not Shadowborne,” he said. “I’m just a simple older brother who has to deal with a younger brother who doesn’t know how to fight fair.”

  The Crow laughed, loud and jarring. Nodding his head repeatedly he said, “Yes, yes. Well, you never know, Madigan. You are still younger than most. Who knows what your future has in store?”

  Silence crept into the conversation and the three sat sipping Atlantean wine, mystical weapons and magic keys hidden under tattered clothes. Will’s leg had long since stopped bleeding and the pain had diminished substantially. The Crow had been right, the wine helped. Will thought back to the story Madigan had concocted for the Crow and realized how hollow it sounded. Whether the Crow believed them or not, he didn’t know.

  But I wouldn’t have.

  He and Mad were by no means old and tired but neither were they so young and foolish to go running about, trying to enter another world without a plan. Who would do that? Who even would consider it rational? The more he considered it, the more uncertain he became.

>   Will looked at the dark-clad man sitting across from him. The Crow had made a promise to them, a vow in front of all his retainers, that they would be safe from harm while within Undermyre. For thirteen whole months, they had a safe place where they wouldn’t have to be concerned. That’s more than we had back home, more by a long shot.

  He drained the last drops of his wine and thought hard for a moment longer, then withdrew his blade and rubbed his fingers across the worn leather. His grandfather’s voice echoed in his head, his words Will’s words as the young man rolled the dice, betting everything on luck.

  “Tell me, Crow,” he said as if making idle conversation, “what do you know of Dorian Valmont?”

  Madigan froze, glass halfway to his lips, and stared at his brother. The Crow stiffened in his chair, head bobbing ever so slightly. Folding his hands, he leaned his elbows on the dark wood of the desk and gave Will his measured, unblinking stare.

  “Dorian Valmont, is it?” the Crow said. “Oh yes, young Shadowborne, I can tell you much of Dorian Valmont. My question to you in return is, why do you wish to know? What is your true purpose in being here?”

  Will’s palms grew sweaty under the intensity of the stare. The Crow had promised them safety and, despite his own misgivings a moment before, Will was determined to take him at his word. “We’re here to kill him.”

  The Crow’s laugh was nearly a bark, one loud single note that filled the room. His bulbous eyes glistened under the dark, bushy brows and he stood up and stooped his way over to the decanter. Refilling his glass, he turned back to Will and raised it. “The descendants of Jervin Thorne, sent to Undermyre to kill Dorian Valmont? Cheers, boys.” He tipped the cup back and quaffed it in a single motion before returning to his seat.

  Madigan’s temper flared. He never handled embarrassment well and his silence spoke volumes. Will tried his best to think of how to proceed. After all, he had started them down this conversational path. He came up blank. For all the theatrics of his reaction, the Crow had not said one way or the other what his stance on the matter was. So, Will waited and let the silence stretch.

  The Crow finally calmed and gestured to the seething Madigan. “Forgive me, Master Davis,” he said. “You misunderstand. I do not mock you. Only, it is rare that I am met with such brutal honesty, especially when the end goal is quite so lofty.”

  Madigan softened in his seat. “We’ve been training for a long time,” he said.

  The Crow nodded. “Of course you have been. Years, no doubt. Given your ages, what, ten years at least, training under the most skilled Blademaster that Aeril ever produced as his only pupils? Impressive.”

  The compliment was not fully genuine, Will could tell. There was an edge in the Crow’s voice, something withdrawn and condescending and altogether biting. It was sour, like liquid cream two days off, only noticeable after the third swallow. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, but Will could not help but wonder if that was his natural state.

  “Fifteen years, give or take,” Madigan said, his tone flat. “Jervin started us early.”

  “Yes, yes, a very intense regime, I imagine?” the Crow said and refilled his glass again. “I’ve seen your combat styles. They definitely have a taste of the Breaker to them, definitely a combat-heavy regimen. How about politics?”

  Mad and Will gave one another a quick glance.

  “No?” said the Crow, feigning surprise. “None of the intricate workings of Undermyre, or the surrounding territories, or the greater part of Aeril for that matter? How about religion? I’m going to assume that also is a no, which means that political leanings of the various cults are also unknown. You, Shadowborne, when did you first visit Umbriferum?”

  Will flushed. “I—”

  “Quite,” the Crow said, cutting him off. “At the very least, certainly there was extensive history, yes? Time is a strange thing here, Velier’s gift saw to that, but surely you knew that. Did your grandfather at least share how long he trained Dorian Valmont as his apprentice?”

  His eyes narrow and his mouth set in a hard line, Madigan shook his head.

  The Crow’s smile showed too many teeth. “Fifty years, give or take.”

  Will’s jaw dropped. “Fifty years?” he said, unable to stop the waver of incredulity in his voice.

  “Give or take,” the Crow said with a shrug. “Aerillian combat mastery. Tactics. Strategy. Warfare. Things with which you are familiar, I’m sure. But Thorne was only one of his many tutors.”

  Madigan cursed and ran his hands through his disheveled hair while Will tried to wrap his head around such a passage of time training, let alone as an apprentice.

  The Crow spread his hands and raised his brows. “So you see, boys,” he said, “I am interested in your plan. Very interested, in fact. Because if you have a plan to kill Valmont Bloodbane, whose history I’m sure you’re aware of, at least, I am deeply intrigued. What is it that you two, young as you are, bring to the fold that years of war and the combined strength of Aeril, of Radiance and Shadow and the very Hesperawn themselves were unable to? What is your great plan?”

  Doubt crept through Will’s body like a sickness. He suddenly felt very small and insignificant, a minuscule fleck on the backside of a titan. Madigan’s face had not changed, the grim line of his jaw unshaken, his flint eyes revealing nothing.

  “As I thought,” the Crow said. He clasped his hands back together as he returned to his seat. He paused as if enjoying the uncomfortable silence. “The Keeper died recently, didn’t he?”

  Madigan was a statue. Will gave a small nod.

  “And it was sudden, unexpected.”

  Will nodded again.

  “How?”

  There was nothing for it. Surrendering, Will recounted the events of that day to the hunched figure, omitting the details pertaining to the keys. As he recalled the last moments of his grandfather’s life, his voice broke slightly.

  The Crow remained silent throughout, only showing the briefest flicker of emotion as Will described the sudden emergence of the creature that destroyed their home. With the destruction of the house, he stopped the story, choosing not to go on. He had answered the Crow’s question. His throat was uncomfortably dry and kept catching. Growing silent, Will reached for the decanter and drained the last of the wine.

  “Senraks, Jervin called it?” the Crow said after he realized that Will wasn’t going to say more. “Yes, I’ve heard of one called by that name.” He eyed the empty decanter before setting his glass down. “Senraks was the supposed leader of the Vequian, strange amalgamations known as blood beasts. Terrible creatures, golems of a sort, their origin is not known but Valmont found them to be his most ferocious trackers. For centuries, he used them in battle and assassinations when he wanted to, ah, make a specific point. When he wanted it to be particularly graphic.” The Crow’s face soured. “How he managed to control them was one of his many secrets.”

  “Did Grandda kill it?” Mad said, his voice stoic and calculating.

  “Kill it? No.” The Crow shook his head. “No, I would think not. I am surprised that he was able to elude it for as long as he did. It is most likely that Valmont dispatched the creature soon after Jervin’s flight.”

  “So what happened to Senraks?” Will asked.

  “Most likely? It completed its task and returned to its master,” the Crow said with a smile. “Or at least tried to.”

  “Tried to?” Will said. “You mean it couldn’t return here? It’s still stuck back in our world?”

  The Crow pursed his lips and gave Will a disapproving look. “So many questions. Do you ever wait for an answer?”

  Will flushed and pushed himself back in his seat.

  “The beast failed,” the Crow said, “because, gentlemen, Valmont is dead. Congratulations, your quest is complete.”

  Madigan shot to his feet as Will’s jaw dropped in incredulity. His head swam, though whether from the liquor or the sudden news, he didn’t know which. Just like that, Valmont is dead?
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  “You’re certain?” Madigan said.

  The Crow gave him a disapproving gaze. “Valmont has not been seen in nearly a century. And the last sighting—”

  Madigan cursed again and interrupted the Crow. “So, the trail is cold then?”

  “Interrupt me again, Madigan Davis, and you will learn exactly how binding that sworn oath is,” the Crow said coolly. Will thought, not for the last time, that opening up to the Crow may not have been the best move he ever made. “To answer, however, for a trail to be cold there would need to be some semblance of a trail. The last sighting of Valmont was when he plummeted to his death from the peaks of Umbriferum, the Blood Fang of a Blade embedded in his heart.”

  Will shuddered. Not a pleasant death, not at all. Good. His fuming brother stood and began pacing under the scrutinizing eye of the Crow.

  “Then why would Grandda even set us on this path?” Mad’s voice rose in anger. “He wouldn’t have just set this into motion without a plan. He was orchestrating this because he had one.”

  “Ah, and therein lies the rub, Madigan Davis. Your grandfather was working on outdated information. And, even if that were not the case, he obviously did not intend for the two of you to undertake this excursion alone. He was the key element that everything hinged upon. He would have supplied the means to survive in this realm. He was the answer to every single one of your troubles.” The Crow steepled his fingers once more and leaned back in his chair. “And he is dead.”

  Will watched as Madigan’s furious face froze as he looked at the Crow. He adopted a neutral mask of indifference as he met the man’s gaze. “Yes,” he said. “He is.”