Shadowborne

by Matthew Callahan

  He ran his hands along the books and withdrew one at random: Cthoneric Principles of Daedlic Economics. Hardly a riveting start. He replaced it and reached for another with more success: Shattered Rays: The Twilight of Radiance and the Fall of Light. He thumbed through it quickly and set it on the nearby table before reaching for another book. This one was a biography of Eriq Semnerq, a merchant who had made a fortune from his trade of metals and something called ‘bindings’ a thousand years before. Three centuries later, he lost everything after engaging in illegal slave trades. Will struggled to wrap his head around a world where a biography could focus on the financial leanings of a single man over a period of centuries.

  He set the biography back on the shelf. A sudden excitement came over him and he scanned the shelves. His face split into a wide grin when he saw it sitting on the far end of the third shelf from the top: The Veleriat. His spine tingled as he traced the etched lettering on the leather binding. He pulled it down and thumbed the cover, outlining the designs. He flushed as he remembered his pretend adventures as the heroic rogue, Velier, in the battles he and Mad would imagine themselves part of. He could almost hear the timbre of his grandfather’s voice reciting the stories Will had imagined as myth. His eyes stung. He set the book down on the table and looked back at the shelves.

  His next find was invaluable: Topographical Analysis of Aerillian Geography. It was a huge tome filled with maps and legends, detailing Undermyre as well as many other locales whose names he didn’t recognize. He was thumbing through it at the table when he heard the quiet knock of Ynarra at the door again. Poking his head from the curtained alcove, he watched her step into the room carrying a tray with a bottle and two glasses upon it. She set everything down and removed the remnants of their earlier meal before scurrying out of the room, eyes on the floor.

  Leaving the book of maps on the table, Will made his way over to the bottle, hoping for more of the Atlantean wine. There was a note upon the tray that read, Fita’Verxae, for a taste of home. The bottle was warm to the touch and smelled of spice. He poured a small dram and watched the glass fog from the steam. As soon as the liquid met his lips he was transported back to nights around the campfire with his brother and Grandda, surrounded by the crackling and popping of pine and cedar. It tasted of home and health and hearth and happiness. Smiling, Will grabbed the bottle and made his way back to the library.

  The next few hours passed in a strange, prolonged blink. Will was absolutely intrigued and immersed in the lands of Aeril. It was large and sprawling and each book contained maps with varying borders for the territories. He continued to pull books off the shelf and began to organize them into stacks on the desk, trying to create some sense of order. The lands seemed to be arranged in a series of cities and surrounding territories rather than any overall, larger country-based system, as if each city was its own autonomous polis. The records detailed that they all gave allegiance to Undermyre in the form of tributes and military support.

  The land of Aeril itself was vast and filled with rocky mountains and peninsulas. Yet certain cities that were separated by large expanses of water shared allegiances, while neighboring cities generally had histories of uneasy truces or all-out war. Some cities changed allegiances almost every year, and the history books Will had access to went back only a few hundred years.

  Despite the frequent back and forth, and the seemingly perpetual conflicts, at the heart of everything was Undermyre. Like a sleeping giant, it remained neutral, a parent watching children squabble amongst themselves, and any time things escalated too much, Undermyre swept in and restored order. Ever since the Wars of Dawning, Undermyre had maintained control. It reminded him, very much, of his studies of the ancient Athenian Empire. The biggest difference, however, was that this empire had found a way to withstand the tests of time.

  Will had a stack of books devoted to the Wars of Dawning as well, the epic struggle between Radiance and Shadow that spanned nearly two hundred years. His grandfather had told of it before, but the bits of information Will gathered as he sorted the books showed that the man had barely scratched the surface. As the piles grew larger, Will began to realize how accurate the Crow had been when he chastised them for their lack of knowledge. Aeril was a world entirely beyond anything he had expected, with records extending back further than the earliest written histories of his own home.

  He had no idea how long he stayed there drinking the warm wine and organizing the books. He had not even ventured into the details of the tomes yet; he simply was trying to get some perspective and determine where to start. Eventually, he heard an appreciative whistle and turned to find his brother standing in the doorway.

  “Mad! Perfect, just who I needed,” Will said with a start, slamming his hands down on the table in his excitement. “I’m trying to work out how best to analyze the stacks because the dates don’t make sense and then all the records of battles don’t follow any particular reasoning and then even if I did it would all be from Undermyre’s perspective because they seem to have controlled the overall narrative of this library, which of course makes sense, but then there’s all of the—”

  “Have you been drinking?” Madigan said. The quizzical look on his face was hard for Will to read.

  “What?” Will stared at his brother agape. “Mad, we need to focus! That doesn’t even—”

  Madigan burst out laughing. “Gods, Will, how much have you had?”

  “And the Necrothanians,” Will went on as he talked over his brother’s laughter, “that thing the seneschal called us? Gods, that group was vicious! When Valmont came back, all insane and evil, they were this cult army obsessed with undeath and immortality and, Mad, they ate people. Or at least, that’s what this one source says,” he said as he reached for a book. It tumbled to the ground just as his fingertips closed upon it. “Oh, whoops. Regardless, they’re still a problem.”

  “Will, seriously, how much did you drink?”

  Will stared at him and then reached for his wine cup and the wonderful warmth of the bottle. “I’ve only had a glass or two. Maybe three. I think.” As he lifted the bottle, Will realized that it was empty and the cup itself was bone dry. “Oh. Well. Still, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got so much work to do! Do you see this? Look at all of this. It’s fascinating!”

  Madigan just kept laughing as his brother gestured at his discoveries. “Oh, this is perfect,” he said through peals of laughter. “You should see yourself, Will. You’re filthy and you’re slurring and your expression is just like it always is on Christmas morning.”

  “Madigan,” Will said, growing serious as he gave his brother a level gaze. “Christmas is far off and I don’t think they even have it here. You’re not getting the point here.”

  “Do you know how long you let me sleep?” his brother asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Looking around the library and seeing how large the mess was and how many books had been strewn about, Will realized he had no clue. “Two hours, maybe? Three?”

  “I’d guess closer to six or seven.” Mad beckoned Will out of the room. “Come on, go sleep it off. I’ll admire your handiwork while you get some actual rest.”

  Will stepped forward to protest and quickly realized how wobbly his legs were as the room started to spin around him. After a few jumbled mutterings, he made his way past his brother and staggered his way back up the stairs, which seemed far higher than last time, before collapsing onto the bed.

  16

  Finding the Balance

  For a week, the brothers followed much of the same routine. While accepting the confinement was grating to both, it did allow them plenty of time to study the books in the library. Together, they began to put together a piecemeal history of Aeril and attempted to comprehend the scope of the world. When breaking their studies, they sparred in the expanse of the room, sharpening their skills and using the sturdy ropes that hung from the rafters to climb and swing as they challenged each other’s awareness and responses.

 
There was no word at all from the Crow. Ynarra appeared frequently, supplying wine and food at regular intervals and periodically changing out the linens, but any time they tried to engage her and ask for updates or progress, she would just smile and pass over the queries entirely. Information about the food she was bringing them was rare enough; anything more important or pressing was unheard of. Despite their best efforts, they were unable to make anything of the Crow’s plans for them or what he might have initiated.

  Will had never really been good at waiting, particularly during periods of transition. As time passed, he continuously had to remind himself that it was best to stay within the guidelines set by the Crow, but without a flow of communication he soon grew impatient.

  “Just something would be nice,” he said to his brother during one training session. “I mean, aren’t we guests? Aren’t we supposed to get to know our host? It’s just common courtesy.”

  “Well, are you going to do something about it or just keep waiting?”

  His brother was baiting him, he knew. And Mad was right. So, determined to make good on his promise to figure out his Shade, Will began a different course of study.

  After a few days of being attentive to the comings and goings of Ynarra, he soon found that her check-ins followed a relatively regular routine. Remembering the cross section of the rafters atop the room, he decided he would wait until Ynarra had come and gone. When he was certain that it would be hours before she returned, he would climb the ropes and settle in to discover what he was capable of. He told Mad his intentions and, when the moment was right, had him keep an eye on the door while Will scrambled up to the top.

  He had no idea what to expect or how best to go about testing his control. Barring his grandfather’s tricks, the appearance of his Shade was purely instinctual, something fueled by adrenaline and panic. Without his grandfather to guide him, he had no clue where to begin. He sat on the beams and used one of the nearby ropes to tie himself off, just in case. He closed his eyes and began to meditate, focusing inward and trying to picture the swirl of darkness around his body.

  After thirty minutes, Will felt something building within him. Unfortunately, it definitely wasn’t the cool energy of his Shade coursing through him. No, instead it was pure, boiling frustration.

  He stood and began pacing along the beams, trying to walk off the negativity but only succeeding in berating himself and thus increasing it. He knew that dwelling on failure wasn’t productive in any way but he just couldn’t help it. A week of being cooped up in a single room, no matter how big, was eating away at him, and not being able to tap into the one thing that made him unique was infuriating.

  Lost in his head, he misstepped on the beam, rolled his ankle, and gasped as his leg slid right off the edge. The rope wrapped around his waist was slack and, as he toppled off the edge, he shot his hand out to grasp the rafter. He missed, instead catching only the edge of one of the long draping curtains. It tore as his fingers scrambled.

  Will fell.

  He wheezed as the wind was squeezed from his body, the rope suddenly taut around his midsection. He swung backward and crashed into the wall. Struggling to inhale, he hung limp for a moment, all of his focus on the simple act of breathing. Slowly, he regained control of his lungs and inhaled quick and deep, his back against the warm stone as the rope dug into his torso. Realizing how bad things could have been, a glimmer of hope sprang up in his mind. He glanced around, taking stock of his surroundings, scanning for any sign that his instincts had unleashed his Shade.

  Nothing.

  Embarrassment crept into his disappointment and frustration. Not only was he hanging like a limp rag doll after failing to find his Shade, now his hypothesis of adrenaline and instinct had been shot down entirely. He twisted and used the wall to ease his climb back up to the beams, assessing the damage done by the rope when he fell. He had a few bruises and some definite rope burn but nothing too bad. For that, at least, he was grateful, but the injury to his pride was far more severe.

  He decided not to tell Madigan about the blunder. The last thing he wanted was jokes from his big brother. He sat on the beams resting for a few more minutes before climbing his way down, chalking up the experience to nerves.

  All in all, it was not a good first day.

  Unfortunately, the next few days were much the same. By the end of the second week of their stay in the Nordoth, Will was getting nervous. Madigan wasn’t asking any questions, trusting Will to find his own path, but Will had no clues, no insight, and no progress. Was there something he was missing? Was there something within the mountain itself that might be contributing to his inability? It was as if he was blocked in some way, like something was interfering with his ability to draw power from himself.

  Or I’m just terrible at this and have no idea what I’m doing.

  He didn’t know what he was expecting to happen. He was untrained, a novice in every way to his abilities. He chided himself for thinking that he could just call upon them at will without work. Naivety at its best. He was just being impatient. His grandfather had acted as a crutch for him for so long when it came to his Shade, without him he felt lost. How had his grandfather managed to do what he had done, to call it forth? If he couldn’t find it on his own, he needed something else—a different crutch to make up for the one he had lost.

  On the thirteenth day of their stay Will was, yet again, at the top of the rafters in the place he had claimed as his own. He was frustrated. Again. He had been for days, but it was building more than he wanted to admit. No progress had been made, nothing had changed except for sore ribs and self-doubt.

  Madigan had barely left the library since they first discovered it. In that time, he had done little more than pore over the books and train his body whenever his mind needed a break. Somehow, he was managing to overcome the cabin fever that was driving Will mad, and Will was beginning to resent him for it. He resented Ynarra for her silence and polite demeanor. He resented the Crow for tucking them away in some tower and forgetting them. He resented himself for his continued failure to master his Shade.

  Groaning, he gave up on trying to meditate and sprawled out on the beams and stared at the stone ceiling, brooding. He thought back once again, searching for any commonalities from the recent appearances of his Shade. When they had been climbing the cliffside, it was fatigue and frustration. Battling against the blood beast, Senraks, it had been fear. And within the Shanghai Tunnels, fighting that monster in its depths? He couldn’t even remember seeing his Shade then but he had been furious and detached in his focus. Then, in the Crow’s chamber, it was rage. Yet he had proven that the surge of adrenaline that stemmed from all of those wasn’t the connection, so what was? What had changed?

  Then it clicked. Will bolted upright. He jumped to his feet and scrambled over to the ropes, quickly descending to the main floor. Turning, he raced up to the loft and leapt onto his bed, scrambling under the huge pillow for where he had stashed the belt that held the fangs. Pulling it out, he unsnapped the pouch and withdrew his grandfather’s key. It wouldn’t explain the cliffside, but every other time he had been able to control his Shade had been when the key was around his neck.

  He raised it over his head and tightened the cord so the key hung just below his neckline. As before, it was cool and electric and set the hairs on the back of his neck on end. It was the chill wind on a summer night. It was sipping the Fita’Verxae. It was coming home.

  Immediately, as he felt its tingling energy coursing through him, he was invigorated—all the frustration and anger of the past two weeks were lost in the tantalizing electricity of the small key. Smiling, he made his way back up to the rafters with new determination.

  He sat with his back up against the warmth of the wall and crossed his legs, closing his eyes and focusing on the key itself. He focused on the way it danced across his field of vision when he gazed at it, focused on how the lightest brush against its surface sent delightful energy coursing through his limbs. H
is mind wandered in exploration and sensation, lost in a state of wonder at the small, seemingly innocuous object.

  Time quickly became irrelevant as his fingers brushed the key at his neck, feeling his skin burn and cool in rhythmic patterns where it lay against his skin. It was trying to recall a dream upon waking as it sifts away, returning to the scattered reaches of your mind. Whatever that something was, it was hidden in the depths of the key, shrouded in its mystery.

  After focusing for so long on exploring the key itself, he remembered his original purpose. Will turned his focus to searching inside himself for what he sought and, almost like an afterthought, quickly found it, as though it had been waiting there for him all along. He opened his eyes and brought it out into the warm light of the day.

  It was strange, then, seeing the Shade silhouetting about his body. For the first time, Will really focused on feeling it rather than seeing it. It was not separate from him, not a foreign entity joined in symbiotic harmony. No, rather the Shade was Will, a part of him no different than his limbs or hands or feet.

  The key bounced against his collarbone as he stood. He chose to stretch his arm in front of him. Of course, his arm moved. He chose to take a step forward and his leg moved forward, coming down firmly supported by his foot. He chose to reach out and touch the nearest rafter with his Shade and, easy as that, the Shade stretched out to the beam, cloudy and swirling in the light.

  Excitement bubbled in his stomach. His grandfather’s warning, “Don’t overextend,” firmly set in his mind, he pushed outward, grinning as the Shade narrowed into a tentacle-like stream as it moved. Before going too far, he stopped and imagined the Shade dispersing like a cloud in the air. As he did, a fog covered the ground and the air became hazy and dark.