Shadowborne

by Matthew Callahan

  Madigan stopped walking. “By disappearance, you meant death, right?”

  “Valmont is dead,” Cephora said. After a moment, however, she snickered. “At least, he is as far as the world knows. I never saw a body.”

  Will’s mind was racing. Valmont may be alive? And Umbriferum had fallen. So much had changed since his grandfather left Aeril. “So, all the Blades are dead? The power of darkness, you said, it no longer exists?”

  Cephora did not look at him when she answered. “No one has seen Shadow magic used in a hundred years. It’s safe to say that, yes, it no longer exists.”

  Will risked another knowing glance at his brother. The Crow’s interest in keeping their arrival a secret suddenly became far more understandable. But if Grandda hadn’t known about the fall of Umbriferum, what else had he missed? The realization that he would never be trained in whatever manner his grandfather had planned was disconcerting. He knew so little about what he was capable of, and now it looked as though it would remain that way. Unless I keep figuring it out on my own.

  “Grandda always said that the Blades were the greatest warriors that ever walked,” Madigan said. “How is it that cronies of a single, absent man were able to wipe them out?”

  “It was not only men who followed Valmont,” Cephora replied. “He had discovered new forms of manipulating magic, creating abominations from the dead. He forced together flesh and bone in unnatural ways before somehow imbuing them with life.” She shook her head. “They were nightmares, something born from deep within his twisted imagination.”

  “Blood beasts…” Will said, his voice almost a whisper.

  Cephora nodded. “Blood beasts were just some of the horrors that Aeril witnessed thanks to Valmont’s insanity.”

  “How?” asked Madigan. “You said he found new magic. What was it?”

  Approaching a large boulder, Cephora finally stopped walking and turned to face them as she leaned against it. “Various rumors exist, nothing is certain. But in my travels I heard of similar amalgamations of evil created once. Blood magic.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound forbidding in the least bit,” Will said.

  Cephora chuckled and shrugged. “Everything I know about Valmont points to that as the most likely conclusion. Your grandfather told you of his disappearance long ago, yes?” Madigan and Will nodded. “I believe he went in search of the Codex of Ahn’Quor.”

  “Care to elaborate on what that is?” Mad asked after a moment.

  “The texts of a madman. Most believed it to be a scary story for children, like the bogeyman your world is so fond of remembering. But like him, the stories of the Codex were all grounded in truth, once.”

  “Wait, the bogeyman is real?” Will blurted out.

  Cephora laughed. “Once upon a time, yes. But he was stopped long ago. I think, William, you’ll find that many of your Casc legends are not quite as fantastical as you would prefer to believe.”

  “Comforting,” he muttered. How many other bedtime stories weren’t what they seemed?

  “As I was saying,” she continued, “the stories say that Ahn’Quor was an ancient, a being of pure malice and spite. Somehow, he manipulated blood magic, corrupted it. He was able to twist the primordial flows of energy that course through all things. He wrote his knowledge into the Codex of Ahn’Quor before his defeat, all his hatred and cruelty leached onto the pages. It is described as an ancient tool of evil, a book bound in the flesh of gods. Within were the secrets of life and death itself and the cruelest uses of blood magic.”

  “Sounds lovely,” said Madigan. “And you think Valmont found this Codex?”

  “I do.” Cephora nodded.

  “But, blood magic?” Will asked. “What do you mean? I thought there was only Shadow and Light? Er, Radiance, I mean?”

  Cephora’s smile made Will feel like a child. He shifted beneath it, his discomfort plain. “Once there were many things that no longer are. The magics of the universe have faded and died with time, as Shadow and Radiance now have.”

  “And what is it that you manipulate, then?” Mad said. His tone was almost confrontational.

  “What’s that?” Cephora said in a noncommittal tone.

  Madigan stood square and tall and secure and met her gaze. “The day we met, you knocked me off my feet and bound me on the ground without hardly moving yourself.”

  “That’s right,” Will picked up. “Then the room turned to a cloud of dust.”

  Cephora said nothing for a moment and then nodded. “That it did.”

  Madigan didn’t move. “Magic isn’t dead.” It wasn’t a question.

  There was a pause. Then, not breaking the look she and Madigan shared, Cephora shook her head. “No, it isn’t.”

  Silence. Will stood waiting, not daring to say a word lest he stifle the answers that were teetering on the tip of her tongue. Willing her to answer, he felt his key suddenly spring to life as the ground beneath him started to almost imperceptibly quiver. It was just a slight tremor, but it was enough. Startled, he caught Cephora’s eye and she smiled. “Very well. I said there must be honesty, and I honor that now. I am the last of the Earth Warders.”

  “Oh, this sounds mighty interesting.” Madigan chuckled, relaxing, and following Cephora’s example, leaned against another rock and let his pack drop to the ground.

  Will grinned. Time for answers.

  Cephora remained silent, as though her explanation had been enough. She leaned away from the rock, turned, and set off down the road again. Will paused a moment before realizing that she truly was perfectly content to leave it at that.

  “And the Earth Warders were what exactly?” he asked as he rushed to catch up. He heard his brother curse under his breath as he scrambled to get moving. “People who could manipulate the ground? Dirt and dust and the like? Is that how you took Mad down?”

  “Something like that.” She smiled.

  “Is that all it was?”

  Cephora shook her head and Madigan cut in as he caught up to them. “Cephora, we’re not native here, you know that. And you also know that what we don’t know seems incredibly likely to get us killed. So, a little explanation would be nice.”

  “Very well,” she said without slowing. “The basics at least. Earth Warders were the most ancient of those touched by the higher forces, predating Radiance and Shadow both. Creatures from all species and planes of existence were of the Earthen: human, centaur, minotaur, although few of the Avian races ever held the capabilities.”

  “Did you say centaur?” Madigan asked.

  Cephora nodded. “Things change. The worlds are not as they once were. Now they are…diminished.”

  “What happened?” Will asked. First dragons, then the bogeyman, and now the creatures from myths he had heard as a kid. Are all the myths and legends of our world true?

  “War. Genocide. All the worst things you can imagine.” Cephora was shaking her head as she spoke. “Most of the stories have been lost to time. The Hesperawn were the ones who struck back and restored balance.”

  Madigan cocked an eyebrow. “So, it was Valmont who wiped them out?”

  Cephora’s brow furrowed and she shook her head. “No. This was long before Dorian Valmont. Before any of the recent horrors.”

  Recent? Valmont’s terrors had been going on for hundreds of years, how could that still have been recent? Will looked at Cephora and asked the question that danced across his mind. “Cephora, just how old are you?”

  The corners of her mouth turned up into a smile as her eyes adopted a strange, distant quality. “Old enough.”

  He was about to ask another question when something lying in the road off in the distance caught his eye. Mad and Cephora saw it too. Their pace quickened and as they moved closer Will could see a cart, upturned and broken with debris scattered along the road. Lying next to the cart was the body of a man, pale and lifeless in a pool of dark blood.

  Madigan frowned. “This isn’t good.”

  The body was ba
ttered and covered in stab wounds. The upturned cart had crushed his legs, trapping him underneath, unable to escape whoever had brutalized him so.

  Cephora shook her head and crouched next to the dead man. “No,” she said. “No, this is not good.”

  A woman’s scream pierced the evening sky, splitting the air from a distance. All three of them shot up, their heads snapping in the direction of the scream. Will itched to move, to race in the direction of the scream, but he paused, “Cephora…?”

  Another scream tore through the air.

  “Go!” Cephora shouted.

  21

  A Chance Encounter

  They took off running, Cephora in the lead. Rounding a bend in the road, they passed two more bodies that had been cut down in their flight. Not even pausing at them, Cephora turned and made for the woods as the brothers followed. Another scream, filled more with anger than fear, ripped across the air. It was closer to them this time—they were moving in the right direction.

  The ground sloped upward, the treacherous underbrush threatening to wrench their feet from beneath them as they raced up. They passed a torn, bloody cloak. As they neared the top of the slope, Cephora dropped her pack and unslung her staff without breaking stride. Flinging his own pack to the ground, Will drew his blades and followed close on her heels as Madigan’s noctori sprang to life.

  Another scream. It took every part of Will to suppress his Shade, particularly after the revelations Cephora had made, but he was still clinging to his brother’s plan of secrecy. An ace in the hole.

  They broke through the tree line atop the ledge of a small rock face. Below them, a drop of no more than fifteen feet, a woman was surrounded by a group of armed bandits. One of the assailants lay bleeding close by and another was dead at her feet. The bandits, though severely outnumbering her, had paused momentarily in their assault. In her left hand she was clutching a savage-looking knife while her other gripped a wound on her side. Blood seeped through her fingers.

  Cephora and Madigan did not hesitate. They leapt from their perch and landed in a roll before hurling themselves among the attackers. The men, momentarily stunned by the newcomers, recovered quickly and lashed out with brandished weapons. Will followed his brother from the ledge and tucked into a hard somersault as he struck the ground. He leapt to his feet and took a wide stance, weapons at the ready. The knives in his hand seemed uncomfortably short compared to the weapons wielded by the surrounding bandits.

  “Look out!” the woman shouted from behind him. Whirling, he just managed to dodge a notched and rusty sword that careened through the air where his head had been just a moment before. Will dropped low and spun, sweeping the man’s legs out from under him. He hit the ground and Will kicked the sword from his hand as he struggled to recover. The woman raced over and plunged her knife into her assailant’s chest. He gave a startled cry. Blood sputtered from the mortal wound.

  Will’s jaw dropped and he pushed himself backward, away from the corpse. He shook his head against the sight, suppressing the memories of blood and death that the spectacle brought to the surface.

  “Thanks,” he managed to say. He risked a glance at his savior. Her skin was pale and wet with perspiration. Her hair was dark and cut short to frame her face. Beautiful, intricate tattoos danced along her wrists. Will’s jaw dropped in realization.

  “Morella?” Will said.

  She stared at him, no look of recognition on her face.

  “Get down!” he shouted as another bandit appeared behind her. She ducked as Will flung himself forward, tackling the man to the ground and slamming the top of his skull into the assailant’s face. The man didn’t move, unconscious as blood poured from his shattered nose. Morella scrambled past Will with the knife and, before he could stop her, sank it into the man to the hilt.

  “What are you doing?” Will cried, recoiling.

  “Surviving!” she shouted back angrily and leapt to her feet.

  A roaring scream of pain behind them sent Will spinning. He saw Madigan stumble, a knife buried in his leg and Will’s entire body felt like fire. He raced toward his brother, seeing that he and Cephora were still fully engaged in fighting. Many of the men had fallen but the remainder pressed the attack.

  Blood poured from Madigan’s leg. Nevertheless, his focus was entirely on one backpedaling man who kept glancing at his companions. With Mad approaching, the man suddenly seemed to realize that the odds weren’t in his favor, despite his wounded opponent. Turning, he raced toward the tree line. Without hesitating, Madigan set off after him, limping in his pursuit.

  Cephora’s staff spun through the air and made a sickening crack against the skull of one attacker before she quickly parried another and whirled to face a third. Their number had dwindled drastically and the fallen lay unmoving. The staff connected and Cephora’s opponent fell to the ground with a thud. A single man remained, staring wide-eyed at Cephora, Morella, and Will.

  He took a few steps backward before turning and fleeing in the opposite direction that Madigan had taken in pursuit of the other. Wordlessly, Cephora dropped to a knee. She took a bow from one of the fallen men and an arrow from his quiver. She nocked, drew, and before the man had reached the trees he fell, the arrow lodged between his shoulder blades.

  Will closed his eyes, head spinning as he heard the man gasping out his last breaths, and turned back in the direction of his brother. He had not reappeared from the trees yet and a sudden panic gripped Will.

  “Mad?” he called. There was no response. Will took off running toward where he had disappeared. He broke into the woods and, after a moment, saw Madigan in the distance, turned away and standing motionless. Will called his name again with no response. Nervous, Will made his way over toward him. As he approached, he saw his brother standing over something, his eyes fixed downward at it.

  Madigan was breathing hard. The noctori hung limply in his hand. The dead man at his feet had been cut wide open. White hints of bone stood out against the red blood that was spreading along the rocky ground, pooling gently around Mad’s boots. His brow furrowed, his mouth tight, he looked up and met Will’s horrified stare.

  “Looks like I was right,” he said in a hushed tone. “I would end up killing again.”

  “Mad—” Will began to say but his brother shook his head.

  “I’m fine, Will. That’s what’s scaring me.”

  “Jervin prepared you well,” Cephora said. She had approached silently and laid a hand on Madigan’s shoulder. His face was vacant. The noctori vanished from sight and he turned, wincing as he put his weight on his injured leg.

  “Is the girl alright?” Madigan asked.

  Will nodded as he searched his brother’s face for any sign of what was going on in his mind. “I think so. We haven’t really had a chance to check on her, though. You’re not going to believe this, Mad, it’s that girl from the inn. The one I danced with.”

  “Of course it is,” Mad said through clenched teeth. He stepped forward and draped his arm around Will’s shoulder and the three of them made their way back to where the girl, Morella, had remained. She glanced up as they emerged from the trees and withdrew into a defensive posture. She was sitting on a large stone with her back to the rock face, her eyes sunken and her face pale as her hand clutched her bleeding side. Cephora approached her gingerly.

  “Please, may I help?”

  Morella nodded her assent after a moment’s consideration and Cephora crouched next to her. Will eased Madigan down onto another stone and glanced at Morella briefly, only to find that she was staring at him, her eyes hard.

  “Who are you?” she asked. Will was taken aback; her tone was far from appreciative.

  “We found your cart on the road,” Cephora said while she worked on Morella’s side. “Then we heard a scream. We came to help.”

  She jerked her head toward Will. “And that one? How did he know my name?”

  Will didn’t know how best to answer. He went to speak but drew up a blank. Befo
re he could come up with an answer, Madigan cut him off.

  “Like I said, Will, a missed opportunity.”

  Morella gave the boys an amused stare as Madigan chuckled. Will sighed and looked at her. “We met, briefly, not long ago. In Undermyre? We danced together at the Street of Ash.”

  “The Street of Ash…?” She gave Will an appraising look. Then her face lit up as the memory came back. “Two span ago! Yes!” She laughed before cutting it off with a wince. “You were sweet. You kissed me.”

  “I kissed you?” Will sputtered as Cephora snickered. “I mean, we kissed, yes. But I thought that, I mean if anything, didn’t you—”

  Madigan elbowed his brother hard and cut him off. “That’s right. Glad you remember. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied. “But my question still stands, who are you? And why have you been following me?”

  “Following you?” The surprise in Will’s voice was plain. “We haven’t been following you. We were going cross-country and just happened to end up here. It’s pure coincidence.”

  She clearly didn’t believe him. “I’m sure.”

  “Not exactly grateful, is she?” Mad muttered under his breath. The aside was said just slightly too loud to be taken as anything other than deliberate. Cephora chuckled again and Morella’s gaze darkened a moment before softening.

  “I’m sorry. Thank you,” she said before sighing and looking at the ground. “While I don’t know where you came from, I can see that you don’t mean me harm the way these bastards did.” She gestured toward the bodies on the ground and winced with the motion.

  “I’m just glad we were able to help.” Madigan’s voice was thick. Will could see that despite his previous statement, the life he had taken was at the forefront of his mind. Morella smiled up at his brother with a soft sweetness in her eyes that sent a strange pang through Will’s midsection.