Shadow Reaper

by Debbie Cassidy

  Only his mother used to call him Clayton.

  “Ashling has embarked on a new journey.”

  Clay couldn’t look at her any longer. He bowed his head, staring at the floor, wishing the fool’s voice would shut up, wishing that Ash would burst out of the coffin.

  “The Word is the way, Clayton,” Barbara said. “You will heal.”

  Clay didn’t look up. Blake stroked his back.

  “Now we sing for Ashling. Please stand.”

  The gathered did as was asked.

  “Clay has requested the hymn ‘The Seas of the Next’ in memory of his sister.”

  Everyone knew the hymn. Everyone knew all of the hymns. There were thirteen in total and the Order made sure to sing them at every gathering.

  Mother Barbara led the singing. Clay looked up to see her eyes focused on him. He hated being under her scrutiny. Why was she watching him so intently? If she thought she could somehow indoctrinate him into joining the Order, she had another thing coming. He had always believed in the Word. It was woven in to the fabric of his existence. However, he was struggling to find any sort of comfort with Ash’s dead body in the room.

  He didn’t really think Mother Barbara would see him as a vulnerable specimen, ripe for the plucking to join the Order. She didn’t do that. Folk went to her when they needed to become a part of it. Everyone had their place.

  What’s my place now? His sister was gone. His hope was gone. A person couldn’t hold on to emptiness, but being empty was all there was. He didn’t want anything else but Ash. If he couldn’t have her, there was nothing else.

  The hymn was over.

  “Please be seated,” Mother Barbara said. “Now, we will have some reflection time. Please feel free to light a candle, or take solace in the Word from the books under your feet. This is the time for you all to think about what Ashling meant to you.”

  From within her crimson robe, Barbara pulled out a violet candle. She lit it on a stationary candle. The chamber quickly filled with a sweet scent, like Clay imagined violets would smell. He remembered it was supposed to allow the recently departed an easy transition.

  All of his memories were flashing across his mind: their childhood, their parents, Ash insisting on doing something that Clay knew they’d get into trouble for—on so many occasions. He was, as she would often say, her voice of reason. He hadn’t always liked that, it made him sound boring. But most the time, he kind of loved it. He liked being her anchor.

  I’ve failed her.

  This isn’t real.

  The emptiness was ebbing. There was so much swirling around in his head, and the violet scent was becoming overpowering.

  He picked up the Book of the Word from under the pew. It was well worn, dog-eared, and yellowing. He cracked it open at random, falling to a passage from Chapter XV: Lies are poisonous blooms. Often they are beautiful flowers, there to deceive. Their perfume shrouds the soul from the truth. No matter their intention, a lie is a deadly flower.

  Clay closed the book and looked up. Barbara’s eyes were still fixed on him. She didn’t smile, just watched him as if he were her prey.

  Blake put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

  “This isn’t real,” Clay said.

  Blake squeezed him. “I’m so sorry, Clay. I know I keep saying it . . . I wish I could take away the pain.”

  “Thank you for being here.”

  “Of course. Always.”

  This isn’t real.

  He shook his head. He wished he could shut the voice down. It would burn out eventually. The coffin was there, right there, with Ash inside. His sister . . . mutilated . . . dead.

  This isn’t real

  He looked back at Barbara, who had her head lowered. Finally.

  “Please stand,” Mother Barbara said. “The Order will now carry Ashling to the burial chamber. I will lead the procession, with Clayton behind me. I ask you all to follow.”

  “Are you ready?” Blake said.

  No. “Yes.” This was it, the final march to the end of everything.

  The Order lifted the coffin, and Barbara took her position. She had another violet candle in her hand.

  Clay took his place behind her. She handed him the other candle.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She nodded. “Begin,” she said.

  The Order began the slow walk.

  Clay focused on the candle’s dancing flame, but from the corner of his eye, he could see the folk at the side-lines, watching the procession in silence. The descent of the stone stairway, which led into the burial chamber was the worst. With each step, he was getting closer to the finale. He didn’t want the moment to end. As long as there were, stairs he wouldn’t have to see the next part.

  But the stairs had run out, and he was standing before the furnace. A huge monstrous beast that would devour Ash’s remains until she was reduced to . . . well . . . ash.

  “And so we reach the final resting place of Ashling’s earthly body,” Mother Barbara said.

  The Order lowered the coffin slowly onto the conveyor belt that would take it into the furnace.

  “Goodbye, Ashling. So we commit your body to cleansing fire. No more pain, dear one. Be safe in your journey. The Mother blesses you and loves you. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” Clay said.

  This isn’t real . . .

  Goodnight, the word he didn’t want to say. But he’d said it and it was real. Ash was gone. The whirr of the conveyor belt filled the room and the coffin began its inexorable journey toward the gaping furnace.

  This isn’t real . . .

  He turned and started to walk away.

  Blake was at his side within moments. “Clay?”

  “I need to get out of here.”

  The air was too thick, that damn violet smell was too much, and Ash was about to go up in smoke. Her essence would be pumped into the air outside. Outside, the place she loved best. No more cages, no more Shelter. She was free and he was alone.

  “You want me to come with you?” Blake said.

  “No. I just need to be alone. I can’t watch that.”

  “I’m so sorry, Clay.”

  This isn’t real . . .

  “So am I. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect her.” He sighed. “Please, I just have to go.”

  This isn’t real . . .

  “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  “I’ll see you later.”

  “You sure you’re okay on your own?”

  “I just need to be alone.”

  Blake reached out and touched his right cheek. “I get it. You need some space.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But if you need me, you tell me. You’re not alone.”

  There was that flash in Blake’s eyes again, just like he’d seen before. It made his nerves twang and his stomach churn, but he still couldn’t place what it was.

  “I love you,” Blake said.

  “I-I love you,” Clay said. He would never get to say those words to his sister again.

  Clay made his way back up the stairs.

  This isn’t real.

  “Ash is gone,” he said.

  ASH

  My bar shift was cancelled. I don’t know why, but Henry barely looked at me when I walked past on the way to my new assignment. I raised a hand in greeting, and he turned away, offering me his back. I caught a glimpse of a nervous-looking Julie hovering behind him. She caught my eye and shrugged, looking as baffled as I was.

  It looked like they’d swapped me out for her. I can’t say I wasn’t a little put out. I mean, I’d spent ages learning the ropes and it’d been quite educational. Henry had been really sweet, so what had gone wrong? Was it the Caroline incident? He’d withdrawn into himself after that—that’s when things had gone strange. Now I was on kitchen duty.

  I wish I knew what I’d done to piss him off.

  Oh, well. I still had a shift to complete and a plan to come up with while I did it.

 
I pushed through the blue door by the bar that led to the corridor where the medical room was. The door was closed when I passed, but Freya had given me precise directions. I had to go all the way down the corridor and through the huge black metal door. I could see it up ahead, the surface all knotted and weird.

  I came to a standstill before it, knocked and waited.

  Seconds passed and no one answered. I knocked again. Still no answer. Well, I’d already pissed off one staff member; I guess I could try for a second.

  I turned the handle and pushed the door. It swung open easily, well oiled and silent. I stepped into the room beyond. The door closed itself behind me with a soft click, but I was too awestruck to care.

  The room I’d stepped into was like nothing I’d ever seen in any magazine or book I had found. It was low ceilinged, homey, cluttered, and was as cosy as a warm hug. There was a long, thick, hip-height table that sat in the middle of the kitchen. It was piled with green, orange, and purple leafy things, chopping boards, a bowl filled with flour, and a jug of amber liquid. The walls were dark grey stone and there was hanging space for copper pots and pans, ladles and spatulas, and lethal-looking cleavers. At the far end of the room, wreathed in a cloud of steam, standing on a stool with her back to me, was a woman with bright orange hair and a wriggling bottom. She was stirring something on a huge black appliance, which, from the flames and such, I assumed was the stove, but it was unlike any stove I’d ever seen. There was an actual fire glowing inside it. I could see it through the bars in the grate.

  “Hello? Excuse me,” I called out, but she didn’t turn from her stirring.

  Maybe she was hard of hearing?

  Then she hopped on one foot, dropped the spoon and did some strange waving motions with her arms before wriggling her bottom again.

  What the hell?

  I moved down the room until I was standing behind her, but slightly to one side. I reached out and tentatively tapped her on the shoulder.

  The spoon went flying and hot liquid stung my cheek. She flailed as she lost her balance and would have hit the ground if I hadn’t grabbed her arm.

  “What the . . . who the . . . oh . . . hello.” She grinned at me, and I couldn’t help but grin back. She had the sweetest little face. I helped her back onto the stool, and she reached for her ears to remove two ear buds that were buzzing. She squeezed them gently between finger and thumb, and they went silent. She popped them into her pocket.

  “Sorry, I’m addicted to this music. Jiva made them for me for my birthday last month and I can’t get enough. The music is Enchasian, from the Alleria. They have the best musicians there.”

  I was staring at her blankly while I worked out what expression to plant on my face because I had no clue what she was talking about.

  “Oh, my, you look like the Gumba fish I just cooked up. It’s the mouth, I think. I forget how little you humans know of our world. It’s strange since we’ve always known about yours. So fragile, always have been.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Viola’s what they call me. What do they call you?”

  “Ashling.” Great, I’d found my voice.

  “Lovely. Can you cook?”

  I shook my head.

  She sighed. “Oh, well. I guess we’ll have to make do. You can follow instruction, I hope?”

  I nodded.

  “Good girl. So, roll up your sleeves, wash your hands, and we’ll get started. We have a vat of stew, ten chickens, and a leg of lamb to cook.”

  “Lamb?” The fluffy little white things that ran around green pastures in the storybooks? I couldn’t believe they had lamb.

  “From the Elysian fields, a delicacy, but then only the best will do for the Oath Renewal tonight.”

  “Oath Renewal?”

  “Yes, once a year they come here, Ambassadors from Inferna, Enchansa, and Saul, to take the Oath that allows Apocalypse to remain warded.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She pressed her fists to her hips. “I’ll explain while you chop. Come on, wash your hands.”

  I was happy to do as she asked if it meant more information on the workings of this place.

  I washed my hands and dried them on the apron she passed me. I slipped it over my head. The material covered my torso, ending at my hips.

  Viola giggled. “Sorry, wait a moment.” She opened a drawer and retrieved another apron more my size.

  Once I was all kitted out and stationed by a chopping board with a knife and a long purple thing, Viola began to speak.

  “Now, Remus puts up the ward, but it only remains erect because of the Oath that lends it power. Before Apocalypse, the Shadowlands were a veritable wasteland of danger for everyone, even the Shadowlanders. You can imagine how trade between the Tri-realms may have been affected by the perilous terrain, but then the Dream Eaters stepped forward and offered to provide a safe haven.

  “What are Dream Eaters?”

  “You need to chop. Slice thinly.”

  I began to slice.

  “Avery, Jiva and Daemon, they’re Dream Eaters. Chosen and altered, and since they lost their abilities, they wanted to help in any way they could. You see, the Shadowlands were once something completely different, and the Dream Eaters were responsible for keeping it safe for us all.”

  “What happened to meld our worlds, how did the veil fall? I’ve asked but no one seems to know the answer.”

  Viola was silent for a long time, so long that I couldn’t help but look up from my slicing. Her eyes were glazed over as if she was lost in memory.

  “Viola?”

  She sighed. “Being a Hob is sometimes a curse. My memories of that time are so vivid, too vivid. For you, the change happened a handful of years ago, but for us, it began a long time ago. We lost something beautiful, something powerful and essential. Our world fell into darkness. That’s when the Shadowlands were born. Many have forgotten, but not my kind, not the oldest.” She sighed again. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. The Dream Eaters offered a haven and the leaders of the respective realms decided to accept. It would be a place for traders and travellers alike. It has become all that and more, but in order to keep the shroud of protection upon us, to keep the shadows out and to maintain peace within its walls, the Tri-realms must lend it an ounce of their power, channelled via an Ambassador into an Oath.”

  I finished chopping the purple thing, and she handed me another one. I was beginning to get the idea.

  “Shadows. I think that’s what attacked me and my friend.”

  “And I’m glad to see you managed to outrun them.”

  I paused in my chopping and met her eyes. “No, we didn’t. They caught us, me first, but my friend pulled me out, and then they caught her, and I . . . I scared them off.”

  Her brows had climbed so high up onto her forehead that they’d vanished under her shaggy fringe. Then she burst into gales of laughter.

  “What?”

  She shook her head and flapped her hands in my direction. I waited patiently until she had her mirth under control.

  “Oh, my, I am going to enjoy having you in my kitchen. You really are a hoot!”

  I wanted to ask her what was so funny, but I think I’d figured it out. The Shadows should have killed us, should have killed Bernie. Whatever had happened out there, it had been far from the usual and Viola’s reaction highlighted just how unusual. My shoulder tingled, reminding me of the strange mark, and a question formed in my mind: could the Shadows and the mark on my shoulder be related?

  Another purple thing appeared on my chopping board.

  “Chop, chop, we have a stew to make,” Viola said.

  ***

  Kitchen duty proved to be even more educational than working the bar. In fact, Viola was probably the most open, friendly, and interesting Shadowlander I’d met since coming to the Shadowlands. She told me about her ex-mistress: an old Hag she’d served for almost fifty years before the witch had granted her freedom. Apparently, this old Hag’s house could be in two places at
the same time, and she’d set it to straddle both Enchansa and the human world. Viola told me that she’d been forced to cook up many small human children for the Hag’s consumption.

  I couldn’t keep the horror off my face, and a pink flush had stained her cheeks. “I didn’t have a choice. Hag magic is a powerful thing. If she hadn’t released me, I’d still be in her kitchen, cooking her meals and taking her abuse.”

  The stew was bubbling in a gigantic pot on the stove soon enough, and Viola sent me to the spice cupboard. “Green shaker with the purple stripe,” she instructed.

  I opened the cupboard to an array of ceramic shakers in a variety of colours. How the heck did she remember what was in each one? Surely it would be easier to stick labels on them all. I scanned the shelves until I found the one she was looking for and handed it to her. She was about to sprinkle it in but stopped, yelped and held the shaker up to her nose for a sniff.

  “What? Is it the wrong one?”

  “No, no, it’s the right one, just past its use I’m afraid.” She chuckled. “Would have given everyone a nice case of the bum runs if I hadn’t caught a whiff.”

  “Powerful nose you go there.”

  “Another perk of being a Hob, or maybe it’s a curse. Not too sure on that one.” She held out the shaker. “Pop that in the bin by the sink and I’ll find another batch.”

  I took the shaker and was about to drop it in the bin when the idea flared to life in my mind. I tucked it into the pocket of my apron and turned back into the room, feeling suddenly ten pounds lighter. I had a solution to my problem. Now all I needed was an opportunity to execute it.