James Maxey - Greatshadow

Infidel stared silently at Blade. The greatest flaw of her disguise was that to play the role of a machine, she would need to remain mute, and keep her face passive. A quiet, unexpressive Infidel was impossible for me to imagine.

Relic continued: “The men of my time were as blood-thirsty as the people of today. We constructed machines in the likeness of men to fight as gladiators in our arenas.”

Blade furrowed his brow. “I would hardly call this the likeness of a man.”

“We were lustful as well as blood-thirsty,” said Relic. “It pleased the king to watch women in mortal combat. The War Doll, and others like her, were far more resilient than a true woman. Her performances could entertain the king for hours on end.”

Blade looked skeptical. But he wasn’t the one who gave voice to doubt. Instead, it was Menagerie who said, “I’m not buying it. This is obviously just a painted woman. You can see her breathing!”

Relic placed his hand on the small of Infidel’s back and pushed her forward. “The engines within the War Doll produce heat. She inhales and exhales air to maintain an optimal operating temperature. When she’s active, she will appear to sweat; this is partially for cooling and partially aesthetics. She’s been designed to mimic life in the finest detail.”

“This is the biggest load of garbage I’ve ever heard,” said Menagerie.

“You have the power to ensure our veracity,” said Relic, ignoring Menagerie and addressing Blade. “Bring us to the Truthspeaker.”

“We don’t need to waste his time,” said Menagerie. He reached over to Ivory Blade and drew the dagger the albino carried on his belt. Before anyone could blink, Menagerie threw the blade with a grunt. The tip struck Infidel directly at the base of her throat, in what should have been a killing blow. The dagger bounced off, landing on the pebbles before her. She continued to stare impassively, not displaying the slightest discomfort.

Relic clapped his hands. “Demonstrate your strength.”

Infidel leaned over and picked up the blade. She thrust the edge into her mouth, clamping down on it with her pearly teeth, then biting through the steel before dropping the dagger. She spit out a half-moon fragment of metal. It clattered on the pebbles beside the damaged blade.

Menagerie stared, slack-jawed.

“What is your opinion now?” asked Relic.

Menagerie cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “I’m not getting paid to offer opinions. I’ll shut up.”

The Whisper knelt and picked up the dagger and the wedge that had been bitten from it. She returned it to Blade, who sighed as he tapped the matching pieces together. “This was my favorite dagger,” he said, sadly. He gave Menagerie a stern look. “This will come out of your pay.”

“I insist on it,” said the tattooed man.

Blade gave Infidel one more long stare, before looking down at Relic. “I’ll probably regret this, but you’ve earned your audience with Father Ver.”

Blade led us further back into the cave, toward a broad circle of sunlight. A section of the roof had collapsed, leaving a large shaft to the sky. Blood-tangle vines hung from above, their leaves swaying in the wind. The rise and fall of the lagoon turned the cave into a bellows, with air flowing in and out through the shaft in gushes. The breeze and the sunlight made this area of the cavern less dank. It was here that the king’s men had made their camp.

I watched as the Whisper slipped into one of the tents to alert Father Ver. She moved with such grace that the tent flap showed only the slightest flutter. Still, since it had moved, I deduced she wasn’t intangible. That ruled out the chance she might possibly be another ghost.

Blade led us to the center of the circle and motioned that we should wait. Reeker wandered over to a large boulder at the edge of the sunlight. He reached into his jacket and produced a cigar as thick as Aurora’s index finger. He flicked a match against the rough stone. The tip sputtered to life — then was just as quickly extinguished as the Whisper leaned down from the top of the boulder and snuffed the match between her fingers.

“What are you doing?” Ivory Blade cried as he ran toward Reeker.

“Catching a quick smoke?” Reeker said, looking at his dead match with puzzlement.

“That is entirely the wrong answer!” Blade yanked the cigar from the skunk-man’s grasp. “Didn’t you read your contract?”

“Maybe.”

“I apologize for the lapse,” Menagerie said as he approached. He raised his hand and slapped the offending Goon on the top of his head with a good solid THWACK!

Reeker cringed, whining, “Watch the hair, boss.”

“I read every last line of the contract to you,” said Menagerie. “You have no excuse.”

“My mind wanders sometimes,” said Reeker. “There’s a no smoking clause?”

“Fire of any kind is forbidden,” said Blade. “Greatshadow’s spirit is present in all flame. There will be no campfires, no torches, no lanterns, and, yes, no smoking! Striking a match opens Greatshadow’s eye and invites him to stare at us.”

“That’s a little paranoid,” said Reeker. “I thought the no-fire clause meant something big enough to cook on. There must be a million candles burning right now. You think the dragon pays attention to what he sees through all of them? You think he even notices a match that gets lit for a couple of seconds?”

“This isn’t subject to debate,” said Blade. “We’ve arrived safely on this island by adhering to strict discipline in our avoidance of fire. I won’t tolerate any further lapses.”

“There won’t be any,” said Menagerie. “The contract says no fire. We’ll comply. Right, Reeker?”

“Sure, boss,” said the skunk-man, frowning as he tossed the cigar into the dark reaches of the cave.

Like everyone else, Aurora had been focused on the confrontation. As it wound down, she turned toward the center of the circle. She jumped back, startled.

Father Ver was standing mere feet behind her, staring at her massive frame. Despite the years, I recognized him instantly. His dark eyes were still set deep in a face that resembled a skull wrapped in old, crinkled parchment. He was completely bald save for bushy white eyebrows and tufts of hair just behind his ears. While his face had grown more skeletal, his body still looked robust. He stood straight as a board in his ink-black robes.

He said, with a glance toward Blade, “This… creature… is the best muscle you could hire?”

Blade nodded. “Aurora comes with the highest recommendation.”

“She’s an ice-ogress,” Father Ver said, in a weary tone that made it sound as if he thought that Blade had somehow missed this fact. “Of what use can she be in the tropics?”

Aurora raised her fist as an ice gauntlet formed around it. “Actually, the jungle enhances my powers. Ice magic depends on moisture. The atmosphere of my homeland was arid; here, water is plentiful. Spells that take minutes back home can be cast in seconds. Plus, though you wouldn’t know it from the heat outside, it is nearly the winter solstice, the time of year when my powers are at their peak.”

“I asked my question of Blade, not of you, ogress,” said Father Ver. He turned once more to the albino. “The Whisper says you need my powers.”

“These two,” said Blade, nodding toward Infidel and Relic. “They showed up uninvited. Aurora vouches for them, but-”

The Truthspeaker raised his hand as he glared at Relic and asked, “Who are you and why are you here?”

Relic stared directly into Father Ver’s eyes as he said, “I was once known as Urthric,” before launching into his tale of being a survivor of the Vanished Kingdom and the author of the map.