K Jeter - The Kingdom of Shadows

Blood leaked through the teeth of the fallen horse, and then the creature was still. Pavli pushed himself out from beneath its weight, his elbows scraping on the stones. Too dazed to stand upright, he crawled away, up onto the sidewalk, sitting at last against a wall of charred brick.

The sounds of the birds came to him then. He looked up and saw them overhead, their wings dark shapes against the churning red clouds. Not just the birds of the forest, or the small wrens and sparrows of the city; he saw a mad profusion, great swans and long-necked egrets, storks of Africa, fierce-eyed hawks, eagles whose beating wings cooled his heat-scarred face. The zoo, he realized. That’s where they’ve come from. The cages had been torn open, and they had burst into the sky in their own bright, chattering explosion. For a dizzying moment, he watched the swirl of the birds’ brilliant plumage, the jewels of their eyes, the inside of his skull singing with their unexpected beauty.

A raven swooped by, close enough that he felt the brush of its wing against his brow. Its rasping metallic voice shouted his name. He wondered if it had followed him all this way, if it had been the one that had flown above the cross he made from fallen branches in the woods, if it had listened to his brother whispering those secrets to him…

The black wings settled along the raven’s back as it perched on top of the horse’s head. It darkened its beak in the blood still welling over the broken flesh, then turned the hard gems of its gaze toward him again.

He’s here! The raven’s voice jabbed a rusting nail into Pavli’s eardrum. The prince has come, the prince is here!

His hands pushed him away from the wall. “What do you mean -” The words made no sense to him. “Who is it -”

The little one! An idiot chant. The little one! The raven’s eyes sparked with fervor. The prince, her son – he’s come!

“I don’t understand…” He raised his palm toward the creature, hoping that it would hop onto his wrist, so that he could bring it to his ear, where it could explain these mysteries to him. “Please…”

The raven spread its ragged wings and flapped into the air. Pavli turned and saw a hunched-over figure moving out of the shadows. The bursts of artillery shells illuminated a man with a drawn knife, a butcher’s tool, bigger than the dagger inside Pavli’s shirt.

He drew back against the wall as the man sprinted toward the horse. The knife rose, then sank into the animal’s haunch, blood gouting over the man’s forearm. The red weight of flesh that the blade carved away was large enough that the man had to sling it over his shoulder to carry.

“What’s wrong with you? Eh?” The man, stooped beneath the oozing burden, stared at Pavli. “Are you crazy?” The man’s eyes glittered brighter than the raven’s had.

“No… I don’t know…” The birds, all of them, the storks and eagles and the shrill-voiced raven, had wheeled about in the sky and vanished, specks against the storm clouds and then gone from sight. The man with the butcher knife hadn’t seemed to be aware of their presence. “I’ve come from -” He couldn’t remember its name, or if it had ever had one.

“You must be crazy! To be outside in weather like this!” The man looked up at the fire-reddened sky, cocking his head to listen to the war thunder, then broke into harsh, barking laughter. He came and grabbed Pavli’s arm, pulling him upright. “Come on – you’ll be killed if you don’t!”

The man led him to an open doorway, steps leading down into a cellar’s darkness. “There you are! That’ll do for you!”

“But what about you?” Pavli turned and saw the man scuttling away. “Where are you going?”

“I can’t go in there!” His eyes widened, his hands clutching tighter upon the bleeding horseflesh. “There’s too many of them down there – they’ll take it from me! Let them get their own!” He broke into a stumbling run, close to the crumbling buildings, his head down to avoid any stray bullets.

Pavli lost sight of the man in the banks of smoke rolling across the wreckage-cluttered streets. Another wave of the bombardment swept across the area, the impact of the explosions striking him in the chest. The front of one building gave way like a mountain avalanche, bricks and stone burying an abandoned truck and the body of its driver lying a few yards away.

Scalding air filled Pavli’s nose and mouth. He covered his face and grabbed the iron rail, hot against his palm, leading down into the shelter. The air was only a few degrees cooler with each step downward, but breathable.

He halted at the bottom of the steps to get his bearings. In the close-ceilinged darkness, he could see a few scattered candles and lanterns. Faces turned toward him, some showing fear, others beyond caring. Women held their hollow-eyed children close to themselves, one mother rocking a fitfully squalling infant against her breast.

Head lowered, Pavli squeezed between the rows of wooden benches lining the shelter’s walls. Away from the steps, the air grew staler, smelling of sweat and the zinc buckets in the corners, overflowing with urine. He went onward, looking for something but not knowing what. Dust fell on his neck, the mass of earth and brick above shuddering with each unseen blow.

He found them then, at the farthest reach of the shelter, where the curved walls were damp with seeping water. On a box set in the middle of the packed-dirt floor, a single candle guttered in a tin holder. A bearded man leaned forward, trying to read a book by the flickering light. Pavli’s eyes adjusted to the dimness; beyond the man were figures from a dream. Huddled against each other on the benches, or lying close upon the floor, were knights in doublet and hose, court ladies in elegantly embroidered gowns and hair bound up in gems and pearls. As if the shelter’s tunnel had been dug so deep into the earth, that it had uncovered the ancient centuries buried here, and the ghosts had stepped forward to take up bodies once more.

He held still, not even breathing, marvelling at their strangeness and beauty. Wherever they had come from, they had become mired in this place and time; Pavli could see now how tattered the women’s gowns were, the fabric defiled with dirt and scorch marks; the men’s torn leggings revealed the pale flesh beneath. One knight had an arm in a sling improvised from a handkerchief, another had his head bound with a ragged bandage. A young girl, with only the top half of her gown intact, lay with her head against a man’s chest, her red-rimmed eyes now closed in exhaustion, his arm clasped around her shoulders for protection.

He’s here! Pavli remembered the raven’s cry. The prince has come, the prince is here! He peered through the darkness, across the faces, sleeping or gazing numbly before themselves. He still didn’t understand what the raven had meant.

The man reading the book – dressed, like some of the others among the knights and ladies, in modern garb – looked up at Pavli. “Do you want to sit here with us?” The man’s voice was soft, burdened with fatigue. “There’s not much room, but you’re welcome. You look tired.”

“Yes…” He nodded. “I’ve come a long way.” He could see the pages of the book spread upon the bearded man’s lap. An old woodcut illustration showed a medieval court, the men and women dressed in the same finery as their counterparts here in the shelter. They had all turned to look in dread and wonder at a hooded figure that had appeared in the banquet room’s arched doorway. “A very long way…”

The man set aside the book and studied Pavli. “Why?” He touched Pavli’s hand. “Why did you come?”

“I was told…” He swayed where he stood and smiled in rueful acknowledgment of his own madness. Who could understand that he had heard his dead brother upon a cross, whispering the secrets of eternal life to him? That the birds of the night had cried out mysteries? “I thought… that she might be here…”