Martyn Vaughan - The Cave of Shadows

He rushed around the room, overturning the chairs and the table and angrily looking under them. Nothing.

A volcanic anger powered through him. Never in his life had he been without a weapon, never been defenceless! He made a movement to burst out of the house but stopped. Jarz stood in the doorway.

‘My, you look upset Jon. Is something wrong?’

Jon strode up to him and stood as close as he could without touching.

‘My sword. Where is it?’

‘Your sword? That old thing? Why would you want that?’

‘I don’t need to explain anything to you,’ Jon snapped, ‘My sword. Where is it?’

Jarz beckoned back into the house. ‘Come on. Let’s discuss this like grown men. Could you put the chairs back please.’

Jon glared at him for a few moments but decided to not take any precipitate action.

The two went back in and sat down facing each other.

‘Jon,’ began Jarz, putting his hand out to touch Jon’s thigh but apparently then thinking better of it, ‘you have to realise we’re not going to change to fit in with your old ways. Those were bad days and they’re gone. You have to accept that. Our ways are different here and they’re better ways. You’ll come to realise that.’

‘My sword,’ Jon growled.

‘Is in a safe place. But you really don’t need it here. Who are you going to fight? Me? Jon11? Don’t be silly.’

While not showing any emotion Jon noted that term. Jon11. So there was another Jon in this place. He tried reason.

‘Why didn’t you ask me instead of taking it?

Jarz nodded. ‘You’re right of course. We should have. It’s just that we don’t like those things hanging around, except when they’re needed.’

Jon’s eyes narrowed. Another oblique reference wrapped in ambiguity.

‘So there is a way I’ll get my sword back?’

Jarz expression became strangely evasive and for a moment he looked away.

‘Well, yes, there is a way, usually quite an enjoyable way. But I hope it doesn’t come to that until you’re ready and you are not the one who’s selected. You’ll be fine as long as you don’t do anything to earn the Lord Korok’s disapproval.’

Jon leapt to his feet and stared down at the other.

‘Korok! Korok! I’m tired of that name! Who is Korok!’

Jarz stood up slowly and took several steps backwards.

‘Jon I will forgive you for that. You’re still very inexperienced. But let me give you this warning – this sort of behaviour is not the kind that will endear you to the Lord Korok.’

And with that, he was gone.

Jon stared after him, his fists clenching and unclenching for some time. Then accepting the futility of his actions he sat down on the small chair in the alcove and picked up the curved object he had noticed earlier. He turned it over and over and over in his large hands trying to determine its purpose.

It was no good – he could not. In yet another burst of exasperation he flung it away and stood up and, for want of anything more productive to do, strode back and forth.

On one of his strides in the direction of the door he noticed a small piece of material in the doorway that had not been there before. He picked it up and flattened it out, expecting to see words on one side.

He was not disappointed.

And this is what he read: “I am with you. You are right. Things are not what they seem. I will be in touch. Jon11.”

He rushed to the door. The path outside his house was empty.

Nothing else happened in the remainder of the evening and Jon was finally forced to accept that no mysteries were to be resolved that day. When the time of darkness came, he tried sleeping in the bed-thing. It was horribly soft, like slowly sinking into a warm swamp and eventually Jon gave it up in favour of the floor, although he had stayed in it longer than on his first attempt. Dreams came to him that dark time; dreams of his past experiences, images of hunting kabarras in the undergrowth with shafts of crimson light beaming through the great canopy in intangible columns. Once again he fought the champions of the Lords of the Sands and once again came near to oblivion.

The day passed.

Then another.

Times of darkness and times of light succeeded each other with metronomic precision.

Then on one morning, after another light-period round of fruitless and futile questioning and after yet another perfectly timed breakfast, he stood for a while wondering how to fill yet another quotidian day. He stood before the mirror and stared at his body where already he thought he could detect a slight slumping in his forest-toned musculature, a gradual softening, a slow blurring of what once had been sharply defined and hard.

He heard a quiet cough behind him and spun around, a hand reaching down to grab a non-existent sword. It was Jarz and he just given a disapproving look on seeing Jon’s actions.

His voice was mildly irritated but mainly disappointed.

‘Still looking for enemies, Jon? There are none here, how many times must I tell you this?’

Jon shrugged. ‘I am not familiar with a world without enemies.’

Jarz said nothing for a few moments; his face almost unrecognisable without its trademark smile. Finally he said: ‘Come with me please Jon.’

Jon saw no reason to refuse and so they went out into the bright warmth. Passing people hailed Jon as he walked on but perhaps slightly fewer than on previous occasions.

After a silent walk they came to a building that was distinctly larger than the usual with an impressive portico supported by a range of taller than normal columns. The portico had bas-reliefs carved into it which appeared to show men mounted on large quadrupeds pursuing a mass of fleeing pedestrians. Jon decided that he did not like the scene depicted but Jarz was urging him on.

They ascended a short flight of steps and came into a large room at the end of which was a block table behind which three men sat. Jarz stopped and withdrew very slightly.

‘Jon this is the High Council. They would like to speak to you.’

Jon studied the three men. They looked older than any of the others he had met since arriving, the members of the latter all appearing to be the same age as Jon.

The middle man, a large, well-fed individual, spoke. ‘Welcome to this meeting of the Council, Jon. I am Jolz2 and I am the Chairman.’

Jon nodded. ‘I am pleased to meet you.’ He wasn’t but apparently it was the correct thing to say.

Jolz indicated a chair directly in front of the table and said, ‘Please sit, Jon.’

Jon obeyed and an odd silence fell in which they stared at him and he stared back.

Finally the Chairman looked up from a paper in front of him and said, ‘Jon, it seems to Jarz that you have an unusual attitude for a one so newly arrived. Having read his report, I am forced to agree.’

Jon swivelled his head to glare at Jarz who had occupied another chair behind him.

‘You didn’t tell me you were writing a report on me.’

The Chairman gave a slight coughing sound. ‘Jon please, you must only address the Council when it is in session. Turn around please.’

Jon complied, changing the object of his stare to the Council.

The Chairman continued in defensive tones, as if he found the entire subject more than a little distressing.

‘Now according to Jarz, since arriving you have done little else but go around questioning everyone that you meet and showing – it pains me to repeat this – very little gratitude for your fortunate position.’

Jon shrugged. ‘I’ve asked a few questions. I would have thought that was normal for someone in a new situation.’

‘But Jarz has already told you that all would be revealed to you in due time. ‘