David Dalglish - A Dance of Shadows

He didn’t know what she meant, didn’t understand what to do, or what the spirit was. But then she prayed again, louder, stronger. The gems shook in the chrysarium, flared bright, and then lifted in unison from the stone. They floated in the air, higher and higher, until the lengths of silver chain holding them stretched taut, halting their ascent. Nathaniel gaped, mouth open in wonder. So strange was this light. Though at times it was so bright that it hurt his eyes, it did not spread. The walls of the closet remained dark, and even when Nathaniel had brought his hand close to touch the gems, their light had not shone upon his skin. A strange hum filled his ears, though where it came from he did not know. It made his stomach tighten, but he could not stop it, could not leave.

In the center of the chrysarium, where it should have been brightest because of the gems, it was darker than anything he’d ever seen. That is where the monsters live , he thought, not knowing why. That is where the stars hide.

“Look deep,” his grandmother instructed. Her voice was a songbird’s over the din of a thunderstorm. Much as it frightened him, he looked inside, into the darkness, and therein he saw the first of his visions.

He saw a man crying in darkness, but when the man looked up, Nathaniel realized it was not a man but a woman. Her tears shone silver. Shadows turned, and another woman held her, her tears made of gold. Above them roared a lion, and from the creature’s throat poured a thousand stars. They washed over the two, bathed them in light, and together they emerged as one being whose hands were stained with blood. Next came Veldaren, and he soared high above like a hawk. Below him the city burned, a hundred suns igniting within its depths. Nathaniel tried crying out, but he heard nothing of his voice, and was only dimly aware of his own body. Another vision, that of a hundred rows of wheat. They swayed in the wind, then withered and died as the moon rose. Reapers, their faces hidden by masks, collected the dead wheat, gathering it together in a great pile. When they set it aflame, Nathaniel felt the heat of it on his skin, felt sweat pour down his neck. The bonfire split, revealing a great canyon, its depths endless. Stomach churning, he spun about until he was standing on one side. On the other a great army gathered, muscular bodies of gray shadows dancing, lifting swords and axes high above their heads. And amid them, laughing, was a faceless man with eyes of fire.

“No more,” Nathaniel begged as laughter filled his ears. “No more, no more, no more!”

Pain on the back of his head pulled him out, scattering the visions. He lay against the side of the closet, Melody cradling him. The chrysarium lay on the floor, looking like nothing out of the ordinary beyond the wealth of the gems.

“You poor boy,” she whispered. “You poor, poor boy. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right,” Nathaniel said, his voice coming out drowsy. His words were an immediate response, spoken from a desire to comfort her, for he knew something he’d done had frightened her. What was it? Laughter rang in his ears, and he felt his skin crawl.

“No, it isn’t,” she said. “The chrysarium always showed me pleasant images, fields of flowers and mountains in distant lands. I didn’t know it would work so differently on one so young. I should have warned you, I should have made sure…”

She was crying, he realized.

“I’m fine, everything’s fine,” he said, standing so he might hug her. She kissed his cheek, and he felt her tears brush against his skin.

“Thank you,” she said, wiping them away. “I only meant to show you something wonderful. I fear Karak thought to use you for some other purpose. I caught only glimpses, but you saw a vision, Nathaniel. You witnessed the future yet to come. You should feel honored, for few are blessed with such a gift. You truly are a special child.”

Nathaniel didn’t feel special, or blessed. He felt awkward again, and the darkness of the room only made it worse. Most frighteningly, she had spoken the name of the dark god, the god who had enslaved Zusa and sent his paladins to kill Nathaniel’s mother.

“Karak?” he whispered, unable to keep the word choked down. “That was from Karak?”

She must have seen his fear, for she stroked his cheek with her bony fingers.

“Whatever you know of him, I assure you, it is wrong,” his grandmother whispered back. “I could tell you stories of his greatness, his power and mercy. It is his love that let me endure the darkness, for it is in darkness that Karak is most comfortable. That is where we are at our lowest, our most humble and willing to hear his voice.”

“But Karak is the Lion,” Nathaniel said. “He’s fire, and he eats sinners.”

Melody’s smile was so sweet, so condescending.

“My dear child,” she said, “there is so much you must learn.”

He didn’t want to learn. He didn’t want to be in that dark room. He wanted away from the chrysarium, wanted that horrible laughter to stop echoing in his ears.

“I should go attend to my duties,” he said, rushing over to pull aside the curtains. When the room flooded with light, he trembled. The warmth of it felt divine on his skin, and it chased away the last image in his mind of those terrible burning eyes.

“What duties are those?” Melody asked, slowly rising.

“Lord Gandrem will have plenty ready for me,” he said, drumming his fingers across the bone of his stump. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

She smiled. “Remember, it is our secret,” she said. “And please, don’t forget what you’ve seen. A vision from the gods should never be ignored, nor forgotten. And if you need to talk about it…”

“I will,” he said, still in a hurry. He wanted out. Just out. Opening the door, he fled the room, eager to be back in John Gandrem’s world of chores, duty, and learning. He’d had a taste of what it meant to deal with the divine, and suddenly the tales of the bards seemed far away from the truth.

Come that night, and the bard’s arrival, Nathaniel cuddled with his mother, listening to stories of doomed lovers, wars between lords, and the fall of dragons. Only once did the bard, a portly fellow in red, try to sing of Karak and Ashhur. Nathaniel frowned, and begged his mother to make him tell a tale of monsters, princes, even thieves and murderers, anything else but that.

Haern ran, forfeiting the rooftops for faster travel upon the roads. He’d gotten caught up tracking what turned out to be a false lead, just a guildless street rat trying to steal in Spider territory. Not the Widow, as Haern had first hoped. The time wasted meant he might miss his chance to speak with Alan. Legs pumping, he raced toward the southern wall. Alan’s patrols varied, but every eight days he made sure to swing by a long stretch of the south wall, where there was little to steal, and even fewer eyes to see. For the most part, that was the only place Alan felt safe enough to talk.

And they certainly had much to talk about.

Since the attack against Victor, the city had settled into an unstable peace, a held breath before the next catastrophe. Victor’s work continued, a steady picking at the various thief guilds and their numbers. Through it all, the guilds remained quiet. Haern wanted to know what Alan knew, what Thren was thinking after such a vicious loss. That, and the Widow had struck again, another Spider found mutilated. Despite their best attempts, none of the Eschaton had been able to stop it. The rest of the city was catching on to the murders, and for most it was just a cruel joke.

“Another went to see the Widow,” he’d heard a guard say, and the rest laughed as they picked up the body and pocketed the silver and gold. It was a lead Haern knew he should pursue, though the task was daunting. Systematically questioning every prostitute both within and surrounding the Spider Guild’s territory would take countless hours…