Erik DeBie - Ghostwalker

"No," said Walker. "This is my fight, and my fight alone. No man or woman will die in my place."

His fatalistic tone made Arya's heart race. "Wait, at least, until you are fully rested-"

"If I do not confront her now, I will never find her," replied Walker. "Her spies are even now on the wing, going to tell her all that has transpired today. I must fight her now." Arya frowned, but Walker was firm. "I will heal as I walk."

The knight did not understand, and she bit her lip.

He took another step, but still Arya held him back. He turned to her, his eyes cold and hard, and Arya swallowed. She had meant to argue, but the determination she saw in those eyes told her that it would be no use. She closed her eyes, fighting within herself for words, and when they finally came, she fixed him with a gaze as full of resolve as his own.

"Then I am coming with you," she said.

"You are not…" "Walker started to argue, but then he trailed off. He did not need to look into her steely eyes to know argument was useless. "As you will. But if you are to come-" With a twist, he removed the wolf ring and offered it to her. "You will need protection."

"But-but you need healing," she protested.

"The shadows will provide," said Walker.

Though she did not understand, Arya found herself trusting him. She slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. It felt heavy, but she took reassurance in its weight. She nodded then took a step away, meaning to call for her horse.

This time, it was Walker's turn to grasp her arm and stop her.

"You will need no horse for this journey," he said.

Arya slid out of his grasp and eyed him. "How do we journey, then?" she asked, hesitant to be away from Swiftfall and her trusty lance.

"The only way Gylther'yel will not hear us coming-along the most silent of paths." He extended a hand silently to her. "The Shadow."

Arya shivered. "Can she not see ghosts, if she is a ghost?" asked Arya.

"Not the Ethereal. The Shadow," he said. "This is the only way."

The others in the plaza had observed the two by now, and Bars and Derst were walking over, wearing questioning looks.

"Take my hand," said Walker, his eyes gleaming.

Arya gnawed on her lip, indecisive. Though she wanted to delay, to explain to her brother knights the reason she had to go, or even ask them to accompany her, she felt Walker's need for haste.

"The grove!" she called out to Unddreth, Bars, and Derst. Then she stepped into Walker's reach and clutched his outstretched hand.

Instantly, shadows surrounded them and the world seemed to turn black. Walker wrapped his billowing cloak around her and took her firmly in his embrace.

"We walk the shadowy realm beyond the Border Ethereal-the Shadow Fringe-where our travel will be quickened," explained Walker. "Whatever you may see, whatever you may feel-remember that I am with you. Whatever else speaks, do not reply. Cling tightly to me-I will not forsake you."

Arya nodded.

Then, as Walker took a step forward, she followed him into the shadows.

Arya felt her lungs fill with smoke, and she could not breathe. As they stepped between worlds, all the colors of Quaervarr and even the sun seemed to fade to a dull, bleak haze. She felt a tug, as though the very darkness pulled her in. Her gorge rose and her stomach danced. The afternoon sunlight became muddy, as though the sun were but a smoldering torch behind thick spider webs.

Surrounding her were a multitude of moving figures, all engaged in different activities, from pacing back and forth, to acting out duels, to mumbling or shouting incoherently. Their faces were blurry, obscured as though by a hand that had smudged their very being and wiped their features from sight. She started, seeing the men and women who had been in the square as mere blobs of light, and she became aware of the heat flowing from them like water.

This is the ghost world, she thought. From here, we step into Shadow.

An ephemeral man lunged at her out of the darkness, so violently and with such rage burning from him that Arya screamed and clutched at Walker. At the same time, a wave of panic washed over her.

"I am here," came a voice, a deep and resonating voice, along with a wave of comfort. The angry spirit spun past her and continued on its way, jabbering about orc chieftains it had faced.

A wave of sadness not of her own making swept through her.

"Gharask is an old spirit-the father of Dharan Greyt. He has haunted Quaervarr for fifteen years," said the voice. "Kept there by anger, rage, and helplessness. Perhaps tonight we will set him to rest."

Caught up in Walker's arms, Arya felt herself borne away on wings of shadow. The angry spirit, and the gathered multitude vanished, along with the darkened buildings of Quaervarr. Soon, Arya found herself in the woods, where Walker continued his slow steps, each of them covering dozens of paces.

Then there came a scream, jolting Arya's attention to a spirit who ran beside them. Her face was blurred, but when Arya focused upon her features, they shifted and cleared. She was a comely woman, younger than Arya, but her features were lined with wrinkles of madness and her eyes burned with impotent wrath. There was a bloody wound in her breast.

"Why? Why? Why?" she asked, repeating the word again and again, building in volume until it was so loud that it stung Arya's ears. The spirit wept black tears, which disintegrated in the smoky air.

"Chandra Stardown?" asked Arya, as she recognized the spirit. She had known Chandra in Silverymoon-both had served under Sernius Alathar as cadets, but Arya had not seen her since her promotion into the order.

Chandra's spirit seemed stunned for a moment. Then she burst back into her demands, reaching for Arya.

"Why! Why! Why!"

Startled, Arya cried, "I know not!"

At this, Chandra paused again, but then gave a wrenching scream, stunning Arya to silence, and reached at her with fingernails grown into claws. The knight gasped and reached for her sword, but a warning hand clamped down upon her wrist.

"Whatever you see, do not reply!" repeated Walker. "I am here-I am the only one here!"

Arya started to argue, but then the spirit gave a gasp and vanished, as though it had suddenly fallen from a galloping horse they rode. Chastened, Arya clung to Walker, her only protection in this strange and fearful place. They continued their trek through the Shadow.

For the longest time, Arya did not dare to look up at Walker. Fear and horror surrounded her like the very air, and it was only through Walker's soothing presence that she was able to keep her sanity in the darkness.

"Walker?" Arya finally asked, trembling. "Tell me something?"

"Perhaps."

"Do you live… all your life like this?" she asked.

"Always in darkness," was Walker's only reply, a reply that sent a chill of fear down Arya's spine. If her ghostly, shadow body had a spine, that is.

As if in response, a wave of adoration came over her, then sympathy for her fear. With a start, Arya realized she could feel his emotions, rather than just hear his voice. For the first time, Arya mustered the courage to look up. She caught her breath.

Walker's darkness was gone. In its place, his skin was golden and his hair glowing. His body seemed built of light and his life-force warm. He had spoken true of healing, for his body seemed to be siphoning energy from the shadow and turning it into light. In the world of the dead, Walker shone bright and alive, a shining beacon among the shadows.

"Walker, you… you're so different," said Arya. "So… bright."

A wave of confusion came to her then, and when she explained, she felt his disbelief.

"You must be mistaken," Walker explained. "You glow brightly to me, a creature of life. I should not shine brightly, for I am a creature of shadow-I dwell always in darkness."