Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

Life as Gwyn knew it ceased. His body collapsed to the ground. Magic thick and raw coursed through him. His wounds froze over and healed as the remnants of his robe fell away in ash and frost fire consumed him.

When the flames burned out he stood, wrapped in a cloak of night.

“Bring my children home,” she said, “and yours is the world.”

“As you wish,” Her Emissary said.

The sky turned slate, blackening at the horizon as storm clouds formed in the distance. The cries from a flock of birds fleeing before the coming weather carried farther as the air grew colder. The wind picked up, rushing ahead of the towering clouds, churning everything in its path.

The three women ignored this, or at least gave no outward sign that they cared the weather was turning. Their attention was fixed solidly on the simmering pot before them. A gust of wind whistled between them, tearing away tendrils of steam long enough to reveal the contents therein. Each leaned closer to look. To their credit, none of them recoiled. A green, glutinous mass bubbled fiercely, giving off an odor quickly borne away by the wind.

None appeared willing to speak first. Their eyes glistened with tears as they strained to discern something knowable from the contents. The cast-iron vessel hung from a leather strap above a blazing fire attached to a tripod of three muskets. A fire burned fat and orange underneath it, oblivious to the wind, and no sign of fuel could be seen within its flames. More amazingly, the wooden deck of the Black Spike remained uncharred.

After several more moments of quiet contemplation, Rallie pushed back the hood of her cloak. “Perhaps the honor should go to the eldest among us.” She continued to look down at the pot and so avoided the eyes of the other two women, which now turned to her.

“And that would be?” Chayii Red Owl asked, the tone in her voice not entirely lost on the wind.

Visyna looked from Rallie to Chayii and held her tongue. Chayii was elf, and they were known to live incredibly long lives. Rallie, on the other hand, was unlike any human Visyna had ever met. She spoke with a wisdom gained by much experience over a very great expanse of time. They were-by any measure Visyna could see-witches. That should have bonded them together like sisters-each a powerful wielder of magic in her own right, each using her skills to prevent the Shadow Monarch from destroying them all.

On further thought, perhaps they were too much like sisters.

“Perhaps you can decide, Visyna,” Chayii said.

Visyna knew a trap when she saw it. Chayii had been more or less cordial since their first meeting, but Visyna knew Chayii was aware of the relationship between her and her son, Konowa-no matter how strained and untenable it might currently be. Chayii had yet to express her opinion on the matter, but Visyna was more than convinced she did not approve.

“Yes, child, do tell,” Rallie said.

What was it, Visyna wondered, with old witches and their need to play games? Well, three could play as easily as two.

Without a word, Visyna took a spoon, bent over the pot and scooped out a mouthful. She smiled at both of them as she brought the spoon to her lips, proud of avoiding a no-win situation.

Then she tasted it.

Tears welled in Visyna’s eyes and trickled down her cheek, where they dried in the wind. Time ceased as her world constricted to a shining white light exploding behind her eyes. It felt as if the top of her head had been blown off.

“Well?” Yimt asked. The dwarf stood nervously across from the women. It would be his distinct honor, he had said, to cook for three such fine ladies. Apparently his fellow soldiers were not entirely appreciative of his culinary efforts. He paced a few steps one way, then back again, all the while tugging on his beard.

Rallie took her spoon and dipped it into the pot, with Chayii following suit. Each looked at Visyna, but she was no help, her nostrils flaring and her cheeks flushing pink. With a nod to each other, they both tasted Yimt’s concoction.

For what seemed an eternity there was only the sound of the wind and the crashing of waves as the ship made all haste to outpace the storm. Yimt tugged so hard on his beard that he pulled several strands of hair out.

Visyna found her voice first.

“What…what do you call this?”

“It’s me old mum’s recipe for rat dragon. She got it from her mum and so on down the line.” He stopped tugging his beard and started waving his hand around. “I realize it’s in an iron pot and that kind of thing don’t sit right with you fey folk, so maybe it doesn’t taste quite the way it should…”

“Why is it green?” Chayii asked, her words coming out slightly slurred.

“Ah, well, as you might have guessed, we don’t have any rat dragons on board. Honestly, what kind of vessel goes to sea without a good supply of rat dragon in its stores? I checked with the cook, that one-armed fellow with the glass eye and peg leg, but while he’s got barrels of salted pork, salted beef, salted goat, and I swear salted salt, not one of rat dragon. He did, however, point out that the ship had a large supply of regular rats.”

Visyna knew the color in her face was now gone. “You mean…”

Yimt crossed his heart. “Regular rats in a stew? Me mum’d have me strung up by my ears. Not on your life. Nope, I hung a line off the back of the front there and caught me a few fish. At least they looked like fish, sort of. They were a bright blue when I hauled ’em on board, but looks like they go green when you put the heat to them. Oh, and I did add a little drake sweat to sort of bring out the flavors,” he said, indicating a small canteen filled with the stone-eating home brew.

While he was talking, Yimt kept casting glances at Rallie, who had yet to speak. Visyna had been watching her too, worried she might topple over.

“That,” Rallie began, then had to stop as she blinked and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “That, Sergeant Arkhorn, is without a doubt the most divine stew it has ever been my good fortune to taste. You, my dear sir, are a chef of sublime talent.”

Visyna looked at Chayii and saw her mouth was as agape as hers.

“You like it?” Chayii asked.

“Like it? I want to tear off my clothes and go swimming in it!” Rallie said, taking a proffered bowl from Yimt and holding it steady while he ladled out a steaming helping. If there was any doubt, she began to spoon the stew into her mouth while making soft moaning sounds. Through mouthfuls Visyna heard words like “brilliant,” “exquisite,” and several more she wasn’t sure were ever appropriate for describing food.

Yimt beamed like a father seeing his newborn child for the first time. “You are too sweet by half, Ms. Synjyn. You honor this old warhorse. I can’t tell you how it warms my heart to hear you say that.”

Rallie smiled back at him and raised her spoon in salute. “My compliments to the chef. You are as enticing as your wares.”

A word jumped into Visyna’s mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not shake it loose. By all that was holy, Rallie and Yimt were flirting.

She was saved from further contemplation of the subject by the telltale thump of Private Renwar’s wooden leg on the ship’s deck. Alwyn limped up and stopped short when he saw the pot. His hand went to his mouth, but he quickly recovered.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said, barely looking at them as he kept a wary eye on the bubbling pot. “Major Swift Dragon sends his compliments and asks that Miss Red Owl, Miss Tekoy, and Miss Synjyn join him on the quarterdeck.”

“You two run along,” Rallie said, waving them away as she held out her now-empty bowl for a refill. “Tell the major I’m still formulating my thoughts on the events of earlier. When I’ve had time to marshal them, I shall seek him out.”