Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

N ot exactly a stroll down the Boulevard of Heroes back in Celwyn, but I’m damn proud of the lot of you all the same,” Yimt said. “You kept it together and paraded like the shiny siggers that I knew you were. The major himself said seeing you march like that brought tears to his eyes.”

“The major really said that?” Scolly asked.

Yimt rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I don’t know if I want to pat you on the head with my hand or the butt of my shatterbow. Now listen up, lads, and you might just learn something, even you, Scolly.”

They stood at the crossroads of six alleyways in a labyrinthine marketplace that made the one in Port Ghamjal in Elfkyna look positively orderly. Blind beggars lined the street with wide, flat bowls at their feet, their milky eyes staring sightlessly into the distance while their hands reached out, palms up, imploring. Market stalls were crammed in tight with little more than a hanging rug dividing them. Wares of every shape, size, and color spilled out into the alleys, and more hung from canopies restricting passage to little more than one person wide. Lanterns were flickering to life as dusk settled over the city. Everything was becoming shadow.

Alwyn pushed forward as the other soldiers gathered round. Emotions were close to the surface. Weeks of floating on the high seas with only one nightmarish island after another to break up the monotony had taken their toll. The whole regiment was ready to give the cauldron a stir and see what bubbled up.

Fortunately, they had been allowed to leave their packs and greatcoats at the temporary camp now set up on the grounds of the Viceroy’s palace near the center of the city, but all had their muskets slung over their shoulders. By order of the Prince, their muskets were not supposed to be loaded. Yimt, however, had a different view on the subject, and every soldier had rammed a charge and musket ball down the barrel before they set forth, but out of view of the Prince.

Yimt looked around him and scratched his beard. Everyone leaned in a little closer.

“We’ve been given a night to dust off the old crystal ball and peer into the depths of our depraved and sordid souls. In a place like Nazalla, whatever you desire is most definitely available…for a price. After what we’ve been through I ain’t judgin”, so whatever you want, now’s the time to shout it out. Now then, what sort of mayhem and mischief are you looking for?”

Roars of beer, wine, and other liquid refreshment echoed off the walls and startled a few beggars, who suddenly found their sight wasn’t as bad as all that and quickly took off for other parts. Alwyn had considered staying in the temporary camp, but Yimt wouldn’t hear of it, and now that Alwyn was here, he was glad he’d allowed himself to be dragged along.

“Easy, easy,” Yimt said, motioning with his hands to calm down. “Let’s try not to frighten them off before we get our drinks, shall we? What about you, Inkermon? They have fruit juices and arr as black as tar that they serve in tiny little cups.”

“Wine is permitted on certain occasions, in moderation, of course, and with the proper rites observed,” the religious farmer said. Looks of stunned surprise greeted this statement.

“Now I know the world’s coming to an end,” Hrem said, eliciting a few laughs. “Our holy man is going to lift a few with us heathens.”

Yimt nodded his approval. “There might be hope for you yet, Inkermon. Wine, you say? If my memory serves, they make one here from watermelons that’ll have you dancing the night away. Well, maybe not dancing exactly.”

“I’m starving,” Scolly interrupted, pushing his bulk forward. “All that talk about bread and crumbs earlier got my gut all worked up. I could eat just about anything right now, but no salt.”

There were nods of agreement. Alwyn was convinced that if it rained now, he’d melt into one large pile of salt. How the sailors ate that food for months on end, he didn’t know.

“I asked around at the palace,” Yimt said. “Most of the food here will clear your pipes and set sparklers off behind your eyeballs.”

“Drink and wine is, well, fine,” Teeter said, “but where would a fellow go for a little…companionship? Doomed or not, we were on that ship a long bloody time.”

This time there was some muttering and shuffling of feet. Alwyn was embarrassed to feel his face flushing. Until now, his thoughts had been so consumed with the oath and the nightmares that he hadn’t even considered the possibility of anything normal. From island to island, there had been no chance to think about a time beyond the horrors. Now that they had a whole night to just be themselves, he didn’t know what to do with it. Others, but not all, appeared to be equally perplexed.

Yimt hung his head in mock shame. “I’m embarrassed to say I know you. Laddies, are you familiar with what the fine folk call reet-oracle speaking?”

Blank stares greeted Yimt.

“It’s when I already know the answer to my question. Like I said, I did some asking around at the palace. The place for us is the Blue Scorpion. If the palace guard weren’t lying through their teeth, whatever you’re looking for tonight, and I do mean whatever, we’ll find it there.”

“I was thinking of wandering the market a bit,” Hrem said, “maybe picking up a little something for the missus.”

Yimt shook his head. “Forget that. You saw the crowd today. We’ve got to stick together, especially at night. Wasn’t like this twenty years ago, I can tell you that. Nazalla’s changed, and not for the better.” He turned and pointed to a wall where a long scroll was pasted to the dusty-white stucco. “They can paper this entire city with the Prince’s proclamation, but it ain’t going to stop your purse being stolen or your throat bein’ slit. There’s dangerous folk here that would just as soon knife you as say hello.”

“Let them try,” Zwitty said. He held out his hand and frost fire burned to life. Everyone jumped back. Very few soldiers, of whom Alwyn was one, exhibited a natural skill in wielding the flame and could control it. With the rest, like Zwitty, it was like giving a loaded musket to a child.

“Douse that!” Yimt ordered, quickly looking around to see if they’d been seen. “You want a riot? Listen up, all of you. It was one thing to play with the frost when we were out on them islands and the ship, but now we’re in a city where people got funny ideas about magic and curses. I don’t want to see so much as a spark tonight, is that clear?”

Zwitty sneered and closed his hands. The black flame continued to burn.

“Was I not clear? Put that bloody flame out now,” Yimt said.

“Quit playing around, Zwitty, and put it out,” Teeter added.

“All of you stop yelling at me and I will,” Zwitty said, his voice rising an octave. He squeezed his fists tighter and closed his eyes, but the frost continued to burn. The air in the immediate area began to turn cold.

Yimt blew out his cheeks and raised a fist. “Zwitty, this is your last chance. Put that blasted fire out now.”

Zwitty opened his eyes and looked around at the group. Though he tried to hide it, there was terror in his eyes. Alwyn realized the problem. He can’t put it out.

“Stay calm,” Alwyn said, walking toward Zwitty.

“I am calm!” Zwitty shouted, starting to back up. “Just leave me alone. I can’t concentrate with everyone yelling at me!” The frost fire was now creeping up his forearm, and mist formed with every word he said.

A few passersby stopped and stared. Hrem took a step toward them and they quickly continued on their way.

“We’d better get him out fast or all of Nazalla’s going to know about it,” Hrem said.