Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

No longer feeling sleepy, Visyna focused her energy on her weaving, following threads deep into the desert.

After a distance of some miles, the threads frayed and became lost in a swath of bitter cold darkness. Visyna was all too familiar with its taint. “The Shadow Monarch’s forest has crossed the sea and is out there in the desert,” she said. She lowered her hands and rubbed them on the tops of her thighs.

Chayii cursed in Elvish. “Tyul and Jurwan are heading straight into it,” Chayii said. “They won’t have the sense to turn back. Nei ther’s mind is clear enough. We must get out there and save them from themselves.”

“We’ll need help, Chayii,” Visyna said. “Rallie, we must get a message to Konowa at once. The regiment needs to move. The Star will fall and the only powers out there will be Hers and Kaman Rhal’s. We three alone won’t be enough. We need help.”

Rallie pulled up hard on the reins as the wagon shuddered to a halt.

“Rallie, what are you doing?” Chayii asked.

Rallie pulled a cigar out of her cloak and lit it, drawing in a huge breath until the end of the cigar was bright red. “I think we just found some help,” she said, as shadowy figures emerged from an alleyway to block their path.

It stings,” Scolly said, rubbing his right arm.

“Then quit worrying it, and keep your voice down,” Yimt said, scratching at his upper arm, too. They stood among the dwarf’s wicker baskets in the alley, waiting for Hrem to appear. A moment later, Hrem struggled his way out of the secret opening behind the large wicker basket and put his shako on his head.

Alwyn flexed his bicep and found that his tattoo didn’t bother him at all. It was his first one. He’d always imagined that if he ever got the courage up to get a tattoo, it would be something manly like a sword or the name of a special woman or even crossed muskets like Griz had mentioned. A black acorn had never entered his mind.

“What do you think, Sergeant? Could we head back to the Blue Scorpion for a bit?” Teeter asked.

Yimt stood still for a moment in deep thought. Finally, he slapped the stock of his shatterbow. “I hate to break it to you, but we’ve got to get back to camp and let the major know what’s going on,” Yimt said.

Teeter kicked at the dirt and looked at Yimt, his eyes pleading. “We don’t really know all that much, do we?”

“There’s nothing for it, we have to report,” Yimt said, looking around the section as if waiting for more objections.

Alwyn wasn’t surprised the group remained quiet. No one wanted to go out to the desert, but the sooner they got out there, the sooner they might find a way to break the oath. Alwyn flexed his wooden leg and got a twinge of pain for his efforts. The effects of the drink and the tobacco were wearing off. So, too, was the high he’d felt with Nafeesah. Once again they were about to go off into the unknown and battle forces bent on trying to kill them, and worse. He looked around the darkened alley and gripped his musket a little tighter. Alwyn tried to recall a time when he didn’t know there was something more dreadful than being killed.

“I thought you said it got cold here at night,” Zwitty said, casually opening the lids on some of the wicker baskets and peering inside. “Feels all right to me.”

“You’re three sheets to the wind for starters,” Yimt said, walking over and slamming a lid out of Zwitty’s hand with his shatterbow, “and we’re in a city on the coast. Wait till we get out in the open desert, and see if you think it’s still warm at night.”

“What time is it?” Teeter asked, looking up at the sky.

“Midnight, maybe later,” Hrem said. “Sergeant, you have a pocket watch?”

Yimt laughed. “Do I look like I’ve got gold bullion tucked up under this caerna? Those devices cost a pretty penny. Besides, I don’t need one to tell me the time.” He looked up at the sky as well. “It’s late.”

“Very helpful,” Inkermon said, leaning unsteadily against a wicker basket and looking up at the sky as well.

“Why’s everyone looking up?” Scolly asked.

Alwyn looked up. “The sky looks a bit blue, don’t you think? And it feels different, too.”

“Different how?” Yimt asked, pointing a warning finger at Zwitty, then walking over to Alwyn.

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t feel the same from when we went down the tunnel to now,” Alwyn said. A general unease settled in Alwyn’s blood. “You don’t suppose it’s the Star, do you? I can’t explain it, but something is different. You’re right, I think we need to get back to camp.”

Inkermon lurched away from his resting place and strode out into the alley. “It doesn’t matter. You know what this means, don’t you?” he said. His jacket was off and his undershirt sleeve rolled up and he was gently tracing the outline of the acorn with his finger. “It means we are truly marked by Her. Our souls are unredeemable. That’s what you’re feeling. Our souls are gone…” Inkermon gasped and began sobbing.

Yimt walked out to where Inkermon was and put a hand on his shoulder. With the other hand, he reached out and punched Inkermon’s new tattoo. Inkermon quit crying and started yowling.

“Hush your drunken self, you want half of Nazalla to hear you wailing on like a baby?”

Inkermon quieted down. Alwyn expected a fiery retort, but the farmer-turned-soldier simply walked over to a wall and slid down it to sit with his head on his knees.

Yimt took off his shako and scratched his head a couple of times, then put the hat back on. “Look, nobody’s soul has gone anywhere,” Yimt said. “We got these tattoos of our own free will. Fine, I’ll admit it’s a bit creepy to know the acorn mark was already there, but that’s magic for you. We are oath-bound, after all. It’d have been a bigger surprise if that dwarf’s magic quill had called up a puppy or a bouquet of bloody flowers now, wouldn’t it? And let’s not forget we made a few modifications of our own. I don’t think the Shadow Monarch would approve.”

Alwyn looked closer at Inkermon’s bare arm. It was highly unlikely the Shadow Monarch would be thrilled to see a bayonet stuck through the heart of the acorn with the words?ri Mekah -“Into the Fire”-inscribed above it, and And Right the Hell Back Out! underneath it.

Yimt motioned up to the sky, then snapped his fingers to get their attention. His face showed fierce determination. “What I’m trying to say is, don’t you ever let this own you. Not the oath, the afterlife, not any of it. We’ve been in tough spots before and got out of ’em. We’ll figure out a way to make it through this, too.”

“So what’s Ally feeling then?” Zwitty asked. “’Cause if he’s getting twitchy, then you know something is going on.”

Yimt shrugged. “Maybe there’s a big sandstorm brewing. They get them here, absolute monsters. Winds strong enough to scour the flesh off your bones.”

“Lovely,” Hrem said. “Well, my appetite for the pleasures of Nazalla is pretty much spent. If we’re supposed to be heading back to camp, we might as well get going. The longer we stand around here, the more likely trouble’s going to find us. If it’s the desert for us, at least we can get a few hours’ sleep before we go.”

“Spoken like a man with his head on straight,” Yimt said. “Right, Hrem, get Inkermon up and let’s go set a few more of those wheels of history in motion.”

“I hear something,” Scolly said, unslinging his musket and pointing toward the other end of the alley.

Alwyn turned his head and tried to listen. “Sounds like a carriage. Going awfully fast, too.”

Yimt hefted his shatterbow and cocked the hammers. “That doesn’t sound normal, not at this time of night. Wake up, sober up, but stay calm. Follow me and be ready.”