Benjamin Tate - Well of Sorrows

The Shadow rose up from its body, a malevolent shroud, glistening and throbbing.

Then it turned. Colin sensed it focus on those closest, on Colin and everyone huddled on this side of the wagon, and he felt a cold dread sink into his chest.

Paul charged. Everyone gasped. Colin’s father shouted, “No!” The smith swung his ax, grunting with the effort, his face suffused with a mixture of rage and fear.

It should have cleaved the Shadow in two. Instead, the ax passed through the Shadow as if it weren’t there.

The swing pulled Paul off-balance. He stumbled, cried out in surprise And then the Shadow lashed out, a tendril passing through Paul’s outstretched arm.

Paul screamed, the ax dropping from his grip. He jerked the arm toward his chest, cradled it as if it had been broken, his breath sucked in sharply. Sam bellowed, “Watch out!” and rushed forward, caught by Tom before he could take two steps. Paul looked up in time to see the Shadow rear above him, and Colin saw utter fear register on his face And then the Shadow descended, falling like a shroud, smothering him. In less than a heartbeat, Paul’s body crumpled to the ground.

Colin found he couldn’t breathe, that his arms and legs had gone numb. He could hear his heartbeat, could taste something sour on his tongue, could smell his own rank sweat, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

Everything was happening too fast. Far, far too fast.

Fresh screams broke out, and Colin tore his gaze away from Paul’s body as more Shadows emerged from the forest, surging forward toward the line of men and the women and children huddled at the base of the wagon. The nearest guardsman swung his blade, more reflex than thought, but like Paul he staggered as his sword passed cleanly through the Shadow in the lead. In the next instant the black creature had swept through his arm and leg. He cried out and fell to the ground, his sword slipping free of his grip as he rolled to escape the next slash of the Shadow. But it ignored him, heading toward the women and children near the wagons, heading toward the group closest to Colin.

It sprang, and the children scattered, screaming as it lashed out in all directions in a strangely graceful, violent dance. Two bodies fell to the ground, skin blanched white. A boy struggled away on his elbows, his legs dragging behind him, tears streaming down his contorted face. And still more Shadows emerged from the forest, gliding out into the sunlight and striking at the sudden chaos that raged on all sides. Colin stood rigid, Karen’s hand clutched tight, unable to move. He heard names being called out, orders barked, heard someone bellow desperately, “Nothing stops them!” while before him more bodies fell to the ground. Colin could barely breathe, the sound of his heart pulsing in his ears, overwhelming the screams, drowning them out. The sour taste in his mouth turned bitter and dry, as if his tongue were coated with ash. He watched in silence as Lyda ran past, shrieking, her hair streaming out behind her, her hand on her swollen belly, a slew of the black Shadows trailing her. He watched as she stumbled, watched her roll onto her back, still shrieking, her face twisted into pure terror, watched as the Shadows converged on her like carrion birds to dead flesh. She rolled to her side and clawed at the ground, dragging herself away, but the Shadows were too swift, pouncing on her, feeding off of her, off of the unborn child inside her, their actions far more frenzied than they were with the others, far more greedy, more gluttonous. Her fingers dug at the earth as her screams broke down into tortuous sobs, as tears streaked her face, and then a Shadow lashed out, almost impatiently, its form passing through her neck, and with a gasp her head fell to the ground and her struggles ceased.

Colin choked, his stomach seizing, his chest tightening, bile rising up sharp and acrid in the back of his throat. He struggled to draw air into his lungs, but he couldn’t, struggled to swallow the bitterness and nausea and horror Until a hand clamped onto his shoulder, the grip so hard he winced, the paralysis shuddering in his chest beneath the wave of pain. He sucked in air, felt something tear in his throat, and deeper, in his lungs, and coughed as he staggered and turned.

“Colin! Karen!” his father barked, his voice rougher than usual, higher in pitch. He shook him, shook Karen as well, her eyes wide and shocked. “You have to get out of here. We can’t stop them. We can’t even hurt them. You have to run! Both of you! Back to the plains!”

“But what about-”

Before he could finish, his father’s grip tightened. Leaning forward, his voice black, he growled, “Run, goddamn you!” And then he shoved them both, hard, shoved them back toward the space between the wagons, back toward the plains and the dwarren’s battle. Colin tripped, landed hard on his ass, Karen’s hand tearing free from his, but his father had already turned. He scanned the chaos before him, face tight, then shouted, “Ana!” and dashed off to the left.

Colin lurched to his feet, took off after his father, but within two steps he was brought up short by Karen as she grabbed his arm, spun him around. “Where are you going? You heard your father. We have to get out of here!”

“I have to help him. I have to find my mother.”

“But he told you to get out!”

“The dwarren are out there! There’s nowhere to go.” Karen bit her lower lip, wavering, so he drew in a sharp breath and added, “What about your father?”

Her eyes darkened, angry and concerned at the same time. “You bastard,” she whispered. Then she spun, searching those nearest, trying to see past them. “Over here.”

They stumbled away, one of the Armory guardsmen staggering in front of them, a Shadow reaching for the man’s chest. Colin dodged, slipped to his knees in the grass, Karen keeping him upright, shot a glance left and right, searching for his mother, for a glimpse of either of their fathers And caught sight of Walter instead.

The Proprietor of Haven stood with his back to one of the wagons, his sword leveled before him, the blade twitching back and forth among three different Shadows. A fourth Shadow writhed on the ground, feeding off Jackson, the Company’s representative staring up into the sunlight, eyes glazed with death, skin white, yet still beaded with sweat. Walter hissed as one of the Shadows feinted with a tendril of darkness, his sword jerking toward the black shape. He wiped sweat from his face with the back of one arm, the gesture short and rough and desperate, then barked as another Shadow slid closer, this one from the opposite side. His sword swung toward the second Shadow, hovered point first, trembling there, while his gaze followed the movements of the third.

Colin frowned. The Shadows were playing with him, like cats who’d trapped a mouse in a dusty corner of an alley. They didn’t seem as frenzied as when they’d first attacked, and the ones surrounding Walter glistened with a fluid gold color.

And then Walter noticed them, his eyes settling on Colin with a flare of hope. “Colin!” His voice was tight and thick and shook with fear. “Colin, help me!”

One of the Shadows slipped closer, and Walter growled a warning, his sword swinging toward the new threat as another Shadow edged forward, almost imperceptibly. The fourth one-the one feeding on Jackson-began to rise, shimmering with a patina of gold in the light. It moved sluggishly, but with more intent, as if it had been sated.

Colin didn’t move. He could feel Karen at his side, slightly behind.

“Colin!” Walter yelled, and Colin jerked. No fear this time in Walter’s voice. It was threaded with demand, with arrogance. The voice of a Proprietor.

Colin thought about the alley, about the beatings, about the day Walter had kicked him hard enough that he’d pissed his own pants. He thought about the arrest, the gallows, the day spent in the pillory, unable to move, unable to even scratch an itch, thirsty and hungry, covered in blood from his own struggles and the spit of the other townspeople. He thought about the look on Walter’s face as he left him in the alley, about the satisfied smirk he’d given him on the gallows, and he heard Walter’s laughter as he pissed on him from the darkness while he was in the penance locks.