Paul Kemp - Shadowbred

She looked away.

Cale said nothing, merely stared at his hands as if they had an answer. Shadows slowly rose from his fingertips. He watched them drift off into the night like smoke and made up his mind to tell her the truth. He turned in his chair to face her.

"Here it is, then. Sometimes when I leave here, I go to help some of the villages around us."

She cocked her head. "Those villages are days away, Erevis."

Cale nodded. "You know what I am, Varra. I can travel very fast through the darkness."

She stared at him, eyes wide, and nodded at him to continue.

"While I'm away, I…" he gazed into the night, "… kill things. Creatures, mostly. Marauding monsters, trolls and the like. It's gotten worse of late. But sometimes people. It depends. That is the blood you have seen on my clothing."

He saw the shock in her eyes but pushed onward. "They are evil things, Varra. Evil men."

She scooted back in her seat, as far from him as the chair allowed. He doubted she even realized it. He knew then that leaving was the right thing to do for her, too.

"Why do you do it?"

Cale swallowed. "Because I promised a friend once that I would try to be a hero. It sounds absurd, I know. But I meant it. And when I do… those things, I'm keeping the promise to save people."

Varra stared into the woods. "The world is too big to save everything, Erevis."

He shook his head. She did not understand. "I do not want to save everything. I just want to save something. I need to." The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

Varra's look was sharp enough to cut flesh. She studied his face. "Is that why you brought me from Skullport? Because you needed to save me?"

Cale could not look her in the eyes. His silence answered her well enough.

"You don't love me?" she asked softly, and her voice quavered.

He did look into her eyes, then. He leaned forward and took her hands in his. She was so warm. "Varra, I care for you. Very much. I feel something between us, something… wonderful. But there are things 1 must do, and those things stand between us like a wall. That's why I do not share myself with you. I cannot keep my promise here. It's not enough, what I'm doing. I need to do more." He swallowed, then said, "I felt like myself when I was looking for my friend, Varra. I was talking with people and standing in places that belonged on a street in Skullport, and I felt like myself."

He felt embarrassed saying it, but there it was.

She spoke in a small but resolute voice. "You cannot be yourself here? With me?"

Cale spoke quietly. "I am not a man made to be a husband, to live in a house, tend a garden. Varra, listen to me-I have fought demons, killed creatures from other planes with my hands, these hands." He held up his shadow enshrouded hand, scarred and callused. "I watched a wizard dim the sun, then broke his body as mine broke. I am different from other men. More than in my skin. I've seen forty winters and I will see hundreds more, thousands maybe. But who I am, what I am, was determined in a few key hours scattered over the course of my life up to now. I cannot change that. I do not want to change it."

Varra shook her head. "No, Erevis. Everything you do is who you are, not a few moments. You choose to focus on certain events and let those define you, but they needn't. You are more than that."

Cale looked away. He could not expect her to understand. She did not know what he had seen, what he had done.

She glanced up at the stars. "We are finally talking to one another, but only to say good-bye."

"Good-bye" sounded hard to Cale, but he nodded and said nothing. He could think of nothing else to say.

She took a deep breath and laid her palm on his cheek. "Do you remember what I said to you, back in Skullport, when we first met?"

Cale spoke nine languages but Varra's words then, still stuck in his brain, had confounded him. "Relain il nes baergis."

"It means, 'I know your soul.' And I do, Erevis. I do not want you to leave. And I do not think you are as different from other men as you think. You would be a good husband, a good father. Your deeds are different, but not your heart." She smiled and Cale thought her beautiful. "You would stay if I asked you. I know you would. But you would resent me for it. I cannot live with that."

Cale started to protest but knew she spoke truth. They had never lied to each other. He would not start now.

"We are connected, Erevis. 1 don't know how or why. I just know that we are. Do what you must. Go, help your friends. I'll remain here."

Cale looked into her eyes. "What will you do?"

She smiled and waved a hand at the cottage. "I will keep up the house and tend my garden. I will draw water from the well and put food on the table. This is home for me now. It will not be the same without you, but it will still be home."

"I am sorry, Varra," Cale said, and meant it.

She smiled. Her tears glistened in the starlight. "I know those are not idle words. That is why I love you."

She touched his lips. He kissed her fingers. She closed her eyes and smiled. Without another word, she rose, pushed him back in the chair and climbed atop him.

"Varra…"

She hushed him with a finger on his lips. He looked into her eyes and understood-they both knew this was farewell. He surrendered to the moment, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her neck. Her body radiated warmth; his radiated shadows.

Her hands answered his, caressing his shoulders, his hair, the back of his neck. She kissed his ear, his lips. He slipped her nightdress over her head and ran his hands down the length of her nude body. She tugged at his nightshirt.

He put everything out of his mind except her-her smell, her touch, her taste. He wanted to remember them always. She responded with the same urgency. Soon they were lost in each other, and his hands, the blood-stained hands that had killed demons, slaads, and dozens of men, were gentle for a time.

Afterward, they walked naked to the cottage in silence, holding hands. When he entered, he took his gear from his old wooden chest and donned his enchanted leather armor, strapped on Weaveshear and his daggers, pulled on his boots. His gaze fell upon the book he had received from the guardian of the Fane of Shadows. He had not opened it in over a year. The last time he had opened it, he discovered that Mask had placed a black mask within it-a new holy symbol. He held the book in his hands, studying its face. He flipped open the cover.

No mask. He smiled with relief and put the book in his satchel.

Varra watched him throughout. "Must you leave tonight?"

"I think it is better this way, Varra."

She nodded and said softly, "I have something for you."

She went to her night table and took something from the drawer- a piece of cloth, a black piece of cloth.

A mask. Cale's holy symbol.

Shadows swirled around him.

"I found it in the garden two days ago. The wind must have blown it there. I knew what it was but I said nothing. I'm… sorry. But I kept it for you. I've known since then that you would leave."

She held it out for Cale.

He hesitated, took it, and stuffed it in his pocket. It lay there like a lead weight.

She looked up into his face. "When I wake up, you will be gone?"

He nodded. "I will wait until you fall asleep before I leave."

"I hope you will return."

He said nothing, kissed her once more, embraced her one last time, and she climbed into bed, into their bed. He sat with his hand on her hip while sobs shook her. He could not stop his own tears. Exhaustion eventually overcame her and her breathing grew steady.

He stood and took a long look around the cottage. He had called it home for over a year. It had been a good year. He looked down on Varra, committed her sleeping face to memory, pulled the shadows about him, and transported himself to Selgaunt, back to the only family he'd ever had.