Jon Sprunk - Shadows son

He flicked the blade of his knife and wished he could eliminate the prelate now and be done with it, but Vassili preached patience and Levictus waited. Yet he would not wait much longer. The archpriest's plan had brought certain opportunities to light. The assassin with the lazy smile and eyes like blue crystal was an interesting prospect. Headstrong and ambitious, that one would be easier to manipulate. Perhaps it was time to make a change, or he could do as Vassili wanted and kill the man in the street below.

Or he could do both.

The target reached an intersection and vanished around a corner.

Levictus put his knife away and reached into his robe. From a pocket in the lining he took out a small object and placed it on the rooftop. The bead gleamed black and glossy in the morning light like a pebble of polished obsidian. Warmth pulsed within its ebon depths. He knelt beside the egg and whispered in soft, lilting tones. Tendrils of smoke rose from the bead as its surface dulled. With a pop, it cracked down the center and an inky stain emerged, a tiny serpent as long as his forefinger. Speaking softly, he gave the creature its instructions. It listened, and then disappeared into a chink between two roof shingles.

Levictus straightened and stepped into the lee of an arched gable. As he entered the shadow's embrace, plans formed in his head. Death would reign over this city before he was done, a scourging storm to wash away all the wickedness and iniquity. For a brief moment, he considered his loyalty to Vassili, but then reminded himself that he was a dead man. He had died on the day he was dragged into hell by the foot soldiers of the True Church. And dead men held no allegiances.

A whisper on the wind left the rooftop vacant save for smears of blood and the headless carcasses of a dozen pigeons.

osey giggled as her nanny crept past the pantry closet. She put her eye to the crack between the door and the jamb and ignored the demands that she present herself immediately. Hide-and-seek was one of her favorite games, and this big new house was the perfect place to play. It had even more nooks and shadowy corners than the hedge maze of their last home. She could hide for days if she wanted.

She was six years old, but Father still left her in the nanny's custody while he attended to business. She didn't know what business was, but it took up a great deal of his time these days, something she was decidedly not happy about. She was used to being the center of his world, his little princess, and anything that took Father away from Josey made her obscenely jealous.

While the nanny went calling into the next room, she snuck out from her hiding spot. She wanted to find a better one, someplace no one could ever find her. In her stocking feet she ran through the cavernous kitchen with its high tables and racks of cast-iron pots, down a wide hall, and around the corner. After several more turnings she found herself in a part of the house she had not yet encountered. Overjoyed at the prospect of exploring new territory, she forgot her game and wandered the long, windowless corridor. Tall wooden doors, their bronze latches dark with age, refused her entry, so she kept going. At the turning of another corner, she looked back. A line of footprints trailed behind her, a clear path she could follow back whenever she wanted.

The hall ended in a shallow niche, its blank walls encased in wooden paneling. A rusty hook for hanging a picture jutted above her reach. Josey crouched in the niche. It was too exposed for a good hiding spot. Dejected, she started to get up when a twinkle of light caught her eye. She bent down and found a crack near the floor. She would have missed it if not for the yellow glow filling the narrow gap. She wriggled her fingers into the crack and grinned when a section of the wall swung out like a narrow door. Deep steps of bare rock descended into the tunnel beyond, from which issued smells of earth and smoke. Below, more light flickered and strange sounds whispered in her ears like distant singing.

She stole down the steps like the daring thief Jangar Bey, her favorite storybook hero. Her fingers followed the curve of the stone wall as the cool steps wended beneath her feet. The lower she descended, the louder grew the sounds. The light got stronger, too. At the bottom of the steps a wide chamber opened before her, cut from the foundation beneath the house. Flaming torches lit the cavernous room and threw deep shadows across its painted walls. People in funny costumes stood in a circle and swayed in rhythm with the rising chant. Deep-blue hoods covered their faces except for dark eyeholes. Fanciful designs were sewn onto their clothes, shaggy birds with rearing claws depicted in golden thread.

There was so much to see, Josey didn't notice the song had ended until the rustle of clothing caught her attention. The hoods came off and faces emerged into the torchlight, men and women smiling and nodding as they finished their play, or whatever it was. A head turned and Josey's breath caught in her throat as familiar eyes cast their gaze across the chamber. With a startled gasp, she ran back up the steps, not sure why she fled, but only knowing she had seen something she wasn't meant to witness. When she reached the niche, she slammed shut the paneled door and darted down the hallway, but the eyes followed her like a bad dream.

The cool eyes of her father.

The hallway stretched into darkness before her. Her breathing thundered in her ears. A haunting dread pursued her through the gloom. She grasped for something to hold on to, but there was nothing there as she tumbled down a well of endless night. With infinite slowness the darkness resolved itself into shapes. At first indistinct, they loomed large and frightening over Josey's head, until their edges came together into long shadows across the ceiling. Her body didn't seem to want to work. She tried to turn her neck and waited for what seemed like hours before anything came into view. She remembered her dream and shivered. She had forgotten about that day in the old wing of the house and the secret door in the wall. She had gone back to the niche days later only to find a bare wall and tight panels that refused to budge no matter how hard she pried at them. She left the wing convinced it had all been a bad dream.

The musty smell of the secret cavern lingered in her head.

She sat up. She was lying on a crude bed, little more than a length of coarse fabric stretched over a wooden frame. The room was unfamiliar, with walls and ceiling of cracked plaster, devoid of color or decor.

Her head felt strange, like it was wrapped in wet towels. She lifted a hand to her forehead and groaned as a sliver of agony slid across her temple. The skin wasn't broken, but she could feel a bruise rising beneath the skin. What had happened? Fighting back a wave of nausea, she moved to get up. She was still wearing her nightdress. All of a sudden, the events in her father's room marched through her mind. She saw Father sitting in his favorite chair, his chest ripped open in a bloody gash, and the hulking specter in black standing over him. She remembered the rough hands that had bound her tight. The authorities had arrived to save her, but the man in black had killed them all. Was that right? Her thoughts were all jumbled. But one thing she remembered with crystal clarity: her poor father was dead.

And now she was a captive, likely held for ransom. But who would pay for her release? She had no other family. The terror of her situation crept over her like an army of biting ants. She shivered on the cot, unable to move. Heavy tears slid down her face as the image of her dead father played over in her head. Poor, poor Father and poor her. She was truly alone in the world.

The sound of talking silenced her sobs. She wiped her face with a silken sleeve and tried to stand up. The pain wasn't so bad now. She listened. A man's voice filtered through the room's only door. must've been killed right before I arrived," the speaker said. A moment later, he added. "No, this was a real slick job. No broken windows. No blood trail."