The Light of Burning Shadows

TWENTY-ONE

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.”

“Ready for what?” Alwyn asked. He wiped a palm against his caerna to dry the sweat.

“Anything,” Yimt said, as he walked to the end of the alley with the section close behind. Without pausing, Yimt strode out into the middle of the road. Alwyn recognized Miss Synjyn’s brindos at once and started to relax. “Well, that’s a relief, Sergeant.”

Yimt lowered his shatterbow and sighed. “Somehow, Ally, I don’t think it is.” He waved to Miss Synjyn. The wagon wheels juddered across the cobbles as the brindos halted. A wash of dust swept over the soldiers and Alwyn turned his head and coughed. When he looked back, Miss Tekoy and Miss Red Owl were off the wagon.

“Alwyn of the Empire, what are you doing out here so late? This is not suitable behavior, young man. You need to rest your leg if it is to have any hope of truly grafting,” Miss Red Owl said.

Light laughter echoed off the surrounding buildings behind Alwyn, but he refused to turn to see who it was. He felt his face flush. I’m not a kid anymore. “I’m fine.” He spat the words out with force. He saw the surprised looks on the faces around him, but he couldn’t hold it in. “In fact, I figured out what attacked Kester on the last island, and I got us a map of the desert and an idea where to find it. I really wouldn’t know what’s appropriate for a young man anymore, but for an Iron Elf, this is.”

Silence reigned for several seconds. Finally, Rallie coughed and leaned over the side of the front bench of her wagon. “May I see it?” she asked, holding out her hand. “The map you so forcefully procured.”

Yimt looked over at Alwyn, then at Rallie. “I’m still the sergeant around here,” he said, pulling the map from his jacket and handing it to her. “Leaving in a bit of a rush, aren’t you? Going somewhere or just taking the brindos out for a late-night trot?”

Rallie took a drag on her cigar until the end became bright red and ignored Yimt’s question. She bent over the map and studied it in the glow. “Tell me, Sergeant, how did you-I’m sorry-how did Private Renwar acquire this map?”

Yimt looked over at Alwyn again before answering Rallie. “Met a dwarf, one of the thirty-four survivors of Frillik’s Drift, no less. When he found out we were heading out to the desert he dug this up. Damn nice of him, I’ll say.”

Rallie continued to study the map. “Really? Whatever is he doing here?”

“Retired,” Yimt said. “Guess he came down here for the heat. The mountains get mighty cold in winter.”

“That they do,” Rallie said. “Well, this was very nice of him indeed. This is far more detailed than any map of the Hasshugeb that the Prince has in his possession. I’d guess this dwarf is a bit of an explorer, too.”

“Griz? Naw, he runs a basket place off the market. Well, probably does a little black market on the side if I had to guess looking at his setup, but solid as a ton of lead,” Yimt said.

Rallie sat up and took the cigar out of her mouth. “Griz Jahrfel?”

Yimt nodded. “Aye, that’s him,” he said slowly. “You know him, then?”

Alwyn wondered if there was a hint of jealousy in Yimt’s voice. Up until now he’d been the only dwarf in Rallie’s life, not counting her editor back in Celwyn, a fact Alwyn knew Yimt didn’t know.

“Must have bumped into him somewhere or other years ago and oceans from here,” she said, rather quickly, Alwyn thought. “Now then, judging by this, it appears were both heading in the same direction. I can’t imagine that’s a coincidence.”

“That’s where you’re headed? Out into the desert, just the three of you?” Yimt said.

“Sergeant, events are once again moving rather rapidly. Tyul and Jurwan left the ship sometime earlier this evening and are tracking something into the desert.” She looked up to the sky before she continued. “With the imminent prospect of a Star returning, this has most definitely piqued our curiosity. More curious, though, is that all paths appear to be leading straight for this.” Her finger stabbed down on an area just to the southeast of Suhundam’s Hill. Alwyn peered over Yimt’s shoulder for a better view.

“The Canyon of Bones, lovely,” Yimt said. “Probably a scenic little picnic spot. I’m sure nothing unpleasant or remotely horrifying has ever happened there.”

Alwyn looked over at Scolly, waiting for the inevitable question about picnics, but Scolly just scratched his arm and said nothing. It was just possible even Scolly got the gist of Yimt’s sarcasm. Would wonders never cease?

The rest of the soldiers clustered around. “I don’t like the sound of that one bit,” Teeter said. “Who names a canyon that? Why not just call it ‘Bloody Terrible Place Where Monsters Live.”

“Nobody said anything about monsters,” Yimt said.

“Don’t have to, they just seem to show up unannounced these days,” Teeter said.

“All the more reason to keep your eyes peeled, then,” Yimt said, shooing them all back from the wagon. Alwyn turned to go, but Yimt motioned for him to stay. A light flickered to life in a window down the street. “See what I mean? Spread out and stay sharp.” Yimt jumped up onto the wagon for a closer look, then reached out a hand and helped Alwyn up. “Teeter does have a point. Things are getting a mite peculiar. Ally felt something earlier. You know, I think I even did, too,” he said, looking skyward. “That blue light up there means something, doesn’t it?”

Rallie cocked her head to one side. “Interesting. We three felt it as well. I dare say before too long most of Nazalla will have a sense of it. Another Star is indeed returning.”

Yimt whistled. “Here we go again. Okay, I’ll get the lads moving, and the rest of us will stay put here with you until they return, then we can head out.”

Rallie was shaking her head before he finished. “No. There isn’t time to waste. The Star is coming now. We have to get out there. The regiment will have to catch up as best it can.”

Now Yimt was shaking his head. “Oh, no, I’m not letting you go out there on your own. It’s too dangerous. We all saw what happens when a Star returns.”

Movement down the street behind the wagon caught Alwyn’s attention. More lights were flickering on in windows, and several people had now stepped outside. A few were even standing on their roofs. Everyone was looking up.

“We’ve got company,” Alwyn said, tugging on Yimt’s sleeve.

The dwarf cursed under his breath. He looked to Rallie. “You live and breathe this political stuff-what’s about to happen here?”

Rallie looked over her shoulder. “Simply, the Empire arrives in force and that very night the Jewel of the Desert-the guiding Star of the Hasshugeb Expanse-returns. Who here wouldn’t see that as a repudiation of Imperial intent?”

Repudiation was a new one for Alwyn, but he caught the meaning. “People are going to be upset, aren’t they?”

Rallie offered a sad smile. “Change never comes easy. Some will be overjoyed, but most will be scared, then upset, and then angry. You saw what it was like in Elfkyna. This time it will be worse. The world as people have known it is shifting under their feet and over their heads. Were it a simple matter of the Empire protecting its citizens from an ancient power like Kaman Rhal or the Shadow Monarch, things might remain more or less stable…but the Stars change everything.”

“How can they have such power?” Alwyn asked. He understood the power of magic in the way he understood the power of a cannon. “How can they affect people’s minds that much?”

Rallie took the cigar out of her mouth and waved it. “They don’t, not directly. It’s what the Stars represent that is so potent. Think of that uniform you wear. Under it, you’re a man like any other man…well, most of you is. But when you put it on, you become the shiny, sharp point of a very long bayonet wielded all the way back in Calahr. And you’ve been that point at a lot of people’s throats for hundreds of years. Now a Star returns, one that you, as symbol of the Empire, have given little credence to. This Star promises nothing but possibilities.”

“That’s all well and good,” Yimt said, “but I’m not letting you go out there alone.”

“I don’t think we could go back even if we wanted to,” Miss Red Owl said. An artificial daylight was rising up from Nazalla, as now thousands of people were simultaneously lighting lanterns and coming out into the streets. Raised voices could be heard in the distance. Alwyn strained to hear what was being said.

“I don’t understand the language, but that really doesn’t sound good,” he said. Anger, an emotion he was all too familiar with, drove the voices through the streets with growing force. The people of Nazalla were not going to let the Empire take their Star.

“I do,” Rallie said, “and you’re right, it isn’t good.”

“All right, let’s get this little band on the road. Get your arses on the wagon, now,” Yimt said, “we’re moving out.”

A small group of people had formed a line in the street twenty yards away in front of the wagon. They were talking quietly amongst themselves while keeping a watchful eye on the soldiers. Alwyn didn’t see any weapons, but with the loose robes they wore, they could have all manner of them tucked away. More people kept arriving as the crowd built. As they did their whispers became louder. With numbers came courage. This wasn’t going to end well. Before long, the street would be so jammed with people they would never be able to get the wagon through.

“Listen up,” Yimt said, “no one do anything stupid and fire a shot. They aren’t prepared to openly attack the Empire…yet. Let’s see if we can’t ease our way out of here and not give them an excuse. Stay calm, no shouting, no sudden movements, and for the love of whatever creator you pray to, no frost fire. ”

Inkermon began to pull out his bayonet, but Yimt motioned for him to stop. “No bayonets either. Accidentally stabbing someone won’t help our cause one bit. Right now we’re outnumbered about thirty thousand to ten, so let’s keep our heads on straight and we’ll get through this just fine.”

“You cannot take our Star!”

Alwyn tried to see who had shouted that, but it was impossible to tell. He saw people nod. A few even raised their fists. It felt like the first drop of rain. The air hummed. A storm was about to break.

“Go back to Calahr and leave us alone!”

“We can’t, we’re going into the desert to-”

Yimt slapped Scolly on the back. “Did you hear anything I said? We’re trying to prevent a riot,” he hissed.

“It’s true!” someone shouted. “They are here to take the Star! They must be stopped!”

“Time to go,” Rallie said. “I’d suggest everyone hold on tight. Visyna, be a dear and give us a little light?”

The surge of voices around them grew, as did the size of the crowd. Nothing had been thrown, yet, but Alwyn could see clenched fists. The anger of an entire people was boiling to the surface in Nazalla, and they were right in the middle of it.

Visyna climbed up to stand on top of the canvas-covered cages in the back of the wagon and began weaving the air with her hands. “I’ll steady you,” Alwyn said, climbing back to help.

“Thank you, Alwyn, but you can’t. The power in you is…not compatible with mine. Chayii will steady me.” Alwyn started to object, but realized she was right. He doubted there was anything in the world that was compatible with the power the Iron Elves had acquired. He crouched on top of the wagon and brought his musket around to face forward.

The crowd grew even louder as more shouts rose up. They were no longer simply directing them to go home. Alwyn saw more than one man make a cutting motion across his neck, then point at him. The meaning was clear.

A brilliant, white light suddenly appeared a few hundred yards to the west. It hovered a hundred feet or so above the ground, the light so strong it was impossible to look straight at it. Joyous cries of “The Star, the Jewel of the Desert!” rose from the crowd, and the Nazalla citizenry turned and stampeded toward it.

“And that would be my cue,” Rallie said, snapping the reins. The wagon lurched forward as the brindos responded. People still lined the street in front of them, but now their attention was riveted on the appearance of the “Star. A charging wagon with fearsome-looking creatures pulling it was something interesting only insofar as they were concerned about getting out of its way.

Rallie never let up as they thundered through the narrow streets of Nazalla. The breeze felt wonderful on Alwyn’s face, but it was hard to enjoy as he fought to keep his shako on his head and himself on the wagon as it bumped and swayed over the cobbles.

“I can’t do this much longer!” Visyna shouted.

Alwyn turned and looked up at her. She was still weaving the air, but every time the wagon jolted, the pattern would falter and the “Star” she had created would flicker. Rumblings from the crowd in the street suggested they were beginning to have their doubts as well.

“Just a little bit more!” Rallie shouted, slapping the reins hard as the brindos broke into a full gallop.

Alwyn gave up any pretense of trying to watch for trouble and clung to the canvas with everything he had. Buildings and clusters of people flashed by in a blur. The light from Visyna’s “Star” fluttered, then went out. A roar went up from the crowd.

All eyes became firmly fixed on the wagon and its occupants. Suddenly, like a boulder perched on the side of a mountain, all the repressed rage and resentment of a people ruled by a foreign sovereignty tumbled forth.

As new voices were added, the anger grew. This land belonged to the people, not the outlanders from across the sea. The soldiers in the wagon were the force behind the Prince’s insulting and threatening proclamation. If they couldn’t attack the Prince, they would avenge themselves on the soldiers in their midst.

A brick, or perhaps a cobblestone, bounced off the side of the wagon. The sreexes squawked and shrieked and Jir growled. Alwyn risked lifting his head and saw several people pointing at them. In the light of the lanterns many were carrying, he saw others tearing up the cobblestone street behind them.

“We’re still not clear!” Rallie shouted, urging her brindos on. “We need one more diversion to get us through.”

“Ally, can you do anything?” Yimt asked, pointing up ahead where another crowd barred their path. Beyond them, Alwyn could see open desert.

“Like what?” Alwyn asked. “I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

“Just do like Miss Tekoy and give ’em a light show.”

Alwyn shook his head, then realized Yimt couldn’t see him. “I’ve never used the magic that way. I don’t know how!”

More and more citizens were running to block their escape. A flaming torch bounced off the side of the wagon, showering the crowd in sparks. People screamed. Up ahead another group was dragging and pushing a wooden cart toward the street. If they got that in place, there was no way the brindos would be able to get through.

“None of us can control it the way you can. You saw what happened to Zwitty. Do something or we’ll have to shoot!” Yimt shouted.

Alwyn saw Yimt start to wrestle his shatterbow into position as the wagon careened around a broken pot in the middle of the street. The side of a building loomed toward Alwyn, then retreated.

“I’ll try!” he shouted, and got to his hands and knees. Hrem reached out a hand to steady him. “Thanks.” Alwyn raised himself up off his hands and held them out before him. Frost fire burst to flame in his palms, but he already knew he couldn’t throw it.

And then he remembered Nafeesah’s room.

“Meri, I need your help,” Alwyn called out.

The shades of the dead instantly appeared as shadows projected on the walls of the buildings, keeping pace with the wagon as it raced toward the growing crowd. Alwyn focused on the power. The brindos’ breath turned to white clouds and frost sparkled wherever their hooves hit the ground. Jir roared from inside the wagon while the sreexes shrieked in terror. Miss Tekoy and Miss Red Owl cried out, but Alwyn couldn’t stop.

Shards of black ice trailed the wagon wheels and began spreading up the walls of the buildings they passed. Alwyn shivered and pointed forward. The shadows flitted ahead of the wagon and appeared in a line in front of the crowd blocking their path. Swords writhed in icy flames appeared poised to attack. The shadows began to advance.

Some in the crowd shrieked and ran. Those pushing the cart abandoned their effort and scurried away. A few, however, stood their ground.

“No!”

The swords of the dead slashed into the crowd, cutting down any who stood in their path. Frost fire leaped in the air until a wall of shimmering black flame stretched across the entire street.

The brindos screamed as they reached the line of shadows and flame and thundered on through. The whole wagon screeched as if a thousand nails were scraping a chalkboard. Alwyn’s spectacles froze over, his lungs burning with the cold. From somewhere in the wagon, a grown man wailed like a child.

The shadows exploded as if they’d just driven through a black mirror.

Alwyn fell backward and would have tumbled from the wagon if not for Hrem holding on to him.

The wagon continued on its path. Alwyn could just make out that they were free and clear; there were no more buildings beside them.

They had made it through, but at what cost?