Shadows

Angie panted as she leapt down a set of stone stairs and clattered down onto the dock front. She pushed past groups of merchants and traders who were loading their unsold cargo or newly acquired purchases back onto their ships in the welcome cool of twilight. Even with the sun starting to sink below the horizon it was still unpleasantly humid and Angie wiped thick beads of sweat off her brow as she dodged past a gaggle of drunken men, still gaining speed with each frantic stride. Her heart pounded in her chest in synchrony with her boots on the warm stone of the street, and her breaths were sharp and shallow.

Why am I running? Angie gasped to herself as she caught sight of Verne’s ship bobbing slowly in the calm waters of the harbour. Even if this Skadirr thing is the creature that Verne described he’s been here weeks without it following him or attacking. Maybe I’m getting anxious over nothing, just like Verne, she thought as she got closer and closer to the boat. She passed countless boats moored at the many piers, some alive with people and others quiet, their owners either still at the festival or enjoying their takings in the pub. So many boats, thought Angie, so many people. If the creature really could hide in shadows the festival had provided countless ways for it to get here, realised Angie, increasing her pace.

She rounded off the street and onto the pier, weathered wood creaking under her as she ran down towards the Waveskimmer.

“Who goes there?” began the familiar voice of Willem, and he was interrupted as Angie launched herself up over the side of the boat with surprising strength and landed breathless on the deck. “Oh, Miss Mace! We weren’t expecting you.”

“Where’s Verne?” Angie wheezed through gulping breaths.

“The captain has been out at the festival today miss. I’m afraid he’s not back yet, though he should be here any minute. He said he’d be back before dusk.”

“You are kidding me!” panted Angie, bent double. “What’s he doing out at the festival?”

“I think he was looking for you, miss. Said you normally had a stall up somewhere and wanted to stop by and say his farewells. We’ve finally finished stocking up you see, and are planning on setting sail this evening.”

“I was at Mrs Gable’s, it was far too warm to be working under the sun today,” huffed Angie, finally starting to get her breath back. “Listen to me, you need to be ready to set sail the moment Verne gets back. I’ve found out some information about what Verne thinks is hunting you and if it’s true you need to get going as quickly as you can!”

“Oh, hello Ange!” came the surprised voice of Verne, his shiny round head clearing the side of the ship as he pulled himself aboard. “I was looking for you all over, I was wanting to tell you something.”

“Yes, Willem told me you’re setting sail this evening.”

“Aye, that’s the gist of it, but-”

“I hate to interrupt Verne, but I think I’ve found out something important about the shadow creature hunting you and the Orb-” This time it was Verne’s turn to interrupt Angie, shushing her rapidly.

“Not up here! Too many idle ears that may be listening, we’ll talk in my quarters! You too Willem, if we’re going to encounter this thing again we need to know our enemy.” The trio hastened across to Verne’s quarters and locked the door behind them. Polo yapped happily as they entered, bounding across the room to nip at Verne’s ankles. “Not now I’m afraid boy,” said Verne, gently scratching one of the dog’s ears. “So Ange, what is it you’ve found out?”

“Well,” began Angie, and she leapt into a rambling retelling of what Robert had told her not ten minutes ago in the cluttered old room above Mrs Gable’s Apothecary. Once she’d finished she looked at Verne expectantly, who was processing this new information and mouthing some of the words to himself under his breath. Willem was slightly quicker on the uptake and raised an eyebrow derisively.

“And you say you got this information from a bookbinder’s apprentice?”

“Yes,” explained Angie. “He was rather quirky but he obviously had read a lot and knew his stuff.”

“You also mentioned he had just been on the receiving end of a rather major drubbing?”

“Well yes, but it wasn’t as if he was delirious, I did check.” Countered Angie rather tersely, her eyes flitting between Willem and Verne, who had yet to say anything and seemed in deep concentration.

“Has it occurred to you Miss Mace, that perhaps the young lad was exaggerating or perhaps inventing this so-called knowledge as to impress you?”

“Why would he have wanted to impress me?” replied Angie blankly, before her brain kicked in and she started to blush. “Oh. No. I don’t think so. He didn’t really seem the type to be honest.”

“Ah,” said Willem, raising an eyebrow, “Ginger beer?”

“What?” asked a confused Angie. “How did you know I offered him ginger beer?”

“Oh – no, Ange,” interjected Verne, finally snapping out of his trance. “What Willem here means is that – well, I’ll tell you later, that’s beside the point now. You’re certain he wasn’t mad or lying or anything?” enquired Verne, looking directly at Angie.

“I’m certain.”

“Well, bugger!” swore Verne under his breath. “You didn’t hear that,” he said pointing at Angie before thrusting his finger down onto the table in an accusative manner. “So that thing has a master then, does it? I bet someone else is after the Orb and thought he’d go through us to get it! Cheeky swine. I should never have taken this ruddy job in the first place! And you say it can’t be killed?” Angie nodded forlornly. “Great, just great! But it definitely can’t move in the light, that’s right isn’t it?” Angie nodded again, sensing Verne was calculating a plan, the cogs in his head turning slowly but surely.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“We gather all the candles, anything that can function as a torch and put them in this room. Willem, get your men requisitioning all they can from nearby ships, use the money I’ve paid you, I’ll pay you more.”

“Sir!” nodded Willem imperiously and turned to make for the door. Verne dug the box containing the Orb out and smacked it down on the table between two already burning candles.

“I’ll get what’s left of my crew making the ship ready to sail and we’ll go non-stop from here to Vaygenspire. Then we can be rid of this orb and it’s our troublesome buyer’s problem.”

“What can I do?” asked Angie eagerly.

“You’ve done more than enough Ange. All I want you to do is head back The Sailor’s Jaunt and get a good night’s rest. You almost look as tired as I feel!” Verne chuckled grimly.

“But Verne, can’t I-?” Angie began.

“No!” stated Verne firmly, wagging his finger at her. “You are not coming with, it’s far too dangerous and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. Don’t slouch madam!” Verne grumbled as Angie’s face dropped; her shoulders following suit.

“But Verne-”

“You be honest with yourself Ange, if this damned Skadirr thing was here right now what would you be able to do about it?”

“What would you be able to do about it?!” countered Angie angrily.

“Nothing!” Roared Verne, his mighty hands slamming down on the table and making the candles and box jump. Polo whined and backed into a corner. “I was helpless to save Morgan from the Orb, I was helpless to save my crew from the Skadirr, and I’ll be damned if I’m helpless to save you too!”

There was a tense silence in the cabin interrupted only by the creak and sway of the boat.

“Sorry. I’m sorry Ange,” breathed the captain, “I meant to come tell you earlier. That’s the real reason I was trying to find you at the festival today. I know I’ve not been myself lately. I know I’ve been quick to anger, jumping at my own shadow and other nonsense. If we’re being honest I’m the closest thing you have to a father and may I be smote down if I said I’d been acting like one.”

“It’s okay Verne,” gulped Angie. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to apologise for that Ange,” sighed Verne.

“Yes I do, Verne! As you said if we’re being honest you are the closest thing I have to a father, and I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve been avoiding you lately for fear you’ve been losing your mind! Hell, I don’t even avoid Old Tarwick and he’s not been properly with it for years!” Angie found herself shaking with anger and embarrassment, all directed at herself.

“Ange,” puffed Verne, “You can’t blame yourself for that.” Verne stepped forward and embraced her and she felt her face rest against his matted beard. She found herself transported back to the days of her youth when she would sit on Verne’s knee as he rattled off a bedtime story that was always too exciting or funny to fall asleep to. She remembered playing with his beard as he talked, tangling the hairs around her hands idly. There was a lot more grey in his beard now.

“You never knew my old mum did you?” Angie shook her head, winding a strand of beard hair around her index finger. “No, well she died before you would remember probably. In her last few days she got so she couldn’t even recognise me or me dad’s face. It hurts all the more when it’s happening to someone we love and care about. I don’t blame you for steering clear, and you most definitely shouldn’t, okay?” Angie nodded hesitantly.

“You will let me know when you’ve delivered the Orb safely won’t you?” Angie spoke into Verne’s beard.

“Once the Orb’s delivered I’ll come tell you myself,” replied Verne. “This will be my last journey, I can tell you. Time to move back here, settle down once and for all. Goodness knows that poor Mrs Gable has been waiting long enough.” They both chuckled and Angie felt a single tear of happiness rolling down her cheek.

“I’d like that.”

“Come now Ange, time to be going.” Verne smiled, wiping her tear away. Angie looked up and could see Verne’s eyes were starting to water too. He sniffed and tried to blink them back. “Look at us, soppy old pair!” They chuckled and Angie let a smile cross her lips.

“You’ll be back soon won’t you?” enquired Angie, trying not to show her full concern.

“Ange, it’ll be like I never left!” Verne grinned.

Blood erupted from his chest as a shadowy dagger stabbed him through the back, thick droplets spraying down Angie’s front. Angie cried out as Verne coughed and choked in shock, blood oozing from the wound as the dagger withdrew. Polo barked furiously as Verne dropped to his knees, and Angie saw his assailant for the first time.

Rising from the floor like smoke was a dark and shadowy cowl, darkness oozing off it like vapour. Descending from the sleeve of one of the arms was a billowing, twisted blade that sizzled where Verne’s blood ran along it. The faceless hood seemed to stare at Angie for a moment, before turning away and fixing its gaze on the orb box on the table. Angie forced back the urge to retch, scream or cry as she watched Verne collapse to the ground, his mouth frothing pink with blood and saliva and his eyes slipping through shock, pain and panic before freezing lifeless. Angie had frozen too, Polo’s barks echoing obliviously in her ears as the Skadirr moved towards its prize, making little sound itself but for a menacing susurration.

Polo leapt at the dark creature as it neared the table, but instead of making contact it careered on through, shadow and smoke billowing around the dog as it clattered onto the table in a confused mass. Candles, map, box and other odds and ends were strewn about the cabin, one candle igniting a bundle of old parchment that began to burn rapidly, filling the air with acrid smoke. Angie coughed and snapped back to life as the Skadirr let out a terrifying, wraithlike scream and brought its blade down upon the dazed dog lying on the table. Angie leapt forwards and grabbed Polo towards her, stumbling over and smacking to the floor awkwardly.

The shadowy blade swung ferociously through the table where Polo had been, shattering it brutally in two and sending splinters raining down onto Angie. The parchment fire was spreading and the Skadirr recoiled from the blaze, its essence crackling and shimmering where it floated near the tendrils of flame. Sounds of commotion and alarm could be heard from outside and Angie lumbered to her feet, arms full of panicking and angry dog. She whipped her head round to see the shadowy assassin pounce across the ruined table, swinging its sword down in a vicious arc. Angie tried to roll away towards the door but she cursed as she was impeded by the hem of her dress snagging on a splinter of timber. The dress ripped under the force of her momentum but her dodge hadn’t been fast enough and she shrieked as the burning cold of the Skadirr’s blade bit into her calf.

With a sudden crash the door to the cabin slammed open and Angie saw through the bitter smoke filling the room the figure of Willem march forth, sword and shield raised defensively.

“Get clear miss!” he bellowed and swung his sword in a clean and calculated slash that sliced through the Skadirr neatly. Angie watched in horror as Willem’s sword passed straight through and the billowing form of the Skadirr reformed itself. Willem bristled at this revelation and swung again, to little effect. It was the wraiths turn to strike now and it brought its sword down upon Willem with indignant fury. Willem quickly raised his shield to block but the blade cut savagely through his shield and dismembered the hand holding it, thudding to the floor in a shower of shattered wood and gore.

If Willem had noticed the loss of his hand he didn’t show it, stepping forward again towards the Skadirr and stabbing forth with his sword. Angie crawled on her hands and knees towards the door trying to stay clear of the combat, the growling Polo clutched close to her chest as her leg throbbed in agony. Amongst the mess of wood, junk and blood covering the cabin floor Angie spied it – the inconspicuous wooden box containing the cursed Orb. Her hand shot out, trying to avoid Willem’s legs as he darted back and forth in his fruitless duel with his arcane opponent, and she felt her fingers clasp around the smooth wood. Quickly pulling it close to her and stuffing it into a pocket she made a break for the door, staggering out into the sea air and gritting her teeth as each step shot fresh pain through her leg.

Angie ran forward as more members of Verne’s crew and hired mercenaries came to investigate the commotion. She looked back and saw the cabin was fully ablaze now, orange tinted smoke pouring out of the doorway and hungry flames lapping at the timbers. There was a thud as a sword connected with wood and then a sickening squelch, and Angie watched as the silhouette of Willem tumbled to the ground. The smoke in the doorway seemed to get thicker as the dark shape of the Skadirr glided soundlessly into the frame. Those members of Verne’s crew who had witnessed the creature before either froze or panicked, throwing themselves over the side of the ship. Those who hadn’t, along with the Knights of the Red Moon, stepped forwards cautiously.

The one Angie recognised as Alfrid quivered as he readied an arrow in his bow and loosed it towards the hooded shadow. Despite it connecting it sailed through its ethereal form just as Willem’s sword had done, and did not stop it in its silent, chilling advance. Angie knew she had to get away. It was after the Orb anyway, and maybe if she could lure it off the ship she could yet save the lives of the brave yet foolish men readying to fight the unkillable demon. She lurched and gasped as Polo tried to escape her grasp to attack the Skadirr again, making her rest her unbalanced weight on her bad leg. Biting her lip and gripping Polo tighter, she vaulted the side of the ship and struggled to climb down the ladder onto the pier.

Her head spinning as she dropped down onto the planks of the dock, she straightened herself up and began to run as fast as she could back along the pier and into the town. She could see ahead as gradually more and more loitering crowds were coming to see what was going on and heard several gasps and squeals as she hobbled towards them at speed. The crowds parted as Angie got close, which was a blessing – she didn’t think she had the breath left to shout them aside. As she lurched past the first few lines she became aware of the shouts and cries of the men on the Waveskimmer battling the Skadirr.

No, no! Angie cursed to herself. Don’t attack them, follow me! I’ve got what you’re after, you don’t have to kill them! She rounded onto the cobbled street running along the bay and picked up the pace, ignoring the pain in her leg and making a beeline for – somewhere. Where am I even going? Angie realised, trying to form a plan in her clouded and panicked mind. Where can I go? Where will I be safe? Verne…

Forcing herself not to think about the horrific events of the past few minutes and fighting back tears of grief and rage, her mind raced with possible escape plans. With a grim realisation she concluded there was nowhere in Velayne she could go where she would be safe. She couldn’t go to The Sailor’s Jaunt or Mrs Gable’s Apothecary, that would just put more people she cared about in mortal danger. There was no-one in Velayne capable of killing her pursuer with magic either, which left her little option.

I have to get to the capital and deliver the Orb, Angie resolved. She also quickly resolved she had no idea quite how she was going to do that, but that could be planned later. What mattered at the moment was getting out of Velayne. As she darted down a back alley her mind flashed to her earlier conversation with the bookbinder’s apprentice. Boat? Impossible. Whilst the best mode of passage to the capital there was no way she could head back to the dockyards with the Skadirr there. Wagon? Horse? She couldn’t ride and even if she could she didn’t own a horse, which left the wagon. To the western city gate then, Angie determined. With luck she could hop aboard a convoy of merchants or traders heading west, and maybe catch a boat from another town along the coast. Alderbay was nearest, though still a good few days travel. Even so, that was her best bet.

Angie cut across another street and dived down into an alley, not daring to look back to see if the Skadirr was following. She knew it would be, and if it was close enough to matter she’d rather not see it coming. Polo had stopped struggling to try and escape her grasp, which was a small blessing. The western gate wasn’t far away now, and if she strained she could almost convince herself she could hear the whinnying of the horses in the stables over the blood rushing through her ears.

Stumbling out of the dark alley and giving a young stable hand the fright of his life, Angie found herself near the western gate of the city. The western road was the most well-travelled and as such the western gate was surrounded by guest houses, stables and wagon sheds that were frequented by most visitors to Velayne. It was called the Lodgers District, and Angie had been called here several times to see to those who had made the mistake of surprising a horse from behind. Running through, she realised this could be the last time she ever saw it but pressed on, looking around desperately for a convoy or wagon that looked as if it was about to be on its way.

“Are you alright miss? Can I help?” asked a man hefting two large bags of hay across one of the stable yards. Angie turned to him, wild-eyed and breathing heavily. “Oh, Miss Mace! I didn’t recognise you there for a moment. Gods girl, what’s happened to you?” Angie vaguely recognised the broad shouldered man as one of the stable masters she’d tended to an apprentice of. His name, if she knew it, escaped her.

“I don’t have time to explain,” she panted, “Convoy. Wagon. Anything! I need to be on one leaving now!”

“One left not long ago I’m afraid Miss Mace. Next one shouldn’t be too long though. You’re quite lucky actually, if it weren’t for the festival the convoys wouldn’t be setting off that regularly…” the man trailed off as he realised Angie had gone, speeding out through the gate.

“Miss Mace!” he yelled after the retreating figure of the girl, dropping the bags of hay to the ground. “Come back, it’s dangerous to walk the road alone at this time!” A scream from behind caught his attention, and he turned to stare back along the street. He could hear cries and shouting from further into the city, and doubled back to climb a flight of steps set into the city wall so he could see what was going on. Even before the he reached the top he could see the smoke and flames rising from the dockyards, and once he cleared the final step and looked across the bay he could see the entirety of the dockyards was aflame.

“Gods…” he mouthed under his breath as he heard the distant screams and clanging of warning bells. The bay flared a deep orange as the glow of the blaze danced across the rippling water, the masts of the burning ships highlighted hauntingly against the smoke-choked sky. Despite the warm summer night he shivered, and his gaze was drawn back out along the western road and the fields running alongside it. In comparison to the glaring light of the harbour’s pyre, the lands outside the city were covered by the night’s veil of darkness and despite squinting deep into the gloom he could no longer see the silhouette of Evangeline Mace.

The rear wagon of the convoy was in sight. Angie could no longer feel her legs, her heart was close to exploding and her shallow breaths failed to sate her lungs’ thirst. Still though she willed herself to keep running as long as her legs could carry her, her vision blurring and her head pounding like a drum. More than once she stumbled on a rock or divot and nearly collapsed face first into the dirt road, but she regained her balance and her momentum propelled herself on further.

With one final effort she powered herself toward the wagon, only a few feet away now, and launched herself forward with what felt like her last breath. She thudded into the rear of the wagon, gripping tight to the worn iron rungs with unknown reserves of strength. Polo leapt from her arms and landed in the wagon, and Angie pulled herself up and promptly collapsed onto the wagon floor, gasping fiercely for air. Her body shuddered and spasmed with fatigue and pain, and she retched violently as she tried to pull herself up to rest against some sacks. Her arm collapsed underneath her, its strength finally exhausted, and she smacked to the floor again. Angie groaned, and felt her ears ringing as her vision faded. She heaved wretchedly once again and blacked out in a pool of vomit, sweat, and blood that oozed forth from the wound on her calf. Polo yapped and barked, trying to get the girl’s attention, but she was dead to the world.