Eyes of Mist

6 - The Guardian

Tamaril's fingers shook with exhaustion. It cost him all his will power to awaken the shadow and have it do as he wanted. He needed his anger to keep from giving up and yet he mustn't lose control over his emotions.
He tried concentrating on the Shakaree's gray eyes but that made another image surface in his mind. A face, pleasant to look at and with just as gray eyes as his opponent had. But with this face a storm of feelings dragged his mind into the darkest pits. Hope and bitter disappointment, fury and terror, shame and despair.
He realized that his control was slipping and still he could do nothing but write on.

****

Jorcan slithered to a stop as the shadow stepped away from the wall. Its contours were still wavering, resembling an animal one moment, then losing its shape and forming again to reminded him of a huge insect.
The Shakaree tightened his grasp of his sword but then thrust his left hand that clutched the torch forward. And indeed the light made the shadow shy away a bit but as soon as the flame swung past the creature the darkness returned.
A claw appeared in the periphery of his vision and Jorcan did his best to parry its strike with his sword but the shadow split around the blade unharmed. In the nick of time the Shakaree turned to the side and stepped back.
He was panting in surprise and fear but did his best to stay out of the darkness' reach. He switched the torch into his right hand and sheathed his useless sword.
A horizontal blow made him dive to the floor and prop himself up with his free hand. The torch covered his retreat as he got back to his feet but slowly panic was beginning to rise in him.
How was he supposed to win this fight if he was unable to hurt his opponent and could just keep it at bay? Yet simply giving up and trying to delay the inevitable was just as unthinkable.
With a snarl he stepped forward again, brandishing the torch with quick, jerky movements. Yet again only its limbs bent backwards while the living shadow's main body kept approaching.
Suddenly out of the darkness a single barb, that resembled a long shadowy spear, shot forward and hit the torch's wood. The force of the impact tore the shaft from his grasp. The torch hit the ground several meters away. Jorcan barely had time to marvel at the shadow's ability to change its state so quickly for another swing came for him. Again he could only drop to the floor evading rather than attacking.
Fear threatened to paralyze him as the shadow hunched over him and he saw another claw forming amidst the black. Desperately he fought against this feeling and attempted to crawl backwards, yet as he moved he realized he was too slow.
But then, without warning, the shadow stopped in its tracks.
Jorcan used the moment to scramble to his feet. He almost collided with the Falamar. She had picked up the torch he dropped and lit another of the their spare torches. Now she was wielding both and she pressed the shadow into falling back.
Her eyes had a feverish glow and she was shaking but when she glanced at him he thought he saw some sort of pride in them for gathering so much courage.
He wanted to shout at her to stop looking at him. To keep her eyes on the monster. But it was already too late.
The claw that had been meant for him thrust forward again and easily got through her defenses. It passed under the torches and struck her right wrist. With a wordless scream she dropped the torches and staggered back. Her face turned ashen and she collapsed without another sound.

****

With a cry Tamaril staggered back from the desk. Blood was dripping from his nose, staining the white floor. He sank to one knee, desperately trying to regain control of his ragged breathing but with every breath white pain shot through his mind.
Nothing was as he had hoped.
It had cost him incredible strength to write this guardian into the story and then... it had all gotten out of his control. He had been so close to triumph over the Shakaree and then Ayala of all people had to interfere.
Why?
WHY?
An angry scream escaped his lips. Then he fell silent, collapsing into a miserable heap with tears of hopeless anger streaming down his cheeks.
And if she died?
No, that must never happen! He had to regain control, had to force the guardian under his will even if that meant allowing the accursed Shakaree to pass through the gates.
Clutching at the desk, he pulled himself up again and clenched his teeth against the pain pulsing near his temples until he could suppress his trembling enough to write on.

****

Jorcan managed to catch the girl before she hit the floor and dragged her out of the shadow's reach. Hurriedly he tried coming up with a new plan. Would the monster follow them if they retreated into the tunnel?
But as he was contemplating their way back through the vault he realized that the shadow had stopped moving.
Or rather that it didn't come any closer.
The shadow was shrinking. It lost its shape, pulling all extremities back into itself until it was no more than the darkness beyond the torch's reach.
The way to the gates was clear.
Involuntarily his hand wandered to the amulet at his chest. Even though his instinct warned him not to trust the sudden peaceful silence, he felt as if something from beyond the gates was calling out to him.
Something that called him home.
Confused he pressed his lips to a fine line. He glanced at the Falamar in his arms. Her pale face and shallow breathing reminded him that he didn't have all the time in the world to decide.
Still he fought against the compassion rising in him. He knew the clever thing to do was probably to leave the fool here. After all he never asked for her help. No wonder the untrained little thing got into trouble when she interfered.
If only she hadn't saved his life.
Sighing indignantly he settled her shoulders against his right arm and lifted her knees with his left. Her still body was surprisingly heavy but he clenched his teeth and carried her towards the gate. When he had gotten was nearly four meters away the wings of the gate swung wide open as if someone had stood on the ready to serve. Inside blue lights lit up just like the stones on both sides of the gate.
With a slack jaw the prince of the Shakaree came closer but he couldn't see any life signs.
He would find out about this later. He carried the Falamar over the threshold, then returned to get their bundles.
As he was back inside and a number of steps away the gate swept shut again and in front of him more stones lit up to illuminate a huge cavern. A cavern that held an entire city. Wide eyed Jorcan marveled at the wonders in front of him.
But then the Falamar's limp left arm slid down and touched his hand. He yanked her dress's wide sleeve back and shivered. The girl's fingers were as cold as a corpse and within her arm a shadow crept upwards as if the darkness had taken possession of her blood. With every beat of her heart the shadow grew.
Jorcan swallowed. He made his decision.

****

It was so silent when she awoke that she involuntarily wondered if this could be reality. She stared at the ceiling of a sparsely lit room and didn't dare to move her head.
What had happened?
She remembered the terrible shadow. Jorcan running towards it. Herself making a step in the same direction. And then nothing.
Her tongue slid over parched lips and she labored to keep her eyes open.
The ceiling over her was of simple design and might have been white once, but now huge spider webs hung full of dust swinging like hammocks in a slight breeze. Suddenly the door was opened and it seemed to her as if the whole ceiling started moving and threatened to crash down on her. She closed her eyes.
"You're finally awake."
It was strange just hearing Jorcan's voice without seeing him. He sounded so normal. As if he were a Falamar.
She felt the movement when he knelt down next to her and she looked up to him. She had gotten used to his sight enough, to not feel panic anymore. How curious that it was even possible that given time a Shakaree began to feel familiar. The same gray cowl, the mask, dark with his own blood. Or had it been really so much blood? His chest seemed to be much dirtier than before.
With an effort she managed a smile. "Where am I?" She almost flinched at the sound of her hushed, shaky voice.
"In a forsaken city," the Shakaree replied. "It lay beyond the gates the shadow guarded."
"The shadow? What happened? Is it-?"She struggled to lift her head but Jorcan shook his and she sank back with a sigh.
“It withdrew. And it hasn't followed us in all this time, so I don't think we'll have to deal with it until we pass the gates again.”
“All this time? How long have we been here?”
“You were unconscious. Days I think.”
She frowned. “What happened to me?” she asked in a small voice.
The Shakaree was silent for a while as if he was searching for the right words. At last he snorted and looked away. “Curse you, Falamar, I never asked you to get involved. I told you to run.”
Confused she tried to remember what happened after Jorcan ran towards the Shadow. What did she do? “I'm sorry,” she mumbled weakly. "Did I make it harder for you?"
He clenched his hands. “Don't think I owe you!” he burst out. “You brought this upon yourself!” With that he jumped to his feet and all but fled from the room.
Ayala tried to sit up and follow him but a miserable pain ripped through her right side and shoulder. In a reflex she pulled off the blanket with her left hand and stared at her right arm's stump.

****

Jorcan didn't know how long he'd been wandering through the dead city.
During the last few days he had spent so much time thinking about what he'd say to the Falamar when she woke up. But whenever he had pictured the scene he'd never expected her to smile at him like that.
It was truly pitiful how he'd get so soft in her presence again and again.
She was such a fool! He wasn't sure whether she was the stupidest creature the Falamar had to offer but she was surely the most naive. What could have gotten into him to show her any kind of friendliness? He had grown almost used to her presence, had even caught himself worrying, when she was unconscious and on the brink of dying.
But now she would be nothing more than a millstone round his neck, a whining nuisance who would make him suffer for her foolishness of running into a fight she had no part in. He should have left her and waited for the poison to finish her off instead of amputating her arm so the stupid thing could live on as a cripple. And he surely would have done just that had it not been for the fact that he owed her his life. Her, out of all people!
Jorcan stepped angrily through a door and tried slamming it shut behind him. But the strange mechanisms in this place did their part to bring down his mood even more. Wherever he went doors opened for him and silently closed again once he went past them as if invisible servants were just waiting to do his every bidding. He didn't like it.
The room in front of him was empty save for some dust-laden furniture. Jorcan cursed in a low voice and settled down near one of the walls. He leaned back his head and absently brushed over the dried blood on his clothing. Falamar blood. His father would be pleased. The thought brought a feeble smile to his lips.
Had his father already heard of his disappearance? Doubtful. He was still unsure about Charn's role in the cave's collapse but even if he was wrong about the general it was still several days of journey just to reach the border.
It probably made no difference either way. He couldn't picture King Narcal grieving about the loss of his son.
With a sigh Jorcan got up and left through the silently opening doors. At once the stones outside lit up and showed him the way back, down some steps to the main street that cut straight through a massive complex. He found the little house near the gates where he had left Ayala rather quickly and hardly hesitated as he made his way towards the door.
The girl had disappeared.
Surprised, Jorcan stepped through the doorway and stared at the empty blankets that could be seen when the stones in the walls flared to life. Then he noted a movement to his left and made out a bundle of clothes behind some kind of closet. A bundle with bloodstained dark hair that hung in dirty strands over backswept pointy ears.
Show no weakness, he reminded himself.
He strode towards the pitiful creature grabbed her hair and forced her to look at him. The bloodshot eyes and reddened face told him she had been crying.
He wasn't surprised.
"What a miserable wretch you are," he told her coldly. “Can't you just pull yourself together for once. At least you're still alive.”
She wimpered softly. "You... you destroyed my life. What... what shall... what shall I do now? I can't do anything like I used to. I will never again be able to embrace someone as I did. I-" her voice faded and she started sobbing again.
Cold anger rose in him. How dare she! As if their meeting didn't spell misfortune for him, too. "Destroyed your life, did I? Listen, you egoistical little rat, I wish I really had left you to die. I wish I had never met you. Why didn't you stay to rot along with your village of vermin?"
Screaming hatefully Ayala got to her feet. She seemed to feel no pain when she threw herself at the warrior, punched at him, tried to scratch him, to somehow hurt him. But all she got in reply was mocking laughter as Jorcan caught her arm pulled it aside and shoved her to the ground again.
"You really should do something about your fighting style, Falamar. If you don't conquering your land will hardly be a feat to be proud of."
Her fingers drew lines in the thick dust when she clenched and unclenched her hand. "Why do you do this?"
Jorcan was silent. His anger had dissipated as it always did and only left cold determination. "I won't die here. No matter with whom I'm locked away with in this dirty and dismal place I won't go down. And neither will you! You will no longer cry like a baby and you will be grateful for what you get. Did you hear me, Falamar?"
He waited a few seconds for a reply but when he didn't get any he just turned and left the hut. He didn't come back for a long time.