A Curse of Shadows (Updates Every Sunday 6.00pm UK Time)

Chapter 1 - Darkness

"I can't breathe..." Keon whispered.

The darkness was now a part of him. Thick and slimy, it slithered through his blood vessels; in search of the heart. 

Hakon's eyes were filled with deep concern. Not long now, the healer thought as he applied another layer of odorous herbal paste to Keon's bare chest with a wooden spatula. His fingers ached. Thick and arthritic, they had grown crooked with age. 

Hakon flinched as the door flew open without warning, letting in a cool sea breeze and the smell of freshly caught fish. Hakon nearly dropped the paste pot as Ivor burst into the bare cabin. The healer turned to face the captain of the royal guard. 

Through the open door, Hakon noticed a couple of fishermen hauling their boats on land in the orange glow of a glorious evening's sunset.

"How is he?!"

Ivor's voice was demanding and cold. He was still a young man but his features seemed aged. His manners and appearance were as rough as a bear. He hadn't slept in several nights. Only his armor was clean.

"Greetings, Captain."

"How is he?!" Ivor repeated urgently. He nodded in Keon's direction.

"Worse...the illness is progressing as expected."

Silence fell between the two men. Hakon slowly walked over to the hearth where a copper alloy pot of gruel bubbled over a low fire. Hakon began to stir the tough, brown mixture with a wooden spoon; eager to hide his dislike for the unannounced visitor.

"The princess will be devastated," Ivor determined.

His features softened ever so slightly as his thoughts conjured Princess Rinn's face. A thousand ordinary moments flickered through his mind as he stared right through Keon, clenching his fists in hate. 

You're not going to sully her anymore, you worthless worm, he thought.

"I am afraid I have done all I can to make the young soldier comfortable," Hakon confirmed. "His fate is in the hands of the gods and they are beckoning him to join the shadows. It will not be advisable for the princess to visit her dear childhood friend before the shadows claim him."

"Of course not! The king and queen wouldn't wish it."

"I am sure they would not," Hakon agreed. "The funeral will be a good place for the princess to bid her farewell to this fine, young man."

Ivor cringed.

"The king has ordered a warrior's burial from this beach. The body is not to enter the castle. My men will bring furs, oil, wine, and a sword. Any of the fishermen's boats will do. I will appoint two archers on the day."

"Very good, Captain. I will require three of your men to place the body in the boat."

"Two men. You will help them, old man. Your life is forfeit anyway with all this time you spend tending to the dead. Can't waste good, healthy men on the beach when they're needed on the battlefield."

"The dying, Captain."

"What?"

"I tend to the sick...and the dying."

"All the sick are dying these days. None recover from this darkness. The kingdom is cursed."

"Is there no hope?"

"You haven't seen them, old man. The creatures are everywhere. They move in packs. No amount of soldiers and moonstone can defeat them for good. Nobody knows what they want. Soon they'll be knocking on the castle gate...if shadows can knock, that is."

Ivor let out a cruel, rasping laugh that made Hakon shudder. It was the embodiment of hopelessness.

"Is there anything else I can do?"

"Nothing. I'll give the king your report. Knock at the servant's entrance when you return. Unless you become infected, of course."

"I understand. Thank you, Captain."

Hakon was relieved as Ivor slammed the cabin door behind him. The sun had sunk into the sea and the beach was almost completely dark. 

Oblivious to the world around him, Keon continued to fight for every breath. The slimy dark liquid which had replaced his blood was slowly worming its way into the heart muscle. Keon was too weak to move or speak. 

The herbal paste numbed most of the pain, allowing his mind to wander. Keon spent his last moments in a beautiful garden. He was attending a secret picnic under a large oak tree which resembled the one Rinn liked to read under in the king's private garden. He had only seen it once. 

The princess's laughter filled Keon's fever dream and accompanied him into the darkness while Hakon chewed the last bite of his gruel. Recognizing the nearing end, the healer moved swiftly, grabbing his coat and staff from a hook by the door. 

He mumbled the holy words of departure, shot one regretful glance at Keon's body, then fled; clutching the moonstone in his coat pocket. Only minutes after the healer's departure, Keon took his last, labored breath. 

At the exact moment of his death, the flat, black shape of Keon's shadow crawled out from under him. 

Hardly recognizable in the weak light of dying embers, the shadow peeled itself off the floor, burst into three-dimensional form, stretched, sighed, and moaned, then floated up through the cabin chimney and escaped into the night.