The White Shadow

1. Reina

Firmin climbed over a boulder, then fell to his knees by a small stream of water. The motion brought pain shooting up from his cut thigh, but he bent down further to dip his hands into the miniature creek and brought the precious liquid to his cracked lips.

Wondering where its source might be, Firmin filled up his flask and followed the little brook. The sun, as it climbed higher in the sky, grew so hot and bright that it hurt to look at the white sandy rock.

Strength surged through him as he saw a water hole. He stumbled those few paces and collapsed right in front of it. Washing his face, he let the water drip down his neck and soak into his shirt, releasing a heavy sigh. But the pleasant moment of relief was cut short by pulsing pain. He groaned, looking down at the blood on his thigh.

It had been three days now—it should have stopped bleeding. The hunting party had run out of water and sent Firmin to fill their flasks so they could continue.

Firmin shook his head. Continue sleeping. After collecting water, he would stay watch for an hour while everyone slept. Gutherd had said they should sleep in the day, and come dark, resume the hunt.

Shadow hunting.

"This shadow is white," Gutherd had said. "We will never find it at day. However, watch out, just because we cannot see it, doesn't mean it isn't here. So we stay low in light and hunt in the dark."

Firmin soon learned there were far greater dangers than rumored shadows and demons. As he dragged himself back to where he had left his pack, he thought of those five bandits that had attacked them, taken their horses, and robbed most their belongings. Worst of all, they were all separated now,

"Firmin, take these!" Aethelu had shouted to him, tossing him the bag of herbs.

Firmin had run with the sack, knowing the worth of all the herbs, having witnessed their potency. He'd had one of the bandits chase him but eventually lost him, had fallen from a boulder and gashed his leg on a sharp stone. Three days later, his wound was infected, and he was alone and lost.

Though he'd been honored to join the hunting party, Firmin had always believed there were greater concerns than to attempt on destroying an evil shadow. The complaints of a dead cow or a taken soul were far more common by illness, and yet, the mayor had decided to use all resources and the town's most resolute people to chase a demon. And if half the rumors were really true, then despite how good their party was, he couldn't understand what they were planning to do if this shadow could really shapeshift.

"It bleeds the energy from you like a knife," Firmin said, trying to keep himself awake by reciting the sayings, "and if the demon touches you it will consume all your life." He smiled. His mother used to try to scare him with these words in hopes of stopping him and his friends from sneaking out of the village at night. It never worked. And he'd never been devoured by a demon, or even met one.

Firmin finally made it back to their now empty camp.

Sinking down to the ground, he opened the leather bag from Aethelu and looked inside. A sharp smell cut his breath off, and he closed it immediately. This was the stuff to kill the shadow, or at least repel its bite. He could believe that at least, for it nearly had the same effect on Firmin himself. Everyone carried some of that, but the stench alone made that task difficult, not to mention the burning upon contact.

Firmin opened another sack from Aethelu's leather bag. Looking inside, he found leaves and vials, but had no clue what to use for what, and he silently promised to ask Aethelu to teach him.

If he'd ever see her again.

Unable to focus on simply surviving with heavy thoughts like that, he took a deep breath, then took out his knife and cut a piece from his cloak. He'd have to wash the dusty material if he was to wrap his leg with it. He grit his teeth, knowing he should probably stitch the wound first. It was already infected, and the mere thought of touching it unsettled his stomach.