The Stone of Shadows

10. The Shadow Stone

After the grand feast, Alexandra, Malaikat, Elis, and Morris, retreated to the drawing room. The dinner was uneventful after the arrival of the shark. Alexandra's satisfaction with the food was rained on by the way Malaikat's guests treated table manners; it was as if they'd never heard of any etiquette, devouring the food like savages. The shark they ate seemed less of a vicious beast than the guests. Alexandra's wine started to taste sour. When the guests left, her tipsy state had faded. In the drawing room, she was sober enough to be cautious when her mother delivered a grim warning.

"Father isn't the man he used to be," she whispered. "The way he's acting now, the grand excitement, the joy, is all a cover. His plans are sinister! Alexandra! Please... whatever you do, you must stop him. You must take him down!"

"There must be another way," said Alexandra.

"I'm afraid not! His presence on this earth is a pox." Her mother sighed. "I remember when he was a man of good morals, of handsome appeal; back when he had fought in the Maltopian wars, he was a man of honor. I'm afraid, whatever honor was left in him was destroyed by the stone. The stone can't be destroyed. But your father must be."

Alexandra put her hand on Elis' shoulder. "I'll find another way." These words gave comfort to Elis, but not Alexandra. Her mother excused herself and left the drawing room. Malaikat didn't notice his own wife exit with such nervousness. She was merely another object in the room, less noticeable than the gold lined vase, the reflective marble floor, and the velvet curtains that were drawn open. There he sat on the cushioned seat, on the platform beside the window overlooking the vast mountains. He was a starker man than Alexandra remembered. His jaw was sharper, and his eyes were darker. His ears and nose were like knives, while his smile cut like a spear. She watched her father reminiscing with Morris about fighting days.

"I'd say I killed several men," said Malaikat. "I regretted it deeply."

"But why regret it?" asked Morris. "They would've died anyway. Whether it was your hands, or some other man's hands, the good soldier would've died."

"But nonetheless, I have blood on my hands," said Malaikat, standing up. "The wars you fight, Morris, are wars for money. I didn't go to Maltopia for the money. I went because the thrill of war was calling me. I had left my sweet Elis behind just to fulfill my manly desire. When I came back, I was double the man I was before. Best of all, I became a father to four beautiful children... each growing into a unique, gifted person." Malaikat stopped himself, cutting himself short of history. "I think of those men I killed in Maltopia. How each, at least a few, had mothers and fathers. Those mothers and fathers were waiting for their boy to return, and they waited until they heard their boy was gone; killed by a Dark Elf." He paused again, looking out the window. When he turned around, something sinister had come over him. Darkness formed bags under his eyes which were filled with flaming passion. "I would've been that boy if I hadn't done what I did; my sweet would've have learned that I was gone, and she would've been devastated. I would have never had four children. My death would've equated to four un-borns."

"No need to get into existential details," said Morris. "It is what it is."

"But does it have to be?" asked Malaikat. "Chance has gifted me with the stone, and since I received it... I've never felt a more urgent need to do something about our earthly problems. There are people fighting each other as we speak– killing each other ruthlessly. Just decades ago, a Venorian marched through Red Rock, killing thousands of innocent people. In our decade, Orcs decided to pick a fight with the Gold Coast, killing thousands more. War is a game for rulers; sure they say, 'he struck first,' or, 'he's a brute,' but in the end, it all comes down to Kings tossing their people into battle, hoping their side beats the other. If only... if only there were one..."