Terror of the Shadow

CHAPTER ONE

A day out in the fringes of Malkuth is never predictable and very rarely forgiving. A few scattered tribes were all that remained of a once great nation that spanned continents. Of course, they only had stories from the mouths of their Elders to rely on for a history of their people, and stories grow less and less reliable with each telling. It had been far too long for anyone to truly remember what had happened. All accounts concur, however, that their misfortune was caused by someone they called the Shadow Man.

Some days were calmer than others, though. Today was one of those days. The sun hid its face behind a mess of stringy clouds, though it rarely did so for very long. The hunters only had a few hours at best before they had to retreat back into their hovels. The trip was always risky, but if these parties failed to come back with any food, some people back at the village may never live to see tomorrow.

"Any idea where we might be headed, Torreck?" a voice grumbled from beneath a gas mask.

"Once we get to the top of this hill we might. I want to see if my macrobinoculars can spy anything from up there," a young man replied, face hidden by a similar mask. Every panting breath echoed through the mechanical filters.

"And if we don't find anything?" the boy said.

"I think we will. The scouting party reported some movement about three miles north-northwest of here."

"The scouting parties got back three weeks ago. Wouldn't whatever it was be long gone by now?"

"They could be. But I'm hoping it was the site of some sort of grazing area. Which means meat and vegetables, which we sorely need."

"What makes you so sure we'll find anything?"

"I'm not sure of anything. But I'm just hopeful, Laban."

"What good does hope do?"

Torreck stopped his ascent and looked back at his partner.

"Everything," Torreck said. "Look, I know you're new here, kid, but you need to understand that everything we've built out here was done on hope alone. Hope of a brighter future. Hope that the Territes will stop leaving us out here to starve..."

"Speaking of Territes..." said Laban, looking up at the pale blue sky. A thin line of white pierced through the clouds, led by a dark black dot—aircraft contrails.

"Territe scout ship," Torreck said. "Probably trying to map out our settlements."

"Can they see us from all the way up there?" Laban asked.

"Probably," Torreck replied. "Their tech is pretty good. Look at the stuff we've managed to scavenge... the Territes are decades ahead of all that."

"It's still better than we had at our old camp," Laban said. "We thought we were lucky because someone found a compass once. But you guys have all sorts of tech. Macrobinoculars, energy-staffs, shield generators—"

"You just need to know where to look. And stick with a group, more than anything. That's why our clan has lasted so long. We work together."

The two cleared the peak of the hill, gladly taking a rest and sitting themselves down in the dust. The wastelands of Malkuth, ruddy and desolate, stretched out endlessly before them. They say that these valleys and mountains were once lush and teeming with life. Green trees had towered overhead, providing shade and shelter for all manner of animal life. That was eons ago, though, before the supposed curse of the Shadow Man.

He couldn't remember the first time he had heard those words. They were just as much a part of the life of a Malkuth as were the sands and the fiery sun. He had simply grown up knowing the Shadow Man. His parents would tell him stories, but never often. It seemed that a dark reverence surrounded all his tales.