Terror of the Shadow

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Laban awoke feeling like there was a Kannebore standing on his chest. He felt heavy and very, very weak. More than anything, he just felt tired. But now the comforting embrace of sleep and already fled. He was awake now.

He found the strength to draw a breath. He could smell fresh air. It filled his frozen limbs with new warmth. Almost like magic, the throbbing in his head subsided and the knot in his stomach unfolded. But he couldn't remember why it was there in the first place. Must have been a strange dream...

He knew before he opened his eyes that he was the only person nearby. More than being able to hear the silence, he could feel that he was alone. His only company was two old mattresses and the open window of the apartment he shared with his mother.

Had he really been asleep that long? Or had he even left at all? Laban sat up, trying to remember the what happened. The machine they called the Kannebore, their long journey into the Outland... it all seemed like a dream—hazy, full of holes, and fading fast. The memory slipped away as softly and easily as sand between his fingers.

A sweet smell wafted in from outside. Laban stood and walked to the window. His mother was there, on the ground below, sitting beside a small fire. She was roasting something over the flames.

Laban opened the door and quietly walked down the stairs to join her. The day outside was, to put it simply, beautiful. The sun was shining high overhead, but the temperature was not overly hot. The air was clear and cool and full of moisture. The usual dirty, stuffy, rotten smells that lingered over the city had dispersed, replaced by simple, crisp, freshness. He made a long, happy sigh.

"Good morning, mom," Laban said. She smiled kindly at him.

"Good morning, Laban," she replied. "Are you feeling alright? You look ill."

"I'm fine," Laban said. "I just had some strange dreams, is all... What are you cooking?"

"Oh. Your friend came by this morning. I can't remember his name..."

"Kol?"

"Yes... I think that was it. He knew I couldn't make the trip to get food, so he brought some by."

"That was... nice of him. What kind of meat is it?"

"It's from something called a Silver Nightwatcher."

That name sounded familiar. But he couldn't quite place where he had heard it before...

Flames licked happily at the lumps of meat as they slowly turned over and over on a stick. The edges had turned brown and crispy. Sweet-smelling grease dripped off the meat, hissing as the drops fell into the fire.

"I think they're done," Laban said.

His mother nodded in agreement.

Laban pulled the stick away from the flames. He blew gently on the meaty chunks before pulling one off and tossing it into his mouth. The flesh was tough, but it quickly gave way under the force of Laban's teeth, letting the fullness of its flavor spill over his tongue. It was quite unlike anything he had ever tasted.

"Listen..." his mother said, finishing her own bite of the meat. "I want you to stay here with me."

Laban chuckled. That was a strange request...

"Where else would I go, ma?" Laban laughed. His mother looked down at the ground, embarrassed, but with a hint of frustration at not being understood.

"You don't understand, do you?" His mother asked.

"Understand what?"

"This world... you know it's different, don't you?"

"This world? I don't understand."

"Laban... look at yourself. Look around you. You know it's different."

His mother slid closer. She gingerly took his hands in hers. Laban could see tears welling up in her eyes.

"I need you to stay..." she muttered. "I can't let you leave me alone again."

"It's fine, mom. I'm not going anywhere..."

Something was not right. The sudden pounding in his heart, the way his mind spun, told him that something was off. But he couldn't tell just what.

Laban looked down at his hands, gently cradled in the palms of his mother's. He nearly cried out when he realized what was wrong.

He had two hands.

Laban suddenly withdrew. He pulled his hands away and stumbled up to his feet. He wagged an accusing finger at his mother—or whatever was pretending to be.

"You're not real," he cried. "This is a just a dream..."

"Laban—"

"I don't understand..." Laban said, looking down at the hand that shouldn't be there. He felt the lines on his palm. How can this be a dream? he thought. This is too real. He could see his mother standing before him. He had felt his hands in hers. He closed his eyes. He could still feel the soft breeze through his matted hair. He could smell the smells of the city.

"I know it's hard to understand," his mother said. "But I need you to listen carefully to what I'm going to tell you."

Laban wouldn't open his eyes. Suddenly he was drowning, lost in an endless sea of doubt.

"W-why can't I remember anything?" Laban stammered. "I know I shouldn't be here. I know this isn't right. But I don't know what is. Why can't I wake up?"

"Laban." The voice of his mother was soothing. She placed her hands on his face. This couldn't be a dream.

"Laban," she repeated. "Open your eyes, son. This is no dream. I am real."

Laban felt her grab his left wrist. She opened his hand and pressed something into his palm.

He immediately knew what it was. He knew that shape. He knew it very well. But for some reason, he had forgotten it.

Laban opened his eyes. He saw his old seer-stone staring back at him.

"How did you—" Laban tried to ask.

"This is why you are here, my son," his mother said. "But it is also why you cannot stay."

"What are you talking about? I'm here. I've always been here. Where else could I be from?"

"I don't have the time to explain right now."

"I need you to. I just don't—"

"Listen to me, Laban. I promise you will understand when you are ready. But I need you to promise me one thing. Please come back."

The ground disappeared from underneath his feet. The world shattered before him like a thin pane of glass. He fell into oblivion, and all was swallowed by the darkness.