Born of Shadow - Book 1 (complete)

Chapter 42

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Then the scene blurred again. She saw Alexander in battle, leading his men into fierce combat. He wore the helmet with pride, and when he did was as if he couldn't be touched. Swords swung toward him, the sharp edges of battle axes threatened to smash  him, but they whistled by him harmlessly.

The scene changed again. Here, at night, after the clamor and dirt and blood of war, Alexander stood alone in his tent with head bowed. He lifted the helmet from his head and set it on the floor. He sat on his bed, palms pressed tightly to his head as if to ward off the pain. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. He was paying a price for this power.

The scene merged into a new one. Alexander lay on the bed, dying. Zaynah could see the anxious expressions on his battle-hardened men. They knelt beside their beloved leader in ardent vigilance, tears escaping down their leathery faces. She watched as Alexander struggled for his last breath, then quietly slipped away.

Then she could see what Alexander's men could not. A black shadow rose from his corpse and slid into a jar, the jar. The one she had found at the dig site, only in newer condition with no chips and less wear. She recognized the mark of the lion on it. Alexander's men didn't even seem to notice the shadow.

The temple shook again. A large rock fell, smashing her hand. With a cry, she jerked her hands away and broke her connection to the altar. The vision disappeared. Frantically, she swept the rock off the altar and placed her hands on it again, willing the vision to return. She was so close. She still had so many questions. What went wrong? What had killed Alexander? Why was he trapped inside the jar?

She listened for the words, but they wouldn't come. She tried to focus on the power, to call it forth. Her hands trembled under the strain. Nothing.

Zaynah dropped her hands to her side. She bowed her head. She'd been close. If only she hadn't lost concentration. He had seemed so real, as if she could reach out and touch him. And yet, what had she learned? That Alexander had been endowed with divine power? She already knew that. It was apparent that he had been possessed by something, but why had it turned on him?

She felt the shadow resting within her, and she shivered. What did it have power to do? Would it kill her too? The voice had been reassuring, had whispered she would have her heart's desire.

She stood and stared hard at the altar. Her crimson blood smeared its surface where a rock had gashed her hand. She turned and strode across the room. As she reached the doorway, she felt it, heard it. She paused. The whispers were back.

Zaynah whirled back to the altar and placed her hands back into position. She listened for the voice to manifest itself, to become stronger while the other voices weakened. It was getting louder now. It was becoming such a familiar voice now—smooth, cool, detached, androgynous. There, she could understand now.

"What is your desire?" the voice whispered.

Zaynah swallowed hard, the words stuck in her throat. She cleared it.

"I want to bring her back."

"Who?"

"My mother."

The voice was quiet. She listened carefully for a few interminable moments. Then, at last, the voice spoke again.

"Have you made your sacrifice?"

"I have."

"What is it?"

She reached her hand into her pocket, removed her father's blood-splattered Rolex watch and laid it on the altar. Picking up Alexander's blade, she notched three careful marks into the watch. She set down the blade. The green light flowed again from her fingertips and undulated gently around the watch.

"He is the instrument of her death?" the voice asked.

"Close enough," she said.

The light flowed to her now, wrapping her in its soft flow and illuminating her face.

"The old must die to become reborn. What is your name?"

"Zaynah," she whispered.

"Zaynah is dead," the voice said. "What is your new name?"

The words came to her mind, and she spoke them before thinking.

"Shadow Queen."

"Shadow Queen," the voice hissed. "So be it."

The light shimmered, then gathered into a ball in front of her chest. It shot into her. She gasped. She felt the intensity of the energy flowing through her, purging her, reforming her.

It left her. It should have left her weak, but she stood strong. She could feel the change within. She could feel the new strength, the power that coursed through her. The old Zaynah was truly dead—the weak girl, afraid and poor. She was no longer the girl who cowered under her father's blows because she was not strong enough to stop him. That child lived no more. Zaynah was reborn, born of shadow.

She heard a grinding sound. The wall behind the temple opened. The helmet lay inside. She walked over to it and touched its gleaming visor, then slid her fingers up and around the ram's horn. She picked up the helmet and placed it on her head.

Before, it had been difficult at times to understand the voice, but now she could do it with ease, like turning a knob on a static radio station for a strong signal.

"You must complete the path of illumination," the voice said, clearly and distinctly. "Raise me, and I will raise yours."

"What must I do next?" she asked.

"Find the source," the voice said.

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Thanks everyone who entered the Born of Shadow Paperback giveaway. We had 112 entries and the winner is....drumroll please....Bruce A.!! Congrats Bruce. I will be in contact with you to make sure you receive the book.

The dedication for this chapter goes to one of my dear Wattpadres the lovely @sabrinafairchild53! I have so enjoyed getting to know her on the pages of this story. I always appreciate her comments and insights. As a world traveler, she has a wealth of understanding. You can check out her book "Beautiful Beast" by clicking on the dedication link above.