Shadows in the night

Chapter One

The air screamed. Every particle howled. The earth spasmed. The tortured walls were chipped and charred. Rubble tumbled down from the lofty, vaulted ceiling. Shattering, it embraced the ground dispersing a silvery cloud of dust. The first light of dawn peeked through the tears above, staining the room in crimson hue. Dust spiraled up, dancing, glittering in the morning rays. Gold leaf twinkled like captured stars on the dead remains of the chamber. Two corpses wrapped in elegant silk slept bathed in the morning glow. The whole scene possessed a mournful beauty. The disfigured remains of the rich symbol of power. The silence following the explosion whispered of past banquets and balls, ghostly echoes of dancers waltzing, shadowy crystal glasses chinking.

The haunting experience was lost on me as I stared at the tall shadow before me. Heart racing. Head pounding. Fear curdled the blood in my veins. My feet itched to run… to bolt from this impossible battle…to flee the inevitable of my demise… escape and hide like the prey I knew I truly was…

But I couldn't.

The realization wrenched my heart in two. My feet held fast, bound to the earth where they stood. An array of invisible bindings entombed me. All the while the crazed warrior lurched forward, desiring my blood. His dark black eyes glistened with the bloodlust of the crazed animal he'd become. Tongue hanging out like he already tasted my life upon it and wished to savor the sweetness of my soul. A beast; one who had tasted human flesh, and now craved to quench its sudden hunger.

His attire, I noticed, was torn, blooded and coated in grime. Deep royal blue silk hid behind the muck. A deep gash slashed across, what I assume was a once handsome face, from the right eye down, through his snarling lips to the left of his chin; producing the only colour to the ashen face, a vivid stream of crimson. The eye itself was a solid, glittering ruby punctuated by a miniature black pupil. Bile rose up to my throat as it began weeping blood. The hypnotic droplets streaming down a battered face to drip onto the earth.

A feral growl tore my attention away. He was now a foot from me, baring long crystal white teeth. A gleeful grin twisted upon his cruel lips. Anticipation burned in his eyes.

The sword swung into view only a millisecond before the agonizing pain opened up my belly. The light of dawn shone a rainbow of colour upon the steal. A soundless gasp escaped my lips as my legs crumbled beneath me. Darkness swarmed. I could feel my blood gush from me, the burning of stomach acid beginning to eat away at what was left of my body.

Something fell across my face. A dark, rough material. Cotton, I think, I can't be sure, from a hood perhaps. I heard footsteps, another indistinguishable growl and the material was wrenched from my face. I could feel it but no light entered my sightless eyes.

Darkness. Death. My last parting breath was as soft as a feather. An anguished masculine scream replied. Sobbing then nothing.

>>>>

My eyes flew open. A scream parted my parched lips. Golden light blinded my sore, sensitive eyes, sending a shooting pain down my optic nerve to my bewildered, terrified brain. I quaked with such velocity that I'm surprise I hadn’t passed out from exhaustion already. A pair of warm, strong arms pulled my fiercely to a hard chest. I could feel the tickle of prickly hair rub against my cheek.

"It's alright Natasha, love. Father's here."

Dad? The mere thought of being safely tucked up in his arms calmed the rapid galloping of my racing heart. My vision began to clear. Bleary at first from the unshed tears but gradually I could make out the brown, battered wooden floor and the sloping beams of the low thatch roof. I could see the early morning sun christening my room in a golden glow, from the small round window in the center of the wall. A battered desk lay beneath it with a bow slung over the back of the chair. Olive green and mud brown clothes were strewn over the floor haphazardly. A small, weak, relieved chuckle, escaped between my lips. A dream. It had all been a dream.

My father pulled back. I could see easily defied the little creases around his pale blue eyes and few strands of grey peppered his black hair. A lot more now than I remembered. A crooked smile stretched across his tanned face and a small sigh escaped him.

"That's better. Come on now, get up and dressed. Your mother's running rampage downstairs and lord knows I need some back up when she's in one of her moods." he said in his gruff voice before getting awkwardly to his feet and crossing to the trap door in the middle of the room, leaning heavily upon the withered old walking stick. I nodded and bit my lip in reply, knowing better than to offer him help down the rope ladder. He was proud, my father. Fit, healthy and strong as they came. A disease came to our village, sometime ago and had left many young men bedridden or worse after its departure but not my father. He had jumped out of his bed as soon as the healer’s back was turned, or so my mother insists, and was out herding the flock as usual with only a stick to help with his twisted legs.

Once downstairs I was welcomed by the shriek of my mother's shrill voice.

"Oh there she is! My blessed daughter as deemed us worthy with her presents this morning!"

She appeared suddenly within the kitchen doorway wielding a deadly spoon in her right hand. Flour covered the length of her forearms and was speckled in her untidy bun. A few strands of the rich chocolaty hair escaped to face her motherly face, making her look endearing and more youthful than her years. Raised eyebrows punctuated her sarcastic tone.

"Sorry, mother but I..."

"Sorry? Sorry? Do you know what time it is? I've been here slaving away for hours getting ready for tonight's feast while you, young lady, have been dead to the world. I even had to send your father up for you and you know that ladder is bad for him... Where is that useless lout anyway? I have jobs for him to do."

"I said I was sorry, but I had that nightmare again and..."

"You had it again? Oh my sweet dear, I'm sorry. I didn’t know. Was it the exact same as last time? Was it bad? Oh my sweetie, I'm sorry. Are you ok? I know its bad; I remember when I got my first dreams. Frightful stuff and Father Roderick said your powers would be particularly strong so that means they must be ghastly. Take a seat, dear, and take time to calm yourself. I can manage without you for a few more minutes. Ok? Love you sweetie"

And with that she vanished back into the kitchen with a swift peck on my cheek. I rolled my eyes. Excuse my mother, she tends to ramble on and her mood changes as swiftly as a bird take flight. I love her dearly but it’s quite impossible to have a normal conversation with her. The times I've tried I swear I've almost fainted with exhaustion.

So I feel I must explain my dear mother's little rant for you. Firstly, today is a very special day for us here in little Ford. Today is the new king's coronation... or rather it will be sometime this week. Therefore, to celebrate the passing of one era to another a great feast has been organized which my mother and the other housewives are apart of. It’s kind of turned into a great competition to out do each other but at least we get to eat it afterwards.

Secondly, I should explain the nature of dreams here in my world. Dreams are not just bazaar images that our brains use to entertain themselves while we sleep. Neither are they unconscious thoughts puzzling out troubles in our lives. On the onset of puberty every child will experience a nightmare, a truly horrendous vision of our death. It is said that Death himself visits us during these dreams. He walks through out them and assesses our strength. The dreams are his tools, or so we believe, to distribute the skill of magic throughout the population. Basically, the stronger, more vivid and more terrifying the dream the more magic you have. These dreams are irregular but they will visit me throughout my life. The monks say, its Death's way to keep everything in balance by equaling the blessing of magic with the horrificness of the dream therefore preventing abuse and people aspiring to have unstoppable power.

You must understand, magic is part of our daily life. It’s a skill like any other where some people have a lot of raw talent and some have little. It also grows with practice and as you gain knowledge.

My father, he has a little. He uses it to communicate with his dog when herding. My mother has just over average. I think that’s why her cooking is the best in the village and her flowers always last longer than anyone else’s when winter comes. Myself, well I do not know. My powers haven’t arrived yet but they will soon. The monk of our village, Father Roderick, believes I will be very powerful, the most in our village. To be honest, I couldn’t care less. I'd rather go without the trauma.

Well I better get to work, nightmares only afford a short moment respite from my mother's constant nagging.