Dark Burden

Scene 4

Donahue felt the heat of the sand on his neck.

He was alive?

Battle cries echoed to his left. Sitting up, a faint light filtered his vision of the strange man dancing through the army like a black blur. The soldiers fell unconscious from their horses. Their faces showed the pain of days of battle and traveling. Worse, the sand now lay stained with the blood of the undead. A thousand of his friends decorated the desert with their corpses.

"Without your power to sustain them, death won."

He turned to the melodic voice. The blonde woman towered over him. The faint light reached in all directions.

"What have you done!" He scurried to his feet.

She pointed at the sand. "I killed you, that's all. Like any of us, when you die, all your power is undone."

He looked at the blood splatter where he had just lain.

She smiled at him like this was a game. "It's on your shirt, too."

Nonetheless, he glanced down. A fresh, red stain surrounded the hole in his shirt directly over his heart.

Nothing made sense.

"What? Didn't your master tell you? You can't kill a guardian. We just regenerate. Still hurts, though."

Enough. "Die!" he said, but his curse was nothing more than words.

She blinked. "Sorry, doesn't work on me."

Maybe not on her. He turned his attention to the black blur. As he opened his mouth, the woman closed the gap so fast he did not see her movement. The side of the white sword tapped his throat.

"Don't make me kill you again."

He closed his mouth.

Those bright eyes held a viciousness as strong as Gallagher's. He remembered the ten soldiers who had crumbled into nothingness. How was she a light?

"Karnorott," she called, "play time's over. Find the shadow."

The man rose from the army ranks and vanished overhead towards the southwest. Suddenly free, the soldiers regrouped. No one looked at Donahue.

"They can't see you," said the woman.

The blade felt cold against his skin.

"I put us in a spatial rift, one of my specialties. We can see out, but they can't see in. Or, come in for that matter."

He kept his head high and tried to relax.

"Thank you," she said as she sheaved the sword. "I would much prefer to talk."

He turned to face her squarely, knowing he could not escape her speed. Maybe he could get her to leave willingly. "Aren't you going to go after your friend?"

She smiled. "He can handle the shadow. I'm in charge of you."

The arrogance made his stomach churn. "And what then! Bind me, get rid of me, but the oppressed will still rise to seek justice. You're on the wrong side."

Her smile faded. "On the wrong side. So, you're on the side of justice?"

Hadn't he just told her?

"Well, since you know all things despite only being a teenager, then I'm sure you won't be alarmed at this."

She lunged towards him, but before he could react, he felt pain in his arm. She retreated her right arm, and he instinctively cradled the wound. Blood poured down his forearm from a large cut she had made with her bare hand.