Born of Shadow - Book 1 (complete)

Scarab Award Fanfiction Winner!

I'm so happy to announce the winner of the Scarab Award. A huge congratulations to Emma @OneStoryteller! Your signed copy of Born of Shadow will be on its way soon. The first chapter of the fanfiction is below.

"Through the Eyes of the Lion: A Born of Shadows Fan-fiction"

By @OneStoryteller

Part 1: Interment 

Babylon, June 10th, 323 BCE
 
Alexander was dying. He was quite sure of this, despite the assurances he had given to his men. And, of course, those nearest to him knew it as well. They had been gathering, coming through one at a time and in small groups to say their farewells. All but one.

“Hephaestion.” His voice was a croak, barely louder than a whisper. He was ashamed of it, and would not have spoken were it not so important. “Where is Hephaestion?”

A cool cloth wiped his feverish head, and he feebly batted it away. Perhaps they had not heard him. Reaching into what little strength he had left, he summoned the powerful weapon that had once been his voice. “Where is Hephaestion!?”

“Please, my lord, if you would lie still…” The voice that answered him hesitated. He hated hesitation. It was a sign of weakness. He would have shouted at the man, but he didn’t think his voice would hold. Another voice spoke, much more confident.

“My lord. Be still. I am here.”

“Ah, Hephaestion. At last.” Alexander sighed and relaxed back into the pillows piled around him. “I asked for you, but no one would tell me where you were.”

“I am sorry I didn’t come sooner, my dear Alexo, but I am dead, after all.”

“Yes, of course. I must have forgotten.” Alexander patted his friend’s hand fondly. “But you are here now, as you should be.”

“As I should be.” Hephaestion’s voice was dry. “Tell me, Alexo, do you not wonder how it is I am here?”

“Wonder? Of course not! I am taking my final journey; I am becoming a god. It is only right my immortal brethren should allow me to see my dear companion one last time while I am still bound to this earth.” As he spoke, Alexander became dimly aware of the people around him, trying to calm him, imploring him to be still. But he was done with such people now. He had eyes and ears only for Hephaestion, who had finally returned to him.

“Is that what you believe?”

“Believe? I know it to be true. My mother knew I was the son of Zeus from the day I was conceived. And now, I have earned the right to join him.”

“Oh, my Alexo, that is so far from the truth.”

Alexander’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that? Have you come to mock me on the day of my ascension?”

“Do you not remember?” Hephaestion shook his head. “You said it was the saddest day of your life. Have you forgotten so quickly?”

“Your death?” Alexander reached out his hand. “Forgive me, my friend. I did all I could to save you. And when I could not, I punished those who failed. I gave you the grandest funeral the world has seen since the Trojan War. I had you declared a hero. Tell me, friend. Did I fail you in this? Did I overlook some funeral rite and condemn your soul to wander? I have some strength left. But say where I failed you and I will set it right.”

Hephaestion’s laugh was bitter. “Set it right? Will you undo time? Rebuild Asclepius’ temple? Give back the lives of those you sacrificed on my grave?” As he listed the crimes, his voice grew into a shout. “Did you think the gods would be pleased by the blood you spilt? Did you think the god of healing would overlook the destruction of his temple? You are a fool, Alexander, and you always have been.”

Alexander shrunk into the fortress of cushions. “Please, my Hephaestion…”

“I am not your Hephaestion! For a year I have sat by the shore of the Styx, bearing the punishment for your crimes, waiting for the day I could hand that punishment over to you. And now, at last, that day has come.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“No, but you soon will. The gods do not take the desecration of their laws lightly.”

Alexander could only watch in horror as Hephaestion drew back his hand; he was too weak now to even cry out to the guards that surrounded him. The shadowy hand plunged into his chest.

And there was pain.

Blinding, terrible pain borne silently in the shell of his own body.

And then there was tearing, as if the world was being ripped apart.

And then…then there was his body.

The once great king stared at his body, watched as it died before his eyes. He could still feel Hephaestion’s hand clutching him, but understood now. It was his soul Hephaestion held. His body lay abandoned.

The view shifted as Hephaestion turned him around. There, before his eyes, was a jar. A gift from king Nebuchadnezzar, in whose palace his decimated body lay. Stretched across its sides, as if reaching for the sun, was a lion, a symbol of strength and majesty. A gift for a king, ironic now, as it sat next to his decaying body. The red-orange lion loomed before his eyes, growing bigger and bigger until, suddenly, he was within it. And then he was looking out of it, looking through the lion’s eyes. He could no longer feel Hephaestion’s grasp. His friend had left, left him trapped and helpless.

Alexander watched as men swarmed around his body, uttering cries of dismay. Distantly, he noted that while some showed genuine grief, many others were already trying to set themselves up as his successor. Again and again, Alexander tried to tell his men that there was no need for their grief, no need to crown a new king. He was here, with them in this very room. But try as he might, he could not speak to them. His voice had been silenced, his body broken. Someone must have thought the jar was important, because for many years it passed from hand to hand. Through the lion’s eyes, Alexander watched as his empire fell apart, torn asunder by bitter, bickering men.

Unable to talk to those outside the jar, Alexander turned his thoughts inward. He had always known it was his fate to bring the world together. He had a gift. Men did as he commanded, listened to the words he spoke. And he could see the things no one else could see; the chaos and destruction that was rampart in the world and in the hearts of men. The gods had chosen him to heal the destruction and bring order to the chaos. All the countries united under one rule. His rule. And he had almost succeeded. But now, it was lost. All lost. Generations passed, and the world became worse. Eventually, the jar was lost, and he was buried in the ground, buried in the soils of time.

There, alone in the dark, Alexander began to plot. After so many years of silently observing, he began to learn how to stretch beyond his clay confines. Caught as he was between the world of the living and the world of the dead, he found he could reach out to other creatures like himself, creatures of shadow. He gathered them to him and gave them form and shape. He breathed purpose into them, and bent that purpose to his will. It was a gift he had not lost.

And as he plotted, he waited.

Waited for someone else who could see the brokenness of the world.

Someone who would understand what needed to be done to heal it.

Someone who would be willing to make the sacrifices that were called for.

He had no doubt that the day would come. He may have offended the gods, but he was still their chosen one. His ability to call forth the shadows was proof of that. Another would come, one he could use to achieve the goal he had sought for so long. He was sure of it.

If you enjoyed this and would like to read more, click on the dedication link.