Collector of Oddities - A Stormlight Archive FanFiction

(2) Shadow

["Driver" Elox]

Wooden wheels rattled against the wet path, churning the gravel and mud with great force. Even without a horse, the magic wagon carried forward like a grand ship being pushed forward with the strength of the winds alone. The Cremling's Might was a majestic coach built up of steel and decorated wood and embedded with broams of ruby, diamond, and sapphire. Like a tavern in the night, Might glowed brightly, casting colored Stormlight off in all directions.

Sitting out on the bench was a figure cloaked in darkness; hood drawn to shield their face and dark furs to fight the cold winds. In their hands, they held tightly to the reins which lead to no horse—a steering fabrial, of sorts. 

The night was drawing on, the moon taking the sky like a large diamond chip glowing with Light on the sky of black. The trees rustle along the path, an eerie howl echoes from every direction, and the Cremling's Might stops in its place with a pull of the reins.

The hooded driver looked to either side of his cargo—the bright light being cast from its gems helping with the thickness of fog. Steps, like the crunching of leaves, off to the left of the wagon. Slow, deliberate, steady. 

A dark silhouette is framed in the fog, standing at an exaggerated height and length due to the stretching of shadows. 

"A bit late for you to be interrupting my travels, no?" The hooded driver chuckled under the protection of his cloak. "You would not keep an old man from finding some shelter, now would you?" 

The shadow's head cocked to one side. "Old man... you carry more than you say you do..." It spoke with a dry, labored breath that ended with a high-pitched shriek. An ancient accent.

"Almighty's-be, then. Not from around these parts, are you?" The driver dropped his hood, revealing the old, tired face of the average Alethi merchant. Dark complexion with long-drawn bags under the eyes—which were dark, no less—and small nicks and bruises that had not quite healed. "I assure you, kind Shadow, that I carry nothing more than cabbages and carrots. You can check for yourself." 

Climbing down from the bench, the driver made his way to the door of the Might, opening it with a heavy pull. Inside lay nothing more than heaps of vegetables; cabbages and carrots included, as well as a few heads of broccoli. 

"Ah, I lied," The driver sighed, looking back to the now-approaching Shadow, "I've got broccoli, too." 

Now in the Light of the broams, the old man could make out the form of his apparent "shadow". They wore dark clothing, not unlike his own, though had bright eyes of the lightest violet. Golden hair shimmered down past his shoulders which matched his golden skin. An Iriali. And they did not look happy.

"Have you heard the tales?" The old man asked, still holding onto the wagon's door handle with a cocky smile. 

"The tales?" His Shadow Iriali repeated, again cocking their head.

"Well, they say encountering someone of Iri decent is a sign of good luck," he squints his eyes at the golden-haired man. "But something makes me think I'm not so lucky to meet you." 

The Shadow grins, growling; "You should trust your instincts more, thief." 

Their golden hand stretched out to the side as if begging the air for spare change. 

Ten heartbeats. 

To some it would seem like no time at all, but to others, it was the time between life and death.