by
Henry Otis Clarke
The Gallaecian high country:
The ethereal being, drifted among the rafters of the large stone worship hut. As with those of its kind, it appeared as a mist or wisp of fog. Bemusement rippled through its awareness mingled with iniquitous pleasure as it observed the old man crouched on the ground below. The hut's shutters were closed. Sweat glistened upon his sagging skin; reflecting the circle of tapers that ringed the elder, whose name was Uilleag, and the thing writhing before him on the floor. It mewled and hissed; spitting and struggling against the tiny restraints holding it fast to the ground. A wail of pain ascended and caressed the living essence in sensations of sadistic delight. The man muttered, in low guttural tones, the incantation the being had taught him. It knew that Uilleag uttered gibberish, but humans need something on which to focus their energies. Nonsense or not, the shaman was enraptured by the cabalistic ritual.
He heated the thin blade over one of the candles. His voice rose and fell, making twittering sounds, growling sounds. His white hair matted against his scalp. The blade's tip grew red and Uilleag lifted it and drew it deftly across the body of the cat. Its pale fur sputtered with blood and it screamed as the blade tip made cauterized lines along its rib cage. The symbols drawn by Uilleag smoked as they cooled into the dying creature's skin. He felt exhilaration as its life force slowly faded and its eyes became glazed. His joints ached from crouching on the hard dirt packed floor. He ignored the pain. Soon, he thought, the god will come soon.
Through the hut's walls, the sound of every day life in the little village murmured. Children giggled and played. Women gossiped as they set about daily chores. Somewhere wood was being cut. Uilleag was oblivious to these things. His devotion held him in ecstatic anticipation. He stood and stretched; extending his arms above his head and leaning backward. Then adjusted the dark cloth held about his loins by braided hemp. He sat again, folding his spindly legs.
He looked up at the thin cloud hovering high above him and smiled. It lowered, floating down and swirling, forming a small white funnel. It snaked toward the carcass, its tip reaching the creature's open mouth and nostrils. A sound like air being sprayed, a sucking noise filled the room as the being inhabited the dead feline.
Topaz eyes gleamed with dark sentience and the thing rose. Entrails hung from its disemboweled abdomen and it stretched its limbs, as if parodying the shaman. It tested its claws, slipping them in and out then smiled, revealing sharp cat fangs. Uilleag prostrated himself before the animated feline corpse.
“Rise my pet,” it hissed.
Uilleag sat back on his haunches before the ethereal imbued cat thing. The pale form expanded and contracted as if its entire body breathed. It gazed around the room with its newly acquired feline eyes.
“A colorless world,” it mused, “Yet so keener are the other senses.”
Uilleag's brow furrowed. He became fearful. Ethereals were merciless when crossed.
“Have I pleased ye my lord?”
“You have pleasured me my pet. Now; have you carried out my other orders?”
“Aye milord,” the shaman responded, relieved by his master's reassurance, “My son will soon overthrow the clan MacFhaolain. Then the rest of the clans will fall and bow to you…” He shifted his weight to relieve the pressure in his thighs.
“…as do I.”
The haunted cadaver flicked its white tail and pointed at Uilleag. Its claw revealed long thin talons instead of those of a cat.
“The Seed will come through the line of ethereal and men. You will rule and live forever. Do you want this? What would you sacrifice?”
Uilleag gasped at the prospect of power over men. Long he had sought to expand the influence of the Clan Ó Hifearnáin throughout Gallaecia. Now, with supernatural help, and a little of his own cunning, he would conquer the surrounding lands, bring the clans under his influence.
“More than life itself milord.”
A grin spread across the cat's face wide and sardonic.
“Good. Here is what you must do…”
The Southern Grasslands
The man's body stuck the ground with an audible thud. Vohl's large fist, a metal whip rapped around his knuckles, left the assailant unconscious with bloodied mouth and shattered jaw. Vohl turned in time to catch the other assailant with a rib caving kick as the sword in his left hand gutted a third. The Merchant Azim and his daughters cowered in the camel drawn wagon as Vohl fought. Across from them, Azim's business partner sat, peeking through the silken coverlets and gilded lattice work; his eyes wide at the spectacle of the Shadow Dragon at work.
Vohl stood, his sword and wrapped hand extended awaiting on-comers, but none came. Five men lay dead on the ground and Vohl knew the sixth, the leader, was nearby. Other merchants and their slaves who lead the caravan regrouped, having fought off the fleeing marauders watched as the pounding hoofs of their steeds faded in the distance. They whooped and applauded in undulating victory cries. He took a deep breath and lowered his arms.
“It's all right now,” he called, “you can come out.”
Azim Nejem and his daughters exited the wagon. Their robes shaded them against the hot grassland sun. The women were veiled as they'd always been in the presence of men, but their eyes were wide with fear. They huddled together, arms locked as they moved. From behind came Shaheed Bakar, Azim's partner. His long dark hair and well trimmed beard were shot with grey. Both men wore loose fitting white robes and turbans about their heads. Azim did obeisance as he approached Vohl. Shaheed clapped his hands, nodding and smiling with approval. Vohl did not smile back.
“Well done, well done Vohljiang!” Azim said, “This is the first time we've ever defeated a band of thieves like that ! I had my doubts about you at first, but you've more than earned your pay.”
Shaheed chimed in, “Earned it and more I'd say. I see why you are called Shadow Dragon.” He reached into the folds of his robe, retrieved a small satchel of coins and tossed it at Vohl.
Vohl's eyes never left the men. The money fell at his feet. He sheathed his sword and faced the group. The others of the caravan were gathering around, sensing tension.
Puzzled, Azim said, “What's the matter man? Don't you want your earnings?”
“My task is only half complete. I was to discover how these attacks keep following this caravan as well.”
“And you've learned something?”
“I have,” Vohl replied. He tilted his head forward as if in thought and began to pace slowly, as if considering each step. He noticed everything peripherally as he had been trained.
“Last night, the marauders used a piece of polished metal and the moon's full light to send signals to someone here among us.” Gasps rose among the small crowd. Vohl paused until they were silent again. His thumb fondled the metal link whip wrapped around his hand. He noticed one of the men became uneasy. His eyes darted nervously about, but he said nothing. Vohl continued.
“Every night, for the past week, the signals passed back and forth. I took a careful search of everyone's belongings, especially jewelry. ”
He paused near the nervous man, whose name was Kadar, without looking directly at him. Kadar shifted his feet and stared at Vohl. Some in the crowd stepped back, sensing his energy coiled and about to unleash. The wind blew, making swishing noises in the long-grass. The camels snorted and pawed the ground. A falcon's call pierced the sky overhead. Vohl kept his head bowed as if in thought.
“Your medallion is large and polished. You know the lay of the land well enough to decide the best place for an ambush -- and you're desperate! ”
His hand shot out and snatched Kadar by his shirt. The small man's feet left the ground as his body slammed against Vohl's. The green eyes of the Shadow Dragon bore into Kadar whose own eyes now filled with tears.
“I had to ! I had to or else I—,”
“Very well done Vohl, I must fetch a larger reward for your detection skills!” shouted Shaheed.
He turned in the direction of the covered wagon. Vohl's other hand lashed out, the metal whip glittered and snaked out and around Shaheed's throat. The onlookers gasped again and the women screamed. The partner merchant gagged and his hands instinctively tore at the tight chain restricting his breath.
“ You threatened this man--, threatened his family !” Vohl released Kadar who fell, weeping profusely. He tugged hard at the whip and dragged the Shaheed to him. The merchant fought against Vohl, but his strength waned. Vohl forced him to his knees and looked over at Azim.
“Your partner! ”
Azim shook his head slowly, his face both saddened and disgusted.
“No longer,” he said. He crossed and stood over the traitor. Vohl removed the whip but replaced it with an angled dagger against Shaheed's throat. Azim looked down at his former friend. Tears streamed down his face.
“Why? Why would you do this thing?”
Shaheed's eyes blazed at Azim. For the first time, the merchant saw envy in the man's face. The betrayer massaged his throat and said, “You think yourself so exalted . You give your crumbs to everyone so that they'll bow to your whim as if you're a god! Do you believe that everyone is so loyal to the great Azim Nejem, prince of merchants? Oh dear partner! You should know that in my last hour, with my dying breath I curse you! I did it because this business is half mine and you know it! You never acknowledge it. According to you, it rose magically from your single hand, not with my sweat toil and blood! Your wife should have been my wife! Those daughters should have been my daughters! I did it because you owe me!”
Azim's chest heaved with grief and anger. For years they worked together. Only now did he see what his own success had done to his friend. He looked at Vohl.
“Apportion his belongings. Give him three days rations, and send him off to find his followers.”
Vohl nodded as Azim turned and covered his mouth in grief. His daughters ran to him and caught him just as he collapsed into their arms, overtaken by anguish. Vohl glanced down at Shaheed who kneeled and defiantly gazed after Azim. A quick blow to the traitor's temple laid him unconscious.
*
Azim stood a distance from the camp. Stars and a quarter moon made the night sky into a vault of ambient light. He felt a presence near him and turned to see the Vohl's silhouette against the distant campfire light.
“It is done, he is dead,” Vohl said. Azim nodded once and looked again at the sky.
“And his bounty?”
“I've returned all of his goods to the camp. The jackals will feed on him tonight.”
Azim sighed heavily and stroked his beard. “You've earned your fee well Vohljiang. You are the best that the Guild of Assassins can ever produce. Tell me; will you be returning there or to your home?”
“I am to see you to your destination, seek work there, and then I may return to Danduiae after I've brought the Guild their share of the earnings.”
Azim gave a short laugh, “Our destination is Gallaecia. Those people are barely civilized . What work could you find there?”
“I imagine that I‘ll know once I arrive.”
Azim looked dubiously at Vohl. “And what prevents Shadow Dragon from absconding with all of his acquired treasure? Fear, perhaps?”
“A man of honor does not defraud the Guild. Men with no honor do not live long.”
“So you fear death by the Guild then…”
“I fear being dishonored , even as Shaheed died in dishonor.”
Azim's pursed his lips, nodded and turned away, “Well, you'll have your chance to bring more honor to yourself in eight days. That's when we'll arrive in Gallaecia.”
Vohl nodded in the dim starlight. The wind began to pick up. The long grass rustled as if telling secrets. Off in the distance, the jackals yelped and growled as they fed on new found flesh.
***
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