The opening of The Prince of Shadow
Part I
Haflea was a man of many regrets that included a portion of his youth spent in hedonistic pursuits within the walls of the Amber City. Penniless and homeless, he saw the worst of men and for a time, counted himself amongst that band of liars and cheats. It was love that woke him from his stupor and gave him a reason to live. Then it was the loss of love that kept him awake at night and ignited a bitterness that consumed and led him to this moment in the graveyard.
Born scrawny and silent, with a grey rat’s tail, to parents who’d dabbled with dark magic, Haflea sat across from a fellow who had the look of a wolf about him. It wasn’t just the watchful, yellow eyes, but the canines that gleamed sharp. Haflea turned his gaze to the flickering flames and the shadows that danced across the prostrate form of a dead man whose left hand was being crisped by the fire’s heat.
“You know what’s required, now. If it gets too cold, it’s too late.”
Haflea tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a shudder of revulsion. The wolf-like creature barked a laugh drawing attention to the grey, wiry whiskers that grew out from his fleshy muzzle. “You’ve killed an innocent, this part should be easy!”
“Innocent? Si shot from his mother’s womb guilty of something,” Haflea snapped back.
“So drink.”
Sparing a glance towards his open-eyed victim, Haflea lifted a pewter cup to his mouth. In the dark, the contents looked black. Inky smooth. “Your grave,” he muttered.
Blood coated his mouth and throat like sludge. Spewing now would cancel the spell so Haflea fought the nausea and focused on the strange feeling that slithered along his veins, reaching the tip of his rat’s tail.
Somewhere a fox’s shriek lacerated the night. It was an eerie sound that suited the scene in the graveyard. Haflea’s heart was beating fast, and he wrung hands that were sticky from Si’s blood. That’s when the creature began to take shape. A creature of darkness born on a dark night.
As Haflea watched with eyes widened in horror, the creature he’d made gazed back at him. Ice travelled along Haflea’s veins, snatching his breath. He jumped to his feet, sickened and the creature dissolved to nothing.
“You’re about to become part of the King’s glorious army, snivelling doesn’t become you.”
“There’s no sign of his return, yet,” Haflea croaked.
Yellow eyes narrowed. “Once you grow some balls and get to know your vagon, you’ll be able to feel him. It’s only a matter of time.”
Vagon. The name given to creatures of dark magic seemed to echo around the graveyard.
Haflea wiped fingers across a damp brow. “What now?”
“You know what’s next.”
Haflea masked his disquiet with a smirk. “I join the glorious ranks of Rattlers.”
The wolf-man flashed his canines. “You’re only a member of the King’s army once the black sets in and only half a one at that.”
“Half a one?”
Curling his lips in disgust, the man pulled a vicious knife from his pocket. “Idiot! You won’t be impervious to death until you’ve sacrificed a bone and made the swap.” He hoisted a bag and shook it making the contents clatter together. The fragments of bones sounded like stones.
Haflea had been beaten regularly by a drunk father and numerous times since by faceless forms in the dark alleyways of the Cradle. The multitude of scars on his face made him uglier than he was fated to be but it was a mask he’d adapted to. Now he took a deep swig of air and tried to hold on to the part of himself he knew he was about to lose. But it’d be worth in the end, wouldn’t it? His sacrifice wouldn’t be for nothing. Her face swam before his eyes and it lent him a sense of peace.
“Your fingers aren’t black. Why?”
The brute slapped his thigh with the flat side of the knife, growing impatient. “My story is different to yours.”
His arrogance irritated Haflea who had half a mind to murder two men in one night. But to what end? His own story was fixed now. “When does the black set in?”
“It happens overnight sometimes, if you’re lucky. But it might take a season for Si’s murder to be forever stained upon your hands and soul. Now, which bone shall I take? Most people opt for the little finger.”
Haflea glanced up to the stars that that cast a silver glow across the sky. A deep line appeared upon his brow but disappeared when he spotted the dragon.
“Well? Don’t you want to be nature’s anomaly and live on and on until …?”
Haflea tore his gaze away from the sky. “Until what?”
Wolf eyes narrowed. The man was bored now. “Until you’re stupid.”
Haflea glanced down at slender hands. Was that already a blotchy stain creeping along his flesh? He’d lived a miserable life, and this seemed to be a perfect arc of what it mean to be him. He held out his hand. “Make it a clean cut.”
1
Slumped upon a levelled mound of earth, River gazed skywards, searching for his dragon. “Where are you?” he murmured. The boy relaxed once he spotted the spikes of the tail and its glinting eye, then he heard his mum speak. If you see your dragon in the stars, know I’ll be watching, too. It was comforting to think of her up there in the vastness of the sky and not lying dead with blood spilled from her guts.
Despite the dark and cold, River had been wandering the familiar ruins of the eastern wing of the House. Once owned by a great Queen, the House stood isolated and impregnable. A cruel maze of creeping ivy and bloodbite thorns stretched from a locked and bolted front doors as far as the eye could see. At its rear, a carpet of dazzling moonblooms—disc-shaped, white flowers—led to a dizzying drop to wild seas.
River shared the House with his twin, Winter, their Keeper Layah and until she went missing six years previously, their stepsister, Raven. There was also an ancient cook, Ilana and her equally ancient cat, Alby. At one time, the House with its many rooms, sweeping staircase, statues and vestibules, had banished the shadows from the past, but the older River got, the more the shadows crept back. Now, nearly eighteen, the measured peace and pure magic of the House, it’s stillness and solitude, clamoured inside the boy’s mind. He often wondered whether Raven had felt it, too.
Shivering, River listened to the eerie howls of the birds that lived upon the lake. Ilana had promised the children in her care that the cry was a bird called a Loon, but nine year old River chose to believe wolves lurked and had convinced Winter and Layah, too. The memory forced a half-smile upon his face. Then his grey-blue eyes turned towards the giant, feathered oak that was more like a friend than a tree. With his twin, they’d climbed high into the branches to see if they could spot anything beyond the maze, beyond the sea. Fingers absentmindedly touched the small, silver scar on River’s chin where Winter’s wooden sword had sliced his flesh. It’d been an accident, a silly, careless strike, but it’d been the last time he’d played with her.
Knowing Winter would come looking for him if he stayed out much longer, River pushed himself to his feet and froze. Fixed to a wall of grey stone that had once formed part of the old stables was a never-before-seen Door. River clambered over loose stones towards the anomaly and pressed an ear against the wooden panels. Beyond the Door, something beckoned and as unnerving as the notion was, River experienced a shiver of excitement.
Loons howled as though in warning but River paid no heed and creaked opened the Door. He found himself standing in a desert, with sand that matched the metal of a grey day. There was something desperate about the space. It was vast yet claustrophobic and it felt inhospitable as though an unseen and unnatural force lurked. But the most disarming thing of all, was the figure in the distance. In all the years they’d lived at the House, none of them had ever seen another living soul. Now, here was this man and he was heading towards River.
Despite his unease, River waited and took in the stranger’s appearance. He was dressed in a long, black coat that might have been luxurious once but now the fabric was ripped and splattered with filth. There was a distinct smell that River half-recognised, but it was taken over by the stench of an unwashed body and unclean clothes.
“Hello,” the man rasped flashing a row of blunt, white teeth. One side of his face was a network of white, puckered scars. Both eyes were ice blue. One of them drooped. And there was a metallic, musty smell that caught River off guard.
The boy stood his ground. “Who are you? How did you get here?”
Only one question was answered. “Fate.”
“You’re not real.”
The man leaned in. “I’m more real than that House you live in. Do you remember much of your old life? Do you know what you might have become if you’d never been forced to leave?”
The image of the legendary Fairy Knight filled River’s mind. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, but he’d longed to be a hero, too. A portrait hanging on somebody’s wall. But it was a childish dream. The truth was River remembered very little of Wishawn. It was as though his past was tied to the image of his dead mother and the sound of screaming. But snapshots did sometimes flash in his mind. Narrow streets, noise, smells, people. Not so long ago, less than a year, River had explained to Laylah his desire to one day see Wishawn again. She’d led him to the topmost parapet of the House, where they’d gazed beyond the maze to a world swathed in mist. An ominous shriek had sent a chill running along River’s spine and he’d been glad to step off the slimy stone back inside the safety of the House.
Wishawn is a hostile place, dangerous for us all. Please don’t go, Riv.
River had thought to argue but Layah’s velveteen gaze stole any thought beyond how badly he longed to touch her silky flesh. How suddenly, the desire to kiss her left him shaken. It was all River could think about for days afterwards. Thoughts of leaving Wishawn vanished.
“Well?”
River fidgeted beneath the startling gaze and had the uncomfortable feeling the stranger was reading his mind. He glanced away and out at the colourless land. Apart from a hapless and bone-white tree with five rigid fingers, there was nothing.
“What is this place?” River asked.
“Welcome to the Night. Endless. Timeless. Lifeless and Dreamless.” The man smiled. “Until now.”
“How am I here?”
“You walked through a Door, did you not? Or stumbled blindly through a Mist? All gateways to other realms, including the Night.”
“Did you put the Door there?”
The transient lowered his voice to a whisper. He winked. “An old friend assisted me. I was banished here you see and it’s taken many years to find you.”
“What do you want?”
“What do you want, boy?”
River found himself without words. He didn’t think anyone had ever asked that question of him.
The man made a clucking noise as though understanding. “You’ve been unhappy of late, haven’t you? Well it’s because you’ve been lied to. The House is not a privilege. It’s a prison. A banishment of sorts, only a little more luxurious than here, don’t you think?”
River’s eyes darted off to the side. Had something scurried across the colourless sand?
“I can help you uncover the truth if you’re ready, River. You just need to trust me because I mean you no harm.”
“How do you know my name?” River croaked.
Stretching his mouth in a smile, the stranger put River in mind of the two-headed hound. A mythical creature that bewitched with one mouth, before savaging with the second.
“I understand why you might be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Despite the droop, the man’s face was expressive and River experienced a niggle of unease. His instinct was to step back but too late, the stranger grasped his arms, long fingers digging into flesh. “I’m glad you’re not afraid, but know this, I seek revenge for the wrongs against me and I won’t let anyone stand in my way.”
“Let me go,” River hissed.
But the iron grip was relentless. “Do you know what Dreaming is, River? And I’m not talking about a boys’ dream to be like his father, but a Journey Dream that allows you to travel far and wide. Allows you to visit places and people.”
“Dreaming is old, witch lore.”
“If we’re powerful enough we can harness whatever lores we choose.” The man closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath that whistled through his nose. Uneasy, River scrutinised the ugly cruelty of his scars. The odd odour persisted.
River squirmed and the stranger refocused his gaze.
“Things will never be as they were, River. You will never be the same, not now I can see you in my Dreams. There is so much for you to learn. About yourself, your sister …”
Just then as though from a great distance, Winter’s voice rang out. River, where are you?
Finally releasing his grip, the man winked. “I’ll see you in my Dreams.”
River stumbled across the gritty sand towards the Door. Then he turned but the man was nowhere in sight and River suddenly doubted there’d even be footprints in the sand.
Later on, his mind full of possibility, the boy’s gaze fell upon the immense picture on the wall. A golden plaque declared the image to be ‘the Fairy Knight: warrior on his loyal steed.’ The rider, with a band of red paint across his eyes, wore a jewelled diadem, and an armour of black and silver. Behind him, blurred with charcoal and red streaks, were his soldiers.
Do you know what you might have become?
“What if my destiny is greatness, too?” River asked the rider astride his sleek, strange dragon.
River once roamed the lands around the House because his boyish adventures made him happy. Now I fear he wanders because he’s lost. And I am fearful that one day he will never return. That I will lose him, too. If only he’d see me as an ally, a confidante, but instead he thinks he needs to protect me, which reduces me to just being his little sister. And surely I’m more than that …
2
River flicked through several old books before finding what he was looking for. Dreaming: practiced predominantly by witches to connect with distant family and tribes.
Two days after the odd meeting, River told Layah and Winter about the Door.
“Mother’s Tears, River, two days?” Layah was aghast and though she didn’t say it, River knew she was judging him. They both were.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
River shrugged, which was no answer at all for Winter. The gulf between them had got steadily wider in recent years and the truth was, he knew it was his fault, growing ever-more sullen and dissatisfied. Winter waited, fists bunched as she bunched them as a child. Her eyes, more grey than blue, flashed.
“I don’t have to tell you everything.”
“If it puts the rest of us in danger, I’d argue you should,” Winter snapped.
“Where was the Door, River?”
River clenched his jaw so tight that it ached. He regretted telling them. The stranger understood him. Sought him out. It felt like a betrayal of sorts.
But in the end he took them to the Door.
It was dusk and the moonblooms were opening, growing brighter. The Door was a dark blot. River watched Layah as she studied the oddity. Her hair was caught in a bun but as usual, wisps of it had escaped and were now fluttering in the evening breeze. She was flushed but even with a scowl marking her features, beautiful.
River dragged his eyes away, and his fingers through his too-long hair. It’d been a while since Layah had cut it. He’d ask her tomorrow, he thought.
“A Door is created with the highest magic,” Layah whispered reaching out to touch the wooden panels.
“Did the Queen put it here, then?”
Layah glanced at Winter and back, shrugging. “It seems unlikely, but …”
“Who else?” Winter whispered.
“If it was created with high magic, that’s good, isn’t it?”
Both girls gave River a withering look and he felt a rush of indignation.
Layah answered. “High magic isn’t the same as pure magic, Riv. High magic can be dark, too.”
“Oh.”
“At least you didn’t open it.” Layah flashed a half-smile which quickly turned to a frown. “You didn’t open it, did you?”
“Not at first, but …”
A Loon howled across the lake followed by an answering chorus. River noticed the shudder that ran through his sister’s slight frame. She’d always hated the sound, tormented perhaps at the thought there might really be wolves.
River touched the Door and the words spilled out. “I opened it because it felt right. Because I’m sick of being stuck here and I thought maybe there was another world I could disappear into …”
“River …”
River ignored his sister’s plea. “If there was a chance Raven was the other side, or that it might lead me to her. I don’t know, but it was something different. Exciting.” He looked at his sister, hoping she’d understand.