The Shadow of a Doubt
“And these bolts are cold iron right?”
“YES! I've already TOLD you.”
“No, you told me you had 'everything'. I just want to be sure that 'everything' includes everything. I don't want a repeat of Coorhagen. Have you got the sacristy oil?”
“Darken! How many times have we done this now?”
“Enough to be becoming complacent. Have you got the oil?”
“It's HERE!” Hel jabbed a small wooden gourd on the strap across his chest. “Seriously, it's not like I pester you to make sure you've done your job.”
“Well, maybe you should,” murmured Darken.
“Oh, geez, now I know it's bad. An expression of something other than complete messianic delusion about your own infallibility; you really are eager to impress her.”
“What?”
“Darken, it's not exactly subtle. You set this whole thing up to impress her,” Hel's eyes went to the trailing velvet-draped back of the peculiar young girl several metres further down the track. “Show her we have a system, a method, that this is routine and we don't JUST stumble blindly into escapades that we have to escape with fire and ingenious quick thinking.”
“Yes, yes, of course. And let's not allow your brilliant fantasy to be troubled by the marginal fact that it was she who suggested this venture to me.”
“And you seized the opportunity.”
Darken threw up an arm in despair. “What exactly is your grievance?” he demanded.
“I'm just getting a little tired of your nagging lack of faith in me.”
Darken shook his head. “No... That's not it. I've always had a nagging lack of faith in you. This is something new. Did I miss your birthday?”
“I just thought,” said Hel, “That the whole point of us taking this deal was so we could get out of this whole zombie hunting business, and move on. I mean, I'm just wondering what exactly I spent a week keeping you two from each other's throats for.”
Darken nodded slowly. “Ah, so that's it. I see. Well, have some patience. We're getting there. These things don't happen over night. In the grand scheme of things we've only just started. What's it been? Eight months? Maybe a little more? I don't remember exactly. Not long, anyway. These are our whole lives we're talking about. You understand that, I hope? This isn't a brief excursion, this is an endeavour we might devote our entire existence to. We're talking about changing the world; messianic delusions is just about right.”
Hel sighed. “I know,” he muttered.
“I hope you do. This is a crusade, and once we've started we can't stop it. We have to follow it through. You always follow it through, get it? So maybe you should enjoy this leisurely pace whilst you've got it. We'll be at war with the Order soon enough.”
Hel gave a nod. “Ok. Sorry. You're right.” He paused for a moment. “But what about her? I can't help but wonder if we've just picked up more problems.”
“Oh, you can be sure she's a whole bundle of problems,” said Darken, and began to smile. “But she's a whole bundle more answers. It'll be worth it. You'll see. Trust me.”
“I believe it will be worthwhile also,” said the girl suddenly, from much further up the track. “But you probably should not trust me.”
Darken and Hel looked at each other. Darken shrugged.
Hel's sickle claimed another sheaf corn. It flopped onto the carpet of stalks. Behind him Darken worked similarly to expand the circumference of their clearing. Tatula was elsewhere, doing her own thing, whatever that was. Dusk had set in hard when Darken turned.
“Look, if it makes you feel any better we'll ditch any undead hunting after this. I have a few leads on information that could lead to useful resources. We'll go after that instead.”
Hel sighed.
“No, Darken, that's not the point. I'm not fed up of hunting undead – I mean, I am, but that's not my problem here – my problem is that we're not getting anywhere. I'm not going to be cheered up by arbitrarily refusing any lead just because it involves the bloody necromancers. I'm going to be cheered up when we start getting somewhere.”
“Well what then?” snapped Darken. “Why don't you plan our next move if that'll cheer you up?”
“Darken, I couldn't give a damn what our next move is, just so long as we have one!”
“I can't pluck opportunities out of the air, Hel. I told you I had leads. We'll follow them. I don't know what more you expect me to do.”
“I just wish I had your confidence that they'd lead somewhere,” Hel sighed again.
Darken was quiet for a while and the pair turned back to irritably scything corn. He'd just opened his mouth with a reply when a bright point of light spat into the air and exploded with a flash. The pair looked up into the night sky where it had been.
“Tatula needs help,” said Darken, unnecessarily. “I'll go.”
He snatched a few items from their packs, and thrashed his way off into the crops. Hel watched him go blackly.
“Still waiting for those answers,” he muttered.
Hel continued to thrash away at the corn for some time after Darken had gone. Now he had twice the work to do, and he took his annoyance out with the sickle, mulling on the injustices of the world and all the rejoinders that hadn't occurred to him. He entered a sort of meditative place of irritable tranquility and lost track of time, so it had got really dark when the cold managed to penetrate his sour little shell and he began to wonder where the other two had got to.
It really was dark, he realised, when he stared in the direction Darken had gone and realised he could no longer see the treeline. Where the hells where they? He wondered, and he shivered again at the cold. A creeping intuition began to set in at the back of his spine, but he received it more with irritation than panic.
“For Dia's sake,” he murmured.
The cold began to gather about him, swaddling him. He felt himself going numb. Here it came. He scanned the field around him for a sign, and froze.
She was there.
The white dress was wafting gently on the breeze, whilst the corn around her stood motionless. She was reaching out an arm. Her gaze met his. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. Her lips parted. He didn't want to hear, didn't want to know what she had to say to him. He couldn't hear it. She mustn't, she-
“My, but that proud bravado disappears quickly when there's no comely maiden around, doesn't it?” asked the apparition offhand, and it changed. The girl was gone, had become that of a gaunt old man, eyeing Hel sardonically. Hel frowned, and found the terror sank out of him with the unnatural cold. Now he was just naturally freezing. His legs remained immobile, though, and his knuckles were still white around the steel ball. The spectre nodded.
“That anger though,” it sucked air across its teeth. “That's always there.”
“What the fuck are you?” Hel murmured through gritted teeth.
“Me? Why, I'm the reason you're here.”
“The haunting?”
“Quite.”
“A spirit then. Good. That's what I thought.”
Hel's arm whirled overhead and a small ceramic egg sailed out, shattering amid the stalks at the spirit's feet. A small whiff of smoke escaped. The apparition blinked, then shrugged.
“So anyway...”
Hel's eyes were wide and cautious. He couldn't back up but he could at least ready himself to defend against the creature, whatever it was. It had ignored the Hove's Egg, though. Strange. And concerning.
The thing spread its arms.
“Let's talk.”
“Let's not.”
“Well there's not a lot more you can do,” smiled the man, nodding at Hel's frozen legs.
“I can stay alert,” said Hel. “And not let you bait me into dropping my guard.”
“If you like.”
“I don't like it one bit, but you appear to have paralysed my legs, so what I like doesn't seem entirely pertinent right now.”
“Just so you're aware,” said the thing generously. “I don't tire or fatigue, and keeping you still doesn't take an ounce of concentration. You're not going anywhere any time soon.”
“Doesn't matter,” said Hel. “You know I'm not alone, right? I've got allies. I just need to wait for them to turn up.”
“Allies?” asked the spirit. “Is that really what you think you are?”
“Yes,” said Hel.
“Because I've met them,” it continued, “And you seem to me more like three pawns, each playing the others. Consider. For you this is a personal vendetta. You are seeking vengeance and vindication. For the mage it is all about power. He has seen an opportunity and is seizing it. The woman has power already, and no personality, so whatever her esoteric intentions are, you can be sure they are different again. For the moment, it is a matter of convenience that you are all facing the same way, but that doesn't make you the same. You're not allies; you're enemies walking to the battlefield together.” He finished with a wry smile to Hel. The alchemist met his gaze with a defiant glare.
“Even so, I'll wait.”
The spectre continued to stare into Hel's eyes for a long moment, then:
“Goodbye, Hel Vukanos.”
It vanished.
“Well, that was annoying,” muttered Hel.
Tatula was gone. Searching amid the metres high corn stalks was hardly easy, but Darken was sure he had covered all the ground that flare could have come from. He'd made his way to the edge of the field, and followed the periphery. It was slightly banked, and he could peer across the wavering plant heads, but he couldn't see any sign of her. What had she even been doing over here? Hel's concerns began to resurface in his ears as he continued his search. He had to find her; they couldn't complete the cleansing without the bones she'd been carrying. When he got to the field gate he stopped and leaned against it a moment to think. That's when he noticed the cold.
“Damn,” he cursed, and readied himself. Currents of power began flowing to his hand. He focussed on their warmth as the air began to chill. Something was coming. He waited.
A bulky figure emerged from the corn. It was dressed in armour of white steel. Armour of a kind Darken hadn't seen in many, many years. A chill rose from the pit of his stomach. His legs locked involuntarily. He conjured a glowing orb. The figure raised an arm and removed its helmet. It shook out long, black hair. Darken frowned.
“You?”
The figure tutted.
“No, silly,” said Tatula, and changed.
Now she... It... Was a mirror image of Darken. The armour mockingly replaced with Tatula's velvet dress.
“That's just unflattering,” said Darken, and hurled the fireball. It streaked a glowing trail through the air... And passed straight through the apparition, striking the fencepost and setting it alight. Darken paused. “Well that's new.”
The figure changed again, becoming a man, aloof and smiling wanly.
“I'm afraid that isn't going to work,” he said.
Darken's eyes flared, apprehensive and angered. His fingers still flexed, and he unwove threads of magic as the thing bore down on him. The cold began mounting, a pain washing over his head, unpleasantly like drowning. The figure was mere metres away. Darken projected the null sphere. This had better luck. In the magical spectra Darken saw the thing collide with the apparition and dissipate into it, the being's body stunned and rippling in the air for several seconds. Then the waves of negativity rippled out, and it began its advance again.
“Yes, well done, that's much better. Of course it took you about twice the time it cost me to weave it, so...”
Darken wasn't listening. A hissing like ice water was running around his head. His limbs were becoming heavy. He feared he might black out. He had to find a solution. He could contain this thing if he could just regain his faculties, but first he had to break the thing's concentration, break its hold on the spell that held Darken in turn...
And it was in his mind. He couldn't deny that fact any more. It was in its mind and it was a more powerful telepath than any Darken had encountered. It was an area he was sorely weak in defences. But he couldn't panic. Focus. He had to find an answer. Physical phenomena were clearly out. Nullification worked. It was magical, then. Magical and close. Not enough time, not enough time. He had to think faster. Ok, conduct a test, buy some time...
Darken projected a spirit wall at full force across the scant feet between them. It was a spell for ghosts, an impassable barrier to contain them. Usually they were static. This one wasn't.
The being sailed backward into the corn as if seized from behind, the excess of power Darken expended manifesting as velocity. The mage caught his breath. Good. It could be deflected. Halfway there. Now think. Finish the plan. He must have an out. He just had to find it. He had moments. Already he could see the stalks parting, feel the cold seeping back. And the whispering was rising from the recesses of his mind. Then the thoughts came in a tumble. It was in his head! Maybe that was the key. Maybe he wasn't being bound or paralysed at all. Maybe had just been made to think he was.
With an enormous convulsion, Darken's limbs came free. He made an involuntary noise and staggered backward, but kept his balance and tore a vial of oil from his shirt, which he crushed in his hand before holding it palm outwards toward the apparition, once more metres away..
“That was actually quite impressive,” remarked the thing. “That won't help, though.” It nodded at Darken's oily palm as it drew up mere feet from the mage. Darken was fast plunging into a freezing, black abyss. He pulled his mind together.
“Not to worry,” he said.
The force of the barrier spell nearly broke his wrist. It projected from his outstretched palm in a torrent, draining all of Darken's reserves. It catalysed the sacristy oil and grew ever more potent. The apparition was ripped from Darken's presence so fast he almost seemed to vanish on the spot. Darken didn't wait to see where he landed. He turned tail and ran. He had to finish this.
The inadvertently ignited fencepost had been engulfed by the fire. It spread along the timbers, trickling embers into the grass. Soon the crops went up. Darken crouched in the orange light, back to the thick sheaths of corn, staring across the clearing at the distant light of flames and smoke. The stalks rippled, and the spectre stepped out.
“Well, I'm sure that was exhausting,” it said. Darken rose and levelled the crossbow. “Oh,” said the spectre. “Oh dear. The panic's getting to you. That won't pierce me, remember?”
“I know,” said Darken. “But a triangle of cold iron will hold you bound.” He fired; the bolt passed harmlessly through the spectre, who looked mildly stunned, and earthed itself in the ground a few feet behind him. Two more bolts protruded from the earth to the right and left of Darken, where he'd staked them a moment before. For a moment the edges of the cage were traced by silver fire, then the prison became invisible. It was present though, that much was obvious from the look on the spectre's face. It gave a slow clap.
“Very good. Very good indeed. I walked into that one, quite literally. Of course it won't last forever, and you can't actually hurt me, so I'm not sure what you're planning to do exactly. Besides standing there with a smug grin on your face, anyway.”
“Let's talk,” said Darken.
He reinforced the trap with additional bindings. As he circled the spectre, Darken could see the lattice of spells holding it at the edge of his vision. A few small fires lit for light and warmth served also to feed the web with additional energies. At the far end of the field, his earlier fire had become an inferno, clawing at the sky. Concerning – Darken could do without drawing anything else's attention. For the time being at least, his troubles were contained. This bastard wasn't getting out. At present it was standing upright and aloof in the centre of the triangle. Darken wasn't fooled. It was weakening; it had taken on a hint of translucency, and it no longer seemed to possess any weight. Darken suspected that it was completely intangible in its natural state. He completed his circuit of the thing, and turned to face it.
“First question. Who are you?”
“Can't answer, I'm afraid. No name, you see.”
Darken flicked a finger at the lines of the trap, and for a moment arcs of blue light crackled around it and surged into the spectre. It flickered, furiously staying silent and still.
“Honestly,” it remarked when the punishment had passed, “I really haven't. To eschew all that I was is the very path that brought me here.”
Darken snarled.
“One more obtuse answer and I'll burn you out of existence. Tell me what you are.”
It shrugged.
“Oh, shade, shadow, spectre... Predatory nightstalker... Whatever you will. Merely an intellect that outlived its shell. If you require a classification then I suppose I would be undead, though I have personally always found more kinship with the maera and the fae. Creatures of will and magic, like me, not hobbling remnants of bone and sinew.”
Darken nodded. He flexed his fingers and conjured a dancing blue flame. An unspoken threat.
“Second question. What do you want?”
“A tall ship and a star to sail her by.”
Darken's hand snaked out more sharply this time. There was an audible crack and a flash that illuminated all the lines of the trap. The spectre rippled into transparency for a long moment, and a strange, strained gasp emanated from its place.
“Believe me when I say the nature of my desire would be alien to you.”
“I'm afraid I won't believe anything just because you asked me to.”
The spectre rolled its eyes.
“I wish for an eye to see and a hand to clutch. I wish for pain and pleasure carnal. I wish to walk among you and I wish to yield to the forces and have them yield unto me. I have attained the spirit realm. Now I wish to reclaim the physical.”
“You want a body. You could have just said so.”
“But no. What I want is so much more.”
Darken eyed the creature curiously.
“What for?”
“Pardon?”
“You left the physical world behind. Why do you want it back? What's here for you now that wasn't then? Or is this just regret? Have you realised your folly and now you want it undone?”
The spectre shook its head.
“As I said. You could not possibly understand. You can only see this world as a means. I see it as an ends.”
“And your means is someone else's corpse, perhaps? Maybe before it's stopped breathing?”
“Wrong again. Such methods are beyond me. Possession?” It tutted. “I'm not a demon, you know.”
Darken lashed the creature with magic again. Perhaps he didn't like the answer. Probably he just didn't like being called wrong. The spectre's form wavered for a long moment after the blast.
“Then why are you here?” growled the mage.
“Ah- Hm?” The spectre cocked its head.
“Why here. This town. Why now? What are you even doing?”
“My dear fellow, I thought that was understood. I'm here because you're here.”
Darken stopped short. He stared coldly at his smiling prisoner for a long long moment. Slowly, he raised a hand, and entwined a long thread of silver fire about it, never taking his eyes off the creature. Then his wrist flicked visciously, and the tongue of flame streamed out, binding itself to the spectre's heart. Darken narrowed his eyes and continued to pour his energies into the line, relentlessly torturing the creature. It began to jolt and flicker on the line, its form popping and breaking. An unearthly keening began to fill the air all around. Darken kept going.
“Next question,” he said, his voice icily level, hinting at a cold, false amiability. “Why us? For what reason, precisely, did you choose us to hunt down?”
The juddering, seizing spectre turned awkwardly to look back at him.
“Because you've been hunting us.”
“Who?”
“The passed on. The returned departed. The undead. You've been making a name for yourself.”
“Really?” said Darken. “That is interesting. Or, of course, you could be lying to lead me into some kind of trap.”
“I told you. I'm not a demon.”
“Then what? Have you come to warn me off?”
“Oh no,” the spectre held its face together long enough to give Darken a thin smile. “I have no warning for you. You'll get that in time. I just want to talk.”
“About?”
“You. You are... Of interest.”
“Explain.”
“I just want to know... Where you're going.”
“What?” Darken dropped the flame. The spectre's form slumped into itself, then floated back up, like a balloon with too little air. It shimmered and wavered in the air, perpetually hazy now.
“Where are you going? After tonight. Where next?”
“Going to follow me?”
“Absolutely not. After tonight I hope never to see you again.”
“Your cryptic bullshit is tiring me.”
“It shows. I'll let you be if you give me answer. You'll never hear from me again.”
“Can't answer, I'm afraid.” Darken mocked. “Haven't decided, you see?”
“That's what I thought,” said the spectre. “You don't know.”
“If you have a point, make it. I'll be glad to tear it apart.”
“Very well.” The spectre regained some of its composure. “My point is simply this: That you are directionless. You are putting one foot before the other but you don't look ahead to where the path is leading. That you don't know where this ends, or how you get there. Rebut me if I'm mistaken.”
Darken laughed.
“You came all the way out here just to waste my time with that nonsense?”
“If I'm wrong, just tell me. Just point to one thing, anything will do, that shows the slightest hint of direction. In all honesty, just tell me one thing, one thing that shows progress.”
Their eyes were locked now. Blithely, the spectre continued.
“Can you do it? Because you're making a lot of grand statements of intent. But I don't see any sign that you're following them through.”
The backlash was intense. Air ionised as Darken channelled a stream of raw, hateful energy into his inquisitor; arcs of static crackled back around him. The lines of the binding were seared into the earth. The ritual fires leapt ten feet, burning purple and blue. The keening became piercing and filled all of space. The spectre became a jagged, vibrating cloud of shapeless energy and then with a pulse it ceased to be. Darken dropped his arm. The air fell still again. The ritual fires returned to a crackle... And went out. Darken stared.
“No...” he moaned.
“That was stupid,” said a voice by his ear.
He passed out.
He couldn't see for the noise. His head had never contained a sound like it. It writhed around his skull and made his soul buzz. Something was in front of him, indistinct. It hurt to look at it. It was so loud, but he couldn't shut it out. His world was filled with voices, and none of them were human. One rose out of the spaces in the howling. It was searing white, and electric blue, it smelled of burned tin and it tasted of fury.
“I cannot touch you nor hurt your flesh, but I can speak. I have a thousand voices and I can fill your mind with truths that no structure of this world can house. I can scream endlessly in your thoughts, in the tongues of every creature you cannot know. I am ancient and immortal and alien, and you thought to imprison me. I am purity of mind, and I can destroy yours.”
The noise soared in volume, rising in peaks several leagues above him. It was louder than the world. It was eroding him. And then another voice spoke. It was musty and brittle, but guarded and swathed in wisdom.
“You are nothing, and you will do nothing, or be destroyed.”
With a freezing rush, the noise withdrew. Blackness remained, and Darken sunk into oblivion.
When he awoke, Tatula was crouching over him. Hel hovered behind her. The lich traced two fingers along his cheek, watching his face impassively. Darken had just enough sensation to feel the crackling cushion of mana between her skin and his. Hel poked him with a stick.
“Try that again, and you'll be trying to grip plasma,” croaked Darken with forced humour.
“You're alive then,” nodded Hel. “That's something, I suppose.”
Darken gave an empty grin, although it was immediately ruptured by a coughing fit. Tatula sat back. She gave a satisfied nod as the mage rolled onto his side, hacking and whooping.
“Done.”
“Brilliant,” said Hel. “You've saved him from pneumonia by choking him to death.”
As Darken fought to draw a breath, he became aware that the sudden vigorous wretching had broken a sweat on his brow. He felt warmth. Not magical warmth, but genuine, bodily, physical warmth. A river of relief washed through his limbs, and he felt a hideous tension he'd not even been aware of releasing him. He pushed himself to a sitting position.
“Thank Javra and Jadra,” he muttered.
“Or you could thank us,” suggested Hel. “Y'know, being the ones who saved you and all.”
Darken gave him a nod. Then he rubbed his face and straightened up.
“What was it?” he asked Tatula.
“A spectre,” said the lich. “Or shadow.”
“Yeah... I got that much out of it.”
“I think it was undead,” Hel offered. “Although not like we've ever seen.”
Tatula nodded.
“Yes. It is unlife, but not as you know it. It is the furthest from its home.”
Darken frowned.
“She means it's the most free from the material world,” Hel put in. “Spectres have almost completely eschewed their bonds. Gives them some pretty crazy powers that you don't normally see in undead.” Darken looked at him. He gave an explanatory nod at Tatula, who wasn't looking. “I already did this dance to save you the trouble.”
“I did not see him dance,” said Tatula.
“That's fine,” said Darken. “I'd rather he not.” He gave another bland smile. Hel found it strangely disturbing.
Darken stood and began to gather up his pack and crossbow. Hel shouldered his own bundle, then took the weapon from Darken, whose strength was clearly not returned. Darken didn't resist.
“So, what I don't understand,” Hel said, “is, why did he leave me alone?” He looked at the others thoughtfully. Darken shrugged. Tatula said nothing. “Scintillating feedback as always,” said Hel. He glanced up at the raging wall of flame that had by now progressed halfway across the field. “C'mon, let's get out of here.”
The next day they left town, before anyone could ask them awkward questions about cornfields mysteriously burning down in the night. Darken and Hel packed their bedrolls quickly, and met outside the little coachhouse. Tatula was still inside.
“Where is she?” tutted Hel, pacing. Darken sat on the fence.
“Collecting something,” he said.
“Something...?” asked Hel, expectantly. Darken was staring at the forget-me-nots in the grass. “Liiiike?”
“Didn't say.”
“Of course she didn't.”
They waited. The sun rose a few inches. Hel shifted the weight of his pack. Darken just sat.
“So,” said the spectre. “You've come to collect on our debt, I take it?” Tatula nodded. “At last...” For a moment the spectre's eyes looked hungry, and his mask wavered.
“You exceeded your mandate,” said the lich.
“There would have been no permanent harm.”
“It was enough. It was beyond it.”
“But did you observe? He didn't cry out. Even then. I was listening to him, to his thoughts. He thought about his pain, and he thought about his death. But no part of him cried out. Not for one moment did he expect you to aid him.”
“He will.”
“If you can be so sure.”
“I can.”
The spectre shrugged.
“It is no matter to me. The confident one has doubt and the doubtful one has confidence. That was your request. I'm done.”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause. The lich stared blankly into the wall. The spectre stared blankly into the lich.
“If I might offer an opinion, this pair is passable at best. Surely a woman of your repute could acquire a couple better equipped for-”
“That will be all,” said Tatula, firmly. The spirit nodded. It was time for it to go.
“I consider my pact with you fulfilled and claim my recompense,” it said in a flat rote tone.
Tatula cupped a skull on her dressing table by its cranium and lifted it from a circle of salt. She passed it to the spectre, who took it gently, but forcefully. Strangely, it did not slip through his fingers. When Tatula let go, he gave a polite nod, stepped back, and disappeared; the skull left with him.
As the three of them strode past the waymarker outside the village, Hel turned to the others.
“So!” he said brightly. “Where to next?”
“I don't know,” said Darken, quietly.
