Chapter Fourteen Dominic
Chapter Fourteen
Dominic
I don’t know where my fascination ends and my three shadows’ begins.
I don’t know why I obeyed Inana when she told me to wait, why I let her reach out to touch a Shade instead of swinging down my sword like I normally would when one has gotten too close.
I don’t know why a single tear trails from my eye in the wake of my Summoners’ art.
All I know is that I’m feeling again. Fear and awe and…
this strange fluttering hope that tightens my lungs as I watch the flying squirrels glide from tree to tree, testing out their new means of flight with palpable glee.
“They fucking did it,” Calvin says, climbing down to the bed from the driver’s seat.
“They did,” I say under my breath. I didn’t exactly doubt them, for they performed well in the clearing, adapting to the threat.
But this…this was something else. I’ve never faced a Shade composed of many shadows, and a fucking mythical creature at that.
I was prepared to end our first attempt with the swing of my sword and face it again the next night with an actual plan.
I don’t know if I should feel proud or terrified of my Summoners’ effectiveness. Or perhaps simply mesmerized by their talents—talents that would have enchanted the world five centuries ago but are now branded as sins, forcing them to express themselves only in the darkest and most dangerous—
I suck in a breath, realizing my emotions have gotten the better of me again.
My eyes move to Inana. What is it about being physically near her that does this to me?
I take a step away, then another, much to my shadows’ protests.
Even Pride has dropped his indifference, grumbling as I pull them away.
Sloth refuses to budge, staring up at Inana with canine adoration.
“Heel,” I whisper, and he reluctantly obeys.
Once all three have pooled back into me, I feel some relief from that overwhelming surge of emotion.
With a slow exhale, I run my thumb over the etched diagram at the base of my blade, smearing the blood until the flame extinguishes.
Perhaps it would be wiser to keep it burning in case other aggressive Shades are near, but it takes a lot of energy to hold the power of a god.
If I let it burn any longer, I’ll need more blood.
And I’ve never been one to waste what Calvin so generously provides.
Fatigue digs deep in my bones. I sheathe my sword and sit on the edge of the wagon bed, arms propped on my knees. It almost feels too quiet without Bard’s tune or Harlow’s rapid inking. Or Inana’s melodious voice.
Calvin crouches beside me, holding out his wrist. “Need a fresh bite?”
“You know the answer.” I level a dark look at him.
He knows I won’t take fresh blood unless I’m out of other options.
Storing small amounts in vials feels more like a medical procedure and less like the curse of what I am.
It may not be much, but it sets me apart from the Sinless who drink from their sources without restraint.
“Suit yourself.” He takes his wrist back and leans against the wall beside me.
We watch the three Summoners gathered on the opposite end of the wagon.
Harlow hugs her sketchbook to her chest, posture tense as she studies the shadow squirrels playing in the night.
Bard tilts his masked face to the sky, though it’s hard to tell if he’s watching the Shades or is lost in whatever dark memories he carries.
Then there’s Inana. She leans over the wagon wall, the beads dangling from her mask and swaying with her every move as she points at one flying squirrel that soars in a graceful arc from one bough to another.
“Almost makes Shades seem cute, huh?” Calvin says.
“Almost,” I say. “Until you remember what they really are.”
By the time we return to Thornfal, dawn has broken over the horizon.
Our news that we’ve defeated the dragon isn’t met with celebration.
It never is when I’ve dispatched a serious threat.
Because a serious threat means dead to mourn.
Furthermore, there’s always the chance the threat could return, in cases where a resident is responsible for attracting it.
The three nights following the de-escalation of a Shade attack are the most important, for that is the most likely window of time in which a Shade would regain its frenzied state and return, drawn to whoever attracted it, either by a repeat of their sin, or by their guilt over having been responsible.
The caveat is that the resident must be aware that they were the cause and feel guilty about it.
Regardless, a repeat attack never bodes well for the village, even when the perpetrator has been caught.
Even if a town was next in line to receive a Holy Brazier, having a known sinner discovered in their midst can set them back to zero in the eyes of King Kaelum.
Supplies like oil, wicks, and lamps will suddenly become unavailable to those villages.
The nearest churches will withhold their support in requesting aid from Shadowbanes.
Fear is a powerful motivator in garnering obedience. And there’s nothing more terrifying than seeing an entire village razed to the ground by Shades.
As the morning sun illuminates more of the damage done to Thornfal, the bodies being collected in the market square, the somber faces of those either busying themselves with cleaning or hunched in mourning, I can’t help but cast a prayer to the gods that this is the worst they’ll see.
Whether that’s more for the village’s benefit or mine—to assuage my guilt for having been late to my post—I know not.
But I’m about to find out whether I deserve blame or mercy.
“When did the dragon first appear?” I ask the mayor of Thornfal. My crew has been escorted to the inn, where rooms had already been prepared in anticipation of our arrival. As much as my body begs me to rest too, my duties aren’t yet done.
The mayor rubs his brow. He’s a middle-aged man with wire-rimmed spectacles, his nightshirt stained with soot and blood. “Last night.”
His answer surprises me. “Last night as in…nightfall twelve hours ago?”
“Approximately,” he says with an uneven nod.
I furrow my brow. I received the missive before then.
All the letter stated was that the situation at my post had escalated from a routine service to emergency status and that my post would be given to another Shadowbane if I didn’t promptly arrive.
Routine posts are regularly assigned at villages, whether they see nightly Shade activity or not, whereas emergency posts are assigned when there are active attacks on homes or people.
My post in Thornfal was meant to be a routine assignment, which is why I thought we had time to rest and train before arriving.
So was it merely a coincidence that the threat level escalated during my tardiness?
Or was my post mislabeled from the start?
“What was the reason for your plea to the church to alter the level of threat?” I ask. “What was the situation like before last night?”
“We’d seen an average amount of Shades,” he says, voice tired, “but nothing worth fretting about. Then, three days ago, their visits grew more active, with some scratching at doors or even entering dark rooms in houses. One of my citizens was attacked when their lamp went out, so I sent my plea to the church. We had no idea our situation would worsen so quickly.”
“Do you suspect anyone?” I hate this question. Hate the witch hunts it can inspire, just to shift the blame onto someone and cast the accuser in a holy light. But the mayor seems an honest man.
“No, Thornfal’s residents are pious. We beg for mercy when we sin, and we cast out the unrepentant.”
My eye twitches at this. He’s perhaps too honest.
“Still, we receive our share of travelers. We can’t vouch for those who aren’t our own.”
“No one reported suspicious activity when the first deadly attack occurred?”
“No, there was nothing.”
I nod, letting myself be satisfied with that.
He returns to his efforts helping the villagers clean up the market square, sweeping up soot and debris and scrubbing blood from cobblestones.
My eyes snag on a deep gash carved into one of the stone houses.
The Shade may have been calmed and encouraged to shift into harmless flying squirrels, but there’s no forgetting what it was.
What it did. The damage it caused. The people it killed.
And there’s no pretending the dozen Shades took that singular shape of their own accord. Only an artist could have tempted them to become a dragon.
The next three nights will tell whether said artist is still in our midst.