Shadows
Chapter Eleven: Words of Wisdom

Keliashyrr had spent the morning making the most her freedom. After recovering from her cartwheeling tumble she had decided to be a bit more controlled – but even then, she wasn’t letting potential dangers hold her back from having fun. She’d tried climbing a tree, only to find she wasn’t very good at getting back down. She’d run up hills just to roll back down them. For a good hour she’d just ran around and thrown herself about, giggling and shouting to herself in a mad glee. Currently she was chasing rabbits. She had found they were faster than she expected, and quite clever too. At the moment she was sneaking up on one from behind, taking exaggerated tip-toes and struggling not to laugh.

She took another step closer, watching the rabbit’s body rise and fall with each breath, its ears pricked up and alert. Keliashyrr had no idea what she wanted to do with the rabbit once she’d caught it, but that was a thought for later. She stretched out her left foot and gingerly placed it down, carefully avoiding a dry twig. She was so close now…

“Keliashyrr?” spoke a commanding voice inside her head. She yelped with shock and the rabbit turned tail and fled, hopping away at speed across the grass. Keliashyrr recovered herself and ignored the voice, chasing futilely after the rabbit, which leapt behind an old tree stump and disappeared out of sight.

“Oh, why’d you have to do that?” She sulked. “I was so close to catching one too, do you know how difficult that is?”

“Keliashyrr,” spoke the voice again, “It is not for you to be chasing rabbits. There are matters of much greater importance that require your attention.”

“Yes, yes, do you think I don’t know that, father?” Keliashyrr pouted, plonking herself down on the tree stump. “It’s not like I’ve heard you say so for an eternity whilst I was sleeping…”

“That is because this is important!” said the voice of Ambriel, planted inside Keliashyrr’s head many years ago. It spoke sternly, but not without love. “You must understand my daughter, I placed this shade of myself within you to guide you, to teach you who you are and where you come from. You, my beloved daughter, are quite possibly the last of the Olossa. The world may still be hostile to our kind, and you need to be careful. The true me is likely dead by now, but it is the duty of this magical shade to keep you safe; keep you from a similar fate.”

“Father,” sighed Keliashyrr, “I know. I’ve heard you saying these words for as long as I can remember, cooped up in that cave, asleep forever. Can you not let me have one day to enjoy being alive properly for the first time?”

“I know you must be restless my child, but if you truly wish to avoid being asleep forever you must heed my advice. My spells may have kept you alive and protected until now, but now it is up to you. The spells were meant to break when the world was once again safe to return to. Even so, we cannot be frivolous. The world is full of inherent dangers and there are many ways you could come to harm even if the humans are no longer around. Even if the humans are alive but have forgotten us that does not mean they won’t try to harm you.”

Keliashyrr groaned and tried to block out her father’s voice as it gave her the lecture she had heard thousands of times in her dreams. Unfortunately, blocking out a voice inside one’s own head proved a lot more difficult than she may have hoped.

“Will you please leave me be?! I appreciate your concern father, but I can handle myself.”

“Oh you can, can you? Like how you handled yourself when you flipped yourself into that tree? That was astoundingly reckless behaviour; I cannot believe you did that! I did not risk my life to keep you safe all these years just for you to throw it away so carelessly!”

“Oh, and marrying mother wasn’t ‘astoundingly reckless’ too then?!” Keliashyrr spat back, angered by the impingement on her freedom.

There was a deafening pause, and for a moment her head felt very empty. Eventually, Ambriel’s voice returned.

“It was.” If a disembodied voice could sigh, it did. “But you know why I did it, and I would do it again in a heartbeat if I had the time again. You are unique, my daughter.”

“I know, I know,” nodded Keliashyrr solemnly, “I’m a child of two worlds, for which I should be grateful…”

“That is not what I meant,” whispered Ambriel, “though that is also true. What I meant is that you are the only you there is. In all of creation there has never been another you, nor will there ever be again. You, my dear child, are the most precious being there is in the world. I do not mean to infringe on your fun and your freedom to remove it from you, but to ensure you may experience it again tomorrow, and the day after that, hopefully for many years to come.

“It is all very well chasing after rabbits for fun, but think, Keliashyrr – when did you last eat?”

Keliashyrr felt the hunger more than thought it, and realised she hadn’t eaten anything all morning. Or, for that matter, for any of the years she had spent in hibernation in the cave.

“Ah.” She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, father. How then should I go about finding food?”

“Not too dissimilarly to what you were already doing to be honest. And we need to find you some clothes…”

The journey from Velayne to Alderbay took about three or four days in total, Robert had explained to Angie. Seeing as they had already got as far as Shepsmoot, he added, it should only be another two or three days now. From Shepsmoot their journey along the western road would take them along the coast and up towards Clifftop, the rather unimaginatively named village that perched on top of the equally unimaginatively named Chalk Cliffs. Still though, thought Robert, unimaginative naming was no bad thing. There was a creature he’d read about in one of his books called the Deathspitting Howlerback, perfectly harmless birds that had been hunted to extinction because grand lords thought having one of their pelts on your wall was a great sign of your prowess as a hunter. [19]

Angie had seemed to have calmed down a bit from earlier, though Robert was still wary that she might try to hit him again. As she spoke about the various troublesome people she’d had to treat and attend to in the past Robert realised that this was probably the longest interaction with one person, other than Mr Colywick of course, that he had ever had. Of course, he had had multiple conversations with Miss String the school teacher as well, but they had only ever been brief, as Miss String always seemed to be in a hurry to leave after Robert had asked her his fourth or fifth question about one of her lessons. Yesterday’s time at the Summer Festival with Rosemary had been nice too, though there hadn’t actually been that much talking, mostly just awkward looks and smiles now and again. Rosemary had occasionally commented on a nice piece of jewellery, Robert had explained the history of silver smithing, and they’d both had a lovely time. Up until the incident with Jacob Oxbrow, that was. Robert was grateful Rosemary had stepped in to help. He became sad at this thought, as he knew he would never be able to return to Velayne and so never see her again. Maybe that was for the best for her though, thought Robert. Most people who tended to get even remotely close to him often found it was more trouble to know him than it was worth.

This girl Angie however, thought Robert, seemed to be going through enough trouble before he got involved.

“Forgive me,” said Robert once Angie had finished telling him the tale of a difficult leg amputation, “B-but I never asked you what you were doing in Shepsmoot.” The girl bit her lip and paused for a minute.

“That’s a… long story.”

“That’s what you said about your limp. A-are they related?”

“Well, yes.” S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

There was silence in the wagon again. Robert couldn’t tell if Angie was working up the courage to tell the story, or if she had let her mind slip to think about something else. There was a faraway look in her eyes, which were rather captivating thought Robert, as he looked at them properly for the first time. All of a sudden they flared alert again and Robert hastily looked away.

“Sorry about that. I was… thinking.” said Angie.

“About what?”

“About…” Angie leaned towards him conspiratorially. “Look, you’re not to laugh when I tell you this, okay? Or try and tell me it’s not possible, or anything like that, got it?”

“I don’t q-quite follow you, but okay,” nodded Robert.

“I mean, you’re the one who told me about it in the first place, so if you don’t believe me then no-one will, will they?”

“S-still not following you, b-but if it’s something I’ve told you I should agree with it, yes.”

“That’ll have to do,” Angie sighed. “Look, Rob – the reason I had to leave Velayne-”

“My name’s Robert.”

“Yes, I know that,” Angie replied curtly, and Robert thought she was starting to look a bit annoyed again. He couldn’t tell why, he hadn’t said anything wrong or rude. Maybe interrupting her had been rude, though? Not paying attention would be rude, a thought chipped in, and Robert turned his focus back to Angie.

“We went over the whole Robert/Rob thing at Mrs Gable’s, don’t you remember? I know your name is Robert, but I was just saying ‘Rob’ for ease.”

“I like Robert though.”

“Well,” Angie began but then she bit her lip again. “I guess I can appreciate that. I do prefer to be called Angie after all.”

“I remembered,” nodded Robert. “I have been thinking of you as Angie, I h-hope you’ll be pleased to know.” Quite on the contrary, the girl’s brow seemed to furrow.

“What have you been thinking about me?”

“Oh, n-no, I meant that when I think of you as a person, I t-think of you as Angie, not as… anyone else… if you understand me?”

“Whatever,” dismissed Angie, waving a hand in front of her and pinching the bridge of her nose. “That doesn’t really matter. What matters is what happened. I know why you’re running away from Velayne, so you might as well know why I am too. I’m running away from… and don’t forget you told me about this, okay? …The Skadirr.”

“A Skadirr? But they haven’t been around for-”

“No!” interrupted Angie, holding up a finger and pointing it at Robert. “I told you not to try and disagree with me. I know what I saw, and I saw the Skadirr!”

“How d-did you know it was a Skadirr?” asked Robert. Angie faltered briefly, as if this was not the reply she had expected.

“Well, it um… I suppose… it fitted the description you told me perfectly.”

“A hooded, cloaked figure of shadow?”

“Yes.”

“Ethereal in form?”

“What does that actually mean?”

“Ethereal means delicate or light. Or heavenly/spiritual; not of this world.” [20]

“I guess. Certainly not heavenly, though.”

“Moves through shadows?”

“Yes. Though it seemed to do a decent enough job of surviving fire, too.”

“Fire should have harmed its essence, though. I shouldn’t t-think fire would have done it a world of good. Not that it actually exists, that is,” added Robert. He liked the company of Angie, despite her earlier assault on him, but facts were facts. The Skadirr had been a race of shadowy assassins hundreds to thousands of years ago, but there was no way one could be alive today. If a Skadirr could be classed as alive, of course.

“Look, Robert,” stated Angie, “I know what I saw and I know a Skadirr is out there and coming for me. You can either help me with that or you can shut up.”

“S-say I believed you,” began Robert hesitantly. He was not used to believing in things that were not possible, but was doing his best to be polite. “Why would a Skadirr be coming for you?”

Angie paused again, and seemed to be fiddling absent-mindedly with a pouch on her belt.

“Well, I – a friend of mine, actually – found this.” She reached into the pouch and held in her hands a small wooden box.

“A... box?”

“It’s what’s in the box that’s important.” Murmured Angie.

“What’s in the box?”

“Something magical, I think. And powerful.”

“May I see it?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. It has a way of getting inside people’s heads. When I saw it it… spoke to me. Tried to get me to touch it. But you can’t touch it, understand? Otherwise I’ve heard you disappear in flames – whoosh.” Angie gestured. “Besides, I um… don’t have the key for the box.”

“You don’t have the key?”

“Well, no. Look, I had to get myself out and I managed to save Polo, didn’t I?” Angie exclaimed.

“I-I’m not criticising you!” Robert hastily replied, seeing the defensive fire spark in Angie’s eyes.

“Whoever wants it is capable of just breaking the box open, I’m sure!”

“I-I’m sure,” agreed Robert. “Who does want it?”

There was a pause. When Angie spoke again the fire was gone and she sounded much more unsure again.

“Someone in the capital. I don’t know who… My friend didn’t get a chance to say.”

“Why not?” Robert asked innocently. Angie withdrew into herself at this and for the first time Robert saw Angie properly. Her anger and passion had made her appear much larger and fiercer than she actually was, and without it she was actually quite small and delicate. Her clothes seemed two sizes too big for her and her boots were even larger, secured on her feet by several pairs of large socks. She had crossed her arms across her knees, and Polo was nuzzling against her tenderly.

“A-Angie?” He asked again, but the girl didn’t respond. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to touch a nerve. I have a habit of annoying people.”

“No,” croaked Angie, “it wasn’t your fault. But I don’t want to think about that now if that’s okay with you. I need to stay focused, stay angry, because if I don’t I…”

Robert gulped nervously. Interactions like this were not his strong point, and he knew it. Angie was obviously in need of comforting though, and unless Polo was about to pipe up with something helpful it was up to him. Bracing himself as if he was about to take a leap of faith, Robert licked his lips and opened his mouth.

“I t-think I know how you feel.”

Silence.

“I remember when Mr Colywick’s wife died. I d-don’t remember that much about her, I was young at the time. But I remember the look on Mr Colywick’s face when I asked him where she’d gone.”

Angie’s eyes slowly rose to watch him as he spoke, encouraging him to keep going.

“I d-didn’t understand at the time that she was, well… gone, gone.” Robert could feel the memories swelling inside him, but powered through. “And Mr Colywick took me to one side and tried to patiently explain what had happened, b-but I just didn’t understand him. H-how could someone be there one minute and gone the next? She had to come b-back some time, right? But no matter how many times Mr Colywick told me no, I just didn’t believe him. On and on I asked him, ‘When is she coming back?’, ‘Where is she now?’, on and on – I couldn’t understand it, I wouldn’t!”

Robert could feel Angie watching him intently as he paused for breath and wiped his glasses with shaking hands.

“It must have hurt him terribly, I understand that now. But he was patient. Not once did he raise his voice. To have received such love and patience from a man who n-needn’t have had anything to do with me… I didn’t show how g-grateful I was. Even at the end, I was stupid and now… I’ve lost him. He’s all alone, and it’s all my fault!”

Silence enveloped the two again, and even the rocking of the wagon and the baaing of the sheep in the fields they passed couldn’t penetrate the quiet.

“So… you can show emotion.” said Angie after a while. Robert realised his eyes were watering and it felt as though there was a lump in his throat. “Sorry, that was unnecessary. I think I know what you mean, Rob…ert. Thank you.”

Robert nodded in reply. He didn’t think there was anything more that needed saying, and even if there had been he couldn’t think of it.

“How long did it take you, the pair of you, to get over her?” Angie trailed off.

“I don’t think Mr Colywick has ever got over her. And I’m… well, I’m not ordinary.”

“What’s normal?” replied Angie. Robert paused at this and looked back up to look at the girl as she stared out the back of the wagon.

“P-pardon?”

“My friend… Verne.” The girl said the word with trepidation, as if in case she said the word too fast it would slip from her lips and fly away. “He was more like my father, really. He was a sailor. And he, um… he travelled a lot. Saw a lot of places; a lot of people. And, well, when I was younger I didn’t think I was normal,” Angie continued, briefly shooting Robert a look as if to dare him to comment. “All the girls I knew wanted to spend their days lounging around making themselves look pretty, talk about boys; tales from the capital and far off lands. Their mothers would always be telling them to get their heads out of the clouds and get on with life. ‘No man will want to marry a girl who can’t cook, or clean, or carry two sheep under her arms at once.’ That last one was said by Old Nanny Trott, bless her.

“But I agreed. I found I had a lot more in common with the adults than girls my age. The boys were a bit intimidated by me, I think, I didn’t really care. None of them knew what to say to me and I didn’t know what to say to them, so why bother? All I wanted to do was get my head down and get on with my work, earn respect for myself and, I don’t know, find my way under my own steam. I’ve no idea what I would have ended up doing if I’d stayed in Velayne, to be honest with you. Keep working until I couldn’t work any more?”

Angie rested her head in her hands and gazed out across the fields trailing behind them for a moment. Robert watched with interest. If he was being honest with himself he had no idea what he would have ended up doing if he’d stayed in Velayne. He had been perfectly happy working with Mr Colywick in his bookshop, and hadn’t really wanted that situation to change. It would have had to at some point, he knew, but he’d never really wanted to think about what happened after Mr Colywick was gone.

“But I’m getting off track,” Angie blinked, looking back towards Robert. “One time when Verne was back in Velayne to visit and restock, I asked him: ‘Verne, I’m not normal, am I?’ and he’d turned to me and said:

’What’s normal, Ange? What makes someone normal? Is it having two arms and two legs? I met a man out east with none of either, but I liked him, he was nice. Is it being nice; being sociable what makes a man normal then? Perhaps, but what is ‘nice’ at the end of the day anyway? If we get pirates who are trying to steal our cargo, are they not nice; not normal?’

“I’d nodded, then. I had a book on pirates that Verne had brought me back once and the descriptions of what they got up to were quite grizzly. But then Verne had continued:

‘But what if those pirates are only stealing from us to feed their hungry children, is that not a nice thing to do, trying to feed children?’

“I’d nodded again, and asked why the children were hungry. Verne had chuckled slightly, then replied:

‘Say they can’t afford to buy food and pay taxes both. Who do you blame then, the baker for his prices or the lord for his taxes?’

“‘You always say the taxman is the devil, so him?’ I had innocently answered. Verne had laughed even harder then, and nodded in agreement.

‘True, true,’ he’d smiled, ‘but what if the taxes are only so high because there are pirates raiding merchant vessels, and the money is needed to pay for protection for those ships?’

“‘Then you blame the pirates’, I’d answered, but already I could see we’d come full circle. Verne had grinned at my understanding, albeit with a tinge of sadness I thought. ‘What does this have to do with me being normal or not?’ I’d eventually replied.

‘Was that what we were talking about?’ Verne smiled and shook his head. ‘Look Angie, at the end of the day it doesn’t matter what other people think. You’re as normal as you feel, and at the end of the day not being normal isn’t the worst thing in the world.’”

“So what is the worst thing in the world?” Robert asked, once Angie had finished her story.

“You know, that’s what I asked too,” Angie smirked. “Being sober, apparently!”

The two exchanged a brief smile. A gull cawed overhead as they began to hear the gentle wash of the sea against the cliffs below them, and for a moment the world didn’t seem too bad.

Keliashyrr focused on the tree trunk in front of her. Using a sharpened rock she’d carved a circle into the bark, and was trying her best to centre it in the middle of her vision.

“Focus, my child,” came the voice of Ambriel, “Breathe deep, and let your magic flow through you. Do not try and force it – the strength of your magic does not come from muscles, but from your breath, your internal energy; your spirit.”

“But how does it actually happen? Do I need to think what I need to do, or do specific hand movements, or say something? How do I produce a fireball?”

“Magic isn’t all waving your hands and spouting nonsense, Keliashyrr. And you don’t want to be producing any fireballs here; you’ll start a forest fire. Only practiced Olossa from the Fire Spire tend to use any fire magic, for starters you’d be much better trying to produce a simple magical arrow or bolt.”

“But that sounds boring! Am I not allowed to use fire magic then, given that I’m technically from the Air Spire like you, father?” sighed Keliashyrr. She’d been looking forward to conjuring fireballs.

“It’s not as simple as that,” replied Ambriel. “As you know, we Olossa generally dedicated ourselves to one of the five Spires – Earth, Water, Fire, Ether, and Air, the latter of which you and I belong to. There were some Olossa that didn’t claim one as their home and lived a nomadic existence between the Spires, often acting as messengers or merchants, but typically an Olossa would choose one group with which to live their lives. Sometimes an Olossa may leave one Spire to join another, such as when they married someone from a different Spire. Your grandmother Maelaan, for example – she was originally from the Fire Spire but came to the Air Spire when she married your grandfather. Sometimes an Olossa may just leave because they want to, like my sister…

“Magic is a deep subject encompassing many aspects, but in separating magic into the individual elements our civilisation hoped to gain a greater understanding of each individual aspect of it. Those who dedicated themselves to the Earth Spire, such as my old friend Varkun Ferrinus, explored the possibilities of earth related magic, and used it to shape the ground beneath our feet. They were largely responsible for the construction of many buildings throughout our civilisation – such as Ashhollow, the volcanic fortress of the Fire Spire, Duguntayrr, glittering underground citadel of the Earth Spire, and the cloud-piercing tower of the Air Spire, Vaylensyrr. I,” paused Ambriel, “… doubt they will still be around now. The humans would probably have destroyed them once we were gone.

“Members of the Water Spire, though they did have an underwater palace located off to the East resting on the border of the Aramina Trench, tended to have a fairly nomadic lifestyle. They would travel the oceans and waterways of the world using their magic, discovering new lands and new peoples. Which, inevitably, ended up being enslaved.

“The Fire Spire became a place for those who sought to learn the true destructive capabilities of our magic. It never used to be that way – when your grandmother was there she said it was home to those with passion; with fire in their blood and courage in their hearts. Fire magic is notoriously fickle and requires deep concentration to perform carefully as to avoid hurting yourself and others. Alas, when ‘the King’ took control he cared little for safety, and encouraged those who fed off rage and destruction. They became the enforcers of his will.

“Those who chose to join the Ether Spire were few and far between. Always slightly distant to the rest of our race, members of the Ether Spire sought a greater and deeper understanding of magic in its entirety. Where did it come from? How did it work? Like you asked earlier: how does magic actually happen? Alas I fear they never truly found the answers to their questions before the end. Or if they did, they didn’t share them.

“Conversely, the Air Spire – our family – strove to find the joy and freedom in magic. I know I chastise you for your wild and carefree behaviour, but if I am truthful it is that that encompasses the very centre of Air Spire culture. Oh, to feel oneself fly above the world, nothing but clouds beneath you and birds beside you – how I long for those days to return. Our love of freedom always clashed with the slavery we forced upon the humans. That is why we had to speak out against how our race treated them. And that is why we were punished.”

“Are you alright, father?” asked Keliashyrr, hearing Ambriel’s voice grow faint.

“Yes, yes. Sorry,” sighed Ambriel, “I only meant to give a brief description of the different Spires and their approaches to magic. Instead, I… well, never mind. Let’s get back to focusing on producing a magical arrow, hmm?”

“Alright.” Keliashyrr nodded, and she returned her focus to the target on the tree trunk.

“Breathe deep, reach far within, and…”

A silvery crimson arrow shot forth from the palm of Keliashyrr’s hand and embedded itself in the tree trunk with a thud. She gasped and laughed with delight, smiling at the arrow as it faded into nothingness, leaving behind a deep gouge. Keliashyrr examined her unaltered palm, running a finger across where the arrow had shot out from.

“Alright, maybe that wasn’t as boring as I said it would be…”

[19] The fact that the Deathspitting Howlerbacks had only been about the size of a small owl and their pelts were better suited to being fashioned into a single glove, perhaps, hadn’t mattered.

[20] There is also a chemistry related definition of ‘ethereal’, but even Robert could sense now was not an appropriate time to begin talking about it.

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