FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 5: In the Lair of Slumbering Shadow

Vacka, the Hand of the Dark, waited in a small stone hut. It was built into the side of a cliff and had only a narrow path running up to it. The climb was strenuous, and any beast who approached would have announced their presence to the hut's occupant by the long and loud nature of that hike. He could see anything or anyone at all that tried to enter.

Vacka's shelter was lit by neither torch or candle, nor any vessel of Flame, for fire was his Master's polar opposite. A small black light twinkled deceptively bright in a dish, radiating out along the craggy line of the stone walls. It looked like the surface of a lake, the faintest shimmer of waves upon it, the deepest pitch oddly illuminating.

His power was weak. Very weak. He knew it, doubted the townsfolk would figure it out, hoped desperately that they wouldn't. He wasn't sure he could fight them all if they banded together. For though Vacka knew the ways of forgotten magic, he had learned magic's hardest lesson. The only power beasts could conjure up came directly from the gods - and that meant he had no power of his own. His abilities were determined by the whim of the god of death he served, that great and nameless Slumbering Shadow. And that Slumbering Shadow could be very fickle.

He supposed what most people, himself included, called magic or sorcery was really a sort of working miracles. And was not the power to raise the dead a miracle? Vacka was not wrong in thinking of it this way. But the sorcerers had been driven out of the land. His former teacher, Karthat, had been last of their kind, a fledgling sorcerer. That beast's powers had been minor, rooted to the realms of reality. He'd been just about to discover the secret to real power. Killing Karthat had been an unfortunate necessity. Now, Vacka alone commanded the last powers of magic or miracle in any kingdom. And who would suspect someone like me? Vacka was by no means an imposing figure. He was young--very young, and physically quite small. He imposed his presence through the strength of his power, not the size of his frame.

The narrow path running up to his hut suddenly darkened. Two figures appeared to be at the bottom, wearily trudging up. Townsfolk? He wondered. I've not made my position here known. If these beasts know I'm here, I've been followed. A cloud in the sky began to open, testing the grounds with well-placed sprinklings, then opened completely in downpour. The two strangers scrambled for the path. Vacka frowned at them. I'm getting sloppy. Have to be more careful.

Vacka turned his eyes upon the small dish of glowing water. He let his vision focus and unfocus until he saw everything swimming before him. He was in an empty realm, standing on the edge of a cliff. There was no more rain, no more wind on his face. He knew his body was still in the hut, but his spirit had left the hut far behind.

Vacka dove.

The water seemed to rush up into his vision and he was diving into the surface of the flat lake. It drew him in, deeper and deeper till all was dark, and he could feel it around him, grabbing, pulling. In darkness he waited, floating ever down.

He hated this part. Any time he called upon his powers he needed to descend to this place and make the request directly of the Slumbering Shadow. The passage felt like the waiting of hours or weeks down through that dense black lake. He knew too that on the surface, in the land of the living, less than a blink of an eye would have passed. But to him, in the dark and quiet, time and the passage of time lost all meaning. It was a desperate price to pay for power.

When it shifted, finally, it came slowly. First the light appeared, deep beneath, and it was the same eerie glow that the dish had cast upon the hut walls. This time it was huge, and swimming up from below. Towards him, slowly, it creeped up and it expanded beneath him. He knew he didn't need to hold his breath and held it anyways.

A slick, subtle coolness came upon his hands. He would not open his eyes. And yet the glow came through the lids, pressing upon body and soul until at last he opened them. He was in a chamber. It was black as the grave, and all along the edges of its walls persisted the same glowing light that had enveloped him. There was no ceiling he could see.

Before him, lying prostrated upon a massive grey tomb, was the stretched and malformed body of a vast and hideous beast. It looked a wolf and yet like no wolf living, for it was more than twice its size and three times its length, and its hulking body looked bloody and raw. It was a patchwork of flesh and jutting bones, looking rather like a sculpture. As though enormous slabs of clay had been slung together and glazed and painted red and white and black. When it breathed it heaved all over and a mighty wind passed forward, unsettling clouds of dust from the tomb. The whole place thrummed with its heavy pulse. It was these signs of life that Vacka found most disturbing, for the vile thing looked dead.

Once, long ago, it had had a name, though no one knew it now. It had been a very real beast in those days, like Valenthi or that god's beloved Siljna. But here in this place between places it had been lost and forgotten. And Vacka had simply wandered in by accident that very first time, lost in his searching for greater powers than his. A greater power he'd found. As he looked up at the Slumbering Shadow now, he thought of his first encounter with it.

Still but a pup, the young Vacka trembled with the terrible weight of what he was about to do, of what he'd just done. His body he'd left behind in Skugga, the old sorcerer Karthat still bleeding in his chair where Vacka had slit his throat. It had been self-defense, he told himself. He knew Karthat had figured out the secrets of the old sorcerers, and he knew that the power of shadow with which Karthat meant to align himself involved a blood sacrifice. He knew, too, that Karthat had intended to use him as the subject of that sacrifice. The old fool had never suspected that he'd been reading his notes, never knew that he'd opened the way for his pupil. The blood of his throat wide open had granted him passage, and he'd chased the sorcerer's fleeing soul into the realm of darkness and followed him into the lake. Somewhere in the darkness he'd lost sight of Karthat's soul, but he'd flopped out into the Chamber of Death before the Slumbering Shadow, and it fixed him with its terrible gaze.

"So?" the thing rumbled. "A mortal has come again before me."

And these had been the first words it spoke to him, or anyone, in a thousand thousand years.

Vacka was terrified but resolute. He was too far into this lair now to back down, and had no choice but to hope his life might be spared. He stood where he was, silent and determined. And the nameless thing was amused.

"I am the dark," it said. "That which all beasts must face."

"There are some," Vacka said, trying his voice and finding courage, for it seemed he might not be killed right away, "Who call you the One who Blinds."

This was maybe true. The Order spoke of the One who Blinds as a being like the dead, and living in a land of darkness. It was the mortal enemy of every beast, for it sought to hide the light of the Flame, blinding them like non-believers.

"It is a good name," rumbled the thing, slumbering in the dark, "For it is a spark of the truth."

It lifted its hulking, skullish face, and it looked through him. Vacka spoke thus, confusion in his voice:

"What do you mean, a spark of truth?"

"There are more gods and powers in this world than you realize. My power comes from that other, the One Who Blinds. But it is no flesh and bone god like me. It is something greater and more terrible--a force more than a being."

"And where does this One live?"

"Within me," the Slumbering Shadow sat up on its haunches, feral in appearance. "So there is something of truth in your words. But I am not it, and it is not me. Nor is it quite so evil as you suspect."

"Then what are you?"

"Listen to me, mortal one. I was once one of the favored ones. Would you believe that? One of the favored ones, and once I guided souls. It was my task to look over the souls of the dead and guide them to the next life. But my own brethren looked down upon me, for while they knew the importance of my task they thought their own roles more important. Your people's worship of the other gods has not done their egos any favors."

"You are a god, then?" Vacka said. His breath was coming back to him. But then the thing rumbled again and it was all he could do to stay standing. The very walls shook with the weight of that groan.

"You are very flippant, to talk to a god like this. But so are all who have forgotten me. I wonder what I shall do with you."

"You said that all beasts must face you," Vacka said. "Do I not face you now? What happens to the others?"

"And by what happens to the others, you mean to know what must next happen to you."

The thing lifted itself up from where it had been lying and a terrible, heavy noise rose from it like the falling of rocks, echoing through the chamber. Vacka realized that it was laughing.

"All beasts must face me, but those who do are unlike you. They have not your form, your flesh. They come to me as pale whispers, fleeting in the dark, and sometimes they come very very slowly. Often upon finally confronting me they have found me too terrible to see. But see me they must. And some see me and pass forward into the light behind me, into the Twilit Forest. And some see me who I see back."

"What happens to them?" Vacka asked, withdrawing quietly further into his robes.

The great thing gave a huge, crooked smile.

"Those shades are devoured upon a bitter wind, and their bones fall to dust in the dark."

Vacka caught his breath again, for he knew now what he faced and where he was.

"You are Death," he said.

"No one knows my true name," it replied. "But there is a spark of truth in that name as well. It is as one syllable in a greater word."

It looked at him.

"Now I see a morsel of flesh before me, and to be devoured alive in this place between places is a terrible thing indeed. A worse fate for a mortal than for the ghost of a mortal. But a beast of flesh and bone cannot yet enter the twilit forest either. So, what are we to do about the situation?"

It regarded him with empty eye sockets, and he felt he was being mocked.

"Listen to me," said Vacka. He knew the weight of this conversation, and spoke carefully. If things were to go poorly, he could forget about leaving this place of darkness. Now he spoke with the deliberate slowness of caution. "You must be lonely down here. You must not have many friends."

"What would you know of friends, foolish mortal? What would you know of loneliness?"

It lowered itself from the tomb onto the tiled floors. Now it staggered towards him, lumbering through swirling clouds of black mist. It pushed its face against his, with its sick smell of rotting flesh, and it rumbled. The mighty trembling shook everything from floor to distant roof, and rattled every bone in Vacka's body. It reared up above him and spat its words below.

"I have lived by my lonesome a thousand thousand years, in this place between places. I have been companion to those gods whom you love and revere. I have known them! I have lived and died with them a thousand times only to be forgotten in the shadows. Do not speak to me of loneliness, mortal! Do not say that which you cannot take back."

It was angry, and it would build that anger up and up. It wouldn't let him leave. It wouldn't let him go. When Vacka spoke next it was with bitterness, not fear. Spite, not cowardice. He railed against this creature of darkness, would prove himself worthy of its time and attention. Worthy of life.

"I harbor no love for those gods," he said. "Nor reverence. You think I am like the others? You are wrong. A thousand thousand years have dulled your kind's wits and senses. You say the One Who Blinds lives within you? Consider whether it has pulled the veil over your own eyes. You know nothing of the real world! I know many who would swear their fealty to you. The love of the old gods has waned. There are those who would see the ways of the world change. You could be that changing. Do you understand me? Your loneliness would be over and your allegiances many. It could all be yours again. But if you face me down now and devour me, and end my mortal soul, you will never see the look of another friendly face. You will rot here for another thousand thousand years and a thousand thousand more, with nothing but the ghastly pale eyes of the souls fleeing past you into the woods."

Vacka knew he had its attention, for instead of opening its jaws and devouring him it turned and settled on its haunches.

"You've given me much to think on, mortal. Leave this place now, and I will return to you in some time."

He had woken from that place like a dream, and couldn't be sure any of it had really happened. But then, three nights later he was startled to discover that the Slumbering Shadow had taken residence in his dreams. It approached him and reared up, hind legs like trunks supporting a rotten weight.

"I will lend you my power," it said. "For you are a disciple worthy of that blessing."

But the blessing came with burden. Vacka hadn't realized then that he would have to make the journey into the dark every time. To perform even the simplest miracle, he had to shut his eyes and find that place between places. The way had been opened to him, and sacrifice was no longer necessary. But the journey he'd still have to make. And he would simply have to face that journey, the endless time sinking through those black waters. He would come face to face with that thing which was death and darkness and ending, that thing which wore death in its name.

He had time to remember and think all of these things as he confronted the Slumbering Shadow yet again. Time always was slippery down here, and moments passed like eons. He swamp up out of the black water and coughed, the breath of life entering him. This place of spirits was not meant for the living. He saw it in that Chamber of Death, and it saw him.

Now it came towards him again, walking on four limbs like a monster. The shuddering breaths stank like the dead. Vacka sank to both knees and covered his face.

"My lord," he said. "I come humbly to seek your aid."

"What have you need of now?" came the grumbling reply.

"Two strangers are approaching my stone hut. I would ask for eyes to see them, that I may know their intentions, and if I am safe in letting them approach."

"And if you are not safe?"

"I would ask the power of the dark that guides me, to grant me safety."

"Open your eyes, disciple, and see what you would see."

The powers of darkness came over Vacka. He felt that nameless god enter his soul, felt him slipping inside. His bones became its bones, and his blood became its blood, and he felt it all pushing its way in. It built up like another person inside of himself and the pressure felt it must explode. And then his eyes opened.

He saw the two strangers, unmoved from before. Time and the passage of time came again into being. He now saw them up close, as though he were before them. They wore simple cloaks, as of travelers, tied by belts around the waist. They bore no weapons, and had nothing but their hoods to protect from the rain. He could see them now as they scrabbled and fought for purchase on the loose, muddying soil. These beasts were not here to harm him.

He felt the powers of the dark shuffle off his frame and he felt immediately freed. It always happened this way, with an immediate feeling of relief and of wholeness. As though something had been fundamentally wrong with not just himself but the whole world, and now it had been restored. Somehow he felt if he turned around he'd see something discarded on the ground behind him, some remnant of the dark that had physically displaced itself. Like a snake sheds its skin, he thought. But there was never anything there.

"Master," said a voice.

Vacka looked up. The two strangers had reached the top of the path and were standing in his doorframe, ragged, panting. In the eerie glow of the hut, the two strangers could just barely make out the floating yellow eyes of their so-called Master, set deep into a wolf of deepest black. He watched them very closely without moving or blinking. They had the faces of the eager. The willing. They came inside and left the door open.

Vacka remained still, crouched in a web of moonlight.

They fell to their knees.

"Teach us, Oh Master! Teach us that we may learn the ways to work magic."

"You would learn the ways of the dead? The powers of the dark?"

His voice was very small by nature, but he made it big inside each word. He could not let these people hear any hint of his own fear in it.

"To you we would dedicate our lives," they said, "If you would teach us to be magicians like you."

"I tell you now that I cannot grant what you seek. There is no magic, nor has there ever been. Not in these kingdoms. Magic is for barbarians and outlanders in the Ternish deserts, and in the mountains along the Rim of the World. I serve the powers of the dark. The lord of the dead is my master, and my power is greater than any barbarian's magic. I work no spells, but miracles! Do you understand? Miracles of the dead and damned. And you, too, might learn to work these miracles. But first you would come face to face with that which is death and darkness and ending, that which wears death in its name. And to these powers you must pledge your fealty. Do you understand what I am saying to you?"

"Yes, Master," said the first disciple.

The second seemed less sure, and staggered to his feet.

"Master, I thank you for your consideration," he said. "I do not know that this is the life for me. This is not what I had it made out to be."

"Halt, foolish one," Vacka said. He reached out and willed himself forward. If that Slumbering Shadow had gone back to sleep he would have to seek it again and wake it. He prayed that it had not yet dozed, and his prayers were answered. The bones and blood of the old god became his again and he was suddenly standing on the other side of the disciple.

"You will not be leaving so soon," he said, grabbing hold of the beast. He pushed him to the floor inside the hut and closed the door.

"Come back inside."

"I think I'd really better go," he said. He scrabbled backward and pressed himself against the wall.

"No! You will stay," Vacka said. The powers of darkness were a slippery thing and he could not always control himself. He felt possessed by the old god, or perhaps the One Who Blinds, and could not check his actions. He lost vision and opened his eyes, falling back down into that tunnel of darkness. He could vaguely see himself, a blurry image of his body in the real world moving of its own accord. Vacka clung to the image. Though he felt incapable of controlling his actions, he would watch as long as he could.

He pushed the failed disciple to the floor.

The first disciple stepped aside, making no motion to help or to flee. He just stood and watched.

"One way or another, you will face the darkness tonight," Vacka said. "Both of you."

"Me?" the first disciple said. "I don't understand."

But before he could leave the little hut's door had slammed shut, and the power of darkness held it. Vacka groaned and then laughed with the weight of evil. His eyes had turned completely black and his robes began ruffling with a black wind. He reached into the fold of his sleeve and as he withdrew his hand a long black blade formed. It dripped with shadow and came to a tapering, needled point. The very air bled where it moved, the folds of the wind cut in two. Vacka looked at the two cowering beasts.

"It has been quite long since the dead had a sacrifice. Come now disciples. Learn the first lesson of death."

But Vacka saw none of what he did, or how it happened. He lost all control over his sense and slipped into the chasm inside his mind. The chamber was empty. He clambered wordlessly onto that tomb and stretched out across it like he'd seen done by the Slumbering Shadow. And there he waited, unknowing of the passage of time and oblivious to the true workings of the world.