Shaper Shadow - Part 2

The northern side of the Greybacks were a series of bleak mountain tops that sloped into verdant mountainsides and hills. There were springs and summer runoff from the pale frigid peaks that flowed down the slopes in helter skelter streams, cutting deep troughs in places, and wearing others flat. Somewhere to the north, within the green expanse that stretched as far as the horizon, the ShadeWalk, the mountain streams became the torrent known as the north Vardan river. It was the same current that carried water down the continent, between the Magnatium and the Society only ever parting to create the no man's land of Efrim's bluff. The river island where Melanie had lost her freedom at the hands of a Tetherlain and group of soldiers.

Erent looked At the man he'd saved. His skin was pale, almost translucent from the indeterminate amount of time he'd been locked away from the sun. He was literally skin and bones. His eyes were glossy, red, and full of disbelief. And Erent didn't know if he should trust the man, or respect the unsettling feeling that had nagged him since their journey through the mountain. For now all he could do was carry Melanie, and watch as the man as he was reveling in the morning light - his arms extended to their full reach, palms and face pointed to the sky. He sucked in the fresh air in huge chest heaving breaths, like the roots of a desert plant absorbing a rare rain. He seemed peaceful in this moment, happy. He faced Erent and spoke, "Thank you! I never thought I'd see the day again." His eyes were misty.

"Uh-" Erent looked at Melanie's limp body, everything else felt so far away. He should feel good for freeing a man, but how could he with- "You're welcome."

He began carving a path toward a nearby cliff of naked granite that jutted from the earth at a ninety degree angle. It seemed an impossibility, but it would be the perfect place to lay her to rest. As he approached it he urged the earth to shift once more, again forming stairs at his feet that led up to the formation, eliminating much of the ardor that the mountain slope would likely have provided. Melanie's body seemed to grow heavier with each step, until he was seriously worried that he might drop her and send her tumbling into the trees. It got to the point where, once at the top step, he actually couldn't lift his feet. And it wasn't until several minutes later that he forced himself to take the final step. His legs nearly buckled and he stumbled toward the outer center of the cliff. A waist high dais formed at the last second, and he stopped, banging his knees on it.

Gingerly, he laid her body upon the stone. He slid his arms from beneath her and touched her face and stroked her hair. It was knotted and tangled. There were still light lines on her cheeks where her tears had washed the dirt and filth free as they'd rolled down her face and revealed the flesh beneath. "I made it," his whisper cracked, "I came."

Somewhere behind him were footsteps. They stopped a short distance from the dais. "Who was she?" It was the skeleton man. He sounded genuinely curious, and concerned.

Erent didn't have anything to say. He looked at the man, almost screamed at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. Then opened it again, "I need to get wood." And with that he left the cliff.

It was mid morning. He'd spend until dusk hauling armfuls of wood from the mountainside forest to the dais.

Deacon lingered on the cliff for a moment. The stone had been sitting in the sun, and was warm against his soles. He looked down at his feet. His toenails were long and dirty. His fingernails weren’t any better, they were like claws. He reached up to touch his face, and tugged on the beard that had grown there. His hair was long too and hung to his shoulders. He starting chewing on the fingernail on his index finger and used the steps the shaper had made to get down to the forest.

He a took a few steps into the dense foliage growing at the tree line. There was the rush of flapping wings, and he looked in time to see a crimson and black robin fleeing his presence. He landed on a tree limb just beyond his reach and turned its head to look at him quizzically. It gave several small hops on the branch and continued to investigate him with its beady black orbs. Something about the bird made Deacon very happy,  and he couldn’t help smiling at the creature.

It flew up higher and he looked back to the earth. He fell to his knees the instant his eyes rested on the spot the robin had alighted from. A large blueberry bush lay before him. He began greedily tearing the dark powdery orbs from the plant’s branches and stuffing handfuls into his mouth. They were bitter, but they were also the best thing he’d ever tasted. His stomach gave a heavy rumble the instant the first berry found its way down. It was a thank you, he thought, after so long without food. He ate most of the bush’s fruit in a matter of minutes, and climbed to his feet with a satisfied smile. He sucked the little bit of blue juice off his fingertips, and let his right hand rest on his abdomen. It ached. But it was a satisfied kind of ache. He’d have to eat small amounts, frequently before he’d be functioning at proper capacity and rebuilding his strength.

The robin flew back down to the bush after Deacon backed away from it. It let out a cheery “Hip! Hip! Hip!”, and made its way to one of the remaining berries. Deacon watched it for a little while longer before wandering away.

The sound of rushing water echoed up from the steep ravine the ran under and from the cliff. He grabbed hold of a sapling growing on the edge of the extremely graded land and leaned out into the air. He could see the water flowing over naked stone and sand at the bottom. He turned his head to the right and saw a narrow short waterfall raining over a jut of stone into the stream below. Before he realized what he was doing, he was reaching from tree trunk to tree trunk, swinging his grip and weight, between the skinny, though surprisingly resilient trees. He steadied himself by keeping his feet against the side of the mountain. In short order he’d made it to the bottom. He approached the water with a little too much haste, the tree he’d grabbed hold of was dead. It broke, causing him to lose his balance and the loose soil and plant debris carried his feet out from under him. He scrambled for something to hold onto, but the ground gave no purchase and came loose in his grasping hands. He couldn’t stop himself from sliding ass first into the chill of the shallow water. He hollered in surprise, but quickly grew accustomed to the temperature and began to revel in the water as it flowed around him.

Righting himself into a sitting position he cupped his hands together under the water and scooped some to his face. Most of it ran through his beard, but the little bit that actually made its way into his mouth and down his gullet had to provide one of the most pleasurable experiences he’d ever had.

It was only a moment before he worked his way up the ravine to the fall of water at the beginning of the ravine. He stood directly beneath the flow. He could see dirt and grime running down his arms and chest and legs. It splashed against his scalp which he massaged with fingers in an effort to get the dirt, oil, and dried sweat loose. At one point he closed his eyes and looked up into the fall with an open mouth. The cold water caused his teeth to hurt, but it was worth it.

He was there for a while, scrubbing himself and his rags clean. It was too soon to tell, but he felt like the water carried more away than the grime he was covered in. It felt as if the despair, and hopelessness, and darkness of the cell and its memories were also flowing down stream, leaving him indefinitely.

It was a new day, and the fear and trepidation he’d had about facing it in the tunnel abandoned him now. This was a second chance. A time to begin anew, and make a life for himself.

What will you do? Nithil spoke for the first time since they’d exited the dungeon an hour before.

“I want to help that man if I can. And then I’ll return to the plantation.”

Out of prison and back to being a slave again? The Rider sounded disappointed. I guess the first twenty two years weren’t enough for -

“I’m going to free Rosalyn.”

Now that sounds like fun.

Deacon tracked down the stream a ways until he found a bit of exposed stone to pull himself up onto. He sat on it and looked into the moving water. The surface was flat here and he could see the sun and the trees reflecting above him. He could see himself too, until suddenly he was looking at Nithil. A shadow with snaking tendrils of hair that had a life of its own and flowed around his head, and bright white orbs for eyes.

He kicked his feet to disturb the image and sensed a smile from Nithil.

“And I want to find my brother.”