The Arkanist

Chapter Eight: The Face of Shadow

Chapter Eight: The Face of Shadow

Aryl was an hour late. I didn't question it. I was mad, yes, but I didn't question it. I was learning.

            He strode into the room with his black robe billowing as though he were an hour early, his hood drawn up over his wild black hair and his hands tossing about a little grey stone so as to appease his wandering curiosity.

            "Come," he said, curt, then, turning on his heel, he swept back the way he'd come, and I hurried to follow, taken aback slightly. We'd never had a lesson outside of the tower. This was new.

            He led me through the city, walking with a determined and purposeful gait, never faltering or slowing in his stride, not even for the carriages that passed or the throngs of cluttered people. We walked down the gentle hill Raenish was propped atop, through Southgate and Cheapwalk, out through the Silver Gates and out of the city walls, following the cobbled road away from the city.

            Not once did I ask where we were going. I knew he knew, and he knew I knew not to ask.

            It was a cold winter's day, the air biting and cool on the skin, but the sky was clear, painted in a violent sort of blue, the sun cradled between a pair of clouds. Beneath its gaze, we made our way from the road, turning upon a narrow dirt track, which led down a slight knoll and into a thicket of juniper trees, their coat of green gone grey and dead in the long dark of winter.

            Aryl stood beside one of their gnarled and swirling trunks, and simply stared at me.

            "Do you know why I brought you here?" he asked, tossing the rock in his hands.

            I looked around. "Fresh air? Collect an assortment of herbs for alchemy. There's some deadknell around this grove." I pointed to a purple flower, thin and spindly, swaying in the soft breeze. Aryl was a fine alchemist, and had sent me out looking for ingredients on more than one occasion.

            He bit his lower lip and squinted his eyes. "Yes, but no. We could do those things, of course, and we will, but there's something far more important I must show you today, Kaedn." His eyes glimmered in the sunlight and he released a strange grin. "Shadows."

            I watched as he swept beneath the low-hanging limbs of the juniper trees, and studied the ground. Shadow splashed and pooled here and there, shifting, dancing, prancing as the sunlight shifted or the wind swirled the leaves. I followed him below, careful not to poke myself in the eye with a stray branch.

            "Have you ever heard of the Shadowless?" he asked me, dropping the rock into his pocket. Apparently we wouldn't be using that today, I noted, then shook my head in modest reply.

            "I didn't think you would; not even from all the books you read." He held his hand out into the sunlight, letting his pale skin brighten, then go cold and grey as the shadows swept over his skin like a cloak.

            "They were originally faey," he began. "They were of Nevrast, long before the Faey Wars and the Idan Empire came into being. They were of an older race.."

            "Like the Shapers," I said, having read something of the sort. "And the Makers."           

            "Yes," he said, nodding. "Like the Shapers and the Makers and the many others, that formed much of this world. They held great power, old power, all of them, and because of that, have been chronicled, and etched into this world's history. The Shadowless, however, worked a darker sort of thing...as shadows are the bane of light. Chroniclers were hesitant to reveal their craft to the word, and for good reason."