A sneak peak into my The Shadow in the Sunlight Series

Prologue

The time of dread returns
Tremors shake the land
Terror fills the hearts of all
All tremble, though they know not why...
... The shadow mother shall bear a child of darkness.

Shadows gather around a small village, the darkness circling in the village center. The shaking of buildings grabs the curiosity of those inside, urging them to find the source. The tornado of darkness slows as they gather, leaving nothing but a dark spot on the ground. Before there is time to inspect the unnatural occurrence, it bubbles in boiling fury.

The dark liquid stabs out of the hole, breaking free from the constraining ground. A dark figure rises. People watch in horror as it gains form. Arms and legs crawl out from its torso, daggers lunging from its fingertips. Yellow piercing eyes pop out from what could only be its face. The mouth tears through the skin, revealing teeth like bone-saws that guard the chilling darkness of its throat. Two slits cut through the skin above the mouth, sharp ears jump from the sides of its head, and crystals line themselves on the top to create a crown of deep crimson. The skin changes from the black of the abyss to a dark shade of sapphire. The form writhes, attempting to contain its form. Its limbs bend and crack into place. In an instant, all movement stops.

The villagers mutter to themselves, questioning the nature of the uncertain being. “It’s not moving. Is it dead?” One asks. 

The village chief sits to the side, a look of contemplation on his aged face. As the villagers discuss what action they should take, the lack of movement becomes a source of discomfort. While they talk in increasing nervousness, a hefty man moves towards the form, a large shovel in hand.

A spindly villager blocks his path. “What are you doing?”

“I’m doing something, which is more than you are, Jorges,” the bulky man responds, impatience clear in his voice. The difference in size clear, Jorges backs down, losing his footing.
“Wait, Lander!” The chief stands. “I feel approaching with such clear antagonistic intentions will scare the creature.”

“Are we really considering the feelings of a demon? It rose from an abyss and moves like a possessed corpse. It clearly hasn’t come on peaceful terms.”
“Attacking everything you don’t understand is certainly an effective way to hasten your demise, but don’t drag us into your suicidal approach to the unknown.”

Lander grabs him by the collar, lifting him off his feet. “If you want to talk about feelings with a hell-spawn, fine, but do it when there’s not a village at stake.” He throws the chief on his back. The villagers run to the aid of the fallen elder as Lander returns his focus to the creature. “Sometimes I don’t know why I even protect you imbeciles,” Lander says, half to the chief and half to himself. Lander’s level of disgust grows the closer he gets. “Such a horrid thing. Why would the gods allow this to exist.” Reaching the body, Lander checks to see if it’s still alive. The body remains motionless, but it still breathes. He reaches to grab it, but a sudden twitch causes Lander to step back. He shakes his head, grabbing at it once again with a steadied hand. As his finger touches the form, it shakes. Without warning, dark spikes thrusts from the creature, piercing Lander’s shoulder and knocking him off his feet.

The creature’s head swings up, eyes opening to Lander. The stare cuts deeper into the fallen man than the wound in his shoulder. Its body springs up, stretching out its limbs, then shrinks to the size of a child. It examines the villagers, their humble buildings of wood and forest surroundings, but most studiously their features. A smile spreads across its face. Grabbing between the two slits above its mouth, it pulls, creating a pointed tip nose. It pushes the bladed tips of its fingers back, shaping them into sharpened nails. It closes its eyes, its brow wrinkling and face turning red, as small crystals pop out between the crystalline crown to form something resembling hair.

The dark form returns its gaze to the onlookers with its wide smile, pointing at itself. The villagers stare in silence. Dread shapes their faces, mimicking the statues that line the gorgons’ garden. A scream breaks the silence, releasing panic into the crowd. “The shades have sent a shapeshifter to slaughter us all,” one cries. Another throws the man in front of him forward and runs, tripping himself in the attempt.

The creature giggles at his failure.

Lander returns to his feet, grasping his wound. “Calm down, cowards! Are you running from an Imp? I would understand you scrawny poles running from its original form, but now it’s the size of a child! Just surround it and get me my spear. I’ll impale this beast and end our troubles.”

The villagers relax at his words and hurry to do what he asks.

The Chief, back to his chair, sits deep in thought, his head creasing. His daughter-in-law, kneeling next to him, looks at the creature with intrigue. It studies the movements of the mouths, mimicking what he sees. “I think it’s copying us,” she says. The observation sends the chief further into his mind.

Lander overhears her while he bandages his shoulder and speaks once more to the creature. “So you act like a spy too, demon? Tell me who sent you and I’ll kill you painlessly.”

The creature stares blankly at him.

Lander’s eye twitches. “A spy who can’t speak? pathetic. I guess the shades are less effective than I realized,” he mocks, putting on a vicious smile.

“Pa... the... tic.” The Shade giggles at the word.

Lander tightens his fist. “So you can talk, you pathetic excuse for a spy.”

“You pathetic excuse for a spy,” the creature repeats, trying to copy the deep voice of the larger man.

“Are you mocking me?” Lander’s reddening head bulges as if all his blood rushed there. The creature falls to the floor, breaking into laughter. Lander tears the spear from a hurried villager just as he returns from fetching it. “I tried to give you a pleasant end, beast, but I see the only thing you deserve is to be returned to that hell of yours by force.” Lander charges the creature, his hands gripping the handle as if it were the neck of his foe.

The chief snaps out of his thoughts. “LANDER NO!” But it was too late.

Before the spear could land, something rises from the ground, knocking Lander back with a resounding clang.

“What happened?” Jorges asks.

“Something grabbed my leg,” Lander says, trying to pick himself up. “Did you dimwits see anything?” They respond with a decisive, but confused, no.

Before Lander can stand, something pulls him back down. A blur leaps into the air, throwing daggers at the villagers which tear the weapons from their hands. The newcomer lands on Lander’s back, their knee forcing his head to the dirt. A voice echoes, vibrating the ground. “Stop where you are.” A tall, dark figure stands before the creature. “Your dog needs a leash.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . 

The chief trembles at the rise of the stranger from the shadows. He expected to see members of the dark army, even a high-ranking officer, but he didn’t expect to see... her. It may be too late, but now he understands his expectations to be foolish. “Lander, what have you done...”

The mysterious woman strikes a menacing form. Seven feet in height, she has stretched out limbs with nails that could cut through bone. Long obsidian hair falls across her sickly pale skin, converging with the pitch-black dress that moves of its own volition. Her face’s aged beauty only makes her deathly features more terrifying. The beauty mark beneath her eye, only a temporary distraction from her pupils’ blood-red. Uncertainty rises in the onlookers, unsure of how to feel. Any remotely familiar feature only makes her more foreign.

“I don’t know how your culture treats newborns, but I personally don’t believe impaling them is the correct choice.” Her voice is calm, but it has a venom that makes the villagers shudder. Her hand stretches out, stabbing a finger at Lander. “If you have an explanation, now is the time to use it.”

Lander moves to make a mocking remark when the chief speaks up to quiet him, “Why are you here, dark mistress? The treaty prevents your kind from entering land under the protection of the light.”

“Don’t worry your decaying bones, elder, I haven’t come to bring harm,” she answers, “and the Treaty of Daybreak is of no issue for this occasion. Our deal has exceptions for these situations, so I may handle my business without interruption.”

“If it’s not an issue, may I ask what that business is, mistress?”

“I have given birth to a child. While that normally isn’t much of an issue location-wise, I have certain... problems… that don’t let me decide where my child is born.” Her hands ball into a fist. She releases the tension with an exhale.

“Are you sure it’s such a good idea to be telling all of this to them, mother?” The figure on top of Lander asks, emphasizing them with a glare.

“No need to stress, Grisha, it’s only natural to question an enemy in your lands,” the dark mistress says. 

“Very well.” He shrugs, returning his half-closed eyes to the crowd.

...

The shade child had moved to a nearby rock, examining the interactions that play out before him. His eyes shift from person to person, his gaze stopping at Grisha. The shade-ling locks his eyes onto his brother, gaining a sparkle at the sight. Grisha glances to see the observing shade-ling. He waves, trying to hold back a chuckle amidst the tension.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . 

The dark mistress returns her gaze to Lander. “The time for questions is over. Let’s hear the response of this fallen ape.”

The chief grips his staff, fearful of Lander’s reaction. Grisha lifts his leg enough for a response as the mistress’s stare falls heavy on Lander.

He says, “I am named Lander, for I am a lion among men. We are a fairly isolated village, so I have taken the role of protector. I’ve killed many beasts- of magnificent size- that attempted to...”

“Did I ask for a monologue?” The mistress interrupts, smiling with false kindness. Her voice transitions from gentle hum to violent screech. “Why did you attack my child!?”

“Sorry mistress...” Lander restrains his voice. “I attacked your child... because I felt he was a threat to my people. Even you should understand the need to protect your own… So I... apologize...”

“Very well. Although not noteworthy in any aspect, that is acceptable. You may all leave with your lives. I hope for both of our sakes this will be our last interaction.” She turns, calling her children. At that, the tension in the air relieves, releasing the breath locked in the villagers lungs. The younger shade rushes to his mother, grasping at her hand. “Finally,” Grisha mumbles, standing up in turn. “Been waiting to sleep for weeks.”

As Grisha loosened his grip, Lander pushes the shade off, taking his shovel and slamming it against the outsider’s face. A loud crack resonates through the village, dislocating the shade’s jaw as the body falls limp. The mistress twists back to the scene, eyes wide. Lander aims to continue his onslaught, but two villagers hold him back.

“I wasn’t done, you monstrous wench!” Lander struggles to break free. “I apologize for not sending that putrid imp to his grave sooner.”

The elder crumples to his knees.

Lander knocks a villager away. “I will not stand by as demons continue lives of bloodshed and brutality. Whatever formed you should have cut off its filthy hands in shame.” Lander’s arms flex as he tears out of the second villagers’ hold. “It’s time for me to right the wrong of your existence and rid the world of the festering scar that is the shades!” He throws the shovel at the mistress’ chest without stopping his stride. The shovel cuts through the air as if it were through curtains, but when it reaches her, it splits in half, the wood shattering to splinters. Unshaken, Lander grabs his fallen spear, rushing at the mistress like a red eyed bull. He twirls his weapon, pouncing at his prey, with the tip aimed for her heart. Fear covers her face as the spear pierces through her chest. Lander rolls onto the ground behind her and leaps to his feet. He turns to the child, eyes burning with rage. The villagers cheer at the fantastic spectacle, all gloom fading to distant memory. 

Lander turns triumphant to the villagers, and coughs. Blood drips from his mouth. Shrieks tear through the momentary glimpse of joy, as his arms fall limp to his sides. His head slumps, staring blankly at the blade piercing his ribs. “But... the spear... it hit you...” Lander whimpers.

The mistress bends to his ear, her voice echoing through his skull. “If any brute could kill me so easily, there would be no treaty.” Her voice snarls as she drags her blade out from his ribs, blood dripping from its tip. She throws Lander behind her, his body thumping to the ground. With the last of his energy, Lander looks at his spear and his eyes widen. A shadow of the mistress’ form dissolves, dropping his weapon to the forsaken soil.

“You.. monsters...”

The light in his eyes fades.

Horror returns to the onlookers, only crawling deeper at the glimpse of the mistress’ blade. The blade absorbs the crimson red that soaks its length, the liquid draining into eyes that coat its steel. The mistress waves her hand over it, shutting eyelids of dark steel. Her palm pulls the blade inside, the outline bulging from her arm before disappearing into the darkness of her dress.

“Any wounds of concern?” She asks the form approaching behind her.

“I'm fine. Didn’t have the energy to fight, so I just played along,” Grisha responds.

The onlookers tremble at another dead shade who still lives.

The mistress ignores them. "Leaving your mother to deal with such a violent creature, how cruel.” She feigns a deep sigh, her hand clutching at her heart. Grisha responds with a chuckle. 

Turning to her younger child, she smiles with serene kindness. “Are you OK, Little one?” She asks, caressing his cheek. He thinks for a second, then nods excessively. 

“I’m glad.” The mistress turns back to the villagers. “Now then, I believe we must discuss what just happened. Before I begin, do any of you have something to say.”

“Something to say?” The chief's daughter roars, her garments torn and eyes stricken with tears. “Of course we have something to say. You murdered my husband!” She grabs a fallen spear and calls to the villagers. “Can we let this witch kill our people and leave without consequence? My husband’s words were harsh and his temper was short. But I’ve known since I met him, in his heart, he was kind and cared for us more than anything. Shouldn’t we die to avenge the man who protected us all these years? Or would you prefer to let every beast and murderer that walks into our lands slaughter us like sheep?” Her speech breaks past the crowd’s fears and arouses their anger. The mob grabs the weapons that scatter the ground and surround the shades once again.

The elder stares at the growing violence but stays frozen in place.

With a sigh, the mistress mumbles. “They never let me talk.” She glances at Grisha. He nods in response. She breathes in deep, closing her eyes.

The elder turns to the crowd. “Wait! Let us not throw ourselves into flames. Even if we kill her now, dozens will die in the attempt. We should wait until we’re prepared.”

“You coward!” The widow says. “When will we get a chance to kill her again? Do you think she wanders unprotected all the time?”

Not deterred, the elder continues. “Has being around Lander caused your sense of reason to weaken? Our people have little to no combat experience. We need support. We can alert the army of light. With trained men by our side, we have a better chance of avenging Lander.”

Agony laces the widow's cries. “When you first tried to persuade us against attacking the fiend, I thought you were protecting us. But now I see that you’re only trying to save yourself.”

The chief falls silent, unable to douse the flames of wrath building in the mob.

The widow reaches the front of the crowd, her eyes red and nails piercing the skin of her palm. “Anything you have left to say, Mistress?” 

With eyes shut, a smile spreads across the Mistress’s face. “How kind of you to let me speak before you set your hounds on me. Sadly, I lack the trust that you won’t kill me before I finish.” Her arms press together, thrusting into the air.

With a charge, the widow shouts to the crowd, “she’s up to something, stop her!”

Grisha grabs his brother, disappearing into the ground. The dark mother’s arms slam into the dirt, splitting the surface. A wave of dark mist bursts from the crack, stampeding beyond view. The waves flood the entire area, knocking everything out of its path. The destruction consumes the village, surrounding it in a cloud of darkness.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . 

The chief opens his eyes to nothing but black. At first, he thinks he's been struck blind, but quickly realizes the thick dark prevents him from breathing as well. He shouts for help, but his attempt is rewarded with nothing but a mouthful of smoke.

He wanders aimlessly through the dark. The smoke makes the world seem timeless. As he begins to fear he will be trapped forever in the dungeon of endless, colorless clouds, the fog clears, revealing an exit from the wall-less labyrinth. Pitch-black turns to gray. Silhouettes gain from against the formless. He runs to them, uncaring that they may just be illusions. A few feet away from the village outskirts the mist unveils the Dark Mistress.  Around her stand the villagers, his daughter-in-law locked at the center. They stand stiff like soldiers in training. He reaches the crowd and the Mistress turns to him, her entrapping smile spread wide across her face. “There you are. We’ve been waiting for quite some time.”

Thick obsidian chains cover the villagers, wrapping around their bodies and over their mouths. The chains lead back to the Mistress, who grips them behind her back.

“Now that everyone’s here, I’ll continue where I left off. I hope you all have moved past your thirst for blood when faced with an inconvenience, and we can finish without further delay.” The Mistress gives the widow a quick glare.

Dumbstruck, the elder remains silent.

The Mistress speaks in a calm, melodious tone, “I am deeply sorry for the loss of Lander. I understand he was an important person to each of you. Despite my personal views of the man, I understand your feelings. That said… I cannot and will not allow the assault of my children to be excused. Although I don’t hold you lightborn in high regard, I was hoping to walk away from this town without causality… but he gave me no choice.”

The widow growls, helplessly struggling in her chains. The villagers follow her lead.

The Mistress sighs. “I expected your stubborn nature to prevent you from listening to reason, but I had to try. Thankfully, I’ve come prepared.” She melts into the ground.

The village grows silent, only the whistling of the wind remains. The chief looks back and forth as if she became the air itself. An ache fills his chest, the slightest breath touching the back of his neck. Long fingers wrap around his shoulder, forcing a shiver through his bones. 

“You seem to be the only person with some sense of reason,” the Mistress whispers. “I guess it does come with age, doesn’t it?”

The chief nods slowly in response.

“Do you know why I left you unchained, wise elder?” She continues without pause. “It’s because I think you are the only one who can control your emotions and stop people from getting themselves killed.” She bends down, stretching her face next to his. Her breath feels like the smoke that entraps the village, thick but unexplainably cold. “If you want your people to live, restrain them. If you do that, I’ll release them from their chains alive.”

The widow stares at him, resistance burning bright in her eyes. The elder stares at his people, those he knew as children. He practically raised many of them, most of them orphaned by war and famine. He wants them to fight for their fallen friend and loved one, he wants to fight for his son. But what will their fighting bring but more death?

The Mistress pulls her chains, squeezing the writhing widow. “Choose quickly. Can’t you see the pain they’re in?”

The elder’s eyes well.

The chains drag across cloth and skin, tightening unrelentingly as it tears past the little protection given by cheaply made fabrics. It forces itself into their jaws, crushes their limbs, and robs them of breath. 

The chief slumps in defeat. 

He grabs the rope that lays by their well and walks towards them. The widow resists, pulling away with muffled grunts, her eyes as stern as they have always been.

“I’m sorry. I failed you... I failed you all.” With the last rope tied, the chief turns back to the Mistress. “It’s done.”

“You made the right choice, elder. Your people will live another day.” With a wave of her hand, the chains of the Mistress dissolve.

As the villagers release, they fall to the ground. The chief runs to his daughter’s side.

“Don’t worry, elder. Their struggling has just temporarily sapped their energy,” the Mistress says. “I may be a master of shadows, but I keep my promises.” She turns from the disheveled man.

Despite his better instincts, a burning question springs from the chief’s mind. “Why did you spare them?”

She stops, and speaks in an entirely new voice unbound by theatrical niceties. “To be honest, I don’t care whether you live or die… But when you’re responsible for the safety of an entire people, killing a village protected by the empire you have a treaty with doesn’t go well.” Her voice trails off as her form disappears into the void.

Moments go by without movement or sound, just the chief sitting amongst rubble. He examines his broken village. People lay scattered across the ground, hurt but alive. He smiles at their breath. He saved them. All of them... all except... 

The smile weakens, and water streaks his face. He shakes away the thought. It’s raining, he must check on his people. 

He walks through his battered village. The windows are broken, glass shards spreading across dust-covered grass. The doors are torn from walls, blown inside the lonely abodes by the wave of smoke. Each broken shard of the village strikes at his heart, but nothing brings more pain than what lies at the center of the silent town. It stares at him, the face of his failure. 

The lifeless body of Lander lies alone. 

The elder falls to his knees, his restrained tears becoming too heavy to bear.

“I’m sorry... Lander.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Viktor taps his pen against the table. He can tell the news is bad solely through the officer’s attempts to build confidence outside his door. He knows why men fear him. His face shows nothing, naturally sitting as an uncaring scowl. He likes the distance the expression creates- allowing him to deal with issues quicker and more efficiently- but the side effects have grown tedious over the years.

He leans forward, taking a paper from the top of the towering pile, which- despite his efforts- continues to rebuild itself without failure. The empire’s attempts to establish a political relationship with the minotaurs drags on, and in turn the amount of work multiplies by the day. This isn’t helped by the easily noticeable- but hardly ignorable- pacing of officers whenever they have to say anything with a slight negative aspect. 

Viktor glances at the clock, his eye twitching at the sight. He looks to the door again, then returns to his organized piles. “Are you coming in, or do you prefer to report to yourself?”

The officer rushes in, almost tripping to salute. “Sorry sir, I was distracted.”

“I could tell.” Viktor glances up at the officer. He’s in good shape, blond hair,  and has the light skin of a lightborn on the younger side. His brown eyes stick out like a pile of mud against the brightness of his hair, making his quick rise to officer more surprising then his age.  Most likely new to his position, judging by how he sways anxiously. Viktor returns his gaze to the paperwork. “What have you come to tell me?”

“Well… There were reports of trouble to the north. Dark clouds in our lands.”

Viktor stops writing. “Where?”

“In a small village settlement next to the border. Near the Devil’s Hideout,” the officer says, gaining confidence.

“Have you sent men to investigate the area?” Viktor asks, shifting his gaze to meet the officer’s.

“Yes,” he responds.

Viktor places his pen down. “What did you find?”

“I wasn’t able to learn much. The villagers were quite shaken. Only the elder could speak and even he was incons...”

“Did I ask what you haven’t learned?” Viktor clasps his hands, his scowl deepening.

“Sorry, sir...” The officer hesitates. “The elder said the Shadow Mother attacked the village.”

Viktor leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“In defense of a child found in the village.”

“How many casualties?”

“Only 1, but...”

“Then we can’t do anything.” Viktor turns back to his paperwork with a sigh.

“But sir, they were attacking our people in our land. Surely there is something we can do.”

Viktor stands, towering over the man with a piercing gaze. “She followed the rules of our treaty. She only killed one person, and it was to defend her child. If we attack now, we’ll be the ones who broke our agreement, pushing neutral parties, who we have spent way too much time and resources on, to join the shades. One village, let alone one man, is not worth our entire empire.”

The officer backs down, muted by Viktor’s presence. His voice changed little, but the General’s eyes speak loud enough to silence the room.

“You’re young, so I’ll ignore your tongue, but in the future, you need to keep it short.” Viktor sits back down.

The officer turns to leave but stops at the door. “Sir, please allow me to support the villagers. I want to at least get them back on their feet.”

Viktor’s head rises a final time, looking at the officer without a word. He sighs. “You have two weeks. And you will have to figure out funding yourself.”

“Thank you, sir.” The officer’s face brightens, his mood fully reversed as he heads for the door.

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“The name’s Zealotes, sir.” Zealotes salutes a final time and leaves.

That should keep him in line for now. Viktor waits for the footsteps to grow distant, then reaches into his lowest drawer. He pulls out a pre-written letter and a stamp. The rising sun designed upon the stamp clamps against the folded paper. He opens the curtains of his furthest window and knocks upon the wall. A white bird with bright yellow eyes lands upon the outside railing in answer. He hands the bird the letter, staring into its burning gaze and says, “it has begun. Tell them all, the sun shall rise again.”