Episode Eight - Iron and Shadow

Part Twenty Three
His Gift and his Curse

Enin trudged alone through the mire. After lifetimes untold his blackened and calloused soul had learned to ignore hardship such as the chill of the bog and the stinging of insects. His coat of crimson with gold trim remained spotless in spite of the mud through which he tread. He was an old man, with white beard and silver hair, yet his face remained as smooth as a child's. Enin aged in his own way. He did everything in his own way.

Immeasurable ages ago he had been a young man, a boy really, when he made the first of several choices that took away his humanity.

In a prison cell he had sat, sobbing silently. Enin was a killer and he did not regret it. What right did those men have to take his mother from him? And countless others, no doubt. They slaughtered his village. Who could say how many villages before that.

No. Enin had no remorse for slaying the three men in black tunics with red handprints on the back. In his mind they had chosen death long before he ever met them.

But on that night, little Enin had counted. His mother hid him away when she went to confront the raiders, but he spied them from his shelter. Twenty-six men stood before her, with torches, spears, and swords. That fierce woman faced them all down. She told them that attacking this village would be their undoing. They all laughed. Enin knew his mother was strong. He did not fear at first.
As he peered out, waiting for her to strike them with her spear and wicked eye, a shadow appeared behind her.

Enin called out to her in warning, just a peep of a sound. The men did not even seem to hear him. But a mother knows the sound of her child. She turned toward the broken cart where she had stowed him, her eyes fixed on Enin instead of the interlopers, as if imploring him to be still.

That moment was all it took for the shadow to strike. The twenty-seventh raider had been hiding in the darkness. He bashed her skull with a war-club and she fell like a rock to the ground. Enin covered his crying mouth with his hand, blinded by tears. When he looked out again, she was bound and the men were building a bonfire, with her tied to it. The surviving members of the village had been bound as well and were forced to watch Enin’s mother being set ablaze. She cried his name. She shouted “Stay Enin, stay!” The raiders did not seem to understand the meaning of her words. They never suspected that one resident of the village remained free of their ropes.

When her screams ended, the raiders slit the throat of every grown person in the village and loaded the animals, children, and goods into carts that they took back to their riverboats.

“Twenty and seven” he repeated to himself over and over as he cried quietly. He would always remember the number of men it took to destroy his life.

Years later, on the cold stone floor of a prison cell, he whispered once more through his tears. “Twenty and four. Twenty and four.” He knew he could never rest until he reached zero.

By the light of the full moon that peeked through the iron barred window, Enin saw a shadow stir in the cell across from his.

“They smell quite delicious.” said a voice from within the shadow.

“I don’t smell anything.” said young Enin.

“Your tears, boy. They are to me like the smell of roasting meat. Like honey. Like the lips of true love.”

Enin wiped his eyes and tried to see his companion, but she was darkness itself.

“Who are you? You aren’t another prisoner, are you? How did you get in here?”

“I am called Suriel. I go where the moonlight takes me.”

“I am Enin.”

“Thank you for that.” Suriel said.

“For what?”

“For your name.”

In a flash of darkness the shadow shifted from the other cell into his, as if the bars were immaterial.

“Cold iron.” she hissed. “It stings, but it cannot keep me out. Not on the night of the full moon.”


“What are you?” Enin exclaimed.

“I am...a Watcher, an Archon.”

Enin did not understand what she meant, but he listened.

“Tell me, mortal. What is it you desire?”

“I desire to be out of this prison,” said Enin.

“No one wishes to be in a prison cell,” said Suriel. “You are in this place because you acted on a desire that your jailers did not approve. What desire was that?”

“My mother,” he said to her. “My mother is dead. Killed by twenty seven men. I wish to rid the world of them. I have slain three. That leaves me with twenty and four left to kill. That is my desire. To destroy those who have taken my mother from me.”

“A wrong has been done.” said the shade. “For that you wish to have retribution. An understandable desire.”

“You can help me with this?” Enin asked, “That is why you ask, spirit? You choose to aid me in my struggle?”

“I do not make choices. I make deals.”

“What do you offer? And what do you want in return?”

“Direct and to the point?” said Suriel, “I like that in a human.”

Her shadowy form twisted itself into a sitting position beside him on the stone floor and she draped what passed for an arm around his shoulder. It felt like the chill of death upon him, yet it also burned a little. He stoically accepted the discomfort.

“I could wave a hand and have all of those you wish drop dead on the spot.”

“No,” said Enin, “I do not wish that. I need to be there when it happens. I need to see the life drain from their eyes. It is the only thing that can bring me peace.”

“I see,” said the demon...the angel...the whatever she was. “So what you truly desire then, is power.”

“Power?”

“Yes. You are weak. You are small. You are young. You have no allies, no wealth, no weapons. You seek power to bend the world to your will. Power to exit this cell, to locate those who have wronged you, and to exact vengeance.”

The young man dropped his head down and thought long about the being’s words.

“Yes.” he said, finally. “I do seek power. Those men had it and look at what they did. Look at the pain and terror they brought to the world. If I had a fleet of men to command with weapons and will, I would do only good.”

“Would you?”

“I would rid the world of evil men.” he said, “That would be the greatest of goods, would it not?”

“I would not know.” she said. “Good...evil. These are human concepts, not ours. But power I can give you. Not men. Not weapons, but perhaps something greater.”

“Tell me, spirit!” said Enin, “What do you offer? What must I pay!”
“I offer you a bit of my knowledge. An insight into the workings of reality. With that you can do and undo many many things in the material world.”

“Knowledge?” he scoffed, “Insight? What good are those things? Can they break iron bars? Can they split the heads of the wicked?”

“Yes.” she said, “In their own ways.”

As a demonstration, the shade reached out to the bars on the window. She did not rise from her spot, but instead her arm stretched outward...stretched impossibly long.

The hand at the end of her shadow arm opened and turned upward, facing the moonlight. The light gathered into her hand like water pouring from a spout. In her grip the light took form and became a blade that she held with her inky fingers.

Enin looked, wide eyed as she twirled the blade in her hand with a flourish. Then flash-flash! She swung a sword made of light through the bars and they clattered to the ground.

Freedom before him, Enin gasped, “You can give me the knowledge to do such things?”

“I can. This and more.”

“What do you seek in return?”

“I’ve already told you what I want.” she said. If she had a mouth she would have licked her lips as she continued, “They smell so delicious, after all.”


Part Twenty Four
The Chicken and the Eggs

The Muck Witch returned to her burned out hut and the Boy followed.

“Must you do that?” she said over her shoulder.

“Do what?” he asked.

“You linger behind me like a lost puppy. If you wish to walk with me then at least keep stride. I do not like feeling stalked.”

“Well, where are we going?”

“WE are going nowhere. I am going to my home to salvage what I can. From there, I’m not sure.”

“I’ll go with you. I can help you carry things. I may not look it, but I’m quite strong.”

The Witch stopped and assessed the Boy once more.

“You truly have nowhere else to go, do you?”

“Does anyone?” He said, “The world is burned to ash around us. The greatest city of all time is a cinder. The world is ending. That’s all I keep hearing. If we walked all the way to Arodem or sailed to far-off Kudrakai, I’m sure it would be the same. Ash and fire as far as the eye can see.”

His protest was punctuated by the loud sound of his rumbling belly.

“World ending or not,” said the Witch, “we still need to eat, don’t we? Come along then.”

When they reached Maegda’s home, it was a flattened mess of wood, straw, and fading embers. The Boy expected her to react emotionally to the chaos, but instead the Witch got to work, digging through the wreckage.

“What are you looking for?” he asked her.

“Anything useful.”

The Boy heard a rustling noise beneath a fallen beam.

“What’s that?” he said.

“Can you lift this, strong man?”

The Boy wrapped his arms around one end of the beam. It was lodged in the mud. After several grunts and swears, it lifted with a satisfying pop. Bracing with his legs, he managed to get it up and over his shoulder.

In a hollow that had been covered by the beam sat three swamp hens, two of which were dead. Gathering them up, the Witch said, “Do you know how to pluck a bird?”

The Witch retrieved her teapot and two cups, though one was missing its handle.

They cleaned and roasted the dead hens over a fire. The Witch sprinkled some salt over the meat along with dried plant bits. When the Boy asked if the bits were some sort of magic she told him they were something called “rosemary”.

“If only we had some garlic.” she said.

“This is the best meal I’ve ever eaten,” said the Boy between mouthfulls  . “I mostly have gruel and stale bread.”

“Well, don’t get used to it. I’ve only one hen left and she’s not for eating.”

“What is she for, then?”

“Eggs, fool. The other two were as well, but in death we all get eaten. Either by predators or by worms.”

“Are you always this fun to talk to?”

The Witch laughed.

After eating and washing up as best they could, she continued digging through her possessions, occasionally putting a small trinket or unbroken bottle into her satchel. The Boy helped to the best of his ability, but not being able to discern the trash from the treasure made it difficult.

Once she was satisfied that she had salvaged as much of her life as possible, the pair set back onto the road.

They continued walking in a generally southern direction, but neither spoke for a long while.

Finally, the Boy broke the silence, “We should try and stop him.”

“What?” said Maegda.

“Enin. He is just a man. He can be beaten. Even if he is immortal, he knows fear. I saw it in his eyes.”

“Even if that is true, what do you think you or I can do about it? I don’t even know what his plan is.”

“I do. He intends to find something he called the second pillar. The Pillar of the Earth.”

“That...” started the Witch, but she trailed off.

“He told me and that shadow demon thing confirmed it. He’s going to break it or something. There are three or four pillars altogether. He wants to destroy them and...I don’t know...unleash...something.”

“The darkness.” she responded.

“Well, we can stop him.”

“How? If Kokaibel is with him, then he is more powerful than I ever imagined. And I have no idea where the Pillar of the Earth even is. No one does.”

“Enin knows.” said the Boy. “He said it is beyond the forest, in the swamps. And that demon thing is not with him. They don’t seem to like each other.”

“Still, Boy, he knows where he is going and we do not. Even if we catch up with him, which we cannot, what do we do then?”

“I don’t know. But he isn’t a god. He is a MAN. Maybe he can’t be killed, but he can be captured, detained, maybe even reasoned with. What else do you have to do today?”

“Well enough, child. I suppose there are worse things to do at the end of all things than to try and fight it. Of course, this Enin has a head start on us, doesn’t he? It will be difficult to keep pace.”

As they summited a small hill on the road the Boy hooted in delight.

Standing at the bottom of the rise were two magnificent paksi with black feathers and crowns of white and blue. He made a sharp whistle and the birds knelt down to be mounted.

Catching up to the Boy, Maegda shook her head in wonder.

“Who are you, Boy? Who are you?”

Part Twenty Five
A Demon and a Farm Boy

“Tula Petek!” exclaimed Kokaibel. “Human, what did I tell you? You are flesh. You are bone. You are made of the same stuff as the earth itself. You cannot subsist on will alone. Now look at you. A lifeless heap on the ground.”

Tula remained unconscious.

“Oh mortal. What am I to do with you? You are no good to me dead.”

“Can’t you just heal her like you did the witch?” chirped a voice from within Tula.

“Huh?” said the demon, “Oh. It’s you.”

The bird poked its face through the bars of its tiny cage and shot Kokaibel a look.

“Yeah, it’s me. What of it? Anyway, get to work. Do your magic, space face.”

“Space face?”

“Are you as stupid as these human people are?” said the bird with exasperation. “Come on. Fix her up. She’s no good to me dead, either.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” said the demon. “I need a human to ask me to do something. I can’t just...do it.”

“Well, that’s simply pathetic.” said the bird.

“Pathetic? Me? I carry the stars within my form. How dare you?”

“Well, if you can carry the stars, you can carry a little girl, can’t you?”

“Carry...what do you mean?”

“Pick her up, you idiot!” scolded the bird. “Take her away from here. Take her to someone less useless than you!”

Kokaibel gathered the girl in his arms and said, “Where? Who can help? I do not know how to care for a child.”

“Neither do I. I’m just a bird.”

The demon carried Tula and the bird with her along the road for a while. Time does not pass the same for demons as it does for humans. A second could be a century and vice versa. Kokaibel could not tell how much time had passed as he hefted her comatose body past the swamp and the charred remains of the forest.

“There!” tweeted the bird. “A farmhouse in the hills!”

Kokaibel scanned the barren landscape, seeing only dried grass and dusty knolls.

He came across a footpath.

“This way!” said the bird. “Don’t you see it?”

The demon stepped onto the path and saw it. Not just a farmhouse, but a sprawling farm, with rolling hills, fields of grain, and a flock of sheep, idly munching away at the lush green grass.

“There!” said the bird, “In the farmhouse, I see a human! Don’t you have eyes?”

Kokaibel looked and saw it too, an old woman sat in a rocking chair on the front stoop of the house. How had he not noticed it before?

He staggered toward the door with his burden.

The old woman wore a roughspun dress and walked with a cane.

“Young man.” she shouted at him. “Young man, come here. Is she harmed? Please, bring the girl to me.”

The young man glanced downward, remembering who he was. A farmhand, working in the fields. The farmer’s granddaughter had fallen ill from working too hard in the sun and he was carrying her home for shelter. How did he forget that?

“Can you help her?” he asked the old woman.

“Of course!” chuckled the woman, “She just needs a bit of tending to! Lay her down beside the hearth.”

The young farmhand did as told and sat himself in a chair beside the fire as the woman got to work.

“Does anyone else know you are here?” she asked him.

“Anyone else?” he said back to her, “There was a bird...I think.”

“Ah yes. The bird. Of course.” said the woman as she undid the top of Tula’s shirt and picked at the cage.

“The bird lives in her chest.” the young man said, “Isn’t that queer?”

“Yes.” said the woman, “Queer indeed. But we can’t have the girl go dying on us, can we? She dies, the bird goes with her, I reckon.”

“We can’t let her die.” the farmhand said, half dazed.

“No.” the woman pressed a damp cloth on Tula’s head and poured some sort of broth into the sleeping girl’s mouth.

“Who are you?” he asked her.

“Me? I’m the farm lady." She said, “My husband and I work the fields here with our grandchildren.”

“Then...who am I?”

“What do you mean, laddie?”

“I’m not who I am. I am not...” he gestured at his body and peasant clothing. “I am not this.”

“Don’t be daft boy. Who would you be?”

“I would be...” he began, “I would be be be. Be me. I be me. That who I be. Me me me.”

“Of course you are you. Did you get too much sun out there too, boy?”

“Sun? Son? Sun...” he said.

“Oh dear, I think your brain is fried. Looks like the pig iron works too well.”

“Pig iron?”

“Oh yes, little demon. I know what you really are. I can cloud a man’s mind easy enough, maybe even trick a bird, but a demon...no way I could do that on my own. But this whole hillside is covered with the black metal. I didn’t think it would work. Hee he!”

“Work? Oh wait. I’m not a farm boy. Am I?” said Kokaibel, his mind almost focusing. “I’m a-a diamond...no a deeemon. A powful membuh of the celeshtul coort...”

The effort to maintain his own identity under the influence of the black metal grew too strong and Kokaibel fell to the floor.

“Oh, a powerful member of the celestial court indeed. And now you’re mine.” said the woman, “Now you’re mine.”