Page 14 of Cursed Shadows (Shadow Guardians #2)

CAMBION

Mortal Realm

I awaken to a pain more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. My lungs scream in agony with every inhale, and my throat feels raw and dry. My body calls out for water, desperate for relief. My muscles are burning, everything is stiff and difficult to move.

And to think I could be relaxing with a woman or two in Geldinstock…

Fuck Dragan to the fucking hell he should never have escaped.

I blink my eyes open, trying to shake away the patches of blurred vision blocking my view. Large black dots obscure my surroundings, seeming to grow more intense the longer my eyes are open. They bounce with each blink until, finally, I’m able to scrap together an idea of my location.

Since my involuntary initiation into this rag tag crew, I’ve spent more time than I’d like unconscious. I suppose it’s better than being dead, but, as my eyes adjust, I wonder if death isn’t too far behind.

I’m someone’s prisoner—bound to a thick tree. I’m still in the Mortal Plane, I imagine, because I don’t recognize the trees surrounding me. And the colors are much drabber than what I’m accustomed to in the Fae Realm. It’s been a long time since I left my confinement, and the Mortal Realm is a strange world to my foreign eyes.

From the road, I can make out the charred remains of our captors’ wagon. Only, it doesn’t exactly appear to be a wagon, with its steel frame. I’m uncertain what the contraption is—a fact that doesn’t surprise me. Variant disallowed technology within the Fae and Shadow Realms to further Dragan’s and my discomfort. Thus, I imagine there are many oddities within the Mortal Realm that will be new to me.

Scattered debris stretches as far as the eye can see. Glancing around myself, I feel my heart drop when I recognize one of the faces.

Anona.

She and her henchmen sit beside a small fire. Their faces, already hideous, are even uglier in their expressions of anger. I’m relieved to see that while I’ve been unconscious, some of my comrades have managed to deal some damage. Anona bears a large scorch mark covering her face and her larger henchman appears exhausted. Their health has taken a hit. But, then again, so has ours.

A few feet in front of me is another tree and from beyond its thick base, I can see Eilish’s legs extended out before her. I’m not the only one watching her—one of Anona’s men stares at her hungrily. Irritation rebels inside me as I realize what this oaf would do to the angel if given the chance.

Just as quickly as the anger hits me, I grow annoyed with myself. Whatever happens to the girl is not my concern. I have no affiliation nor attachment to her. And were I to choose between her head being on the proverbial block or mine, I would choose hers forthwith.

To my left I see three more figures: Dragan, Thoradin, and Baron. All are still. I preserve some small hope that they are still alive, based on the fact that Anona would not have wasted energy in tying a corpse to a tree.

I focus on the binding that anchors me to the tree. The rope is thick, but because I’m able to touch it, I believe I may be able to use my powers of transmutation to undo my restraints.

Closing my eyes, I focus everything within me on the ropes, imagining them lighting up with the power of my magic as invisible hands work to untie them. It takes a great deal more effort than when I’m rested, and even though I can feel the heat of my magic working, the rope remains intact.

It must be enchanted.

Bloody fuck.

The more I think on it, the more I realize I should have assumed such would be the case. Anona knows my capabilities and wouldn’t be foolish enough to bind me with ordinary rope.

“They’ll be starting to wake soon.” Her voice carries through the trees until it reaches me. I sit separated from the others, owing to the arrangement of the trees within the camp’s perimeter. I’m the furthest from their base, which is fortuitous as it means I’m far from Anona’s watchful eye.

I have already begun to recover from the poison. While I’ve never personally experienced Midnight Tears before, based on the pain and exhaustion I feel emanating from every muscle and fiber in my body, I deduce it to be Anona’s weapon of choice.

In my time as a healer, I’ve seen first-hand the work of many foul potions, but Midnight Tears is one of a kind. Highly illegal, this poison renders its victim entirely immobile, working in a matter of mere seconds. While it doesn’t kill its victim, it does make them a considerably easier target. I certainly feel like an easy target, sprawled out beneath this tree, my muscles screaming for relief.

“Should we redose them?” the tallest of the henchman asks.

“We used the last of the Midnight Tears getting them in the truck,” Anona responds. “I wasn’t anticipating any issues.”

I make a mental note of her words, feeling a small sense of relief.

“What about the vampire?” he asks. “He must got lots of poisons in that bag o’ his?”

“A wonderful idea, Dravon,” Anona snaps facetiously, whirling around to glare at him. “Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe because our truck just burned to the ground with everything in it!” I hear a smack as she hits the fool upside his head.

Dravon raises his hand to rub the affronted area, then reaches behind himself to produce a small, black leather satchel. I recognize it as belonging to Baron.

Anona’s eyes widen, and then her frown shifts until she’s smiling a large, beaming grin at him. “You saved his satchel?” Her voice, sounding raw, is hushed with disbelief. She snatches the bag away from Dravon with the eagerness of an impatient child. I can hear the glass vials clinking against one another as she sifts through the tinctures.She moves closer to the fire to better decipher the labels.

Another of her henchmen, seated on the other side of her, grunts, his arms crossed against his chest. Clearly, he’s upset at falling out of her favor.

I can only wonder if both of these brutes are fucking her.

Ugh. Disgusting.

“ Crawler mucus ?” Anona asks, pulling out the vial and unstopping it.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” says a calm voice to my left. It’s Baron, awake against his tree. I wonder how long he’s been quietly sitting there, watching them just as I am.

“Ah! Our mystery assassin is awake!” cries Anona. I hear her put the stopper back in the bottle. “And he looks the worse for wear.”

Mystery assassin ? I think to myself. Hmm, it appears Anona doesn’t realize Baron’s true identity. I wish I could say the same for myself.

“ Swamp Breath has that effect on a vampire,” he grumbles with a smirk. And, from the looks of him, the Swamp Breath did a number.

“Why are you smiling?” she asks immediately, sounding annoyed.

“No reason.”

“No one smiles for no reason,” she argues. “What do you find so amusing?”

He shrugs. “That you’ll be dead in a matter of minutes.”

I wonder at his casual confidence. I find it irksome—we’re obviously at Anona’s mercy, not the other way around.

“You’re in no position to be making threats,” she admonishes, irritation in her voice. I can’t help but agree with her.

“It’s not a threat, it’s a fact,” Baron responds in that offhand manner of his. “ Crawler Mucus is an airborne toxin.”

Anona’s expression falters. “So what?” she asks but there’s worry in her tone.

“So you just inhaled quite a lot of it. Unless you reverse the poison with the antidote, you’ll be dead in about an hour,” Baron finishes.

“You’re lying,” she counters.

“Am I?”

She nods and eyes him narrowly. “I never inhaled Crawler Mucus. I merely looked at it just now.”

“When the truck caught fire, do you recall the green flames?” Baron continues.

She nods.

Truck? I think to myself as I don’t recognize the word. Ah, the wagon contraption is referred to as a truck .

Baron continues. “When was the last time you saw fire burn green?”

“Never,” she admits slowly.

His smile broadens. “Exactly. The flames were tainted with Crawler Mucus, which is why the fire burned the color it did. Just before the explosion, I released the Crawler Mucus into the air.”

“We took your bag o’ poisons,” Dravon pipes up.

“An assassin never limits his poisons to merely one location,” responds Baron, his tone of voice one of smug satisfaction.

It’s a moment before anyone speaks.

“Which one is the antidote?” Anona asks as she stares down at the satchel.

“Release me and I will tell you,” Baron replies, his voice calm, almost bordering on uninterested. My chest swells with hope.

“You think I’m a fool,” Anona laughs.

“Tell me, Anona, how do you feel?” Baron pauses. “Do you feel lightheaded, perhaps? Are you experiencing a shallowness of breath, a slight tingling in your fingers?”

She says nothing.

“It can be quite the agonizing way to go,” he continues. “Out of every poison in my collection, Crawler Mucus took the longest to develop an immunity.”

“We all inhaled it,” one of her henchmen points out.

Baron looks at him and nods. “Yes, we all did.”

“Then we’re all infected?” another one asks.

“It goes without saying, eh?” Baron chuckles.

“Mistress, I’m feeling tinglin’,” the same man says to Anona. She dismisses his concerns with a wave of her irritated hand.

“Who are you?” she asks Baron.

He shrugs, as if she should already know the answer. “My name is Revenant; perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

“No, I’ve never heard of you,” she barks back at him.

His smile broadens. “Then I am doing my job correctly.”

“Why do you carry such an arsenal of poisons?” she continues, and there’s a clean line of sweat beading from her brow. Either she’s nervous or the Crawler Mucus is beginning to work.

“Is that not quite obvious?”

“Answer the fucking question!” Anona yells at him.

“I’m an assassin,” Baron retorts with another shrug.

Anona swipes her arm across her forehead. Her skin grows paler by the second.

“Then what you speak is the truth?” she presses.

“I speak only the truth,” he responds matter-of-factly. “Release me if you do not wish to die a most painful death.”

“Argh, he’s bluffin’ mistress. That Mucus shit ain’t nothin’ but faerie potion,” scoffs Dravon.

“No, I’m havin’ a hard time breathin’,” one of the other men says. His skin is pasty white.

“Silence,” Anona responds, but there’s fear in her eyes. Her voice sounds tight and harsh. “Tell me which vial contains the antidote, or I’ll test each one on your pretty little angel friend.” With a nod of her head, she motions to Eilish.

My stomach drops and I notice Baron’s facial expression blanches for a split second before he catches himself.

Anona smiles broadly. “I imagine the angel doesn’t possess the same immunities you do?”

“I don’t care what you do to anyone here,” he responds, eyeing her narrowly. “The Shadow King hired me to ensure safe passage from Grimreap. I care as much for their lives as I do for yours.”

“You lie,” Anona retorts, with doubt in her voice.

“My own life, however, is something I care for very much. Release me and I will assist you.”

“We can’t give the angel the poisons,” Dravon reminds Anona. “Variant said he wants her alive.” He takes a deep breath. “He wants all o’ ‘em alive.”

“You’re running out of time,” Baron interjects.

“If I release you, you return to Grimreap at once,” she tells him. “You tell no one what happened here. You shrink back into the shadows and you disappear. Do you understand?”

Baron nods.

“We can’t let him go!” shouts Dravon.

“Variant doesn’t know he’s even here,” Anona spits back at him. “He’s no one.” Little does she really know…

“True,” Baron responds. “I am no one.”

“Now, where is the antidote?” she hollers, her voice strained from the effort of yelling with her weakened lungs.

“My satchel,” Baron orders as Anona instructs Dravon to untie him. The huge, lumbering beast pauses for a moment but then grumbles something indistinguishable and fumbles with Baron’s bindings.

“No, I won’t bring you your satchel,” Anona returns. “That wasn’t the deal. I released you, now tell me which is the antidote.”

Just then, I’m startled by a noise behind me: the soft whirring of a pair of small wings. I remain immobile, committed to my charade of unconsciousness. Until I know how to help Baron, the element of surprise will remain all I have on my side.

***

FLUMPH

Riverine , for all its pretty colors, be heavy as shit.

By the time I makes it back to the fork in the road where I was separated from my group o’ assholes, I be tired as a warlock after a busy night in a whorehouse. The heavy stone weighs as much as I does, an’ its weight anchors me only a few feet above the dusty ground.

Good news is, being so close to the ground, it’s easy to make out the footsteps of my five companions. I follow their tracks for miles, my forehead drippin’ with greasy sweat an’ my hands slippin’ from the edges o’ the rock with every flap o’ my wings. I zig zag between Eilish’s small prints an’ the rest o’ them dickheads’.

I stop a lot to rest, but everytimes I do, I hear Shadow Butt’s voice in my ear yellin’ at me to keep flyin’. I can’t get aways from him, even when he ain’t even here!

Dick.

I lift the fabric o’ my shirt to see if my belly looks smaller. All this starvin’ an’ flyin’ ought to at least make me a little better lookin’. The shiny, slightly hairy hill o’ flesh that greets me proves I gots a long way to go on my weight loss journey. Not that I’m really tryin’, though. A fat sprite is the best kinda sprite, far’s I’m concerned.

Starin’ at the footsteps in front o’ me shows I’ve got me a long way to go. I sigh, pick up the rock, an’ carry off down the road once more.

After what feels like forevers an’ a half, the tracks change. Three more sets o’ prints join the ones I been followin’. A weight even heavier than this damned rock lands isself right in my stomach. An’ even though I’m hungrier than shit, I feels like I’m gonna hurl up whatever’s left inside me.

As I’m floatin’ above ‘em, the path made by my friends jist stops. Looks to me like they’ve run into some company.

Fear finds me fast. My first thought ain’t for my friends’ safety, but my own. I mean, I gotta look out fer me, ‘cause none o’ them seems too keen ta do it. Save maybe the angel. But, much as I wanna help, I also like bein’ alive.

And chances are, the lot o’ them be all dead… or at least close. Unless I wanna follow in their footsteps, it’s better ta get as far away as possible.

But what if they be alive?

Sometimes, I hate that goody-goody voice that go off in my head.

I look back at my sweaty belly, jigglin’ whiles I waver in the air. If they wanted rescuin’, maybe they shoulda found themselves a fitter sprite.

But then I think o’ the angel. I risked it all to save her before; I can do it agin. She could be the key to endin’ Variant, an’ that’s a big deal. Bigger than my life, bigger than anybody’s life, even bigger than my grumblin’ stomach.

Soze, I take off down the path agin, this time followin’ the tire tracks that carry on forevers. Decidin’ to help gives me new energy, an’ the stone feels lighter than it did before. It ain’t slippin’ from my hands no more, anyways.

Before long, I make out the sight o’ a fire off the road a bit. ‘Bout the same time, I sees black, charred ground that takes over the tracks I been followin’. Somethin’ happened here. A fire, maybes? I get even more scared.

The wind carries a voice to where I’m hoverin’ over the burnt road an’ I turn to ice. I’d know that voice anywheres, ‘cause it haunts my dreams most nights.

Anona.

Somethin’ surprises me, though. I ain’t as ’fraid as I was before. I feel scared for my friends, but if anyone can save ‘em now, it’s me. I drop the stone behind a tree an’ try to cover up its bright blue with some dirt.

Then I fly real quiet-like into the woods, far enough away but where I can still see the flickerin’ flames o’ the fire. I still my wings an’ try to be real quiet whiles I move from tree to tree, close to the flames as I can get without revealin’ my position.

As a general rule, sprites ain’t known for their stealth. There’s assassins an’ shadow creatures that can hide in shadows an’ stay outta sight. That ain’t me, though.

At least I got my smallness on my side, an’ I’m close enough now to count the figures in front o’ me. Three sit at the fire—I recognize the shapes of Anona an’ Dravon—her, thin and worm-like; him, thick an’ worm-like. Some other big guy’s there, too. Can’t see his face, though.

There be more shapes I recognize, all slumped ‘gainst trees, lookin’ dead as dogs. I creep closer, my wings keepin’ me off the ground.

Shadow Butt Jr., otherwise known as Thoradin, be closest to me. I think he must be asleep, but as I get me closer, I hear him move his head to see what’s behind him.

“It’s me,” I whisper. “I’m here to save your sorry asses.”

A sprite don’t have many moments to play hero, an’ my chest puffs in spite o’ the fact that we could still die. An’ we probly will.

Big guy don’t say nuthin’, but when I work that rope free from his hands, I see him nod an’ I fly on to release the others.

The closer I get to Anona, the more my body starts shakin’ somethin’ awful. She talkin’ to the vamp now, an’ the guard walks o’er to him. I take the time they’re spendin’ distracted to untie the rest of their ropes.