The imminence of death and pain pushes you to do better, hardening you, and toughening you up. But if it takes over, it shall suffocate you, making you choke on the ambition that once kept you going.
***
"5 Kones. It's a bit withered at the end, Miss Layla."
"Absolutely not! Mr. Jane, that's just what the herb looks like. 10 Kones and not one less."
"Ah! But what about...."
As his mother dealt with their usual customers, Alan stretched out on a stack of herb boxes, breathing in the cold air, draped in his usual grey cloak. The last 2 weeks were unusual. The only welcome change was the recurring nightmares that had plagued him for a week suddenly stopping. He no longer had to wake up in his sweat, fearing some odious monster bursting through the walls of his house. He was relieved, as he had almost given up on sleep, fearing the black abyss he would see.
His mother's business continued as usual, and his life regained its tedium, but what was unusual was Grandpa Joe's behavior. Contrary to his regular easygoing self, he spoke far less and his eyes no longer carried his signature twinkle. He also often disappeared from the slums, returning a few days later with a grim look. But the strangest thing occurred today morning when he woke up. Grandpa Joe walked in staring at Alan with a melancholic look in his eyes. He curved his fingers into a claw over his heart and made a pulling motion before holding his hand face up at Alan, as though he was offering it to him.
He then murmured, "Watch the shadows boy. They hold secrets untold" and turned around, walking away, leaving Alan both confused and scared.
And when he tried to run up to him, it seemed as though he had vanished into thin air. After a few minutes of pondering over what happened, he had decided not to tell his mother, choosing to mull over it himself, as he had made no sense of what happened. She had noticed Grandpa Joe's abnormal behavior as well and would know of what happened anyway, for Grandpa Joe ate dinner with them twice a week. He could ask him about what he said then.
Alan sighed and stared at his shadow's faint outline on the ground, the dull, grey sky preventing it from fully forming.
'Watch the shadows. What did grandpa Joe mean?'
He thought for a moment before closing his eyes, calming his cluttering mind. He tried to rid himself of all thought, a meditation technique Grandpa Joe taught him. A few minutes went by, and a warm feeling enveloped him, but it disappeared as soon as it came. As if on cue, Alan opened his eyes and stared at his shadow, hoping to unveil its supposed secrets, but he saw nothing strange. He snorted, 'Of course, nothing would happen. What was I thinking?'
But just as he started to feel like a total idiot, he heard a faint chuckle. He froze and looked at his shadow. It started to move, twisting and morphing into weird shapes, as though there was something trapped inside it. He gasped and scrambled back, hoping his eyes were deceiving him, but before he could call out in fear, his shadow flickered, returning to its normal state. It looked as though nothing happened. Alan frowned and tried again and again and again but in vain. For the next few hours, Alan continued to stare at his shadow but failed to see it move again. He even tried to enter that weird meditative state he had been in but failed miserably.
"Alan, come here. The booths are about to close. You've been terribly lazy today, haven't you?", Layla's voice interrupted Alan.
"Sorry, mom", Alan replied scurrying over to help his mother shut down the booth.
"We made some extra Kones today, the shop got sold out early too. I'll go invite Rhys and Carlos to dinner, their mother is sick after all", Layla said.
Alan nodded his head, "Sure". This was just how his mother was. When they made a few extra Kones, they would feed the children in the slums. She loved helping others even if it meant losing a few Kones. That led to the children affectionately calling Layla "Mother" as well.
"Don't wander too far and keep your hair tucked in, I can see a strand poking out"
"Yes, mum. I will", Alan promised, stuffing his hair back in his cloak.
Layla hugged him and walked away, blending into the bustling crowd. He frowned as he watched his mother disappear. He didn't know why, but he felt that he wouldn't be able to feel that warm embrace for a long time.
Suddenly, He stiffened and looked at his shadow.
He could've sworn he heard a peal of icy-cold laughter.
***
The sound of hooves clopping against the ground pierced the quietude of the grasslands as seven horsemen tore through the wind. They were dressed in tight, black outfits that seemed to allow great freedom of movement, and only their eyes were left uncovered by their cloth masks. All the riders except one, who seemed to be the leader, had swords hanging at their waists. He was the largest man of them all and his abyssal eyes flashed with a deadly glint.
"Skurd! Report!", Amund yelled to no one in particular. But then, his shadow, which seemed darker than normal, trembled and from it a raspy voice resounded, "He still resides in Frysta. His senses are keen, he knew I was there, watching him."
"Then why the fuck didn't you kidnap him? If you could spy on him, you could do that at the very least, right?", Amund replied, his face showing his displeasure.
"Young master, must I remind you that I am but a mere shadow. I watch but I-"
"...cannot interfere. Yes, yes, I know. I spoke thoughtlessly", Amund interrupted the voice and grumbled in frustration, "How far is the Gnott Clan's territory from here? Dragging the bastard to Meginer will be a pain when he's in another clan's territory."
"A few hours, My Lord.", A horseman replied.
Just as Amund was about to complain about the journey's length, a humanoid figure came into view not far from them.
"Is that a person?"
"Impossible, why would anyone be so far away from the city?", the horsemen thought loudly.
Amund focused his eyes, he could see far more than an ordinary man after all. It was indeed a person. He wore a common tunic and his wrinkled hands showed his age. But what startled Amund the most was the fact that he couldn't make out the person's face. It was almost as though there was a veil that made his eyes glaze over when he tried to see it.
"Who are you? Why are you here?", Amund yelled at the man when they reached him, annoyed at the fact that he still couldn't make out the person's face which also made him slightly wary. He would've usually just killed the person, but he needed answers.
'Is he the reason for the disappearance of our men?'
"If I say ye were marching to yer doom, would ye turn back?", the old man said his voice carrying an odd accent.
"Huh? what are you talking about? Our doom? Do you not know who I am?", Amund boomed, infuriated at the lack of respect, oblivious to the fact that he had a mask on and his hair was covered.
The old man did not answer. He tilted his head as though he were listening to someone else. He then looked at the sky, "Alright, Alright. I have done enough. He must walk his own path.". The man shook his head.
Amund was now incredibly confused and irritated. This man not only ignored him but also told him, the 'Mad Butcher' was marching to his doom. Just as he was about to smash the man's brains in, the old man vanished. Amund froze. This was the first time he had seen anything like this before and he was beyond baffled.
'How did he do that? Who was he? What was he talking about?'
Questions piled up in his head as he tried to make sense of what happened for teleportation was not something that was common. Skurd was the only one he knew who had access to it.
"Young Master, we must inform the Patriarch of this, but the mission is far more important. I believe you cherish your arm just as anybody else.", Skurd rasped from his shadow, startling him.
Amund massaged his temples, doing his best to calm his irritated mind, "You are right. Father must not be disappointed."
He ordered his men to continue the journey and stared at the horizon where the city of Frysta could be faintly seen, his eyes for a moment filled with hesitation.