Page 97 of Andreas

Perhaps, this mission was a blessing. Not a curse or a trap.

Chapter 37

Rymedur

‘What does the ink on your arm mean?’ Vasilio asked, absentmindedly poking a twig into the small fire.

Dragging his tired gaze away from the flames, Rymedur stared at him blankly. ‘It’s not ink.’ His eyes jumped to the exposed skin, a wisp slithering against his forearm as though it knew he was speaking about them. ‘They’re my shadows.’

‘What?’ Vasilio’s brows shot up, disappearing into the mop of red hair curling slightly against his forehead. ‘How did you manage to get them to remain dormant against your skin? I thought you just pulled them from your surroundings—not carry them with you.’

‘I don’t.’ Rymedur traced the shadow’s curve as it bent further into him, almost seeming to purr from the touch. ‘It’s like they…’ Rymedur wasn’t sure why they’d stayed with him. They just had. ‘Choose. Sometimes shadows are drawn to me. I guess if they like me, they stay.’ His shirt pulled against his shoulders as he shrugged. ‘Odd, isn’t it?’

‘Well, at least you have some colour,’ Vasilio pointed the charred end of the twig towards him before turning it on Areanel’s sleeping form. ‘Unlike her last lover. Gods, he was so dull, and his eyes were so cold! I mean, compared to that stick in the mud, Rea really—’

‘Vasilio!’ Brutus, nudging Vasilio in the ribs with an elbow, halted his rambling before Rymedur could ask him more about it. A lover? Areanel had never mentioned that, nor would he have expected her to… but that did not stop the irrational green serpent from tightening around his chest. Was this someone he knew? Had he met them? No. Surely, he would have noticed. But then, where was this lover now?

Leaning towards him, Vasilio interrupted his spiralling thoughts of jealousy and asked, ‘How does your ability work? The shadows, I mean.’ He raised the twig he had been poking into the fire, gesturing towards the spiralling darkness wrapping around Rymedur’s forearm. Rymedur followed the movement, noting how the bark fell like dust.

The more they traversed the forest, the more Rymedur realised how withered it had become. Trees were wasting away, no more than crooked, perishing things. The undergrowth practically crumbled beneath their boots, and there were no signs of life. They hadn’t passed any fauna. No joyous sounds of twittering birds. Nothing.

It was a decaying, rotting place, slowly crumbling away. As if it were fading.

A far different sight from the chaos of the city they had left behind, or the opulently decorated path that led to Andrea.

This path was, in fact, not a path at all. It was the true decay of the land. Rymedur remembered his mother once mentioning that it was a sign that the Elvadora had truly left them. The gods’ reminder, given when they left, that the mortals named the Gods’ Land. A place where faith went to wither and die.

Fortunately, Rymedur had no faith left to lose. He did not believe in what he did not see. Rymedur knew deep in his soul that his shadows were the only things he trusted. A solid thing he could see and feel. They—his shadows—he had faith in them.

A shadow tightened along his bicep as though validating his thought.

But how could he explain that to Vasilio?

Rymedur stared for a moment, and silence settled in the space as he thought about what to say. How could he describe it? He hadn’t really put much thought into how he commanded them. He just knew. It was second nature. Instinctual.

‘Well… I just tell them what I want, and they do it.’

‘They listen?’ Vasilio shifted forward, like he was drinking up every piece of information.

A rustling to his side had Rymedur reaching out, and he laid a hand on Areanel’s leg as she turned in her sleep. She had been exhausted when they’d dismounted, and no matter how hard she’d tried to stay awake, she had succumbed to the sweet lull of sleep in a matter of minutes. His thumb stroked back and forth in a soothing motion that was more for him than it was for her. The action grounded him.

‘Most of the time,’ he explained. ‘It’s not like I’m creating the shadows out of nothing. They’re already there, in the darkest corner, lurking out of sight, hidden underneath objects. I just bend them to my will. Send them a thought, and they follow my command.’

‘So,’ Brutus interjected, ‘it’s similar to how most access magic, then.’ He kicked a foot up to rest on his knee and leaned back, head hitting the rolled-up cloak he used as a makeshift pillow.

‘I don’t know,’ Rymedur admitted. ‘It’s not like I have other shadow wielders to compare myself to.’

A scoff escaped him. Shadow wielders hadn’t been around for centuries. Longer.

The only shadow wielder anyone spoke of was the god, Dullahan, and his descendants, who were all hunted into extinction when the gods walked amongst them. None that Rymedur knew of remained.

And even if there were, they would not want to teach him—he was half human.

‘I had to learn by myself.’

A single thought to the shadows curled around his wrist had one peeling away and drifting towards the flame. It danced along the edges, following the flicker of light before rushing back, settling not on Rymedur, but on Areanel. It curved around her wrist, stretching down to her palm and entwining with her fingers. The sight had his eyes softening, and his breath came a little easier.

‘Dammit,’ he continued, ‘I’m still learning. I guess Areanel and I have that in common… There’s no one like her—who has the ability to create fire so hot it burns blue. I haven’t seen anyone bar Percival do that before.’