XVI. Shadow of an Entity

The waves crashed on the rocky shore, threatening to dislodge the small pleasure craft that had recently become lodged there. Begrudgingly, Vance began the slow trek from rocky shore towards the massive dunes before him.

Vance stumbled as he tried to navigate a sandy slope one handed, half-climbing, and half-sliding on the dune. The constant gale whipped sand into his eyes and mouth. He used his sheathed sword as an ineffective crutch, his left arm was all but useless and his chest ached with each breath. The Priestess had likely sealed the wound to keep him from bleeding out, but the muscle had yet to mend and his flesh was still tender.

Unable to grin and bear it any longer, he took refuge behind some reeds and dug the vial of Dawn Water from his pocket. He tore the stopper out with his teeth and swallowed the glowing liquid in a single gulp. Typically, the water was only used topically for minor lacerations or burns. He had never seen it swallowed to treat anything besides a stomachache and hoped that it would work. After taking several moments to catch his breath, he stood to continue his journey. He did feel somewhat better but was unsure if it was the healing powers of the draught or placebo.

The overcast sky and chilly air was odd for summer. As he dragged himself across the dunes, he saw a sea of beach grass and several lightly forested hills stretching off into the distance. He groaned and leaned against his sword. Traversing so much sand would be a nightmare. His stomach grumbled and he chuckled at the cruelness of the gods. He had eaten the bread and cheese the day before and had essentially been fasting since. The cask of wine had been corked long ago to the point of being vinegar, and being drunk, while probably making his journey a bit more tolerable, would not serve him if he encountered problems.

Vance turned his eyes to the sky; the clouds completely hid the sun, leaving him lost as to time and direction. The coast looked like a stretch of shore that could be found anywhere along the Sorrow. He could be in Sorn or Eurithania; he had no way of telling. If he had stayed north as he thought, he was likely in Sorn, though where was another matter.

A stiff breeze whipped up a small cyclone of sand, and he took that as his cue to hurry on. There would likely be a place to find shelter on one of the hills, and he could figure out his direction of travel from there.

* * *

After slogging through the shifting sands for hours, the sun had set, and he was no closer to shelter. Vance was ready to collapse and admit defeat amidst the sawgrass when the telltale flicker of a campfire caught his eyes. It was unclear whom it belonged to, and it would be wise to consider wherever he was, hostile territory. He unsheathed his sword and took a practice swing; his left pectoral was still stiff and severely limited his range of motion. He gave it a few practice swings, finding the balance ungainly and the pain unbearable. While he could ostensibly wield the two-handed blade with one if pressed, it would be incredibly cumbersome and his skill would be diminished. He sheathed the weapon and hoped it would not come to that.

As he mounted the ridge overlooking the sea, he saw a brightly colored caravan and a single cooking fire in the lee of the cliff. He could not make out the figures seated beside it, but there only appeared to be two of them. A pair of oxen grazed on the beach grass nearby, still in harness. Possessing all the grace of a stone, Vance half slid, half tumbled down the side of the cliff. With a pained groan, he came to rest as a battered heap on the sand. As he brushed the sand from his hair and clothing, he noticed one of the figures stand and peer out at him through the gloom. Vance swore under his breath and waved back to the figure. It was unavoidable. While he would have liked the advantage in their encounter should they be hostile, he doubted it would have done him too much good.

“Who are you?” The young man called out.

He was a lean young man with jet black, tightly curled hair. His skin was the color of milk tea, and despite his youth, his golden eyes were shrewd, and world worn. He wore a baggy pair of harem pants with cinched cuffs above bare feet, a colorful open vest over an oversized tunic with equally bright and gaudy colors and patterns. Beside him was a young woman of similar complexion with wavy violet hair stood and clutched her hand to her breast. She wore pleated chiffon of various colors with bells dangling from her waist, her shawl was of embroidered silk and her peasants top was tight around a sizable bust and cut in such a way that her assets were on full display. Vance reluctantly tore his gaze away from her, wondering why the gods saw fit to tempt him so at every opportunity.

“Sir Vance Jung, Knight of The Order, I mean you no harm.” He carefully pointed in the direction of his vessel. “My vessel crashed here, though I am not sure where here is exactly.”

“Did you sail alone?” the young man demanded; his body turned as to conceal something at his side.

Vance relaxed and took a step forward. “Yes, I am alone.”

The man raised a crossbow and aimed it at his chest. Vance quickly raised his hands and took two steps back.

“Lies! You speak like a Duvachelléian, you could not possibly have sailed the Sorrow alone!”

“Peace sir! My vessel was adrift; when I awoke, I was already beached. I come from the Temple Therion; the Xanaviens took the Priestess. I won’t trouble you further if you would just point me in the direction of a town or city.”

The woman stepped forward, her bells and bobbles jingling with each step. She too had golden eyes, eyes that held wisdom and cunning.

“Zuri, lower your weapon, he speaks the truth.”

Her voice was rather husky, though still sultry, like that of a woman who made a living whispering sweet nothings into the ears of gullible and desperate men. The boy acquiesced to her request with a discontented grumble.

“I am Leila, and this is my brother, Zuri.”

Vance nodded to Zuri, who rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. He was still a child, no older than his late teens, and Vance convinced himself not to take the rudeness personally. Especially since he still had that loaded crossbow.

“Come,” Leila said as she took Vance’s arm in her own. “Join us by the fire, summers along the Sorn coast can be a lot like winters.”

Vance allowed her to lead him to the stumps that served as seats around the modest fire, all under the watchful gaze of her brother Zuri. Their accents and dress were reminiscent of the wanderers that often set up booths at the various carnivals, though their name escaped him. Mostly grifters and fortune tellers as he recalled, they were also the go-to for young men seeking to lose their virginities, for a price. They tended to travel in caravans of a dozen or more of the gaudily painted wagons; it was odd to find just the two of them.

“What part of Sorn is this?”

“The peninsula.” She replied with a smile. “Just south of Fallout Hill.”

Vance eased himself into his seat and massaged his sore pectoral. “Are there any towns nearby? I need to get word to the ruler of this land.”

“You won’t even call the man a king, yet you request his aid?” Zuri spat, his eyes like burning daggers at his chest, crossbow trained on his heart.

While he found the boy’s brazen tongue more than a little grating, he was unwilling to make anything of it.

“If this land is your home and I’ve offended your pride, I apologize.”

“Only thing that offends is the arrogance of Duvachelléians.”

“Enough Zuri.” Leila snapped.

Her brother grumbled under his breath some more and finally took a seat.

“As you yourself seem to be aware, these are dangerous times we live in, and our lifestyle has given us cause to be double cautious.”

Vance held up a hand and attempted a smile. “Think nothing of it.”

Leila grabbed a couple of earthenware mugs and proceeded to fill them with leaves and hot water from a kettle that hung over the fire. She handed him one of the steaming liquids to steep and snapped her fingers to get her brothers attention.

“Set one of the grouse you caught to fire, I’m certain our friend here hasn’t eaten in some time.”

Zuri opened his mouth to protest but settled for shooting Vance a dirty glare before throwing himself from his stump to do as he was bid.

“You really needn’t go through so much trouble on my account…”

“Nonsense. Your stomach has been growling non-stop since you’ve arrived, it’s more for my peace of mind than your own.”

He laughed to himself and averted his gaze. “Your hospitality is most welcome.”

“My brother does not car for the men of Duvachellé; they take too many liberties when a carnival passes through their towns.”

He could only guess as to what atrocities she alluded to and was not keen on pursuing the topic. The carnival folk, as they were often referred to, were not the most liked in Silex. They lacked a homeland and lived free on the land, which many saw as an affront to order and decency. Particularly so when a camp sprouted up in their backyards. Vance personally did not hold them in high esteem but was willing to plead ignorance on who they were and what they stood for. He had certainly never purposefully antagonized any of the carnies he had come across.

“Did you become separated from your troupe?”

She held out her arms. “This is our troupe, or what’s left of them.”

He nodded somberly. “Xanavene.”

“Yes, though not in the way you’d think. They were hired, or more aptly captured, to serve as whores and entertainment. It happened along the Sorn Elysia border; fortunately, Zuri and I were out foraging.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

Zuri returned with a cleaned grouse and jammed a stick up its bum before propping it up against the fire to cook.

“Does nothing to change the situation, it’d be better to keep your sorries.”

“Go get some wood for the fire Zuri.” Leila said flatly.

“But I just…! Fine.”

He stood once more and stormed off into the darkness. Vance could not help but to chuckle at the odd dynamic they shared. He had no sisters but knew those that did; none of them were as willful as Leila appeared. They certainly did not give orders to their brothers, even if they were the eldest. At least, they did not do it publicly.

“So, I’m not sure where you’re going mister knight, but the only town near here is Blithe upon Woe, and I’d not recommend it.”

“Why is that?” He asked as he eyed the roasting bird hungrily.

“It’s where we were headed, place is overrun with The Black Army though, they’re just down there waiting for something.”

“Damnit! How are they getting ships to traverse the sea?”

Leila shrugged. “Same way you did I’d imagine.”

“Are there any other towns nearby?”

She shook her head, causing her earrings to jingle pleasantly as they caught the firelight. She was a very beautiful woman; something about her golden irises awoke a primal desire within him, yet also dread. He could wind up lost in those eyes and wake up months later naked and alone in a snowbank. Much like a wealthy merchant of Ophelia had when he was going through his midlife existential crisis and sought the comforts of a young carnival woman.

“All towns south of the capitol have either been sacked by bandits or abandoned. The Xanaviens essentially waltzed in unopposed.”

“Figures.” Vance scoffed.

Sorn was a notoriously poor nation. Poorly governed with a poorly equipped military. If The Order and Aes Sidhe had not intervened, Duvachellé would have swallowed the nation years ago. The gentry of Marquez could have turned the wasted land into a veritable paradise.

“We’re headed north, towards a city closer to the capitol. While I’ll not tell Zuri just yet, if we can beat the first snows, I plan on taking us up to Blanche Fleur or Marquez.”

Vance nodded, his mouth watering as he watched the bird cook upon the fire. “I would stick to that plan, while you may have cause to dislike some of Duvachellé’s more unscrupulous citizens; it is the safest place to be until this menace is put in check.”

Leila smirked and leaned forward to turn over the grouse. Vance found himself distracted by the smell and unable to form coherent thoughts.

“Forgive me if I take your opinion with a grain of salt, but there is some truth to that.”

Zuri burst out from behind the wagon, knocking over a drying rack that was adjacent to the wheel. He was dripping sweat and his eyes were wide with fear.

“Where’s the wood?” Leila demanded.

He looked to her briefly then to the fire and let out a startled gasp. He dashed over to the fire and began furiously to kick sand over it. Vance was just barely able to grab the bird in time and cradled it protectively as Zuri made sure that he extinguished the fire down to the last ember.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Leila demanded as she stood to avoid being covered in kicked up sand.

Zuri dashed over to his sister, clamped a hand over her mouth, and bade her to be silent. Sensing a legitimate threat, Vance carefully planted the stick that held his dinner into the ground and stood up, unsheathing his sword. His arm was still sore, but he was feeling somewhat better after having sat before the fire. After several moments of tense silence, a shadowy figure slid down the dunes near where Zuri had just come back from. While it held the general shape of a man, it was far too large, approximately ten times as much.

Its crooked neck bent out from an ursine like hump on its back, ending in a wide, flat face. Shaggy fur that carried the scent of moss and mold covered the giant. Its arms were nearly as long as its body, and dragged in the sand, supporting the massive creature as it loped awkwardly across the dunes. A thick phallus dragged in the sand betwixt its legs, curving out from beneath a fleshy potbelly. The strange creature paused and yanked on a massive rope, eliciting a startled cry from some beast. A creature about half of the giant’s size leapt over the dune and flailed about in the sand for several moments before righting itself. It had the head and bust of a woman, the body of an ewe and legs of a deer. Its confusing anatomy was a juxtaposition of faun and centaur, sphinx and minotaur. Under its torso and between its forelegs hung two swinging, pendulous breasts, not unlike a human’s. The creature mewed as the giant tugged on its leash once more and continued is slow lumbering march towards the sea.

Vance watched in horrified silence as the pair disappeared over the dunes, his sword held limply at his side. He slowly turned towards Leila and her brother; both held the same flabbergast expression of terror and disbelief.

Vance returned his gaze to the dunes, empty save for the flowing grass in the breeze, illuminated by the golden glow of the moon.

He had dismissed the events on the boat as delirium brought about by dehydration and his wounds; unfortunately, the same could not be said about what he just witnessed. His stomach sank to the soles of his feet as he was forced to confront that what he had attributed to madness was in fact real.

He planted his sword into the sand and took a seat.

The remnants of the fire still smoked beside him as the sand fleas had their way with his forgotten meal.