The White Shadow

8. A Lifetime Ago

A year later...

And all the bards' songs continue to wail of death. Firmin pressed the ink against the parchment. The dark blot spread as he stopped to think what to write next.

     He looked up, wanting to rub his eyes. Only with candlelight to write. Hell, write about the shadow. And what she had stolen from him.

     People claimed she had taken the life of half their village. Then the wolves, the animals, the hunters of the woods left the forest in search of prey and food elsewhere. The livestock started disappearing next, from the farms further up north. Closer to the dukedom. More complaints were brought in, but less and less people to bring them.

     While the shadow of light continued to travel closer, it left trails of death behind.

     "We have heard, that you had been attacked by the white shadow?" a strange man had asked him on one night. Waiting by his bedside for the moment he would wake.

      Firmin's mind had been a haze. His vision a blur. His muscles didn't move. His voice didn't sound. He'd almost died.

     "And yet here you are," the man had whispered. "Alive. With a beat in that heart. A pulse in those veins." And then so many more questions came. From different people. Some to use him. Some to pity him. All wanting to hear the truth.

     Perhaps he had survived her, recovering after months. But was he really alive?

     A knock at the door. And much commotion. "I demand it now!" A woman's voice—just barely familiar. The door rattled.

     Firmin sighed. Put down his feather and turned on his chair. "It is late! If this is really so important you can find me another day."

     He glanced at the wall, the blank wall. Only his knives hung as a decoration within his belt by a peg. He could hear Gethin's, the large man teaching him, yelling voice in his mind, felt sore and weary already thinking about all the lifting and practicing. Tomorrow his training would continue.

     "Firmin, it is I!"

     He sighed. "I'm sorry, I do not know any I."

     "It's me, Roxanne! Firmin, you know me."

     "Roxanne . . ." Wait what? He released another deep breath. "Let her in."

     The door opened. Yes, the long brown hair, fixed green eyes, set jaw. She was taller and looked stronger than he had remembered her. Well, the last time he had seen her was the time he'd been recovering in bed. Vague memories of her talking to him, touching his forehead, made him want to send her away. He wasn't certain whether it had been a dream but he thought he remembered her crying.

      Instantly at her sight, he felt a hollow ache. He did not wish to see her. Nothing—no one of his past.

     "Firmin," she gasped. "You look no better than when I last saw you."

     She rushed to him and put her hand on his forehead, grabbing his hand with the other.

     Like he was terribly ill.

     He winced. Like the time he had been in bed, her touch brought an ache, causing his head to pound more and another shiver to course through his veins. He grasped her wrist and held it at half an arm's length from his face.

     "Roxanne," he said, not looking her in the eye, fixating his attention on the little scar on her arm instead, "why are you here?"

     Roxanne withdrew her hands and stepped back. As the silence dragged, he cringed a little, following her gaze around the room. He'd forgotten to take care of the pile of clothes and items scattered on the floor, having grown annoyed with servants showing in his room. But he decided it all really didn't matter, and so, cracking his neck and taking a deep breath, he didn't care to explain the mess to Roxanne.

      She looked at him closely after her quick scouring of his room. "What happened to you, Firmin?" Her soft whisper seemed louder, sharper than her normal voice. Though he'd almost forgotten what she had sounded like.

     He sighed. Shifted in his seat, his discomfort growing. "Roxanne, we are no longer just friends from the same town, joining a group of people for—adventure."

     He glanced up into Roxanne's eyes. Hard eyes, yet moist with tears.

     Tears only brought an ache, yet they were a luxury he could not forge.

     "I have soldiers now, a house." He shook his head. "Responsibilities. I am commander of the duke's men."

     Roxanne looked at him, clearly not understanding. Firmin waited. Roxanne scoffed, blinking and looking away. Her expression hardened before she turned it back towards Firmin.

     "Well, then, Commander, I came here about your duties."

      "I am no longer on duty. Come back tomorrow—"

     "Wait," Roxanne said. "I came here, all the way from Greenforest. Please."

      Firmin didn't know how many days away the little village was; he'd never made the journey himself. Well, he did, but he wasn't conscious. Firmin waited in her silence, reaching out to his desk and tapping his fingers on the edge.

     She swallowed. "It's the white shadow," she whispered. She hesitated, as if waiting for a reaction.

     The name meant nothing to Firmin. He began to play with his pen, whirling the feather impatiently between his fingers. "Well?"

     "Oh, Firmin," she said, voice and expression melting. "Let me help you. You shouldn't have to carry this on your own. For far too long—"

     Enough. "Guards," Firmin called, standing up. Leaning on his fists over his table, sighing.

     "No, wait, please. My family," Roxanne begged. "She took my little brother. The white shadow murdered my brother!"

     Firmin walked from the table and opened the door. "Escort this lady from my chambers, please. Find her a place to stay if she didn't think to find one first."

     "Firmin, she is targeting my family! As well as everyone else from Greenforest Village! Please, all I ask for is a temporary home for the villagers. Here, in the duke's estate."

     "And then what when she comes here?" Firmin nodded to the guards. They grabbed Roxanne's arms.

     "Will you not listen? The people are dying. The animals too! Do you not care?"

     He shut the door after the guards. He took a deep breath. Of course he cared. He was, after all, the commander. Though manpower wasn't what he expected to overcome the shadow at all, it was his priority. Whether or not he wanted to, it was his job to care. And to solve the problem of the white shadow.

     But not this night. He exhaled deeply, rubbed his forehead, and blew out his candle. He crawled to bed, wondering what was wrong with him.

     He lay and stared up at the ceiling. It wasn't his room. His mother wouldn't rush in. There hadn't been questions about how he had survived for a week now.

     He sighed and turned over on his side. Only a month, and his life was a worse mess than ever before.

     Damn, he wanted to sleep. Perhaps tonight he wouldn't relive the past. Perhaps tonight his dreams wouldn't haunt him. Like they did every other night.

     He closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to overtake him. Voices started filling his head. He shifted, but knew he couldn't escape.