Project: Shadow Walker. Dalin Moss
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crack from behind sent Jim’s reflexes to work. Crouching low, he found the hilt of a dagger in each hand. His eyes swept the forest, scanning the trees and ground for signs of people or husks. Another crack rang from his left, and Jim let his dagger fly towards the noise. The dagger sliced at a cloaked figure hiding behind a tree. The blade caught the hood of the cloak, forcing it off and pinning it to the trunk.
A girl stared at Jim, her eyes and face contorted in a fierce expression of rage. She seamlessly shed the cloak and sprinted forward, closing the gap between them in moments. A thin sword extended from her hand, angled to sweep at Jim’s throat. Jim easily caught the sword with his own blade, redirecting it to the ground.
The girl moved quickly, jabbing a small knife from her other hand at Jim while her sword soared. Jim stepped past the blade, allowing it to brush against the fabric of his shirt but never allowing it to contact his body. He kicked at the girl’s leg, trying to force her off balance to gain a quick victory. His foot made contact, and she began to fall.
The girl leaned into her fall and, using her hand to push off the ground, smashed both feet into Jim’s chest. Unprepared for the attack, Jim staggered backwards. The kick was faster than he had anticipated. No human could match the speed and grace that had caught him off-guard. She had to be a Hero.
Jim knew the fight just got dangerous. To fight another Hero meant he would have none of the advantages that he had relied on so heavily in the past years. He slowed his breathing and reached for the calm place that would allow him to win. The girl rose to her feet, breathing heavily. She looked up at Jim, locking eyes.
A panic began to grow in Jim as he stared. Her eyes were green, emeralds contrasting her dark hair. She was no Hero, only a human. A human that moved so quick that a Hero couldn’t avoid an attack. The panic continued to bloom, moving into Jim’s arms and legs. If he didn’t do something, cut down his opponent now, the panic would consume him. He needed to move, to attack, to be rid of this girl. Now.
Jim and the girl lunged forward at the same time, each adjusting to the other’s course. Metal screeched as weapons collided, each threw their entirety into their attacks. The girl’s sword came fast and often, forcing Jim to parry and defend. I need to end this quickly! Jim attacked back, putting a force into each swing that sent a ripple through the girl’s arms and into her chest. I’m getting tired. My attacks are slowing.
Jim continued to catch each attack, predicting the next with practiced precision. The girl’s breathing had quickened, and a sheet of sweat had formed on her forehead. Jim pushed forward with a sweep, his blade catching the girl’s arm. She allowed herself a glance at the wound, the bright crimson stained through her shirt. The cut was long but shallow, starting at her shoulder and working its way towards her elbow.
A desperation overtook Jim. He wanted to run but knew that by turning his back he would ensure his death. So, Jim began another onslaught, forcing his blade to contact and overcome his enemy. He drove down, using his desperation as strength with each blow. The girl parried, and Jim found one of his daggers stuck in the ground at her feet. He let go of the hilt, forgetting the weapon immediately, and attacked with his single blade. My arm is killing me.
Jim saw an opening as he jumped towards an attack. His blade sang against his opponent’s while his foot kicked at her outstretched leg. The girl fell again, trying to replicate the kick she had landed once before, but this time Jim was ready. He sidestepped quickly, grabbing at the girl’s ankle. With her leg in his grip, he pulled her up into the air and slammed her against the trampled soil.
Jim’s head suddenly became clear and calm, the desperation and panic disintegrating in an instant. The lack of fear and emotion caused him to stop and evaluate his fight. Constantly, the battle was in his favor. There was no reason behind his fear. There was no reason to panic. Victory was always his.
Confused, Jim looked down at the girl. She lay dazed. Sweat had mixed with dirt from the fall, covering her face in a muddy sheen. She lay so still, so calm, no panic or fear anywhere in sight. Why had he attacked her with such fierce intent?
Jim retrieved his dagger from the ground a few feet away and polished the steel on his cloak. He looked towards the unconscious girl. The sun would set within the hour, and the night that followed would no doubt be cold and harsh. If she was left here alone, she would freeze before she awoke, even if she was a Hero. Or, her blood would attract wolves and husks. She would be dead by sunrise.
Jim looked up at the sunlit canopy. More memories began to play through his mind. On freezing nights, he had huddled in the tops of trees, the only safe places from the packs of wolves pawing at the trunks below. He would shiver as he hugged the rough bark close to his cheek, but the shivers were never from fear—until the wolf pack would run, and the ground below grew silent. He would often hear footsteps and ragged breathing as the true terror walked nearby. Then, when those footsteps grew louder, and the figures appeared in the opening below, that is when his shivers turned to shakes and his eyes would close tight.
No one deserved to wake in a night like that, not even this girl who had tried to kill him.
Jim walked back to the still figure in the grass. He picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and retrieved her cloak from the nearby tree. The night was going to be long, but less lonesome than it had been all those years ago.
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The darkest part of the night had passed before Emma began to stir. Every inch of her hurt; the slightest movement sent torrents of pain cascading through her chest and into her bursting head. But she was alive, somehow. After that Hero tossed her to the ground, and her world went dark, he had kept her alive. Emma opened her eyes, allowing the rude light to assault her senses and magnify the throbbing inside her skull.
A bright, warm fire illuminated a small makeshift barricade. A narrow exit between two boulders led towards the blinding shadows of the long night. At her back, Emma sat against three large trees. Their trunks had grown close together, forming a natural wall against the darkness and elements beyond. Next to the fire lay a charred rabbit, a spit sticking through its torso and into the soft earth.
Emma sat up. A quick examination revealed she had no broken bones, all her weapons had been sheathed in their proper places, and her arm had been bandaged prettily. Attempting to move her shoulder too quickly resulted in a flash of red pain that made her wince and gasp sharply.
A rustling came from the entrance to the barricade. Emma instinctually grabbed for the sword that she kept on her back. The blade felt like an extension of her arm as she held it against the noise. Two golden eyes peered at her from the narrow opening, then the Hero entered the sanctuary.
The man who emerged was tall, causing him to crouch low as he came to the place where the two boulders met. His brown hair shagged past his ears, bouncing as he awkwardly stepped and sat next to the fire. Emma watched, unblinking, at the average looking man sitting quietly a few feet away. The man stared intently at the fire, keeping his eyes as hidden as possible with a practiced ease.
Emma understood now why she hadn’t feared to fight him at first. He knew the advantages that came with his kind, so he knew that a more cautious approach would be taken if his opponents knew what he was. In the fight, he refused to look her in the eyes until she was too close to back down. Emma shivered, remembering the panic that threatened her when he showed her what he was. Sure, she had fought Heroes before, but never up close, and never alone. It was a miracle that he had allowed her to last for more than a moment.
The man sat perfectly still, never reaching for his weapons or acknowledging the pointed metal Emma held. Emma inched backwards. The coarse bark scratched against her wounded arm, forcing her to acknowledge the fiery pain with a blink. The Hero’s eyes snapped at the movement, an odd concern showing in the brief motion.
“Sorry, about earlier.” Sympathy lay heavy on his tired voice. “I don’t know what came over me.”
His eyes darted to Emma’s bandaged shoulder, then drifted back to the flames.
He gestured towards the rabbit at Emma’s