Breaking Away (The Man in the Shadows) (11 page)

He implanted in her the seed of what humans called ‘fate’. This fate only had to do with finding some way to Maika and becoming a part of her life. What she did otherwise he could not control. For example, James did not like the man she ended up loving, Baruti. He was controlling and manipulative; he seemed to love controlling Zareh, rather than loving who she was as a person.

Okay, okay, so he could control more than just the empty space that could only be filled by Maika. James, tapping into his vengeful side, orchestrated a phenomenally complicated plan to rid Baruti from the picture... This plan would also solidify Maika and Zareh’s friendship. Oh, it was perfect! He cast a spell on Baruti, making him unbelievably greedy, selfish, and criminally inclined. He would even turn against the woman who stood by him all those years, the young and beautiful Zareh. It went off without a hitch. Included in his witchcraft was the footnote that Zareh, or anyone else for that matter, was not to be killed.

Dramatic, stressful, violent, scarring... all well worth it for his passion, Maika, and his surrogate child, Zareh.

***

The house seemed so desolate, so dreary, like an empty, echoing, cold arctic cave. Without Annika’s warm presence, the house was just a building, it was no longer a home that held all of their hopes and dreams, their visions of children, growing old together, and retiring happily ever after. The vast lake of turquoise sparkled in the sun’s light below the back deck as usual, and squirrels scurried across the wooden, lacquered planks and jumped from the awnings into the garden with energy and joy. The flowers, the ones that Annika had so lovingly and painstakingly planted, grew and flourished. Daydreaming about the dirt she’d get on her hands and unwittingly wipe on her forehead made James smile through the tears, through the misery... his life was redefined, as he now, for the first time, found himself without her.

His cup of coffee, placed on the counter carelessly, grew cold and stale as he stared out into nothing. After the battle that he had botched, he had asked for, and graciously given, a week to recuperate. He actually had wanted to spend it with Annika, cuddling on the couch, talking over dinner, playing hide and seek like they had when they were children. He had waited his whole life to be with her, yet spent almost his entire life at work.
Work.
“Saving the world,” he murmured to himself. Annika used to tell him that he was off saving the world. He had loved it when she said that, it made him feel like his absence was worth something. Now he realized, all the time away from her, he wanted it back. Every moment, every minute, every second, he wanted them all back. He wanted to go back in time, make different decisions, and live every waking moment with her, for her.

At the time that he had been promoted to High General, when he was only 22 years old, a record for youngest man in the Empire to ever hold that rank, he immediately, the same day, asked Annika Marie Stevenson to marry him. The little red haired girl he had held hands with in kindergarten; the girl he claimed had cooties at age ten; his first kiss at age fifteen; his first love, the love of his life.

He had sought out that summer evening and found her, in a large straw hat and a sundress, out by the lake, where they eventually built their house. She was picking flowers for her mother, who was due to have her 10th child at any moment. The sun held her in its hand, she out shined the sun by far. She was facing away from the oncoming outline of James, her bare feet tucked beneath her, her clear slip on shoes with the red flowers at the toes cast aside. Her slender shoulders were hunched over a patch of violets, her weight on her left arm as her right hand reached out, touching each flower tenderly, trying to find the perfect ones to include in the bouquet.

James walked into the field slowly, quietly. She hadn’t the slightest clue what was coming, and that fact made him incredibly happy. He not only wanted to surprise her with his new rank in the military, but with a ring he had bought when he was sixteen years old, when he knew for sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this girl. His mind had never wavered from that decision. Squinting as he walked into the orange glow of the setting sun, the rays began to turn pink and purple as the large ball of gas sank lower in the sky, behind the mountains. The lake in front of him looked like a sheet of hammered metal, with bends and rifts that seemed suspended in time, waves of light refracted in every direction like a crystal.

Trying to hide his smile, he couldn’t help it, and it crept through momentarily. He knew that this day would be the best day of his young life. Taking in a deep breath, he put on his serious face because it matched his brand new, freshly pressed, dark blue uniform better. His hat was worn low on his forehead, and his hands were covered in white, delicate gloves. A sword was sheathed at his side, rubbing up against his right leg as he inched closer to her.

Clearing his throat deliberately, she looked over her shoulder, her long bright red hair flying in the opposite direction. As her eyes took him in, she couldn’t help but gape. So handsome, so manly, he became more than her boyfriend, he became a real man in that instant. He couldn’t suppress his smile any longer, and he flashed her his glowing grin. Reaching up nervously, he took off his cap, and pressed it to his heart.

Scooting her body around, she rushed to find her shoes so she could stand and run to him. Before she could find them, he solemnly came up to her, kneeling in front of her. Her motion froze, not knowing what to do with herself. The broad brim of her hat getting in the way of their close proximity, she swiped if off curtly. While she still grasped her flower hat, her mouth still open in awe, he looked into her dark eyes and said, “Annika...”

Somehow she knew what was happening just by James’s one word utterance, even though they had never spoken of marriage at length in the past. She tried to take his hand, and at the same time tried to stand, prying him upwards with her, saying, “Oh, James. Your new uniform... I don’t want you to get grass stains on your pants...”

Freely, feeling her breadth of her kindness and care, he took her tiny hand with both of his. “Annika,” he repeated. “I love you more than life itself. I want to spend the rest of my life with you...”

Without thinking, overcome with joy and with James’s love for her, she leapt forward, dropping her hat, forgetting about her shoes, disregarding any impending grass stains about which she had only moments before been concerned, sending the flowers she had been picking into disarray, and knocked James flat on his back. Laughing heartily, James looked up at her hair flowing in all directions, the sun’s rays outlining her head like a halo. She landed hard on top of him, and pressed her lips to his before he could say another word, tears rolling down her cheeks, right down onto his. Letting her weight fall on to him gradually, she laid on top of him like a pillow, her eyes squeezed shut, unbelieving that her dream of love, and a family, had come true. Everything was perfect.

The question never crossed his lips, but it didn’t have to. Crying now, overcome with joy, she gave him one last peck before looking into his glowing blue eyes. She answered his silent question, with the only word he knew she’d say, “Yes.” Wrapping his arms around her back and squeezing as hard as he could, they laughed together in the tall grass. It shifted and swayed in the wind like a crowd of towns people cheering for their engagement, for their future.

One year later they were married.

One year and one week later, Annika was dead.

Picking up his white, ceramic coffee mug absentmindedly, he took a sip of his coffee, now morbidly cold. “Ach,” he wretched, and sat it back down on the granite countertop with a
thud
. He looked down at himself, unkept, pajama pants loosely hanging off his tired body, white t-shirt with food stains clinging to him, five o’clock shadow begging to be taken care of: A complete and utter mess, not a High General.

Lamin had tried contacting him by phone, by communication portal, he had even made a special trip over to his house to see how well James was dealing with the hardship, but James had ignored everything that had to do with the outside world. In James’s eyes, the outside world had corrupted him, and made him greedy, overeager, it had tarnished his view of chivalry and what is considered ethical in the eyes of the citizenry, in the rules of the Empire. Because of this, some unknown assassin had killed his best friend, his lover, his one companion.

Sadness and depression were starting to morph into anger now, about a week after her death. He wanted to find the man in the red cloak, and kill him slowly. Not only kill him, but torture him for as long as James could draw it out, and then find the most agonizing way to murder him, and carry it out with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step. The very thought of killing a man had never brought him pure, unadulterated pleasure, but now it did, to an almost unnatural level. Looking up from his dirty, smelly self, a smirk of revenge sprung up on his grey and stagnant face.

His heart jumped into his throat then and his arm convulsed in fear, knocking his cup of coffee over, crashing to the floor and shattering in a dripping puddle of dark liquid and ceramic shards. On the counter in front of him, was a letter. It was made of ivory colored parchment paper, with a dark red, almost blood colored, wax seal holding it shut. James jumped off of his stool and stood back, his eyes darting around the kitchen. The note had materialized out of thin air. Shaking his head, he began to realize that he had been in a deep trance, remembering both fond and foul memories at the same time, so vivid it was like he was living them again, his soul leaving his body, his house. In that time he was mentally checked out, perhaps someone had snuck in.

Still looking around, his eyes finally fell on the sliding glass door that led out into the garden. He hadn’t gone out of that door in days, yet he noticed it was now unlocked. Unlocked and slightly ajar, only by a half an inch, but it was open. Taking in short, sharp breaths as if someone had punched him in the stomach fiercely enough to knock the wind out of him, he slowly made his way towards the door, all the while trying not to faint. Someone of his caliber, of his training level, of his rank, should have perceived someone in his own house, for the gods’ sake. His fingers curled into fists, his fingernails digging deep into his palms; he lifted them both in front of his face, ready to attack at a moment’s notice, if the person decided to show his face in James’s house again. James had a feeling in his gut that this person would be wearing a blood red cape, to match the blood red seal on the note.

Straining to listen, opening his fists suddenly to activate some of his magic, he sensed no one in the house. He could tell that the man had just left, as wisps of his aura were left behind. It was a black aura, indicating an evil soul. Black could also indicate a devil soul, or a soul enlisted by the devil to do evil upon the citizens of Monde de Lumière. His world was known for its color and its vibrant life, hence the name, but to every action was to be an equal and opposite reaction. Thus, an evil darkness did lurk, and sometimes took over the minds and souls of Luminites.

Sometimes, if that soul was especially susceptible, it would convert to a black soul, adding to the army of evil that drifted here and there in the forests, and occupied the minds of the orcs in the shadows of the mountains.

Closing his hands and shutting off his magic, he headed straight for the note on the counter. It was placed very purposefully there, at a pleasing angle, almost as if it were floating there like a feather falling from the heavens. Neglecting the beauty of the thing, he tore it off the counter in a crumpled heap and ripped it open. It read:

Na Tiarnaí Dorcha: The Dark Army

Headquarters

34 West Oak Street

Crichton, Monde de Lumière 3R7 88B

FROM: Na Tiarnaí Dorcha, aka Your Worst Nightmare

TO: High General Berg

VIA: Dark Path of Luminites

SUBJ: RE: RECENT DEATHS

High General James Berg,

Good day, High General, we hope that this letter finds you well. We have been instructed to let you know that your secret is safe with us. We have heard of your wife’s untimely death; we send our condolences. Please know we will do anything in our power to avenge her death.

Please also note that there are conditions to this offer of vengeance. You must never speak of Na Tiarnaí Dorcha to anyone, this is including but not limited to High Lord Jamlamin Tarmikos, the recipient’s sister First Lieutenant Greta Berg, soldiers of any rank or tenure you may command or be in command of you, and so forth. We will continue to cover up your transgressions if you agree to our terms, outlined below:

-You will continue to serve High Lord Lamin unquestionably, starting again tomorrow morning.

-You will take whatever assignments you are given, and use your abilities in the magical arts to be victorious in these missions, no matter the price to your men.

-You will carry on with your life as if nothing happened, and we will do the same.

-We will continue in this stalemate until one of us falters; we genuinely hope this will never transpire. However, if you disobey any of our orders, we will be forced to assassinate you to keep you quiet. We don’t want to do to you what we were forced to do to your wife.

Your cooperation, patience, and good will towards this matter is greatly appreciated, and will help to keep the peace between your Empire, and ours.

Sincerely yours,

Na Tiarnaí Dorcha

James’s first reaction was complete and utter disbelief. He was being blackmailed, but by whom? Who in the world is this person, Na Tiarnaí Dorcha? In one of the mountain languages, those words loosely translate into ‘The Dark Lord’. He had never heard of such a person, or an entity called The Dark Army. How did this army know of his cover up, how did they find out where he lived, and why was his wife murdered to keep it a secret?