The Child Of Shadow

 

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A Note for Readers

 The story you shall read consists of a scene of much greater manuscript. It ends in an insatiable way, and I beg you, the reader, bare with me. If people seem to enjoy this, I will add more. For now, this is sufficient.

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The Only Chapter

    

Here’s the thing-- you can only act like you don’t care about the lion in your backyard for so long. Well, perhaps not my backyard per say, even though it had been for a number of years; it’s now my neighbors.’ But when I’d heard the growling coming from the back of the house, I’d fallen into the inescapable grasp of curiosity and snuck a peek into the backyard. I kept thinking I had only imagined it, but unfortunately, my eyes had served correct. There was a lion domineering in the backyard next to mine.

I go by the name Sentemma Sparrow, or at least to most. Others prefer “the observing, quiet girl who is overly obsessed with books” and call me accordingly, though I promise there is more in my soul than what they see. So when I did lay eyes upon the creature, my first thought had been It’s black! rather than something more frantic. Nevertheless, all I could think to do in its mist was stand there, baffled.

My breathing had become shallow, my heart not quite matching, for it hammered against my chest as if in attempt to escape. And I could not blame it. Before me stood a massive lion built from shadows, for it had dark midnight fur rather than gold, a silvering mane rather than tan, and it was twice the normal size of a lion. But what I found most unsettling were his eyes. The left was a misty blue, the right a striking green; both bore into my soul like hot irons to my eyes. 

He was a majestic and menacingly beautiful creature, his hard stare and stilled growling held me tight in the invisible chains of terror and awe. I breathed slowly and could only hope he couldn’t hear the drumming of my heart. I noticed that the lion had not moved upon my arriving, and on closer observation, I came to realize that this was because of the blood that soaked his fur from a large wound on his side.

The world exhaled a frigid breath, similar to the one I had inhaled a moment prior. I at the moment had not a care from where the animal had come or why he was colored so oddly. I instead wondered why it was injured and how I would elude its jaws, for despite its injury, I had no doubt the animal would be able to swallow me whole.

The lion’s growling had come to a halt. I risked a step back, careful to keep my eyes even with his. As I stepped back another time, an unwelcome twinge of guilt pinched my stomach. This lion, no matter how ominous or predatory, was wounded and I could not leave him here to die in my right mind because of two reasons. First, the residents of this house (whom I barely knew) would be returning soon from their vacation and second, there was something about the lion’s eyes which held my curiosity and attention in a firm, mysterious grasp.

I took back those two steps and made one forward, locking the animal’s glare with a solid stare. 

“Shh,” I whispered, taking yet another step forward. “I won’t hurt you.”

The lion made the slightest tilt of its head before snarling, sending me back in terror. Then something happened. I felt something, deep within me, like someone trying to hack at my thoughts. The lion lowered itself and moved forward slowly, as if in preparation to pounce, and snarled maliciously. My breathing sped up and matched the racing rhythm of my heart. I slowly walked back, still keeping eye contact with the beast. I sped up ever so slightly, until I was even with the house. There the lion paused, and I took the opportunity to turn swiftly and sprint down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. I sprinted into my house, the heaping piles of snow not hindering me in the slightest. I looked from the window, and relief washed over me. The lion had not followed.

I did not tell my family about the event that night in fear of. . . I don’t even know what, but something kept me from telling anyone about the creature. Aside from the obvious fact that there was a wild lion in my neighbors’ yard, there was something that kept tickling my senses, something that I saw lurk deep in the creature’s eyes. It was musings such as these that sang me to sleep, and it was those musings that woke me the next morning to a see what I had just dreamt.

The lion had relocated to my backyard.

I could see it from the positioning of my window that looked out onto the backyard. My heart again began to race, my breathing catching up with its pace. The lion was seated like a dog, glaring menacingly through my window and into my room. The pale morning light scintillated off the creature’s fur, causing him to look even more majestic and threatening as a result. I slowly closed the curtains. 

My legs were numb for a reason as mysterious as the reason for the beast, but it did not slow me from running into my parents’ bedroom. They were still asleep, but at the moment I had no care.

“Mom! Dad! Wake up! There’s a lion in the back!” I shouted, shaking the bodies beneath the blankets. As I said it, I realized the stupidity of the phrase.

“Wow,” my dad groaned from under the covers.

“Let me show you,” I decided, realizing much too late that trying to convince a grown adult of a lion in the backyard would get me nowhere. I dragged my father out of the bed and pulled him stumbling in boxer shorts to my bedroom window.

The brisk winter air found its way through the closed window as I pulled the curtains apart. As it had been doing for who knows how long, the lion glared back into the room, causing me to shudder. My father was unfazed.

“See?” I inquired cautiously. Something about the way his dark eyes were glazed over gave me chills.

“Yup,” he answered in a monotone, “No lion.”

He stumbled back to bed. I made no attempt to hinder him, knowing too well the attempt would be useless. Instead I tumbled down the stairs, wondering at what point through the night the lion had devoured my common sense. I pulled on my jacket and opened the back door, a blast of wintery air welcoming me to the frigid outdoors.

I slowly walked out onto the deck, meeting the lion’s gaze which was as cold as the snow beneath my feet. I descended the steps down to the level ground and trudged through the snow to maybe the point of twenty feet from the animal. My breathing let out steam, my heartbeat made my chest throb, and my eyes returned the hard stare from the creature before me.

 Our blinks were synchronized. My breaths were thin and few. After several moments of little movement, the lion lowered his head though not his gaze, yet it seemed to soften the slightest bit. I took forward a step. The animal did naught. I took another. The animal moved naught. I made some steps more, all the while a lion sitting several feet before me, bathing in the warming sunlight. When my moral judgement prohibited me on going any closer, I stood a little more than an arm’s length away from touching the beast. 

    I could now make out the true wondrousness of this brilliant lion. What I had taken to be a dark coat of fur was really a mysterious color like the night sky, little slivers of silver fur speckled across the shining black. What I had taken for a wound on his side was really a threateningly large laceration. What I had seen as massive was now immense, and what I had thought to be splendid mismatched eyes were really menacingly gorgeous and prideful.

    And there was something else which lurked within them, an almost sadness I recognized not as pain so much as loneliness. The frigid air made me shiver as did the sight of the gash in his side.

    I carefully lifted my hand, trying to keep my gaze even with the lion’s. His neck was still crouched so I could look him in the eye, though if he raised his great head I would be looking into his shoulder. And I am not short, mind you.

    “I want to help you,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice as steady and nonchalant as possible, or as nonchalant as I could when facing a beast built from shadows. My hand hesitated ever so slightly before I allowed it to rest upon the lion’s nose. He seemed to mock me and pull back just an inch until he allowed me to rest my hand on his face. I stroked his head gently, his fur soft and silky beneath my skin. 

    “Shh,” I said in attempt to not only calm the animal but also myself. My heart continued to pound, my terror still existent, though I could not resist the hint of a smile that snuck its way onto my face. The lion seemed to relax, his gaze not quite so cold.

    “I’m going to look at your side, okay?” I told him, still stroking his face. I sensed his understanding in the slight dip of his head and decided the no response meant that I could. 

    I circled the animal’s body, my hand trailing in his fur as I did. His posture and position in the snow obstructed much of my view of the wound. I glanced at his face and saw that he was watching me out of the corner of his right eye. He seemed to perceive my predicament and lowered himself to the ground. This allowed me to see the injury more clearly. 

    It spread from his rib cage to his foreleg. Dried blood was crusted in the black fur, causing me to wince.

“What happened to you?” I muttered. 

A fight.

My head snapped up. I’d heard a voice, though there was no one that I could see. I looked at the lion whose eyes twinkled. Was it possible. . .?

I turned back to the wound. With a moment’s hesitation, I touched the dried blood that encompassed the gash. The lion tensed. I hesitated before meticulously picking away the blood. His coat was mostly clean of dried blood when I finished, allowing me a better view of the laceration. It was like a gaping hole in the flesh, darker than his midnight coat. I took a handful of snow and delicately touched it to the wound. The lion’s chest rumbled and I looked back into his eyes in which lurked an understood warning.

I spent the next half hour or so cleaning the lion’s wound. Every so often he would give a slight growl, though he never pulled away. He tensed and winced, yet he did not bite off my arm. I was pleased by his sudden trust in me, and I felt the need to pay him back with trust of my own. 

    By the time I thought myself finished, the lion’s side was clean of blood and the gash looked on the verge of being a scratch. I stood, unsure of what else I could do. The creature turned his head to look at me, then he stood also and stretched his lean, majestic body. He barely winced as he did. 

    “Sentemma!” 

    I turned to the sound of my brother’s voice. The ten-year-old was on the deck, shivering without a coat.

    “Breakfast!” he called. I noticed that he made no mention of the massive lion standing beside me. “What are you doing, anyway?”

    Typical.

    “I’ll come in a few minutes,” I responded. “What does it look like I am doing?”

    He paused, then said, “Sitting in isolation.” He stopped then added, “Are you okay?”

    I bit back my vexation. “I’ll come in a bit.”

    Then I looked at the lion. “Am I the only one who can see you?” I wasn’t expecting a reply.

    Indeed

    I stumbled back in shock, mystified.

    You are particularly odd, Sentemma Sparrow. There are very few who share your gift. 

    “You’re. . . speaking?” I inquired, terrified and curious.

    The lion inclined his head. I am. My name is Onum and like you, I am a Child of Shadow.

    

    That night, I lay awake in bed. I’d left the lion in the backyard, no longer worried on him being discovered. My heart still pounded, stirring the bubbling pit of confusion and awe within me. Onum. A Child of Shadow. From where had he come? Why was he here? 

    What was he?

    I was woken by the jolt of oddness of my dreams. It seems that my brain had constructed a story about a black lion in my backyard, though when I looked out the window to see a massive beast curled up in the snow, I knew that my memories had just played back.

    Apollo pulled his chariot across the sky, dawn’s delicate fingers painting the sky orange with her fine light. Onum slumbered peacefully in the snow. I pulled on a thick sweater and descended the stairs. There was no frigid wind to welcome me outdoors, rather I was pulled into winter’s frosty embrace, though Onum seemed to not mind.

    I snuck up on Onum, and his voice echoed through my mind. Good morning, Sentemma Sparrow.

    It was still quite unnerving, though less now because I knew it was to come. I said nothing as he lifted his head.

    I can imagine you have questions. I would consider you inhuman to not.

    I snorted.

    I can only explain so much. With what would you prefer I begin?

    I thought for a moment, then said, “Why am I the only one who can see you?”

    You are a Child of Shadow, meaning you can see things such as I that come from other realms. You also have the ability to travel through shadows, though that is quite difficult.

    I didn’t wait for that to settle in my thoughts. “Where do you come from?”

    Never end a sentence with a preposition, Sentemma. Nevertheless, I come from another realm, one of shadow, dragons, and magic.

    Again, I quickly moved on. “Why are you here?”

    I found myself in a plight for a reason you would not understand, your human brain being so incompetent. As a result for my plight of doing what I did, I seemed to have been cast into the human world.

    “And how were you wounded?”

    He made for a moment’s hesitation. I was in a fight. 

    I carefully constructed my next question. “May I ask with whom?”

    You may not.

    Only then, as my inquiries came to conclude, did I allow what had just been said settle. I realized the extent of my astonishment just then, and I found myself to barely understand, though it did not matter.

I need to ask a favor of you.

I stumbled back as he stood, his eyes boring into my soul like they had when I had first looked into them.

“What is it?”

I must return to my realm, this one not containing the basic needs for my survival, though this wound hinders me, so I am unable.

I realized what he was asking of me. “You mentioned traveling through shadows. You want me to send you home.”

Yes, though I am positive that you know not how.

“You realize our predicament.”

Onum snorted. I can instruct you, though we must hurry before Apollo has finished his route.

He spent perhaps ten minutes instructing me. He did a terrible job.

Our first problem was the lack of shadows. Then was my “incompetent human mind.” He had told me to imagine the shadow as a dark doorway to the heavens, which I had translated to mean the sky. I was then supposed to leap through the shadows and would land in the place where there was an open door. I knew not what this meant. After many fruitless attempts, I was chastised for my thinking of the heavens as the sky. 

You must envision the path through the stars, Sentemma, not the ocean above. 

Constellations?

In my next attempt, I slipped through the darkness, Onum behind me. I found myself in space with wormholes scattered around me, black pits upon a star-speckled black canvas. I looked about the place in awe and wonder. There was one hole which was outlined in a silver thread of I knew not.

There.

The feeling of sleep converting to consciousness tingled within me, and was put to an abrupt halt as I eluded the grasp of shadow. I was filled with more awe and bewilderment than I had once thought possible, for before me flourished the mystical and wondrous land that looked as if made from a brilliant night sky. 

Welcome, Sentemma Sparrow, to Nowhere, known as the Land of Dragons.



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