Shadowman, page 22
part #1 of The Valiant Universe Series
She’s not gonna stop, is she?
“Doubtful,” Bossu replied.
“How about . . . the Ghede falling under the sky father’s condemnation!” Having said this, Bridgette beamed at her husband before excitedly turning to Jack. “That counts, right?” Jack stared back at her in silence, maintaining a look of boredom as she continued. “Damballa himself implied they were sure to have anticipated he would be held responsible.”
“You got enemies among the pantheon, boss?” Jack asked.
Elbows resting on the wingback’s armrests, Samedi brought his hands together in front of his face. “After giving it some ponderin’,” he began, “I wager it’s more likely the sky father is just a consequence they couldn’t avoid, not a true objective of their plot.”
The commissure of Jack’s mask obscured his sudden smirking. “I can think of one.”
Samedi tapped the fingers of both hands against each other in a wavelike rhythm. “One what?”
“A true motive.” The young mortal quickly answered the question that was sure to follow. “The rescinding of your oath was definitely a motive.”
“But . . . why?” Brigitte asked.
The Ghede queen had turned to the sitting skeleton before she completed the question, suggesting that it was meant more for her husband than their guest. However, the Ghede lord remained pensive, allowing Jack to continue.
“The possibilities are vast,” he said. “Could be to extinguish humanity or to make you Ghede look bad. Could also be an objective we are not privy to.”
Samedi lowered his praying hands. “Or it could be to get an inexperienced Shadowman out in the open.”
“I guess,” Jack replied, shrugging. “But for what? They already killed the last one. All this just to do it again?”
Samedi and Brigitte looked at each other once more, this time devoid of mirth.
“Josiah Boniface killed himself,” Samedi stated. “Bossu didn’t tell you?”
Jack’s arms remained folded as he gasped, prompting Bossu to take action. “Jack,” the Lwa said, “do not forget what I told you regarding your father orchestrating his own death and ridding himself of my essence. Josiah killing himself is no revelation for you.”
Jack exhaled to gain composure. “I already told you,” he began, ”I don’t know any Bossu. But regarding my dad, I guess I kind of always knew deep down that’s how he went out.” He began nodding as if in recollection, though he was in a silent struggle against the rekindled thoughts surrounding his father’s death. “You just confirmed it for me, is all.” His head stopped moving while he unfolded his arms. “So damn, getting their hands on an inexperienced Shadowman is a valid motive then.”
Brigitte watched the baron as he stood up from his chair.
“There you have it, Jack boy,” he said. “You simply gotta accept that your elders know what they’re doing. No point takin’ the long way just for ego’s sake.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Well,” Samedi replied, “you better learn how, and fast too. All that detective work only comes full circle to the same recourse that I said at first.”
Jack shot a look of confusion at Brigitte. “But you said fending off your forces and killing demons all day will lead us to Freda. How is that related to my inexperience?”
“Hm hm hm.”
Jack could hear Bossu’s contained chuckles as Samedi stared at him.
“What?” he asked, addressing both Bossu and the seemingly perplexed skeleton.
“How is it related to your inexperience, you say?” the skeleton asked. “Tell me, how would you go about becoming experienced?”
Jack scoffed at the question, but before he could perform the accompanying eye roll, he suddenly understood. “Oh.”
“Consider it a direct order,” Samedi stated. “Get experienced, at once!”
CHAPTER 15
Two days had passed since Jack had been formally introduced to the Abettors, or what remained of their guild. And true to Samedi’s word, the denizens of the Deadside had begun to cross over through interdimensional breaches known as blights.
Jack had an innate ability allowing him to detect the moment one of these began to form. However, this awareness was relegated solely to the blight’s formation, requiring clever use of his other senses to determine its actual location.
Fortunately, the blights only seemed to appear in the remote bayous, where their appearance would go unnoticed by the general populace. Nevertheless, Jack always made sure to send a crow from the void to keep watch over his mother’s house.
Jack, Alyssa, and Dox had made it a habit to routinely patrol the affected regions come nightfall.
“How heartwarming of Samedi to be so considerate with these things,” Jack had said, slicing through the latest cluster of undead visitors with ease. He had only grown in proficiency since his first fight in the Deadside, easily capable of taking care of the blights on his own.
Unfortunately for their otherworldly visitors, restriction enchantments weaved into the barrier between worlds by Baron Samedi himself prevented them from retaining their horrific forms when crossing over. Instead, they became swathed in an unsightly guise of rotting flesh, slightly human and less grotesque than their original forms, but not by much.
This facade put them at a further disadvantage, utterly stripping them of the agility displayed in the Deadside. Their minds and reflexes seemed to be intact, but their forms encumbered them.
Jack would often be seen chuckling during the skirmishes with the undead. Their eyes would betray an awareness of some incoming attack, but their bodies prevented them from doing anything about it.
“I doubt it,” Dox had replied, his hands flickering with an arcane power, incapacitating the foes seeking to flee. “Most likely, a more public display would only serve as a reminder of how superannuated he has become.”
“What’s that mean?”
Seeing the several undead that had been paralyzed by her adoptive father, Alyssa shot their heads off in quick succession. “You don’t have a phone?”
Leaving the blade hovering in midair, Jack patted the seamless membrane of void material lining his chest before checking the pockets of his cargos. “Shoot,” he replied, “I left it in my other pants.”
“He means that nobody would care. They would probably just think it’s a festival or something.”
He laughed as he sheathed his weapon, sending it into the void. “Yeah, but what happens once the dying starts? You can take that one.”
Alyssa fired a round into the last foe. “I don’t know. We’re just talking hypothetically, you know that, right? I imagine come daybreak everyone will just say it was a bunch of costumed psychopaths.”
Jack paused, considering the suggestion. “That’s stupid.”
Alyssa locked eyes with him before firing into the already liquifying foe.
Dox informed Jack that his recently acquired weapon was a type of blade traditionally called a sengese. This particular one was a deadly keepsake passed down through his predecessors known as the Shadow Scythe.
Jack considered questioning the accuracy of the weapon’s name since its bladed portion was clearly sickle-shaped, but he held his tongue.
Whether it was due to its design or type, the prowess Jack displayed with the weapon seemed innate, shocking even to him. Additionally, the sengese exhibited an affinity with his appendage that was nothing short of remarkable, enabling him to wield it with a level of telekinetic dexterity that Bossu himself found impressive.
“You sense it, do you not?” he had asked, proudly watching his host conduct his self-imposed training.
During the day, Jack frequented the Deadside to hone his skills, sometimes seeking fights with the denizens and other times practicing skills and abilities not possible in daylight.
“Sense what?” he replied. “That this isn’t the extent of what I can do?” The Lwa began his gravelly chuckle as his host continued. “Yeah, I can feel it. I just don’t want to spoil it for myself too soon.”
Before long, Jack began to experience diminishing returns on his training method. Within only a few days, the modernized denizens of the Deadside had somehow become wise to his scheme, and this knowledge, when coupled with his weapon proficiency, seemed to sap the fervor and bloodlust they exhibited in battle.
Jack frowned at a group of departing monsters. Some grumbled in disinterest before submissively turning their backs, while others simply sprinted away on sight. As he watched them flee, he recalled his conversation with the baron and realized that enemies such as these would only serve to hold him back.
“I’m gonna ask Samedi to show me where the apex monsters are,” he said aloud. “What do you think?”
“I think you should just get on the bicycle and ride it,” Bossu replied. “Don’t ask how to do it.”
“So you agree?”
Realizing his Lwa was ignoring him, Jack took one last look at the fleeing monsters before departing for his mom’s house. In an instant, he vanished from the Deadside and reappeared at the home, emerging from the shadowy areas of their darkened basement.
Jack retrieved his balled-up T-shirt from the pocket of his cargos and shifted off his suit of void fabric and mask. Hearing the rush of water from the kitchen sink, he began calling out to his mother as he put on his excessively wrinkled shirt. “Mom, it’s me. I’m coming up the stairs.”
Jack could hear his mom shut off the faucet before he opened the door at the top of the staircase. He exited the basement and saw his mother smiling at him from the kitchen.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, walking in for a hug.
Helena gave her son a tight squeeze before stepping back and holding him by the shoulders. “Welcome home, special boy. It ain’t been but two days, and you’re already busy as can be.”
Jack seemed slightly puzzled as he looked at her. “What makes you say that?” he asked, smiling.
Helena maintained her grip on his shoulders as she spoke. “Clean clothes that have been creased up like this”—she gave her son a swift once-over—“can only mean one thing.”
Jack reflexively looked down and huffed lightly as he rolled his eyes. “Oh my goodness, Mom,” he said.
Bossu suddenly began addressing his host. “Her assessment is incorrect?”
Well, he replied, silently reflecting, I guess not.
Jack hurriedly followed after his mother as she made her way back into the kitchen. “Actually, Mom,” he began, “you’re right, ha-ha.”
“I know, my boy,” she replied. “Now go on and tell your mother why you so busy.”
Jack stopped in front of the kitchen table. “I’ve just been easing my way into my responsibilities as Shadowman, I guess.”
“You done so soon?” Helena asked. “I love seeing my special boy and all that jazz, but I know how you get when you fixin’ for a goal, you don’t miss nobody.” She moved closer to him as she continued. “So why you here? Tell me what’s happened.”
No longer capable of feeling frazzled by his mother’s aggressive style, Jack’s delivery was unwittingly upbeat. “Nothing yet,” he replied. “But I’m going to try and convince Baron Samedi to direct me to subjects of his that are more . . . capable, I guess?”
Helena held a pregnant pause while giving her son another once-over. “You gonna go on and ask the god of the underworld to provide you with monsters.” Jack was nodding along, attempting reassurance as she formed her words. “And you reckon this will make you stronger?”
“It’s called farming, Mom.”
“But how will it work, is where my thoughts gettin’ bogged. The strength of your punch is the strength of your punch, ain’t it? I don’t see how seeking a trap from Samedi will make you hit harder.”
“No,” Jack replied, “it’s like the threshing floor that the preacher is always talking about.” He waited for a sign of understanding from his mother. “You get it?”
Helena shook her head.
“My hope is that experiencing fights will give me a better understanding of my powers, which can only make me more effective.” He paused, again checking if his words were registering. “I wasn’t trained to know how any of this superstitious voodoo stuff works, remember? I gotta improvise.”
Helena nodded abruptly at Jack as she broke her silence. “How you feelin’?”
“How do I look?”
“I’ve been through this already, son,” she said. “Your dad would return home without a scratch on him, but”—her expression transitioned into a focused glare as she leaned forward—“in the eyes is where it’s at.”
While he was able to maintain a brave face back at Samedi’s, voiceless suggestions surrounding his father’s death troubled him.
Was he eaten alive or merely beaten to death?
The fact that his father willingly offered himself up on his behalf made considering any scenario too torturous for Jack.
No way I’m telling her, he thought, calmly staring back at his mother. The relative ease with which he was able to defeat the demonic hordes made the untroubled facade easier to maintain.
However, it was not enough.
Helena extinguished the intensity on her face, having recognized what she was looking for. “What is it?” she asked. “Something’s troubling you.”
Damn.
Jack reflexively cast his gaze downward. “I just don’t know if I’ll ever be strong enough,” he lied.
His mother placed her hand on his shoulder. “It ain’t going well?”
“I’m winning,” he replied. “So it’s going well enough for now.”
“So why you troubled? You mentioned the threshing floor making a way to learn more about your powers. You don’t think that finna happen or what?” She released her grip on his shoulder. “Boy, you ain’t lying, is you?” She watched her son roll his eyes, his skyward gaze a telltale sign of sudden ponderings, not rudeness.
“I should’ve said I don’t feel like I’ll ever be strong enough.”
“You winning, ain’t you? If snatching up victories at the start of your journey ain’t proof you got what it takes, then I don’t know what basis you using for feeling.”
Jack quickly summoned a new excuse. “I need new abilities, is what I meant.”
Helena swatted at the air as she sucked her teeth. “Boy, please!” she exclaimed, turning to walk away. “You hungry or what?”
“Yeah, I can eat.”
“Sit while I fix you a plate.”
Jack obliged and immediately put his head on the table. He could hear the clink and clang of the kitchenware.
“Obsessive turn of mind, I reckon,” Helena stated. “You did the same madness with your schoolwork.”
Jack looked up from the table and watched his mother set the plate of food before him. “Yeah,” he began. “Only then I knew what my goal was and how to get there. I don’t know any of those things now. That’s why I have no choice but to turn up the OCD and do any and all things I can think of.”
Helena took an adjacent seat as her son began shoveling rice into his mouth. The noise of his cutlery clashing against his plate quickly filled the room.
Similar to sleep, Bossu’s presence greatly reduced Jack’s need for food, but far from inhibiting enjoyment, his taste buds seemed to be enhanced. Much like the stimuli from his strolls through Washington Square, food always felt new.
“You know what your father would say?”
Jack heaved the bolus down his throat, his buoy-like Adam’s apple returning to its position as he shook his head.
Suddenly speaking with proper pronunciation, Helena’s heavy accent was no more. “First things first, boy.”
Jack began grinning at his raised fork. Switching her speech to one exceedingly articulate made for an impersonation of his father that was so accurate that he found it bordering on mockery.
As had Josiah.
Leaning her back against the chair, Helena continued. “Complete the first task within the list of possible solutions. If it fails, move to the second. If it works, even partially, you have your standard by which all the rest within the list will be judged.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, “he would say that. In exactly the same way, too . . . if it applied to me.” He returned to his food and was chewing a bit before noticing his mother staring at him in silent disagreement. “But”—he protested, quickly using his hand to block the grains escaping his mouth—“how though?”
Continuing her gaze, Helena remained positioned against the back of the chair. The woman’s body suddenly jostled a bit, as if trapping a small hiccup. Jack’s eyes followed her as she leaned in to hold his shoulder.
“When you came on in here talking about getting stronger—hear me now, my special boy.” Even though she was now smiling warmly, her voice’s command for attention stilled him, compelling him to smile back. “I asked you about Samedi’s monsters and how you reckon they could make you stronger.”
“Hm hm hm.”
“You said something like more fights means more learnin’ of your powers.”
Jack nodded along. This time, the gesture gave a certain smugness to his smile.
“This is what you reckoned to mean getting stronger, right from the start. And you just said you winning. Ain’t that something that turn of mind o’ yours should be focused on? At least before investing in something that might not work as good.” Using her hands, she swept the dribbled rice grains from the table and made her way to the garbage. “If at all.”
Her son remained seated as he processed her words. Yeah, that makes sense, he thought. Makes things a lot easier, too.
“When did new abilities come to mean getting stronger?” Helena asked.
Jack unwittingly began running his finger along the fork’s handle like a caterpillar as he tried to think of an explanation.
“I seen that before too,” she said, noticing his fidgeting. “Must be something downright awful if you actin’ like that.”
Jack’s finger froze as he looked up at her. “I just want to be the best,” he replied. “It made me start overthinking things I guess.”
“By the stars, whelp!” Bossu suddenly began, his voice bearing a mix of amusement and disapproval. “Forsake this foolish lie already!”
