Shadowman, page 3
part #1 of The Valiant Universe Series
In a moment, Jack was forced to relive soiling his pants in the fifth grade before the visions switched to him losing his virginity. Considering the dream had access to these shameful events, the coercive manner in which they were being utilized was very telling.
He wondered if this truly was a dream, but quickly dismissed any alternative explanations, deeming such considerations more superstitious than intelligent.
Kneading through the void, Jack was able to feel the outline of an entity sharing the darkness with him. Before he could examine further, the entity shrugged him off like an irritant.
“Is someone there?” he asked. “Show yourself!”
The void responded once more.
The sound was still gravelly, more of a sigh than before, hesitant and not malevolent.
“Well?”
The young man rolled his eyes as everything became strangely quiet, as if the entity was stealing time to consider things. Just as Jack was about to complain, another reluctant sigh broke the silence.
“Well played, Josiah,” the unseen entity stated.
Though the voice would still send any normal person into a panic, it now had a distinct tone of acceptance.
“Wait,” Jack began, “I’m not Josiah.”
“I know who you are.”
“All right . . . but why did you mention my dad’s name?”
“Jack . . .” The entity paused to let out another sigh before speaking. “Your father is dead.”
The normally stoic young man hesitated as he felt an unfamiliar surge of emotion flooding his chest. No sooner had he sensed this than it began rising to his head with ridiculous pressure.
Instinctively searching for a release, Jack channeled the brimming fury and screamed himself awake.
“BUUULLLSHIIIIII—”
The only thing restraining Jack’s outrage was the awareness that he was in class, and he managed to hold his tongue. The strange insensitivity he felt while strutting through his dorm had not faded, rendering him unable to feel shame or embarrassment.
Breathing deeply, he scanned the stunned faces in the classroom, ultimately locking eyes with his professor.
“Jack, are you all right?”
Feeling a scowl unwittingly set upon his brow, Jack widened his eyes as if recovering himself and swiftly adopted a look of embarrassment.
“I just had a nightmare,” he explained. “It was the most vivid thing I . . . I . . . I’m so sorry about that.”
Jack remained unaffected by the uncomfortable tittering from his classmates and continued to gaze innocently at his professor.
“It’s fine,” he replied. “This is quite unlike you, so I’ll give you a pass.”
Jack gave a quick nod of gratitude. “Thank you, Professor.”
The man motioned toward the door. “Would you like to be excused? Exceptions are included with every pass, so if you like, I can have someone send you their notes.”
Envious gasps sounded from the seats in the back.
“No, sir, that isn’t necessary, as it won’t happen again.”
The other students murmured in disappointment at his rejection of the never-before-seen offer.
Outwardly giving the professor his undivided attention, Jack strangely found it all too easy to disregard the entity’s unsettling message. But just before dismissing the entire experience outright, Jack flexed as he did in the dream, curious as to whether it would result in anything now that he was in his right mind. Without warning, his eyes began widening. The look of extreme surprise caused his professor to stop abruptly once more.
Utterly astounded, Jack maintained his expression as he palpated through the unmistakably doughy texture of the dark.
CHAPTER 3
Standing patiently in the main hall of the Manse Ghede, Baron Samedi pondered his predicament.
Initially, he had no reason to be concerned by the report of Freda’s disappearance. She was not his wife in the traditional sense, so she technically was not his responsibility.
Though it seemed perfectly sensible at the time, as he waited for Damballa to manifest inside his personal abode, this rationale’s appeal was significantly reduced.
But before the baron could think of more appropriate excuses, he spied the subtle twinkle of ethereal light that characterized the sky father’s imminent arrival.
Swiftly raising his ivory-colored hand, the skeleton took hold of his ornate top hat and braced it firmly atop his skull. With the other hand, he readjusted the dark glasses covering his seemingly empty eye sockets as the various charms and ornaments of death adorning the hat began to rattle.
As if on cue, the main hall was rocked by an explosion of pressure. The baron didn’t move as his intricate long coat flapped violently in response to the rush of wind.
The tempest ended as abruptly as it began and there, shining with a near-blinding brightness and occupying the majority of the space, was Damballa.
Upon manifestation, the giant snake had his head positioned directly in front of the baron and gazed knowingly at the younger deity while adjusting the rest of his body.
Graciously reducing its brightness, the serpentine titan’s gleaming white trunk gathered itself in massive coils, leaving only the outermost corners of the large hall untouched.
Seeing as the bluster had ceased, the baron let go of his hat and peered back silently into Damballa’s glowing eyes before subtly moving his skull from side to side.
He groaned in exasperation before finally addressing the sky father. “Good lord,” he said, “I can’t look you in both your eyes at the same time. Your head’s too big.”
The serpent’s head loomed unwavering, inches away from the bespectacled god of the underworld. When he spoke, his voice maintained a delicate balance of whistle and whisper due to the subtle hiss slipped beneath his every utterance. “Out with it, Samedi,” he said. “What happened?”
The baron looked surprised. Despite having no flesh or facial features, his face was quite expressive.
A slight arching of the bone above the eyes or at the sides of his mouth was usually enough to convey most emotions. And while a poker face was sinfully easy to maintain, the lack of flesh made it very difficult to feign the more nuanced and intimate emotions.
If not for this one downside, the baron would always stay in this form.
“Why,” the baron began, “I was expecting you to tell me!”
Damballa scoffed and finally turned away. “Do not reply to me with nonsense.”
The skeleton shuddered slightly before adjusting the front of his coat with a firm tug. “I’ll be sure to avoid that,” he said. “And might I add, that lisp of yours is dreadful as ever.”
Damballa said nothing while his head continued to weave and sway about the hall, as if surveying its entirety. With this winding complete, he set his head atop the massive mound of shining coils that was his body and set his gaze on the skeleton once more.
The baron cleared his throat before continuing. “So . . . er, yes, it is as I said. I was under the assumption that you were apprised of her whereabouts. You’re Freda’s first husband. Surely, I thought she tells you things to which I’m not privy.” The giant serpent remained silent. “We were married for business. I’m not her keeper. How should I have known her absence was an issue?”
Damballa seemed to take a deep breath, evidenced by the steady rise of his neatly wrapped body. “Is this within the norms of her behavior? Yes or no?”
The baron sighed, reluctantly giving his response. “Admittedly . . . no, it is not normal.” He quickly shed his somber demeanor before continuing. “But neither is a pantheon-level goddess goin’ missing against her will with no warning or enemies. In peacetime, to boot?”
Damballa forcefully jerked his head as if evading the response. “Bah!”
The baron shrugged his shoulders before finally gathering the strands of his hair that had been loosened from under his hat by the serpent’s tempestuous entrance, his bone fingers casually twiddling the strands away from his face.
“Your insouciance is greater than your predicament permits,” Damballa said.
The baron’s hands became still. “I beg your pardon?”
“Assuming that you are being forthright in your claim of innocent ignorance, this was a calculated act not just against her, but you as well. I trust you are aware of this, yes?”
“Don’t believe I saw it that way initially, no.”
“Indeed, for they have assuredly anticipated the rescinding of your oath to pause death and bloodletting, seeing as her absence effectively releases you from it.”
“Oh bother.” The skeleton god adjusted his top hat, securing the errant strands of hair. “I fear my subordinates have grown unseemly rapacious during the hiatus, so flipping the switch just like that could prove disastrous for the Liveside.”
“How you do it concerns me not. I am just illustrating for you the intricacies of this plot, the one in which you haven’t had a hand.”
Uncertain if the elder god was being sardonic, the baron replied all the same. “I follow,” he began, thoughtfully curling his finger around his chin, “but damn . . . the nullification of the oath was the furthest thing from my mind, and all the while these conspirators anticipated that I would have no choice—”
“Just as they anticipated that I would have no choice but to hold responsible the one I married her off to.”
Hearing this, the skeleton lowered the brim of his hat. “I didn’t anticipate that, sorry to say.” His tone fluctuated as he struggled to conceal his genuine displeasure. “What’s that entail, might I ask? Gran Met ain’t off the table, is He?”
Like a whip, Damballa uncoiled himself and reformed so his length was stretched upward. Flexing himself rigid, the tip of his tail supported the entirety of his mass.
A gargantuan gleaming spring of serpent skin, frozen in time the moment after release.
He bore a telling similarity to the artwork adorning the ceremonial chambers of various ancient peoples, their two-dimensional depictions attempting to capture his likeness.
The baron pulled the brim of his hat a bit lower as he took in the sight.
The sky father somehow took up even more space in this position, and the tip of his snout seemed to touch the high ceiling of the main hall.
The speed of the change, coupled with its striking appearance, was enough to freeze the hearts of both mortal and immortal alike. However, the baron knew that this indicated Damballa’s imminent departure, and felt relieved instead.
He firmly held his hat against his skull as the giant serpent began to shine brighter.
Damballa’s brightening eyes shifted toward the lesser Lwa. “You had better stop being cute, Samedi.” The deity’s head remained pointing upward, unwilling to allow any imperfections within his monstrous contortion. “Find Freda or suffer the consequences as the one truly responsible.”
The giant serpent’s shining had intensified to a level the baron felt was oppressive. However, the imperceptible speed of the sky father’s departure reduced it to a mere flash that was followed by the sudden implosion of pressure.
Stabilizing his hat against the wind that was now trying to pull it off, the baron silently considered his options.
How was he supposed to know where Freda went?
If it was indeed a conspiracy, then only his fellow Lwa could be behind it, and he would be unable to accuse anyone without solid proof. Furthermore, acquiring such evidence himself would be impossible as the conspirators would certainly know to be on their guard. He would need an intermediary hard enough to get into the nitty-gritty, yet capable of the flexibility to be unpredictable; someone they could not anticipate.
Baron Samedi waited for the bluster to cease as a plan began to form in his mind. If he had a face, he would be full-on grinning.
“This may be fun after all.”
The baron suddenly shouted, his countenance shifting to one of authority.
“Papa! Nibo!”
A large, light brown square immediately appeared at his feet. While maintaining their width, the four sides of the square extended outward, each stretching in its own direction and forming a large cross splayed along the floor of the main hall.
A figure began rising out of the dirt square at the center of the conjured crossroad. Having emerged just inches away from the baron’s wing tips, the entity stood before him.
The short man dusted himself off with his oversized top hat, pausing only to acknowledge his leader. “Master Saturday,” he muttered. The ethereal dirt seemed to evaporate after being brushed off his tattered coat. “How can I be of service?”
“It would appear that treachery is set against the Ghede by conspirators unknown.”
The short man removed an apple from his hat and began rubbing it against his coat. “Treachery against us, eh?” he said. “Well, one thing we know for certain is that they—”
The baron raised his slender index finger, silencing his subordinate. “Hold that thought, Papa.” The short man took the opportunity to bite his apple. “Where is Nibo?”
At that moment, wisps of gray could be seen forming in their midst.
“Present, sire,” a voice responded from the culminating cloud. It was melodious and, unlike the baron or Papa, expressed a youthful enthusiasm.
A glowing ember could be seen moving about the ever-expanding plume just as the Lwa, Nibo, stepped forth from within.
He took another puff of his cigar, revealing the source of the gray cloud.
It was clear that Nibo had a liking for a certain aesthetic. Shirtless, he wore a bright pink double-breasted sports coat that somehow complemented his tightly fitting tan odd trousers.
However, his choice of black-and-white checkerboard loafers was questionable.
The exuberant Lwa took a quick glance at their immediate vicinity. “What of Mother?” he asked. “Apologies for my lateness, by the way. Your summoning was most unexpected, requiring that I make my—”
The baron brushed away the explanation as he repeated himself. “It would appear that treachery is set against the Ghede by conspirators unknown.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed, Papa was just giving me his assessment of our anonymous adversaries.”
Papa, the Ghede of the Crossroads, swallowed a bite of the apple. “Yes,” he replied, “I was saying that their decision to scheme against our branch indicates that they are either exceedingly stupid or hopelessly desperate.”
Nibo shrugged as he let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “Okay?” he began. “So, do we have a plan of retaliation or no?”
“Without knowing the culprits there cannot as yet be a plan of retaliation.” Hearing this, Nibo shrugged his shoulders even higher as the baron continued. “A plan of action, however, is most appropriate. It is a pity, though.”
Papa uttered his question as he munched anew. “What is?”
“I didn’t want to nullify the restriction on death and bloodshed just yet. Doing it so abruptly makes equilibrium, at least at the initial phase, damn near impossible.”
“Ohhhh,” Nibo said. “Like breaking the seal?”
“Perverted yet apropos,” Papa replied as he looked at the baron. “Is the nullification necessary at this time?”
“Yes, as the Liveside holds the key to the first step to my plan.” He let out a long groan of annoyance. “I guess it can’t be helped.”
“Sire?”
“Inform Shadowman that his hiatus has ended.”
Jack wound up accepting his professor’s offer to be excused.
He had been spending the day trying to contact someone from the neighborhood, as his home’s landline continuously went unanswered.
I never imagined I’d regret not giving the boys from back home my number, he thought.
Though fully aware of the implications posed by his unanswered phone calls, Jack noticed that his actions lacked urgency. He loved his father, to be sure, and would be deeply saddened if he was truly dead.
But he was not scared of it as a possibility.
As much as this displeased him, he could not help it.
Jack reasoned this was due in part to his preoccupation with the appendage-like sixth sense he inherited back in the void, as he had been flexing it nonstop since class.
Unsure what these flexes were actually doing, Jack found himself in the middle of Washington Square and decided to try figuring it out.
He sat down on the nearest park bench and readied the appendage. The darkness in the dream had made it impossible to tell what he was doing. But now that he was in the real world, he could at least get an idea of where he was sending the thing.
Instead of wielding it in the same thoughtless manner as before, Jack took aim at a nearby cluster of trees and slowly drew it forth. He felt the unseen appendage graze against the leaves and started palpating his way without thinking.
Jack leaned forward and began casually rubbing the stubble on his face. “This can’t be real.”
He appeared to be gazing thoughtfully at the setting sun but was actually trying to contain his disbelief. Through the meticulous handling of his sixth sense, his mind was receiving an impression of the targeted trees. The transmission grew in detail the more the appendage flexed its way through, even communicating changes in movement.
Jack watched in awe as the trees responded to the wind, their sway providing visual confirmation of what his supernatural sense was transmitting.
He tried flexing the appendage in the chaotic way he had before but it felt heavier now, less quick. I don’t understand, he thought, still examining the swaying trees in his mind’s eye. It wasn’t capable of showing me anything when I was flexing in class. If anything, I should be able to move it even faster now.
Jack stared at the waning daylight and was hit with a realization, causing him to suddenly sit back. “That’s right,” he said softly. “It felt like I was flexing against the dark back then. But this”—he turned toward the park’s giant arch—“is different.”
Stretching out the appendage toward the stone structure, Jack’s mind began receiving impressions of the various sightseers positioned along its path. The transmission felt relatively fuzzy, briefly imparting vague characteristics as the people passed by.
