The Shadow Lad
Sheila, dark Sheila, what is that you're seeing?
What is that you're seeing, that you're seeing in the fire?
'I see a lad that loves me - and I see a lad that leaves me,
and a third lad, a Shadow Lad - and he's the lad that grieves
me.'
Chapter One
It was hard to tell exactly when the whole thing started. That first
little step into madness is so easy that the next follows close with
nary a thought. Bain inspires madness in many people, but I'm really not
sure what he did to me. I should be immune. After all, I am as he
is.
Bain is legion. It matters not what he calls himself; he is always the
same, the devil in a long robe. But only if the devil is a
strikingly handsome white blond man, with ice blue eyes paler than
cold, who wears his skin as marble.
The first time I set eyes on him was long ago, when I was sent after
him. By whom or for what purpose I knew not, but when I am called, I must
go. I was in his audience chamber, waiting. It was a handsome room, gird
in
chesnut and mahogany, and his throne was a marvel of red
velvet. Everytime I looked
away, the wall carvings changed. His subjects were standing on the
main
floor, looking expectantly up at the throne. They were strange things. All
were beautiful, but when I looked closely, I saw that they were all flawed
in some way. It seemed only fitting that Bain's
subjects were marked like their master.
When I heard a sound, I crept out of the upper chamber to
the anteroom. Bain's one mark of colour was the crimsom
frockcoat he wore. Its stain upon his features suited him utterly.
He had some papers in his right hand and was using them to gesture to one
of his monstrous subjects. The crowd dispersed as he paused at the portal
of the audience chamber, and looked up. He didn't see me; I'm not
what I am because of carelessness, but I saw him shudder for a brief
minute when he looked up at the space I occupied. He quickly composed
himself and went to the door.
The herald brought himself to
attention, blew his trumpet, and shouted "Our Lord Bain!" as
the enormous doors blew open.
The subjects
parted to leave a clear path to Bain's throne. No one looked at him as he
stode up to the dais and seated himself on the throne, carefully arranging
the tails of his frockcoat and moving his sword out of the way.
Another herald, even more officious than the last, ran out from some space
near the dais, situated himself in front of Bain, and bellowed the rather
anti-climatic "State thy business with our Lord!" and then
scurried away, forgotten already.
I listened to the subjects for a
while, but I couldn't hear a word they said. I got the impression that
their business was mudane; Bain seemed to be growing steadily more
exasperated with every visitor.
A few hours later, the officious
herald trotted back from wherever he kept himself, bellowed "Enough!" and
scurried away. With that, Bain got up from the throne and walked through
the
now-empty
audience chamber, sadly glancing at the ceiling. I moved after the doors
slammed shut behind him.
The room was more
than silent. There was no sound at all; if I listened enough, I could hear
the dust motes as well as see them. Sometimes the silence is calming.
Other times, it drives me mad as the grave. Ah, on to duty. I jumped
down from the high balcony onto
the softly polished wood below. The silence didn't even move. Onward. So
then I went, walked through the closed doors to Bain.
Continue Reading The Shadow
Lad
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Copyright 2000 tapowell@mtholyoke.edu