Shadows Over Arcadia

I am Maribel Holloway, 16 years old and bonded to Envy, traveling to the village of Fel with my close friend Shadow.

I'm cuddled against Shadow's side on the wagon's driver's seat, hugging his left arm with my whole body. That hand rests on the inside of my thigh, and I find myself shifting against it with every jolt in the road. Every dip and bump rubs me against him.

The road ahead of us is long, stretching through rolling valleys stirred by a gentle breeze under a warm, relaxing sun. I could almost melt into him, if not for an agonizing itch I can't reach, one I have no way to scratch.

I look up at Shadow in quiet desperation. He's still wearing my ragged black cloak around his head. I had claimed his arm when Envy's and my words of comfort were spent, hoping that by clinging to him he would understand how much I need him. Perhaps he understood; he indulged my gesture. I could never have moved him on my own, after all.

I'm such a mess, aren't I?

"It's a normal thing to want," Envy whispers in my mind.

Normal? What part of this is normal? There is something twisted, something wrong with me!

For so long, ever since… I've been afraid of the touch of men. For years I have lived in fear of them, questioned every intention, guarded my body and my heart. I wouldn't allow anyone to get close enough to hurt me again.

I was alone, and that was okay, because I was safe.

"You weren't wrong to protect yourself. You're not wrong to want him," Envy says consolingly.

The heat rises between my legs and I can't help letting out a little frustrated squeal as I hug his arm tighter, eyes squeezed shut.

The reason I feel safe with Shadow, the reason I was able to open up my heart and love him, is because I know he doesn't want me, could never want me, for my body. His intentions are so pure, a kindness, "a love" with no ulterior motive. So then why, why, gods, why do I now so badly want something from him that scares me, something I know he doesn't desire, and that, if he did desire it, would make me fear him?

"Feelings don't always have to make sense," I can almost hear Envy's shrug in her words.

I hear a creak of metal as Shadow's weight shifts slightly, and I assume his head has turned toward me at my squirming outburst. Then, as if trying to comfort me, the big idiot pats me with the hand pinned between my thighs. Far from comforting me, the sensation sends a shiver from my toes all the way to my cheeks, which flush red hot.

"Shadow!" I squeal, hugging his arm even tighter.

"Yes?" Shadow asks with a note of confusion.

"You big idiot," I mutter, doing my best to calm myself.

"What?"

"Just say 'sorry' and continue to hold her close," Envy says to us both.

"Sorry," Shadow says softly as he slowly pulls his arm from between my legs. He sets his hand on my opposite shoulder and gently guides me into him. I curl up against him, resting my head on his chest and wrapping my arms around him.

The road is peaceful, the wind pleasant on my skin, and his arms are my sanctuary. I know Shadow and I will never have a normal relationship. Neither of us is capable of being normal. But I don't ever want to lose what we have. We may both be bent and broken, but it is because of our broken parts that we fit together in a way no one else could.

Before long we pass through the village of Windfeld and continue our journey south. We make a short stop to eat around midday. While Shadow feeds the mares correl roots and pats their heads, I go to retrieve lunch from his bag.

I dig around for the biscuits Lady Willow gave us for the journey until my fingers brush against something smooth and curved, similar in feel to Envy's mask. Confused, I glance down to check, but Envy's mask is still tucked into my belt.

I pull the object and the package of biscuits out of Shadow's bag. It is another mithril mask, smaller than Envy's, made to cover only the upper half of its wearer's face. But, like Envy, I can sense the mana surging within it.

"What is this for?" I ask, holding up the mask for Shadow to see.

"Ren gave it to me as a spare," Shadow says as he materializes water into a bucket for the horses. "In case Envy runs out of mana or is destroyed."

I tuck the spare mask back into Shadow's bag with a sidelong glance before pulling Envy from my belt and placing her on top of my lunchbox on my lap. "Don't listen to him, no one can replace you," I whisper to Envy reassuringly.

With the horses and me fed and watered, we set off again. The distance to Fel doesn't leave us time to waste, but we can't work the horses on empty stomachs. I know what it's like, and I won't do that to our horsey teammates.

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By the time we reach Midway, the sun hangs low over the mountains to the west. It's a large town sitting at the junction of three major roads. We skip the inns and press on in the waning light. Shadow can ride through the night, and the mares should make it to the rest stop marked on the map. That stop is as far as we need to go tonight if we want to reach Fel in daylight tomorrow.

The road bends west and the land slowly begins to climb. By the time we reach the point indicated on the map, the sun has long since dipped behind the jagged Hyperion Mountains. Shadow brings the wagon to a stop in a grassy windswept field on a high plateau, with a cliff to our right facing west.

"This isn't a village," Shadow says flatly, peering up at a large statue near the edge of the cliff.

"This is definitely the spot marked on the map," I respond, poring over the map the guild provided. There is no mistaking it; this is the place marked with a triangle, the same way the villages of Midway and Windfeld were.

Looking up and scanning the distance around us, I don't see any structures or lights to indicate a settlement anywhere.

"The mapmaker must have been wrong," I muse.

"Cartographer."

"What's that?"

"The mapmaker."

"That's an odd name."

"In any case, this is as good a place as any to make camp," Shadow says as he steps down from the wagon.

We guide the horses off the road and pitch the tent in the statue's shadow, using its stone bulk to break the steady, chilling breeze that sweeps across the plateau. The air carries a cool, earthy scent and the promise of rain. By the time we secure the last rope, dark clouds have rolled in overhead and a soft patter begins on the canvas.

Inside, the world narrows to the dim glow of our crystal lantern and the rustle of fabric. Shadow lies on his side and I curl up beside him. He drapes an arm over me and pulls me close, his mithril body radiating a calm, even heat that drives the chill from my bones. I nestle into that warmth, wrapped in metal and blanket.

I feel safe in my mithril cocoon, unbothered by the growing wind or the rain drumming against the tent.

I wake to the chirping of birds and the morning light, a pale smudge against the tent wall. I reach for Shadow, but he is gone. He has left a simple breakfast bundled in cloth beside me.

When I step out of the tent a moment later, I find Shadow reading over the inscription at the base of the statue we had sought shelter beneath. I take a bite of the cold, day-old biscuit as I look up at the monolithic statue of five figures, and I am struck by two thoughts.

First, this biscuit tastes far better than it has any right to after a full day rolling around in Shadow's bag. And second, the statue is far more massive than I realized in the dark last night.

Five figures clad in armor stand arm in arm, their backs toward us as they gaze out over the cliff edge. Curious who they must have been to deserve the honor of being immortalized in stone and marked on the map with the same symbol as a city, I begin to walk around the base toward the front.

"So what is this?" I ask through a mouthful of biscuit, raising a hand to shield my eyes from the morning sun as I peer up at them.

"It reads, 'Here lie the heroes of Man, Dwarves, Elves, and Beastkin, who set aside their differences and gave their lives to defend all of Gaia from the scourge of the Demon Lord. By their sacrifice, the sun rises over our peoples once more. Let it not be forgotten that the Draemorians who chose to stand with us risked everything to aid our coalition. Though their souls walked many paths, they converged here and carved their names into the annals of history. May Oberon guide them to their rest,'" Shadow reads aloud. "The same words are repeated in five languages," he adds.

"It's a war memorial?" I ask, rounding the statue's front to see a soldier of each race depicted, including a horned satyr. "To honor the ruddy demons?"

"Not all of them supported the Demon Lord, I suppose," Shadow answers. "Would explain why they are buried among the rest of them."

I glare skeptically up at the stone Lionkin warrior with his arm around the demon's shoulder as if they were brothers in arms. I scoff at the absurdity. Such an alliance is truly a work of fiction. There are no good demons, only some who are better at hiding their nature. Even the idea of it sours the taste of my breakfast.

"Buried?" I ask, as Shadow's choice of words finally sinks in. I look around, confused. "Where are they…" My voice trails off as my gaze drifts out over the cliff's edge for the first time. About five hundred feet down, and stretching out for at least a mile in every direction, is a field of red wildflowers. Evenly spaced among the blooms are graves.

I gasp at the sheer, unfathomable number. At least two hundred thousand, maybe more. I was taught the war cost many lives, but to see them all laid out before me in neat rows is shocking.

Scanning the ocean of graves, I notice how much they differ. Some are marked with headstones, others with piles of stones, others by young saplings growing from the mounds. I am not familiar with the burial practices of each race represented here, but it seems they at least attempted to bury them according to their customs.

"It is hard to believe, isn't it?" Shadow says, coming up beside me.

"That people from five races were buried here?" I ask.

"That in less than twenty years, everyone seems to have forgotten why they were buried together, and why they built this statue," Shadow says darkly.

I turn back toward the statue, thoughtful. "They were only allied because they had a common enemy. With that enemy gone, so goes their alliance."

"Willow would say mortals are petty, with short memories," Envy adds.

Shadow and I tear down our camp in relative silence, which is normal for us. What is not normal this time is how much I find myself thinking about that word. It is not normal for these races to fight and die together for the same goal. In fact, the war against the Demon Lord is the only example I know of in all of history where that has happened. The union was strange, and it did not last. Yet for a time, that very strange, very not normal alliance changed the world.

Watching Shadow effortlessly swing our bundled tent into the back of the wagon with one hand, I reflect on how strange the two of us are. We will never have a normal relationship. What we have, as strange as it is, is good. Who needs normal anyway? When life was normal, I was alone and starving. Normal sucks.

A quick pat and a snack for the horses and we are back on our way. I look back at the statue as it shrinks into the distance behind us.

"I think I know why that Cart guy labeled that place as a village," I muse. "There are enough people buried there to fill one. A city of the fallen."

"Cart-og-raph-er," Shadow says slowly.

"Yeah, that guy."