Shadow's Arc

Chapter 4 of 8

Shadow's hand tightened on the staff. In the cracked mirror, his father smiled at the empty doorway, waiting. The skull-shape flickered under the broken glass. Shadow's blood ran hot. He wanted to run north, kick down that door, and burn the man where he sat. Mossara watched his face. "There," she said quietly. "That's what he's paying for. Your rage walks into his hall before you do." A branch snapped behind them. Shadow spun, magic flaring red at his fingers. A woman stepped out of the mist. Purple hair fell past her shoulders. She carried an axe on her back, and blue eyes locked on his the way only family's can. "Emma," he breathed. His sister. He hadn't seen her in three years, not since they both swore to hunt their father. She looked at the staff, then the mirror, then the anger shaking through him. "You found him," she said. It wasn't a question. "And you're about to die." "He killed our mother." Shadow's voice cracked. "I'm going." Emma crossed the roots in three steps and gripped his wrist. Her hand was strong, calloused. "Look at yourself. You're shaking. He's counted on this since the flowers." She turned him toward the mirror. "See how he sits? Calm. He wants you loud and stupid." Shadow tried to pull free. "Let go." "No." She held tighter. "I've hunted him too. I learned something you didn't. Anger is a leash. He tugs it, and you come running." Her voice dropped. "Mother taught us to breathe before we swing. You forgot." The words hit harder than any blow. Shadow stopped fighting her grip. The green orb still pulsed, feeding on his fury, brightening with every angry breath. He noticed it now. The staff wanted his rage as much as his father did. He closed his eyes. He pictured their mother's hands in the garden, the forget-me-nots, her steady voice. His breathing slowed. The red glow at his fingers dimmed. The orb's light faded from bright green to dull. When he opened his eyes, the shaking was gone. "He's expecting a furious son," Shadow said slowly. "So I won't give him one." Emma let go. A small smile touched her mouth. "Now you're worth walking beside." Shadow lifted the mirror from the stone. In the cracked glass, his father still waited, still smiling. But the trap only worked if Shadow arrived blind with rage. He wouldn't. He would come cold, clear, and thinking. "Together," Emma said, drawing her axe. Shadow nodded. He turned north, calm for the first time in three years. The obstacle his father built was rage, and Shadow had just set it down. Now the trap waited for a man who wasn't coming. Someone smarter was.