The Eye of Shadow (Vale)

This takes place five or six years ago. I hope you enjoy (constructive criticism is always welcome!).

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'The Eye of Shadow'

The dust of the Barrens clouded the woman's feet, swirling about the hem of her robe as she stepped off the reeking docks and into the humble but thriving port. A scarf was draped thickly over her head, and wrapped carefully over her shoulders. A few strands of hair escaped from underneath the cloth, dark even in the desert sunlight. The woman twisted a strand idly around one finger; it was rough, like a horse's mane, a testament to her origins. She carried herself well, her steps proud, but she was no lady.

A labourer shoved past her with a string of heavily accented curses, nearly knocking her off her feet. She righted herself and turned her head, slowly and serpentlike, her eyes following the string of bale-hauling men. There was no telling, now, which had struck her. Pressing her lips together in a thin line, the woman lifted a sunbrowned hand to shield her eyes as she looked up to survey the village. Ratchet. This filthy, goblin-infested little harbour was where power could be found? Well, so it might be. She had searched more unlikely places.

The path leading into the hills above the village was faint and narrow; dust swirled across the slopes, caking the few twisted and colourless plants that had taken root in the dryness of the red clay soil. The woman set her feet against the dust, scrambling up the hillside with a litheness that belied her carefully arranged costume. After some time she reached a narrow plateau; there huddled against the rock face of hillside was a small hovel, built of the same red mud that was at the heart of those lands.

The woman paused at the pinnacle of the climb, resting a hand against her chest as she caught her breath. And then, after a moment, she squatted down and sifted some of the rust-coloured dirt through her fingers. Clay, rust, blood... it all had the same colour, more or less, when it was dried and caked. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth but she pushed it away, straightening, and traversed the few paces to the entrance of the hut.

The narrow space was covered only by a roughly spun blanket. She paused, reaching into the neck of her dress for something that hung there on a thread. Her hand wrapped around the pendant and then tugged, snapping the thread.

'I have travelled the pilgrim's path. I seek knowledge of the one who dwells here.' The words came out softly, without the ringing clarity she had wanted, and it seemed to her that they were caught and carried away by the wind the moment they escaped her cracked lips. She took a deep breath, still clutching the object against her breast.

The blanket over the entrance of the hovel was pushed aside, and there, framed against the soft, cool blackness of the space behind, was a man. The hand that rested against the doorframe was gnarled with years, and in the lank, grey hair that hung, braided, over one shoulder, only a few strands of black remained. Yet there was a certain smoothness to his face, and above slightly sunken cheeks, his eyes were the keenest that the woman had ever seen.

Her lips parted to speak, and she found that she could not. The man tilted his head back and looked her over; the finely draped robes, the straying dark hair, the unusually pale face.

'Welcome, Valerias Caan. I have been waiting for you.'

'How... how do you know my name?' The words tumbled from her mouth, unbidden, the childish sound of them echoing in her ears.

'As I said, I have been waiting for you.' The old man stepped out from the doorway, letting the blanket fall behind him. In the full light of the scorching desert evening, with the glow of the westering sun falling full over him, he seemed to her almost unearthly. A dark robe swathed his narrow body, and the strange contradictions about his age were even more pronounced in the light. But he was, after all, still a man. Only a man.

Valerias gathered herself, breathed, let the right hand, still wrapped tightly around the talisman in her hand, fall open in front of her as she held out the object. 'I have come from someone who knows you and says that you were wise. I brought this as a token.'

The man reached out for the object, plucking it from her palm and holding it up momentarily against the glare of the sun. It was a small bird carved of dark stone. He tucked it away into the folds of his robe, and then stepped to the side, sweeping open the covering over the door. The motion was sudden and agile, and Valerias drew in a quick and silent breath.

'You say you have come seeking knowledge. And indeed, you have found he who you have sought. The question simply remains whether or not you are capable of holding, bending, and using that knowledge. Will you enter the realm of shadow, or will you flee in terror before nightfall, running half-mad and scrambling among the rocks and crags for an eternity?'

He smiled, a cool smile, and, forgetting the heat and the dust and the desiccating desert wind, Valerias found herself drawn into the deep wells of his eyes. 'The only thing you have to fear, Valerias Caan, is your own weakness. The choice is yours.'

She lifted her head, almost snapping it upward, and looked from the man to the shadowed space before her. 'I am a Caan. I can not fear weakness.'

The master smiled, and there was silence – a cool, dark, enveloping silence – as Valerias bent her head and stepped forward through the doorway.

I'll read it when i'm sober and give a verdict <3