A Shadow in the Moonlight: A Thirteenth Hour Prequel

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  A Shadow in the Moonlight

  A Thirteenth Hour Prequel

  By Joshua Blum

  Many thanks to the Goodreads members who read this story and offered their comments and critiques prior to its publication.

  Thanks, as always, to my brother for his many hours of unpaid proofreading, editorial assistance, and guidance to turn an old story into a publishable one.

  For Cathy, who knows about the eyes of babies, and for so many other reasons.

  Copyright ? 2015 Joshua Blum

  1st edition 3/2015

  2nd edition 11/2015

  All rights are reserved to the author. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A strong wind whistled through the tops of the evergreens, dislodging shards of ice that pelted the forest floor far below in a continuous death rattle. Dark clouds blanketed the stars, and the only light came from the moon, which cast a faint white glow over the treetops and hillsides. Otherwise, darkness reigned over the forest-covered valley. A single drop of water fell from one of the clouds, striking the tip of a tree before falling to the ice-covered forest floor. More droplets followed until the freezing rain suddenly came in torrents, blown by the wind so that it slashed down in angled sheets.

  In that desolate, stormy valley, a young hunter was making his way through the labyrinth of trees. Having lost his way hours ago, he now sought shelter. Earlier in the day, when the weather had been clearer and the sky lighter, a majestic albino buck had jumped into view. It had been too far away for a clean shot, so the hunter had given chase off the path into the dark woods, where he'd soon lost not only the trail but his way. He'd been stumbling about ever since. Eventually, the hunter spied a cave covered by vines and underbrush. He would not have seen it but for a dimly lit entrance. When he approached, he made out a weathered, wooden door. It fit poorly, and he could see some dim details of the interior through cracks around the edges. Hoping that He hoped that whoever lived here would let him stay the night, the hunter called and knocked three times before finally pushing the door, which, to his surprise, creaked open.

  As he walked inside, his eyes settled on a mirror, a hooded cloak hanging by the door, and a muddy set of boots. He squinted into the distance. There seemed to be a number of bends to the cave, but he could still make out a faint glow flickering across the rocky walls surrounding him. After groping around for a bit, his hands located a long stick with a rag on one end that had been wedged into a narrow depression in the wall. He fumbled in his wet pockets, producing a soggy box of matches. They refused to light, and cursing both his luck and his failure to waterproof them, he stuffed them back in his pocket and waited for his eyes to adjust as he stepped slowly around the narrow, winding corridor leading to the cave's glowing rear. He could no longer hear the moaning of the wind and the drumming of ice hitting the frozen forest floor; instead, he thought he heard chanting coming from somewhere in the cave's depths. Moving in the direction of the chants, he stumbled twice along the way, banged his head at least three times against rocky formations that magically appeared before his forehead, and finally ended up flat on his rear after slipping on the smooth stone.

  Sitting on the damp cave floor, he groped for the scattered mess that was his upended quiver of arrows. He felt around until he located most of them, pricking his finger on one of the broadheads in the process. At that moment, amid a slew of muffled curses, he looked up and saw several bookcases, a cluttered table, and an elderly man standing in a circle of light illuminating the rear of the cave. The man was wearing a flowing cloak, holding his arms in the air, and chanting in a tongue the hunter could not understand. The glow surrounding him came from a fire that danced under a bubbling pot, into which the man dropped objects at regular intervals.

  The hunter cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I was lost in the woods, and there's an awful storm out there. I was wondering if ?"

  The man noticed the hunter, and his eyes went wide with fear and alarm. "Don't step any closer, I warn you! Stay where you are!"

  The hunter put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture and said, "I'm sorry to trespass and don't mean you any harm. I'm a hunter, lost in the woods. I wondered if I could spend the night."

  The man groaned, backed away, and held his head in his hands for a moment. Then he approached a bookcase near the bubbling cauldron. Pulling out a worn volume, he flipped to one of the pages and read a little before sinking into a nearby chair, wringing his hands anxiously.

  Perplexed, the hunter stood by, not quite sure what to say. "I'm sorry if I've caused you any inconvenience, but I won't be any trouble, I promise. I'll leave in the morning."

  The strange man sighed and said, "Oh, you didn't do anything to me, but ? maybe I had better explain a few things. My name is Mortimer Q. Snodgrass, and I am a wizard. Eh, well, kind of."

  The hunter suppressed a desperate urge to laugh out loud. But seeing the old man looking so distraught, he thought better of it.

  "I was performing a spell to make myself invisible. I know it sounds crazy," he sighed. "I really should have waited on this one and done the easier ones first. Anyway, all the ingredients are listed right here in this spell book. I followed it perfectly, but ? well, there's a quirk - the spell only works on one person; any other people present will suffer grave consequences."

  "Like what?"

  "Let me make sure I have this correct." He flipped through a few pages before frowning. "Damn it. I was right. You have to understand, I'm a sort of ? amateur wizard, and I'm not so acquainted with the details of how you do everything. But at last month's World Wizards Association meeting, I learned about this spell to make myself invisible and, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time."

  "You mean that you've never done this before?"

  "Well, sort of. I mean, no, not really. You're going to hurt me now, aren't you?" he asked, eyeing the hunter's bow and the knife at his side.

  "Oh, come on, don't be ridiculous. I'm not that kind of person. Besides, no offense, but I don't really believe in all this magic stuff."

  "Well, you might after you read this," he whimpered, passing the book he was holding over to the hunter while he continued blubbering to himself. "Why didn't I lock the door? I always mess up some mundane detail with these things."

  The hunter briefly skimmed the open pages before looking up. "Okay, granted I don't really buy any of this, but what's the big deal? I walked in while you were doing your spell. So what?"

  The amateur wizard sighed. "As long as you promise not to get mad when I tell you what I know."

  The hunter smiled, and placing his bow and quiver on the floor of the cave, said, "I promise."

  Mollified but still eyeing the bow anxiously, the old man groaned, "A long time ago, the wizard who first tried to make himself invisible was interrupted by a friend right in the middle of the spell, similar to what happened to you and me. From that point on, the wizard's fri
end was a changed man. He became a living shadow, only able to be seen by the light of the moon. It's right there, under the passage Shadow in the Moonlight."

  The wizard pointed to a page in the middle of the book.

  Shadow in the Moonlight

  Very little is known about this spell, which is usually cast by accident. No current method for reversal is known, but the World Wizards Association is working on the problem. One person is needed in addition to the usual equipment for casting an invisibility spell (see p. 967 - 991 for details on invisibility). That person will become a ghost, or more appropriately, a living shadow. He will be afraid to look at or talk to other people. He will not be able to stand the light of day. Thus, he can only come out at night and is doomed to spend the rest of his days roaming the area where he was "infected" with this terrible spell. Note to all wizards: Do not attempt to administer this spell! It is unethical. (The World Wizards Association claims no responsibility for the irrational acts of amateur wizards.)

  "I still dunno," said the hunter when he finished reading. "Pretty farfetched, if you ask me. 'Living shadow?' Give me a break."

  "Ehh, yes, well, maybe you'll be lucky? Tomorrow, there is a wizards' meeting, so I'll bring this up and see what to do about it."

  "You do that. In the meantime, can I stay for the night? Maybe by tomorrow morning this will all blow over. After all, your spell might not work."

  "I hope in this case you're right. And, certainly, you can stay here. It's the least I can do, mister ? ah, I never got your name."

  "Where I'm from, you don't get a name until you're older, so I've never had one."

  Now it was the wizard's turn to be incredulous. "Never had a name? What did your parents call you?"

  "I never had any."

  "But everyone has parents somewhere. What did people call you when you were growing up? What does anyone call you now, for that matter?"

  "They don't. I never thought about it, really. Where I come from, we recognize other people by their faces. It's a ? small community. Most people get names when they're adults but only if they have an important position. I'm not quite an adult yet and am only a hunter, so ?"

  "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Everyone needs a name," the wizard shook his head. "Where did you say you were from again?"

  The hunter gave the name of his village.

  The wizard frowned, looked at a map hanging from the cave wall, and said, "I see. Hmm, you're quite a ways from home, aren't you? How the hell did you get all the way out here?"

  "Well, there was this albino buck, and I got lost, and ? I don't know. I've been wandering around for hours."

  The wizard whistled a low note. "Well, at least you found shelter. Your lousy luck, apparently. And I must say, that community of yours makes no sense at all. Remind me not to stop there on the way to the meeting. It must be incredibly confusing. You guys must have to do a lot of 'hey, you' to get someone's attention. But what the hell do I know? I'm a hermit. Who apparently can't even follow the lousy directions in the easiest World Wizards Association spell book. For beginners!"

  He pointed to the title in the hunter's hands. The Official World Wizards Association Spell Book: Total Beginner's Edition, it read.

  "Beginners, my ass!" the wizard muttered, taking the book back and tossing it among a heap of other volumes near the bookshelf. "Should burn the damn thing. But, enough of this; where are my manners? Let's get you some food and a warm place to sleep." The old man began busying himself with finding blankets and candles, and under his breath, the hunter thought he heard him mutter, "No name. Well, maybe in this case, not having a name is appropriate."

  The hunter asked what he meant.

  "Oh, nothing, just talking to myself."

  After the wizard had shown him a spot where he could sleep and had offered him some food, the hunter sat alone on a thin mattress placed on the damp cave floor. He chuckled to himself at the thought of the wizard, his spell gone awry, and the fact that there was apparently a worldwide association for people prancing around in robes dropping things into pots. Didn't these folks have anything better to do? Shaking his head and laughing to himself, he soon drifted off to sleep.

  ********

  When the hunter awoke the next morning, he didn't remember where he was. As he looked around, he slowly recalled what had happened the previous night. A single note lay near his blankets, simply addressed to "The Hunter."

  The wizard had written that he'd left for the meeting, where he would bring up the subject of the Shadow in the Moonlight spell. He wasn't sure when he would be back, so he invited the hunter to stay in his cave and use his provisions (except for his stash of alcohol) until he returned. Having no intention of remaining there, the hunter picked his way around the winding pathway to the front of the cave, thrust open the door, and received a terrible shock.

  The sunlight blinded him with stinging sharpness. Suddenly, he trembled with a terrible spike of fear that surged through his body. The feeling did not creep up on him but rather hit him full force like a punch in the face. He staggered backwards and kicked the door shut. His heart pounded like he had never heard it pound before, and sweat dripped from his forehead as he bent over to catch his breath. Back in the darkness again, his trembling subsided gradually. Again and again, over the course of the morning, he repeated these actions, always with the same result. Finally, he fell into an exhausted heap on the cave floor.

  There he lay, panting with terror and frustration, until the feelings finally subsided for the last time. He eventually ambled back to the wizard's den in the cave's rear, where he frantically searched every book for any information beyond what the wizard had told him last night. He found nothing except a small case report discussing the impact it had had on one subject, an unfortunate 52 year-old groundskeeper who had stumbled upon the master of the house performing it:

  The poor man could not stand to see the sun during the day. He could only go out at night and resorted to tending the grounds during the wee hours, though he did not seem impaired by the affliction with regards to carrying out his duties. In fact, his night vision seemed better than an ordinary man's, but his personal life was a different matter entirely. He became deathly afraid of people, despite previously having been a gregarious, outgoing sort. In their presence, he reported feeling helpless - in his words, "like a shadow." "And like a shadow, I become intangible, fading away whenever anyone tries to approach me. A most awful feeling like I have never experienced before." He was able to convey his thoughts on paper, his only means of communication with the outside world. "Shadows can only observe the world around them, but they lack the ability to participate directly in it," he wrote. Alas, at this time we have no known cure for this affliction.

  Well, that was encouraging.

  The hunter sighed, shutting the book. Perhaps it was appropriate that he didn't have a name, since shadows had no identity. Maybe that was what the wizard had meant last night. So the wizard was right all along. Why did I have to interrupt the spell? Why did I have to pick this cave? Why didn't I pack a damn compass? A thousand questions went off in his head like firecrackers all exploding at the same time. In despair and utter disbelief, the former magic nonbeliever felt very alone as the full weight of his predicament came to rest on his shoulders.

  ********

 

  Let us leave the hunter for a moment. On top of one of the hills overlooking the forest, there was an orphanage. It was located on the outskirts of the town nearby, and every so often, people would come from town to look at the children in hopes of adopting one of their own. The first few floors were full of small children who were usually adopted right away. The adults hardly ever came up to the higher floors where the older children stayed. When they did, they always picked out children that looked the prettiest and healthiest.

  There was one child that no one ever came to see. S
he didn't know exactly how old she was, but she knew she was older than everyone else because she was taller, her voice deeper, and her body more womanly than girlish. The card on the front of her bed said Lavinia, the only name she had ever known. Even her name sounded different from all the other names, and this, too, set her apart from the others. During the day, all the older children had certain jobs to do; Lavinia's was to tend the vegetable garden behind the orphanage. Because of this, she was always dirty, her body often smelling of earth, manure, and sweat. The streaks her tears made when she occasionally broke down and cried made her look even more pathetic. "Pathetic" - Lavinia had not known what that word had meant until she'd heard a family use it to describe her in hushed tones, peering while trying not the stare at the slumped figure with downcast eyes sitting on the floor. They had held their noses as they passed by.

  But there were comforts, too, such as the big window next to her bed, from where she could see the whole countryside including the forest below. Sometimes, when she couldn't sleep, she would get out of bed and stand by the window to look at the moon and the stars.

  But tonight, she was not comforted by the heavens. Instead of hope, she felt sorrow, a frequent companion. As she looked out at the rolling hills, the dense forests, and the faraway stars, she felt terribly small and insignificant, like a drop of water in the ocean. The room was silent and dark, and the only light came from a single shaft of moonlight that illuminated one side of Lavinia's face, casting her shadow on the floor. As she looked down at it, she felt the pain of being alone in the world.