Chapter 5
Bart walked across the hall to where Jonah said the washroom was. There was a big cast iron tub, a small washbasin, and a pile of towels. Bart took the basin out to the well and filled it up. Back inside, he stared into the mirrored glass on the wall. The deep purple bruise under his left eye and the red, raw cut on his lip angered him the most. He had other bruises on his chest and side, but they were covered by his shirt. The visible signs that he had been beaten were what fueled his rage toward the blacksmith’s apprentice.
The rage was building uncontrollably, and he knew what to do. As quietly as he could, he listened at Jonah’s door. No sound. Good, he must be asleep. The entire inn was quiet. Bart hoped that meant that everyone was sleeping. He took a last look to ensure no one was watching him and slipped quietly out of the inn.
Bart strolled back to the Blacksmith Shop, keeping to the shadows so anyone else who may be out on the street this late at night would not see him. He could typically control his anger better, but he couldn’t let the apprentice get away with the pain he caused him. The only way for him to get the rage back in control now was to release it upon the object of his fury, the apprentice. Bart was not afraid of the older boy or of the mountainous blacksmith, for that matter. Fear was just another emotion that needed controlling, just like anger. He eased himself into the shadows of the building across from the blacksmith shop and waited. He took a deep breath and released all his pent-up emotions, calming his mind about his plan.
Bart tried to keep entirely still, but he couldn’t keep his body from shivering in the cold. Night had fallen over an hour before. The blacksmith was already gone, but Andrew, the apprentice, was still in the shop. The darkness of the night was near total. Clouds had rolled in in what looked like preparation for a significant storm. Bart had to watch closely to ensure he saw the boy leave. Bart was fighting off sleep. He listened to the sounds of the night to keep himself alert. The rhythmic chirping of the crickets. The hooting of owls out hunting for mice. The wind of the impending storm blew through the trees. The howling of far-off wolves. He allowed all the sounds to wash over him, calming him for what was to come.
The only light source on the street was from inside the blacksmith shop. That light went out, and the apprentice stepped out into the night. Bart followed Andrew up the street, sticking to the shadows, trying to remain unseen and unheard. Andrew left the main road and started up a small path into the woods on the town’s edge. Bart followed him for another mile, picking up a massive tree branch along the way. Bart was sweating profusely now. His emotions were no longer under control. They now controlled him. He felt as if he was a passenger in his own body. He was scared. He was nervous. He was angry. He was oh so angry. Thinking back to Andrew standing over him in the street made Bart angry again. He tried to release his emotions and regain control over the situation, but he failed. His anger was boiling up uncontrollably inside of him. He could almost taste his hatred for the boy ahead of him. Bart quickened his pace and got even closer to the apprentice. Before Andrew knew Bart was there, Bart struck the back of his legs with the tree branch, knocking the boy to the ground. Andrew rolled over to face his attacker, raising his arms up in front of his face. Bart swung the makeshift club again, but not at Andrew’s face. The club struck with a sickening crunch, shattering the boy’s right kneecap. Andrew shrieked in pain and grabbed the remains of his knee, sobbing in pain.
“You! Oh, God, it hurts so bad. Please don’t kill me. Please! He made me throw you out of the shop. It wasn’t my fault! Please!” Andrew’s tear-streaked face contorted in pain. His eyes were wide with fear, pleading desperately with the boy standing over him with a raised club, ready to strike again.
The club came down again, landing with a sickening crunch against the side of Andrew’s skull. The light faded from the boy’s eyes as the spark of life slipped slowly out of his body. Bart did not even notice these things. He rained blows down on the boy’s body until his arms were too tired to raise the club. It was like he was in a trance. The rage and hatred were in control. Bart’s mind blacked out, and when he woke up, he was sitting under an old oak tree, completely covered in hot, sticky blood. He looked over at the body of the apprentice. He could not even recognize the boy anymore. The body was just a red, pulpy mass of broken flesh and bone. Bart felt no remorse. He released that with all the other emotions. Bart took a deep breath and finally felt the emotions draining from his body.
Bart went back to the inn to clean up again. This time, he had to strip off all his clothes and sit under the well pump to get clean. Bart didn’t want to take the time to make the trips to fill the washtub. He tried to wash all the blood out of his clothes as well. Bart would be needing new clothes soon. His were all torn and tattered in many places. He returned to the washroom and dried himself off with one of the towels. He returned quietly to his room, never seeing Jonah standing in the shadows, watching.
The first rays of the dawn sunlight filtered through the dirty curtains and into the room where Bart slept; he groggily opened his eyes and looked around. For a moment, he did not remember where he was. Bart pushed himself up and off the cot, yawned, and stretched. He’d been staying with Cecilia at the inn for nearly a month, yet it still didn’t seem real. He couldn’t grasp the fact that he genuinely liked her. This had never happened to him before. He planned on moving on from the inn as soon as he had eaten and rested, but now he didn’t want to leave. He needed to know what about Cecilia drew him to her.
His thoughts then drifted to Jonah. Jonah was always watching Bart. Everywhere he went, there was Jonah. He might have to deal with Jonah. Everyone else at the inn liked and accepted Bart, everyone except Jonah. Bart’s hatred for the boy grew more uncontrollable all the time. He didn’t want to ruin what he had here with Cecilia, so he had to devise a plan to get Jonah to like him or get rid of him completely.
The day progressed much like any other at the inn—endless chores and errands. As always, Bart tried his best to avoid Jonah. But, as always, Jonah was never far away.
All these thoughts ran through Bart’s head as he finished his daily chores. Tired, he picked up the canvas sack and headed toward his room at the back of the inn. As soon as he entered his room, he felt eyes watching him. He spun around and saw a shadow detach itself from the wall. Bart took a single step back, embraced, and released the fear that tried to grip him. Bart faced the figure before him. All Bart could make out from the black-robed, hooded figure was a pair of pale yellow eyes and a glint of silver. Bart gasped. He had never seen a Shadowkin before, but he heard the stories and knew he faced one now. The Shadowkin were servants of the Enkali, the ruling class of all Talamh Arsa. From everything Bart knew, he believed that the Shadowkin could not do anything without the permission of one of the Enkali. Bart wondered why this one was here now, in his room. Why was it looking for him?
Bart felt the eyes of the Shadowkin looking intently at him, and he involuntarily shuddered. Bart felt as if something deep inside the core of his being suddenly came alive. His skin tingled, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Bart felt waves of powerful energy emanating from the Shadowkin and washing over and into him. Bart felt more robust, more alive than he ever had before.
The Shadowkin’s yellow eyes widened in surprise. Bart flew across the room with one wave of the Shadowkin’s hand, crashing into the far wall. Bart expected to feel intense pain, but he hardly felt a thing. He looked up, and the Shadowkin stood there looking down at him. “You need to learn to control that magic, boy. If I did not know that you did not intend to use it against me, I would have killed you.”
Bart picked himself up off the floor. He brushed the dust and bits of sawdust off his clothes and out of his hair. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, calming himself before he spoke. “Magic? What do you mean? I have no magic. Who are you? What do you want with me?”
“You do have magic. Let us go outside and sit. My name is Ihlvo of the Shadowkin. We have much to talk about, Bartholomew.”
Bart’s young mind was racing. Magic? Him? He didn’t know magic, or did he? Was that surge of energy he felt earlier magic? Was that why he felt no pain when he smashed against the barn wall? Bart followed Ihlvo outside. He desperately needed to calm his nerves before talking to the Shadowkin. Bart tried one of the relaxation techniques he taught himself. He opened his senses to the night around him. He felt the cool night air wash over his body, chilling his pale skin and slightly ruffling his hair. He heard the crickets’ constant chirping, the mosquitoes’ buzzing, and the owls’ hooting. He smelt the smoke from the many fireplace chimneys around the village, keeping people safe and warm inside their houses. The air was also heavy, with the smell of the early spring flowers blooming around the town. He tasted the blood dripping from his nose. Bart could see by the light of the nearly full moon that he and Ihlvo were the only ones out in the yard. Now fully relaxed, Bart followed Ihlvo across the yard to a large oak tree. Ihlvo sat down and motioned for Bart to sit also. Bart sat down and leaned back against the enormous tree, feeling the rough bark through the thin cloth of his tunic.
Ihlvo began to speak. “Bartholomew, you are more than an abandoned orphan who no one wants. You have greatness inside of you. You are not even an orphan at all. Your father lives, and I am here to tell you of him.”
Bart interjected. “What? What about my mother? Do you know of her as well? I have longed to know about my parents and where I am from. I have never fit in with the families who took me in. I hated them all, and they hated me. All of them. They abandoned me and left me on my own when I was eleven years old. I was kicked out of the village with only the clothes on my back and was told never to return. Tell me of my parents, please, Ihlvo, please!”
“I will tell you everything I know, but first, I will show you. I can share my memories with you. I will show you what I can and tell you the rest. Take my hand and open your mind to me.” Ihlvo extended one hand towards Bart.
Bart was losing the control he usually had over his emotions. Parents! His mind was racing with what that could mean for him. Is his father alive? What of his mother? Why did they abandon him? Where are they now? All these thoughts raced through his young mind in the blink of an eye. He was nervous and excited to hear what Ihlvo had to say and see what Ihlvo could show him. His mouth was dry, and his hands were slick with sweat, even in the cold night air. He saw Ihlvo extend his long-fingered, grey-tinged hand towards him. Ihlvo’s skin looked dry enough to crumble away to dust at the slightest touch. The smell of rotting meat coming from the Shadowkin made Bart’s stomach lurch, but he gritted his teeth, relaxed his mind, and placed his small, pale hand into the much larger grey hand of Ihlvo.
Bart almost wrenched his hand away as soon as he touched the Shadowkin. Ihlvo’s skin was so cold it nearly burned. Bart felt as if all the heat from his entire body was draining from him through his hand. Bart grew disoriented and dizzy. His eyes started to burn like they were on fire, hotter fire than Bart had ever known. The sensations stopped, and Bart opened his eyes. He blinked, finding himself in an unfamiliar place. Bart realized that not only was he in a place he did not know, but he was looking out of Ihlvo’s eyes. This must be how memory sharing works. He was inside one of Ihlvo’s memories, reliving the moment.
Bart was outside a tiny hut where a tall, regal-looking woman stood beside him, motioning towards the door. This was very strange. He felt as if he was Ihlvo, but he had no control over his actions or movements. He could only watch as the events occurred, and muffled and indistinct sounds made everything hard to hear. Bart heard snatches of conversation or sometimes just a word here or there. In the vision, Bart waved his hand at the door, and the door exploded inward. He stepped into the hut and saw a woman cowering in the corner. Bart opened his mouth to speak, and he heard Ihlvo’s voice announce the presence of Andharia, Lady of the Enkali. Bart could not hear most of what she said, but he did hear Andharia say, “he was as deceitful with you as he always is with me,” and “Your child will be cursed to hate all those around him.”
The scene blurred and changed. Bart was once more outside the same hut. Three others were there this time: another Shadowkin, Andharia, and a tall bearded man wearing a jewel-studded crown. Bart heard Andharia call the man Bahaar, which meant he was Bahaar of the Enkali. The door to the hut swung open, and a ragged, dirty woman stumbled out, looking very distressed. She carried a cloth-wrapped bundle to Bahaar and attempted to hand it to him. Bart could not hear most of what Bahaar said, but it was crystal clear when Bahaar said, “No one must know this child is of my blood. Get it away from me.” The scene blurred and changed again.
Bart was now standing over the older woman’s body in the forest and speaking to the woman from the first vision. He heard Ihlvo say, “Yes. He ordered me to kill you, but give the boy to me if you want him to live. I will hide him far from Bahaar. He will be safe. Bahaar will not know he still lives.”
Then the woman said, “I want my son to live. Take him. His name is Bartholomew.” Then Bart watched in horror as Ihlvo took the baby in one hand, drew his sword with the other, and drove the blade deep into the woman’s chest. The scene blurred again. When Bart’s vision cleared, he was back in his body, sitting next to Ihlvo.
Bart leaped to his feet and backed a few steps away from Ihlvo. “Was that my mother? Did you kill my mother? And Bahaar is my father? Bahaar of the Enkali?”
“Yes. Yes. And yes. That woman was your mother. I did not choose to kill her. I was ordered to by Bahaar.” Ihlvo fingered the silver collar around his neck. “That is what these collars do to us. We Shadowkin are servants to the Enkali so long as we wear these collars. I had no choice, Bartholomew. We are both victims of the evil Bahaar.”
“I still don’t understand. Why did Bahaar want me and my mother dead? Why did you save me? Why did Andharia curse me? Is that why I always feel like this? No matter how I want to feel about someone, I always hate them.” Bart sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s so frustrating to always feel so much hate.” Bart leaned back against the tree and slid slowly to the ground beside Ihlvo.
“I will tell you as much as I know. Try to listen and not interrupt.” Bart settled in next to Ihlvo, listening intently. Ihlvo continued. “Bahaar has a long history of dalliances with human women. None of these dalliances had ever resulted in a child until you. When Andharia learned of your mother’s pregnancy, she flew into a rage. She did not dare kill a child of Bahaar without Bahaar’s knowledge, so she cursed you to a tortured existence instead. Bahaar still did not know about the pregnancy. Andharia forbade him to see your mother and hid her pregnancy from him for as long as she could. He did not learn of the pregnancy until the day of your birth. He went to the human village when he learned that your mother was pregnant and in labor. No one knew how he would react. Andharia insisted on traveling to the village with Bahaar. He ordered Toznar and me to travel with them. You saw in my memory what happened next. Bahaar rejected you and ordered the death of your mother. He did not specifically order me to kill you, just to dispose of you. The vague wording of his orders allowed me to spare your life. I sensed great power in you. Never have I encountered a being with such a strong connection to the magic as you. If you can learn to use and control the magic, you could become a powerful wizard.”
Bart’s eyes grew wide as Ihlvo described the magic inside of him. He wanted to stop Ihlvo and ask him the hundreds of questions running through his mind. But, he bit his tongue, stayed quiet, and allowed Ihlvo to continue uninterrupted.
“I could find no loophole in Bahaar’s order to kill your mother. As much as it pained me, I carried out the order. I took you to a faraway village and left you on the doorstep of a human couple, hoping they would care for you as if you were their own. We Shadowkin cannot travel without permission from the Enkali, so I could not check in on you until this very night. I am pleased to find you well and beginning to discover your magical abilities. The dark magic of the curse is the reason for your deep hatred of others. The more you want to care for someone, the more you will hate them. You have more questions, Bartholomew?”
Bart looked up at Ihlvo, tears welling up in his pale green eyes, fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling with rage. His voice, through his gritted teeth, sounded like the snarl of an angry dog. “I hate them. I hate them both. I don’t even think it is the magic of the curse this time. I hate them so much. I hate Andharia for cursing me before I was even born, ruining any chance I may have had for a happy life. I hate Bahaar for having my mother killed and rejecting me. If I am as powerful as you say, I want to make them suffer as much as I have. I want them on their knees, begging me for their lives, and then I want to obliterate them.”
Ihlvo grinned slyly and patted Bart on the back. “You will have the power to do that someday. You must be patient for now. Magic takes a hard toll on the body. You must strengthen your body as well as your mind. I will be here when I can to teach you magic. Work hard at the magic and training your body, and you will realize your goals. Once you are strong enough, I must use your magic to free the Shadowkin from these accursed collars. With us at your side, you can take down Bahaar, Andharia, and the rest of the Enkali once and for all.
Bart grinned. “When do we start?”



