Breaking Away (The Man in the Shadows) (5 page)

Her father accepted this favor without a second thought, shook the man in the shadows’ hand, and disembarked immediately with this strange, mysterious man. Two nights later, the man in the shadows returned to Maika, and that very night was the first time that her father whispered to her in the form of a dream, telling her that he was okay, that the spirit world in which he found himself wasn’t so bad after all, and that he would never, ever leave her.

Maika awoke the next morning, ecstatically happy. In her elated mood, she immediately ran into the adjoining room where her closet lay, whipped open the doors, and unearthed all the photos of her dad that she buried deep in boxes when she had been too grief stricken to look at them any longer. Dusting them off, she framed every last one of them and placed them with care on the night stand at the foot of her bed; she was joyful and thankful. Her father had visited her in the dream world!

The man in the shadows had done a great thing for her peace of mind. Her radiant smile had returned to grace her lovely face, and she loved life once again. And that type of product was exactly what he was supposed to strive for in his mission on Earth. He was to look out for her welfare and assure her happiness, until the day she was drawn back.

His heart fluttered in his chest, though, as he was not supposed to meddle in her life so frequently, so deeply. In a way, he felt
guilty,
because he wasn’t supposed to
feel
anything. Most certainly he was not supposed to wield his powers on Earth in such a way. The High Lords said there was no place for magic in such an environment as Earth, it would only serve to confuse and infuriate, to divide; they said humans were lower creatures who could not even start to think of such power existing at all. Nonetheless, the man in the shadows couldn’t help it. He’d do anything for his princess, his queen, his love.

***

“James, you wonderful, beautiful man! Where have you been hiding all this time?”

He rolled his eyes slightly before turning to face her, pretending to be happy to behold her, albeit surprisingly, and unannounced. “What a pleasant surprise,” he cooed, squaring up his shoulders and pacing closer to her, his smile widening. “I never thought I’d run into you here!”

“Well, you have, and isn’t
that
the truth!” She laughed and rushed towards him. “I’m sorry to intrude,” she apologized, curtly yet pleasantly, as James tried to hide the panic and the revulsion he felt at her hurried approach. She hugged him tightly, then held him still by grasping his biceps as she rose up on the tips of her toes and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a bright red pair of lips on his skin. She shoved him away from her to get a better look at him, taking in his tall stance and impeccable uniform. “How have you been, Brother?”

“Oh, you know. I’ve been here and there, doing this and that,” he explained vaguely, as he waved his hands in the air for emphasis, taking a few tiny steps backward to distance himself from her again. “Nothing special, really.”

“Nothing special??” Her voice boomed, alarmed. “My gods, James, you’re the epitome of bravery, of success, of... of POWER!”

The rolling of his eyes was not hidden from his sister this time, but he smiled just the same. He was a humble man at heart, not wholly enjoying speaking of his triumphs, as doing so also reminded him of his robust failures, but a little piece of him liked the self-esteem boost. “Greta, I thank you. I really appreciate you coming by and letting me know your opinion...”

“It’s not merely my opinion,” she insisted, her smile never fading. “It’s the truth. Everyone knows it. The entire Empire knows it. James, the powerful general. James, the war hero. James, the most powerful wielder of magic who has ever set foot on Monde de Lumière!”

“Oh, come now,” James spat, holding up one hand to her, tiring of the flattery. He turned away from her again and walked towards the magnificent floor-to-ceiling window at the rear of the room, staring out into deep eggplant colored night sky, fading darker with every minute that passed, wondering fleetingly how his troops were doing without him up in the mountains. “Like I said, I’m not that special. I just try too hard.”

“...And always
win
.” Greta kept her distance, her arms hanging stiffly to the sides of her ballerina-like posture, staring with him momentarily into the scenery out the window that could have been a masterpiece painting. She realized that he was beginning to see through her charade. Deciding to get to the original point of her visit, still retaining the front that she had begun in case her instincts were steering her wrong, she said, “The embassy needs our most upstanding military man for a secret mission.”

Snorting out a laugh, he turned back to her sharply, confusion forming creases between his eyebrows. “A
secret
mission?” Lifting his hand to his chin, he faked being shocked. “How did High General James Berg not hear about this ‘secret mission’...” He used his fingers as air quotes to punctuate how absurd he thought the idea was, “...but his sister, First Lieutenant Greta Berg knows about it?” He leaned in closer in a condescending manner, patronizing her. “Hmm?”

Greta abruptly looked at the floor, feeling shame.
He always does this, talks down to you, makes you feel like an animal... Collect yourself, Greta!
She cleared her throat, still staring at the floor, and uttered softly, “High Lord Jamlamin Tarmikos confided in me... and he told me to offer the job to the most qualified candidate. He trusts my judgement, James, whether you believe that or not. I knew right away to ask you, first.” Slowly her gaze lifted, to look at her brother’s expression once more.

Perplexed, James locked his gaze with hers. Both his eyes and hers, sharp as ice, as bright and deadly as Polaris in the winter sky, were rejecting each other, as dissonant and uncomfortable as fingernails scraped against a chalkboard. Their intense eyes were an asset they both had inherited from their lovely, gentle mother, gods rest her soul. Greta had been commiserating with High Lord Lamin?
Since when did High Lords associate with the lower ranks?
James wondered, astonished.
More importantly, since when did the higher ranks trust First Lieutenants to make important decisions concerning ‘secret missions’?
Slightly disoriented, he asked, “Lamin confided... in you?”

“Yes, James,” Greta said softly, holding back tears. “I’m sorry I’ve kept it from you, but it has all been, well... a secret.”

James sighed, unexpectedly feeling mislead, strung along, like a slave with a blind fold and gag to prevent him from seeing or saying something that would get him into trouble. It hit him like a sledgehammer. He had no reason to doubt Greta. She was noble, had always worked hard, earned every honor and rank she possessed by the sweat of her brow. Slowly, he asked, “What kind of mission is it?”

Eyes burning, lungs tight, Greta managed to choke out, “I can’t tell you too much... until you agree to do it. If I reveal too much now, it could ruin the integrity of the mission.” She rushed towards him like a lion leaping for a gazelle’s jugular, for the kill. She halted just inches in front of him, and laid a hand on his shoulder as soft as a kitten’s purr. “All I can say now is... something is not right. Something has gone through the door...” She bit her lip suddenly to stifle a sob, and her fingers tightened briefly on his shoulder.

His mouth hung open, puzzled, concerned, and more than anything else, frightened. Nothing just simply waltzed in or out of the door. It was heavily guarded, held shut with locks, chains and deadbolts from top to bottom. One person had the power to open the door from the castle, from their side in Monde de Lumière, and that was High Lord Jamlamin Tarmikos. Anything involving a ‘secret’ mission regarding something ‘going through’ the door was a big deal, an extremely delicate situation, one that must be taken with the utmost seriousness and care. All he could think of was,
How did something get through the door? How could Lamin let this happen?

Shutting his mouth quickly and composing himself, he laid his hand on Greta’s and muttered distantly, “Say no more. I’ll do it. For you, since the mere act of asking me has taken so much out of you... for the good of Monde de Lumière... for the spirits that keep our world alive.”

Sniffing, stifling her tears, Greta pulled him into her body in an intense embrace. “Thank you! I knew you’d be the one for the job. You won’t regret this. Once you return from this mission, you’ll be the most famous Luminite in history! Literally leaving our world to chase the Corner Stone...” She stopped short, snapping her jaw shut. She breathed, alarmed, “I’ve said too much.”

Pushing him away, she nearly sprinted to the door of James’s office. “Prepare yourself, my beautiful brother. The High Lord would like you to be off as soon as possible, tonight if you can. It’s only a miracle you weren’t away in the mountains at this exact moment... you are almost always away! ...A miracle!”

As quickly as she had come, she was gone, like a flash of lightning, like a nightmare. Befuddled, James slumped into his lush office chair. What had his sister just offered to him? And what had he just agreed to? Deep in his brain, a tiny sliver of the ‘secret’ situation felt peculiar, like a picture hanging on a wall just a tad off, always just slightly crooked. No matter now much you adjusted it, it would falter to left of center ad infinitum. Nevertheless, he was indeed the exact person the High Lord himself would have come to first for such a mission, that fact could not be argued. He was the general who led his troops to victory time and again, defeating the menacing hoards of rabid werewolves and orcs in the mountains and beyond, to the northwest.

Over a decade of his life was spent ascending the military’s hierarchy faster than any other enlisted soldier. Before he knew it, he was not a grunt any longer, but in command, in complete control. He had hundreds of men under his sphere of influence. He was trusted, loved. But with power came a price. He realized quickly that there were those in the Empire who did not approve of his success, of his great power. Those who thought he did not deserve it, that they themselves deserved it more. At the same time, no matter what the rumors suggested or what the side long glances gleamed, he didn’t care what anyone else thought. These successes, these joys, had not been handed to him! He had devoted his life to his country, to his world, to his High Lord, to the Empire itself. He had earned every stripe on his uniform, and he intended to make the most of it. He had sacrificed much for this honor, for this service, and no one would take that away from him.

Closing his eyes, he began to meditate, so he would not agonize over it for another precious minute. His mind sang to him,
James... you are wanted, you are loved, trusted,
beloved
... Do it for the good of the world, for the livelihood of the souls!...
His eyes burst open like supernovas. As a good person with good morals who’s always tried to make good decisions, he rationalized that there was only one right decision, and he sat up straight. This mission would be the embodiment of what being devoted was all about, and he’d be immortalized for it, even if he didn’t make it back alive.

A rush of words escaped his lips then, as if forced out by some type of built up pressure. The words were, “I’ll do it.”

***

High Lord Jamlamin Tarmikos stood in front of his throne, hands clasped tensely behind his back, jaw tight, teeth grinding, waiting for James to arrive. He was told that James would be there at eight o’clock sharp, and it was currently three minutes until eight. Lamin stared at the clock across the room, each second that ticked by seemed like an hour unto itself. Under his black robes, he sweated profusely, his nerves getting the better of him.
How could I have been so stupid?
he asked himself, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
High Lord... gods be damned! You would be stripped of your title if anyone found out...

A thundering broke the silence, the double doors cascading open like a surge of waves crashing on a sternly shouldered cliff. James walked in, looking stellar and brave, each step self assured, confident, a half smile conveying not only caution, but joy. He held his head high and his shoulders aloft and affirmed. Lamin sighed, visibly relieved. Figuring James would likely refuse such a risky assignment, he had recruited Greta to ask James if he would accept the mission on his behalf, seeing as they were so close. Lamin figured wrong, because there was James before him now in all his militarized glory; he had also underestimated Greta in her persuasion skills.
This miracle might be deserving of a raise,
Lamin thought, mischievously. Unclenching his teeth, he let out his breath with the force of a hurricane. His dire mistake might be covered up, after all.

“Good evening, High Lord!” James called as he swiftly walked up the shiny, tiled floor. Each tile was made of a slightly different color of marble, making the place appear as a smaller part of a larger fresco. The ceilings were high and made of carved stone, like a cathedral, and every syllable echoed around, from wall to wall, like a rock falling down a well. Along the sides ran pillars that reached towards the sky like giant tree trunks, and once they reached the top, they crossed each other gracefully in enormous arches. The ceiling panels were painted with scenes from the distant past, as well as accentuated by carvings of souls, vials, and urns.

“James.” The High Lord didn’t move, but waited for James to reach him, piously. Revealing his hands from behind his back, he grasped the staff that was leaning up against his throne, unknowingly. “With my deepest gratitude, I thank you for your unending service, and your undying dedication to our Empire.” Lamin forced a smile then, his lips curling up from his dry teeth, his mouth like cotton from nerves and trepidation. It was like slowly, painfully peeling back the tin lid of a sardine can. A velvet hat sat askew on his head, his flowing black hair running the length of his back.