Its body, though composed of black shadow, is clearly reptilian innature. Its neck is sinuous like a snake’s, but its head, limbs, and tail are reminiscent of the little golden lizards I used to find sunbathing on rocks by the creek in the summer. Unlike any reptile I’ve seen, it has enormous membranous wings sprouting from its back. There’s a constant shifting and wavering of its outline that keeps it from looking real. It’s almost as if it isn’t quite sure what it’s supposed to look like. Probably because dragons are fucking fiction.
The most chilling aspect of all, however, is its size, taller than the houses that line the street and at least twice as long as our wagon. It’s the largest Shade I’ve ever seen.
Dominic tugs the reins to bring the wagon to a halt. The horses skitter back slightly, unnerved by the monster up ahead. They didn’t so much as balk when the Shades surrounded the clearing, which is further proof that what we’re seeing isn’t ordinary.
“It must be multiple Shades in one,” Dominic says, his voice devoid of its usual coldness. There’s real concern in his tone now. “I’ve never seen this before, not a Shade of this size. It shouldn’t be possible.”
“A dragon shouldn’t be possible,” Calvin says. “Shades take on humanoid forms, or sometimes creatures found in nature. The only time one would adopt a mythical appearance…”
“Is if it was imitating art,” Dominic finishes for him.
“An artist did this?” I stand, gripping the back of his seat to anchor my nerves. The villagers have created a barricade of fire around what looks like the market square. With this being an unprotected village—no silver walls or Holy Brazier—Shades can enter Thornfal at will. My hometown was the same, yet never did a Shade of this magnitude attack. Never did we seek to create makeshift walls of fire to protect ourselves. Even with this defense, the flames only reach the base of the Shade’s neck. The monster doesn’t cross the blaze, but it snaps and screeches at the dozens of figures that are gathered in the square. In turn, the villagers cry out at every gnash of the monster’s teeth, every shift of its enormous body. I’m not sure whether they’re there for protection or to keep the Shade occupied until sunrise. Now that our wagon has stopped, I take in our immediate surroundings. Roofs have collapsed here and there, and windows have been smashed in.
And blood. A gruesome red smear paints the side of one of the buildings, and there’s a dark silhouette in the adjacent alley that looks like half a body.
The dragon has done more than stalk the market square. It has killed.
My stomach turns. I knew this job would be dangerous. Only now is that starting to feel real.
“If they’d just stayed in their houses,” Dominic says, running a hand over his face.
I gesture around us. “The houses aren’t any safer.”
“Probably because they ran and screamed. Shades don’t go into a frenzy unprovoked. The best thing one can do during a Shade attack is stay inside. Keep the lamps burning. Don’t fucking panic and don’t look out the godsdamned windows.”
“Easier said than done,” I say, remembering such Shade attacks in my village. There was always someone who stayed by their window and screamed when they caught sight of a monster in the streets. That person rarely made it until morning.
I understand their compulsion to peek. Some people feel safer knowing what danger looks like and when it’s coming. I felt that same instinct on several nights, especially as a child. Though my need to look out the window stemmed more from morbid curiosity than a need to put a face to fear. And I never made a sound when I saw the monsters.
“Time to work.” Dominic urges our agitated horses to turn the wagon so the bed is facing the dragon.
My heart leaps into my throat. Even though the Shade hasn’t noticed us yet, there was a layer of comfort when Dominic and the horses stood between us and the dragon. “What do we do?”
“First,” Dominic says, shifting to face us, “we need to draw it away from the village. Bard, you will take the lead in this. We must offer it fare more tempting than the villagers, which means we must match its current energy. It’s in a frenzy, which means you need to play something that calls to that state. Something dark. A rapid and chaotic tempo. As soon as we have its attention, I’ll snap the reins.”
“Are you saying…” Harlow’s throat bobs beneath her mask. “It’s going to chase us?”
“It is. And when it does, you and Inana need to craft your parts. Once we’re deep enough into the woods, we’ll stop. That’s when we’ll attempt to shift the Shade’s energetic state, just like you did in the clearing. Even though the dragon is many Shades in one, the process is the same as it was then. You will calm it with your art. Your only additional objective will be to convince it to take on a new form. Something smaller. Less dangerous.”
“How the hell do we do that?” I ask.
“You’re the creative minds here,” he says, but there’s encouragement in his tone. “Harlow will draw a new form for it to take. I suggest an animal, something small. Inana will tell a story that conveys the details. Encourage it to adopt the new form with tantalizing words.”
The weight of responsibility settles over my shoulders, making my stomach drop. “And what will you do?” I can’t keep the edge of hysteria from my voice. “If we’re doing all the work, what’s a Shadowbane for?”
“I will protect you,” he says, eyes locking on mine, even though he can’t possibly see my irises through the openings in my mask. “A silver blade may not be able to kill it, but I can keep it from getting too close. If all our efforts fail, I can cut through it and disperse its form. Only temporarily, of course. It will re-form and return to the village tomorrow night, and we’ll have to try this all over again.”
It’s a comfort knowing he can temporarily dispatch the monster, but I’m not at all keen on fighting this thing more than once. We haven’t even begun and I’m already dreading the moment its attention shifts to us.
Which, turns out, is right fucking now.
The shadow dragon swivels its head on its long neck, and its pitch-black eyes find us.
“Bard,” Dominic says with a sharp nod, and the musician strums a discordant sound on his mandolin.
I crouch down, my legs giving out beneath the empty stare of the dragon, and cling to the side of the wagon. Harlow does the same. Meanwhile, Bard settles as close as he can to the endgate and strums another harsh chord.
The Shade turns fully around to face us.
