Stone of shadows, p.1
Stone of Shadows, page 1
Stone of Shadows
Stories of Gereon I
Camilla Vavruch
Moira förlag AB
Copyright © 2023 by Camilla Vavruch.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Camilla Vavruch at camilla@camillavavruch.com.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by Camilla Vavruch
1st edition, 2023
Trigger warnings
For trigger warnings, please visit https://www.camillavavruch.com/triggers/
Contents
1. A Bad Day
2. The Dragon’s Cave
3. Chocolate
4. Coins
5. The Basement
6. Dark Secrets
7. A New Place
8. The King’s Court
9. Lunch Break
10. Blood
11. Bedside
12. Lies
13. Overster Arrington
14. Endings
15. Confessions
16. New beginnings
17. Epilogue
About the Author
Also By Camilla Vavruch
Chapter one
A Bad Day
Will’s day rapidly went from bad to worse to ‘I am definitely, undoubtedly, going to die’. Hanging in the harsh grip of a dragon, the wind whooshing past his ears and watching the lands below go from small to tiny beneath them, he was certain he would not get out of this. Already, the humans below—including Tristan and his cronies—appeared more like ants than as people. Will swallowed back the meager contents of his stomach, although if he threw up, he hoped it would land on Tristan’s dumb, aristocratic head.
Bad days weren’t out of the ordinary. Every day was a bad day.
This one started as his days usually did: waking in the crowded, dingy room he shared with his mother and three younger siblings. Dry, days old bread was on the menu for breakfast, and he scraped off the mold off one side of it before downing his share in two swallows. Stomach still growling, he walked out the gates of Gereon. The guards watched him like hawks with greedy eyes, just awaiting an excuse to stop him and beat him, but this morning they made no move.
Someday, Will would walk to work with a full belly and with no angry gazes following him.
Someday.
He never blamed his ma for the lack of food in their home, nor for their meager lodgings, or even for forcing him to work instead of going to school. Ma never studied and would never learn to read. Will had at least been allowed to learn both reading, writing, and basic math before being forced to quit to provide for the family.
Work comprised working in the fields, doing whatever the manager said needed doing over the warmer half of the year, and getting paid a single bronze coin at the end of each day.
And getting tormented by Tristan and his cronies.
Tristan, the son of Overster Arrington, was tall, muscular, and had probably never gone hungry a day in his life. Fortunately, he only tagged along with his father to the fields once a week. Unfortunately, today was one of those occasions.
“Oh, look, it’s the street rat,” Tristan hissed at him as soon as his father headed off in another direction. “You know what I do with rats?”
“Yes, you’ve told me before,” Will muttered, though he was perfectly aware it was loud enough for Tristan to hear. “Don’t you remember?”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “Do you dare to speak back at me, you lowlife?”
Will had yet to look up at him, but now he did, squinting against the early morning sun lighting Tristan from behind. Tristan was handsome, no doubt about it, with his broad shoulders and deep brown eyes, and if it had only been a matter of staring at him, Will wouldn’t have a problem. Every time Tristan opened his mouth was another matter entirely.
“You spoke to me first,” Will said, raising his chin just a smidge, defiance running through his veins. He shouldn’t talk back at Tristan, but there was something about the boy that made Will’s blood boil.
“I could tell my father about you.” Tristan’s hands waved at the two boys flanking him, both bulkier than him, and Will tried to prepare himself for what was coming. Why didn’t he just keep his mouth shut? Why did Tristan make his insides burn? “I could have you fired for your insolence. But I think I’ll take care of you myself.”
He always did.
Or rather, he had his friends do it. Tristan would never sully his own hands with dirt like Will.
The punches started, the two boys behind Tristan taking obvious pleasure in their fists connecting with Will’s bony flesh. Each fist slamming into him made stars—unpleasant, horrible, white-hot stars—explode inside Will’s body. Would this be the time they went too far? He grunted as another fist struck him, or perhaps it was a foot? Obscenities rained down on him in time with the hits.
Will tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.
He slackened, hoping they would cease—perhaps even get frightened—if he collapsed.
When Tristan’s voice rang out—“That’s enough, boys”—and Will tried to find his breath.
“Perhaps this time he’s learned his lesson,” grunted one of Tristan’s cronies.
Tristan’s voice was much posher than his friends’. “I doubt it. The filth from the streets will not learn so easily.”
Will believed—hoped?—that would be the end of the misfortunes of the day, that he could simply work his shift until the sun set and he was allowed to return home with his coin.
That was when the dragon made its appearance.
Huge and scaly, the tips of its wings so far apart it would have taken a while to even walk the same distance. The dragon glistened in the sunlight.
“Dragon!” one of Tristan’s boys yelled pointlessly and took off as fast as his legs could carry him, the other following suit.
Tristan stared at the dragon. At first, Will thought it was because it fascinated him—but as the dragon came closer and Tristan had yet to move, Will caught the frozen fear on the other boy’s face. Tristan stood rooted to the spot, eyes so wide they might pop out at any moment, his mouth hanging open and his breaths coming in ragged, as though he was running despite standing still.
The dragon approached rapidly, its orange eyes set on Tristan.
Will got to his feet, spitting out blood, and grabbed Tristan. “Come on! We need to go!”
But Tristan stumbled over his own feet as Will tried to pull him along. Will wanted to let go, to leave his bully behind to be eaten by the dragon, but… curse the beast, he couldn’t. He held back a scream of frustration, because he should already be at the border of the forest, hiding away. Leave Tristan to get a taste of his own medicine, becoming dragon food—
Despite himself, Will hoisted Tristan up over his shoulder.
But it was futile, because Tristan was heavy and Will was thin and bone-tired already.
They may have gotten ten steps before Will stumbled, Tristan falling to the ground and rolling away. Will’s knees slammed into the ground with pain so intense it made black dots dance in front of him.
The dragon’s talons closed around Will.
One second, Will was on the ground, the next he soared across the field, sharp dragon claws slicing into his bare arms, though Will barely noticed because his knees still felt like they had exploded into a million tiny shards.
He glimpsed Tristan still on the ground, scrambling around to look with wide, shocked eyes at Will and the dragon. Or probably just the dragon, because why would Tristan give a single care about Will when he never had before? He would probably throw a party in his family’s fancy house tonight, regaling the story of how he escaped a dragon single-handedly, while the filth from the streets was dumb enough to be captured.
But in the haze of pain and amidst the ice cold fear gripping him, the thoughts of Tristan faded. Soon enough, it wouldn’t matter.
Where would the dragon take him? Would they go to Dragondale? Was that the last place he would ever see? He had been curious about it, but he was smart enough never to go there—those who were stupid and brave enough to go there were few, and fewer yet returned.
Perhaps the dragon would have him as a mid-air snack and never take him anywhere.
The dragon rose even higher and in the distance, the mountains loomed. Even at the height of summer, the tops of the mountains were white with snow. Nothing about them was inviting.
Why did he save Tristan? He should have left the rotten jerk to die. It should have been Tristan who hung here in the dragon’s talons, getting his arms sliced up as he waited for dragon teeth to sink into his flesh…
Sixteen. Will had hoped he would live longer than sixteen. Not that people of the streets of Gereon generally grew into old age, but… seventeen hadn’t seemed impossible. It was just weeks away.
He craned his neck to catch a glimpse of his home. Gereon was already so far away, from the great wall surrounding it and the houses traveling up the slope of the mountain and ending with the royal castle, the city faded in the distance as though his life there was merely a figment of his imagination.< br />
Will bid his life a quiet farewell.
What would happen to his ma now that he was gone? To his siblings, none of them really old enough to work in the fields? Jamie would take it upon himself to provide, quitting school and going to the fields in his place—exactly what Will had hoped to stop.
Disappearing into memories, Will lost track of time as they soared across the sky.
Chapter two
The Dragon’s Cave
A fresh jolt of pain drew him back to the present when they landed on harsh, naked rock, and the dragon threw him aside as if he was last night’s soiled clothes. Will tumbled over pebbles and sharp pieces of rock, though the pain barely registered among the bruises and cuts already on his body. He came gingerly to a sitting position, leaning against the mountain wall, gasping for breath into his lungs. Ugh, the stench of the cave was among the worst smells Will’s nose had ever been exposed to, and it had been exposed to a lot.
The dragon, with red scales and long spikes along its spine, sat in the entrance of a large cave, guarding the only way out, its eyes narrowed with anger.
“You looked meatier when I saw you in the field,” the dragon said, its voice more of a growl than a voice.
Will’s heart stuttered at the words, because… “You took the wrong guy then. You wanted Tristan, not me.” By the Kings, Will should never have tried to save Tristan. Why had he? “You can always take me back and I’ll show him to you.”
The dragon scoffed, a bit of smoke escaping his nostrils. “Don’t think so. You’ll do for a snack.”
Feeling bold—because he would die anyway, so how much could he lose?—Will asked, “Why didn’t you already eat me? You could’ve eaten me and Tristan on the field.” His voice shook on every word, just like his body.
The dragon shrugged. “I’ve learned that food tastes better when cooked.”
As if to show what it meant, the dragon blew on a pile of wood near the entrance and it caught on fire. Will swallowed; the dragon would grill him over that open fire. A shudder passed through him, because he did not want to become a charred steak for the dragon to eat for dinner.
Pulling back further into the cave, he wished the darkness would swallow him and end his misery there and then, because it had to be better than the dragon. Better than being grilled over open fire.
The dragon turned away from him, apparently secure in the knowledge that Will would never be able to escape. And of course it was right, because even if Will left the cave, where would he go? They were in the mountains—and the mountains were filled with dragons. All steep hills and mountain cliffs and sharp rocks, and Will was not a climber, because when would he have learned such a skill? His ma had always been perfectly clear: stay far away from the Nocny mountains, the border between Dragondale and Gereon, or the dragons would grab them.
Would his mother ever find out what happened to him? Will doubted the manager would bother searching her out to deliver the news of his demise.
His mother and siblings would merely wait, uselessly, for him to return home.
“I’m going out for patrol,” the dragon said. “Don’t even think about sneaking out while I’m gone. Though there is nowhere to go, even if you do.” It smiled—dragons could apparently smile—cold and vicious, and narrowed its cat-like eyes. “See you for dinner.”
Will shrank back from the predatory gleam in the dragon’s eyes, tried to make himself as small as possible, and then the dragon was gone. Will sat alone on the cave floor, with only the sound of his pounding heart and rapid breathing to keep him company. Fear shot through him, crashing over him like waves, though there was another thing he had never seen, other than in an old book in the school library. He imagined them like this, though, threatening and horrible.
He did not want to die. Did anyone ever want to die? Certainly no one who was only sixteen years old. He had, of course, thought about it when his stomach growled so loudly for food and his body ached after hours and hours in the fields, thought that if life was nothing more than this, then why not end it? And he thought about it when Tristan’s friends beat him until he bled. But even then, he’d always hoped that there would be something better. That he would find something more, become something more.
Will never dreamed about the castle; he knew he would never be royalty or someone living in the enormous houses at the top of the city. But perhaps he could find a job that paid well enough to buy a small house where he could live with his family? That way, his younger brother and sisters wouldn’t have to suffer the way he did. Then he would know that he’d have enough food to keep them full, and that they could clean themselves. Perhaps they would not even sleep in the same room, all of them.
He kept going further into the cave, though he wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. Too often, his hands came into contact with items that were not rocks, but were elongated with a smooth texture and weighed differently. Will had gone through too much waste in his life, searching for food, not to be familiar with bones. He didn’t know if they were human or otherwise, and he refused to stop to examine them.
There would be no way out. He knew it, but still couldn’t just sit there and wait for the dragon to return to cook him. The ceiling of the cave was already so low he was forced to crawl on all fours to get anywhere. At least he had never been claustrophobic. He pushed onward, the space tightening around him. The dragon could never get this far into that cave, not even its snout would fit in this small space. But what good would the tiny space do for Will? He would never be able to get out, merely die another death, fading into nothing as lack of water and food killed him. Then his bones would join the others on the floor, anyway.
Better to die quickly.
That was when his hands touched something else, fingers grazing across something cool and completely smooth. Hesitating, he picked it up. Flat and perfectly round with no jagged edges, it seemed to soothe him in a way Will couldn’t put his finger on. In the darkness, he couldn’t see it, and though he didn’t want to move back to where the dragon would return, the need to see what he had found overruled the fear.
As it became lighter, Will started to make out the strange shimmering stone. He thought it black at first, but as tendrils of light from the cave entrance reached it, he noted it shimmered in emerald green. Odder still, smoke rose from it. The smoke didn’t billow, thick and opaque like the smoke rising from the fires he warmed himself by in the cold of night—no, it was more like the thin whisper of smoke rising from cigarettes. But the stone wasn’t warm and there was no fire around, not yet anyway.
As Will watched, the smoke climbed up his arm. Shocked, Will almost dropped the stone, and the rational part of his mind told him he definitely should let it go. Yet… his fingers stayed wrapped around its coolness and the tendrils of smoke kept moving upward. Though it shouldn’t be possible, Will got a sense of… friendliness from it. As if it was hesitant, trying out Will the same way he tried the stone out, cautious but curious. The smoke did not hurt, nor did it smell of anything—at least not that Will could tell in the damp cave, where a stench of rot and death had taken up permanent residence—and it didn’t seem to be dangerous. And besides, what did it matter if the stone did bad things to him when all he had to look forward to was being eaten by a dragon?
The smoke traveled up to his elbow, thin wisps snaking around his arm. He should be frightened, but the day seemed to have worn out that particular feeling, and all he felt as he looked at the smoke was a sense of companionship. It was as though he’d found a new friend, and together they would have adventures.
Will shook his head. It was silly, ridiculous even. It was a stone, and it was smoke, not a living thing. He was possibly hallucinating because he had not eaten enough in several days. A lack of water left his mouth as dry as sandpaper. His entire body ached after the day, from the places where Tristan’s cronies hit him to where his knees took the brunt of his and Tristan’s weight, and to the cuts where the dragon claw had sliced him.
Smoke was not curious and stones were not friends.
