The Ghost And Its Shadow by Shaun Hick

Author:Shaun Hick [Hick, Shaun]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shaun Hick
Published: 2013-11-17T23:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

We remained in the river for the rest of that day and into the night, as it carried us slowly north. After basking early the next morning we continued downstream.

The midday sun beat down upon us as we drifted with the current, forcing me at one point to chance the water to cool off. I dove off Reaver’s head and swam between he and my mother for awhile, shielded by their bodies, before returning to bask atop his head when I lost the heat.

Woodland trees had occupied the banks since our arrival in the river but they thinned till, by early afternoon, they had disappeared from one bank completely. The few trees on the opposing bank vanished a few twists of the river later. Soon the river was bordered by nothing more than muddy mounds that eventually flattened off allowing us to view a vast grassland stretching to both the Eastern and Western horizons. The only height to the land lay far away to the north, where I could just make out some hills.

“Did you know,” Reaver said, as he surveyed the surroundings, “since we entered this river, we passed only three wyrms. All small, all wanting nothing to do with any of us.”

I turned to my mother and saw her looking up at the sky. “Did you know,” she said, “that as of about midday, the world has gone grey. The sky, the water, the sand banks, the grass beyond. There doesn’t seem to be any colour here.”

“Except us.”

Soon the river became a maze of smaller streams that passed through low sand banks. Where water and sand met, a thick sludge formed and, after my mother struggled across the first bank that blocked our direct path north, we took to following the winding channels and avoiding land where we could.

In the early afternoon we climbed onto a sand bank in the very middle of the river and basked in the dim sunlight that filtered through the blankets of grey clouds. I lay on the mud, enjoying the diminished heat.

“If ever a place fit the description, Grey Death,” Reaver began, “this would be it.”

“Grey Death?”

“The little wyrm, who told me of Toothless and Blackie, mentioned this place. He called it the Grey Death.”

“Well, it does seem apt, the grey part at least. Where is the death supposed to come from?”

“The water,” Reaver answered. He turned his head to fix on something in the distance. “Can you see?”

The flatness of the land enabled us to see a long way uninterrupted. In the direction he faced I spotted something, an oddity on the otherwise unblemished sands. But it was too far away for me to see clearly.

“I see something,” my mother told him. “Driftwood.”

“That driftwood is looking back at us.”

She squinted. “No. Are you sure?”

“It’s a wyrm.”

“How big?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Why don’t I sense any creep, does it pose a threat?”

“Perhaps we’re too far away, or maybe it can mask it like Bowback. We’ll find out as we near. We’ll wait here a little longer and draw what energy we can.

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