Shadowville: Book One of the Shadoweaters

  Driving a Taurus now, a 'gift' from one his clients, Allan led his small party of Shadoweaters into the bush outside of Casino. This was to be their first such outing and Allan had a good feeling about it, he thought it would go well, they were a good bunch, with none of the crazies that were usually attracted by their help wanted signs about town. They'd already attempted this once but that pest from next door had followed them. After that Cecile had thought it safer to postpone the testing.

  This was, for Allan, always the most nerve-wracking part, taking that first group of new recruits out to see who had the necessary skills to become a fully-fledged Shadoweater, and who would become the training subjects for his new apprentices.

  He looked across at Cecile and made an obscene parody of a smile at her, his lips stretching up on either side of his teeth to reveal his gums, flecked with black ribbons. Sensing his need, she took his hand briefly and gave it a squeeze.

  "They'll be fine," she said. "They've got the raw goods. Relax. You're like a parent sending their children off to school for the first time."

  It was apt, thought Allan, for that was almost exactly what he was doing, except that he was to be their teacher as well.

  They'd turned off the main highway and travelled for some kilometres down a dirt track before coming to an abrupt halt in a clearing. Spread around the perimeter of the clearing was a myriad of cages, all holding small animals, a cat here, a chook, a dog, one held two budgies.

  His group consisted of assorted men and women, mostly men, it always seemed to be a greater concentration of men, thought Allan. He supposed women probably had all the power they needed over men already. They stood outside their cars, staring about, looking hesitant, uncertain if they were doing the right thing by being here. Well, Allan would show them soon enough whether or not they should be here.

  "Right," he said to the group. "You all know what you're doing here. You all know what to do. Geoff," he gestured to one of the foremost men, a slim guy who was balding on top. "Come here and show us what you can do."

  Geoff looked around uncertainly, his cloudy blue eyes looking for support and meeting only dark stares. He rolled his narrow shoulders, hitched his sagging trousers up a notch, and walked towards the first of the cages, the one with the cat in it.

  "Can't stand cats," he muttered. "My wife has one. Stupid white hairball that always has to sleep with us."

  It was late Thursday afternoon and the sun slanted into the clearing, creating a big sunny patch where the cages sat. Geoff walked slowly around the cat's cage, watching his shadow as he walked, until it was laying directly across the cat.

  Here we go, thought Allan.

  Geoff's eyes squinted down to slits with the stress of actually having to think. His hands clenched into unconscious fists by his sides and his eyes all but disappeared into nests of wrinkles. He beared his teeth with the strength of thinking and a low moan escaped him.

  Suddenly there was a change in his shadow and Allan silently exulted. The shadow took on a thicker texture, almost as if it were a solid, living thing, becoming like an oil spill there on the ground, thick and viscous. The cat let out a strangled miaow and the watchers gasped out loud.

  The cat was disintegrating.

  Allan watched as first, the cat's fur flaked and disappeared from its body, then it's skin, leaving the glistening, wet flesh exposed. And the cat was still moving, thrashing its limbs about and trying to crawl away, making a horrible, pained, mewling noise. Geoff had closed his eyes completely.

  Allan was thrilled. But then Geoff faltered.

  Whether it was the cat's mewling or he simply couldn't maintain the focus, Allan couldn't tell. But all of a sudden, Geoff gasped and his shadow snapped back to normal.

  "Geoff," he said softly. "What's going on?"

  The cat, clothed in only the raw meat of its muscles was still alive, twitching feebly, still feebly miaowing. It turned and looked out at Geoff, turning it's slanted, mysterious eyes full on him almost as if marking him.

  "Is... is this it?" Geoff gasped. "Is this what you feel?"

  His eyes twitched with writhing tendrils of shadow and his skin seemed to bulge. These symptoms, Allan knew, would pass, except for the eyes. The eyes remained.

  "A part of it," said Allan. "You would have more of an idea if you'd actually finished the cat. Why did you stop?"

  "I just, the strength surprised me, that's all. I wasn't expecting it," said Geoff and his voice, conversely to his writhing, bulging body was soft and papery thin.

  "Then finish it now," said Allan. "Now that you know what to expect. Get that feline son of a bitch that's been leaving paw prints all over your nice clean Monaro."

  Geoff grinned in anticipation and squinted his eyes again. He concentrated fiercely, scrunching up his face until it was a mass of wrinkles. Allan saw straight away though, that Geoff would accomplish no more. His shadow remained flat and fixed by the sun on the ground.

  Allan heard a grunt of frustration from someone in the group. A burly figure came pushing past the others and out into the middle of the circle, he wore light blue stubbies and a blue work shirt, hanging open to show his muscular chest and stomach. Neil Bryce, angry young fellow with a chip on his shoulder a mile wide. Allan, had high hopes for him.

  "Outta my way, pin-dick," said Neil, shoving Geoff.

  "Hey, who are you pushing?" snapped Geoff, coming off a lot stronger, Allan thought, than he actually looked.

  "Gentlemen," said Allan, stepping between them. "Please. We are all one here. Geoff, kindly step aside and allow Mr Bryce to take a turn. Neil, you need to start treating your fellow soldiers with a tad more respect."

  "I don't gotta fuckin—"

  "Yes. You do," said Allan, cutting Neil off mid-rant with a voice that thrummed with raw power and left no room for argument.

  "Whatever," Neil muttered sullenly.

  Neil turned towards the cat and, with no preparation or effort at all, his shadow snapped out and engulfed the cat. Within a second the cat had dissolved into Neil's shadow, disappearing in a mess of blood and bone.

  Allan was exulted. "Excellent," he said. "You've been practicing."

  Neil flicked him a little smile. "Yeah, a bit."

  Allan turned to the others. "I hope you all saw that," he said. "That's what you all should be aiming for. Neil," he turned back to him. "Show us another one."

  Without a word Neil turned and went on to the next cage, one holding a dog. He shook his head, muttered something - "Uh-uh, not a dog." - and went on to the cage with the chook in it.

  Allan watched with bated breath as, again, Neil's shadow flicked out with no effort and obliterated the chicken in a puff of feathers.

  "Oh, yeah," grunted Neil. "That's the stuff."

  "Excellent," said Allan again. "Really, really good."

  If all of them could end up as good as Neil, Allan would have no concerns at all. Their influence was growing and spreading thanks to word of mouth and the internet. And the training, once they'd mastered the initial trick of shadowing, was quickly and easily accomplished.

  Allan thought that soon, very soon, they might be ready to take on the task of shadowing an entire city of people. Maybe even after this job. The thought gave him goose-bumps of anticipation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE