The Shadowed Path by Gail Z. Martin Page A

his boys.
    “Go,” he ordered, managing a nod of his head toward the center of the village. “Save anyone you can. We’re done for.”
    For the second time in two years, Jonmarc found himself stumbling through the flame-lit darkness toward a burning village under siege. Emboldened by the flames, long past caring for his own survival, Jonmarc roared as he ran at the creatures, brandishing a torch in each hand. A year of drought had left the village lands and buildings tinder-dry, and the fire from the burning creatures had already spread down into the center of the town, catching on the thatch roofs and wooden beams, crackling through the tangle of dry grass and wilted hedgerows.
    Jonmarc drove the beasts toward the flames, giving them no choice except to burn by his hand or to fall back into the fire. He blinked blood out of his eyes, felt his shirt clinging to his body with sweat as his skin reddened from the heat. Yet the metal talisman from the cave remained cold, sliding across his chest like dead fingers.
    Exhausted and heart sick, bleeding from gashes and burns, Jonmarc shouted at the creatures like a drover. Two of the creatures lunged at him, but he jammed his torches into their open maws, choking as the gray flesh began to smolder and the screeching beasts staggered backwards, into the flames.
    Finally, he could see no more of the beasts. Whether they had burned or fled, the gray-skinned monsters were gone.
    Jonmarc took his remaining torches and began to search for survivors. For two years, in his nightmares he had relived the awful night the raiders burned his village and killed his family. Now, as he stumbled over bodies in the glow of burning buildings, he felt as if he were trapped in those dreams, or had awoken to relive that awful night once more. He found Kell’s body, what remained of it, in the street. The merchants and tradesmen who had welcomed Jonmarc into their village now lay dead, their shops ablaze. Jonmarc checked the stables, hoping to find survivors hiding there, and discovered that the creatures had even savaged the horses and livestock. Save for the wind and the crackling of the flames, the night was silent.
    Fear gave Jonmarc the energy to run through the ruined streets shouting for Shanna and Elly. No reply came save for the echo of his own voice. Smoke clouded the air and the smell of burning flesh threatened to make him retch. Jonmarc slowed when he came to the street where he and Shanna shared Elly’s small house. The front of the building was Elly’s shop of dried herbs and potions, where she provided her services as the village’s hedge witch. It was badly damaged. The windows had been broken and the wooden door bore the slashes of the creatures’ long claws.
    “Shanna! Elly!” Jonmarc shouted, fearing the worst.
    Elly lay in the doorway in a pool of blood. Her staff lay nearby, stained with the dark ichor of the monsters. Jonmarc swallowed hard, then bent down and closed her eyes, murmuring a prayer for the dead.
    He straightened, and took a deep breath to steady himself. He felt as if he were moving through deep water, as if a seer’s vision had already shown him what was to come. The memory of searching through his boyhood home only to find his mother and brothers dead at the raiders’ hands was so real that he felt as if time had undone the past two years, dooming him to repeat his loss.
    Jonmarc dodged the overturned bundles of herbs and broken jars of powders, heading for the living quarters in the back. The fires outside the building shone so brightly through the window Jonmarc did not need a lantern to see the wreckage the beasts made of the room. Shanna lay in the center of the room, one hand still gripping one of Jonmarc’s swords. Her dress and the floor around her was stained with blood from where one of the beasts had slashed open her belly, leaving her stillborn child beside her.
    Jonmarc wailed in grief and dropped to his knees. He gathered Shanna into his arms