Into the Shadow Realm

Prologue

It was the thing he coveted most, and it was the thing denied to him for too long. For many, many moons he had been trapped in this forsaken land, stripped of all power, forced to be just like them. For more years than he could count, this place had bared his soul to the emptiness, threatening to drag him down into the depths of fire and abandonment.

He fought the emptiness, in the beginning. Then, slowly, agonizingly, it began to take hold, crawling its way into his thoughts and unearthing even the deepest memories he had closed away. Black fingers of memory played those pictures over and over again in his mind, torturing him with the life that once was and what could never be again. The memories sent him into despair, a suffering he had never known before, one that ripped his spirit apart piece by piece and threatened to swallow him whole.

Then a different memory took place, a face much like his own, eyes that stared straight through him, a woman with a thirst for blood. His blood. It was that memory he latched onto, savoring the sensation of hate over sorrow, rage over grief. He kept the woman’s face at the forefront of his mind, remembering her, remembering what she had taken away from him.

In that bitter hate, he began to form again, his lost spirit returning to seek vengeance. But no matter how much he hated, how long he dreamed of war and revenge, that dream of taking back what was his still seemed too far out of his grasp.

Until he arrived.

He knew the moment the spirit appeared in the Land of the Dead, somewhere far above in a spirit realm not meant for the forsaken. How the spirit got there, he didn’t know. But this newcomer to the world of darkness was connected to him, felt him, could sense him like an extension of his own self. The child stolen from the living realm, the boy accepted into his hearth after the death of his real offspring, the man grown up and ready to face his fate.

His son.

And so he called to his adopted son, taking him from that accursed place and bringing him here, to the land no one could find except by those who could not remember who or where they were. Together, they would find their strength. Together, they would make their plans for the destruction of the spirit realms. Together, they would be unstoppable.

Together, the Raven-Eater would rise again.

Chapter 1

The air was silent, trees rising tall without a single sway, not even the birds daring to chatter as the hunt began. Mother Sun shone down warmly, glittering upon a river clouded with churned-up muck that hid all creatures lurking beneath the waters.

Upon the surface of that river was a raft, one made of carefully carved and sanded wood tied together by thick vines and interwoven with bits of bark. A figure stood on the raft, her hands clutching a second vine tied into a loop at the end and loosely wrapped around both wrists. That warrior, known to her land as Whisper, as Kanegv, as the half-breed, stood perfectly still, her black eyes scanning the water, waiting for a ripple. Her hands were tense, ready and waiting as she took in a deep breath, positioning herself for the attack when she saw the slightest movement in front of her raft.

The long-established leader of the Land of the Dead leapt high into the air as a roar sounded and a scaled beast hurled itself out of the water, aiming for her legs. It sailed across the raft, the spikes on its long back glinting beneath the sun and its razor-edged teeth snapping for flesh. But Whisper held no fear for the creature; she was the half-breed, indestructible by man or beast or spirit.

Whisper spun mid-air as her hands released the looped end of the vine, catching the being by the top jaw as it splashed back into the water. She landed on the raft with a heavy thud, quickly wrapping the vine around her wrists a second time and pulling tight. Her face was a portrait of steadiness and determination as the vine went taut and the raft was dragged across the water. She locked her feet in the small wraps she had secured on the raft, continuing to tug on the vine as the creature pulled her further down the river.

Suddenly, the vine went slack and the raft floated gently among small lapping waves. Whisper paused, searching to her sides for any sign of the creature. She barely breathed as she peered over the edges of the wood, listening to the whispered voices traveling up from the deepest depths of the river. Somewhere within her souls she felt a light resonation, a recognition, a unity with the spirits of the water as they helped her catch her prey. But then those voices went silent, and so she pulled her feet from their straps and stepped to the edge of the raft, half-expecting to see jagged teeth snap up at her from the darkness.

Before realizing why her ears were met with such silence, before she could react to the sudden flash of silver, Whisper was yanked from the raft. She splashed into the water, her wrists wrapped in the vines as she glared through the water to the creature in front of her. All she could see was the end of its long, fur-coated tail and flashes of scales glinting in rays of sunlight, and she knew it would be a long chase unless she went for the kill.

The river pushed against her as she surfaced long enough to gather her bearings. She slammed herself back beneath the water, her long, dark, braided hair flowing past her shoulders as she crawled up the vine, making her way closer to the creature.

Flashes of gold nearly blinded her, colors bouncing off the sun and threatening to consume her. But Whisper knew these waters, and she knew this beast. This was Ukenta, and they had fought this battle many times.

She reached the end of the vine then, just behind the long, curled horns atop Ukenta’s head. Whisper grabbed hold of that horn with one hand, and lifted her prized bone-handled knife with the other.

The beast roared in pain when the knife came down, rising from the water and slamming back down with a force that nearly shook Whisper from her stance. Lean muscle rippled in her arms as she fought to keep her hold, digging deeper with the blade. It was a wound that would not kill, only injure and slow the creature down as she fought to win the heart that her own so greatly desired. Crimson blood surrounded them both, thickening the water.

But then, just when she thought Ukenta was relenting, she felt the change in its body a second too late and was thrust away, her hand slipping from the knife handle. Whisper was launched high out of the water, landing solidly in the river on her back. Before she could regain her senses, the beast whipped around, its spiked tail lashing out and connecting with her thigh. Despite herself, Whisper released an angry, guttural scream of pain and channeled the power within her throughout the water. The pulse of power radiated from her core, water rising high and splashing about the shore, but it was too late.

Ukenta was gone.

Beaten but not defeated, Whisper returned home to the Fire Tower atop Eagle, one of her few trusted companions. As directed, Eagle brought his leader to the rooftop, where she leapt from his back and landed clumsily, her injured leg buckling.

Strong hands caught her before she could fall to the hard stone rooftop. Whisper knew those hands, knew the feel of them against her flesh, and allowed herself to be pulled close and inspected. Already the wound was starting to heal, flesh folding over itself and blood scabbing around the edges, but that wouldn’t stop her mate from fussing over her.

He cut deeper this time, Hunting Hawk stated as he inspected the injury. How many more wounds must you endure before calling off this hunt?

As many as it takes. Whisper pushed herself off him and limped for the stone stairwell leading to their chambers. It was a long walk, blood trailing behind as the wound pulsed with each step. Only when she was secure in her room did she let Hunting Hawk cut off the material surrounding the gash and clean away the blood and bits of ragged flesh. "I touched Ukenta this time, Hunting Hawk. I felt his horns, his scales. My blade is buried in his neck. He is injured."

And it only took how many years? His deep, commanding voice was full of scorn, a tone that had Whisper scowling and yanking her leg from his grasp. Before she could give an answer, one that she was not happy to provide, the door to their chambers opened and a third figure stepped through the threshold.

You are injured? the small voice asked, timid yet strong.

Whisper held out a hand and the child, a girl nearly on the brink of maturity, crept into the room and over to her guardians. The girl placed her hand in Whisper’s, eyes wide when her fingers touched the edge of the wound. It is already healing, Anya. Do you feel it?

The child called Anya marveled over the touch, the sensation of power pulsing through flesh. She did feel it, something she had never known herself and that no other being would know either, a magic that healed itself with heat and fire.

Whisper watched the girl observe the lesion, which was slowly closing in on itself. In her native world, Anya would have seen seven changes of the seasons, but that was a world she had known for but a single moment in time before she was taken from her true mother’s arms and brought to The Land of the Dead. It had taken Whisper many battles, and cost her many sacrifices, to call the child her own. The Great War between the half-breed and Creator was fought over the child, sparked by the Great Spirit’s choice to take the Elder Smoke Speaker into his own realm and ended with Whisper’s decision to give up her claim on her grandfather. In doing so, she secured the child for herself, and that decision, even including the resulting deaths of Anya’s true parents, was not one she ever regretted.

Anya had grown up in the Fire Tower, nurtured by Whisper and Hunting Hawk, taught the ways of their people. She was shown all parts of the kingdom that would one day be her own. She aged faster in the spirit realms than in the Land of the Living, perhaps by a great magic bestowed upon her by Creator, to age quicker and, in turn, rise to the throne sooner. She now had the maturity of a girl nearly thirteen, and Whisper had stayed true to word with the Great Spirit, together forming a future leader who would be just, intelligent, and strong. The girl was not a Speaker, as was Whisper and her grandfather, the Elder Smoke Speaker, but she had the potential to be a strong Dreamer, and to bring great things to their land.

But Whisper saw something else in the girl, something she hoped would develop with each passing season in the Land of the Dead. Many, many moons ago she had told Creator that a child of the Spirit World could never lead the Land of the Dead, and she’d meant it. What she hadn’t told him, though, was that no matter what child he chose, no matter where the child came from, the Land of the Dead was too powerful a place to allow the light to reign.

When Anya reached maturity, and when the spell Whisper had formed took hold to keep her youthful for the duration of her reign, the girl would be a ruler worthy of the darkness. Already her eyes were taking on that hint of deep, haunting unknowingness, tucked away behind the child-like innocence Anya still fought to hold on to. Already her voice had the air of authority, able to sound menacing yet sweet, honest yet deceitful.

Whisper was training her well, in more ways than one.

Chapter 2

From her place high in the Sky Vault, Sun Woman watched. For too long she had waited, her bitterness growing each year as she looked down on the spirit who had taken her daughter’s mate away during the Great War. Second Son, the once-lost brother of the Little Men, had returned to the Land of the Dead for but a brief while, then again was banished for his own brother’s mistake. Even in her hatred of the Little Men for once failing to rescue her daughter, the sky spirit still blamed only one woman for Second Son’s disappearance – the half-breed.

It was Kanegv’s need for vengeance, her greed, her unfaltering conviction and self-righteousness, that led Dark Water to attack Hunting Hawk in that epic battle against Creator so long ago. It was Kanegv’s unforgiving heart that meant Second Son had to disappear along with his brother. And it was Kanegv’s very nature that destroyed Blue Cloud, Sun Woman’s only beloved daughter.

For moons Blue Cloud wept, mourning the loss of her love, her tears flooding the Sky Vault and sending devastating rains down onto the Land of the Living. Only time could heal her broken heart, but even now she had lost the light that once lit up the sky realm. Sun Woman had promised her justice, and she meant it. She even had a plan, one that depended on the half-breed leaving her kingdom.

It was no secret that Kanegv was searching for the Land of Second Deaths. Her own blind rage had sent her grandfather there, driving the knife meant for her mother into the Elder’s flesh, and it had become her mission to restore his spirit back to its rightful place. It was also no secret that when she left on her journey, she would be leaving the Land of the Dead in the hands of her mate, Hunting Hawk, and the child. With the half-breed gone, Sun Woman could put her plan into motion, one that was both selfish and just.

She got close this time, a voice said from behind.

Sun Woman turned to see Splinter Foot Girl standing by the hearth. She had recruited the spirit after the last battle, after Creator turned his back on Splinter Foot Girl. It has taken seven years for the half-breed to get even this close. We cannot expect her to make any more progress in a short time. She had proven herself an unworthy huntress.

She has been busy raising the child.

Are you defending her now, Splinter Foot Girl?

The spirit shook her head at the derision in Sun Woman’s voice. "Of course not. I am merely suggesting that the child is taking up too much of her time. Perhaps we should help her in her next hunt. Offer the interference that will destroy Ukenta for good."

Sun Woman considered the suggestion. She had refused assistance in the past, reveling in each injury the half-breed stumbled home with, knowing that any interference on her part without the half-breed’s permission could put her back in Kanegv’s debt, which was not a place she ever wished to be again. Her decision to make a deal with the half-breed the first time had resulted in a war between realms, a child being stolen from the Land of the Living, and her daughter’s one true love exiled to another world.

But if they could interfere without Whisper knowing, and ensure she never discovered their helping hand, then perhaps now was the time to finally take that risk.

Sun Woman glanced over at Splinter Foot Girl, a smile of deceit crossing her smooth yet aged face. What do you have in mind?

The Living Realm

He lived in a lodge on the outskirts of the reservation, away from the hub of activity and nestled amongst his own small family. Unlike other families of the rez, who came home to modern if not shabby homes, he sat in the center of a traditional Cherokee dwelling constructed with the fauna of their Oklahoma territory. It was strong, crafted by his father’s own two hands, with a thatched roof, two rooms, and a doorway closed off by a thick leather hide.

The other kids teased him for his home, and for his clothes, which were reminiscent of the way his people used to dress. The boy didn’t wear name brands, couldn’t afford them even if he wanted to. He didn’t run around in sneakers or style his hair with gel. No, his parents didn’t believe in that. They believed in the old ways.

The problem was, no one else did. Sure, there were people who prayed to Creator, who said a prayer before every meal, who referenced creatures and figures of their culture when telling stories. There were even those who celebrated through music and wore regalia to gatherings. But as each day passed, the boy felt more and more alone.

He’d never lived through the old ways, and yet, he was drawn to them. Sometimes he dreamed of people that once walked these same lands, witnessing the way they used to live, the things they used to believe. His grandmother called them visions and said he was destined to be a great seer for their people, but the boy wasn’t so sure. No one took him seriously. Most just ignored him altogether. He bore the looks of his people – the sculpted cheekbones, the almond eyes, the full mouth accented by a strong jaw, the sleek black hair that feel down his back – but struggled every day to also bear their conviction.

Sometimes he wished he did have the power to be a seer for his people. Surely they had more magic than this, more power to rise above the poverty, to move beyond the bottle. And if he could see the way, then he could lead them into a future where the past was celebrated and the old ways would merge with the new.

Chapter 3

Whisper met Creator at their designated gathering place, the only place the Great Spirit declared worthy of his presence because of its blessed history. And even then, he appeared only in mind, never in body. She suspected that was because he didn’t trust her not to harm him, and was always on alert for a potential attack. The idea didn’t offend her; it was her own anger that drove her to attempt to kill her mother, only to stab her grandfather instead when he leapt in front of the blade.

When Creator visited, shimmering in the dark air like a vision from a dream after she whispered a chant into the pillar of sacred waters, he crossed his arms and lifted a brow, clearly unhappy. Whisper didn’t bat an eye. She was used to that look of derision, that underlying contempt and scorn in his every word and glance. They were not friends, were not allies, and yet, neither were they enemies – anymore.

It had been many moons since Whisper had declared war on the Creator, many moons since they both walked away defeated, but as victors in their own right. She remembered the war clearly, the fury she’d felt when Creator took her grandfather, the Elder Smoke Speaker, from his rightful place in the Land of the Dead to serve on his own council in the Spirit World. That fury grew to hate when the Elder chose to stay, and abandon the granddaughter he had raised to die in order to care for another child. That hate led to war, a dark time in the spirit realms that ended only with the Elder’s death and the loss of good and bad spirits on both sides.

In the years since the war, Whisper had taken from the Great Spirit the one thing they both wanted most – the child, Anya. Anya was meant for the Spirit World, to be groomed as the future ruler of the Land of the Dead. Instead, Whisper had taken her for herself in exchange for peace, and Creator had been forced to give up his own desires of having a family of his own. For that reason alone, she would allow her sacred place of sanctuary to be adulterated with his presence during their meetings.

"You have been battling Ukenta, Creator said sternly, casting a look down at Whisper, noting the way she favored her leg. And, you are still injured."

His magic is getting stronger.

Or perhaps yours is getting weaker.

At the insult, Whisper lifted her own brow. "Ukenta is learning from our battles. He adapts and changes his magics. It is not a question of power, Creator, but of tactic. She lacked neither, but had met her match in the great river beast. But we have been over this before. Is there a reason why you bring it up yet again?"

The Great Spirit shrugged. Only to see if you had finally decided to abandon this foolish quest.

He sized her up when she decided not to answer. She had not changed in the time he had known her, forever trapped in that youthful body despite the years her spirit had seen, although what she had learned and endured was lurking in black eyes that used to frighten even him. In the beginning, he’d had great hope for the leader of the Land of the Dead, but soon saw that too much of her father still rested deep within her, threatening to break free at any moment.

Speaking the Raven-Eater’s name still incited fear in the dead. Creator easily recalled the spirit’s arrival into the Land of the Dead, which at the time had been a world of simply shadow and sleep. The Raven-Eater turned it into a land of fear, bringing with him the hate and sorrow of his heart. He didn’t rest until the souls of the men he murdered were tortured and ripped apart for the rest of their eternities.

In the beginning, the Great Spirit understood the Raven-Eater’s pain. Once known as Sun Eagle, the angry ruler of the Land of the Dead had lost everything as a living man. His wife, Gentle Heart, and son, Fighting Fox, had been stolen from him in fire and bullet by the white men, and the pain of that loss drove him mad. The madness only deepened, leading him to steal Blue Feather, the Elder Smoke Speaker’s daughter, from the living realm and force her to bear him a child.

And thus, the half-breed was born.

But a prophecy foretold of that half-breed’s rise to power, and so the Raven-Eater ordered her death when she was but an infant. By fate and magic, Whisper survived, raised by Smoke Speaker in the living realm until she took her own life to save that of the boy named Cole. The Raven-Eater had long been trying to steal the soul of a child from his native land to raise as his own son, and found the perfect replacement in Cole. Whisper foiled his plans by leading the boy’s father on a journey into the Land of the Dead to save his son’s soul, though the rescue would later prove to be in vain when Cole died as an adult to play yet another part in the spirit realms. Now, Cole resided in the Land of Second Deaths, trapped somewhere inside his souls while the Raven-Eater held his claim.

There were times when Creator saw an exact replica of the Raven-Eater in Whisper. She was called the half-breed for a reason, and he knew a part of him would always reside within her. And yet, despite how he felt of the half-breed as a leader, he could not deny that she was a devoted caretaker. He couldn’t bring himself to call Whisper Anya’s mother, but as a devoted caretaker, she was true to her word, never breaking his trust, never stepping over the boundaries of their agreement. She was honest, and for that, he would show her respect.

Anya is doing well, he complimented, changing the subject from Ukenta. As foolish as he thought her personal war was, he knew he would not deter her from her chosen path. The shock of accidentally sending her grandfather to his second death, all while losing her mother to the Spirit World, had been too great for Whisper to bear. That shock sent her headfirst into a personal vendetta against a land that he believed to be simply legend.

She is strong, intelligent, determined, he continued, watching the wariness slowly fade from Whisper’s face. If nothing else, she loved the child and cared about her well–being. And she is also quite headstrong. Perhaps a lesson she learned from you.

Despite herself, Whisper’s mouth curled into a half-smirk. She learns quickly.

Not quickly enough.

Whisper’s eyes darkened again. Meaning what, Creator?

You know what I mean.

Anya will take her place as ruler of the Land of the Dead when she is ready. I will not rush her training and force her into the position before she is ready simply because you wish to end my reign. She took a step forward threateningly, even knowing they could not touch one another. I will not allow you to take away what is rightfully mine any sooner than necessary.

The Great Spirit waved off her words with a dismissive hand. "I have no interest in