Solo A Shade's Secret

[Kenneric Crowe]

4th day of Summer, 513 A.V. A ripping of the natural peace of the place sounded as a trumpet would before battle, calling attention. Kenneric Crowe grasped at the passing grass and grime with pale, weakened hands. Plague did not for helping one survive the wilds of Mizahar, and little else as well. A positive storm of chaos raged and swirled around his thin body as the cryptographer attempted to rectify his violent jolt from the wagon. He and donkey had been moseying along the path back to Zeltiva from one of their fruitless outings, when the wagon had given a tremendous jolt and Crowe was thrown bodily from the thing. The tumble caused a dull pain throughout his joints, making the scrawny man groan as he rolled and slid down the face of the hillock. He finally came to a stop flanked by the upset debris of a Syliran hillside and his crumpled dignity. The thin figure pulled himself weakly to his hands and knees, smoothing back shining blonde locks as he stood. Clearing his throat and brushing himself off he set back up the hill without an uttered word. Halfway up the hillock, on his way back to the path, he slipped on something and lam oct fell again. Upon further scrutiny he found a battered leather boot, high and tough, like a soldier would wear. He held it in his white grasp for a moment, glancing about. It was not often that one boot would go somewhere without it’s partner, let alone it’s master. But stranger things had happened in Mizahar, he supposed. He could not find another, so he proceeded up the hill and when he reached the wagon, Donkey glanced his way. He tried to imagine the Donkey wasn’t laughing inwardly at him, to no avail. He dropped the boot and investigated the other side of the wagon. Indeed the wheel had lurched from hitting something in the road. Kenneric Crowe bent low to see and found a leather clad hilt burried in the softened dirt of the road. He flicked his purple eyes back down at the hillside. Had there been some sort of tussle? Or had someone simply dropped their weapon? Crowe clasped the hilt and tried to pull it free. He was able to budge it little that way and instead kicked the thing and dug out the dirt around it for a few moments before setting the small dagger free. There was no rust or damage. It had been relatively recently lost. This close to the coast it would have rusted quickly with all the moisture. Someone had misplaced the dagger within the past couple of days. Kenneric dropped the dagger beside the boot and glanced at Donkey again. “My dear boy, what do you think?” He muttered to the animal. Donkey did not deem to respond. Crowe stared into the rocks and bushes below. “My thoughts exactly. It warrants a thorough investigation.” He carefully made his way back down to where he had found the boot and glared about himself. Now, Kenneric Crowe had very little experience tracking anything. You would not be amiss if you said no experience at all. But he did have an insatiable curiosity for information, and a few rather unique gifts. He stepped up to a nearby boulder and went down on one knee. He looked around suspiciously, and then said in a low voice. “Have you seen any of my types around by any chance?” Most people would think the man insane for talking to a boulder. But Crowe was, in fact, speaking to the shadow of the boulder. A gruff voice responded in little more than a whisper. “Oh, and a very pleasant evening to you as well!” Crowe grimaced. It was always an affront with these lonesome shadows. Hard lipped and stubborn, but always quick to take offense. “Ah yes, well good evening… shade. I was hoping you’d be able to help me figure something out.” … “Hello?” Crowe ventured weakly. “Oh just like you humans. Always nice when you need something.” The shadow whispered. Crowe frowned and was not surprised. “How many humans have you met?” He would be surprised if the shadow had ever met a human that gave it any attention before. “I’ve heard rumors!” it responded reproachfully. Crowe nodded quickly as if he believed the thing. “So will you help me?” He pressed carefully once again. The Cryptographer was addicted to secrets, but negotiating with shadows was much more difficult than negotiating with people. People could be bought, or trading information, or intimidated. Shadows had one currency, and that was information. They cared little for objects and there was nothing you could give one in payment. “Perhaps… If you answer my riddle correctly!” The shadow spoke energetically. Kenneric got the feeling it was false though, as if the shade was just trying to toy with him. It was a feeling he knew well, since he had experienced the same games with most shadows. His heart sank at the idea of a riddle a shadow had been thinking up for it’s entire existence.

[Kenneric Crowe]

The shade looked like a shifting thing of darkness to Kenneric’s blessed eyes, but had no face or discernible features past it’s murky silhouette. But still the thing looked smug as Crowe pondered on it. “What is in seasons, seconds, centuries, and minutes, but not in days or years?” The shadow whispered, sounding as if he already knew he had stumped the spindly cryptographer. Kenneric was at first stumped. Seasons, Seconds, Centuries, and Minutes? But not Days or Years. So it was something measured in time, but what was measured in seconds that wasn’t measured in days. Nothing, if also measured in Centuries. What was measured in Seasons? Years. But he said it was not in years. Crowe stood and stretched, and if he had been closer still, perhaps he would have heard the shadow snicker? Measured in seasons and seconds, centuries and minutes. But it wasn’t in years. Or days. Pinching his chin with finger and thumb, Crowe scowled. Thin lines etched his pale face and made it all the more sharp. This shouldn’t be this hard. Lowych had raised Kenneric to think sideways, he should be able to do this. What was in seasons, seconds, and centuries, but not in years or days?! Then a cold shiver went through his body as he felt a rush of excitement and victory. It was in the wording of course! What is in them, not measured in them! It was the letters, the spelling. [color=#4000BF]“The letter ‘N’.” Crowe breathed into the shadow. It made no response. Crowe spoke again and waved a hand through the shadow. “Fine. But that was only the first riddle, I have more for you.” Crowe was familiar with this work around and crossed his arms sternly. “How many more do you have? I won’t be a fool and sit here unriddling your enigmas all evening!” Crowe spat at the expressionless creature. He would need to set a price for this exchange of wit and information, for he was dying to know the answer to that dagger and boot. “Oh… Well.” The shadow hesitated, darkening the side of the boulder as it had been doing all along. Crowe seized an opportunity, “Shall we say best of three then?” If he didn’t set a number, who knew how many the damn shadow would say. What was time spent to him? It? The thing was silent, presumably thinking. But there was really no way to tell. “Very well. Two more and we will see if you earn your answer.” It sounded eerily satisfied with itself. Perhaps the first was just an easy entry, to entice the falsely confident. “What is it, that when you take away the whole, some still remains?” The shadow whispered into the evening air. Take away the whole, and none remains. By definition a whole meant that not was left. Crowe knew then that it was wordplay again. It took very little time to figure it out after that. “Wholesome!” He said, jabbing an energetic finger at the shadow. It said nothing for an uncomfortably long time, once again. Donkey snorted from up on the path, Making his presence known to any bearers of sugar cubes or apples that might be lurking out of sight. “I still have one more riddle, human.” The voice was low and quiet, as if genuinely upset now. It had not expected Kenneric to get that last one that easily.