"Shiun" by Heather Nicholson

Shiun is deep,
one thousand years
in memory and tears;
within this well,
a writhing hell,
reflecting all your fears.

He lay awake, the gatekeeper did, a restless creature in a world of the sleeping, alive in the company of shades. He could hear them whispering among the stonework as he lay there in the dark. Little clawed feet made pitter-pattering echoes against marble floors.

Once, in the beginning, he had been able to close his eyes and imagine them the tread of children, but he had long since let the shroud of such illusions fall. He knew them now to be terrors, fragments of the darkness, and he could no longer control them.

"Father, father," they hissed and clawed at his door. They left long furrows in the wood, but the iron beneath held true. They could not abide its touch and drew back screaming as coldness seared their skin.

The Old One was creeping, this the gatekeeper knew. It made no sound, nor could it be seen, but could only be felt, an evil within evil, inside a darkness death cold. It prowled the halls, a shadow blighting all by which it passed. Its presence was a shiver in the back of the gatekeeper's mind and forbade him rest. He could all but see it promenading down once beautiful passages, could imagine the lesser creatures dancing about it in demonic glee.

The writhing train of shadows was moving away from his chambers, slipping down the main corridor like some dark serpent. They go to the temple, the gatekeeper thought with a shudder. The Old One is strong, strong enough to break the wards? Let them hold… A prayer formed on his lips, but he could not speak the words. Such holy invocations could not be uttered in the heart of evil, nor be spoken by its creator.

They made their way towards the ornate temple doors with the Old One at their fore. It was an ancient force, reeking of the power of the earth's darkest roots. The lesser creatures drew close to him, dogs lapping up what magics he dispersed. They howled and yapped at its heels, tore at their fellow's flesh, and gouged long rents in Shiun's walls. They were Well creatures, drawn forth long ago by the gatekeeper's works and bound to his will 'ere the Old One had came and freed them. It gave them back their powers, their darkness, their hunger.

They were hungry…so hungry. It was the hunger of centuries, was the hunger of the Well creatures. They lusted for flesh, longed for magics, all of which the gatekeeper had deprived them. They were starved, maddened beyond what reason they may have once had, and so they followed the Old One for it promised fulfillment. It promised them the temple.

The temple was older than Shiun itself, a center of holy power situated upon the meeting place of the earth's Life Lines-two clear steams flowing from the Westerness seas. The Well had come later, after the beginning of Moral Times when all demon kind had long been banished to the center of the earth and forgotten. They had dug Shiun deep… deep into the Mother's womb seeking her Life Lines, but they had delved too far those foolish human priests. They had struck a vein, o' yes they had, but it was one of shadow, and foul waters had billowed forth into their shrine.

Shiun was deep, Shiun was dark, and Shiun belonged to the Old One. He led the Well creatures to the temple doors and there he stopped, rocking back on cat-like haunches. The lesser creatures flocked about him, whimpering and moaning. The Light burned their twisted flesh, the temple was pain, but they wanted it. Their longing screamed through the halls, tore at the gatekeepers ears where he lay in his chambers, trapped and helpless.

"You will die, father…" he could hear their taunting cries as the Old One turned its attention towards the temple doors. He could hear the gnashing of their teeth, the lapping of their tongues. He could feel their lust like this own. It was his own.

The Old One moved suddenly, leaped forward like a shadow brought to erratic movement by the shifting of flame. Only there was no flame. There was no Light in Shiun that night, only the darkness at the temple gates. One clawed hand stretched forward…came down, caught, held…tore into the weathered aspen. Wards flared, they lashed out at it's being, but the Old One did not release. It drove its claws deeper into the wood, renting it, tearing it away in ragged strips.

Shiun screamed. It wailed a banesidhe's mournful keen and the Well creatures echoed her cries. They lashed themselves into frenzy, hurling themselves towards the temple only to be thrown back by the struggling wards and turn upon themselves. A few however, slipped through: the greater shadows, the wrights, the drow, the fuathas, a changeling, and other twisted devils. They latched themselves onto the door and would not relent, even as iron and Light magics seared away their flesh.

But it was not their deaths nor powers that aided the Old One as it tore its way through the wards. It was their hunger. It flowed from their bodies to that of the great demon, driving it on. The Old One pressed forward, claws tearing through the wood, then suddenly broke through and burst forth into the still air of the temple.

There are moments, hung poised at the edge of Time, where eternity stretches itself thin and holds, screaming to the point of breaking, but never shatters. Such a moment found Shiun, an instant of silence as all stood breathless…Waiting. Waiting…there no sound in all the Well. Waiting…no movement. Waiting…no hope. Waiting…nothing…nothing…waiting.

It broke then, a thousand shards of glass burst forth from ruined wards and broken magics in a flash that blinded or killed all but the greatest of the Well creatures. And over the scorched bodies of its lessers rose the Old One, like some triumphant god over a divine field of battle.

But the ancient demon was no the only creature to then rise, for the Gatekeeper moved as well. In that instant of shattering the bonds that held him broke as well and he threw himself from his bed, from his grave. Gone was the fear that had held him prisoner, the guilt, the self torture that had kept him cowering while all the beauty he wrought fell to shadow. It was not courage that set him free, for he was a broken man in body and soul. It was desperation. Fear made him bold, not for himself, but for the very world. Shiun's darkness, a darkness he had stirred to life, was free.

The sword…o' to feel his hands clasp about her hilt. She sprang to life at his touch, or was it he that returned to the world of the living? Eibhilín was warm in his hands, a fragment of Light that had lay too long dulled. How long had it been? How long had he lain as dead? Years…decades…centuries, time had no meaning in the hell that was Shiun.

Eibhilín, he caressed her length like he would a woman. She was still strong despite the years of disuse. The dust was nothing, no matter that the sharpness of her edge had been lost. There were flecks of rust along her blade, but steel had never truly mattered. It was the Light.

He strode across his chambers, throwing a cloak over his shoulders and strapping Eibhilín to his waist. He was alive, terrified, soon to die, but for that moment more alive than he had been since…since he had first entered Shiun's depths. His mind was clear, his body primed. This would be the end.

There was a smile his face as he flung open the door of his cell and descended once again into Shiun.

Gone was the Well's ancient beauty, the mysterious blending of darkness and light, the wonder that had once brought tears to his eyes. The sweeping arches, the marble pillars, wide daises, grand courtyards, the statues, the tapestries, the ornately carved alcoves, they had all long since been defiled.

He moved swiftly through the hallways and the Well creatures fled before him. "Father, you fool!" an emaciated creature of sinew and darkness danced gleefully before him, fangs barred in what may have been a laugh. "Go back to bed, father. Sleep, dear father, sleep."

The Gatekeeper stretched forth one hand and without thought named the creature. "Back to the Well, Cillian! Cillian, be gone. Thrice said and so you must be. Away with you, Cillian!" the creature hissed at him, but had no power once named and fled again to the depths. The other Well creatures, seeing their brethren banished ran all the faster and the Gatekeeper was bothered no more as the temple drew near.

~~~
The Old One was waiting, the Gatekeeper knew. In the temple it crouched, a pool of Darkness where once the Light had shone brightest, the items of holy worship shattered about it. The Light is dead…The Light is dead…The Light is dead. The Gatekeeper was drawing nearer and as he could sense the presence of the demon, the demon could sense his approach. The end was coming and the Old One was hungry again.
~~~
The Gatekeeper came to a halt just in front of the temple's broken doors. The Well creatures had amassed there, a seething horde of darkness, but he paid them no mind. They were nothing, less than nothing with the Old One lurking just beyond. He could feel the demon's presence in the very back of his mind, could feel the hunger and the evil. If he lost this final battle it would not be from not knowing his enemy. This was one adversary he knew all too well.

"Come to me, wight," he bid softly. His voice was nothing more than a whisper, one that threatened to be consumed by the darkness. "Come to me!" he called again as the Well creatures hissed in glee. There was no stirring within the temple, but the Gatekeeper forbade the thought of failure. He reached down and gripped Eibhilín's hilt, his thumb lightly playing over the silver wrought runes there inlayed.

"Come to me!" his voice tore through the Dark's whispering, echoed clarion through the halls and corridors. There was a faint stirring, an uncomfortable shifting among demon kind as his words pulled them. They crept forward by no will of their own, bound to his. "Come to me, Cianan!"

There was a great roar from within the temple, like a thousand braying hounds as they set upon the kill. The lesser demons screamed and fled, for the end was upon them as Cianan, the ancient, the Old One hurled himself from the temple gates, a snarling mass of shadows and nightmares.

"Fool!" the demon howled, rocking back on his haunches, muscles taunt to spring upon the man standing before him. "You call but cannot bind."

The Gatekeeper shrugged and tightened his grip upon Eibhilín's hilt. "Be rid of that form, Cianan or I shall bind you to it. Need I call thrice?" The great demon hissed and slowly his chosen guise faded away. Gone were the claws, the making of nightmares. What stood before the Gatekeeper was a tall man wrapped in shadows. All that could be seen was his face, a proud, arrogant face whose dark beauty was marred by a sneer of utter contempt. "You approve?"

The Gatekeeper nodded faintly, the sorrow that came with recognition growing in his eyes. "Aye, Dubaltach, I would not have known you otherwise."

"Does knowing bring absolution, father?" the demon asked in disdain. He began pacing back and forth before the man, his movements loosing none of their feral grace for the human shape he wore.

"A man likes to know what he kills. I will not fight you while you wear my brother's face, demon. I bid you change. Dubaltach. Dubaltach. Dubaltach, I grow weary of your games!"

For a second time to demon changed, to a wretched, twisted creature with long bony limbs and darting eyes. Its voice was slicked with oil as it spoke. "I wore not your brother's face, noble Scrymgeour, I am your brother. He was mine, as all men are in the end. O' he was strong in the beginning, so brave of heart, but I devoured him, father. I drank the valor from his blood, licked the courage from his wounds. I ate his soul. O' he fed me well that one. I remember when he finally turned. Have you heard how dear Dubaltach faired in his last days? Have you heard how he laid all your kin in their graves and buried while they still breathed? Have you yet heard what fate he sent your precious Gwencalon to? Yes, her screams were enough to sate even…"

"Enough!" Eibhilín was free of her sheath even as he cried out his protest. "Enough of your lies, Caswallon, I'll take your tongue 'ere I hear another word!"

The demon only laughed, slapping his oversized hands against the stone floor. "O'father, use my names as you will. I am all of them. Cianan, Dubaltach, Caswallon the cunning. Bind each of them, but you cannot bind me. Brandubh and Andochas. Call them, call them! You know not my name, Scrymgeour."

The Gatekeeper, once Scrymgeour when he had been lord of Caer Andraste growled low under his breath, knowing well the truth of the demon's words. "What shall I call you then, demon? True name or no, I can still put an end to you."

"Brave words, always so brave! You've killed me before when I wore your father's face. Do you remember? I remember well the touch of cold metal, o' but better than that I remember your betrayal."

Scrymgeour closed his eyes, a shudder running through his body. The demon laughed harder, rocking back and forth and gashing its teeth. "You remember! Scrymgeour of Caer Andraste what is it like to slay your father? O' no-mind, no-mind, no need to tell, I shall know soon enough. Are you remembering now? How you went out a-riding and found old Lord Andraste in his madness? How the poor, poor old man lunged at you with his teeth barred like an animal and instinct came upon you. O' noble man, you had fought too many wars, you could not stay your hand…not even for your own father. You killed him! You killed him weaponless and mad. They forgave you, Dubaltach and Gwencalon, saw you could have done nothing else, but you sowed the seeds of their fall. I was there, wearing your fathers face when you murdered him."

Shiun was gone, fading away to the memories. He was no longer the doubly damned Gatekeeper, but a younger man with not so much blood upon his hands. He was the future lord of Caer Andraste with a brother he loved, a beloved lady who would soon be his wife, a brace of hounds, and no worry in life besides how the spring's foaling would fair. He was in a world before demons, before patricide, before treason, before a dream became his hell, before the he took upon his charge. He was in a world before Shiun.

"No!" he screamed his desperation and sprang forwards, Eibhilín a-blaze in his hand. There were tears in his eyes as he brought her silver length down upon the twisted demon's form, as flesh met steel and gave way beneath.

It was the Old One who screamed this time, a howl of pain as cold metal and Light seared its flesh. It leaped back, ebony blood flowing to the stones beneath it, and as it did so its shape shifted. It became human again, though of no outstanding quality. He was simply a man in the worn garb of a woodsman and gripping a blade in one hand.

Keir was the weapon's name, Dark as Eibhilín's name was Light, and they met with a clash that shook Shiun to her very roots. Light and dark, man and demon, son and father, life and death, they met in that moment. And in that moment the Gatekeeper, Scrymgeour once called, knew.

Again and again the blades clashed, broke away, met again. They wove a screaming pattern in Shiun's stillness. They danced. But the moments were swift in passing, a delay as the words struggled forth from the Gatekeeper's throat. "I know you, demon!" he cried and thrust fiercely against the Old One through the press of their blades. Eibhilín's length snaked past Keir, found home once again in the demon's flesh. "I know you demon for you are I!"

Light and Dark, man and demon, son and father, life and death, Eibhilín and Keir, Gatekeeper and Old One, night and day, holy and profane, love and hate, they met in that moment and found themselves the same. "Doran Oidhche, I name you myself. Doran Oidhche, stranger in the night, be gone! Doran Oidhche back to the Well with you!"

The demon screamed, a wail that toppled Shiun's ancient stones. He screamed like a thousand braying hounds, like thunder, like the clash of two great armies on a battleground of Fate. He screamed until the Gatekeeper was forced to fling himself to the ground, hands covering his tortured ears. He screamed as the one who shared his True Name called him, and he faded back into the darkest abyss of Shiun's Well.

~~~
Days past…decades…centuries it may have been, for time had no meaning in Shiun's stillness. The Gatekeeper, who had once been the Lord of Caer Andraste had no knowledge of its passing, until one morn, as a hint of spring's breeze found its way into the fallen hallways, he stirred. Slowly at first, he moved, pushing himself up onto his knees and searching about for Eibhilín. He found her lying there where dropped what seemed like a lifetime ago. Keir lay beside her, a weapon identical, as their wielders had been identical.

Finally he managed to climb to his feet and stood there for some time surveying what had once been the grandeur of Shiun. There was little left besides rubble, the ruins of beauty, and the ruins of horror. He stood there for a long while, while his mind struggled over all that had happened since his youth. He remembered the faces of those he had loved yet sealed to death. He remembered vows and promises, a hope he had struggled to bring to life without Shiun's depths. He remembered the darkness he had therein found, the demons that were but mirror images of himself. He had failed, yes, but in the end he found himself not caring.

With a sigh he picked up the two identical blades and shoved them into his belt, pulling his ragged cloak close about him. Spring was in the air as Doran Oidhche, a creature both human and demon, made his way back to a world where the difference no longer mattered.