A Bridge of Shadow Read online

  Bridge of Shadow

  Creativia Anthology II

  Edited by Natalie J Case

  Copyright (C) 2017 Craig Gaydas, Eve Gaal, Kenna McKinnon, Mari Collier, Kat Wells, Natalie J Case, W. Bradford Swift

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2017 by Creativia

  Published 2017 by Creativia

  Cover art by Inkubus Design

  Edited by Natalie J Case

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Forward

  Croatoan

  About the Author: Craig Gaydas

  River of Love

  About the Author: Eve Gaal

  Ayn Rand

  About the Author: Kenna McKinnon

  The Witching Hour

  About the Author: Mari Collier

  Shadow

  About the Author: Kat Wells

  A Shade of Hope

  About the Author: Natalie J Case

  Ra-Kit's Initiation

  About the Author: W. Bradford Swift

  Acknowledgements

  As always, a book doesn't appear in a vacuum. I'd like to acknowledge the cheerleaders who keep me going, even when I feel like I've bitten off way more than I will ever be able to chew. You all know who you are, and I love you more than you will ever know.

  Forward

  This is our second anthology for Creativia Publishing working off the same premise: give the 100+ authors who write for Creativia the same prompt, and no other rules but for minimum and maximum word counts and give them a couple of months to noodle over it to come up with their own interpretation of that prompt.

  This time around, our prompt was: The letter/email/missive/message was ominous, if a little vague in the details. “Midnight, on the bridge. Come alone.”

  The important thing in a challenge like this is to honor the essence of the prompt, and mold it to fit into the story you are set to tell.

  Once again, my fellow authors did me the honor of submitting stories that cover a broad swath of genres and themes: love stories, mysteries with a taste of history, cautionary tales of late night meetings with attractive men, sentience in unusual places, magic animals and a taste of the paranormal.

  Thank you, Creativia for affording me the opportunity to pursue this wacky idea, and thank you authors for trusting me with your words!

  Natalie J Case

  Editor

  Croatoan

  Craig Gaydas

  Roanoke Island, North Carolina, August 1590

  “The evening creeps closer as we come to anchor near the Hatteras Islands. Off in the distance we can see smoke rising on the isle of Roanoke near the place where I left our colony in the year 1587. The smoke gives me hope that the colony is still present, expecting my return out of England.”

  – Journal entry, fifteenth of August, 1590, John White

  He closed the journal and cupped his head in his hands. Sitting behind his desk aboard the British privateer ship, Moonlight, he concentrated on the sounds of waves crashing against the hull, a sound which always put his mind at ease. He longed to reunite with the colonists on Roanoke Island but was even more eager to be with his family again. His granddaughter had been only nine days old when he departed the settlement and sailed back to England and his heart yearned to hold her once again.

  “This cursed war with the Spanish set me back years,” he grumbled.

  Through the door, White watched Captain Lane descend the stairs leading to his quarters with his gaze fixed upon John. The look was filled with frustration mixed with relief, a look only the captain could mix into a single facial expression. The return voyage to Roanoke had been long and difficult, rife with frequent storms and rough seas which battered the ship into near obliteration. Coupled with occasional pirate skirmishes along with navigating away from their normal course in efforts to avoid the Spanish Armada had taxed their supplies, along with their patience. They had run dangerously low on fresh water, rations and time.

  “Sorry to disturb you but I wanted to report we have spotted smoke rising from island in the area near the settlement. Unfortunately, this darkness is so thick I could cut it with a dagger which makes navigating this damn ship about as easy as gathering a flock of headless chickens. I'm sorry to report the weather conditions will delay us setting ashore this evening,” Lane stated flatly. Lane did not share John White's desire of reuniting with the colonists of Roanoke Island. He was a great navigator, but his only incentive during this expedition was the gold the crown fed into his purse.

  “I agree,” John replied with a hint of resignation in his voice. “What's one more day? For safety's sake let us disembark first thing in the morning.”

  Lane turned and lumbered up the stairs. Faintly, he could be heard barking orders to the deckhands before the rattling of the lowering anchor drowned out the voices. Once the anchor stopped the captain's heavy footsteps could be heard as he trailed off toward his quarters.

  John laid upon the bed and rested his head on the feathered pillow. Despite their differences in opinion he had a lot of faith in the captain's abilities. Captain William Lane was one of the best ocean navigators the Crown could buy. His battles with the Spanish Armada were stories of legend and his ability to fend off pirates had been an extremely valuable commodity. His familiarity with voyaging across the Atlantic had been an added bonus, but it took a lot of persuasion, and coin, to persuade him to agree to lead this dangerous expedition. Even if one were so inclined to remove the Spanish Armada and piracy from the equation, Roanoke Island was currently in the midst of peak hurricane season, making navigation difficult. White had been contemplating how much gold this latest delay would cost before sleep finally took hold.

  The shuffling of feet from above his cabin woke John from his slumber. The splash of an anchor could be heard as it was raised from the sea. The ship started to drift closer to the island which elicited a small grin from John. The strong smell of the Atlantic air drifted into his cabin and filled the cramped quarters. John grabbed his journal and sprinted up the stairs, nearly bowling over Captain Lane in the process.

  “Good morning Captain,” John beamed. “I assume we will be disembarking this morning?”

  “Aye. I have commanded our master gunner to prepare our two minions and our falcon and make sure they are well loaded. They have orders to fire signal shots with reasonable space between each shot, so the colonists are prepared for our arrival. We should be ready to drop anchor soon.”

  “Great idea, Captain! I assume you will be accompanying us to the colony?”

  The captain's reply was as flat as his demeanor, “Aye.” He glanced toward the deckhands preparing supplies and loading them into the sloops which would carry them to shore. “I assume we won't need many provisions as the settlement has ample supply?”

  “Yes Captain,” replied White. “There is no need for you to stay longer than necessary. Once we verify the colonists are in good health and the supplies are sufficient to last through the winter, you are free to return to England.”

  It took roughly three hours to load all of the supplies. John glanced upward and noticed the clouds darkening with a slight increase in wind from the northeast—a sign of an impending storm. He looked at Lane who squinted against the fading sun

  “
We better head out,” muttered a wearied Lane. “It seems we might be in for a bit of a storm.”

  Lane and White set sail from the Moonlight with a crew of eleven. As they approached the island Lane pointed toward the area where smoke had been visible earlier. “We will land there,” he explained. “That's the most likely position of your colonists.”

  “I agree, Captain. As we get closer I will sound the trumpet for the savages.”

  Savage had been a term used by the colonists to refer to surrounding indigenous tribes located on Roanoke Island as well as the neighboring barrier islands. It had been customary for the English to sound a trumpet to announce their arrival to the inhabitants. Between the trumpet and cannon fire, White knew the colonists would not mistake him and the crew to be savages, pirates or hostile Spaniards.

  The boat landed about a half mile from where the smoke had been spotted. As soon as the boat touched the sand, White blew the trumpet. Lane and crew exited the boat and gathered the supplies. As two of the sailors struggled unloading a cask of fresh water, Lane touched White on the shoulder.

  “I don't see any sign of your colonists, John. Why do they not set out and meet us, or at least acknowledge the call?”

  White shrugged, wondering the same. The only signs of activity along the shore were a few footprints in the sand. White leaned over and grimaced as he examined them.

  “Savages,” Lane confirmed over John's shoulder. “Not uncommon for this part of the island.”

  “No, this was not an uncommon thing.” White replied. As a matter of fact, before John left, the colonists had made peace with the locals and had begun trading with them. Right before White left for England, there had actually been discussions about relocating the settlement to nearby Croatoan Island.

  As the group moved further inland, they stumbled across the source of the smoke. A fire had been abandoned, nothing more than smoldering ashes. Lane kicked at a pile of rotten tree limbs piled alongside the fire and frowned. “What do you make of this? It's strange to have an unattended fire located so far from the settlement, is it not?”

  “It's uncommon, yes,” White replied. “However, look at these tracks running alongside the shore line. These are native tracks.” The Croatoan tribe were the only tribe who inhabited the barrier islands. The fruits of the sea attracted them, and they had been drawn toward the beaches, while other tribes chose to maintain their settlements and villages further inland. It was not rare to see their tracks so close to the settlement, however, some mainland tribes were at odds with the Croatoan tribe and did not look upon them favorably.

  “Let's move further inland, Captain,” White said as he turned to Lane. “We should take some provisions with us, just as a precaution.” Lane nodded his head in agreement. He turned and motioned to the sailors remaining in the boat.

  The group ventured about a mile and a half inland where they came upon a large wooden fence constructed from logs surrounding the entire settlement. The fence was sturdy, and had been erected as a defensive structure rather than a cosmetic one. Beyond the fence, the settlement appeared to be undisturbed with the exception of the houses. Most of the houses sheltering the colonists had been taken down. There appeared to be no signs of a battle or any sort of struggle. As the group moved into the settlement they stumbled across cannonballs, iron bars and other such heavy metal objects scattered around the area covered with so many weeds that the foliage nearly hid them from detection.

  “What in the bloody hell?” Lane exclaimed, surveying the settlement. “Where are your colonists, John?”

  John was dumbfounded. In a panic he hurried to where his daughter' house had been established. When he arrived his shoulder slumped in dismay when he saw that it had been taken down just the rest of the colony. Where the house once stood was nothing but the scattered remains of his personal belongings. On the ground nearby lay a suit of armor that was nearly devoured by rust lying beside various pictures and frames that had been scattered and broken. Maps and charts of the surrounding islands sat rotted and destroyed by the weather. Various chests that had been buried for security reasons had been dug up and ransacked. When John turned to Captain Lane, his face paled considerably.

  “It seems the savages have ransacked what was left of the colony,” White acknowledged. “But I don't understand why there are no signs of a skirmish. There are no signs that the colonists had defended themselves or put up a fight in any way with the exception of the bloody wall. It makes no sense!”

  Lane's mouth formed a thin line of dismay as he examined the area. “I agree with your assessment. All of the footprints appear to be recent and are definitely made by locals. If there were any colonist tracks in the sand, they must have been washed away by the rains.” Lane turned to White. “The evidence points to the savages entering the colony after the colonists had departed the area. There are no bodies, blood nor scorch marks from fire. I do not see any arrows, spearheads or discarded weapons anywhere. It also appears the houses had been taken down with precision which leads me to believe the colony was not removed by force.”

  White nodded in agreement. “It is entirely possible they moved to another location. I instructed them if they decided to relocate that they would carve into a nearby tree clues to their new destination.” White looked at the tree line bordering the settlement. “Come, let's check those trees over there. If the colonists moved then those trees may provide the answers we need.”

  White and company gathered near the trees bordering the forest. After inspecting several trees, one of the sailors shouted. “Over here, Captain!” White and Lane hurried toward the frenzied man.

  Located about half way up an old cedar tree a large portion of bark had been removed. Upon the tree carved in large capital letters stood the word: “CROATOAN”. Lane looked toward White with a quizzical expression on his face. “John, do you think this means your colonists have moved?” He motioned toward the direction of the neighboring Hatteras Island, also known as Croatoan Island. “Perhaps we should head to the inlet to see if their boats are gone?”

  White nodded in agreement although he did not move. He continued to study the word carved into the tree. The carving did not seem forced or in distress, and the letters were as clean and legible as could be, as if someone casually carved while they leaned against the tree. The colonists had been instructed if they were ever attacked or forced to relocate they would attempt to carve clues into trees with the symbol of a Maltese cross. Upon further searches of the area, no one could find any further clues or carvings. Eventually White abandoned his search and turned to the group.

  “Yes, let's check to see if the boats are still anchored nearby,” he agreed.

  The group made the short hike to the inlet in silence. John's thoughts were focused solely on the fate of his family while Lane continued to check his portable sundial. He realized he would need to depart soon if he were to stay ahead of the approaching storms, but he also knew the importance of locating the missing colonists. When they finally reached the inlet, John's expression turned grim. Anchored nearby were the two small boats left behind by the colonists. Lane approached the nearest skiff and peered inside. Everything seemed to be normal. There had been weather damage to the boats, one had even been beached, but there were no signs of aggression or vandalism to either boat. Lane realized this past year has been dreadful in regard to hurricane season so he could only imagine how three years of weather damage would have taken a toll on the vessels, but they still remained seaworthy. Lane motioned toward the boats. “It appears the colonists have not left the island in some time, at least not in these.” He kicked at a single plank that had broken off the beached boat and looked up. The sky grew an ominous gray-purple color and began swallowing the setting sun, the sign of an approaching storm. “Listen, John. It appears your colonists have moved on to one of the barrier islands. I hate to cut this adventure short but if we do not set sail soon we could be stranded for days.”

  White's frustration was palatabl
e. “Aye, Captain. Let us collect what we can salvage and head back to the ship.” He turned and walked away.

  As they returned to the settlement, Lane barked orders at the sailors to collect any useful salvage and load it onto the boats. They made their way through the camp and it wasn't long before Lane realized the savages took anything of use. The only thing his crew could salvage were some iron bars and a handful of cannonballs.

  “Damn savages,” he muttered. He boarded the boat and looked back to see John peering into the forest with a queer look on his face, as if he were in some sort of trance.

  “John, are you alright?” Lane asked while approaching him cautiously.

  “Huh?” he responded sleepily. “Oh yeah, I'm ok. I just get this uneasy feeling when I look at the forest.” He continued staring into the thick tree line calmly and Lane's eyes drifted toward the spot of John's interest.

  “Savages?” Lane asked.

  John shook his head. “I don't believe so. We are a small group, if savages were watching us they would have either attacked or approached us with curiosity, depending on the tribe.” He turned and boarded the boat but couldn't shake the feeling he saw something in the woods. The hair on the back of his neck stood firm.

  “Take us back to the ship!” Lane barked to the sailors. The ship drifted away from the island and he noticed White's gaze still fixed upon the forest. Lane wasn't sure whether the man was upset at the fact the colonists were gone or the strange feeling that came over them at the edge of the forest. He decided to let it go.

  They boarded the Moonlight and Lane commanded a nearby sailor to raise the anchor. While glancing at the darkening sky with dismay the wind picked up which filled him with concern. “John, we won't be able to search Croatoan Island. It seems a squall is blowing in from the northeast. We need to return to England now or we are in danger of spending days on these islands. Normally a few extra days on the island wouldn't be anything more than an inconvenience, but with the colonists deconstructing the colony, they left us with little shelter. I know that's not what you want to hear but it's either we leave or risk being dashed upon the rocks.”