Silver and Cold
Chapter 1
The Curse on Shannara
The clock ticked on the mantel in the Inn, while the fire cracked just under it in the hearth. Light footsteps paced back and forth as the minutes turned to an hour and then another hour and another.
The waiting was excruciating that tore at each man's soul who stood staring at the door and praying for the latest bit of information. 'Healers, bah!' thought Shea in almost a curse going through his mind. 'What good are they really but for mending a simple cut or bandaging a sore limb.'
He paced over to the window and pulled back the curtains to peer out over the town that he had know most all of his life. He knew each and every crack and crevice in this town, down each dirt path or cobblestone in this sleepy Valley.
Shea knew that in a couple of hours the sun would be setting, but from the view out of the window one could hardly tell from the thick dismal gray of overcastting clouds. The cold gloominess of the day matched the mood of every man and woman who lived here and especially for himself.
For this being the tale end of summer, one would hardly recognize this as it seemed more like autumn for the cold spell that had set in and so unusual in the Vale. If this were any other summer that he could recall, he would have been sitting out on the porch to catch the slightest hint of a breeze from the stifling hot humid temperature. Every window would have been opened and doors as well, to air out the stickiness from within. The sky would have been a solid blue with a white, piercing-hot sun that would bake the land turning the lush, green grass to a course, dried brown.
But this was not just any summer day it was a day that would be etched in Shea's mind forever. A cursed day just like much of his life had been that lead up to this moment in time. Outside of a handful of happier times such as meeting and marrying his beloved wife, Myra and the birth of his beautiful daughter Shannon. His life that he shared with them seemed to be a blessed gift that should have endured long after his own death. But only a short lived blessing that dangled only eighteen years in his life, a mire tease of time for any man, let alone only a shadow in the life of an elf, in which he was both.
Was he born upon a curse bared by his elven father that he should live only to watch painfully all those he loved slowly being taking away from him? Did Jerle Shannara not die early barely knowing the last of his sons? What of his mother, did she not die also, never seeing him past his youth? He could barely recall the gentleness of her face or the sound of her voice. Then hadn't the dirt of the grave of his own wife only just settle after her death last year from an illness no healer could guess, let alone cure?
But now, was it his beloved daughter's turn? Was she too going to be taken from him and the unborn baby that rest in her womb? Was he just not told of his son-in-laws death just a few hours ago shortly after Flick had found the overturned wagon and his daughter barely alive? What of his dear adopted brother, Flick? He and his wife had longed for a child of their very own, but never in the eighteen years were they able to conceive. Was this too a curse of the house of Shannara that had somehow rubbed off of him and given to Flick? A curse, how many an evil beings had cursed Jerle Shannara and all that followed in his bloodline?
The door in which all focus was upon burst open and startled everyone within. The sound of it brought Shea from the gloominess of his own thoughts as he snapped around to see the healer appear as he shouted at him, "Shea! Get in here at once!" he ordered.
Shea bolted from the window and darted into the room, brushing pass the healer standing in the doorway. The healer grasped Shea's arm firmly and held him in his place as he shut the door. From the serious grim look upon his face, Shea knew what he had to tell him was going to be the worst.
"Shannon is dying now, Shea!" he paused just a moment to let his words sink in. "We have successful delivered her son, but he too is weak and fighting for his life."
Shea's eyes snapped over to the bed to see his daughter lying with the look of death all about her. Her long hair wet and matted rested upon the pillow and her white hands folded upon her chest just over the blankets that covered her. Standing next to the bed was a mid-wife who cradled a small bundle into her arms wrapped tightly in a thick knitted blanket. He listened for a moment for the faintest hint of a baby's wail, but nothing greeted his ears but the raspy sound of his daughter's breath. Snapping his arm away from the healer, Shea rushed to the side of the bed of his daughter and grasped her hand gently to let her know he was there.
The black circles from under her eyes made her white face almost ghostly as she fought for each breath and slowly opened her soft blue eyes to see her father sitting next to her.
"Papa, promise me……." She barely whispered.
"Anything, Shannon." His voice catching up into his throat and his tears stinging his eyes and falling down his cheeks.
"My baby, Papa. Take care of my baby….." her voice slowly drifting from the land of the living to the shadows of death. "I love you, Pa……." Her eyelids closed and her breath was no more.
Shea brought her motionless hand to his lips and kissed it saying, "I love you, Shannon, I love you!" Deep sobs poured through his entire being as he shook from the pain that ripped through his heart and soul.
The healer opened the door to allow those who mourned her to enter and gather around her bed.
Flick stood before Shea and took his hand that held onto his daughter's hand and set his lips upon his adopted brother's brow and then nestled his head next to his. Flick's tears mixed with Shea's as he held onto him weeping openly with him. When Shea places her hand down upon her chest and stood, Flick put his arm around him and led him to the corner of the room. It was Shannon's in-laws who gathered next to her to say their final good-byes.
Shea looked at them as they held each other sobbing and then placed a kiss upon his daughter's brow. They were kindly good folk who had lived in the Valley all of their lives and he had known them and respected them well. They were ten years older than Shea and he remembered how proud they were when their son announced the engagement of their marriage to his daughter. They had loved Shannon and treated her as their own daughter from that moment on. It broke Shea's heart watching them mourn for her and for their own son who would be buried next to her in the upcoming day for their funerals.
The mid-wife slowly approached Shea with the bundle in her arms and she lifted the blanket from off the child's face to show him his new grandson. Blinded with tears, Shea looked down upon the baby and his fair complexion and white downy hair. His eyelashes were closed as he rested in sleep and from under a tiny, button-nose was his pink lips that were puckered in amongst soft, tender, thin-cheeks. It pulled at Shea's heart and he could bare no more, brushing passed the mid-wife and the baby, he dashed out of the door and into the Inn's common room, to the front door and out onto the porch. He could hear Flick's voice calling after him as he ran, but Shea was so lost in his grief that he did not know what he was running from or running to, but he just kept running. Down the dirt path in the back of the Inn, he ran and into the small grove of trees and then out again to the clearing where carved stones marked those he loved who had already passed on.
Seeing his wife's stone, Shea stopped and fell to his knees and then flung himself to the ground clutching the grass and dirt into his fists. His words were incoherent as they were spoken through his sobbing and grief and into the dirt that covered his wife.
If there was a curse on the house of Shannara, then it was going to be Shea who would lift it and restore their name. Swearing and vowing to his soul that some how he would not let another of his line suffer what he had to endure!
A/N: Please let me know if you liked this chapter and want me to continue with this story. I have some wonderful ideas to add to this story that came from the song Silver and Cold by AFI…….thus the name of this story for my idea's of Shea's life after the Sword of Shannara and the birth of his grandson Wil….
Chapter 1
The Curse on Shannara
The clock ticked on the mantel in the Inn, while the fire cracked just under it in the hearth. Light footsteps paced back and forth as the minutes turned to an hour and then another hour and another.
The waiting was excruciating that tore at each man's soul who stood staring at the door and praying for the latest bit of information. 'Healers, bah!' thought Shea in almost a curse going through his mind. 'What good are they really but for mending a simple cut or bandaging a sore limb.'
He paced over to the window and pulled back the curtains to peer out over the town that he had know most all of his life. He knew each and every crack and crevice in this town, down each dirt path or cobblestone in this sleepy Valley.
Shea knew that in a couple of hours the sun would be setting, but from the view out of the window one could hardly tell from the thick dismal gray of overcastting clouds. The cold gloominess of the day matched the mood of every man and woman who lived here and especially for himself.
For this being the tale end of summer, one would hardly recognize this as it seemed more like autumn for the cold spell that had set in and so unusual in the Vale. If this were any other summer that he could recall, he would have been sitting out on the porch to catch the slightest hint of a breeze from the stifling hot humid temperature. Every window would have been opened and doors as well, to air out the stickiness from within. The sky would have been a solid blue with a white, piercing-hot sun that would bake the land turning the lush, green grass to a course, dried brown.
But this was not just any summer day it was a day that would be etched in Shea's mind forever. A cursed day just like much of his life had been that lead up to this moment in time. Outside of a handful of happier times such as meeting and marrying his beloved wife, Myra and the birth of his beautiful daughter Shannon. His life that he shared with them seemed to be a blessed gift that should have endured long after his own death. But only a short lived blessing that dangled only eighteen years in his life, a mire tease of time for any man, let alone only a shadow in the life of an elf, in which he was both.
Was he born upon a curse bared by his elven father that he should live only to watch painfully all those he loved slowly being taking away from him? Did Jerle Shannara not die early barely knowing the last of his sons? What of his mother, did she not die also, never seeing him past his youth? He could barely recall the gentleness of her face or the sound of her voice. Then hadn't the dirt of the grave of his own wife only just settle after her death last year from an illness no healer could guess, let alone cure?
But now, was it his beloved daughter's turn? Was she too going to be taken from him and the unborn baby that rest in her womb? Was he just not told of his son-in-laws death just a few hours ago shortly after Flick had found the overturned wagon and his daughter barely alive? What of his dear adopted brother, Flick? He and his wife had longed for a child of their very own, but never in the eighteen years were they able to conceive. Was this too a curse of the house of Shannara that had somehow rubbed off of him and given to Flick? A curse, how many an evil beings had cursed Jerle Shannara and all that followed in his bloodline?
The door in which all focus was upon burst open and startled everyone within. The sound of it brought Shea from the gloominess of his own thoughts as he snapped around to see the healer appear as he shouted at him, "Shea! Get in here at once!" he ordered.
Shea bolted from the window and darted into the room, brushing pass the healer standing in the doorway. The healer grasped Shea's arm firmly and held him in his place as he shut the door. From the serious grim look upon his face, Shea knew what he had to tell him was going to be the worst.
"Shannon is dying now, Shea!" he paused just a moment to let his words sink in. "We have successful delivered her son, but he too is weak and fighting for his life."
Shea's eyes snapped over to the bed to see his daughter lying with the look of death all about her. Her long hair wet and matted rested upon the pillow and her white hands folded upon her chest just over the blankets that covered her. Standing next to the bed was a mid-wife who cradled a small bundle into her arms wrapped tightly in a thick knitted blanket. He listened for a moment for the faintest hint of a baby's wail, but nothing greeted his ears but the raspy sound of his daughter's breath. Snapping his arm away from the healer, Shea rushed to the side of the bed of his daughter and grasped her hand gently to let her know he was there.
The black circles from under her eyes made her white face almost ghostly as she fought for each breath and slowly opened her soft blue eyes to see her father sitting next to her.
"Papa, promise me……." She barely whispered.
"Anything, Shannon." His voice catching up into his throat and his tears stinging his eyes and falling down his cheeks.
"My baby, Papa. Take care of my baby….." her voice slowly drifting from the land of the living to the shadows of death. "I love you, Pa……." Her eyelids closed and her breath was no more.
Shea brought her motionless hand to his lips and kissed it saying, "I love you, Shannon, I love you!" Deep sobs poured through his entire being as he shook from the pain that ripped through his heart and soul.
The healer opened the door to allow those who mourned her to enter and gather around her bed.
Flick stood before Shea and took his hand that held onto his daughter's hand and set his lips upon his adopted brother's brow and then nestled his head next to his. Flick's tears mixed with Shea's as he held onto him weeping openly with him. When Shea places her hand down upon her chest and stood, Flick put his arm around him and led him to the corner of the room. It was Shannon's in-laws who gathered next to her to say their final good-byes.
Shea looked at them as they held each other sobbing and then placed a kiss upon his daughter's brow. They were kindly good folk who had lived in the Valley all of their lives and he had known them and respected them well. They were ten years older than Shea and he remembered how proud they were when their son announced the engagement of their marriage to his daughter. They had loved Shannon and treated her as their own daughter from that moment on. It broke Shea's heart watching them mourn for her and for their own son who would be buried next to her in the upcoming day for their funerals.
The mid-wife slowly approached Shea with the bundle in her arms and she lifted the blanket from off the child's face to show him his new grandson. Blinded with tears, Shea looked down upon the baby and his fair complexion and white downy hair. His eyelashes were closed as he rested in sleep and from under a tiny, button-nose was his pink lips that were puckered in amongst soft, tender, thin-cheeks. It pulled at Shea's heart and he could bare no more, brushing passed the mid-wife and the baby, he dashed out of the door and into the Inn's common room, to the front door and out onto the porch. He could hear Flick's voice calling after him as he ran, but Shea was so lost in his grief that he did not know what he was running from or running to, but he just kept running. Down the dirt path in the back of the Inn, he ran and into the small grove of trees and then out again to the clearing where carved stones marked those he loved who had already passed on.
Seeing his wife's stone, Shea stopped and fell to his knees and then flung himself to the ground clutching the grass and dirt into his fists. His words were incoherent as they were spoken through his sobbing and grief and into the dirt that covered his wife.
If there was a curse on the house of Shannara, then it was going to be Shea who would lift it and restore their name. Swearing and vowing to his soul that some how he would not let another of his line suffer what he had to endure!
A/N: Please let me know if you liked this chapter and want me to continue with this story. I have some wonderful ideas to add to this story that came from the song Silver and Cold by AFI…….thus the name of this story for my idea's of Shea's life after the Sword of Shannara and the birth of his grandson Wil….