whispered Haroun, ‘the shadow’s movements don’t match the man’s.’ Rashid silenced him with a glance, but what he had said was the truth: the shadow plainly possessed a will of its own. It dodged and ducked, it stretched itself out until it was as long as a shadow cast by the last rays of the setting sun, and then it bunched itself as tight as a shade at noon, when the sun is directly overhead. Its sword lengthened and shrank, its body twisted and altered constantly. How could one ever hope to defeat such an opponent, wondered Haroun.
The shadow was attached to the warrior at the feet, but other than that seemed to be entirely free. It was as though its life in a land of darkness, of being a shadow concealed in shadows, had given it powers undreamt of by the shadows of a conventionally lit world. It was an awesome sight.
The warrior was a striking figure, too. His long, sleek hair hung to his waist in a thick ponytail. His face was painted green, with scarlet lips, exaggerated black brows and eyes, and white stripes on his cheeks. His bulky battle-dress of leather guards and thick thigh- and shoulder-pads made him seem even larger than he truly was. And his athleticism and swordsmanship were beyond anything Haroun had ever seen. No matter what tricks his shadow played, the warrior was its equal. And as they fought each other, standing toe to toe, Haroun began to think of their combat as a dance of great beauty and grace, a dance danced in perfect silence, because the music was playing inside the dancers’ heads.
Then he glimpsed the warrior’s eyes, and a chill struck at his heart. What terrifying eyes they were! Instead of whites, they had blacks ; and the irises were grey as twilight, and the pupils were white as milk. ‘No wonder the Chupwalas like the dark,’ Haroun understood. ‘They must be blind as bats in the sunlight, because their eyes are the wrong way round, like a film negative that somebody forgot to print.’
As he watched the Shadow Warrior’s martial dance, Haroun thought about this strange adventure in which he had become involved. ‘How many opposites are at war in this battle between Gup and Chup!’ he marvelled. ‘Gup is bright and Chup is dark. Gup is warm and Chup is freezing cold. Gup is all chattering and noise, whereas Chup is silent as a shadow. Guppees love the Ocean, Chupwalas try to poison it. Guppees love Stories, and Speech; Chupwalas, it seems, hate these things just as strongly.’ It was a war between Love (of the Ocean, or the Princess) and Death (which was what Cultmaster Khattam-Shud had in mind for the Ocean, and for the Princess, too).
‘But it’s not as simple as that,’ he told himself, because the dance of the Shadow Warrior showed him that silence had its own grace and beauty (just as speech could be graceless and ugly); and that Action could be as noble as Words; and that creatures of darkness could be as lovely as the children of the light. ‘If Guppees and Chupwalas didn’t hate each other so,’ he thought, ‘they might actually find each other pretty interesting. Opposites attract, as they say.’
Just at that moment the Shadow Warrior stiffened; turned his strange eyes upon the bush behind which the Guppee party was hiding; and then sent his Shadow stretching out towards them. It reared up over them, holding its immensely elongated sword. The Shadow Warrior (sheathing his sword, which had no effect on the Shadow) walked slowly over to their hiding place. His hands were moving furiously in something like a dance of rage or hate. Faster and faster, more and more emphatic grew his hand movements; and then, in what might have been disgust, he let his hands drop, and began (horror of horrors!) to speak.
Chapter 8
Shadow Warriors
The effort of producing sounds twisted the Shadow Warrior’s already-striking face (green skin, scarlet lips, white-striped cheeks, etc.) into dreadful, contorted shapes. ‘Gogogol,’ he gurgled.
The shadow was attached to the warrior at the feet, but other than that seemed to be entirely free. It was as though its life in a land of darkness, of being a shadow concealed in shadows, had given it powers undreamt of by the shadows of a conventionally lit world. It was an awesome sight.
The warrior was a striking figure, too. His long, sleek hair hung to his waist in a thick ponytail. His face was painted green, with scarlet lips, exaggerated black brows and eyes, and white stripes on his cheeks. His bulky battle-dress of leather guards and thick thigh- and shoulder-pads made him seem even larger than he truly was. And his athleticism and swordsmanship were beyond anything Haroun had ever seen. No matter what tricks his shadow played, the warrior was its equal. And as they fought each other, standing toe to toe, Haroun began to think of their combat as a dance of great beauty and grace, a dance danced in perfect silence, because the music was playing inside the dancers’ heads.
Then he glimpsed the warrior’s eyes, and a chill struck at his heart. What terrifying eyes they were! Instead of whites, they had blacks ; and the irises were grey as twilight, and the pupils were white as milk. ‘No wonder the Chupwalas like the dark,’ Haroun understood. ‘They must be blind as bats in the sunlight, because their eyes are the wrong way round, like a film negative that somebody forgot to print.’
As he watched the Shadow Warrior’s martial dance, Haroun thought about this strange adventure in which he had become involved. ‘How many opposites are at war in this battle between Gup and Chup!’ he marvelled. ‘Gup is bright and Chup is dark. Gup is warm and Chup is freezing cold. Gup is all chattering and noise, whereas Chup is silent as a shadow. Guppees love the Ocean, Chupwalas try to poison it. Guppees love Stories, and Speech; Chupwalas, it seems, hate these things just as strongly.’ It was a war between Love (of the Ocean, or the Princess) and Death (which was what Cultmaster Khattam-Shud had in mind for the Ocean, and for the Princess, too).
‘But it’s not as simple as that,’ he told himself, because the dance of the Shadow Warrior showed him that silence had its own grace and beauty (just as speech could be graceless and ugly); and that Action could be as noble as Words; and that creatures of darkness could be as lovely as the children of the light. ‘If Guppees and Chupwalas didn’t hate each other so,’ he thought, ‘they might actually find each other pretty interesting. Opposites attract, as they say.’
Just at that moment the Shadow Warrior stiffened; turned his strange eyes upon the bush behind which the Guppee party was hiding; and then sent his Shadow stretching out towards them. It reared up over them, holding its immensely elongated sword. The Shadow Warrior (sheathing his sword, which had no effect on the Shadow) walked slowly over to their hiding place. His hands were moving furiously in something like a dance of rage or hate. Faster and faster, more and more emphatic grew his hand movements; and then, in what might have been disgust, he let his hands drop, and began (horror of horrors!) to speak.
Chapter 8
Shadow Warriors
The effort of producing sounds twisted the Shadow Warrior’s already-striking face (green skin, scarlet lips, white-striped cheeks, etc.) into dreadful, contorted shapes. ‘Gogogol,’ he gurgled.
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