The Dark

The Dark - By Marianne Curley


Prologue



She screams. And her scream is heard from one end of the universe to the other. The words, ‘They will suffer,’ are wrenched from between purple lips. Lathenia, the Goddess of Chaos, stares through her sphere to the past. A sphere she uses to create enough chaos to alter the present and produce a future that will have the world at her feet.

As she watches, a young soldier of the Guard pierces her lover’s throat with his dagger for the second time. She screams again. How can her soldiers stand by and allow the only man she has ever loved to die? ‘How!’

Lathenia claws at the crystal with unnaturally-long fingers, leaving permanent indents. Finally, her body shudders, in time with her love’s last breath.

Silence fills the chamber. In slow motion her head lifts and scours the marble walls. Her silver eyes flash the colour of fire. ‘They will suffer!’

A shrunken man, elderly, with eyes that have seen far, and for too long, approaches carefully from behind. ‘Your Highness, might I have a word?’

Lathenia turns. Even in the midst of grief, her ethereal beauty cannot be concealed. ‘What is it, Keziah? Can’t you see what’s happening down there? They have killed him. Such a cunning ploy, to tempt him with the image of his own daughter! It is Arkarian’s plot. He is the mastermind of everything they do. He has tormented me for six hundred years too long!’

Keziah has seen his mistress angry before – many times – but this … this seeming loss of control is new to him. He shivers. Grief and passion make a volatile mix.

‘Tell me, Keziah, did Marduke not worship me? Why should the image of his daughter, a child he hasn’t seen for twelve years, distract him? It was a trick! What caused his blindness?’ Her eyes lower and she mutters, ‘Perhaps he still loved the woman who bore her.’

Keziah shrugs and tilts his head, snow-white hair drapes across one elevated, bony shoulder. ‘I know not, Highness, but now is not the time to doubt Marduke’s loyalty. He proved many times in the twelve years that he was your most adoring servant. You must return his mortal body, and do it quickly. Remember, he is in the past.’

She nods. Red hair, like silk woven straight from a caterpillar’s cocoon, drifts across her flawless skin. As she straightens to her full height, towering almost half a body length over Keziah’s ageing limbs, her fingers clench into tight fists. Returning to the sphere, she summons Marduke.

Even before his lifeless body completely forms before her, the Goddess moves to the crystal table and throws herself across his massive chest. Blood, still oozing from the knife wound to his throat, touches her hand. She wails, her grief a tangible entity in the circular chamber.

Once again Keziah approaches, and having known the Goddess his entire lifetime, a mere fraction of hers, he timidly touches her shoulder.

‘What is it!’

Keziah clears his dry and withered throat, ‘The others, Highness.’

Lathenia pierces him with blazing eyes. Keziah’s heart misses two beats in a row. ‘The injured, Mistress. We can’t let them die in the past, for they could all be healed in our chambers and be of use to you again. They are your soldiers and loyal to the cause.’

She nods, and Keziah’s lungs exhale. Returning to the sphere, she waves her hand over the crystal. The room fills with the sound of moaning, the heat of mortal flesh, the scent of sweat and blood as the Goddess’s soldiers materialise. One of them, a young man, approaches. He stops mid stride at the look in his Goddess’s eyes. It is a look of such distress, he feels that to continue holding her gaze would be a physical intrusion. He bows his head deeply, ‘Your Highness, what should we do with the injured?’

She flicks her hand at him. ‘Have you no sense, Bastian? Organise those still standing to carry the injured to the healing chambers.’

Bastian flicks an uncomfortable glance at the two lifeless bodies amongst them. ‘What about the dead?’ he whispers.

‘Leave them. Their souls are already wandering the middle realm.’

Bastian cringes at the thought. Though he knows little of this place called the middle realm, he knows it is another world entirely. Once, he thought there was only earth. He has learned a lot in his time with the Order. More than he could ever have learned if he had chosen to remain unenlightened.

As Bastian organises the removal of the injured, he realises one soldier is missing.

‘She has turned traitor.’ Lathenia verbalises his suspicions. ‘She will die.’

‘I’ll find her.’

‘Forget her for now. The Guard will protect her and keep her hidden for a long time. But your chance will come.’

With the last of the injured removed, Bastian makes for the door, but Lathenia calls him back. ‘Stay, I must talk with you.’

Bastian inhales a deep breath, his hands clasped tightly before him. They’re shaking and he doesn’t want his Goddess to see this weakness. He has never seen her so distraught before. Losing Marduke appears to have destabilised her. Although familiar with her usual violent temper, her added distress brings a stab of terror to his heart. But what could he have done to stop that blade from repeatedly slashing the master’s throat? It was as ugly as it was incisive. It was also skilful. ‘Yes, Highness?’

‘Tell me what happened.’

Green eyes widen for an instant, then flick briefly around the smooth white walls, and he swallows. Surely she must already know, having seen everything through her sphere, or why would Marduke’s body be lying before her now on that narrow crystal table?

At his hesitation Lathenia screams her words from across the room, ‘Tell me how the best of my soldiers can be defeated by so few of theirs! Tell me, Bastian, the name of the one whose hand held the lethal dagger!’

‘He … he appeared young, Highness.’

‘You are forgetting that while in the past, all are disguised.’

‘Yes, but … his eyes. There was something about his eyes. And well, as you know, eyes don’t change—’

She cuts him off with a wave of her hand. Of course she knows how it works. Wasn’t she the one who started it all? Conceived first, she should have been born first! Sharing the womb with Lorian had been difficult from the start. He continually manipulated her position until her life-cord became wrapped around her neck. But even this inconvenience couldn’t stop her from claiming her rightful first position. Except Lorian shoved her to the rear at the very moment of birth, forcing his way past her into the loving arms of a very proud father. So she’d had to find a way to overcome the obstacle of being born second. She spent centuries figuring out a way to cause enough chaos to disrupt her brother’s ministrations. She learned that chaos gave her power. She found it by tampering with the past. And the stronger she became, the more she understood anything was possible, including total domination of all the worlds.

She started gathering an army of similar-minded followers, and built a time-shift labyrinth with bricks that could not be seen by human eyes. She called her army the Order. Others called it the Order of Chaos. But as her powers surged, so did that of her opponents. Assembling a Tribunal with Lorian at its head, they formed a guard against her. Whenever her soldiers used the labyrinth to venture into the past, so did the soldiers of the Guard, causing her to fail many times. Needing a sanctuary that could be safe from both mortal and immortal hands, she started constructing a city. But Lorian revealed hidden powers to usurp her. He stole her ideas, her designs. The construction became the Citadel. Today, her soldiers only use the adjoining labyrinth, where time travellers from both alliances are endowed with the special knowledge needed before venturing on their journeys. Lorian controls the Citadel, but she wants it back! And this time she will fortify it so that no one, not even her power-hungry brother, will steal it from her. And at last she will rule over all!

Lathenia’s eyes linger on Bastian. She remembers how he came to be a part of her Order – a lonely child, living in poverty with parents constantly feuding. How he wanted to scream at them for a change, instead of cowering beneath his makeshift bed or inside a narrow closet with his hands thrust tightly over both ears. Why couldn’t he have a home like the other children at school? Why couldn’t his parents stop screaming at each other? Why did they both drink so much? But most of all he wanted to control his world, and he wanted the pleasures that he sensed the world could give him.

He also had power. So she waited and watched. The day he ran off into the woods, tears of pain and hurt and frustration streaming down his face, she found him. It was his eighth birthday, the day his parents decided to separate. She offered him everything he dreamed of. And he accepted greedily. She gave him a new name and taught him many skills. And while he continued to live with his father, the man remained a drunkard and oblivious to his son’s otherworldly life. And her victory was sweet, for here was one soldier her brother would not get his hands on.

As her thoughts return to the present, she notices Bastian’s hands shaking, and wonders if she made a mistake. But no, he has been true to the Order from the day of his Initiation, eight years ago. It is why he is so highly ranked among her elite. But today … today, he let her down. Without any warning she slaps his face. The force of it sends Bastian to the floor. ‘You should have done more!’

He gets up. ‘There was nothing—’

‘There is never nothing—!’

Bastian thinks quickly. He glimpses Keziah. ‘I think there was a wizard amongst them.’

This suggestion seizes her attention. ‘What did you say?’

‘A wizard, your Highness.’

‘Explain.’

‘The boy worked some sort of magic. He created an image of a girl. It distracted—’

She cuts him off with a wave of her hand, but her eyes narrow as she contemplates Bastian’s theory. She soon dismisses it with a shake of her head. ‘The closest the Guard have to a wizard today is a man called Arkarian. Watch out for him, Bastian, for he is their jewel. Without him, they are nothing. And while he is highly skilled, even he cannot perform magic. Keziah is the last of a dying breed. There was another who could perform magic once, but, threatened, Lorian disposed of him.’

‘How will I know this “jewel”, Highness?’

One finely arched eyebrow lifts. ‘You will know Arkarian by his blue hair and violet eyes. Both are impossible to miss in the mortal world, should he have reason to surface. He lives in the Citadel now, but his working chambers are somewhere around Veridian.’

‘What would you have me do to him when I find him?’

She laughs, a mocking sound, causing Bastian’s hands to start shaking again. ‘Do you think Arkarian will come knocking on your door? He has lived for six hundred years and gained many skills in that time, so do not underestimate his abilities. And do not be fooled by the number of years he has lived. He stopped ageing when he turned eighteen. Know this, Bastian, time has not affected Arkarian in any way except to change the colour of his hair and eyes. Even if he did reveal himself to you, you would fail miserably, just as you failed to save—’ She stops abruptly, caught by an idea that lifts her spirits as a plan for retaliation begins to form. ‘Wait.’ She stares at Bastian with the directness that makes his eyes flutter to the side. ‘Perhaps you can be of use, after all your miserable mistakes today.’

He bows his head deeply. ‘I’m at your mercy, Highness. Tell me what to do.’

She looks directly into the boy’s eyes: his whole body shudders. ‘Without revealing your allegiance, I want you to bring me the identity of one of the Named.’

‘The Named, Highness?’

‘Yes, and don’t look at me so blankly. The Named are the select group of nine members of the Guard. The elite branch of the Guardians of Time. An army originally formed to protect the earth from … well, me.’ She gives a mocking laugh. ‘The Named, according to the Prophecy, are the soldiers who will go into battle against me. In the meantime it is their task to protect Veridian. One day they will have a king, but for now they have Arkarian.’

Lathenia gives Bastian a thoughtful look. ‘There are many branches of the Guardians of Time, each one headed by a member of their Tribunal. It is these Tribunal members who govern a sector of the earth using their own soldiers. Combined, they work as a council. But they are fools, Bastian, for Lorian makes all the decisions.’

He nods, understanding, and she says, ‘Why do you think so many of my soldiers and theirs come from that small town called Angel Falls?’

Bastian’s head shakes. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Because Angel Falls shelters Veridian, and Veridian is everything! It has power, Bastian. It was for a time the most powerful city in all the worlds, and so far advanced your earthly technology comes nowhere near it, not even today.’

With difficulty Bastian meets his Goddess’s eyes. ‘Where is this city? Can I see it?’

‘The city is under the lake at Angel Falls. It is one more thing that Lorian keeps hidden from me. But one day – soon – I will find the way in, and its secrets will be mine.’

‘Is there something in particular you want from this city, Highness?’

Lathenia’s eyes flash at the young man. He is more astute than she realised. Perhaps his other power is finally starting to reveal itself. ‘There is a key, in the shape of an eight-sided pyramid. If you find it, Bastian, I would make you a king, and your realm would be immense. But heed my warning – the key has the power to kill any mortal that touches it.’

Bastian swallows deeply, his mind focused on the concept of becoming royalty. The idea of his own realm sparks visions of grandeur. And now that Marduke is … well, gone, maybe his own talents will be more noticed. ‘It must be an important key, Highness. Does it open a chest of treasures?’

She scoffs at the boy’s naivety. ‘Perhaps one could call it that. But it’s not the sort of treasure that will bring you wealth, Bastian. It is a treasury of weapons. The finest and most powerful to be found in all the worlds.’

In the ensuing silence Lathenia’s eyes wander back across the room to the still body of her loved one. Bastian watches as the Goddess’s hand, with her unusual fingers, splays across the blood-stained chest of the Order’s highest-ranked master. ‘You must forget the key for now, Bastian. And forget Arkarian too. I will deal with him. You don’t have the power. Not yet at least. And he is much more highly skilled than the average Guard. I have a plan for him that I will spin into action very soon. But I do have a mission for you. An important one.’

‘I am nothing but your humble servant.’

‘Bring me the name of the one whose hand held the dagger that stole Marduke’s breath.’ Spinning her head, Lathenia pins Bastian with ice-cold eyes, ‘He may even attend your earthly school! Find him! Do you understand, Bastian?’

Bastian nods and takes a deep breath. ‘Yes, Highness. I am to bring you the name of Marduke’s murderer.’

Somewhat comforted by the very thought of revenge, Lathenia’s attention returns to Marduke’s slain body before her. A wave of grief grips her as she gently runs her fingers over the disfigured half of his face, the empty eye socket, the vacant side of his mouth, old scars from a previous battle with one of the Named. She kisses the cavities softly. ‘The world will pay for this death. They will feel my grief. They will see my rage.’

‘And so they should, Highness,’ Keziah makes himself known once more.

She stares at the shrunken old man, seeing he has more to say.

‘But perhaps, Mistress, for a small price …’ He makes a money motion with the fingers of his left hand, ‘something can be done to ease your pain.’

Her shoulders lift, her chin rises. ‘Speak, Keziah. For your life it had better be worth the words that flow from your shrivelled lips.’

He coughs into his cupped hand, his chest rattling and whistling. Catching his breath again he says, ‘If you are prepared to make a journey in search of your beloved’s soul—’

‘I would do anything to save him. Explain yourself. And quickly, my patience is sorely tested this day.’

‘The middle realm, Highness. The place Marduke’s soul wanders, looking for a white bridge that will lead him to his final destiny.’

‘Of course! He died within a mortal body while still in the past! If we reach him in time, Keziah, before he crosses that bridge …’ Her words drift away, but her meaning remains clear – there is a chance Marduke will live again. The very thought makes her immortal heart lurch.

‘We will need your assistance to venture there, Highness. And perhaps your hounds could be of use to find him quickly.’

‘I won’t need my hounds to find him,’ she dismisses. ‘I would know him in any world.’

‘There’s just one more thing,’ Keziah says, hesitating.

‘Go on, old man! Hurry!’

‘Your voice must be the one of his soul-mate, or he will not return.’

She smiles, and without answering, transports them into a grey and twisted forest, Bastian included for the experience.

With the sudden drop in temperature, Bastian shivers. ‘Are you sure Marduke’s soul is in this place, Keziah?’

Keziah snorts as the Goddess moves on ahead, as if she were one of her own hounds drawn to the scent of an injured rabbit. ‘Do you doubt me, Bastian?’ Keziah replies.

‘I just don’t like it here. It’s all so …’

‘Dull?’

‘I was going to say colourless.’ His eyes shift up and around. ‘How far to the—’ He doesn’t finish his thought. Instead his eyes grow into huge orbs as they become fixed and staring. Suddenly he screams and throws both hands up to protect his face.

Keziah notices the boy’s distress. ‘Clear your thoughts!’ he instructs him. ‘Your fears will manifest into solid forms in this world.’

Slowly Bastian’s hands lower. When he looks this time, the snakes are gone, and he sighs with relief.

Keziah gives Bastian a closer examination. ‘You had better stay close. When we find Marduke, our return will be swift. You wouldn’t want to be left behind. I doubt the Goddess will come back for you.’

Bastian’s eyes widen and he rubs his arms to try and warm them. ‘I just hope we find Marduke soon.’ He pulls down a twisted silver vine blocking his path, and finds he has to run to catch up. Even ancient Keziah, with his rattling chest, is way ahead of him already.

It seems like hours and many kilometres later before they stop. Though how this is possible Bastian cannot fathom. Just up ahead he sees the broad back of a large, hunchbacked creature, but doesn’t take much notice as he has seen many odd-looking creatures these past few hours. Some were terrifying, others simply piteous. Blowing on his half-frozen fingertips in an attempt to stop frost bite from setting in, Bastian tries to take in his surroundings. A broad river flows alongside him. Grey, of course. A vast valley sprawls seemingly forever beyond its shores. He suddenly wonders why they have stopped, when he hears his Goddess call out the one word he has been waiting these past hours to hear, ‘Marduke!’

The hunchbacked creature up ahead stops and slowly turns. Bastian realises with a sudden thump deep in his chest, that this creature – this beast – is in fact Marduke, changed beyond recognition. The hideous sight makes him step backwards, losing his balance against a grey boulder. ‘Your Highness,’ he hisses, attempting to regain his composure. He tries to speak again, but finds he must first moisten his lips with a tongue turned dry. ‘Your Highness, are you … are you sure you wish to return … that?’

She doesn’t answer, and Bastian watches as she gulps deep in her throat and moisture fills her eyes. He gasps softly, his heart thundering even more loudly against his rib cage. The distraught look on his Goddess’s face – the tears! – something he has never seen on her before, never thought her capable of, shocks him.

Finally she breathes, ‘They will pay dearly for this. They will pay with blood, with fear, and with many lives.’