The Dark

CHAPTER Thirteen



Arkarian


The beating doesn’t last long. It doesn’t have to. Within minutes of their kicking and punching at my limbs, back and head, it’s obvious that much more of this would finish me off. And one thing I’m quickly learning in this place is that no one dares disobey the Goddess’s wishes or commands. Lathenia doesn’t want me dead – yet. And so the wren pull back.

I try to take a deep breath, but I think one or two of my ribs are broken. There is internal bleeding for sure. Blood surges into my mouth. I cough, which near kills me with pain alone. A fat globule of blood spills out on to the stone floor.

One of the wren steps back as the blood pools near his foot. He flaps his wings once and lifts into the air. ‘Argh! He’s going to die. It was your kick to his chest that did it!’

Two of them squabble for a minute, each one accusing the other of delivering the fatal blow. The boy yells at them to shut up and steps over for his first look. I can’t see the expression on his face, as my sight is blurred, but I do hear his chest heave as he groans with a sound like repulsion, and oddly also like shame. Although this last thought is probably an exaggeration caused by that last hit to my head.

‘Put him in the back of the cart. And be careful of his wounds. Do you hear me now? Be careful!’

His orders are heartening. And there’s something in his voice, a trace of compassion if I’m not mistaken. But it’s hard to tell if the boy has the possibility of becoming an ally.

The wren lift me and carry me outside. The short journey to the cart is agony as one wren lifts me higher than another, and one almost drops me. All thoughts fly from my head and I must lose consciousness, for when I wake, the cart is moving, and the wren are groaning and complaining amongst themselves how weary they are. With no sun, it’s difficult to tell how long the journey is taking. It’s impossible to measure when a new day has begun.

Many times I pass into a state of oblivion. Strange how in these half-wakeful moments, memories return to me. Memories I thought lay deeply buried, of other beatings at the hands of those charged with my protection, surrogate parents who treated me more like a slave than a son. And as always when these memories force themselves to my consciousness, so too does an element of anger. Why was I given into the service of others? After my mother died, why didn’t my father come forward to claim me, instead of allowing me to become an orphan?

The cart stops, snapping me awake. And with the sudden stillness pain returns in just about every part of my body. I stretch out my legs, testing them for broken bones. The joints at my hips and ankles feel numb and dislocated, though the bones themselves I think are intact. One thing I know for sure: right now I would be incapable of escape, even if an opportunity confronted me. Where would I escape to anyway? To run heedlessly into this complete darkness would be pointless.

The wren carry me to a waiting boat, where they lower me to the floor. My body hits freezing metal. But only when all four wren are also inside does the boy release the rope and climb in. The boat sways as the wren find their places. They look nervous and try to keep their bodies near the centre.

‘You two,’ the boy orders. ‘Pick up those oars and start rowing.’

Grumbling, two wren take up the metal oars. It’s an effort and they heave and complain the whole time. A thump against the boat makes us sway dangerously. All four wren scream out in fear as a flash of fire lights the water for a brief moment. It’s then I see the large chunks of ice all over the surface. The wren manoeuvre the boat between these great chunks, being careful to avoid them as best they can, screaming at each other when they draw too close. They scream even harder when a splash threatens to spill over into the boat.

I try to block out their obvious fear and attempt to change position as the touch of metal is icy cold against my skin. The boy notices, and, as if it affects him on some level, removes his cloak and wraps it around me. He then offers his water flask. I take a sip and thank him.

He makes an irritated sound in his throat. ‘Don’t get excited, I’m just a soldier doing my duty.’

Even in my beaten state I can’t help but get excited – by the fact that a soldier of Chaos appears to have a conscience. ‘You …’ I struggle to get my breath, ‘are different.’

‘I am as mortal as you.’

‘And just as afraid.’

The boy takes offence. ‘I’m not afraid, not of you.’

His hesitation speaks louder than any words. It gives me a surge of hope.

‘Well, I am afraid.’

These roughly spoken words have me staring up in surprise. Especially as they come from the mouth of one of the wren. The other three snort and grunt a grudging agreement.

The boy thumps the wren’s thick curved shoulder. ‘Why are you afraid? You are kings in this land.’

The wren scoffs loudly. ‘I tell you what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of that.’

My eyes follow the direction of his outstretched hand. Though impossible to see through the dark, I gather the wren is pointing to our destination.

‘I’ve heard some things about that island,’ the boy says.

‘It’s not the island. There’s a temple there.’

The other wren snort and nod their heads.

‘I’ve seen this temple,’ the boy says. ‘It’s big, I’ll give you that, like nothing I’ve seen before. But hardly terrifying. It has a … a peaceful feel.’

The wren visibly shudder and hiss at his description.

‘Tell me,’ the boy asks. ‘What is it about this temple that has you shaking in your boots?’

All four are quick to reply, their words falling over each other, making it hard to understand them.

‘It’s sacred ground,’ one explains. ‘Inhabited by one of Them.’

‘Are you talking about the ghost that lives there?’

The wren mutter and curse amongst themselves.

One looks up at the boy. ‘We’ll not go there.’

Another one adds, ‘Not one foot.’

The boy frowns. ‘But we can’t leave him on the beach!’

All four of them make hissing sounds and shake their heads. ‘What’s the difference where we leave him? He’s still going to die, whether in the temple, or on the beach when the lake swells.’

‘Listen, the Goddess doesn’t want this man dead yet. I can’t fail her again. She’ll …’ He hesitates, his eyes shifting over me, trying to decide whether he’s said too much already. ‘She has promised me a lot of things for my loyalty.’

The boat hits solid ground and the boy goes to jump off. One of the wren lunges out to grip his ankle. ‘Beware the lake!’

The boy nods and secures the boat to a mooring. Soon I’m carried to the beach and dumped there. The moment my body hits the rocky surface, the wren clamber as fast as they can back into the boat.

The boy looks at me and how near I am to the water’s edge, then at the wren. ‘The tide is coming in and he is too weak to walk to the temple.’

‘Forget him. We won’t hesitate to leave without you. Get in! Quickly, the lake is swelling!’

The boy ignores the wren’s threat, and taking his own initiative, helps me walk to higher ground. ‘The temple is not far now and you are over the worst of the climb.’ He turns from me, searching the ground around us. He comes back with an old broken branch, thrusting it into my hand. ‘Here, lean on this and keep walking away from the lake.’

‘You have a kind soul,’ I tell him.

‘I’m not doing this for you. My soul belongs to the Goddess,’ he says, clearly annoyed, perhaps for having revealed so much of himself. He spins away.

‘Wait,’ I call out. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

For a second I feel the boy hesitate. ‘She calls me Bastian.’

‘Yes, but what is your real name?’

He looks over his shoulder at me, but doesn’t answer. Then he says, ‘I will tell you, if you answer me one question.’

‘Anything.’

‘Why didn’t you select me to be one of the Named?’

His question is so unexpected I find myself speechless. He takes one look at my open mouth and turns from me to the waiting boat. I follow it until its torchlight becomes a pin-prick in the distance. Then it too is gone.

And now I am alone. I have to find shelter, even if it’s with a ‘ghost’, or whatever it is that has the wren running scared. Something about the incoming tide is more dangerous than the below-freezing temperature. But my eyes are confronted with nothing but darkness. Even with the branch for support I stumble and fall several times, and the effort it takes to rise again exhausts me. My mind drifts near unconsciousness. But I haven’t lived six hundred years to take my last breath on a desolate beach in total isolation. I try to keep my mind active, and recall that night in France when Isabel dozed with her head against my chest. That night I kissed the top of her head. Had she been awake, what would she have thought? Would she have turned her face up to mine? Her image brings an even sharper pain to my ribs than their fractures do. She has to be spending a lot of time with Ethan, probably working on a rescue plan. She loved Ethan not so long ago. Does she still? Thoughts of Isabel with Ethan have me sinking into the freezing rocks.

A soft light pierces the darkness. Am I awake, or have I drifted into some miserable delusional state? I blink to clear my vision. Someone – or something – approaches. As it draws nearer I see it’s a girl coming. A young girl. She’s wearing a white gown to mid-calf. But the strangest part about her is that her skin looks as if it’s luminous. And stranger still, I think I can see straight through her!

She comes right up to me and tilts her head. ‘You’re Arkarian.’

It’s not a question. This girl knows who I am. And now, looking upon her angelic face, framed by a head of black bouncing curls, softly illuminated by her white gown and gently glowing skin, I recognise her too. ‘My dear little Sera, is it really you? What are you doing here in this nightmarish place?’

She giggles and squeezes her fists, shaking them in the air and jumping around in a circle. Eventually she calms down, a serious frown marring her innocent youthful features. ‘You have to get up and come with me. The ice waters are swelling. And it’s going to rain. Look!’

I glance up, but can’t see a thing. ‘Can you see in this darkness?’

‘No. But I can tell.’ She points to her head. ‘My brain just tells me. So hurry, Arkarian. You have to get under cover.’ She urges me upwards with her hands.

A thought hits me. ‘Are you an angel?’

She laughs, doubling over. ‘You won’t find an angel in this horrible place.’

Using the branch I pull myself up, and Sera urges me to put one foot before the other. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘To the temple of course. You silly thing. Where else?’

I have no idea, so I stay silent.

‘The temple is safe. You’ll be warm there, and I can take care of you.’

‘Do you have soothing balms?’

‘I have nothing!’ she pouts sulkily. ‘Except water that Bastian brings me.’

‘Bastian looks after you?’

Her slender shoulders lift and she seems to lose concentration for a moment. ‘Sometimes he visits. But never if Marduke is around. Oooh!’ she cries in a shrill voice. ‘How I hate him! And his ugly beasts!’

‘The wren are afraid of you.’

She shivers. ‘And I am afraid of them. But I know it’s really the temple they fear. It protects me from them. A long time ago people lived here, you know. It’s an old story.’

‘Please tell me about it.’

‘It was a beautiful world. The temple was a place of worship. A place where the people could speak to their god and he would visit with them. But then the dark came and covered all the land. They built the lake around the temple to protect themselves.’

‘What happened to these people?’

She shrugs her thin shoulders. ‘They needed their sun to exist. And when the darkness was complete, everything started to die. After a while they had no food to eat. They grew weak. Evil grew strong. Eventually they disappeared. After a long time without people, many more creatures came to live here.’

‘The wren?’

‘Yes, and others too. Then the flowers started to grow.’

‘Flowers?’

‘Black ones.’ She points over her shoulder. But without light it’s impossible to even estimate where she’s pointing.

‘How did you come by this story?’

‘The flowers told me. They told me a lot of old stories.’

While the idea of flowers ‘talking’ sounds strange, who am I to doubt? I know nothing of this world’s inhabitants, except for the wren; and they’re certainly unusual.

‘Have you been safe here, Sera?’

‘I’ve been lonely, but I’d rather live alone than with those ugly beasts. As long as they think I’m a ghost, they let me be.’

Her words make me give a little laugh inside. I pay for it with pain from my broken ribs. ‘Pardon me for saying, Sera, but … you are a ghost.’ Her crestfallen face has me remembering that Sera was only a child of ten when Marduke murdered her. What does she remember of her other life? What has her time here done to her sanity? ‘You do know that you died in the mortal world thirteen years ago?’

She sighs, the outer edges of her pursed lips sinking downwards. ‘I know I died. But I didn’t know it was so long ago! I’m so old now!’

I begin to understand Sera’s problem. ‘You’re trapped here. Your soul can’t move on.’

Suddenly she grins, and her eyes become as luminous as her skin for a brief moment. ‘But now everything will be well!’

I stumble on a rock and almost fall, but somehow Sera helps me maintain my balance. How she does this is amazing. I can feel her touch me, yet her hands, her arms in fact, go partially through me. ‘Thank you,’ I say, then ask, ‘But how can my coming to this island be good for you? I’m trapped too now.’

We start walking again, slowly. ‘When they come to rescue you, they’ll rescue me too.’

Her words make me go still. I don’t want Isabel or Ethan, or anyone, to come. It could mean their death, or entrapment. But now here’s Sera. She’s been stuck in this place for a long time. Doesn’t she deserve a chance of freedom?

At my hesitation she frowns, her eyes narrowing to the point of almost disappearing. ‘They will come, Arkarian. My brother will come. And he will bring the girl.’

She skips ahead of me. I wish I could share her excitement. My mind’s a battlefield right now. ‘How can you be so certain Ethan and Isabel will come?’

She comes running back. ‘Oh I’ve made sure of it. After all the years of trying, I’ve finally reached someone.’

‘Who have you reached, Sera?’

‘The girl. The girl with the psychic skills.’

‘Do you mean Isabel?’

She shrugs her little shoulders. ‘I tried to reach my brother, and my mother many, many times. But it didn’t work. Ethan would scream like I whipped him or something and block me out. And my mother would only cry. But the girl, the girl you call Isabel. The one that loves my brother. She will come. I have shown her. I have shown her the temple and …’

Sera’s words drone on, but my thoughts lock on to two things: now that a link has been made, Isabel will do anything she can to come here, the connection will strike her deeply; and, according to Sera, Isabel is still in love with Ethan.