The Dark Rider

CHAPTER Thirteen



Paul’s scream ended as everything went dark, and a searing pain arced through his body sending his muscles into uncontrollable spasms. Then the pain was gone and waves of pins and needles swept through him with an intensity he had never experienced before. His body was changing, his bones becoming denser. Ligaments, tendons, and muscle fibers multiplied and strengthened. At the same time a doorway opened within his mind and now a torrent of raw energy flooded through him, filling every pore of his being with tainted fire, and something was answering within him.

Rising from the depths of his subconscious, the rider came for him, flowing into his body and mind, assimilating thoughts and memories with his. Paul’s mind struggled to cope, teetering on the edge of madness. Then new neural pathways forged themselves throughout his brain. His subconscious accepted the memories and adapted, learning how to access and interpret them as his own. Within the torrent of power that swirled around him Paul and the rider became one, and with this came knowledge.

Suddenly he knew how to interpret and harness the tainted energy that flowed everywhere as waves of darkness. He saw the land entwined within a web of death and life, saw how he could sense living things and their thoughts and desires. He grasped how to filter the noise, how to read what he wanted to read, to see and manipulate the very reality of it, to command nature itself. He saw the strength of the dark energy, how it weakened the energy of life, how it was winning against it. Then the images came, tumbling into his consciousness. His mind worked to organize them and they became memories, and one memory, the rider’s last, rose to the surface and burst across his consciousness.

A hut in the forest under crimson clouds.

Fleeing on horseback, his lover pressed against him.

The air suddenly full of arrows and steel.

The terror in her eyes as she is torn from him.

Searing pain as blades pierce his body.

And then darkness.





Paul’s eyes snapped open. His heart raced in his chest, his breath coming in quick gasps. He was laying on some kind of table and he rolled off and collapsed to the floor like a drunk. His body was alien to him, his brain struggling to cope with the sudden change in the signals firing back to it from his muscular system. He gagged and coughed as his stomach heaved, saliva dripping down his chin to the floor. The images still burned in his consciousness, raw death that had just happened to him, and for a moment his mind could not accept that he was alive.

Paul tried to push himself up, but he was too weak and he fell back onto the floor. His mind was spinning, his guts still trembling with the sudden fear of his betrayal. His lover Amalia was gone. He saw her before him, could reach out and touch her, the image was so vivid. And then confusion came. He knew her again. She looked different somehow, was dressed differently, but they were together, had been together that day. What magic was this? What was it that had resurrected him to relive the pain and suffering of his death, the tearing apart of his life?

Paul fought for control of his mind, focusing on the image of Nicola, forcing himself to remember being with her. In desperation he pulled in more and more memories. Aunt Gwen, Alex and his father, his school friends, the holidays, playing football in the park, his first kiss, anything to remember who he was, and slowly a delicate equilibrium began to form.

As each minute passed he felt himself stabilizing, his thoughts becoming less chaotic. His heart rate and breathing were slowing as his body got used to itself. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the darkened ceiling, his breath forming condensation in the air above him, his brain only now registering the freezing air. He took a little power from the dark energy to warm himself and then blinked in surprise at how natural the action had been.

“Welcome Rider,” said a thin, elegant male voice from somewhere over to Paul’s right, forcing him to sit up in shock. He was in some kind of square room, two sides of which were glass from floor to ceiling. Outside it was night, the lights of a city stretching away in both directions several hundred feet below.

A man stood in silhouette by the far end of the window. He was facing outwards, his back to the room. Paul felt a tremor run down his entire body as recognition filled his consciousness. It was Myrkur. The Darkness. The one who discovered the dark energy and now spreads its filth throughout the world. The one who has brought the Light to the very brink of extinction. It was the very thing Paul had sworn to fight, had been told was his destiny to defeat, and now he was in the same room as it, and the enormity and consequences of this threatened to overwhelm him.

“What do you want with me?” Paul rasped, his voice sticking in his throat. In an automatic reaction part of him cried out to attack for he could end everything here.

The man let out a low laugh.

“You have never been compliant, I will grant you that.”

Paul pushed himself up to stand unsteadily against the wall.

“How does it feel, Paul? To have been tricked like this? To have been so misled by her.”

Paul fought for control of his thoughts and emotions. The desire to attack was buried under the conflict.

“How can you know?”

The man inclined his head towards Paul, his voice dropping, taking on a harder edge.

“You will find I know a great many things.” He turned into the room, his face now in darkness. “She tricked you and betrayed you and now you have come to me.”

It was Paul’s turn to laugh.

“Did I have a choice?”

“No you did not,” Myrkur shot back. He turned back to the window and was briefly lit by the glow of the city lights. As he turned Paul saw a thin face with smooth skin, short hair and eyes that were like black pits. He was dressed in a dark suit jacket and trousers that fitted his thin frame perfectly.

“You were created for one purpose, Rider. While you struggle with this now, while you attempt to reconcile this truth with the life you were told you would lead, this confusion will pass.”

“I should kill you now,” growled Paul.

Myrkur chuckled as he turned and began to walk towards him.

“Why do you defend her now, the white witch?”

Paul felt the air growing denser and colder as the shadowed figure approached him. Ice crystals began to form along the edge of the table.

“She who has taken everything away from you. She who lied to you. She who abandoned you to me.”

Paul began to shiver uncontrollably as Myrkur stood before him.

“If that is how you feel, then go ahead.” He lifted his arms, palms facing outwards. “I have no weapon with which to defend myself.”

Paul struggled to control the compulsion to fight. Images, thoughts, and feelings were flashing through his mind causing confusion and disorientation.

“Why have you done this?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“Because I created you. Because I can.”

Paul stared into his black eyes, seeing nothing but his own faint reflection staring back at him.

“The Light are fools,” said Myrkur as he turned away and walked over to a low cupboard in the far shadows of the room.

“They let Amalia live.”

The name jolted in Paul’s consciousness. He saw the face of his lover, her eyes filled with terror.

“No,” said Paul shaking his head, fighting to keep control. The face was Nicola.

“She had a daughter,” Myrkur said. “Your daughter.” He turned his head towards Paul. “They tried to hide this from me.”

Paul stood paralyzed, the shock overwhelming him.

“I saw this as I see everything.”

Myrkur turned his body and came towards Paul holding something that gleamed faintly in his hands.

“I have waited a long time for this day: for the first son of the Rider to be born and take his father’s place.”

His face hardened, his eyes trapping Paul with darkness.

“Those witches took you from me, Rider. Now they will pay.”

The man had come even closer, leaning into him, each word being forced into his brain.

“We know all about her, the one you call Gwen. And soon we will know even more.”

Paul looked down, struggling to focus on the bronze cup now held in Myrkur’s hands.

“You must drink this,” he said, slender white hands reaching behind Paul’s head, gripping his scalp and pulling his head, his lips, towards the cup. “It will make many things clear to you, and,” Myrkur said smiling, “to me.”

Paul’s eyes widened in fear as he saw a dark, frothy liquid steaming in the bottom. He tried to cry out, to struggle against Myrkur’s grip, but found he was powerless even to speak.

“Then, once you have drunk this, you will do something for me.”

The cup came closer, an acrid smell burning his nostrils.

“You will kill the white witch before she can regenerate, and then you will hunt down the rest of them and kill them too.”

The cup touched his lips, and a hot viscous liquid began to spill onto his tongue. He tried to spit it out but more came filling his mouth and spilling onto his chest. The smell blocked his nostrils until he could not breathe and finally he had to swallow. His stomach turned, revulsion from the evil entering his body, and then it hit his mind and he fell, tumbling away into a chaotic whirlpool of darkness.