Saving The Dark Side Book 2: The Harbingers

by Joseph Paradis

  Cole smiled awkwardly, holding up the chain that was still connected to Goran’s neck. “Hey, at least he’s still on a leash.”

  King Auger’s laughter broke the silence. “That he is! We’ll have to keep him away from the finery.”

  The King led them off the pier where they were greeted by the strangest bus Cole had ever seen. Wheels as tall as Roth carried an armored hull nearly as large as the King’s ship. It had the Spartan design of a military transport vehicle, though elegant silver emblems and embellishments were tacked on haphazardly, as though an afterthought. A glass engine stuck out the back, shaking and rocking as it growled to life. Smoke poured out the open tail pipes as the driver hopped out, opening the doors for them.

  Cole leaned closer to Lileth, hoping some conversation would help to bury the awkward incident on the ship. “We have similar vehicles back on my planet. It’s crazy how even in different worlds we have some of the same technology.” As he said it, another pang of homesickness struck him. He stifled the thoughts before his emotions could show on his face.

  “It’s not as crazy as you think,” Lileth said without looking at him. “Wisdom Walkers from ages past would share knowledge with sentient life on the local planets. I would not be surprised if other planets adopted similar constructs for transportation.”

  “Why doesn’t The Sill have any vehicles like this?” Cole asked.

  “Because they’re costly and unnecessary when you have Wisdom,” King Auger said, banging his hammer against the side of the bus. “I’ve been campaigning every cycle to get our citizens to take up another school of magic. We’ve got a few queer folk that can use the most basic of Wisdom and Passion, but they’re shunned like lepers for breaking tradition. Every time someone comes up with a useful spell, the engineers make a show of embarrassing the poor sod and come up with some new machine that makes the spell useless. We’ve got plenty of gratia stones that we scooped up before the war, but they’re nearly useless. No one knows how to fill them properly. Instead we burn wurm oil and gases to power clunkers like this thing here.” King Auger smacked his hammer against the bus once more, leaving a fist-sized dent.

  “Morthainians were a stubborn folk last time I was here,” Roth said. “You couldn’t find a tribe more fierce than the people of the White Sands. Now, though, I’m not sure they have the fire, judging by the performance of your welcome party. The Morthainians I remember had no use for weaponry. Their own flesh and munisica were enough to get the job done. I saw some of your guards even carry shields, as if they were afraid of getting hit.”

  King Auger nodded. “Life under the sands doesn’t suit us. Pieces of our culture dwindle a little more every cycle. We’ve lost sight of the old ways and rusted into a city of sneak-thieves and cutthroats. I pour resources into things like infrastructure and education, but each cycle the city gets a little worse, as if it likes being dirty. The city’s fractured into gangs now, each with their own unwritten laws and agendas. I can hardly recruit anyone into the guard nowadays. None of them feel safe when they go back to their homes at night. Afraid they might be greeted with cold glass when they open the door. That reminds me, you’re all safe in my company, but don’t go wandering off on your own.”

  “My unit can take care of themselves,” Roth said.

  King Auger shook his head. “It’s not them I’m worried about. I have enough murders without my citizens trying to mug warriors of The Sill. Sorry, your citizens I should say.” He finished with an accusatory glare at Roth.

  The bus was both roomy and comfortable on the inside, with a row of plush seats around the exterior and a nice big open spot for Goran in the middle. The ride to King Auger’s brought them through a residential district run by a gang that called themselves the ‘Rusty Doves.’ Everywhere Cole looked there were unfriendly faces and hungry eyes. They passed by brawls involving seven or more people, shady characters lurking in alleys, and prone figures that may have been sleeping or dead. After half an hour Cole realized they weren’t running through a bad part of the city because there didn’t seem to be any good parts. Each building looked as if it were about to collapse, though a few had some shoddy glass work patching up the holes. Here and there were pedestals with large, dim gratia stones set in a way that anyone walking by could make an offering, though it seemed people would rather make a crude drawing or smash the stones instead. For a town that prided itself on Rage, Cole thought it funny that so few people wore their munisica. The ones that did had unimpressive claws and nearly no shroud.

  The city and its people had an odd familiarity to Cole, not in the way everything looked but in the overall demeanor and tone. It had the same ghetto-trashiness of the tree streets back home. Cole leaned his head into Goran’s arm and shook the thoughts out of his head. He hadn’t thought about his past life in a while, and he could feel the sadness bubbling up more and more lately. Now however was not the time to think about home. If he had a room to himself at King Auger’s, Cole would allow himself some time to break down and cry if he needed to.

  The bus screeched to a halt outside a plain building only slightly less run-down than the rest. If it wasn’t for the high walls and the guards at the gate, the building wouldn’t have stood out at all.

  “Not much of a palace,” Roth said, ribbing the King with his elbow. “I would have come sooner if I’d known you were living in such squalor.”

  “That means a lot from folk who live in trees,” King Auger said, hopping down from the bus. “It’s not right for someone in my position to spend resources on decorating my house or living beyond necessity, when my blasted city is rotting from the inside out. I’d sell the behemoth we rode in on if I didn’t need it for safety. There’s some places in Morthain that not even I am free to walk through. I’d consider culling a few of the gangs myself if some other litter of rag-tags wouldn’t rise up from the blood and shit.”

  Cole jumped out of the bus, calling after a sleeping Goran, who had chewed off the rest of the chains and left the slobbery pieces scattered on the floor. The driver was none too pleased, especially when he saw the fur and claw marks on the sides of the seats. Cole offered to try and fix the broken parts with his Wisdom, but Valen pushed him along. A broken bus was preferable to making a King wait for you.

  Cole set off at a trot to catch up with the others. He stopped suddenly, eyes wide and searching for Milette. He silently berated himself for not keeping better track of her. His worry was for nothing however, as Milette came running out of the bus as fast as she could to catch up. Her face was awash with desperation that did not relax until she was at his side. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to keep an eye on her. She shot him a nasty glare, full of accusation and resentment, though she clung to his side like a magnet. He had to think of what to do with her, and soon.

  The group followed the Kings through a pair of thick glass gates which took three hulking guards to open. Auger’s yard was just as barren as the house itself. Only a few guard shacks and a stone pavilion decorated the grounds. Hard dirt crunched beneath their feet as they walked.

  Roth’s voice echoed like thunder off the high walls. “These gangs need dealing with, Auger. You ought to stop ruling with your left hand and start using that hammer. When one of these groups steps a toe out of line, you smash the toe. If they’re brazen enough to walk over the line, you crush the whole foot. Sooner or later you’re going to have to meet them in combat.”

  “You were always the practical man, Rothael,” King Auger sighed, greeting the guard at the main door. “But you’re no bureaucrat. I won’t govern Morthain with Fear. There’s rules here. Old grudges fester until they become laws. I’m no more than a placeholder to some of them because they’re waiting for you to return. Then there are others that blame you for the sinking of the city and our decline.”

  “It seems as though Morthain could do with a change,” Roth remarked. “Not a change in leadership - you’re not getting off that easy.” Roth reached out to a passing guard and took his p
ike. The guard resisted but the pike came loose as if he had given it freely. Roth waited, daring the guard to make a move, but after a moment of inaction Roth thrust the pike back into his chest, sending the guard sprawling. He turned back to King Auger as though nothing had happened. “It’s been too long since someone’s tested your mettle. Morthain sat out the last war. This one’s going to be much worse. I suggest you pick a side.”

  “You know full well that would be a death-warrant for us,” the King huffed, shaking his head. “They know nothing of battle outside of stabbing each other while their backs are turned.”

  “Then maybe death is what Morthain deserves,” Roth said.

  King Auger rubbed his hand over his brow. “Perhaps you are right, Bonebreaker. Everyone has their time, no more, no less. Our time may have already passed and we’re holding on to nothing. Even you nutters at The Sill won’t be around forever. Perhaps The Three will have their time next.”

  “We haven’t had our time yet,” Roth said with pride as he looked at his unit. Cole noticed they all stood a little taller and carried their chins a little higher. “Our time might be over long before this war comes to a head, but we will have it. We’ll set fire to the sky before we meet our end.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” King Auger took a flask from an inner pocket of his jacket and drained the last few sips before crushing the metal against his hammer hand. “Bah! Enough of these weighty words. The true King has returned. Our battle-fires may have dimmed, but our spirit burns all the brighter. Let us break open a few casks and light the great ovens. There are a few among our numbers that are old enough to know why you are Bonebreaker, and they would be sore to miss a chance to repay your favors.”

  Roth grinned like a wolf. “Let’s not disappoint them then.”

  Cole felt as if he could drop dead asleep at any moment. Whatever party or feast that the King talked about was the last thing he wanted. He turned to the rest of his unit, who each looked worse than he felt. Sitra was slumped up against a stone pillar and Eliza was already sleeping up on Goran’s back. Valen and Lileth were only vaguely paying attention, swaying as though they were on a rocking boat.

  Milette elbowed Cole in the shoulder, her dark eyes sunken and wild as she hissed, “You’d better say something! I’m in your care, so take care of me! If you don’t I’ll put myself into a death-sleep right now and you can carry me until I wake!”

  “Okay, just don’t touch me with those things. You smell like a bog angel.” Cole gagged, eyeing Milette’s festering stumps. He would have Eliza take a look at them later. Cole cleared his throat as loudly as he could, interrupting the hammer-handed King. “I uh…I think I speak for the unit, but we’re dead tired…Master Roth,” he added, unsure if he should address him as ‘King.’ “Can we find a bed, or at least a spot on the floor to crash?”

  A guard led them to an empty portion of the house, which turned out to be unused barracks. They passed by bathrooms and showers, but none of the unit were interested in anything outside of a soft bed. The bunks were double-stacked and lined the walls of the sleeping quarters. There was no bed large enough for Goran, but the mirak didn’t seem all that tired. He had slept nearly the whole way from the sands and probably slept the whole time on the back of the baileen. They each fell in whatever bed they came to first. Cole trailed behind, and it wasn’t by accident that he ended up in a bed next to Lileth. To Cole’s annoyance, Milette wound up in the top bunk of his own bed even though there were countless others available. Without the aid of her hands, she stumbled and clambered her way up to the top bunk, shaking the entire frame. Cole waited in quiet fury for her to stop fidgeting, only to have her trade the wriggling for obnoxious snoring.

  Cole rolled in his bed, tricking his mind into thinking the snoring was just a sound from home, like a passing fire truck. Before long he was twitching lightly with sleep as his dreams began to commandeer his conscious thoughts. He cracked his eyes open so he could see Lileth one more time. A pale light fell over her face, catching and twinkling in her long eyelashes. Her closed eyes looked like flowers just about to bloom. Her arm hung out from the bed as if reaching for him. Cole threw a lazy arm out, but it was too short. His first dreams were of his fingers wrapped around hers.

  Cole had many strange dreams that night, most of which were not potent enough to remember. As the night wore on, his desires pulled at him like a lodestone, drawing him somewhere even his subself didn’t want to go. The more he resisted the harder it became. He knew he could wake himself, so he tried; however, he was thoroughly stuck. Before he knew it he was falling, sinking far beneath himself, beneath the world. He was alone in the river, floating upwards and onwards into aethers unknown. His body was no more, but he didn’t need it here. Cole had become a soul fly.

  Even with the inexorable current of the river he tried pulling himself back to Aeneria. When that didn’t work he tried throwing himself sideways out into infinity, only to discover that he was not alone. He was there, as He always was, guiding Cole with a firm, paternal hand.

  His presence and intention bored into Cole: “You cast many shadows, Cole Carter, for in your heart and in your mind you are many.”

  Cole pressed his own will inwards, forcing Him to elaborate. He retaliated with profound compassion, filling Cole with such warmth and comfort that the urge to fight melted from him like frost in the morning sun. Compassion paved the way for understanding and together they swam onward to their destination. Cole knew where he had to go.

  A lifetime seemed to pass within the blink of an eye as Cole found himself in the place he was dreading. He faded back, watching quietly from the deepest corners of Cole’s mind. This was no place for Him.

  Cole placed a bare foot on the front steps of his little apartment on Blossom Street. The house was barely visible in the orange haze of the street lights, as though someone had painted it with shadow. Cole took another step, careful not to scratch off any more paint from the stairs. As his hand closed around the dented handle of the door, a feeling of impending doom rushed up to greet him, seemingly from the house itself. He wished he could turn back now, but this was the only way. He pulled the door open, yanking through its familiar sticky spot. The darkness from within reached out to embrace him. Holding his breath, Cole entered his house.

  The kitchen and living room were vacant, though there was enough trash and clutter piled up that it looked as though several homeless people had taken up residence. Cole could barely see through the shadows that permeated the air in thick clouds. He flicked on a few lights but they lacked the potency to pierce whatever hung in the room. The air was dank with something sick and unsavory, as if the house were haunted by a vile spirit. Cole felt part of himself stolen with each foggy breath, lost forever to the evil in the house. With grim recognition Cole identified the hallmarks of stale Fear and ripe Despair choking the air. From somewhere deeper in he sensed a burning Hatred.

  He took one timid step after the other, checking the hallway and downstairs bathroom. The baleful silence smothered his footsteps and swallowed his drumming heart. He could detect no sound or sign of life, but he certainly was not alone.

  “COLE!”

  The tearing scream came from upstairs. Tremors rushed through his legs as terror yanked the breath out of him. Steeling himself, Cole squeezed a hand on the broken railing and set up the stairs. The cry had come from up there, but that was where the darkness and foulness was most palpable. He was now breathing so hard he felt he might faint, yet no sound came from his quivering lips. He took one step after another, forcing himself to keep moving, keep breathing. There was no way back now. He felt feeble and helpless, as if his most vulnerable parts had just been peeled back and exposed to an unknown horror. He reached the top step, wondering where to search next. A dreadful, familiar groan came from his mother’s room.

  The door was open, though the room was bathed in an ominous murk that his eyes couldn’t pierce. The groan echoed from the open door once more. Hands groping th
rough empty air, Cole staggered blindly down the hall towards his mother’s room. His fingers found the doorway. He dug his nails into the soft wood and pulled himself in.

  He was in the room now, too blind to take another step, too afraid to make a noise. Cole realized he forgot to breathe, but suddenly found himself lacking the urge. He was naked. Fully bare to the darkness now.

  A moan sounded through the darkness directly in front of him now.

  Cole thought the Fear would kill him. He wished it would. But as the moan faded, it was replaced by a rustling of blankets.

  A ghostly light trickled over his mother’s bed, revealing a lump rolling back and forth. A wiry mop of blond hair poked out next to the pillows.

  “Mom?” Cole breathed.

  There was nothing but crushing silence. The lump didn’t even seem to be breathing.

  “Mom?” Cole squeaked again.

  The lump stirred, rolling over as the blankets peeled back and Tara’s face appeared.

  “Colton,” she whispered.

  Cole lunged forward, throwing his arms around her. Tara recoiled, wailing as if he’d struck her.

  “I’m sorry,” Cole cried, withdrawing and patting the side of the bed. “I’m so sorry.”

  Tara fell silent, her lips pulling into a cynical smile that Cole had never seen. She rolled her head away from him and gazed through the ceiling. “I knew you’d come back.”

  Cole sobbed, wiping the tears as fast as he could so he could see her. “I’m here, Mom. I’m right here for you.”

  “Is this a dream?” Tara asked in a hollow voice.

  “I don’t know,” Cole said between sobs.

  Tara mumbled something Cole couldn’t quite make out. She rambled like a mad woman, as though she didn’t know who or where she was. Cole looked away, ashamed to see her in such a state. His eyes fell upon the nightstand, where the ghostly light illuminated several bottles of prescription pills. None of them was for her.