The Shadow of Death: The Conquering Darkness

by Lucas Hault

  “Forgive me for interrupting this beautiful moment of yours”, she said to Joanna, who lay wrapped in bed sheet, with the faintest shadow of a smile flickering over her lips. “Your husband will join you shortly”, she added, and both the brother and sister left the chamber.

  Joanna lay still for a moment, before getting off her bed and proceeding towards the door. Her body was still wrapped in the cloth, as she half opened the door to watch her husband and Olivia Starkweather, dressed in complete black with their hoods on. She could also notice the long black shadows trailing down the corridor. They appeared similar, and perhaps bowed before the approaching brother and sister, before quickly moving out of the corridor. It did look a little scary, and Joanna could hold herself no longer but began sneaking across the long corridors. She did not have the time to dress herself back, and hence followed in the same state, with her nude self wrapped in the white fabric. The corridors were floored with fine polished wood. A moonbeam struck one corner and glimmered in a garret window. Joanna’s heart beat in anticipation as she crossed the walkway, but was unfortunately stopped by the Palace guards, who stood by the end of the passage, dressed in space grey cargos and dark green flak jackets covering most of their pale green shirts, except for the sleeves. They had a similar dark green armour helmet covering their heads, which had the small emblem of Spion attached to it. The emblem, consisting of two tigers stretched vertical over a crown, was also carved on the badges that were pinned on both the breast pockets of their flak jacket.

  “Forgive me, My Lady! But you aren’t allowed to leave your chamber at this time”, said one of them, with his long rifle hanging by his back. None of the guards standing dared to look her in the eyes, but kept their gaze low, staring at the ground. But the fierceness in their eyes remained unveiled.

  She simply gave a nod and pushed her way back into her chamber. She closed the door, letting the bed sheet slip off her body, as she stood naked and proceeded towards her bed. It felt warm and comfortable as she laid herself down, relaxing over the soft cushion. Slowly the eyelids drooped over her tired eyes, and the head sunk lower and lower upon the bed. It did not take too long for her eyes to close, and there was only darkness before her. But suddenly, something unusual happened, and lights flashed before her eyes. The next moment she found herself in a long dark tunnel, which had a narrow opening at the end. The dark narrow tunnel frightened her, torturing the poor, lonely Joanna Maddox. She could bear it no longer and hurried towards the end, which grew smaller and smaller as she approached. She did not want to be trapped in this scary thing, which grew darker and darker with every running step. She threw her legs as fast as she could and fortunately was soon through the other side. But to her shock, she found herself standing before her very own body, lying inside her very own chamber. The body lay lifeless and naked over the bed. The scene struck a chill in her heart, crippling her senses and turning her pale and cold.

  “Am I dead?” she asked herself, turning white to her very lips. She stared helplessly at her lifeless body, and wanted to touch it, but couldn’t, as she was carried towards the door with the wind entering through the big balcony. She was about to hit the door hard and closed her eyes at once, but astoundingly, at the very next moment, she found herself on the other side of the door and into the corridors. This complicated things further in her head. She steadily walked past the long passage, before stopping by its end, where she had been held by the Palace guards. But surprisingly, there were none to be found this time. It was deserted and still. She walked to the other passage and conceived some splashes of water around the corridor that led to the stairway, but shockingly her bare feet remained unaffected. It never got drenched walking over it. There was no reflection of her naked body over the surface either. Her stomach clenched, while a horrid sensation ran through her heart. She moved across the spot and towards the stairs, but stopped by the end of the passage, noticing an expensive ring lying beside the wall. It was her husbands, she recognized it well and perfect, the black ring over her husband’s ring finger in his right hand, which was running all over her body some moments ago, the moment when perhaps she was alive and fine.

  She moved closer, in an attempt to grasp the ring in her hand, but unfortunately, she couldn’t. Her hands ran through it every single time that she tried. She repeated it time and again, but she failed. She wanted to cry, her heart beating in fear, while agitation trembling all over her body. She was about to sob, when suddenly a voice called.

  “Joanna!” It was the same voice that she had heard earlier countless times. That same voice, the sweet pleasant voice. She remembered it all of a sudden. It was none other than Barbara, her beloved sister. The voice sent such a chilling sensation over her body that her eyes finally opened, and there she was, uncovered and still, lying on her bed. She took a deep long breath and quickly pushed herself to her feet.

  “Was I dreaming?”, she asked herself, wiping off the sweat over her face. She looked bothered and restless. She wrapped herself in the bed sheet, and with her shuddering footsteps proceeded towards the corridors. Her hands quivered all the time, while her heart thumped behind her bosoms. She approached the end and appallingly, found the other passage in the right to be lonely and still. The guards were all gone and there was no individual around. This made her heart slip into her mouth. She steadily proceeded, and found the same water splash over the wooden floor, only this time her feet got drenched crossing it. This exploded her senses, making her shiver in horror. She finally, with a dour face, moved towards the stairwell to discover the same black ring of her husband, lying before the stairway beside the wall. She was stunned, while her nerves tingled. She bent down to grab the ring, and this time she could do it successfully. She raised the ring closer to her eyes, noticing some sign on the back of its big round surface. She peered closely to observe the symbol of a sword pierced through the skull. It was something alien, about which she knew nothing. Countless thoughts and fear clutched her mind, as she stormed off the corridors and rushed back to her chamber, closing the door at once.

  What the hell was all this? How on earth did her dream come true? What about Barbara? Was she here in Spion? But how could she? Is it even possible? And what about the ring? And that sign? What is all this about? These were the questions buzzing in her head time and again. It never stopped, almost giving her a headache. She could bear it no further and proceeded towards the table to fetch her some wine.

  “I must be sleepwalking”, she said to herself, settling the anxiety within her as she poured the drink down her throat. “Barbara has told me a couple of times about my somnambulism”. She remembered it, easing her nerves and relaxing her mind. She brimmed her glass with wine, and returned to her bed. “This isn’t good”, she murmured with her quivering lips. “I have to overcome all of it. And surely I will”.

  Borkan helped Owen back to his feet, who had slipped down hard on the vast ground covered in grasses and ferns. His features were pale and distrait, while his eyes still reflected the bloody scene they had witnessed moments ago. The thought of that incident was weighing heavily upon his mind. The two had been thrown past the boundary of the abandoned place by the Dictator’s men. Their aircrafts had destroyed a large part of the Southern Woods, including the army units guarding the area. Aircrafts were highly expensive for every authority to afford, and were ultra rare. Only the most dominant countries—both in power and wealth, all over the three continents—were the ones to own them; and so was the North-Eastern Synerian Dictator, Antonio Calaway, who owned two aircrafts.

  The army men had tried to invade Harot through air, but shockingly, there were no traces of any city—nothing was seen but the enormous Southern Ocean, following the Southern Woods. This bizzare incident simply highlighted the tales of Harot, mysterious and dreadful. The guards on the boundary were all hunt down like animals. It was no less than a sport, and the Dictator’s men were really quick, quicker than any other that Borkan had ever seen.

  He helped Ow
en on his feet, and the two proceeded. It seemed like they have been walking for weeks, but no end anytime sooner; only the vast ground covered in green, appearing similar to the vast sky that was as dark as their fate. Borkan remembered Owen’s urge to bring his incredible powers into use, but he could remember nothing as such in the first place. The Dictator’s army had destroyed everything around the region, and no one could stop them. It was absolutely true that the incident would fly to Townslane, and their large army would soon gather around. But it would simply be useless, as the Dictator’s men would have been gone by then, and it was already too late to save them. Borkan had heard a lot about Harot, and there were numerous thoughts clustering his mind.

  He walked and walked without any break, but there seemed no end. The large ground was stretched everywhere around, and he felt like they hadn’t moved at all.

  “Is that really a city or a never-ending field?” asked Owen wearily. “I think people die here all the way walking”. It seemed like they had walked half of the Southern Continent, with absolutely no end.

  Borkan’s feet had begun to ache, while his body drenched in sweat. He was truly exhausted but had to continue pushing himself, just like the man beside him.

  They walked through the large field and shortly discovered tall leafless trees spiked at the distant. The winds blowing were harsh and uneasy, torturing their bodies covered in trousers and overcoats, while Borkan had to struggle to prevent his close-fitting, low-crowned hat from flying away with the violent winds. The weather around had unexpectedly changed over an instant, causing their bodies to shiver. They placed their hands in their pockets of their warm overcoats, but Borkan had to use one hand to weight down the hat over his head.

  The cold winds embraced the place in its arms, while silence covered the land. It was so accute that he could hear the crushing of the grasses roaring in his ears.

  The men dragged themselves till the horizon, and fortunately, after a measureless walk, saw the ruins of an ancient site lying before their eyes. It was more ancient than any bone left in the soil—absolutely unattractive, unlike the one they had seen in Sinfroera. The once smooth rocks were pitted and scarred. The broken walls, burnt houses and the destroyed locality—all of it had a lot to speak.

  “I have heard about it”, said Borkan in a cold voice.

  The tales narrated by his mother buzzed in his head, but he had never ever thought of conceiving it with his own eyes. “Mother has told me about it once. The locality belonged to the Venoms.” He actually recognized it by the sign of a Python’s head carved on the pillars. It was the symbol of those tribals.

  “Venom?” asked Owen surprisingly. It was as strange to him as the disintegrated locality, never seen or heard before.

  “They were the worshippers of Satan and the patrons of black magic. They walked the land centuries before the descending of the last Holferian Prophet. Mother says that they had spent all their lives making elaborate preparations for the arrival of their Archfiend, but this myth has remained a matter of debate for ages”. He too had never actually believed it until now. He slowly walked into the site, with his astounded eyes measuring everything closely.

  The symbol of the snake carved on the burning torches did scare Owen, who stood inches away from it.

  “Was this place invaded by Satan?” asked Owen anxiously.

  “Certain things are secret for a reason. And it is best to leave it wrapped with the veil of time”, he replied in a dead voice, staring bluntly at the flickering torches. “Let’s find a way out of here”.

  He followed the way ahead of the locality, with a subdued feeling in his heart which the presence of death inspires. He was a brave man, but he trembled at the vague, shadowy terrors which hung over him.

  The footsteps crossed the ancient site, before freezing by the large necropolis. It was dark and subtle, and almost thrice in area than the site behind him. It was fully occupied with graves, much of which appeared recent.

  His features had turned pale as he slowly stepped into the dark graveyard. The graves were covered with dry shedded leaves scattered all around. He walked to the grave before his sight, while the dry leaves moved all around with the winds.

  He moved to the spot, followed by Owen and his bowels suddenly churned as soon as his eyes rested on the gravestone. It was something abrupt and unexpected.

  “Simon Conred” read the gravestone. The one who had been missing for a long time. The one who had countless truths buried within his chest. And the one who was known to be the closest to the culprit of the unforgiving sins.

  A curious sensation overwhelmed him and he exchanged a sharp look with Owen, but neither of them spoke. None had ever thought about it. The man who was counted among the disbelievers was resting in the hell of a place.

  Something stroke Owen’s mind that instance and he dashed towards the other graves. Borkan remained where he stood and watched, as Owen began scanning the various gravestones.

  Owen looked at some, before stopping at one in the last row. He dropped down on his knees, depressed and disheartened. For a moment or two, he sat breathless, hardly able to believe his eyes.

  Something was not right, and Borkan was well aware of it. He rushed to his friend, who was stunned, lying on his knees before a particular grave.

  “Edd Green” read the gravestone as he approached the shattered Owen. “Allan Will” and “Rickard Jones”, the other two laid beside it. Tears rolled down the brother’s eyes, and into the soil, and was lost within moments, marking the reality that emotions were priceless at that place. Owen could hold himself no longer but sobbed bitterly.

  “Stay strong man!” he consoled, but couldn’t help the poor brother with his tears. It was his brother’s grave, something that no older sibling would ever want to see. Borkan padded his back, trying to calm him down.

  “Edd”, cried out Owen. He was so unfortunate that he couldn’t see his brother’s face for the last time, and that killed him every single moment within. He wiped his tears with the sleeves of his coat and began digging the grave with his bare hands.

  “Don’t you do that Owen”, he cried, holding his hand and pulling him away. He embraced him in condolence and used his feet to push the dug soil back into its place.

  He was about to speak out something, when suddenly, a terrible scream—a prolonged yell of horror and anguish—burst out of the silence of the night. That frightful cry turned the blood to ice in his veins, causing a sudden horripilation all over his body. The wail lasted for a moment or two, before it ceased, and immediately the dark sky turned red, blowing down balls of fire, just like droplets of rainwater.

  “Run!” he cried, and along with Owen began to flee the necropolis. Owen was numbed; unable to comprehend anything. He simply stared at his brother’s grave as Borkan pulled him along. The volcanic sky continued to spit fire, destroying the trees and the ruins, and everything under it. Some of the fireballs hit the two men running for their life, wounding Borkan with the burn marks, while it knocked Owen down. The man lay still, covered in tears and wounds that conquered a large part of his body. Borkan somehow helped Owen across the necropolis, dragging him towards the dark well. The raining fireballs stopped the moment he placed his hand on the broken boundary of the well. The sky was dark again, with the chilling winds torturing his wounds, which weren’t that severe as Owen’s. His nerves had been strangely shaken by that sound upon the place, while his senses remained paralyzed with shock.

  It took him a few moments to fall back to his sombre senses, after which he discovered his friend, who lay cold and still. He moved to him with a thrill of horror. “Owen!” he cried, rubbing his chest. But the man made no move. He cried for a few more times, rubbing his hand and body, but nothing helped. Owen Green lay unaffected, while his skin was cold under his clothes. He could never imagine his friend dead and gone, and there was no way that he was going to give up on him. He had to fetch him some water, and so he proceeded towards the well. But before he could make
it, a sudden deafening thunderbolt hit the sky, devouring his senses within. The very next moment, his eyes rested upon the figures standing everywhere around. Never in the delirious dream of a disordered brain could anything more savage, more appalling, more hellish be conceived than the dreadful figures covered in black hoods. They stood tall all over the necropolis and the ancient ruins, glaring at him in deathly silence that struck a chill to his heart. A horror which was almost superstitious came upon him at the sight of them. He became haggard and restless, and his eyes had the troubled look of some hunted creature. With dark scales covering their pale white skin, their eyes glowed with a smouldering glare.

  His senses exploded when he noticed Owen Green gone. The one lying lifeless just a moment ago was nowhere to be found. A second thunderbolt followed, and all the hooded ones disappeared. It was just him and Owen Green, who was now lying in the large graveyard, too distant from his initial place. His senseless body lay between two graves, like a river in the valley.

  Borkan was white and quivering from the shock. He was about to make his move when the colour of the sky changed for the other time, followed by the same terrifying wail. But unfortunately, it did not cease this time, but increased every moment, damaging his nerves. He did not bleed but his head began to swing, blotting his senses. He pressed his ears hard, as hard as he could, but it made no difference. The loud wail did its part, weakening him every moment, and soon he was numb. Borkan could feel nothing, just darkness before his eyes. He still had some life within him, perhaps the last few drops of it, and with all the little strength left in him, he pulled himself towards the boundary where he lost his balance and fell into the well. There was no splash or any other sound, just the intimidating silence all over the place which only the presence of death inspires.