From The Dark

by Tobey Alexander

  For the first time Viktor felt his choices were not as clear-cut and defined as he had thought.

  ‘Too young to be embroiled in the twisted paths of men.’ Viktor added and brought the sword to rest against the side of Logan’s neck.

  The cold metal tugged against his skin but did not pierce it. Holding the weapon with just enough pressure, Viktor moved closer to Logan and stared him deep in the eyes.

  So close, Logan could see the fine detail of the three scars stretching from Viktor’s forehead to his chin. The scarred flesh that sat around the blinded, milky eye looked dry and sore.

  ‘When I was your age, I knew nothing of Magdons. I knew nothing of this world.’

  ‘I’d be happier if I had never known,’ Logan hissed. ‘My life was much better when I had never heard of all this.’

  ‘Our twisted world.’ Viktor whispered as his lips hovered next to Logan’s ear. ‘But do you know the one thing that makes all of this worse? Your mother’s death, your disconnection from your family?’

  ‘What?’ Logan’s voice and quiet.

  ‘You stopped nothing in Africa, your sacrifice and your murder of my Magdon master made no difference.’ Viktor allowed his words to hang for a moment. ‘The beast you and your family killed was not the only.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She had a baby, an infant that survived. She lives, protected by the Nivags and far from the reach of those who would seek to do her harm.’

  ‘Lies.’ Logan spat.

  ‘Far from it, all the while you have been hunting me, seeking revenge yet all I have done is keep you from her so her sacred bloodline can remain.’

  There was a chilling and victorious look on Viktor’s face that chilled Logan to the core. He could feel the older man’s gaze boring into him, even the dead milky eye seemed to concentrate on him and see into his soul.

  ‘So my boy, your mother’s death in all of this was nothing, but a wasted sacrifice to stop the rise of the Magdon from the shadowy depths into the world, reborn.’

  Releasing the bite of the blade from Logan’s neck, Viktor raised the sword to deliver his final strike. With the weapon raised high above his head he offered one last word to Logan.

  ‘It dragged Your family into a world far beyond them.’

  The sword sliced through the air but never found its mark. Logan used what strength he had left to push himself from the wrecked. Using his body weight, he crashed into Viktor sending them both tumbling to the floor.

  Both released the swords from their grips as they fell to the ground. Surprised Viktor did all he could to cover his face as Logan slammed his uninjured fist down towards Viktor’s face.

  The two of them rolled back and forth across the floor. Each time they tried to gain an advantage over the other. It was Logan who came to rest on top as he buried his forehead hard into Viktor’s face. Blood sprayed across Viktor’s face as Logan’s blow broke his nose.

  It splattered Viktor’s blood across Logan’s face as Viktor writhed in pain beneath him.

  Taking the advantage, Logan grasped for the Viktor’s discarded sword that lay beside them. Gripping the handle, he lifted the sword and pressed the tip of the blade into the flesh beneath Viktor’s chin.

  ‘Now it is my turn for the last word,’ Logan growled and allowed the biting pressure of the sword to catch Viktor’s attention.

  His eyes going wide Viktor looked up at Logan straddled on top of him.

  ‘Get on with it then and return to your family.’

  ‘I lost my family for you, to chase you down and avenge my mother’s murder.’ Logan pressed until the metal pierced Viktor’s skin. ‘By killing you, I can...’

  Logan never finished his sentence as Viktor’s swift move caught him off guard.

  Grasping the blade in his hands, Viktor took control of the weapon. Holding it in place he looked up at Logan with a look of pure contempt and defiance.

  ‘You do nothing! I take my own life and sacrifice myself so that the Magdon may live. Safe... from... you.’

  Wrestling the sword from Logan, Viktor pulled the blade up into his own chine. Burying the blade deep there was a split-second’s recognition of pain before the sword found its place. The life left Viktor in an instant, and his bloodied hands dropped free from the sword.

  Logan stood and staggered back away from Viktor’s lifeless corpse on the tarmac.

  ‘Bastard!’ He sobbed as he looked down.

  Everything Logan had sacrificed, turning his back on his father and sister, leaving behind his childhood had all been for nothing. In the final moment, Viktor had wrestled vengeance from him and brought his own end to his life.

  Although the end of Viktor had been what he wanted, the manner in which it had come to be was not.

  Stood amongst the smouldering scene of the damaged cars Logan felt lost and confused.

  In the distance, a siren wailed. He knew it was time to go.

  3

  Running From The Past

  The air was unmoving and close in the dense woods. A cloud of hovering flies buzzed and for a few seconds, it was the only sound against the gentle rustling of leaves.

  A sound of cracking twigs filled the air, and a handful of startled birds burst up through the foliage in a flurry of flapping wings. The source of the noise remained invisible for a moment. As the sound grew louder a slight movement between the branches could be seen.

  A flash of colour behind the greenery.

  Gabe burst through an almost unnoticeable path between two large bushes. Sat on the seat of a mud-speckled mountain bike Gabe’s face was full of determination.

  Navigating the uneven terrain, he lifted the front wheel enough to save from being knocked off balance by a divot in the ground.

  Mud splattered covered his exposed cheeks and the black helmet he wore to protect him from any falls. Neat tracks peppered his face where the sweat had washed away the dirt from his hard ride. Arms exposed from a long-sleeved compression shirt his skin was red-raw and bleeding in places where the thorns and branches had whipped at his skin.

  It was Gabe’s way.

  In the last six months since the late spring snow had disappeared he had spent hours exploring around his home. Before Sara’s death he had never looked and explored the world around him. Since then he had resented and avoided being alone at home as much as he could.

  Every morning that Claudia left for college he would grab his kit and disappear into the countryside.

  Today was much the same, but his ride was filled with fresh pain.

  Today would have been Sara’s birthday, and Gabe could not pull himself to acknowledge it. Grabbing the battered and scratched helmet from the hallway and dragging the bike out into the rear garden he had tossed food into his bag and left the house behind.

  He had resolved himself to visit Sara’s grave, but for the moment his ride was taking him a convoluted route towards the cemetery. Her grave, letters appearing too new in the headstone, was only a mile from home but he had already been riding for eighteen miles.

  Powering up a winding and narrow path between the trees Gabe’s breath caught at the effort. High above the hill flattened out and Gabe fought through the ache in his calves, and it was that possibility of respite that fuelled him on.

  Reaching the top Gabe gasped for breath and dismounted for the last metre or two of the climb.

  ‘Never gets any easier,’ he heaved as he found a place to rest the bike.

  Unclipping the helmet Gabe hung it from the handlebars and turned to look at the view before him.

  The glade of trees opened in front of him looking out across a broad valley of rolling crops and trees. In the distance, a tall church spire protruded from the landscape, but between him and the church, there was nothing but countryside.

  Gabe loved being here. Being so deep into nature the sounds of roads and busy life were muted by the trees; all he could now hear was the chirp of birds and the vibrant song of hidden crickets.

/>   ‘Can’t beat the view,’ Gabe said to himself and sat himself down on a fallen tree to look out across the valley.

  Gabe’s right arm was itching today. He fought the urge to scratch at the healing skin as he reached into his bag for a drink. Bringing out a water bottle and a small tube of skin cream he dropped the bag to the floor.

  Gulping from the bottle Gabe finished half the contents before he pulled the bottle from his mouth. Placing it on the floor, Gabe stood up and removed the compression top lifting it up over his head.

  Gabe’s obsession with torturing his body had changed him. He had always been fit, but now his body was lean and muscular. If he wasn’t out riding, he was running or weight training in the gym, anything to keep his mind from dwelling on the past and his losses.

  Still wearing a vest, Gabe looked down at the intricate tattoo on his right upper arm.

  The skin beneath the ink was red and raised having only been finished the day before. It had taken him a long time to decide on getting it. Every part of the design meant something to him. It told his story for the world to see, hidden in plain sight.

  A large, detailed raven with its wings wide stretched around the upper part of his shoulder.

  The bird’s wings traced across his shoulder blade and mirrored around to his collarbone. The head of the bird rested on his shoulder while the tail stretched down the outside of his arm becoming dribbling ink.

  A compass sat in front of the dribbling ink with a thin blue line stretching around his bicep. On one side of the line, a mountain range stretched from the line, at first glance, it could be any, but Gabe knew it was the Snowdon mountain profile.

  A large sword depicted the centre of the compass. The blade stretched a third length of his upper arm until the tip hovered over an open book. Three smaller birds flew around the standing sword while the feathered open pages hung just below the tip. From one side of the book’s cover, a cityscape sat as if reflected on water at night.

  The design had taken months and back and forth with the artist. Gabe had been rather particular with his requests, but the final design had been more than perfect in his mind.

  Gabe had never even considered such a grand design, in fact, he had never considered a tattoo at all. It had all come about when his father-in-law had visited him a few weeks after Sara’s funeral.

  As Gabe sat on the log, his fingers traced across three words tattooed on his inner forearm. It had been these words that had sparked the idea of having something designed on his arm to depict his troubled journey.

  ‘Be here now,’ Gabe whispered as he read the words on his arm. ‘Wish you were.’

  Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at the words as he remembered his father-in-law handing him a letter. It had been something innocuous, a letter sent by Gabe when he and Sara had first met and fallen in love as teenagers.

  He remembered writing the letter and spending an inordinate amount of time scrolling the ornate lettering on the front of the envelope.

  ‘Words to live by Gabe,’ his father-in-law had sobbed as he handed him the letter. ‘We don’t blame you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Gabe had sobbed, and his tears had stained the envelope as he looked at it.

  Months later the same script had been inked into his skin and he had sobbed. When the young woman had asked the word’s meaning, Gabe had found it hard to explain. By the time he had finished the tattooist was fighting back her own tears.

  Bringing his attention back to the present, blocking out the past as best he could, Gabe looked out across the impressive view.

  There was something satisfying in being alone. Even when they had been married Gabe had never been particularly sociable. His social withdrawal after her death had been something he felt comfortable doing and had soon spent more time in his own company.

  Claudia had scorned him as only a daughter could but as Gabe had walked away from his career he had lost another significant part of himself. His job and his family had been his everything, he had poured his life into both, and now he had little left of it all.

  Before his great-grandfather’s journal had been delivered to him and the twisted, death-filled journey he had been thrust into he had had everything. A wife, a son, a daughter, a job, a home and a future. Since opening the pages of the cursed diary, he had lost all but his daughter and his home. Sara was dead and his son, Logan, had disowned the family in search of revenge for the death of his mother.

  Gabe had taken it all as a sign that being alone was the safest thing. There was only so much he could lose in one lifetime.

  Again the melancholy washed over him, and the bright landscape seemed a little darker, overshadowed by his sadness.

  ‘I suppose I’ve put it off as long as I can.’ Gabe said as he dropped the drink back into his bag and sealed it.

  Throwing the bag back over his shoulder Gabe returned to the bike and straddled the frame. Adjusting the pedals Gabe launched himself and the bike down the steep hill and down into the valley.

  He rode for another hour before he arrived at the gates to the chapel on the hill.

  The chapel dominated the skyline of his small town. A small, quaint structure with a pitched roof sitting atop a steep hill overlooked the town. Squeezing the bike through the narrow gate Gabe was welcomed by a familiar stone angel looking down towards the entrance. The angel’s face was weathered from years of exposure to the elements, but she still looked peaceful and welcoming.

  Dismounting from the bike, Gabe walked along the steep path and up towards the chapel above. Breath ragged he reached the top of the hill and turned to look at the surrounding view. From his vantage point, he could see the entire town, the old brewery building dominating the landscape in the distance.

  Resting the bike against the doors of the chapel Gabe hung his helmet on the handlebars again and turned towards a row of gravestones to the side of the building.

  His heart sank every time he saw the black stone and gold lettering.

  Fighting against his own reluctance, Gabe walked across to the gravestone and the quiet voice in his head read her name.

  Stepping onto the grass, Gabe sat himself down and placed his hand on the soft ground in front of him.

  ‘It’s stupid, but I always feel closer to you when I do this.’ Tears streamed down his face. ‘I took longer than I had planned to come and see you today, sorry about that.’

  Gabe had moved beyond feeling ridiculous talking the tombstone. Having his one-sided conversation helped in its own way.

  ‘Claudia is doing fine, she’s waiting for her acceptance letters. Reg has moved in with us, the home was getting too expensive, and he’s been a good distraction since you’ve been gone.’

  Gabe chuckled, the laugh catching in his throat.

  ‘Now I know how you felt. Having to care for two kids and a man-child like me.’

  Gabe talked until he had told Sara everything. He knew deep down nobody was listening, but by talking, he somehow felt there was still a connection. It comforted him, hoping she was somehow listening to him. Having endured the pain of her loss he knew it was a wishful hope. It never stopped him talking though.

  A sudden noise caught his attention and Gabe turned his head to see Reg ascending the hill. His mobility scooter struggled with the steepness of the slope, and the battery-powered motor whined.

  Having only a few seconds of solitude left Gabe lifted himself from the grass and stood in front of the gravestone. Bending down he kissed the stone, warmed by the bright afternoon sun. A single tear dropped onto the headstone and trickled down the front until it disappeared into the grass.

  Reg’s scooter finally rolled onto the flat ground, and the old man powered it across the tarmac towards Gabe.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, my boy,’ Reg apologised as he rolled to a stop a little way behind Gabe. ‘I thought you’d want this now.’

  Reg held an envelope out, and Gabe looked at it curiously.

  There was no name on the front only his h
ome address in a somehow familiar handwriting.

  ‘There was no name on it, so I opened it.’ An air of apology filled Reg’s voice as Gabe took the letter. ‘If I had known I wouldn’t have.’

  ‘Who’s it from Reg?’ Gabe asked as he turned the envelope over to look at the opened flap.

  ‘It’s from Logan.’

  Gabe snatched his attention back to Reg who had put his scooter in reverse and was moving away from Gabe.

  ‘I’ll leave you to read it.’

  Reg retreated leaving Gabe alone at the graveside with the letter in his hand. With trembling fingers, he removed the contents from the envelope and read.

  4

  Written Confession

  Gabe had secured his bike in the outside shed and was relieved to find the door to the house unlocked. Opening the door and stepping into the kitchen he dropped his cycling gear into a basket by the door. Walking to the large table in the room's centre he dropped his son’s letter on it.

  ‘Claudia, you home?’

  Footsteps met his call, and after a few seconds his daughter appeared from the hallway and walked towards him. A warm smile appeared on her face as she towelled her hair dry.

  ‘Good ride?’ Claudia recognised the serious look on her father’s face and paused for a moment.

  Gabe could not deny he saw Sara in his daughter every day. They shared the same eyes and tenacious, personality.

  ‘You need to read this,’ Gabe answered and tapped the envelope on the table. ‘It’s from Logan.’

  ‘What?’

  Claudia moved and snatched the letter from the table. Dragging out the contents she unfolded the paper, and her eyes grew wide.

  Someone had folded the letter over a newspaper cutting. Claudia read the headline and felt her heart sink. Dragging her attention from the headline she read the entire article before she dared to read her brother’s letter.

  FIVE DEAD IN SUSPICIOUS CRASH