“I have always trusted you, Justine,” the lord said, and his cold eyes seemed to lessen. Warmth suffused those eyes—the warmth that she took comfort in for so many long years. “Yet if word reached the wrong ears, then my shield would crumble and you with it. I nearly lost my head for permitting you to leave the kingdom. It was a risk worth taking. King Adrian must never have the God Stone.”
“Lord Theodore,” she began quietly, “professed the very same words to me.”
“For all that he has done, he has not lost his wits. Small mercies.”
Justine shifted in her seat, though never averted her eyes from the lord, the man who raised her. But that’s not who she saw: only the catspaw of a mad king, willing to swim in a sea of blood. “You told me all this so that I could slay Lord Theodore?”
“Send his head in a crate across the ocean and the king shall not chase you.”
Longingly, her eyes drifted towards the chest housing the crystalline stone. Sighing, she said, “the king will forget about what was stolen?”
“That—I have taken care of.”
“Lord Arthur.”
“If you do not trust me, Justine, trust to the oath that I swore your father.”
It was not enough. The man who raised her was dead. “Return to the king, Lord Arthur.”
“Will you—”
“Return to the king!”
The lord slowly rose, his cane pounding the floor like some deafening echoes of a giant that long since faded. He opened the door halfway, turned a moment, and said, “I am not your enemy, Justine.” Then he left.
Darkness seemed to swell. Justine glanced to the back facing window: the sun fell to a dull inflection on the horizon. “The banquet, not long now.” She rose to light the candles around the chamber.
The dull glow of the candles seemed to push away at the encroaching dark. Kneeling before the hearth, she threw logs on it and the fire sizzled and cracked. Gazing into the flames, she wondered where this would end. The only words I truly believed flittered from both their lips: the crystalline stone must be kept from the king. And from Lord Theodore. What strength do we have to preserve that end? We are not strong enough. I am not strong enough. I must be … I must …
“Always like your father,” a voice rasped.
“Who is there?! Lord Arthur?!” she called out, withdrawing Resolution from its scabbard and pacing around, though only darkness lay in the shadows.
“Lord Arthur? A man who plays a game with sovereigns, the wealthy, even those he confesses to love. No, I am not Lord Arthur.”
“Show yourself!”
“So that you can shove that steel into my flesh? I think not.”
Frustrated, Justine held Resolution aloft. “No more games!”
“As you wish.”
The steel of Resolution looked as if it was on fire, and the searing heat cascaded down the blade. Justine shrieked as pain laced through her hand, as if a hot pincer seared it. She dropped her sword and it turned to ashes upon the floor.
“That, that was—”
“An heirloom,” the harrowing voice responded. “It is of no consequence in what is to come.”
From the corner of her eye a light seemed to grow, and a cacophony of cascading voices filled her ears. There were so many; she could not make heads or tails of their words, but her gaze was drawn to the iron banded chest. The light came from within it and the padlock fell off. She opened the chest and the crystalline stone shone with a blinding illumination.
“Shall you lay eyes upon me once more?” the voice asked, taunting. “You shan’t forget it, not this time.”
Justine wanted to ignore the voice, reject the command, but she grasped the crystalline stone and the light threaded across her flesh. The illumination grew until it filled her sight.
“There, you see it, do you not?” the voice asked. “The Mother’s Light cascading, but that is not all, is it? Darkness dwells even in Her heart.”
The Light never dulled, though in the distance a man in robes stood, his back turned. Not in Dale, no Justine was sure of that, but in a darkened place lit by fading torches. She thought it a memory of what was, but so strikingly familiar.
The man took steps towards a stunted pedestal. He reached out, plunging a gloved hand through the dark, the light blistering through his grip. Justine knew what it was. Where it was. She closed her eyes, refusing it.
“If you will not help me,” the voice declared, “mayhap he will.”
A barren plain unravelled in front of her, and a towering black mountain soared above. The dead littered the field, all save for a man in a sewn doublet, laughing and smirking.
“Lord Theodore!”
The light dissipated. The crystalline stone rested in her palm, dull and dormant.
“Gabriel!” Justine shouted, convinced he was no longer satisfied with waiting. “Is this what you want? Is that what that vision was? Will it come sooner if I reject you? Is my penance all that death? Tell me!”
Silence hung in the air.
She fingered the crystalline stone, nearly pricking herself on its jagged edges. So much trouble for so little a thing, she thought and gripped it hard, her blood flowing over it. Lord Theodore would slay every man and woman for it. Lord Arthur would pretend it does not exist. And Gabriel. Gabriel. You would … she let her thoughts trail off and thrust the crystalline stone into a satchel at her waist.
Striding across the chamber, she opened a tall cabinet and slung a long bow and quiver over her shoulder. She cinched a sword belt to her waist and sheathed a sword breaker and short sword. Then she strode to the wall and took a scabbarded claymore, strapping it down her back. It is not Resolution, but it will suffice.
Justine stormed out her door and ran towards the stables near the western gate. Voices, faint and trailing, called after her, but she did not care. She roused the stable boys to saddle Red. They obeyed without a word.
Leaning against the barn door, she patted the crystalline stone through the satchel at her waist, cursing it, cursing the boys who took so long.
“Lady Justine, your horse, my lady.”
Justine snatched the reins from the lad and he sprinted back into the stable, muttering inaudibly. Mounting Red in one smooth step, she kicked the horse into a canter, leaving the city behind.
Whoever you are, Gabriel, your plots and schemes shall come to an end. I am not yours—nor any man’s—catspaw.
You will learn that to your ruin.
The Betrayer
High Noon
6 April 14813
Justine hit the ground hard and rolled into the trunk of a tree.
Wincing, she slowly rose to her feet; the weight of her weapons were bearing down like a mountain. The forest seemed to spin, and she placed a hand against her head. What was … where am I … Red?
A faint whine resounded near; she turned her head towards it, though naught broke the stillness of the forest. Then she heard it again, louder. Fumbling about, she nearly tripped and saw it: her mare entwined in roots, his eyes flickering, body unmoving.
“Red!” she shouted, cradling his large head in her arms. “What happened, did you …” Her gauntleted fingers felt blood dripping from the mare’s right knee. Tracing a finger down the mare’s leg, the bones were held together by a thread.
“It is my fault, Red,” she admitted, stroking the mare’s head. “We went too far, too fast. Forgive me.”
Red neighed faintly, his narrow eyes struggling to stay open.
“Two seasons past I did not think you would survive the winter, Red,” Justine intoned, holding the mare tighter. “It was a long, hard journey, made all the harder by Lord Theodore’s ambition. You endured it, you did not relent, but now because of my foolishness …”
Red moved his head slightly, trying to nuzzle her.
“No, I deserve no comfort,” Justine said, tears welling. “This is my battle, my burden. Your sin is faithfulness to me. Forgive me.”
Stubbornly, Red nuzzled her
once more, then closed his eyes.
Justine did not move—she did not want to. Red still breathed faintly, and though not a sound came from him, she knew he was in pain. She wiped the tears from her face and stared at her faithful companion solemnly. “No, I do not want to lose you. No.”
Red gave no answer, his eyes still shut.
She withdrew a dagger sheathed at her waist. It had to be done. The suffering had to end. She patted Red along the nose one last time and intoned, “The sins I bear lengthen.” The ground bathed in crimson, Red’s hoarse breathing ceased, and she let him rest upon the ground. “I cannot bury you, but I will return when Gabriel answers for his sins.”
Solemnly, Justine unhooked the saddlebag from Red and slung it over her shoulder. She stared long at her faithful beast of burden, begged for forgiveness once more, then set off deeper into the forest.
The sun passed its midday height, the shadows lengthening on the ground. Atop the trees Justine heard the chirping of birds and the chittering of squirrels, but of other beasts and travelers there was no sign.
She was alone.
Every step was more difficult than the next. She knew the journey was her burden, but without Red, the emptiness was overwhelming.
She did not realize how much she needed Red.
“I need no help!” she screamed out in frustration, slamming a fist into a tree. “I need no help, I need no …” the words trailed off as she pounded the tree over and over.
Collapsing to the ground, she hung her head beneath her arms. “When does it stop, when does it end,” she muttered. “My father. Lord Arthur. Lord Theodore. The dead, those who will die. Gabriel. The God Stone. When will it, when will it …”
So much had come and gone. The flight from her home, the infighting and treachery in the new land, the ceaseless presence of what she could not understand.
She wept.
Time seemed to stand still. Gabriel returned to her mind, unbidden: the smooth, pontificating face of the fool, the ambivalence to those who would be cast by the wayside, and the visions of a cold and desolate fate. “It ends with him, with Gabriel,” she said soundly, wiping the tears from her face.
She plodded on.
Trees swarmed in all directions. She ducked beneath the groping reach of branches and cut away the rest. Thoughts lingered all the while: concerns of the past, the present, and what would come.
It was an inescapable mire.
Father, did you fathom the extent of this, this God Stone? she thought whilst pushing aside branches and cresting a low rising hilltop. They closeted with you, Theodore and Arthur. One cannot resist its allure, while the other is resolved to remove his rival, but for what? The God Stone? Did you know of this hubris, Father? What should I do?
Endless forest greeted her at the bottom of the hilltop, the branches heaving against a mild breeze, and no answer came.
Justine walked on. The forest was bathed in an orange glower. Dusk neared, but pushing onward seemed more important.
And more than that, answers.
Father, did you know Gabriel? she thought quietly, ducking beneath a low hanging branch of an old maple. Did he come to you, as he did me? He showed me what I wanted to forget, as if he was there himself. Is he a manipulator, and we the subservient? I do not know what awaits us, but however strong he may be, I will not be cattle to be driven, even if I must spill his blood.
The forest gave no answers. Justine pressed on.
Shadows deepened, but a sheer rock wall stood in the distance, towering above the treetops. Justine thought it familiar, and pressing her hand against it, vines threaded through the old, mortared stone.
She knew where she was.
Your life draws to an end, Gabriel, she thought whilst walking eastward, drifting her hand along the wall. I fled a butcher king, for what, I did not know. The corruption followed me here. I will not stand idly by and watch injustice done. I know what I must do now. I will protect Dale and all those who shelter beneath her walls. This castle, your manipulations, Gabriel, stand in the way of that. It will fall.
The wall ended, though foliage and roots puddled at the corner; it turned further north and she followed it, hand upon the stone. This is where we discovered it, two seasons past, Justine thought, remembering her southward journey with Amerie and Marcus. We thought that these walls would protect us. You cannot escape me, Gabriel.
The orange glower seemed to all but fade, the onset of dusk inevitable, and Justine teetered on her feet, nearly falling. Steadying herself, she kneeled and looked down at steps descending into darkness. The path I must walk once more. The path I must endure again.
Moving away from the wall and the steps, she slumped the saddlebag at the bole of an old tree and cut down a handful of branches, putting them in a pile on the ground. Then, reaching into her bag, she retrieved flint and made a small fire from the branches.
Should I eat, or—Justine dismissed the thought and retrieved her torch from the saddlebag, lighting it with the small fire. Stomping out what remained, she descended into the darkness of the stone steps.
Waving the torch to and fro, the castle looked as dark and dreary as two seasons past. Spiders crossed webs atop the ceilings, suits of armour and weapons lay shattered upon the floor, and furniture and portraits were slashed and torn. She tread forth, trying to remember the path she took.
Deciding on the first westward path, she passed by open antechambers swallowed by darkness. Curiosity did not stir within her mind, and she did not turn her glance from the end of the hall.
The path forked, but she continued westward. West, then when it ends, north to a stairwell, she told herself. Yet the further she went, the more the God Stone stirred in her mind; she could feel its presence in the satchel at her waist and words echoed at the edge of hearing, faint and unintelligible. “Stay silent,” she muttered, though the prattling did not cease.
A breeze suddenly surged through the castle to her right. Peering into the open door, she saw the remains of the broken-down library that had filled her with so much hope once. “Not far now,” she said softly, pushing further down the hall.
The path forked; she walked northward before coming to a winding stair. She took quiet steps, flinching at every resounding echo.
At the end of the stairs she placed the torch in an open bracket. Then, unsheathing the claymore across her back, moved down the hall slowly. Black on black, the shadows seemed to coalesce, darkness permeating the very air.
The games are at an end, Gabriel.
In the distance a faint light glittered, nearly suffocated, as if it could not penetrate the darkness. A false light. Gabriel’s light. But then she heard a voice, and it was not Gabriel’s; she threw herself against the wall, listening.
“I am not pleased by the game you play,” a voice rasped, the words slithering like a snake. Justine thought it was the same voice from her home a week ago that goaded her. “Nor would your master, if he learned of it.”
“High Servitor Jophiel shares his mind with few,” a voice replied, a voice that Justine knew was Gabriel’s. “I excise his will, and Hers, above all others.”
“High Servitor,” the rasping voice scoffed. “A servant who thinks highly of himself. The Dark God shall humble my brother, as He will you.”
“Mother defends us.”
“Defends you?! Your master draws out his days in the heart of a desert, praying to a goddess that has not heard his pleas for millennia. And you? Gabriel? You dwell in ruins unfit for the lowest beast.”
Silence hung in the air. There are two of them, Justine thought, and not in league. Did Gabriel tell the truth, or … Thought dissipated. Whatever Gabriel’s intent, he had wrought madness with the God Stone.
Two creatures, not one, would have their blood spilled.
Justine heard the shuffling of robes, and Gabriel spoke again. “I made my choice long ago, Amos, and I do not regret it. Justine Duvan will stand against you as her father did before.”
�
�Jonas Duvan?” Amos cackled. Justine tightened the grip on her steel, but she stilled herself, listening. “I shall not deny that righteous lord sought an Animus Stone, thought himself greater than his own king, but he was not the Bringer of Dawn, nor is his daughter.”
“And what would you know of the Bringer of Dawn?” Gabriel insisted. “That is the province of the Order, far from your influence.”
“More than you know.”
Justine shut her eyes tightly; the memory of her father stirred vibrantly in the deepening gloom. She always thought her father proud and noble, kind-hearted and brave, never a lord who sought power for its own sake, or gainsaid loyalty to the king. This Amos, Gabriel, they lie. Just like Lord Arthur, Lord Theodore. They lie. It is the game they play, it is …
“And you let her take it?” It was the voice of Amos; she felt her knuckles whitening, but she listened still. “You sent her to the grave.”
“She is the Bringer of Dawn. She saw it. All of it.”
Amos laughed and laughed. “You and Jophiel are a pack of fools. The Bringer of Dawn will be borne from the emperor’s seed, and he has not stirred from his throne for millennia. He is weakened, or did your high servitor not tell you that? That vision that she saw, it is not of her; it is what will come, but not by her hand.”
“You do not ordain Mother’s chosen, Amos.”
“Do I not?”
As Amos spoke the words, Justine felt the God Stone stir within the satchel; it began to pulse light, and she feared the two creatures must know they were not alone. Yet her eyes drifted to the illuminated mural across the hall: the warrior raising steel against the Dark God and a font of Light bearing down upon them.
Do you want me to believe that? she mused, her hand clasping the jagged crystalline stone. Voices echoed in her head in answer, but there were so many that she could not make sense of it.
Then Amos’ voice cut through the rest. “It was I who summoned the Dark God unto this realm, Gabriel. It was I who laid the challenge against the emperor—the Bringer of Dawn—blessed by Lucretia’s wretched Light. It is only when I rise again, bearing the Dark God’s banner, that he will stir. It is I who shall demand the Bringer of Dawn, when my father cannot stand against the Darkness.”
The Prelude to Darkness Page 14