A wind got up, and as one the bodies began to swing faster. Sean felt splatters of blood hit him in the face. Once more the fangs slid from his gums.
I am the Balance, he said. I am the Balance. The fangs receded, but he had to fight off an almost overwhelming urge to lick the blood from his skin.
He was about to turn away when one of them spoke.
“Help us...please?”
But Sean couldn’t find the source of the voice...whoever had spoken had used what little energy they possessed. He did the only thing he could do for them. He put the dagger to use, and sent them all to their final death.
By the time he headed back down the stairs his hands were soaked in blood up as far as the elbows. He was muttering to himself under his breath.
I am the Balance, I am the Balance.
But the fangs were sliding in and out of his gums, and his blood tasted sweet.
His only thought now was to get out of this hell and find somewhere he could spend the night in relative safety. He ran down the stairs, taking them two, even three, at a time. Then, once he was in the main Palace corridors, he ran full pelt. It was nearly full dark by now, and the whispering in the corridors had grown louder, more menacing.
He found himself in front of a stout oak door, one he didn’t remember from his earlier wandering. He had taken a wrong turn somewhere in the maze of corridors.
The best thing now would be to retrace his steps and find his way out of the Palace before it was full night. But something called to him from the other side of the door, something that made the dark Other in him move and respond. He grabbed the handles and swung the heavy door open.
At first there was only darkness in the room beyond, a deep black that seemed sinuous and alive. Then the Other inside Sean moved, and it was as if daylight had flooded the room. Part of Sean knew it was nearly full dark, but he could see the whole scene in front of him in the minutest detail.
It was a long hall. I would tell you not to look in the Great Hall, but you will anyway, he heard Seton’s voice say. A high ceiling arched overhead, with heavy, dark-stained wood paneling on all sides. A massive stone fireplace dominated the far end of the room, and dark portraits of Others, horsed and armored, lined the walls.
But it was the mosaic on the floor that drew his attention. It was done in blood red and black tiles, each no bigger than a fingernail, and it covered the whole floor some thirty yards long.
It was a serpent; a great, segmented, wurm with scales that flashed in the moonlight and eyes that glowed. It seemed to see into the depths of Sean’s soul, and he was transfixed as sight took him and...
...he is in a high place, a rocky outcrop above a moonlit desert. He is one of a band of barbarians...hairy men with low brows and stocky, muscular bodies. They carry long spears with stone heads, and their clothes are little more than roughly sewn animal furs. When they communicate among themselves they use grunts and clicks, but Sean understands what is being said.
They are herding something ahead of them, something thick, scaly and wormlike that slithers on the ground and leaves a slimy trail behind it. It is almost twenty yards long...like a snake, but with a human-like face. Two long spiral horns spring from its forehead, and a long black forked tongue slithers from between its teeth. When it smiles its fangs hang over its lower lip.
The serpent cackles and giggles as it retreats from them. One of the barbarians gets too close, and the serpent strikes, so fast that Sean scarcely sees it. It latches itself to one of the Barbarians and begins to feed.
Sean moves forward and dives his spear deep into the man’s heart as the rest of the tribe harry the beast closer to the edge of the cliff.
Blood drips from the serpent’s lips and it smiles again.
“You cannot destroy me,” it says. “My time will come again.” The barbarians force it over the edge of the outcrop and down into the darkness. It makes no sound as it falls.
The tallest of the tribe raises his spear. The head on this weapon is different...it blazes with an intense blue light as the spear is thrust into the ground...and the rock of the cliff falls in an avalanche, burying the serpent beneath many tons of scree and debris. The tribal leader screams his defiance into the night...
...and it echoed in Sean’s head as he blinked. Moonlight, as bright as any sun, washed over the mosaic, and the serpent seemed to writhe and squirm.
“The old one knows you,” a voice said to Sean’s left. He turned, and found himself facing an enormous, bloated Other. The thing was gorged with blood...so much so that its eyes leaked red and drips ran from its nose and ears. If it had been man-and-only-man it would have been over forty stone in weight, but Sean saw that it had left no tracks in the dust.
It wore a single long smock that covered it from neck to feet. The garment was covered in both wet and dry blood, and even at a distance of several yards the smell of it made gorge rise in Sean’s throat.
Perversely, it had paid great attention to its appearance above the neck. It wore a long white powdered wig that was combed and set in perfect ringlets. Its eyes were shadowed with mascara, and its cheeks were rouged and polished.
It stepped backwards as Sean turned fully around, the dagger raised in front of him.
“Oh, you do not need that here,” it said. “Not among brothers.”
“I am no brother of yours,” Sean said and stepped closer.
The Other fluttered its arms in front of itself, like a wounded bird trying to escape a cat. It moved away from Sean, backward out of the hall, faster than a man could run. There it stopped, and laughed loudly.
“Maybe not brother yet,” the Other said. “But you are of the blood. Look at your hands.”
Sean looked down.
The blood that so recently caked his hands and arms was disappearing...it was being absorbed into his skin. He felt a tingling glow, as if he’d put his arms near a fire, then a hot rush, like an orgasm. His legs gave way under him and he sat down on the floor, hard.
The Other came closer, but not close enough that it would be within reach of the dagger.
“See,” it said. “You are of the dark. Can you not feel the thirst grow in you? A little taste like that should merely leave you wanting more.”
I am the Balance. Sean muttered, but it was drowned out by the beating of a drum in his head, thudding loud in his ears and driving all else from his mind. He began to crawl towards the sound, then got up to his feet and walked. He pushed his way passed the Other, and soon he was running.
“Ah,” the Other said behind him. “It seems we are called to the table.”
The drumbeat was coming from somewhere underneath them. It was insistent and demanding, pulling Sean forward to a place where his thirst would be assuaged. His feet picked up small whirlwinds of dust as he rushed to the source of the sound. He pushed open a thick wooden door and threw himself into a long narrow room.
A small group of Others stood around a table. On the table a large man’s body lay, and the drumming was coming from it...a great bass thump as his heart beat out its terror. Sean leapt forward, ready to bite and tear, to still the heart and feel the rush of blood in his mouth. He jumped on the table and bent over the body...only to find himself looking down into the terrified face of William Barnstable.
He threw himself backward off the table and retreated until he felt a wall at his back.
The compulsion to feed left him as quickly as it had come. I am the Balance, he said. And this time he felt in control.
The Others around the table were looking at him, puzzlement showing on their faces.
“He is unsure of his blood,” a voice said, and the bloated Other seemed to float into the room.
“Why won’t you feed?” it said to Sean. “For surely, the blood is the life?”
“I am not like you,” Sean said through gritted teeth, but the Others merely laughed.
“You are as near as any I’ve ever seen,” the Other said. “Why deny it?”
Sean lo
oked at the prone body on the table. Barnstable had lost weight since the attack on Milecastle, but there was color in his cheeks. And his eyes no longer showed the blank stare of a mind-slave...they were the terrified eyes of a man surrounded by his worst nightmare, and unable to do anything about it.
“We are undecided about this one,” the bloated Other said, motioning to Barnstable. “He brought the King’s wife to us safely, and for that he should be rewarded. But he did nothing to save Baphomet, and for that he must be punished.
“What do you think?” it said, addressing the Others around the table.
“I have a thirst,” one said. It was old, lank black hair hanging in front of a thin, almost skeletal, face. Its clothes, such as they were, hung off it in rags. It drooled from the side of its mouth: a pink- tinged, viscous fluid that hung in two long, ropy strands that reached almost to its chest.
“And I,” another said. This one might be a female, but Sean could not tell. It was so caked with a mixture of blood and muck and, from the smell of it, shit, that only the red eyes showed it to be alive.
“No. Let us have some sport,” yet another said. This one had been a minister of the cloth at one time. It’s hair hung down its back, long and lustrous, and a neatly trimmed beard hung over a ragged dog collar. It might once have seemed almost pious—but the effect was spoiled by the old bloodstains that ran down the gray of the beard and onto the cassock below.
“Send them to the pit together, and see which prevails,” it said.
The bloated Other smiled.
“That was my thought, and that will be my pleasure.”
It moved to the table and lifted Barnstable as if he weighed no more than a feather. The big man whimpered, just once, then was silent.
“Bring the boy,” the Other said.
Apart from the snare, Sean had only the Scotsman’s long dagger. With it he managed to stick the old one in the belly, and poke another just over its left eye. The bloated one seemed to fly straight at him, pushing him down and pinning him to the table where he was subdued all too easily. He was lifted off the table and dragged, kicking and shouting, out of the room.
They were taken ever deeper into the bowels of the Palace, down into depths so black that Sean could see nothing but the feral red eyes of the Others shining in the darkness. The air became heavy and foul, like a bog on a hot day.
“Which one?” an Other said. “The dark or the light?”
“The light I think,” the bloated Other replied. “Then we shall see how much the boy wants to live.”
Eventually they stopped. Sean heard a sound, like flesh tearing, and then there came a loud moan from Barnstable, followed by obscene sucking noises as an Other fed.
“Ah. He is sweet,” the bloated Other said after a while. Its voice gurgled moistly, as if speaking through a mouth full of liquid.
“You will turn together,” it said to Sean.
“I will not turn,” Sean said.
“Then you will die. One of you must feed, and the other must die. The one who wants to live the most will be the one who is allowed out of the pit. Throw them in.”
Sean heard a metal grate being opened, then a thud as Barnstable’s body was dropped. Then he himself was falling through the air.
He landed on a soft body and rolled away quickly. He still had the dagger in his hand—the Others had ceased to see it as a threat—and he held it in front of him in the dark. But there was no movement from Barnstable. Sean shuffled backwards until his back was to a wall. Something scurried away in the darkness, too small to be a man.
“You have some of our furry friends for company,” the bloated Other called down from above, and Sean heard the smile in its voice. “It would be best to feed before they do.”
“I will not!” Sean shouted.
“Ah, but you will,” the Other said. “You forget, I have seen the thirst in you...the serpent has seen it in you. You are one of us. You just do not know it yet.”
The metal grate slid closed overhead. Sean tried to judge the height, but could not get his bearings in the dark.
Barnstable whimpered.
“Be quiet, man,” Sean said. “At least have the dignity to die in peace.”
The big man moaned.
“I am bitten. I am bitten deep.”
Sean scuttled across the room and put the dagger to the man’s throat before he had time to move.
“Aye. You are bit. And I can end it for you here and now. So are you man enough for it, Constable? What do you say? Do you want to feel the cold steel?”
Barnstable started to weep.
Disgusted, Sean released him and went back to the wall.
“As I thought,” Sean said. “Once a coward, always a coward.”
“Grant?” the big man whispered. “It is you, is it not? At the table...when you leaned over me...I knew it was you...you have turned.”
Sean heard the horror in the big man’s voice.
“Oh, aye. I was turned saving Milecastle from the black bastards...just about the same time as you were slaying your Thane, betraying your duty and abducting a defenseless woman. Now be quiet,” he said. “I have no wish to speak with you.”
“But what are you talking about?” the big man said. “I remember nothing of what you say I...”
Sean was across the room and at the man’s throat again before he had time to finish the sentence. This time he let Barnstable feel the fangs slide against his flesh.
“What is it to be? The bite or the steel?” Sean said. “You have no other choices... you are already bitten. I can give you a quick death here and now if you wish?”
The big man went limp in Sean’s arms. Sean could feel his heart beat strong and heavy. There was no compulsion to feed, but the fangs were sliding, wet and bloody, in and out of his gums.
I am the Balance, he told himself, but the hate he felt for the Constable was strong. He lifted the dagger, intending to draw it over the man’s throat...
...and he is back in Milecastle, staring out over the wall at the dark army beyond. He realizes with a start that he is seeing the scene through Barnstable’s eyes.
Something comes out of the blackness and into his mind...something black and foul that grabs his mind like a vise.
And from that moment on he only sees scenes flitting quickly across the surface of his mind, senses that melt and flow like dreams...no, like nightmare.
...he is in the Great Hall of Milecastle and the Thane approaches him, a question in his eyes. He stabs the old man, deep in the side, and leaves him on the stairs. Inside his mind he is screaming, in pain and rage...but the black thing has him in its grip and will not let go…
...he is carrying a young woman through the streets of Milecastle. Dark Others approach him, and inside he quails, but they part and fall in on either side of him, providing him with a guard. He sees Sean Grant, old Menzies, and a big man he doesn’t recognize stare at him in disbelief as he passes. He wants to shout out, to tell them that he is not responsible...but the black thing has his mind.
...he is in a small chapel, and flames are lapping at the velvet drapes beside him, but he feels no pain. A man...Duncan Campbell...reaches past him towards the prone figure of his daughter, and the thing in his head commands, even stronger than before. He strikes out, as hard as he is able, and crushes the Scotsman’s ribs with one blow, sending the man to the ground where he jumps, over and over, on the man’s chest. He is disgusted with himself, and wails for mercy and peace...but the black thing has his mind. ...he carries Mary Campbell into a large blood-red palace and she is taken from his arms. He is led by a band of Others to a kitchen where he is laid on a long table. The voice in his head says sleep, so he sleeps. But even there the black thing has his mind...
... and Sean blinked full awake again.
He lowered the knife...just as the Constable went stiff in his arms.
“Ah, my young Watcher,” an accented voice said from the Constable’s mouth. “Now I will have my revenge on
you for Baphomet.”
Barnstable’s arms reached for Sean, and instinctively Sean lashed out with the dagger. He rolled away in the dark, keeping the dagger in front of him.
He tried to will the Other inside him to see through the blackness, to show him his enemy, but Barnstable, or rather the spirit of the Boy-King, merely laughed.
“Who do you think controls the darkness? You, or I? Watch...”
It was as if someone had lit a candle. Sean saw the cell as if lit by daylight, and saw the figure of Barnstable move towards him. Then the light went, snuffed out as quickly as it had come. The Boy-King laughed again, closer now.
A hand brushed Sean’s cheek. He jumped, and moved sideways fast, but again felt a hand at his neck.
“And where will you go?” the Boy-King said. “This body is ready for turning. Shall I allow it? Would you like to fight one of us in the dark?”
Sean stilled himself. Be ready for anything, Old Menzies had always taught him, and never engage an opponent in conversation.
Sean remembered how he had called the woodsman earlier, and tried to calm himself further.
I am the Balance he said, and called, not just for the Woodsman, but also for the Other within. Once more the room lit up, and Sean saw Barnstable’s eyes widen... just as the woodsman’s ability on the hunt aided Sean’s throwing arm. He sent the dagger straight and true through the big man’s right eye.
“We will meet again,” the Boy-King said, even as Barnstable’s body fell to the ground.
Barnstable was still alive when Sean reached him.
“Finish me,” he said, weakly. Blood was pumping from the ruin of his eye, and something in Sean lurched, but he sent it away.
I am the Balance,” he said, and bent over the big man.
“Feed,” a voice said from above him. “Feed, and be one of the blood.”
“Never,” Sean said.
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