Dark Souls

by Quinn Blackbird

“What does this mean?” He tilts his head, curious. “The calm?”

  “It’s when everything is quiet, on the verge of chaos. Nothing feels right. It’s all on edge. There’s something wrong about it. That’s me. I’m there, I’m quiet, but inside? Inside, I’m wrong. I’m the one you meet before the storm comes.”

  Understanding washes over his face. “You think you are an omen,” he wonders aloud, “of bad things to come.”

  I nod, eyes wet with tears. He blurs in front of me through the glassy sheen soaking my eyes, but I see the understanding on his face clear enough. Gone is the curiosity and excitement. He just watches me with an unreadable look on his face.

  Finally, he lets go of my hand. But then, he reaches up to my face, and I stiffen. His fingers brush through my hair, then cup the back of my head.

  My eyes widen as he draws in towards me, a beast slinking over its prey. I pull back, but his hold on my head locks me in place.

  He moves in on me.

  His hand, at the last moment, turns my face away from his and exposes my neck. His cold, icy mouth finds my bare neck, and he grazes his lips over my skin.

  Goosepimples prickle all over my flesh. He doesn’t kiss me. He doesn't bite or nibble me. It’s like he’s tasting me, but not quite. Like a battle is raging on inside of him, and he has to fight to stay in control.

  I’m frozen in place as his mouth slips down to the nook of my neck, and stops. I feel his warm breaths brush over my skin for a beat, then he lets me go and he draws back to his end of the furs.

  I stare at him with wide eyes.

  Fear turns my muscles to balls of iron, and I worry I can’t run away fast enough if I need to. The way he watches me, it spurs danger throughout my body. I’ve never felt more like easy prey in my life.

  I breathe shakily, “What was that?”

  His stare is dark. He looks dangerous.

  “Our bargain is done,” he says suddenly, and his voice is like sharp shards of stone. He reaches for the small box at the side of the blanket furs—a box like a jewellery one, but with crimson velvet coverings, and a golden clasp. Ancient-looking.

  I watch as he unhooks the clasp and lifts the lid. Inside, he removes one phial of black powder, then tosses it at me.

  I catch it with a fumble.

  “This will save your friend,” he tells me. “Feed it to her and rub some in the wound. Now leave.”

  I tuck the phial into my cleavage, then make to push off the furs. But I pause and turn my stare back on him.

  He’s looking at me with more hatred than the way Nicole looks at me. Whatever he just did with my neck, it’s made him despise me, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why.

  “Why did you do that?” I ask.

  His lashes lower. “Leave, kuri.”

  “I want to know why,” I argue with more courage than I feel withering away inside of me. ‘Why did you heal me after that fae whipped me? Why do you want to know about my scars and tattoo? Why did you do that to my neck?” I bite the insides of my cheek before I spit the final sting, “Why are you so damn interested in me?”

  That does it.

  He lunges at me.

  I have just a moment to blink before I’m on my back on the furs, Caspan straddling me and his tight grip is clutching my throat.

  Without the charcoal diadem, his black hair falls loose over his forehead and the tips brush over his brows. It adds a deeper darkness to his inky-pool eyes.

  He crouches over me, his mouth coming closer to mine.

  Those two black pools he has for eyes burn into me like fire pits unleashed. Slowly, he brings his face closer to mine until the tips of our noses touch, and I can taste the fruit on his warm breath. I’m so hungry that my mouth waters.

  “I ask the questions, kuri. It is your duty to live in fear.” His voice is a low whisper, a dangerous sound that floods me with panic. “If you need reminding...” His free hand comes up with the silvery wink of a blade and my blood runs cold. He presses the tip of the blade to the side of my neck.

  “I don’t,” I utter shakily. “I don’t need reminding. I won’t ask anything more.”

  He growls, “Go.”

  The weight of his body leaves mine as he pulls back in one swift move.

  I rush out of the tent faster than my wobbly legs can carry me.

  7

  The camp is mostly asleep as I plod down to the human side.

  Clusters of the dark fae rest soundlessly, and there are no fires to warm them against the chilly bite of the air. Mind, I don’t think they feel the elements the way that we do.

  I feel the cold. It whirls around me in icy breezes as I reach the human part of camp. With only a thin flannelette shirt and an old pair of stretched leggings to cover me, my skin prickles into little pebbles. But that might have a lot more to do with Caspan holding a blade to my throat than the actual cold.

  Still, I shiver and fold my arms around myself as I start to search the sleeping humans. Adrianna is where I left her, on the log. But I need Hassan to administer the black powder into the wound. I’m not exactly an expert with treating wounds, despite my experience with my own cuts. I’m not gentle enough to avoid hurting her.

  So I find Hassan—who sleeps on his jumper down the edge of camp—to help me. I shake his shoulder lightly to wake him.

  He stirs almost instantly and looks up at me through sleepy eyes.

  Crouching beside him, I slip out the phial of black powder from my cleavage. “I need your help.” My voice is a whisper, so as not to disturb the others. Don’t want anyone else knowing that I managed to get help from the General.

  “What is that?” He pushes up onto his elbows. Sleep still clings to his hooded eyes.

  “Some sort of healing powder.” In truth, I don’t know what it is—I only know that it heals and works as a strong, dizzying painkiller too. “It’s for Adrianna,” I add. “But whatever’s left over, you can have. If you help me give it to her.”

  He’s sitting upright now, more alert. He eyes the phial with a tired hunger that fights through fatigue.

  “What does it heal?” He can’t hide the curiosity from livening his voice.

  “Wounds,” I say with a shrug. A broad answer, but the only one I can give. “The healer used it on me after I was whipped. It’s ... magic, I guess.” As close to magic as we humans can understand.

  Hassan doesn’t need more persuading. He’s pushing up from the ground in a blink, then I’m leading the way up the human camp to Adrianna.

  Deposited on the log, she still sleeps. But it’s an ugly slumber. One where sweat wets your clothes and sticks hair to your face, and your lashes flutter with bad, delusional dreams.

  Hassan is quick to work.

  He rolls her off the log gently and settles her on the hard dirt. Next, his fingers gingerly peel apart the scarf from her wound, then remove as much of her t-shirt as he can without hurting her.

  She sleeps through all of it.

  I hand him the phial. The black powder shimmers in the faint torch-light, as if made from dark glitter.

  “We should put some in her mouth first,” I suggest, remembering what Caspan told me.

  Feed it to her and rub some in the wound.

  Without a syringe to administer the powder, I suppose that feeding it to her is the next best way to kill the pain.

  Holding the phial, Hassan doesn’t stop me as I uncork it then tip some of the dark shimmery powder onto my palm. I bring my hand down to Adrianna’s cracked, parted mouth before I tip the powder between her lips.

  Nothing. She doesn’t swallow, doesn’t scrunch up her face from the foreign taste. She doesn’t react at all.

  I look at Hassan with a question on my blank face. “Is that normal?”

  His mouth flattens into a slanted line. “I wouldn’t know,” he confesses. “I have never used this before. Never seen it used.”

  Biting the insides of my cheeks, I rinse my gaze over her slack face for a beat. She’s not swall
owing the powder. And seconds more that we waste waiting are seconds she’s closer to the end.

  I press my hand against her face, blocking off air from her mouth and nose.

  That does it.

  After a pause, her body starts to fight for air, and her throat pulses with desperate swallows. I slip my hand away and watch as she sucks in a sharp breath.

  A cough jolts through her, probably from the powder hitting the back of her mouth, and a weak groan cascades out from her lips.

  “All right.” Hassan pours some powder onto the tips of his fingers. “Pin her down.”

  I don’t hesitate. I’m quick to sprawl myself over her limp body, taking care to hold down her arms with my legs and hand. My free hand rests against her mouth to muffle screams that might come.

  Reaching over me, Hassan brings his stained-black fingertips to the pus-filled bullet wound. The skin there has bubbled and looks like a cluster of infected, stubborn pimples that won’t go away.

  His fingers touch the wound, gingerly.

  We both still, looking at Adrianna’s slack face—partly covered by my dirty hand—and wait for a reaction. But none comes. The powder she swallowed must have worked fast. Numbed her, maybe. Because she looks dead to the world.

  Still, I’m not worried. Her breathing has steadied already, and her lashes flutter much less than before. See—this powder is magic. As close to magic as I’ve ever seen before.

  “Caspan—” I cut myself off as Hassan throws me a bewildered look. “I mean, the General,” I add sheepishly, “said to rub it in the wound.”

  With a final unreadable look at me, Hassan just dives in. Literally. His black fingertips delve into the infected wound and make a slimy, squishy sound that twists my face with disgust.

  I turn my head away and swallow back a retch that climbs up my throat.

  As he spreads his fingers around the wound, infected sores break open and the stink quickly fills the air. It’s putrid, like mouldy cheese and unclean skin.

  My retch returns with a violent urge, and I gag. If I had food in my stomach, I would throw it up all over the dirt. But my stomach is empty and all that comes up is bile-flavoured air.

  Once I collect myself, I force my hooded eyes to look at the wound.

  Hassan gently massages the powder inside it, making sure to get all the cracked edges and sores.

  The stench has softened now. It’s mixed with the chemical-plant scent of the powder. Subdued enough that I can hold back the sick swirling inside of me.

  Hassan is generous with the black powder. He uses so much of it that when he’s done, there’s only a quarter of the phial left.

  He corks the lid and looks at me, a question swimming in his eyes. Doubt. He doubts me—questions whether or not I’ll stick to my word and let him keep the leftovers.

  “Thank you,” I tell him. “You can keep the rest.”

  I stick to my promise. Not because I’m good and it’s what I owe him, but because Hassan is useful. I might need him again. His help is invaluable in this new life, and burning him means to risk his assistance in the future.

  Satisfied, he nods and tucks the phial into his pocket. Relief relaxes his muscles. But doubt still clings to his face as he looks between me and Adrianna.

  “I don’t know what happens now,” he tells me.

  I trace his gaze to her pale, slack face, and recall when the powder was used on me. After the lashings, I slept for days apparently. And I had horrible, clutching dreams that refused to let me go. They still cling to me in vivid memories. But the first time, less powder was used on my wounds—injuries inflicted mostly by myself when I tried to flee the dark fae in the village, and a head wound caused by Caspan when he booted me into a wall. That time, I slept deeply, but not for nearly as long as the second time.

  “She’ll sleep,” I say. “Have bad dreams. And then, she should be fine.”

  He nods to himself. “I hope she wakes in time.”

  “In time for what?”

  “We will leave shortly.” He turns his stare on the dark fae ahead. “They don’t need much rest. When we make camp like this, it is never long before we move on again.”

  I nod. “I know. She’ll be fine. I’ll throw water over her or something if she doesn't wake up.”

  And if that doesn't work, I’ll drag her myself. I’ll figure out something. I have to. Because I didn’t risk so much to save her life just to leave her behind.

  I think back to my bargain with Caspan.

  He offered only to provide the means to heal her, not to save her life or keep her protected in the after effects of the powder. It makes it all the more important for me to get her moving when the time comes.

  Hassan takes the remaining black powder with him as he goes back to his laid-out jumper on the dirt. He sleeps better knowing he has some way of healing someone with that little bottle of magic in his pocket.

  I don’t sleep.

  I sit beside Adrianna on the dirt and look around the bodies lying motionless on the field. For a long while, I sit in silence and fight off the thoughts plaguing my mind. Sleep won’t come to me now, I know it. But I also know that I need the rest if I’m to support Adrianna when the army moves on again.

  I’m just about to lie down beside Adrianna when I spot Nicole across the human side of camp. She slouches in dim torch-light. Her eyes look crimson in the glow, and they are fixed on me like the devil’s gaze.

  We stare at each other for a moment.

  Finally, I look away and turn my back on her. As I start to get comfortable on my side, another pair of eyes catches my attention. This time, the stare is coming from the dark fae end of camp.

  Cheekbones is watching me. His gaze is lively. Hungry.

  I shut my eyes on him.

  Sleep doesn’t come, as I expected. But I do rest for some time, and that’ll have to be enough, because after a while, I hear grass and dirt squelch at my side.

  I stir and twist around to see what’s happening.

  A pair of shoes block my view.

  I look up and see Nicole staring down at me. As our eyes lock, she lowers herself to sit cross-legged beside me.

  Frowning, I push myself upright and face her.

  Before I can ask what she wants, she says, “What do you do to get that?”

  My frown still furrows my brow. “Get what?”

  “The help.” There’s no hatred or anger in the way she looks at me. It’s like staring into the eyes of a porcelain doll. Lifeless. “The powder,” she goes on. “The healer fixing you up twice.”

  My lips thin. I pause for a beat before I sigh.

  “It’s more trouble than it’s worth,” I tell her. “I get more trouble than help.”

  She shakes her head and her eyes sharpen into shards of glass. “No. You do something—something for the General to have him show you mercy when he shows no one else it.”

  Maybe this is it. The chance I’ve been searching for, the chance to find out what she wants, and use it to my advantage. This is the opening I’ve been waiting for.

  I turn around to face her completely and mirror her by folding my legs. I pick at damp blades of grass. “I don’t do anything. But ... there’s something he wants with me. And before you ask, I don’t know what. I just know it has got to do with my tattoo.”

  I twist my arm and show her the ink staining my skin. She studies it for a short beat before she sighs a heavy, defeated sound.

  “So there’s nothing you do for him in exchange for his help?” she probes.

  I shake my head.

  I know what she wants, what she’s getting at. She wants to save her friend from the cart. But that’s something I can’t help with. It’s out of my league.

  “I can’t help your friend,” I tell her. “I almost had my throat ripped out for just getting the medicine to save Adrianna.”

  Her gaze turns downcast.

  Silently, she watches her own fingertips graze over the water beads on the grass. After a long quie
t moment, she snorts a crude sound, then turns her face up at me as it twists into a sneer.

  “Figures,” she spits. “You’re probably lying anyway.”

  “I’m not—”

  Her face turns ugly, and I see the full heat of her hatred. “Bet you let him fuck you.”

  “I don’t. They don’t see us that way.”

  He moves in on me. His hand, at the last moment, turns my face away from his and exposes my neck. His cold, icy mouth finds my bare neck, and he grazes his lips over my skin.

  Who am I trying to convince? Nicole or myself?

  She laughs a cutting sound, like shards of glass, then pushes up from the grass. Looking down at me, she seethes, “You’re either a terrible liar or you’re fucking blind.”

  With that, she stalks off, back to her dark little corner of the camp.

  I watch her go for a moment before I sigh and roll over.

  So much for getting her on my side. I shared more with her than I wanted to—about my tattoo and Caspan’s interest in it. But I didn’t have the answers she was looking for.

  Maybe next time.

  I catch some more rest before I’m roused by a yellow-haired boy pushing my arm. I blink up at him, sleepily. He needs me to take Adrianna’s place on the meal crew.

  I help them deliver food—and I’m made to start with Caspan’s tent.

  When I take it to him, he doesn’t look at me, but I know he knows it’s me. I’ve barely set his bowl beside his furs before he tells me to get out.

  I do, fast.

  Outside the tent, I run into Cheekbones. Literally, I run into his chest. Staggering back, I look up at him and feel my insides turn cold.

  He smiles down at me something feral. A smile made for killers and beasts. Slowly, he leans in closer to me and brings his mouth to my ear. I’m frozen in place.

  “When it is your time, kuri,” he whispers into my ear, “I’ll be the one to finish the job.”

  I rush past him and head back to the human side. There, I trade places with the blonde guy to deliver the meals to the fae. I fill the bowls, keeping a watchful eye on Adrianna.

  The early noise is rousing her. She rubs the heels of her palms against her tired eyes for a long time before she finally forces herself up.