Beyond the Darkness

by M. A. Maddock

  Magia’s eyes flared with rage at the notion. He then stopped himself, pausing to contain his annoyance. It did not go unnoticed.

  ‘Was?’ said Oran.

  The question roused Magia’s attention towards his rival. ‘He should not have placed his trust in me, so much,’ he replied.

  ‘Do you mean to say’—Oran hesitated— ‘Vlad Tepés is dead?’

  ‘Unlike our peers, I made certain the task was carried out—by my own hand. Tepés was careless—not realising with whom he was acquainted. I still see his face as his immortality ceased to exist. I gained much knowledge from him yet took little—only that which I required.’

  ‘His dagger,’ Oran surmised, diverting his eyes.

  ‘Amongst other things,’ said Magia, catching him steal a glance at Kristene. ‘Is she not… bellisimo?!’

  Oran dared to move towards her.

  ‘I have watched her movements since she was a child—as with yours.’

  ‘So, it was you!’ Oran sneered, glaring at the smugness on Magia’s face, tempted to remove it.

  ‘Why—did you think it was them? That your past had caught up with you?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure,’ said Oran. ‘At times I sensed their presence.’

  ‘Which is why you fled, then—taking the girl with you.’

  Oran felt uncomfortable, having discovered he had been followed, not by his superiors, but by the lone adversary—thought dead, and long forgotten.

  ‘Naturally, you would sense it,’ said Magia. ‘Are we not of the same essence?’

  Oran was seething inside, insulted by the mere suggestion. ‘Do not cast aspersions on me, Magia,’ he said. ‘I had my reasons for leaving; they were justified.’

  ‘To yourself, perhaps. But I can imagine what they would say if they knew of your whereabouts.’

  ‘And what of yours?’

  ‘You forget…’ Magia paused, to antagonise him further, ‘…Warlock!’

  Oran grit his teeth.

  ‘I am dead to them. They have no cause to search for me. After all, they accepted your word, thinking I was “no more”. And so, I was… dispersed into the universe—to be nothing more than a distant memory.’ He pondered on thought, mocking their peers. ‘I wonder if my absence is still felt among them?’

  ‘Hardly,’ muttered Oran.

  In that moment, their eyes locked on one other, briefly forgetting their surroundings, as though they were the only two present.

  ‘I have no interest in you, Oran of Urquille,’ said Magia, breaking the silence.

  The words flowed, without thought. Oran’s heart sank at the mention of his Realm—the one he had abandoned.

  Magia turned and pointed towards Kristene. ‘She, was my only interest, from the moment I laid eyes on her. The chance meeting with her mother was brief, but enough to convince me. I was in no doubt as to the child’s “Gift” when I first looked into those eyes.’

  ‘A look that haunted her,’ Oran muttered.

  ‘And such a beautiful child,’ he said, ignoring the remark, his eyes resting on Kristene. Then slowly he circled her like a predator, hesitating to admire her flawless beauty. For an instant, he imagined he saw her flinch. ‘The potential was not to be ignored,’ he continued, before turning to Oran. ‘I know you saw it, too, whereas… I saw so much more.’

  ‘I was certain it was—’

  ‘What the eye of a child sees,’ said Magia, ‘is quite different to that of their elders. But she was too young, and her mother… a little too protective. So, I let the years dictate when the time was right—when she came into her own.’ His eyes slid towards Kristene, smirking to himself. ‘I watched as they condemned her mother. A pity you were not there to witness it.’

  ‘Witness an innocent woman burn!’ Oran retorted, with disgust. ‘How can you suggest I would recoil from such a barbaric act?’

  ‘I am not completely heartless!’ Magia hit back. ‘I mused over her liberation, but she was not the true gifted one. As quaint as her archaic remedies were, the woman was of no benefit to me. In fact, had she lived, it would have been a great inconvenience; she would have stood in my way… or at least… tried to.’

  ‘Then why did you not simply discard of her?’

  Magia glared at his rival, infuriated. ‘I have never taken the life of a woman!’ he snapped. ‘But… I will confess, to my shame, her execution was rather… convenient. However, I did not expect the same fate of the mother to fall on the daughter. Now that was an inconvenience.’

  ‘She would have drowned had I not been at hand,’ Oran informed him.

  ‘It seems that time has also affected your memory, Oran. You forget—I was also watching you. Quite the bold move—sending the creature. What can I say? Impressionante!’

  ‘Again, you let another do your bidding,’ said Oran, with disdain. ‘Or were you afraid to get your boots wet, Magia?’

  ‘Where is the harm in that?’ he swiftly replied, failing to see the sarcasm in Oran’s wit. ‘I knew she was in safe hands. But her talents were raw. I was content to let her stay with you, so you could… encourage her… teach her… prepare her.’

  Oran regarded him, with further reservations. ‘Prepare her for what, precisely? You have not squandered these last years, keeping her in your sights for nothing. Your motives have always been for self-gain.’

  ‘I was simply… protecting my interests,’ Magia said. ‘And I commend you, Oran. She is… almost perfect.’

  ‘Almost?’ Oran’s eyes darted towards Kristene, apprehensive.

  ‘Questions, questions!’ said Magia, rolling his eyes. ‘You do realise, time is against us, here, in this place?’

  Oran then watched as he moved with swift precision towards the bed-chambers’ large window. The long drapes were drawn. Magia’s hand glided across them gracefully, until they parted, giving him a sufficient view of the street, below.

  ‘They are still searching,’ he stated, looking down. ‘They sense it and will arrive at your door with their pathetic threats. Was it your intention to take her away, Oran?’

  ‘It is my intention!’

  Hearing the determination in his tone, Magia turned and stared at him, before filling the room with laughter—mocking his rival, again.

  ‘In your disregard of her, Lord Oran,’ he said, ‘she, found me! A vulnerable soul is easily influenced. It was no difficult task in luring her into my confidence. When we came upon one another again, here, I thought she would remember our first meeting—when she was a child.’

  Oran glared at him. ‘Here, you say?! In Triora?!’

  Magia lowered his head, eyes transfixed, before answering: ‘Right under your nose, Warlock,’ he gloated. ‘And why not? Is this place—this country—not part of Meddian—the Realm I once presided over?’

  Oran swiftly turned his attention to Kristene. The true nightmare had yet to unfold.

  ‘I should have seen it!’ he whispered to her, as if pleading for her forgiveness.

  Her eyes flickered erratically.

  He stepped back. ‘She hears me!’

  ‘I admire your optimism, Oran,’ Magia teased. ‘You see what you wish to believe. But why would she listen to you, now? You averted your attention from her, for far too long, indulging yourself in the finer things in life, while neglecting the most precious item you possessed. It was only a matter of time before she would succumb to the attentions of another. And while you amused yourself in the company of those you would call “friends” I… was willing to bide my time.’

  Oran tried to obliterate Magia’s increasingly irritating voice, while concentrating on Kristene.

  ‘Take a good look, Oran,’ he urged. ‘Look closely at her!’

  ‘Kristene!’ Oran whispered, observing her perfect features.

  Her eyes flickered again.

  ‘Listen to my voice, Krist—’

  ‘She no longer recognises that name.’

  Desperate to lure her from her spellbound state, Oran reached out to touch
her, but was compelled to withdraw his hand.

  ‘Kristene!’

  Detecting the growing anguish in his challenger’s voice, Magia simply could not help himself. ‘She has accepted her new soul,’ he revealed.

  Oran tried, once more, failing miserably to gain her attention.

  ‘She will have powers you cannot imagine,’ Magia boasted. This “Sorceress” will be indestructible!’

  Oran turned sharply. ‘Sorceress?!’ he roared in disgust. ‘She covets the soul of a Witch?!’

  Oran saw his nightmare finally unravel into a disturbing reality.

  ‘She is no Witch!’ cried Magia, offended by the accusation. ‘She is—’

  ‘What possessed you?!’

  Their voices continued to rise as they now faced one another in verbal combat—one rival striving against the other for the precious stakes.

  ‘Everything!’ said Magia. ‘Everything about her possessed me!’

  ‘Do you have any concept of what you have done?’

  ‘It was my intention from the start. She is the perfect host.’

  Oran stepped back, torn between hate and jealousy. He could hear the heavy sound of his own angry breath. Turning his back on Magia, he tried to compose himself.

  ‘I can hear your heart racing, Warlock.’

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Oran, his voice reposed as he stared into Kristene’s face, searching for the woman he knew.

  Magia lingered, goading him with his silence.

  ‘Do not taunt me!’ warned Oran. ‘Or have you forgotten, who you once were? What wicked soul does she host?’

  ‘A great one!’ Magia replied. ‘From centuries past. They condemned her to the fires. But I was asked to steal her soul—by her lover, no less, until such time they could reunite.’

  For a price, no doubt, Oran thought. ‘Who asked you?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Another Warlock?’ Oran surmised.

  ‘The pleasure of doing it… from under their noses, amused me. I vowed to restore the soul again, but…’ Magia tilted his head from side to side.

  Oran turned to face him. ‘You broke your vow!’ he stated, ‘despite knowing the penalty for betraying another Warlock.’

  ‘True,’ said Magia. ‘But they failed to notice, hence there was no betrayal on my part. And the one I stole it for was in no position to speak out against me, as the “affair” was forbidden. He knew the consequences, had he been found out. Desperation makes the “foolish” do desperate things.’

  Oran shook his head at Magia’s casual display of arrogance. ‘You could not help yourself,’ he said.

  ‘Such a tragedy that I was unable to… help him.’

  ‘Yet, you led him to believe you could, by giving him hope!’

  ‘The temptation was too great,’ Magia declared. ‘And so… I lied. I knew it was only a matter of time before I found the necessary incantations. However, I did not bargain on the lengthy wait.’ He sighed. ‘Time can be cruel. Nonetheless, I shall always be indebted to the one who thought himself to be greater than I.’

  ‘Tepés!’

  ‘But of course!’

  At this point, Oran had heard enough of his counterpart’s self-indulging arrogance and egotism; it was more than he could endure. With no warning, he threw himself forward, forcing his rival towards the window.

  ‘Your heart is as black as the garb you wear,’ he sneered, taking a firm grip of Magia’s throat. ‘Remove it from her!’ he warned. ‘Give her back to me or I shall—’ Oran stopped, suddenly aware of Magia’s red eyes and his distinct menacing grin.

  ‘I cannot!’ he stated, maintaining his irritating smirk.

  ‘Cannot or will not? Undo what you have done!’

  ‘Even if I could… Oran of Urquille… I have no desire to do so.’

  Oran tightened his grip. ‘Then I shall make—’

  The unexpected sound of an object, falling to the floor, silenced the two rivals. Oran released his hold on Magia. The Warlocks turned their heads at the timely interruption, unprepared for what stood before them.

  Chapter Eight

  L’Ordana’s new eyes sprung to life as she inhaled her surroundings.

  ‘How can this be?’ Magia whispered, breaking away from Oran. He approached her with authority. ‘I have not released you!’

  She held his enraged gaze as he drew near. Oran looked on, confused, yet slightly amused, when she summonsed the dagger into her hand, once more, before holding it to Magia Nera’s heart—the blade’s point forcing him to stop.

  ‘What is this?’ he cried, feeling its sharpness against his cold skin, as it pierced through the fine silk of his long waistcoat.

  ‘Fools!’

  Oran’s mouth gaped as he heard the strength of power in her new voice. He no longer recognised it, nor the stranger who, now, clearly dominated the chamber.

  ‘You fight each other like two, pathetic, love-struck mortals,’ she began, scolding them, ‘craving for something you cannot, and will not have—all the while, thinking you can control me?’

  ‘Remove this blade!’ Magia insisted, wary of the implications, should she thrust it deep.

  Unlike his antagonist, he was aware of her capabilities… or so he thought.

  ‘Kristene!’ called Oran, as he pushed Magia by the wayside, his voice distracting her, to him. ‘‘Tis I, Oran, your—’

  ‘Keep your distance,’ she warned, now turning the blade on him.

  The threat was real; it was there in her eyes. ‘Her eyes!’ he whispered.

  ‘The eyes are the window to the soul,’ Magia remarked, his tone smug and teasing.

  Ignoring him, Oran looked down at the dagger—stained with Lucia’s blood—then towards the large bed, where her body still lay. He had forgotten the dead girl with all that had occurred. How could I? he thought, feeling shame.

  It then dawned on him; L’Ordana’s eyes matched that of Lucia’s. Now he knew what Magia meant. Gone were the sultry, hazel eyes that once smiled at him, through Kristene. He was now looking into the deep, dark amber eyes that were once his servant’s. The one difference: they were devoid of life.

  ‘Why her? Why Lucia?’ he cried, pointing at the dead girl. ‘Why take her life?!’

  L’Ordana looked down her nose at him, unprepared to justify her actions.

  ‘It was necessary,’ Magia answered, on her behalf.

  Oran glared at him. ‘To deny a young woman the right to live?! Lucia was kind, and beautiful, and—’

  ‘There is your answer,’ said Magia.

  Oran drew his head back, bemused.

  ‘See how young and beautiful my Sorceress is? In order for her to remain so, she requires the spirit of a young woman.’

  ‘But why choose this one? Surely there are enough maidens in Triora who would satisfy her vile needs.’

  ‘None such as she,’ Magia replied, glancing at Lucia’s corpse. ‘The girl was perfect and… pure.’

  ‘She had a lover,’ Oran blurted, hoping to disrupt his plans.

  Magia grinned. ‘One she had given her heart to—nothing more.’

  ‘Do not presume to know this, Magia. It is possible Lucia was no longer a—’

  ‘Ah, but you see…’ Magia responded, smirking. ‘You were not the only one who followed her, Warlock. You should have been more thorough in the investigations of your servant girl. She was carefully chosen.’

  Oran closed his eyes and sighed as the wave of guilt consumed him. ‘Forgive me, Lucia,’ he whispered.

  ‘It appears you have also failed her,’ sneered Magia.

  Fuelled by hate and remorse, Oran turned on his rival, preparing to strike.

  ‘What will that achieve?’ he cried, bracing himself. ‘It will not bring your servant back. Do not waste your time on something that is—’

  ‘Shall I tell you how?’ L’Ordana interrupted, stealing their attention.

  ‘I don’t wish to know,’ said Oran, turning to face her, seething and outraged by thei
r calmness.

  ‘See this?’ she continued, displaying the dagger.

  He was sickened by the sight of it. The grim reminder of hearing Lucia’s last breath would haunt him forever. Oran looked at the symbols engraved on the red steel—their representation of evil.

  ‘I drove it deep into the core of her heart—right through—until her final breath. Then waited for it to happen. All the youth she possessed was passed to me… through this!’ She held up the dagger, making sure he could see it. ‘What once was—is now mine!’

  ‘The girl was her first!’ revealed Magia.

  ‘Her first, you say?’ Oran was appalled as it registered with him; more innocent victims would succumb to the depraved wants of his rival’s so-called “Sorceress”.

  ‘Indeed!’ said Magia. ‘And if she is to retain her youth, then I shall be there to make certain of it.’

  L’Ordana slowly turned her attention to Magia, intent on wiping the smirk from his long face.

  ‘You?!’ Her eyes burned with anger as a deep rage simmered from the depths of her past.

  With every passing moment, she felt revived with youth and vigour. A new feeling of power engulfed her, surpassing anything she could envisage. It was enduring. Then the words the two Warlocks had spoken began to form sentences in her mind. They had had no inkling of her awareness. Her thoughts raced as Magia’s voice began his assault on her tone.

  ‘Have you forgotten your place, L’Ordana? Or do you need reminding of—’

  ‘You could have saved her!’ she said, letting the words slide from her mouth.

  Oran’s eyes widened as she echoed his. ‘She’s remembered!’ he stated, amazed.

  Everything fell silent. The absence of noise within the chamber brought with it a sense of dread. Magia looked from one to the other with unease.

  Images gradually came to her as their words continued to swirl in her mind. She looked directly at Magia.

  ‘It was you!’ she cried out. ‘You let her die! You stood by and watched as she burned. ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘I fear your mind is playing tricks on you, L’Ordana,’ Magia swiftly returned.

  She spat her rage at him, through gritted teeth. ‘Do not insult me! I heard you speak of it—both of you!’ she revealed, toying with the dagger, her mind now thrown into a frenzy of lies, and conspiracy. ‘If I had known this truth, Magia Nera, should I have been content to die, also?’