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Beyond the Darkness

Page 24

by M. A. Maddock


  Oran grinned, feeling a little comforted by his effort. ‘Asai said you are loyal to your word.’

  ‘Know this Warl—Oran,’ he started, his tone resuming its seriousness. ‘If we are to be of service to one another, we must render it so. No secrets.’

  Oran hesitated, holding the Dhampir’s intense stare. ‘No secrets,’ he said, nodding in agreement.

  ‘Then I shall begin, by putting your mind at ease. I have no loyalty to L’Ordana.’

  Oran looked directly at him, a little startled. It was the first time he had heard the Dhampir use her name; when he did, he spat it out like venom.

  ‘If it were not for the bond, she has inflicted on us,’ said Reece, ‘I would have destroyed her, on our first encounter.’

  Oran remained focused, listening to Reece’s every word, secretly relieved he had not killed her. He witnessed the hatred felt by the Dhampir, sympathising with him as he continued relaying his thoughts.

  ‘And, believe me, I have tried… several times. This curse—this bond we endure—cannot be broken. We are living a prolonged death. It will be centuries before the Grimm Reaper points his beckoning finger. I cannot lie when I tell you, there are times I would gladly welcome him.’

  ‘Centuries, you say?’

  ‘Because we are half human, our hearts continue to beat, but at a slower pace, prolonging our lives. Our blood pumps through our blue veins. We feel pain, and yet endure its effect, briefly. Our strength and speed have their welcomed benefits, I grant you, but…’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘You would trade it all for freedom.’

  Reece paused as traces of memories interrupted his thoughts. ‘I have forgotten how long I have been this way—nor do I care to remember. Those whom I once knew, from my past life, are now gone. I would have nothing to return to.’

  Oran opened his mouth to speak then hesitated, when the Dhampir rose from his seat.

  ‘It was she who killed my wife!’ he blurted.

  ‘L’Ordana?’ Oran replied, inwardly shocked by the revelation.

  Reece shook his head.

  ‘The Valkyrie was the perpetrator,’ he said, adjusting one of the lanterns. He stepped back, making sure it was aligned with the other. ‘She took great pleasure in informing me of her intentions. There is one thing I seek in all this.’

  ‘Retribution,’ Oran replied, as though reading his mind.

  The Dhampir turned to meet his look.

  ‘You may have it yet, Reece.’

  ‘That will prove difficult; we cannot touch L’Ordana’s aids. She protects them both— especially Wareeshta—from a potentially fatal attack.’

  ‘From you, in other words,’ Oran stated.

  A slight curl appeared on the corner of Reece’s mouth. ‘Among others,’ he said. ‘But, unfortunately, the “blood whore” is rarely away from her mistress.’

  The Warlock passed him a sideward glance, intrigued.

  ‘She is the key to our freedom,’ Reece revealed. ‘If… when Wareeshta dies, our curse goes with her, allowing us to return to the way we once were. We would then continue to age, normally—as was intended from the day of our birth.’

  ‘Then there is hope for you?’

  ‘Perhaps. But Wareeshta is seldom alone. A rare opportunity once presented itself to me. A momentary lapse in her guard spurred me to stab her—in the back, no less. The coward’s way.’

  Oran raised his brow, surprised by the Dhampir’s admission.

  ‘When desperation takes its hold,’ said Reece, shrugging, ‘there is no controlling one’s actions. As you can see, by my on-going presence… I failed. My dagger did not even come within a foot of her.’

  ‘Did she suspect you?’

  ‘I remember the slight turn of her head, acknowledging my attempt. She did not flinch or retaliate in any way, save for the smirk on her face.’

  ‘Were you punished?’

  ‘I was prepared for the consequences of having to face Kara’s blade, yet again… but it never came. It seems Wareeshta chose to keep it to herself.’

  ‘How interesting…’ Oran remarked, ‘which leads me to suspect…’ He paused, contemplating what Reece had just told him. ‘Wareeshta may still retain some of her human qualities, choosing to conceal them from the others. It may be her weakness, which would prove quite useful.’

  ‘This life,’ Reece stated, returning to his seat. ‘I have known it longer than that of my mortal one. I struggled for years to accept it; I still cannot. But I have learned perseverance.’

  ‘With Asai’s help?’

  ‘Indeed,’ he replied. ‘And it is thanks to him, we did not succumb to dominance.’

  ‘We? Am I to assume… there are more?’

  ‘There is another—Tam. He has not been with us long, but he is young and sturdy.’

  ‘And you trust him?’

  Reece nodded.

  ‘Tam has been easily led by Kara, but he is now more than her match. You will see when you meet him.’

  ‘If I had known…’ said Oran, feeling doubtful.

  ‘He can be trusted,’ Reece assured him, determined to prove his colleagues’ worth. ‘We must forgive him his wants and needs, ignoring them while he is willing to help us. We know the risks are great, however, it has its advantages, in that, the Valkyrie favours him.’

  A knowing grin appeared on Oran’s face as he grasped his meaning.

  ‘I see you understand,’ said Reece.

  Oran smiled, amused that the Dhampir still maintained some sense of humour beneath his cold exterior.

  ‘Now,’ he continued. ‘Time for truths. How, precisely, do you hope to… free us?’

  ‘I do not hope to,’ the Warlock returned, shaking his head. ‘I intend to. This…’ he added, indicating to where the invisible barrier divided them, ‘can be removed.’

  When Reece sprung from his seat, Oran flinched at the Dhampir’s sudden movement—the obstacle between them, glowing dangerously at his closeness.

  ‘How long are you captive here, Warlock?’ Reece snapped, his eyes widening.

  ‘I’m not quite—’

  ‘And this… information only comes to me now!’

  Oran rose, raising his hands. ‘Reece, you must understand—’

  ‘Understand what?!’ he retorted, his voice growing louder.

  Oran noticed the Dhampir’s inflamed eyes, married with the taint of red, appearing on his pale face.

  ‘I, among others, have suffered in ways you cannot conceive—devoid of all hope. And yet, stowed away beneath our feet, right here under our noses, lay the secret to our escape. All this time, and—’

  ‘I had to be convinced of the reliability of my chosen confidants; after all, you are’— Oran stopped himself, then took a deep breath— ‘Dhampir—not entirely trustworthy.’

  Reece pulled himself up to full stature, breathing deeply, in an effort to take control of his temper. He could not comprehend the Warlock’s comment, knowing he loathed the term. He felt taunted by it.

  ‘And tell me, Reece,’ Oran continued. ‘What of your emotions?’

  The Dhampir glared at him, confounded.

  ‘How do you… feel, now?’

  The Warlock scrutinised the Dhampir with curiosity, until his clenched fists gradually loosened. Oran saw Reece’s shoulders fall, as his body began to relax, his heaving chest returning to its normal rhythmic swell. Reece closed his eyes and inhaled, seeking calm. Slowly, he opened them again; they had returned to normal.

  ‘Point taken…Warlock.’

  ‘Oran,’ he said, reminding him. ‘If we are to be allies, we must address one another with respect. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  For the first time, since his captivity, Reece allowed himself to feel hope. He had accepted the longevity of his extended life, storing his emotions from harmful influences. And now, the individual standing before him, observing his every move, had begun to unlock them. The lucid feeling returned, urging him to trust the Warlock. As his th
oughts tempted him further—with images of great possibilities—he neglected to notice Oran remove the object from beneath his white shirt.

  Oran held the amulet out towards Reece—the sound of the heavy chain dropping from his fingers, borrowing his attention. The Dhampir watched as the precious item swayed like a pendulum, holding his gaze. Oran noticed the reflection of the diamond’s pale-yellow light, in his green eyes. They widened with recognition, drawing on the Warlock’s curiosity. Reece inched forward, forever conscious of the surging energy between them. He waited until the amulet stopped swaying, and tilted his head.

  ‘I have seen this before.’

  ‘The Sorceress?’ Oran enquired, to confirm his assumptions.

  ‘Yes, but how did you—’

  ‘I was there when she stole it,’ he replied, relieved it still remained in her possession.

  ‘You knew her?’ said Reece, bewildered by the unexpected confession.

  ‘Aye, a long time ago,’ he began. ‘She had another name then—Kristene. She had been left alone after her mother was wrongfully burned at the stake. I had feared for her safety, perceiving she, too, may be convicted of sorcery, by those who condemned her mother. Unfortunately, my suspicions were realised.’

  ‘They were going to burn her?’

  ‘Not quite. She was condemned to the witch’s drowning. To my shame, they almost succeeded.’

  ‘And to our misfortune,’ Reece muttered.

  ‘Do not judge her yet, until you’ve heard her story.’

  The Dhampir sighed, reluctant to learn more about the very one who had sentenced him.

  ‘Unless you have more pressing matters to attend to, Reece, I urge you hear me out. It is important to our task, and that you realise what you—we are up against.’

  The Dhampir nodded, encouraging him to continue as he took his seat. Grateful, Oran proceeded. Reece listened intently, absorbing everything being relayed to him, interrupting at intervals with questions of enquiry:

  ‘How long did you know her?’

  ‘Years.’

  ‘Were you—’

  ‘Aye, we were—but she was different then—a good person.’

  Somehow, I doubt that, Reece thought. ‘Where did you live?’ he continued.

  ‘Many places.’

  ‘How did you survive?’

  ‘On the wealth of others. Make no mistake, Reece, we lived a life of luxury.’

  ‘Clearly,’ he said, eyeing the grandeur the Warlock was being kept in. ‘What happened to change her?’

  ‘Her amazing ability to learn spurned her cravings. She was eventually lured away from me. I am to blame for the foolish error of my ways.’

  ‘You?!’

  ‘I confess, it was my neglect that drove her into the misguidance of another. However, I did not make her what she is today.’

  ‘If it was not you. Who then? For the woman you once shared a different life with is clearly not the same as the one who rules this citadel.’

  ‘The blame falls on another—a Warlock. I was acquainted with him for centuries.’

  ‘It appears we follow the same path of longevity,’ Reece remarked.

  ‘Perhaps. But unlike you, it is part of who we are. We are born to it, therefore, are in acceptance of our fate… until we fall into the company of mortals.’

  ‘Do you mean… when you fall in love?’

  ‘There are those we meet on our long journey, who find difficulty in understanding it. It is for this reason some of us choose to lead a life of solitude.’

  ‘Unlike you,’ said Reece.

  ‘Needs must!’ Oran returned, beneath a grin.

  ‘And not a selfish trait, on your part?’

  ‘A burden of my weakness,’ the Warlock confessed.

  Reece considered his reply, envisaging the eventful life he must have led, to have brought him to where he was now. ‘This Warlock you speak of…’ the Dhampir resumed, in his enquiries.

  ‘We fought many battles together, side by side,’ said Oran. He grunted. ‘We thought him dead—a presumption regretted by those who believed it. He had sought Kristene out, in secret, striking when the opportunity presented itself. I did not suspect a thing. I was too preoccupied, elsewhere.’ The Warlock continued to reveal the chain of events that finally led to their parting.

  ‘It was then she stole it?’

  ‘Aye, after murdering my young servant girl.’

  ‘So, that was when it began,’ Reece assumed.

  Oran tilted his head. ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Are you aware she has taken the lives of many others, since then?’ said Reece.

  The Warlock’s mouth fell in disbelief. ‘Many, you say? How many?!’

  ‘From my understanding… one… for every year. She believes we are ignorant to her “needs”. I have seen the subtle signs of aging, when they are not met on time. She sends the Valkyrie to employ a servant girl—one who is young and incorrupt. She then takes her into her confidence, and…’

  ‘Is never seen again,’ said Oran.

  ‘Her eyes betray her deed; they take the colour of the victim she has chosen. That is when we know what she has done. Her renewed youth matters to her a great deal.’

  Oran shook his head, his thoughts still plagued by the image of Lucia’s charred remains.

  ‘You disagree with me, Oran?’

  ‘I believe she’s preparing herself,’ he replied.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For something she is not yet familiar with.’

  Reece lowered his head, patiently waiting.

  ‘The amulet she stole came from the very one who made her what she is—the Sorceress you are now acquainted with.’

  Reece, narrowed his eyes.

  ‘It contains something of immense value,’ continued Oran.

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘A secret,’ said Oran. ‘One she is desperate to acquire, which is proving difficult for her.’

  ‘Because you refuse to reveal it.’

  Oran nodded.

  ‘She’ll not hear it from my mouth,’ he said, determined. ‘But I have no doubt of it, Reece; she knows something is stirring.’ The Warlock, suddenly threw his head back, laughing.

  ‘And this is amusing, because…?’

  ‘Do you know that she visits me in secret?’ said Oran.

  ‘Impossible!’

  ‘Even her aids are ignorant to her rendezvous with me. Though extremely clever, she, too, has an underlying weakness.’

  ‘You!’ Reece stated, folding his arms.

  ‘Indeed,’ Oran replied, with a smugness that failed to amuse the Dhampir. ‘At first, it was a game. She would visit me in a vain attempt to… extract what information she required. It helped to pass the time. Also, I relished the thought of observing the seething look on her face, when I declined her offers.’

  ‘So that explains her changing temperament,’ Reece commented, slightly irked.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Oran begged. ‘but I assure you, the games have ceased. I see desperation in her eyes now; she will persist. But no matter what, I will—I must—protect the amulet’s secret with my life.’

  ‘And this… secret?’

  Oran regarded him. ‘In time, you will know it.’

  ‘And his name?’

  Oran glanced at him, momentarily confused.

  ‘The one who is to blame for her ruin—the one who stole her from you.’

  ‘’Tis a name I’ve not spoken in a long time.’

  ‘Then speak it now!’

  Oran pondered over the name, and everything associated with it. The idea of uttering it again, repulsed him. It was as though he would be inviting the individual into the chamber. Before he realised it, the name he abhorred slid from his tongue into their presence.

  ‘Magia Nera.’

  The sound of melting candle grease hissed, as it dropped into the lantern’s flame, breaking their lingering silence. Reece cast a quick eye at the flickering flame before speaking.

  ‘D
o you know where he is?’

  ‘No,’ Oran replied, with certainty. ‘And I have no desire to know it.’

  ‘How much does she know?’ said Reece. His enquiry was blunt.

  Oran raised his brow, detecting a sense of urgency in the Dhampir’s voice.

  ‘She is aware of the amulet’s importance, but not of its true purpose. Timing is everything. ’Tis the “where and when” that matters—and she has no knowledge of either.’

  ‘Yet,’ Reece retorted.

  The Warlock hesitated, staring into his intense eyes.

  What did he mean by that? he asked himself, suddenly disturbed by the menacing tone in the Dhampir’s voice. Oran felt a sudden pang of regret infuse itself on him. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry from their conversation. Then a feeling of dread took over as Reece maintained his stare. Oran watched the smirk crawl across his face as he slowly rose. Sensing an unpredictability in his demeanour, he followed Reece’s movement with fear and apprehension as he stepped closer, grinning.

  ‘Well then… my friend,’ he began. ‘It appears your Kristene—our Sorceress—may still unravel your secret.’

  ‘I—I don’t understand,’ said Oran, fearing the Dhampir’s betrayal.

  ‘It seems she, too, harbours a secret—one you are clearly not aware of… yet!’

  ‘What do you—’

  ‘This fine citadel,’ Reece interrupted, ‘houses, not one… but two Warlocks!’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘You took your time!’

  Wareeshta’s wary eyes flashed between her mistress and the Valkyrie, as the tension in the luxurious chamber mounted, dampening its beauty.

  ‘Well?!’ cried L’Ordana, turning to meet Kara’s insolent stare.

  The Valkyrie played on her mistress’s surging anger, before choosing to speak. ‘I was… detained,’ she returned, smirking to herself.

  L’Ordana lunged forward, her stormy eyes displaying hate, as she grasped the Valkyrie’s throat. Wareeshta promptly stepped aside, avoiding the confrontation.

  ‘I swear it, Kara!’ she sneered, tightening her grip.

  The Valkyrie glared down at her, demonstrating her lack of fear, as she felt the rhythmic tap of the long, sharp nail on her mistress’s right thumb, threatening to puncture her skin.

 

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