Beyond the Darkness

by M. A. Maddock

  It would be perfect.

  She stalled, catching her image in her mirror. Edging towards the polished surface, she leaned closer to consult its honesty. Something was not right in her appearance. The eyes staring back at her were not as they should be.

  ‘You should be deep blue,’ she whispered, recalling the young maiden Kara had “employed” into her service. It was the first thing she had noticed and admired about the girl.

  “They are exquisite—like sapphires!” she had remarked, before whispering in her ear; “Did you know, child, the eyes are the window to the soul?”

  After the girl had served her purpose, L’Ordana glorified in her renewed youthfulness. Turning her head slightly, from left to right, she scrutinised them, detecting the taint of hazel. Raising her soft hand, she let her fingers glide over her flawless skin, barely letting them touch it, for fear of damaging its perfection.

  Perhaps it is the light, she thought, searching for reassurance.

  The distance sound of hasty footsteps, descending towards her chamber, distracted her from her inspection. She promptly rose, stealing one more glance of her precious reflection, then composed herself, in preparation for her visitor. As she turned, her attention was briefly drawn to the painting on the wall. Immortalised on canvas, it seemed as if the Boy—holding the bowl of fruit—appeared to look at her, as though he kept a secret. She moved to inspect it further, but was diverted by the nearing footsteps.

  L’Ordana lifted her chin and smiled, as the door to her chamber was thrown open, without her permission. She would forgive them, this time.

  The small, agitated figure of Wareeshta stood, dwarfed, in the frame of the great doorway.

  ‘They have gone!’

  Chapter Thirty

  Balloch 1630: Mid-Autumn.

  ‘Run!’ her inner voice yelled, again. But intuition still prevailed, urging her to remain. Confusion now seeped in, feeding on her anxieties, aware of their steady approach.

  Looking back, Eleanor snatched one last glance at her mother’s night-light, as it waited to guide her home. She turned, longing to run into the embrace of its safe-haven, but felt her head at odds with her heart, their conflict deterring her from doing so. Dread began taking its hold, letting her mind race with wild notions. Then, as instinct took over, she quickly acted on it and gripped her dagger, keeping it from their sights.

  Glancing up at the starry sky—as though searching for intervention—she held her breath, and listened.

  They stopped.

  Unable to hear their movements, she hesitated, hoping, praying they had left. Discretely and quickly, she returned the dagger to its sheath, taking the brave decision to turn round—to confirm her speculation.

  ‘Please be gone—please be—’

  Eleanor tried to scream. Nothing came out.

  Reece, Asai, and Tam approached the young woman with caution, sensing her fear. When her attempt to conceal her weapon from them failed, they disregarded it.

  “You must reassure her, and bring him to me, safely. Protect them, whatever the cost”.

  Oran’s request—before parting ways—raised itself in Reece’s mind, reminding him of the vow he had made.

  “You have my word,” had been his reply.

  Eleanor stood staunch and defiant, watching the three strangers intensely.

  An admirable trait, Reece thought, considering her dismay and uncertainty.

  They could hear her heavy breathing playing time with her racing heart. The three warriors looked at one other with concern.

  Reece raised his hand slowly, signalling his two colleagues to wait. His ghostly impression edged closer, watching her as her eyes leapt from one to the next, monitoring their every move. He then paused, raising his hands in an act of defence.

  ‘Do not be afraid,’ he began, remaining still. ‘No harm will come to you. I promise.’

  Eleanor stared up at the figures, struggling to visualise their true forms in the moonlight; it seemed to emphasise their eerie presence—their skin illuminated by its sinister glow, resembling fine porcelain.

  Gill was right! she realised. The moon was unusually brighter. She could see it now.

  A small cloud crept across its wide face, gradually shrouding her in darkness. She stepped back, keeping fixed on her unexpected company, until her eyes readjusted. The tallest of the three stepped forward, in unison with her.

  ‘No Tam!’ Reece blurted, with an underlying threat.

  ‘Who—who are you?’ she called out, her nerves now visibly clear, through her wide-set eyes and the trembling in her voice. ‘And—and why have you been following me?’

  ‘How long have you known this?’ Reece asked, impressed.

  To her surprise, his tone—although clear and precise—was pleasing to her ear. ‘You will get nothing from me,’ she declared, with false bravado. ‘Nor have I anything to give.’

  Eleanor caught a faint smile on the mouth of the strange-looking one with the almond shaped eyes, and curiously long, straight hair. She parted her lips to speak, when the tall one moved closer again. As the moon crawled out from its cover, she gasped, catching a glint of his pale, red eyes. Again, instinct told her to pull the dagger from her belt. Holding it out in a threatening manner, she was unaware of her error; it was still in its sheath.

  Pre-empting her move, the three warriors subconsciously wielded their weapons at the same time—Asai and Tam joining Reece, in one blink of her eye.

  Eleanor jolted, letting the dagger slip from her hand, but then caught it, holding it so tightly it ached. Despite her anxiety, she felt comfort in its energy—stored from the hands of a past era that once held it—instilling her with a strength to face her foes. Raising it slowly, towards Reece’s face, she swallowed her fear and stepped forward.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked him, her voice now calm and strong. But in her effort to hide her fears she was betrayed, by her continuous turning of the dagger wielded in her left hand, its rotation catching his eye.

  The three warriors stood armed and ready—not by fear—by way of rule. Reece motioned Asai and Tam to retreat, while Eleanor’s on-going pivoting of the weapon drew him in.

  ‘Where did you get that?!’ he enquired, pointing at the Dirk. His tone was composed yet his face told a different story.

  Eleanor second-glanced him, perplexed by the unforeseen question. She disregarded it, keeping her silence.

  Reece, realising her intention was to ignore him, felt his frustrations rise. ‘I asked you a question!’ he said, his manner now firm and demanding. ‘Where did you get that dagger?!’

  Tam and Asai caught each other’s eye, intrigued by the thought-provoking reaction between the two, and yet were curious of their friend’s sudden interest in the girl’s weapon. With a subtlety that went unnoticed, Asai lowered his Katana, followed by Tam, who threw his Claymore over his shoulder, back into its sheath.

  ‘’Tis none of your business,’ Eleanor retorted, feeling more protective of her inherited piece. ‘Let it hold no interest to you… not that you need it,’ she added, referring to the Broadsword in his hand.

  His eyes lowered, resting on the Dirk again.

  Following them, she checked her weapon. Oh no! she realised, now noting her error, and cursed herself. Then, below her eye-line, she saw the head of a dagger peeping out, from inside one of his boots. Her heart raced, fearing her sharp tongue would be cut out by it.

  She then looked up into the green eyes, standing out from the veil of night, as they continuously stared at her dagger. Then, as Reece raised them to meet hers, Eleanor instantly found herself lost behind their intensity, only to be met by his silent plea.

  To ease her fears, he slowly returned his sword to its belt, his face softening as he cautiously extended his arms towards her.

  ‘May I see it?’ he asked, with a politeness that startled his colleagues.

  Tam raised a brow, still confused by his friend’s uncharacteristic behaviour.

  Eleanor looke
d down at the stranger’s opened hands, observing the distinct, thick scars lining his palms. She shuddered at the thought of what might have crossed over them, as they waited with uncertainty. She considered him again, now detecting a sadness in his patience. Something—a feeling of pity, perhaps—she could not say—compelled her to hand over the dagger. Eleanor felt its residual energy leave her, as she finally placed the weapon into his waiting hands.

  It was in that moment, Asai observed an unexpected tenderness between the two strangers, and yet he was in no doubt—both were blind to it.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Reece, before looking down.

  Inside, he began to shake at its familiar touch. He felt its inner strength reach his core, injecting him with renewed hope. He let his hands wander over the leather sheath, to its pommel, where the moonlight enhanced the true clarity of the blue sapphires staring up at him. He grinned as an image of it being thrust at him, stirred a hidden memory—one he thought long forgotten. Shaking his head, he turned to his colleagues to show them.

  When the stranger turned his back on her, Eleanor sensed unease, feeling completely vulnerable without the daggers’ comfort to drive her. Clenching her fists, she fought against the urge to flee. Not without my weapon! she thought, prepared to fight for it. Feeling a sudden tightness in her throat, she coughed. The three Dhampir paused then peered down at her anxious face.

  ‘Please,’ she asked, her voice shaking. ‘Can… can I have my—’

  ‘Yours?!’ cried Reece, moving towards her, with added interest.

  Eleanor stepped back, almost stumbling.

  ‘Aye, ’tis mine,’ she snapped, finding the courage to stand up to his overbearing height.

  ‘Now—now give it back!’ she demanded, throwing her hand out, her face stern and determined.

  ‘How long?’

  She frowned, bemused. ‘What do you mean, how—’

  ‘How long have you had this?!’ he pressed, raising the dagger to her eyes. ‘Or did you steal it?!’

  ‘’Tis mine!’ she hit back, reaching for the Dirk.

  ‘So, you say,’ he returned, drawing it away from her.

  ‘It is, I tell you! It was handed down to me on—’

  ‘The very day you turned eighteen,’ he blurted, suddenly recalling another memory. ‘As it has always been done—for centuries—along your female line.’

  Eleanor clasped her hand over her mouth in disbelief—the wide-eyed look of astonishment on her face, confirming her lineage.

  ‘How do you know that?’ she mumbled.

  The sound of the dagger being torn from its sheath made her jump. Reece drew it up to the moonlight, searching for its identity. There, in the depths of a late-autumn night, Reece’s lost past returned, displayed again in all its beauty, for him to see. For decades, he had tried desperately to cling to memories—ones that were being slowly erased by captivity and war. But, now, as he stood staring at the dagger, they seemed to be finding their place again.

  ‘Reece-san!’ Asai moved to his friend’s side. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Can you see them, Asai?’ he asked, holding the weapon out for his friend to see. ‘True, some are worn but… to me… they read as clear as the day they were put there.’

  The Samurai nodded, observing the small weapon.

  Engraved at the base of the blade, the tiny initials of the young woman’s female line, stretching back more than two hundred years, finally stood out. He scrutinised the serrated blade carefully, then paused, his heart momentarily skipping a beat.

  ‘There you are!’ he whispered to it—the reflection of his piercing eyes, coveting the initials “O.M.”. But his frustrations were raised further, when he unexpectedly did not know how to truly react.

  ‘Whom do you speak of?’ Eleanor enquired, edging near him, her voice soft and inquisitive.

  Feeling left out, Tam stepped closer, equally curious.

  Reece turned to her. ‘These initials,’ he quizzed, pointing to “R.M.”. ‘Who do they belong to?’

  She cast him a hesitant stare, reluctant to disclose the bearer’s name.

  ‘I beg you!’ he urged, touching her arm. ‘Please, tell me!’

  She flinched at his unexpected touch; though cold, it was soft. Closing her eyes, hoping she would not regret it, Eleanor finally released the name:

  ‘Rosalyn Molyneaux.’

  He leaned closer, staring at her in earnest. ‘Molyneaux, you say?’

  Eleanor swallowed. ‘Aye, it was her maiden name. But now, it is Shaw. She’s my mother.’

  Reece Molyneaux fell to his knees and kissed the blade, cupped in his scarred hands. It was as though his mind and body had been lifted free from the burden of his captivity, releasing all his emotions at the same time—forbidden emotions that had been seized by the evil still threatening them. And, for the first time in years, he felt a happiness he thought he could never encounter again. But no, it was still there, deep inside him—now drawn out, by the blade of a dagger he thought lost forever.

  Eleanor, struck by pity for him, reached down to return the kind touch he had shown her, but stopped herself; she felt awkward, and there were questions she needed to ask him, regarding the dagger still clutched in his hand.

  Sensing her approach, Reece composed himself before rising. Her eyes followed him as he stepped back, taking her in. Asai and Tam looked on as the two regarded one other with careful scrutiny.

  Looking down, he held out the blade, pointing to it again. ‘And these?’ he enquired, with apprehension.

  ‘“E.M.S”?’ she replied.

  He nodded, waiting.

  ‘Eleanor Molyneaux Shaw. It came to me almost three years ago. But I am at a loss, sir, to understand how—what is—’ She stopped, when he abruptly leaned in.

  Searching her face for some recognition, it suddenly became clear to Reece. Even in the dead of night he could see it: the same intensity and colour in her eyes; the same he had known in his wife’s. Convinced, Reece nodded as he reached out to touch her.

  ‘Please, sir,’ she pleaded, inching back, prepared to run. But when the unexpected presence of Asai, standing behind her, prevented it, her fears were heightened once more. ‘Please—tell me—who are you?’

  Seeing her distress, Reece stalled; he had disregarded her feelings. ‘My name is’—he hesitated, smiling down at her— ‘Reece… Reece Molyneaux.’

  Her eyes widened as the realisation of his words enveloped her.

  ‘I am your Grandfather, Eleanor.’

  MOTH

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A tense silence devoured the small group, as the shock of his declaration rendered them all speechless. The surrounding woods seemed to fall into an unearthly quietude, wrenching Eleanor from the impact of his revelation.

  ‘How can that be?’ Tam queried, sharing a confused look with Asai.

  Reece stayed fixed on Eleanor, unable to stop himself smiling, scarcely believing the words he had just spoken. Am I truly staring into the face of my…grand-daughter? he asked himself. How is this plausible? But the more he looked at the young woman, standing in front of him, he knew there was no doubting her lineage.

  ‘I see her in you,’ he revealed, moving closer.

  Eleanor pulled back from his advance, shaking her head. Reece stopped short, as though

  waking from a dream; the magnitude of his disclosure had momentarily made him lose sight of his senses. Eleanor proceeded to step away from them.

  ‘Wait!’ Reece begged, observing the look of denial on her face.

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘This—you—are not real. ’Tis impossible!’

  Asai, in a vain attempt to encourage the young woman, stepped forward. But as soon as he moved, she promptly turned on her heel.

  Eleanor felt as though her heart would swell and burst, from the effort of her escape. Tempted to look back, she thought better of it, choosing to stay focused on her mother’s guiding flame.

  ‘Please don’t let them follow me!’ she pl
eaded, to the unknown force she called-on to help her.

  She ran along the little path—worn down by the tread of footsteps she and her brother had made over the years—thankful for its familiar presence, following it, until their house came into view.

  Feeling breathless, she stopped, quickly glancing back, when a sudden hot chill came over. It was then she became aware of it. She looked down at her empty hands.

  ‘Oh no!’

  Watching her pale silhouette vanish from sight, Reece stood speechless—completely at a loss—unsure what to do. He began pacing across the small clearing, his eyes pinpointed to the place where she had disappeared, his mind racing as doubt crept in.

  Asai stepped forward, listening to the rustling of her quickening, light steps, as they faded away.

  Reece halted. ‘What if I am mistaken?’ he stated to his confused colleagues. He looked down at the dagger still clutched in his hand. ‘This was my wife’s, Asai,’ he insisted, showing the Dirk to the Samurai. ‘These initials— “O.M”—I know them. She had told me the dagger’s history.’ He let out a short laugh. ‘And she—the girl—is also left-handed…’

  Tam and Asai looked at him, equally confused.

  ‘… as was my wife?!’ he added, rolling his eyes.

  ‘Just a wee coincidence… perhaps?’ said Tam, acknowledging the blade.

  ‘This, is no coincidence, Tam,’ said Reece. ‘“O.M” are the initials for, Onóir Molyneaux—my wife. The girl even looks like her!’

  ‘Shall I bring her back, Reece-san?’

  ‘Aye, we’ll find her,’ Tam added.

  ‘No!’ Reece retorted.

  His two colleagues sensed an air of tension rising from their friend. The softness they had seen in his face, for the first time, gradually altered to distorted anger. Reece forced the blade back into its sheath, piercing its base. Tam gave ground to his colleague, not knowing what might ensue.