Beyond the Darkness

by M. A. Maddock

  ‘Whereas, you…’ Gill insinuated, pointing his sister’s dagger at Tam, ‘were spared. Now, why is that, I wonder?’

  Tam slid his eyes towards his accuser. He was growing tired of Gill’s tedious remarks. The young man sat up, turning the dagger over in his hand. Sensing the tension, Reece moved to his colleague’s side—this time, with Gill’s safety in mind.

  Rosalyn sighed heavily, strained by the events of the evening. Her tired body screamed out for rest, but as long as her daughter was missing, sleep was out of the question. Inside, her patience was beginning to wear as she glared at the others. She wanted to yell—voice her frustrations—but refused to let it hamper what strength remained within. The pressure was mounting.

  ‘There’ll be no more ill feeling in this house,’ Onóir snapped, just in time. ‘We have to find a way to get Eleanor back.’ She turned to Tam, distracting him from Gill. ‘You must try—try hard to recall what you told the Valkyrie.’

  ‘I am trying, but all I see are conflicting words in my mind; they make no sense. My memory’—he scratched his head, trying to recall; it was clear he was struggling— ’tis vague and confused. I swear to you all, I have no recollection as to what the Valkyrie may, or may not, know. I can only assume she knew what I was told, by—’ Tam stopped; he remembered something. His eyes slid towards the individual.

  The house fell silent as they followed his gaze.

  Onóir shook her head and sighed. ‘How could you?!’

  ‘But… I lied to him!’

  In his own admission, Reece turned to Tam, ready to justify his actions, but was met by a look of ignorance, tainted by betrayal.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Tam responded. ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘It was not my decision,’ Reece began, plagued by the eyes of criticism, staring up at him.

  ‘Then… who’s was it?’ begged the Highlander.

  ‘Oran’s.’

  Rosalyn raised her brow at the mention of her husband’s name.

  ‘When Oran shared his intentions with me… he… forgive me, Tam, but he had his concerns, and strongly advised against sharing the true purpose of his plans with you—in case the Sorceress found out. It was his way of protecting us.’

  ‘Am I to be trusted by no-one?!’ Tam retorted, induced by almost everyone’s bad opinion of him.

  ‘I was reluctant,’ said Reece, ‘I assured him of your honesty. But, despite my objections, Oran was adamant, insisting on taking precautions—if he was to help us escape. I had to respect his wishes.’

  ‘But if the Valkyrie assumed to know your plans,’ said Gill, stepping in, ‘why did she not… “dispatch” Tam, then? Also, had she shared them with the Sorceress, why did they not intervene—prevent you from escaping?’

  ‘Aye, he’s right,’ said Onóir.

  Reece looked into the face of his innocent colleague, seeing nothing but truth and honesty, then sighed, having pieced it all together. ‘And there lies the error… my error,’ he stated.

  ‘What exactly did you tell me?’ Tam demanded.

  ‘Does it matter, now?’ said Reece.

  ‘Aye! It does to me!’ he argued back. ‘I need to remember!’

  Reece approached him, shaking his head. ‘No, you do not. All you need to know is that, you are blameless. It was not your fault, Tam. Do you understand?’

  Tam looked away, in thought—the look of determination on his face telling them, he was desperately trying to remember. He then looked sharp, and stared at Reece.

  ‘Aye! That’s it!’ he exclaimed, then wagged the finger of blame at his colleague. ‘You gave me the wrong directions.’

  ‘It was a necessary precaution’—Reece reached out, trying to plead his case to the Highlander— ‘you know what the Valkyrie is capable of, Tam.’

  ‘Aye, I do,’ said Tam. ‘But it still begs the unanswered question: how in the world did they find us… if they had the wrong information, then?’

  ‘L’Ordana must have suspected—sensed something, which is why…’ The Servitor’s voice trailed as he toiled over his suspicions. His eyes met with Reece, for a brief moment.

  ‘Kai?’

  Distracted by Onóir’s voice, the Servitor looked away from the Dhampir. ‘There is only one source that may have influenced L’Ordana,’ he quickly stated.

  ‘Surely, not the amulet!’ said Gill. ‘It can’t possibly influence the Sorceress… can it?’

  ‘We do not know the extent of her power’— Kai stopped himself, then glanced at Reece, again, convinced by his own suspicions— ‘Oran… it seems… underestimated her.’

  All eyes turned to Reece, having observed the subtle exchange between he and the Servitor. The Dhampir lowered his gaze. He now knew yet could not say. They both knew. Feeling contempt by their negligence—having failed to see it then—Reece closed his eyes, reluctant to admit the error, as the silence surrounding him became unbearable. Despite his family’s anxious wait, he remained quiet.

  ‘She’—Kai hesitated, as they now turned their attention to him— ‘let them escape.’

  The sudden revelation threw the small house into chaos. Jumping to his feet, Gill moved to challenge Reece, who was now glaring at the Servitor, enraged for speaking on his behalf.

  You will regret that! he silently vowed.

  ‘That Witch let you escape?!’ Gill exclaimed. ‘The stupidity of it. How could you be so—’

  ‘Gill!’ his grandmother cried. ‘There is nothing we can do to change it, now.’

  ‘And what of Eleanor?’ Rosalyn argued. ‘Have you forgotten her?’

  Their voices soared in continuous quarrel, spurring Rave to join in on the raucous. Tam slowly rose to intervene, only to be abused by Rosalyn. Outraged, she slammed her fist on the table, disturbing its contents, and alerting Rave to the possibility of another meal.

  The noise of their scathing arguments became deafening, driving Asai from their company. Induced by fury, Reece began to feel the weight of his human emotions influence his reasoning.

  They were growing stronger, weakening his ability to retain his logic and control.

  Reece’s eyes blazed as he persisted glaring at Kai through the feud, ignoring the raised voices around him. The Servitor remained composed as he looked on, antagonising him further—to the point where the Dhampir could no longer tolerate his presence. His nostrils flared as he prepared to leap at his wife’s companion, when something caught his eye, hindering his attack. He turned to look at the door.

  Asai was gone.

  The heavy, blackened, oak door stared at her, denying her the right to pass beyond the threshold, where the Valkyrie had slammed it shut in her face. Her first instinct was to get out!

  I have to try, she thought, reaching for the round, iron handle, then changed her mind, wrenching her hand back as though it would bite. It’s useless, she realised. There was no denying the grinding of the key that had been turned in its lock by the creature’s coarse hand.

  Eleanor cradled her aching body from the pain endured by Kara’s firm hold, then felt the over-familiar sign of burning, rising from the pit of her stomach. She felt the faint tingling in her hands and feet, knowing they would numb if she did not act fast. Her vision began to blur and she blinked continuously, fighting it off. A shortness of breath gripped her unexpectedly. “Flight or fight!”. That was what Oran had always told her, should she find herself in “trying situations”.

  Flight or fight! she repeated in her mind, distracting herself from the onslaught of thoughts and dread, and self-doubt. Closing her eyes, she recalled the memory that would help chase it away.

  Her mind took her back in time, when she, as a child, would walk with Oran through the woodlands, surrounding their home. She imagined him taking her tiny hand into the protection of his, as he would show her the wild, pink Rosebay and Willow herb, for the first time. She inhaled deeply, its subtle scent still residing in her memory, reviving her.

  Released her from her state, she felt a mom
ent of peace, but it was quickly shattered. She jolted, thinking she had heard the Valkyrie’s voice again. But it was there, only inside her head, reminding her of Kara’s lurid insinuation, regarding Asai. She felt overcome with regret, telling herself: it was something she may now never experience. She felt a sudden closeness towards him yet had no idea of her location, making her wonder, how long she had been unconscious; it had seemed like an age.

  She looked around, shivering; even though it was not from the cold. The surrounding walls—six in total—had retained the heat of the day, their warmth suggesting, it was that of a solar room or chamber, and yet it felt alone and detached from the rest of the building. She sensed a sadness seeping from the stones, reaching out, calling for her attention—its sorrow intrusive on her thoughts.

  The soft-lit chamber was angular in shape, giving her a sense of height. It was a small, private room of relative comfort, untouched for years.

  She noted a small fireplace, where the embers had long burned out with time. Above the wooden mantlepiece, panels of wood bore the arms of a family who once resided there. She did not recognise them. Beside the hearth, a fading tapestry hung lazily on the wall, as though it would slide from its perch at any given moment. She saw a decorative sideboard of dark wood—blackened by smoke—sitting opposite. Nearby, a small, plain oak table—scratched from years of use—stood beside two, small decorative matching chairs. Above her, the ceiling rose high, crisscrossed with beams of red, painted wood. Patches of gold-leaf glinted in the lamplight, as a reminder of its past glory. The suggestion that the chamber’s former resident had, perhaps, been a woman, was evident in its décor.

  But still, she could not shake off the residual sadness attached to it.

  At the far end of the chamber, a single bed rested alone in its solitude. Eleanor stepped closer to inspect it, then noted a small shape at its side, lying quiet and undisturbed in its shadow. She felt a desolate chill brush over her as she approached the object, keeping her eyes fixed as it came into view.

  A child’s cot looked up at her from its hiding place, its ruffled blanket, draped over the side, barely skimming the dusty floorboards. It was clear, by its faded colour, it, too, had remained untouched for years.

  Eleanor stopped abruptly, reluctant to go any further, when something suddenly registered—something Gill had told her: one of his stories.

  Stepping away, she glanced back at the lancet window—cut high in one of the walls—and quickly ran to it. Looking up at the tall, narrow arch, she stood on her toes, then peered out into the night. She strained to see, her vision hampered by the glare of the black, iron lantern hanging above. She blew out the flame, anxiously waiting for her eyes to adjust.

  There, below, in the distance, Eleanor imagined she saw a sight lost to her, forever. Feeling the threatening shortness of breath return, she pressed her hand on the cold window.

  I have to know! she told herself, frantically wiping the dust away. To her horror, Eleanor now knew exactly where she was—the familiar outline of the landscape, confirming her worst nightmare. She pressed her lips together, stopping them from quivering.

  ‘No!’ she whimpered. ‘I can’t be here!’

  Shocked, she backed away from the window, shaking her head, then stopped, thinking she had heard footsteps. She held her breath, listening intently, then jolted, when her thoughts became a reality, as the footsteps grew louder, and heavier.

  She’s coming back!

  Eleanor looked over her shoulder at the door, her breath now short as their sinister approach sent a chill down her spine. Right now, she wanted to scream—to let the world know where she was, before she returned. But the tightness in her chest would not allow it.

  “Fight it!” the voice, deep inside her mind, calmly told her. “Fight it, Eleanor!”

  But it was not the voice of instinct helping her, now; it was that of another—one she knew. Eleanor threw herself at the window.

  ‘Asai!’

  * * *

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  BALLOCH CASTLE WINDOW

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  So much work goes into writing a novel—not to mention what goes on behind the scenes, too—as well as the help and support given along the way. I could not have done it alone. Therefore, I must thank the following people:

  Cormac Fitzgerald - for encouraging me to “go for it,” and to do some courses. So glad I did.

  Claire Hennessy and John Kenny (The Big Smoke Factory – writing courses) – two, wonderful Irish authors (and tutors) who helped me to improve my craft.

  Nadine Ryan – for her help in the initial stages of editing.

  A massive thank you Emma Moohan (a cool friend, talented writer, and one of my harshest critics – and I mean that in the best possible way). Would have been lost without your valued help and advice, honey.

  Emma Ní Bhruachain - for her ‘sprinkles’ of advice - and who showed me how to copy and paste. How did I not know that?! Cheers, younwan.

  Can’t forget Geraldine O’Malley - a friend and wonderful illustrator who provided me with some of her work for this novel. Check her out on Instagram (gerroma4046).

  Lewis Hickson - I wanted an Olde Worlde map, and that’s what he gave me. Here’s to the next leg of the journey, Lewis! Check him out on Instagram, too (fantasy_map_cartographer).

  A big thank you to Anne (Beatty) Courtney (Beta reader) who painstakingly read it three times, before I submitted! Anne, I’m indebted to you for your patience and honesty.

  Takashi Nara (Beta reader) who literally picked away at each sentence, and thankfully loved it. Phew! I hope to see you again, and visit you in Tokyo. Niamh Foy - A friend and Beta reader who read it twice (just to be sure) and who keeps hounding me to know, “What happens next?!” Patience is a virtue, Niamh.

  I have to mention Ruth O’Shea - the best sis in the world! Thanks for being there for me (always!) and for being one of my Beta readers. Love ya, sis. X. Have to give Naomi and Rachel a mention, too, for occasionally coming to my rescue, by helping me out with those niggly, social media technical issues.

  A huge thanks to Adam O’Shea - my wonderful and talented Godchild - who slaved away on the trailer for Beyond the Darkness—in return for his favourite goody hamper (Pringles, Chocolate Chip Cookies and wine!) Love you lots, Ad.

  A special thank you to Lilian (Whelan) Courtney of the OPW in Dublin. I’m so grateful to you for the extra help you’ve provided—getting Beyond the Darkness into places I never thought possible.

  Irish Author, Jo Spain – for her valued advice. Cheers, Jo. Conor Kostick from the IWU for his invaluable advice and help (hope you liked the vino, Conor!). Paul Frederick Waite – for his support (watch out for Part Two – The Moon Chasers – where Paul has so kindly added a wee touch of ‘magic’ to it). Eileen Budd – though small, your input was important. Sláinte mo charaid!

  A special thanks to Billy, Ciara and Megan Aitken - great friends - who’ve always welcomed me into their home in Balloch, Scotland. Had it not been for my many visits there, I may never have found the inspiration to write this series, or discovered my deep love for Scotland (as well as a good Scotch) It’s a Celtic thing! Also, Billy must be accredited for the photo of Balloch Castle. Lucky them! They live just a stone’s throw away from it.

  Louise Fox – for her much-valued input in helping me understand what it’s like to suffer from anxiety�
�a feisty girl who has come out the other side as a survivor. Laura (Lucia) Power – for her valued input.

  A massive thanks to Ursula Stapleton - a true friend, and another of my harshest critics – and who always comes to my rescue when my laptop has other ideas.

  Mary Byrne: another true friend and great supporter of anything I do.

  Chris, Mamie, Kate and Zara: remembering Jack and Rave.

  And, of course, I have to thank the other writers and authors I’ve made friends with on social media, for all their on-going support. You know who you are. Thanks, guys! Also, I can’t forget my close friends and the family members who have supported me throughout this process … so far! It’s always appreciated. Always!

  A huge thanks to my mum, Ethel, who, after every writing session would always ask; ‘Well, how’s it going?’ for which the reply would either be a grunt or, ‘It’s going grand.’ For her support (and going halves when I couldn’t afford a new laptop). And for believing I could do this.

  Hurn Publication: Well, what can I say here, except that I am indebted to Meaghan for taking a chance on me, and for believing in my manuscript. Go raibh maith agat, mó chara (thank you, my friend). I must, also, extend that thanks to the rest of the team at Hurn for their support: the other authors; Elizabeth; Rae (editing); and Diana (design) - for bringing Beyond the Darkness to life. Thank you so much, guys! You’ve been a joy to work with—all of you. Here’s to Part Two!

  And for all my valued ARC readers: Julia, Sarah, A.J., Alana, and Adrian (cheers for your added help, Adrian). Thanks so much, guys, for taking the time out to read Beyond the Darkness. It’s always a big ask - as it can be time consuming - but it’s so appreciated. Thank you.

  Finally, I thank Mother Nature (where most of this series was written … in my head!) for being able to take long walks through her domain (with Sherlock, my inspiration); to figure out those nagging plot holes—or to just free my mind; to allow me peace and quiet—to think; and to let my imagination wander through the fantasy world I have created for you, the reader. Thank you. Enjoy. Sláinte mó chrí! XX