Between Darkness and the Light

by Paul T. H. Mitchener

  Henry senior squinted his eyes, trying to adjust them to the poor light, but still could barely make out James’s well-camouflaged form as he nearly disappeared in the darkness and mist. James stopped and turned to face Henry. “Well,” he said mockingly. Henry smiled and followed after him. The night wore on, and the deeper they went into the woodland, the darker it became. Cold, damp mist felt like death itself as it wrapped itself around them, calling on them to join it. Neither Henry nor James spoke, both unnerved by the mist, and instead concentrated on their surroundings, listening out for anything unusual. But the woodland was calm: there were faint calls from owls and foxes from somewhere in the distance, and the odd scuffle in the undergrowth either side of the track made by small, nocturnal mammals, but all in all the woodland seemed quiet, if not a little unwelcoming.

  As the two made their way ever deeper into the woodland, the eerie mist gradually cleared, and it didn’t take too long before they both started to feel a little more at ease with their surroundings, and in their own way started to enjoy the experience. The damp woodland smells and cool night air helped Henry to clear his head a little. The pain was still there but not pounding as it was earlier. “How did you find out where I hid the spearhead?” he whispered, James didn’t answer right away. But when he did he was trying his best to mock him. Even in Henry’s weakened state, it was still a dangerous thing for James to do.

  “Ya shouldn’t have checked on it so many times.” He stopped and paused a second, having heard a noise somewhere back in the darkness of the trees. They both stood perfectly still for a second or two. When satisfied that all was well, they continued. “All I had to do was follow ya… I’m good at that… I knew ya were up to no good but didn’t know what.” He stopped and turned to face Henry. “Ya should ave handed it over, ya know.” He stepped closer and said, still whispering, “There’s some of us that would like to know the reasons for ya keeping it to ya self.” Henry wasn’t intimidated by James’s poor attempt to frighten him. He had others to worry about… far more powerful and far more dangerous than James could ever be. “Well, that’s for me to know, my friend… and for others to find out,” he whispered back in James’s ear and continued on his way, leaving James standing in the middle of the track staring after him.

  After just a few miles, Henry led them off the track and they made their way through the undergrowth of large ferns and moss-covered trees and rocks. The ferns were so tall that most of them towered above them, showering them in rainwater each time they brushed up against one. Henry was pleased with himself for deciding to wear his waterproof outdoor clothes, which up to now had kept him reasonably dry. James, however, was soaked to the skin. The old Army clothes he chose to wear were well past their sell-by date, and had given him little or no protection against the rainwater. It was around midnight and, by now, Henry was on the brink of collapse, they finally stopped at the base of an old and very large, distorted tree.

  Relieved to take a moment to rest, Henry senior looked up at the tree. Its large, twisted branches reached to the sky so high it was impossible to see where they ended. The roots, too, were enormous and stood so tall that in places it was possible for a person to walk under them without ducking their heads; they were mostly entwined with each other, and in places made large arches and weird eerie shapes.

  For the first time since they set out, James took an interest in what was around him. Here things looked and felt very different: the trees themselves were all twisted in tormented shapes, blackened and lifeless as their deformed branches seemingly reached out to grab him, and the great, gaping hole within the roots seemed to be screaming out to him in silent anguish. He shivered, not because of the cold and wet, but because of the feeling this place gave him. Here, he thought to himself, death would feel at home. “This place gives me the willies,” he said, looking from tree to tree.

  Henry didn’t reply. He was now too busy walking from one root to the other, so James, tired, slumped down to sit on one of the roots which, to his surprise, immediately reacted. The root lifted itself from the soil and tossed him off, sending him flying through the air, only to land amongst the rain-soaked ferns. Henry wasn’t surprised by the tree’s reaction and smiled to himself. He had forgotten to warn James that he, too, had found out for himself the hard way some years ago.

  “At least I had a soft landing,” a voice sounded from somewhere amongst the undergrowth. Henry smiled again. “I believe I should have warned you of the trees before we got here… The trees around here react to touch… that’s why I chose this place… Few people have the skill or know-how to be able to get past the roots without harm.” After a lot of moaning and rustling of the ferns a wet and muddy James appeared from the undergrowth. “And they sure as hell don’t like being sat on,” Henry continued, still smiling. James took a little time to check his limbs for any damage. “No shit, Sherlock,” he said sarcastically. “A heads-up would ave been nice…Ya know what I mean… like… take care, James… or even watch out, the bloody trees are alive.”

  Henry still couldn’t stop smiling, picturing James flying through the air… and the look on his face was priceless. “Oh, stop your whinging, man…You’re still alive… what more could you ask for?” Henry said mockingly. “What more?!” James shouted. “What bloody more could I ask…? I can ask that ya give me a little more… well, a little more respect to start with… I’m not just one of ya lackeys, ya know… I’m a guardian… just like you… and don’t forget it, Mr H.” His voice sounded a little more menacing. “We’re in this fing together.”

  He walked closer to Henry and leant forward and into his face. “Like Batman and bloody Robin.” Henry stood his ground whilst James stood staring menacingly into his eyes. “Well,” Henry said calmly, “if you’ve quite finished chucking your toys from the pram, can we get on with it?” James didn’t want to be the first to back down: he had learned about life the hard way. He often said to others that he had learned his lessons from the school of hard knocks. Henry, not having such insecurities, just shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the base of a tree he had identified and knelt down on the muddy ground. With James’s eyes following his every move, and without looking around, Henry said, “If you’re so sure that you know where the spearhead is… Why don’t you get it for me?” James walked over to where Henry was kneeling and pointed to where a number of roots interlocked with each other. “There,” he said sternly. Henry smiled. “You were watching closely,” he said, surprised, “but do you know how to get it?” James gave a half-smile back. “That’s your job, Mr H… I know ya set some kind of trap… and I ain’t gonna be fooled into falling into it.”

  Henry smiled again. “Bright lad,” he said before starting to squeeze through a gap between two large roots and then reaching down into the blackened earth. At first, nothing happened, but then suddenly several roots reached out and grabbed Henry by the arm. James looked horrified. “Mr H!” he shouted. Henry was undisturbed and muttered a few words under his breath. A green light emitted from his entire body, making the root retract immediately and move away, giving Henry room to squeeze a little further in. He turned to face James, who by now was standing well clear of the trees and their roots, and smiled. “See… nothing to worry about,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to imitate James’s East London accent.

  Henry senior continued to crawl between the roots, grunting as he did so until all James could see was his legs sticking out. “Are ya alright in there, Mr H?” he called out, but Henry didn’t reply, too busy rummaging amongst roots and mud. Moments later, he scrambled back out, covered in dead leaves. He sat and rested his back against one of the large roots to take a second or two to get his breath back. James still didn’t move, having no intention of getting involved with the roots again, and surprised that the root Henry was leaning against didn’t react. That aside, he was very anxious and restless in anticipation to see the spearhead, an item of fame that, until now, he had only heard of.

  He edged f
orward a little but then thought better of it and backed off again. Without rising, Henry held out his hand and in it lay a wet, muddy, old rag. To James’s surprise, Henry offered it to him. “Here, take it.” James was taken back by the bluntness and matter-of-fact way he offered the spearhead to him and wasn’t sure how to react. He had half-expected Henry to put up a fight: the last thing he expected was that he would just give it to him as if it were just any old lump of metal. James had always been of a suspicious nature, having been raised in London by an old guardian who taught him never to trust humans. The old man, who had now since passed on, instructed him in his role to tend and care for the parks and all the old trees that were scattered around the city; however, it rapidly became obvious to him that he was fighting a losing battle. Over the centuries more and more humans crammed themselves into the small area, leaving little time or space for nature to flourish, so after what seemed to James to be a lifetime, he was called by Acca to leave London and make better use of his time by watching over Henry and the spearhead.

  Up to now he’d had an easy time of it, spending most of his time on his Game Boy and watching TV. He knew of the importance of the spearhead, but not its role in the fight against the darkness; and to say the least, he was feeling a little out of his depth and uncomfortable with his current situation.

  He never thought that Henry would have given up the spearhead so easily, not unless he had an ulterior motive. James could be forgiven for thinking that Henry could have something else up his sleeve, and was luring him into a trap. “Is this some kind of a trick, Mr H?” he said finally and without waiting for a reply, continued. “And if ya fink I’m coming any closer to them roots… then ya should fink again…They’re too close for comfort as it is.” Still thinking that Henry was trying to lure him close enough to be caught up by them. Henry sighed, got up tiredly, and walked over to a small, clear area where James was standing and held out his hand. “Here… you can have it… do with it as you please.” James gingerly took it from Henry’s hand and was about to open the cloth when Henry said, “Don’t touch it, mind.” With that, James dropped it on the ground. “What the hell are you playing at!” he shouted, grabbing Henry by his collar. Henry stayed calm. “I’m not playing any games,” he replied. “You just don’t trust me… after all these years… and you still don’t trust me.”

  James let go of his collar and stood back a little. “You know as well as I do… that touching the Aelfgar is far too dangerous for the likes of us… Only the host can carry it.” Henry continued whilst adjusting his collar. “Talking of games… if you insist on playing guardian… you’re going to have to face up to the fact that someday you will have to take the same risks and face the dangers of all guardians.” He paused to bend down and pick up the spearhead. “I’ll carry it… for now… but should anything happen to me, you will have to take the responsibility to deliver it into the right hands.” He paused, allowing the importance of his statement to sink in. Finally, James smiled. “Well, old boy… let us hope that doesn’t happen.”

  Henry unwrapped the dirty, old clothes that contained the spearhead and held it out in both hands, being careful not to touch it. “Here… it’s a rare opportunity indeed to see such an important artefact.” With that, James stepped forward a little, being careful to keep his distance from the roots and the spearhead. He leant forward to get a better look at it. After a few seconds of studying it he looked up to Henry. “Is that it?” he said. He’d always expected it to look a lot different. In his mind’s eye he’d pictured it to be a brightly polished piece of art inlaid with gold and gems. Instead, it was totally the opposite: it was a dull black, narrow blade about twelve inches long, pitted and rusted with age.

  “Ain’t much to look at, is it?” he said, sounding disappointed. Henry held it closer to James’s face, who then immediately backed away. “Wow… Mr H… be careful with that thing,” Henry sighed. “If you looked close enough, you’d just see the Wyvern engraving… A little faded these days but you can still make it out… See?” Henry held the spearhead out again for James to examine, but he immediately put his hands up and backed away a little more. “Not in a million years… Wrap that thing up… and keep it away from me.” Henry sighed and wrapped it carefully, still making sure that he didn’t touch it, and put it in his jacket pocket.

  “There… safe and sound,” he said sarcastically, feeling a little more relieved that he now had the spearhead safely tucked away. Henry took the time to take in his surroundings: to most it would have looked scary with the mist creeping through the large roots of the strangely shaped trees, their twisted branches reaching out as if they were waiting to grab the nearest living thing that passed within reach. He looked up at the sky through the large, twisted, leafless branches. Dark, heavy-looking clouds were moving over fast, blocking out any moonlight. “We’re going to have to find somewhere to shelter for the night… I’m not sure whether the rain will hold off much longer.” James nodded, still keeping an obvious distance from Henry. “You know these woods better than me, Mr H… Be my guest,” James said whilst stepping back for Henry to take the lead.

  They had just cleared the undergrowth around the base of the tree when suddenly a flare of blue light shot out from the darkness, whizzing past James’s head so closely that he felt its cold breeze on his face. “What the…” he just managed to say before another dashed by his head and then another and another. Seconds later they were both surrounded by blue lights the size of tennis balls, encircling them time and again, each leaving a blue, sparkling ribbon of light behind them. “Nosferats!” Henry cried out. “Find cover… and quickly.” James was totally confused: he had no idea what nosferats were, let alone how dangerous they were, but judging by Henry’s reaction, they were not friendly. “Put your hood up and run!” Henry shouted again from somewhere in the dark. James took no time in doing as he was told. With his hood up he ran as fast as he could, but the dense brambles and ferns made it difficult: he had lost sight of Henry and had no idea which way he had headed.

  James started to panic and a real feeling of isolation welled up inside him as he stumbled aimlessly through the darkness, tripping over brambles and rocks as he went. He had no idea in which direction he was going or where he was. The Nosferats relentlessly attacked him time and again, and for the first time in many years he was frightened. Having lived in a city all his life and used to street lights at night, he had never been a lover of the dark and had always feared the unknown.

  Suddenly one of the Nosferats grabbed onto his back. James screamed as he twisted and turned, waving his arms aimlessly about trying to get it off, but without success. The Nosferat’s long claws sank deep into his jacket, penetrating his flesh. James screamed in pain as another grabbed him, this time on his shoulder, sinking its claws deep into his flesh until they hit bone. James continued to scream and shout, spinning around hopelessly trying to get the thing off him. He knew he was in real trouble when he felt his own warm blood start to run down his arm and soak into his jacket.

  Henry was more fortunate: he knew exactly what to do in such circumstances. He knew that the safest thing was to lie face-down amongst the undergrowth, covering his head and neck with his arms and hoping that the nasty little creatures wouldn’t be able to find him there. He heard James shouting and crashing around somewhere out in the dark and desperately wanted to get up to see what was happening to him, but didn’t want to become a target himself, so he decided to remain where he was, huddled up on the rain-soaked earth, when suddenly James stumbled over him, falling head first into the mud. “Get these bloody things off me!” James shouted, grabbing a large lump of wood and trying to hit the one on his shoulder, but unfortunately he hit himself instead.

  “Bloody hell,” he cursed. Although frightened himself, Henry couldn’t allow James to suffer any longer, so, risking his own life, he got up and took hold of the same lump of wood James had dropped and swiped at the creature on his shoulder, knocking it off and into the undergrow
th. Nosferats were small, ugly, short-lived vampire spirits, about the size of a tennis ball, with large ears but even larger fangs and claws, and if they got the opportunity to get those claws into someone it was next to impossible to get them off. On its own, one couldn’t take enough blood to kill a man but they hunted in large “families”, and once one of them caught its prey the others would quickly follow. However, if one of them managed to inject its poison into you… well, Henry didn’t want to think of the consequences. James was still screaming and rolling in the mud. “Get it off…! Get it off!” he shouted over and over again. Henry called upon his magic, and his hands started to glow green as he grabbed the remaining Nosferats on James’s back. The Nosferats gave out an ear-piercing cry to the pain inflected by Henry’s powers and immediately let go of James and flew away.

  Screaming and thrashing around in a frenzy, Henry had to grab James by the shoulders and partially pin him down. “Quiet, man,” he whispered harshly and slapped James around the face. “Be quiet, you fool… and keep down.” Henry was finding it next to impossible to calm James and the slap didn’t make any difference: James was still rolling around in the mud, screaming, “Get them off me!” Henry looked up and to his horror the Nosferats were circling directly above them and started to congregate in larger numbers, knowing that they had their prey just where they wanted them, but for some reason they were taking their time in the attack. Henry hoped it was because they now knew that he had control over magical powers so perhaps, he thought hopefully, they weren’t going to attack again. However, in reality they were just taking their time and waiting for the right moment to strike.