Journey from Darkness

by Gareth Crocker

  ‘No, Shawu,’ he urged, his mind trying to get a handle on the moment. He wanted to yell out to her, to call her back, but it was an absurd notion. He had as much control over her movements as he did the rise and fall of the moon. ‘Shawu … please!’ he said in despair.

  But as she moved away from him, he knew he couldn’t abandon her now. He simply didn’t have it in him. And so, left with no real alternative, he reached for his rifle and followed after her. ‘This is madness,’ he chided himself. ‘What are you doing, Derek?’

  As they made their way up the slope, he could feel his heart pounding between his shoulder blades. What were they about to walk into? Would the lions back down at the sight of Shawu? Turn and run? Please, Lord. Or would they stay and fight?

  As more dark thoughts gathered, threatening his resolve, Shawu increased her pace.

  They were now less than fifty yards from the top of the hill.

  Hearing the lions snarl and snap at their prey, Derek puffed out his cheeks and glanced down at his rifle. He felt like he was about to charge into the colosseum with only a child’s wooden sword to defend himself. But what choice did he have?

  Twenty yards.

  Something heavy thrashed in a bush, clearly fighting for its life.

  Ten yards.

  Five.

  As Shawu crested the rise, Derek was practically in her shadow. And then, when he looked up, he was standing in the middle of an imagined world. The first thing that struck him was the immediate change in the atmosphere. It felt as though they had crossed over some unnatural divide, through an unholy curtain where the air was so still you had to suck it into your mouth. A place where they were the intruders.

  Five adult lions surrounded a battle-worn buffalo whose coat was now a pinstripe of brown and glistening red. The old bull was in shock. Derek could see it in his eyes. Either out of fear or fatigue – or both – his legs trembled in the tall grass.

  The predators, muscled slabs of bullion in their prime, snapped their heads towards Shawu. There were two immensely large males and three smaller females, their necks slung low and their legs set wide apart. There was a trancelike lull of a few seconds during which nothing happened. The two colossuses of the bush appeared to be weighing each other up. But then, and without warning, Shawu charged. The felines held their ground, gambling that she would pull out of the attack.

  But this was no mock charge. There was no flapping of ears or trumpeting, no theatrics. It was plainly about doing damage. As Shawu got to within striking range, the three females lost their nerve and sprang away. The two males, however, remained, crouched down, ears pinned. Shawu connected the first lion with the side of her left tusk, a glancing blow that somersaulted him onto his back. The second lion ducked under the attack and swiped at her legs. Having passed them, and now standing in front of the old bull, Shawu shook her head, displaying her lethal tusks. Before Derek could think to do anything, she charged again. This time, both males skilfully avoided the attack and each used their powerful claws to draw thick grooves across her legs. Again she charged and again they avoided impalement. Instead, more angry red lines opened up on her body.

  As unfathomable as it seemed, Derek suddenly began to understand that even an elephant as enormous and powerful as Shawu was vulnerable to a pack of determined lions. Together, they could do her real harm. They could tire her out and, with fortune on their side, maybe even drag her down. Off her feet, she would be at their mercy. As Derek tightened his grip on his rifle, hurried thoughts colliding in his mind, he noticed Shawu was now staring over and beyond the lions towards the old bull … who was now limping down the back of the hill to the safety of his herd. Back to his family.

  Suddenly, it all became clear to Derek. What he thought was an unprovoked attack on the lions, fuelled by some inbred and ancient hatred, was not that at all.

  It was a rescue mission.

  Oh hell, Shawu, Derek thought, his pulse now hammering in his fingers.

  Having saved the old buffalo, and as if to confirm Derek’s suspicion, she began to back away from the lions. But, robbed of their meal, the hunters were not prepared to let her leave. Incensed, the two males stalked towards her, large fistfuls of muscle coiling under their tanned shoulders. What Derek saw in their eyes stole the spit from his mouth.

  Confidence.

  They believed they could have her.

  There was no longer any doubt. He knew what he had to do. Although concerned by what effect the gunshots would have on Shawu, there was no other option. He would have to use his rifle to ward off the attack.

  Instinctively, the two males split up in a pincer movement and arced around Shawu, dividing her attention. As they moved, Derek remained invisible to them – a tick on a rhino’s back. They hadn’t even glanced in his direction. Not yet, at least. Then, from a bank of low bushes, the three females launched themselves at Shawu, clawing and ripping at her back legs.

  ‘Shit … shit!’ Derek recoiled in surprise and quickly raised his rifle.

  While Shawu wheeled around, trying to free herself, the males leapt at her. The slightly smaller of the two went straight for her neck. The larger one clawed his way onto her back. And in the breath of a single moment, all five lions were attached to Shawu, tearing at her body. It was an impossible scene. Derek pointed his rifle up at the sky and pulled the trigger. But instead of gunfire, there was only a faint and despairing click.

  He wrenched back on the Lee Enfield’s bolt, frantically trying to free the bullet lodged in its throat. Shawu was now spinning around in a tight circle, trying to shake off her assailants, but they held on stubbornly, their claws sunk into her hide. The large male on her back had wrapped his powerful front legs around the base of her neck, his teeth searching for a vein that would end her resistance.

  Punching his rifle in frustration, Derek finally managed to dislodge the bullet. He snapped the bolt shut and, running towards Shawu, fired wildly into the sky.

  Mercifully, the lions relented at the sound of the gunfire, scattering away into the tall grass. Shawu stumbled, threatened to topple over, but managed to regain her balance. Having emptied its chambers, Derek quickly reloaded and fired again, driving the lions further down the hill. Vaguely content that they weren’t coming back, he instinctively dropped the rifle to show Shawu that he meant her no harm, that he was only trying to help … to protect her.

  More weary than wary, she blinked back at him. Although she was bleeding from several places, her injuries did not appear life-threatening. Not for the moment, at least.

  Derek kept his hands in the air.

  She regarded him for a few moments before limping forward. As she drifted past him, a light rain beginning to fall, she stretched out her trunk and touched the back of his hand.

  It was the merest of glances, but it was meant.

  ‘Can we please,’ he said softly, his voice trembling in his throat, ‘… not do that again.’

  27

  After almost a hundred days of night – more than three months of confinement and persecution beneath the walls of Leiden Castle – Xavier finally broke his silence. In the end, his words were induced neither by a blade nor the blunt edge of a hammer, but by the faint sound of flowing water.

  ‘Hear that?’

  Requin, who had been lying on the floor in the far corner of the chamber, snapped his head up. ‘X–Xavier, you’re–’

  ‘Listen,’ he urged, holding up his hand. ‘Can you hear it?’

  ‘No. What is it?’

  Xavier craned his head, listened again. ‘Water.’

  They had been moved around several times and this was their first night in their latest vault. It was at the bottom of a steep staircase that wound deep into the bowels of the mountain. Although almost identical to its airless and windowless predecessors, it bore one notable exception: The walls and floor were damp in places. It was the kind of moisture that had been there for years, permanently staining the stones with dark black-and-olive rings.


  ‘Wait, I think I can hear it now,’ Requin said, the whites of his eyes flaring up.

  Xavier stood up and walked over to a section of the wall that glistened faintly in the gloom. The only light emanated from a lone lantern in the passage, well beyond the shadow of their heavy iron door. He sank onto his haunches and placed his ear on the joint between two large stones.

  ‘What can you–’

  Xavier again held up his hand. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sound. ‘I need something hard … sharp. A stone.’

  Requin rushed to his feet and quickly searched the room. He soon found a small and flat stone, which he handed to his brother. ‘What’re you going to do?’

  ‘There’s water flowing behind this wall.’

  Requin shrugged, the significance evading him.

  ‘We’re inside a mountain. A mountain, at the foot of a river. And this is an underground stream.’

  Requin paused, frowned. ‘Are you saying it could lead us to the river?’

  Xavier did not respond. Instead, he ran the sharp edge of the stone against a line of mortar that separated two large boulders.

  It crumbled into a pale dust between his fingers.

  Requin stared at his brother, hope dawning across his face.

  ‘And over years,’ Xavier said, the shape of his teeth slicing through the darkness, ‘water wears mortar down to sand.’

  Within an hour, the large boulder was already beginning to shift. Xavier wedged his fingers into the fresh cracks and pulled hard.

  ‘It’s coming! It’s coming!’ Requin chanted under his breath.

  Knots of muscle rose up in Xavier’s arms and shoulders. The rock moved slowly at first, but as the remaining mortar fractured and then crumbled away from the wall, it eased quickly towards him. Despite his damaged hands, he managed to cushion its fall, skinning his thighs and shins in the process. It was worth the blood, however, as although there were no guards posted directly outside their chamber, the sound of a large rock hitting the stone floor would have reverberated through the tunnels, pricking ears that he did not want pricked.

  While Xavier wiped the dust from his eyes, Requin rushed up to the wall and peered into the gaping hole.

  ‘You were right! Look!’

  Xavier stretched and arched his back before slowly bending down. It was just what he had expected: An underground stream. Although narrow, the stone vein appeared large enough for a grown man to crawl through. There was no way of telling if it would widen or constrict on its journey, but one thing was certain: It was headed down, towards the river.

  Without offering a word, Xavier climbed up and through the hole. The chasm ahead was dark in a way that stretched beyond a lack of light. He dropped onto his stomach, submerging his naked body beneath the icy water. Although it was not yet winter, the season’s arrival was only weeks away. He closed his eyes and immediately shut out the effects of the frigid stream.

  ‘No! We won’t survive five minutes in this,’ Requin complained, dipping a foot into the rushing water.

  ‘Stay behind then.’

  ‘I’m just saying that–’

  Xavier, allowing the stream to cascade over his head, spoke through mouthfuls of water. ‘Stop … fucking … whining. Or I will kill you myself.’

  ‘All right … all right,’ Requin conceded, trying to gather his resolve. He reluctantly lowered himself into the black canal, directly behind his brother, and almost immediately began to lose sensation in his legs.

  For the next while they waded quietly through the freezing blackness. The stream was so narrow in places that had the passage been dry, Xavier’s large frame would almost certainly not have made it through. In some areas it opened up enough for them to get onto their feet, albeit briefly. It was also shallow in parts, barely ankle-deep, while other sections seemed fathomless. At one point they had to swim across a lake more than a hundred yards long. But despite the threat of drowning or slowly freezing to death, a far more tactile danger lay ahead. In the distance, a waterfall awaited them. Its roar was unmistakable. Although they were unable to see any part of it, blind to both its height and volume, the sheer sound of the crashing water told them much of what they needed to know. It was high and powerful, but just how tall and how formidable was impossible to tell. As they carefully waded out to the top of it, mindful of losing their footing under the powerful current, Xavier picked up a rock the size of a man’s head, and hurled it over the edge. He took a deep breath, and then another, before it hit the churning water below.

  Requin began to panic, his stammer cutting into his words. ‘No … no … we can’t s–see anything! We have to f–find another way. I can’t–’

  But his words were drowned out by the sound of his brother’s body hitting the pool below.

  ‘Xavier!’ Requin cried out. ‘Xavier!’

  ‘Move it,’ he called back, his voice already swimming away into the darkness.

  Gritting his teeth, Requin inched his way forward. His mind was screaming at him not to take the decisive step. But what choice did he really have? He could neither stay where he was, nor return to their chamber. Resigned, he inhaled deeply, teetered on the brink for a moment, and then stepped off. As an icy wind rushed over his body, he braced for impact. He fully expected to be met with a mouthful of jagged rocks and was relieved beyond words when his back slapped against the water. Gasping, he swam out towards his brother. Together, they trudged through chest-high water until finally, minutes later, a dim light appeared ahead of them.

  ‘Look,’ Requin said, narrowing his gaze. ‘Over there.’

  A shaft of moonlight lit up a large rock at the mouth of the cave. Beyond it, dark fields met a black sky.

  ‘Yes!’ Requin cheered. He threw up his hands and splashed forward. ‘We’ve done it!’

  As they pulled themselves up onto a flat rock, Xavier inhaled the fresh evening air for the first time in months. As Requin joined him, a powerful wind cut across their bodies, rippling the water and bending the backs of the surrounding river trees. The castle was perched up high above and behind them. Ahead of them were rolling fields of farmland.

  Requin’s celebrations were cut short as the gusts bit into his naked body. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried to speak, but the cold stole away his words.

  ‘We need clothes,’ Xavier said plainly, and looked back over his shoulder.

  ‘W–Where? How?’

  Xavier deliberated for a moment before wading out into the river.

  ‘Where are y–you going?’

  ‘To the castle gates.’

  ‘What? We can’t go back there! That’s m–madness!’

  Xavier pressed on, ignoring him.

  ‘Stop, Xavier! Please!’

  Requin wished he could command his brother to turn around, but knew it was beyond his powers to do so. Instead, he did what he always did.

  He sighed and followed.

  As they neared the castle’s gates, Xavier veered away to the west wall, disappearing under the nightshade of a large tree.

  ‘And now?’ Requin asked, running behind him.

  ‘We wait.’

  ‘For what?’

  Xavier turned and glared at his brother. ‘What do you think? Clothes, Requin … clothes.’

  The words had barely left his mouth when a guard appeared at the far end of the wall. The man was alone, casually patrolling a perimeter that he clearly did not believe would ever be breached. Xavier waited for him to pass in front of them before brazenly stepping out into the glow of the moonlight. Had the soldier, who was dressed in warm knee-high boots and a thick black overcoat, happened to turn around for even a moment, he might have stood a chance. But by the time he realised his life was in jeopardy, it was already over. Xavier punched him in the back of his neck, vertebrae cracking under his knuckles. He then grabbed the man’s shoulders, wrapped a hand around his head, and twisted. The soldier collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Xavier bent down and, with one
arm, dragged his ragdoll body back to the tree. He instructed Requin to strip the man and put on his clothes while he turned his attention back to the wall.

  Before long, the silhouette of a second soldier, dressed in an identical uniform, emerged from the darkness and headed in their direction. He was equally casual in his demeanour, quietly whistling to himself and staring up at the starlit sky. As he drew level with the tree, Xavier leapt out at him, smashing a rock into his face. The blow pulverised the delicate structures of nose and brow and his mouth exploded in a mix of blood, saliva and broken teeth. As he dropped onto his back, severely dazed and only barely conscious, Xavier knelt over him just as a raft of moonlight drifted over the man’s face. Despite his ruined features, the soldier was immediately familiar to Xavier.

  ‘You,’ he said quietly, recognising him as one of their torturers – the man, in fact, who had taken a hammer to his hand on the day he arrived.

  As the German lay helpless on his back – and before he could raise the alarm – Xavier hunkered down and cupped his hand over the guard’s bleeding mouth. The man’s eyes widened first in pain and fear, and then in disbelief.

  ‘Well, this is a … chance encounter,’ he said, his face without expression. ‘Can you remember what you asked me before you started hammering my hand?’

  The man shook his head, tears spilling down his bloodied cheeks.

  ‘Well, allow me to remind you. You wanted to know my name.’

  The man shook his head again, raw terror radiating from his eyes.