Shackles of Sunlight
Page 2
Against his will, a small sliver of hope crept into his thoughts. He swept it aside, along with all other thoughts, and moved closer to examine the shelf. It wasn’t wooden, even though it was made to appear so, which explained why it wasn’t on fire. The books themselves were real, but one stood out. Without noticing the shelf, he would never have seen the book. His fingers touched the spine and rubbed the covers. This was no ordinary hardback. He tilted it back slightly until he heard the click he was waiting for, then grabbed the shelf and pulled.
Behind the shelf was a similar sized hole carved into the stone wall. Garrett could see no further than a couple of meters into the absolute blackness. His master, however, could see much further. It was a gently sloping, stone hallway that went straight for thirty meters before making a ninety degree turn. While he could easily pierce the darkness, seeing through walls was beyond his power. Also beyond his control, apparently, was that sense of hope he felt creeping up again.
“Where does it go?” Garrett asked in little above a whisper. The search. Master’s obsession since before Garrett came into his service, which made it his own as well. Garrett had no idea what it was they were seeking, but this was the first time he had ever felt such excitement from his master.
He looked at Garrett in silence for a moment before answering, “Down,” with a shrug.
“Do you think you’ll find it down there?” Garrett pressed.
“Perhaps.” The question was more than unexpected, it was unprecedented. Garrett had been with him for nearly a century, longer than any of the others, but he couldn’t ever remember discussing this. Why not? They were certainly risking more than he, yet they had no idea for what. Master was a good name for him after all.
“Let’s go,” he said to Garrett, dismissing the thought, and disappearing into the darkness. Garrett followed quickly, but came to a sudden stop as soon as he crossed the threshold. Neither heat nor light from the raging fire behind him breached the hall entrance. He extended his arm, and watched with some alarm as the darkness swallowed his hand. He flexed and wiggled his fingers, assured they were still attached, but could see nothing of their existence. So it was no surprise he nearly screamed when he felt something grab hold of those phantom digits.
“Come along, Garrett,” said the floating head of his master poking through the curtain of blackness.
The scream of surprise would not be suppressed, but he did manage to turn it into a loud, “Yes!” Which he followed with a deep breath and a much calmer and quieter, “Of course, Master. Forgive me.”
“No need for apologies, old friend,” he replied, pulling Garrett into the pitch black. “Be careful, there are stairs at the end of this hall,” he added, to which Garrett nodded, then wondered briefly if Master had any inkling of the darkness surrounding them. Surely, at the speed he was being led down the hall, Master was having no problems seeing anything.
The tug at his arm lessened, and they came to a stop. His hand was placed on a metal railing, and Master’s voice was in his ear again. “Here’s the railing. It’s a spiral staircase leading down further than I can see. Take your time and I’ll wait for you at the bottom.”
Garrett didn’t even have time to reply before he sensed his master had left. He heard no noise, there was simply an absence where he had once stood. Garrett grasped the railing firmly and began his slow descent.
Judging time or distance in the darkness was nearly impossible, but best as he could figure, Garrett thought he had descended about five stories before reaching the bottom. Lucky for him, the railing ended just before the last step, letting him know he had reached the end of the staircase. His foot scraped across the stone floor, echoing back, but he heard nothing else. Garrett was growing nervous. He had never known Master to be so … preoccupied.
“Master?” he finally called out in little more than a whisper.
“I’m here,” Master answered from in front of him. “Do you see it?”
Garrett still couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face, and started to say as much, but stopped. He might have thought it was only in his head, if Master hadn’t mentioned it, but there it was, a small sliver of light coming from the far end of the hall.
“What is it?” Garrett asked.
“A door.”
To where, was the first thought in his head, but it was quickly drowned out by the desire to sprint towards it. So strong was the compulsion, he was barely able to stop his feet from dragging him down the hall. He could barely see. Running blindly towards a light was madness. It was like it wasn’t even his own thought.
Control returned with the realization it wasn’t his own feeling. This was something wholly new, but there was no doubt Master was the source. If he needed any more proof, there was the fact Master had not taken one step back to offer help. It could only be forward. Garrett took a deep breath, reached out and found the wall with his hand, then began a steady shuffle towards the light.
When he reached the door, Garrett found his eyes had adjusted to the gloom. The door itself was nothing unusual, a simple, plain wooden door, without even a lock. Master was standing with one hand on the handle, waiting. He looked into Garrett’s eyes, and gave a nod. Garrett returned it firmly, though he was still struggling to separate his own emotions from the flood he was receiving from Master.
The latch moved easily under his hand, and the door barely made a squeak as it swung open freely. Light poured out into the hall, blinding Garrett for a moment. When his sight returned, he was standing in the doorway alone, Master already across the room from him.
What is this place, he wondered, stepping onto the thick, blood-red carpet. It looked very much like a large study. A wooden desk dominated one wall of the room, while the rest of it was lined with shelves packed full of books. He leaned back, tracing the shelves up into the gloom overhead until they converged at a point on the edge of his eyesight, and nearly fell flat on his back. It was like they were at the bottom of a well. A well of books.
“It’s just an illusion.” Master’s voice snapped Garrett up straight, but when he turned, Master wasn’t even looking at him. Instead he was leaning close to a shelf, his fingers dancing along the spines of books.
“What?” was all Garrett got out before Master took a book from the shelf and tossed it into the air. It rose to a height of eight feet, before stopping abruptly in mid-air with a loud smack. It then plummeted to the ground, making hardly a sound on the thick carpet.
“It’s just an illusion,” Master repeated without ever taking his eyes from the shelf in front of him.
How could he have missed it? Garrett stared open-mouthed at the ceiling, searching for the flaw Master must have seen. There was no distortion at the edges, and the colors and textures of the shelves blended perfectly. Why would someone go to such lengths to hide a ceiling?
Master didn’t seem impressed or even interested in the ceiling, instead scanning the shelves as if nothing else mattered at all. Garrett looked around at the shelves that were most likely real and wondered how long they might be here. Surely it would go faster with two sets of hands, if only he knew for what Master was looking.
Garrett stepped across the room towards Master, offer of help poised on his lips, and that was when he noticed the flaw. A small black protrusion in the middle of the room. How could he have not noticed it before? Garrett moved directly under the strange object, trying to make out what it could be. The source of the illusion, perhaps? Or a switch of some kind?
No, it didn’t look like either of those. It looked almost like the tip of a black boot. In fact, that’s exactly what it looked like. Even more unsettling, how certain he was this object was not here when they first entered the room.
“Master,” he whispered, barely moving his lips, eyes glued to the ceiling.
There was something in his voice, an urgency Master could almost feel. His fingers stopped and he turned to face his old companion. “What is it, Garrett?”
Garrett’s lifeless eyes stared up into the grinning face of the hulking beast standing on his body, but it was looking at Garrett’s master. His master returned the grin with a stare colder than Garrett’s body. He knew the breed, a nasty combination of man and beast, they were little more than guard dogs. In the right light, which would be low, they could pass for a large human. Here though, the creature’s coat of hair, slit pupils, and large brow were all too prominent. The grin grew larger, exposing a mouthful of canines.
“Looks like curiosity kills more than just cats,” he said with a small laugh. “I don’t think I’ve had one go so quietly in a long time. I didn’t even get a chance to let him beg for his life.” He looked down at the body underneath him. “I hope he suffered at least a little.”
Master remained still, keeping his eyes on the beast.
“You were looking in his eyes, weren’t you?” he continued to taunt. “Tell me, did he see his death coming?”
No answer.
“Maybe we should check and see if he soiled himself,” he suggested. “That’s how I usually tell I’ve timed it just right.”
Silence.
Beastie shifted slightly, placing both feet on the ground. Readied. Something was building between them, and he was growing anxious under the unwavering stare.
“I hope you didn’t put too much training into this runt,” he said, giving Garrett’s body a kick. “Looks like it was a waste of time.”
The beast’s grin was gone, and his eyes twitched nervously as he tried to watch the face, hands, and feet of the man across from him all at the same time. “Say something!” he snarled. “Make a move, you genocidal freak! What’s the matter --”
The lips continued to move, but no breath raised up to give them a voice. His last thought would be of the cool breeze on his neck, and how strange it was in what was otherwise a still and stuffy room. He would never notice Garrett’s master was now standing beside him, nor recall the flash of light on steel from his blade.
His hands raised to rub his throat, but only reached as high as his chest before catching his severed head. The head slipped through his hands and hit the ground with a muffled thump, followed closely by the rest of his body spilling onto the crimson carpet.
The sword slid back into its sheath exactly as it had exited, nearly too fast to be seen. Looking down at Garrett’s body though, he knew he had not been fast enough when it counted.
“Yes, he saw it coming,” he said to the empty room. “He saw it long before I did, and for that I will never forgive myself. I am sorry, old friend.” He roughly kicked the brute’s body off of Garrett, then carefully picked up his broken body.
“Is this the point where we’re supposed to shed a tear?” a voice asked from everywhere in the room.
Dammit! Of course there was someone holding the dog’s leash. How could he have let himself get so distracted? He put Garrett’s body down and looked back up at the ceiling. It had to be coming from up there, somewhere.
“I’ve always considered emotions such a mortal trait,” the voice continued. “So, please, Braughton, help me out here. What’s the appropriate response? I hope it wasn’t a ‘moment of silence’.”
He didn’t recognize the voice, but whoever it was certainly knew him. He studied the ceiling, searching for the hole where the beast emerged.
“You know, I don’t believe my man saw his death coming,” the voice admitted. “I don’t think he even saw you move. I did, but I was smart enough not to blink.”
The opening was directly above him. He was sure of it. All he had to do now was leap.
“Thinking about coming up after me, are you?” the voice asked, freezing him in place. “Can’t say I blame you. I may have lost one of my men, but you lost your only one. That must make you angry.”
“Angry?” Braughton looked down at Garrett’s body. “Why would you think that? Because I want to drag you from whatever corner you’re hiding in, beat every bit of life from your body, then burn it along with your beast, so I can breathe in the aroma of your roasting undead flesh? That’s not anger, it’s vengeance.” That was a lie. It was definitely anger, or even rage, and he could feel it trying to take control. He didn’t know if emotions were a mortal trait or not, but his bond with Garrett severed, his were getting the best of him.
“Yes, of course. How silly of me to mistake the two,” the voice agreed. “I was simply going to point out you might want to think twice before jumping blindly into a ceiling.”
He was right, but it only served to fuel Braughton’s growing impatience with inaction. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And what do you want?”
“Where are my manners tonight?” he replied. “My name is Malock, humble servant of my master. What he wants with you, I can only imagine, but for now my orders are simply to deliver you to him.”
Braughton drew his sword, and held it in front of him. “Well, come on down and collect your package then, delivery boy.”
Malock’s voice remained even in his reply. “There’s just one small problem. He was quite clear in his instructions that I deliver both you and your servant … alive.”
Braughton looked down again at Garrett’s body. “I’d say you failed. How exactly does your master punish failure these days?”
“I wouldn’t call it a failure,” Malock countered, “so much as a postponed success. You’ll be needing another slave soon, and one’s just as good as another. All I have to do is wait. In the meantime, there is actually something else you can do for me.”
A noise behind him, heard too late, was followed by a sharp prick in the middle of his back. He turned just in time to see a hole in the shelf behind him covered back over by a false front.
“I’m sure you’ll find the dart no trouble at all,” Malock said. Braughton pulled the small silver dart from his back, and could already feel the puncture closing. “The specially designed sedative though, is quite a different story. We’re not sure how it will affect someone of your … bloodline, but I suspect you’ll soon begin to feel the effects.”
Braughton’s vison blurred at the edges, and he shook his head to clear it.
“As far as punishment is concerned,” Malock continued, “I really should thank you for taking care of that for me. You saved me the trouble of killing that over eager brute myself.”
“My pleasure,” Braughton replied, punctuated with a kick to the beast’s body. The movement threw him off-balance, and he struggled to remain upright.
“It looks as though the sedative is working just fine,” Malock noted. “That will please Master greatly.”
Braughton tried to protest, but his tongue was thick and uncooperative. Likewise, his legs were rebelling against holding him aloft, leaving him sinking towards the floor, and darkness was beginning to creep into the edges of his vision.
“Don’t worry,” Malock added, “I’ll find you again once you’ve acquired another servant. Just don’t take too long. We both know how you can get without one.”
Braughton’s knees hit the floor, and the rest of his body fell forward onto the carpet. His head rested on the thick carpet, and he was staring straight into Garrett’s dead eyes. Malock was right. He was going to need a replacement. That word felt even worse than servant, but he honestly had no idea what to call them.
His thoughts drifted to the ones before Garrett. How many had there been? How had they lost their lives? Did any of them hate him for what he had done to them?
The blackness crept further into his view, blocking everything except Garrett’s eyes. There had never been any hate in them before, and even frozen
in a state of witnessing his own death, Braughton could find none. Why did these men serve him so completely? And why exactly did he need another one?
The bonding. Its call was strong, and to deny it had proved disastrous in the past. Perhaps this time would be different. Maybe he could control it. He saw disbelief in Garrett’s eyes, and already he could feel its pull.
Why was he bound so tightly to the mortals? What had he been told so many centuries ago? A single sentence from his past danced on the edge of his consciousness. “Because it strengthens …”
Chapter Three
“… your humanity.” The words hung in the stale air of the small hut. The old woman took a breath to continue her lesson, but after glancing at her pupil decided instead to remain silent. She stared at what was supposed to be her attentive student, and waited.
Potions and books filled the shelves, lining every possible space of the hut, and sat quietly collecting dust. A thin ray of sunlight streaming from the room’s sole window revealed millions of particles dancing and twirling to the beat of an unheard song. Outside the trees swayed to their own rhythm, but the woman and the boy were both very still. And quiet.
The boy’s eyes appeared to be fixed on her, but she knew better. It was the window directly behind her which held her pupil’s attention now. He had, at first, watched the dancing dust, then followed its path to the window, and from there had been unable to keep from wandering to the forests and mountains beyond in search of adventure. His mind was a long way from the small wooden chair across from his grandmother where his body was now resting. She could no longer take the silence, or the thought of being ignored.
“Braughton!” Her voice sounded very harsh now against what had been a very empty silence.
He blinked rapidly several times as his mind returned from its wanderings. “Yes, Grandmother?”