Dahlia: A Novel of Dark Desire

by Viola Calvary

  She was struck by the sight of sick, green blood dripping from gaping black slashes. Lenoi was holding an enormous scythe halfway through a swing. The scythe glowed the same sick green as the blood and the wall she’d found in Macada’s mind earlier. Lenoi held a shield around herself that the blood had adhered to. It was slowly infecting the energy of the shield with the same sick glow.

  Dahlia looked around quickly and noted that the blood was doing the same thing to the landscape, sickening and dissolving it. No wonder the men screamed. She steadied herself again. First things first, she needed to stop the scythe so Lenoi could get out.

  The root of the energy was hard to locate. It wasn’t at the bottom or on the holds that would be used if someone were to swing it. She finally located it in the pin that connected the blade to the staff. This would be tricky, if she released the blade before destroying it then the blade could do something nasty like swing wildly. Seeing the blood on the ground she had an idea. It made her nauseous but what was one more scar on her psyche, really?

  She located the essence of the blood and sickness; the intent to consume and spread. She imposed her own will on it, a combination of dominating and understanding the construct. It was the understanding, the acceptance of this monstrosity and it’s touch on her psyche that made her feel ill. She held on to her resolve and her body began to shake with cold chills as she directed the blood to the scythe. She saw Lenoi’s eyes widen in fear as the energy surged towards her and the scythe.

  “Hold on for just a second longer and be prepared to get out of here on my word,” she sent a thought out to Lenoi.

  Lenoi nodded. The steel in her eyes pushing out the fear, she held on and the blood left the landscape and swarmed onto the scythe. It consumed the blade as the scythe rocked back and forth, bucking against Lenoi’s hold. Dahlia couldn’t aid the woman, she had to remain completely focus on the blood and the sick energy attached to it.

  As it touched the pin between the blade and the staff the creation itself began to implode in a self-consuming cycle.

  “Go!” she sent to Lenoi.

  She saw Lenoi vanish from the man’s mind and she released her direction on the blood and focused a shield around both the scythe and the blood. The sick, hungry energy pushed against her shield as she strained to contain the implosion. It tore at her shield, trying to break loose and consume everything around it. She felt ill as she forced herself to contain it despite the damage to her own mind. The force hammered against her and she shook until her teeth rattled in her skull.

  Then it was over. The scythe and sickened blood were both gone, the sickness having consumed itself and the infected blood when nothing else was available. She released her shield and followed Lenoi, fleeing the man’s mind.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Coming back into her own body--though infinitely better than being in the sickened, torn mind--was not a pleasant experience. She found Traedon was holding her up while Borreal was lifting an unconscious Lenoi off the ground.

  “Get her help,” she rasped, “the faster the better. Leave me, I’ll be alright.”

  Traedon hesitated for a split second before discipline to her as a captain won out over his concern for her. He accepted Lenoi’s faint body from Borreal and took off for the infirmary.

  Dahlia let herself sink to her knees and breathe, fighting her nausea. The screaming had stopped which meant that either the scythe had killed the other men or Borreal had ordered them slain to show mercy. She decided she didn’t need to know. To die like that was a fate she wouldn’t visit on anyone.

  When she trusted herself to speak she reported the man’s state to Borreal, “He’s stable now but severely and permanently damaged.”

  Borreal looked shaken, something she’d never seen before. But then again, she’d never seen a scythe rip through a dozen minds before either.

  “What was it?”

  “A psychic construct. A giant scythe that ripped and sickened everything it touched which in turn sickened and devoured everything else.”

  The color drained from his face. “Why? Why that method? Surely it wasn’t necessary.”

  “A guess? To kill them all in a spectacular fashion rather than allowing them to give up information. Bonus intimidation factor.”

  “Why now?”

  “A trigger. Either it was set on a timer or it was related to something someone said.”

  “Perhaps I was getting close. I asked about the relationship between Ahriman’s journal and the research member.”

  “Possibly. Also possible that they had been expected to return by now. Or even the mention of Ahriman’s name. Had you mentioned it before?”

  “We must have,” he thought, “we’d been circling around that all morning.”

  “Well if I were to set something with a trigger based on the subject of a question I would have it destroy any thought or memory connected to that subject first. You may be out of luck, there was a lot of damage.”

  He hesitated then, “Could you create something like that?”

  “Yes, now that I’ve seen it I could replicate it in a fashion. It had just never occurred to me. Besides the fact that I found the manner of execution vile. I would have killed them cleanly.”

  “Your mention of intimidation makes sense though.” Borreal said calmly, placing firm reigns back on his emotions.

  “Yes, if you don’t mind the men under your command screaming in agony from a death I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

  He looked sad. “It’s a tragic fact that some commanders don’t.”

  She bowed her head lower, “It is indeed.”

  “What about the man over there? The archer? Was he not affected?”

  “It seems he was not though whether it was because his mind is elsewhere and thus cannot hear your questions or if he’s been able to avoid the scythe by being inside my maze I’m not sure. It was intended to keep separate minds away from each other. The scythe might be treated as a separate mind.”

  “After what you’ve done I regret to ask this of you but I’m afraid I must. Can you extract his mind and either save it from the scythe or dismantle it before I question him?”

  “Yes. If it hasn’t been triggered I can remove it in the maze. If it has been then hopefully I can just leave it in the maze. Either way I can extract him now and dismantle the scythe when I’ve recovered. The other option would be for you to join me and question him there. As it is my construct I may be able to manipulate him and the surroundings to help get us truthful answers faster.”

  He nodded, only asking, “And the scythe?”

  “If it’s roaming the maze I can quarantine it. If it’s still inside him I can extract it and quarantine it.”

  “Alright, let’s go.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  They settled in her office to begin. She removed the mirror from one of her guarded safes she had been keeping it in and placed it on the table. Borreal looked decidedly uncomfortable which, given his normal serenity, was a true indication of how deep his aversion to what they were about to do ran. He’d entered one of her manifestations before and come out fine but the experience was unnerving at best.

  “I won’t let you get lost. If you trust me, trust that you’ll be fine. This is a creation of my own and I control everything in it.”

  He made a visible effort to relax and nodded.

  “Place your hand on the table,” she instructed him.

  He did so and she placed her hand on top of his then looked into the mirror.

  She heard the soldier inside sobbing and in a rush of color their awarenesses descended into the mirror towards him. As the blur receded and the picture sharpened she found herself standing with Borreal on the path of the maze. The archer knelt in front of her, sobbing but aware. She released Borreal’s hand and stepped forward, motioning for him to stay behind. The man stopped sobbing and looked up, his tear streaked face towards hers.

  “Please,” he begged, “please help me.” />
  She dropped to her knees in front of him and stroked his hair, “Shhhhh,” she said soothingly, “I’m here to help you but I need you to stay quiet for a moment. They’ve damaged your mind and I need to set it right.”

  It was partially true. At least he wouldn’t die screaming like his comrades. A lie to ease his fear and gain cooperation was kinder and easier than telling him she was the one who’d trapped him here anyways.

  She looked into his eyes and gently searched through him for the trap. She found it lurking, buried deep within his memories. The sick, pulsing light made it easy to locate once she knew what she was looking for. Here, on her own ground, it would be child’s play to remove it untriggered. She merely willed the energy comprising it to a dead end in the maze and walled it off. Then she gave his mind a gentle push that released his own natural pain relievers and mood enhancers.

  “Th-thank you,” he stammered out, “I feel wonderful.”

  She nodded, “We can get you out of here, but we need to know what happened to place you here. Can you help us?”

  “I hesitate to ask after the kindness you’ve shown me but duty and loyalty to my commander require me to: what are you?”

  She smiled warmly and lied through her teeth, “You are wise to ask, I am Mari and you have been trapped in my lands by an enemy. I heard your suffering and came to release you. This man is my warrior and he will lead you out once we have discovered your path.”

  His eyes glazed over and he bowed his head to her. The time spent in her maze had weakened his psyche enough that any semi-plausible story relating to his release would be accepted.

  “Goddess Mari of hope and dreams I humbly beg your and your consort’s favor, I feel lost in a nightmare.”

  She nodded serenely as she blocked the memories of his capture and laid a fog over the one for the night of the capture.

  “Indeed. Now tell me, how did you come to be here?”

  “It is difficult to recall. Last I remember clearly I fell asleep after being assigned to retrieve a target with intelligence valuable to my commander.”

  She stroked his hair again, “There was something terrible placed in your mind, who did that? I sense the same man cast you here.”

  He stiffened but she continued to stroke his hair and she leaned ever so slightly on his inclination to trust her.

  “A man called Ahriman, goddess, he said that it would hurt but that they’d be able to wipe my memories were we to fail and be captured.”

  “Yet you still have your memories so you must not have been captured.”

  He nodded, “It would seem so.”

  “What could this man have wanted with you then?”

  “I was not to know. I was only to retrieve an enemy soldier.”

  She was annoyed with this answer but maintained her serene expression. Mari was always depicted as if permanently in a pleasant dream state.

  “Could you have ended up in one of this man’s traps?”

  He looked puzzled, “It seems I have.”

  She forced herself to look mildly concerned, “But I simply must know what kind of trap that is or how am I to help you out of it?” The logic was thin but his automatic agreement with her last two prompts indicated that he was far enough gone that with her leaning on his trust he’d accept it.

  He did, “Goddess, I am not very clever but I did hear him speaking of making our force stronger, enhancing our abilities. Could it be that he’s attempt that on me and failed?”

  She looked at Borreal. He nodded, it was enough for him to work with and probably all they were going to get out of him. She looked back at the man, “Yes, it would make sense given that you are here. If your abilities were too much for your mind to handle you would break and lose connection with the physical world,” she invented.

  “Knowing this I can send you back to your body if you would like but I sense that you will not like what you find.”

  “Mistress, could I stay with you? I would serve you faithfully.”

  She looked at him, he was in a pathetic state and she disliked manipulating him because eventually his sanity would break and he would be gone. To be fair, he’d probably be executed unless she could use him. She steeled herself and replied.

  “Service given to a god is no light thing. Would you swear yourself to me even knowing that a hard road lies ahead?”

  “Mistress, I would serve you. Nothing could be worse than being forever lost in this nightmare and you have rescued me from that fate.”

  “Very well then, I will have need of you in the physical world so you must return to your body but fear not, for I will ensure that you are soon released and suffer no lasting harm.”

  He fell onto his face, prostrate before her. “Do as you please with me, my life is yours.”

  She waved her hand in a gesture she imagined a goddess might use and he vanished. Then she allowed the maze to dissolve away and she was once again seated across her office table from Borreal. His mouth twisted into a smile.

  “Your consort?”

  “Hey I can’t control what he assumes. I take it you’re flattered.”

  He gave her a mocking bow, “I am yours to command, Mari.”

  “Very well then my warrior, return to your prisoner and instruct the guards to pretend like they are in Ahriman’s employ. When the time comes that we find a use for a weirdly brainwashed zealot we’ll release him.”

  He backed out of the room, head bowed low, “It shall be as you say, my goddess.”

  She smirked as she replaced the mirror in her safe and sealed it.

  She leaned against the wall as utter exhaustion hit her. Damn, she really needed a nap. The last few days had not been easy.

  She rubbed her head. She needed to deal with the damage manipulating the sickened blood had done to her as well. The longer it went unattended the more likely it was to scar her psyche. Sleep or mental health? She opted for mental health, the healing she did would sink in and deepen as she slept.

  She walked to her room, entered, and closed the door. The bolt was still off the wall so she placed a chair against it, hoping that Kenny wouldn’t pick the next hour to come talk to her. It wasn’t likely, he should be occupied with his full time job of being a captain but you never knew and she really liked that chair.

  She turned on the tub, stepped in, and slipped her neck and shoulders under the tap. Running water helped to remove negative energy and ground any stray psychic energy. Plus water in general was a healing element. She let herself soak there until the tub was full then she turned off the tap, sank into the bath, and entered her own mind.

  Chapter Twenty

  She saw one of her puppets sobbing, her skin tinged green. She went over to the woman and put her arms around her as the woman rocked back and forth.

  “I-i-i-i-i feel it trying to eat my skin, it’s poisoning me,” the woman wailed.

  Dahlia held her, stroked her skin, “You were so brave and it isn’t fair that you have to suffer, let me take the pain for you.”

  The woman looked at her, “You would do that for me?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “But won’t it hurt you?”

  “Only for a little while.”

  “Ok…” her voice wavered.

  The woman vanished and Dahlia felt the cold chills and sweat pour down her again, just as she had when she’d controlled the sickened blood. The poison tore at her skin. This time she didn’t fight it, she let it hurt. She had chosen to hurt herself to save the men and women that depended on her to protect them and this was the manifestation of that choice, this was the price. She held herself and shook until she thought she would die.

  She heard herself sobbing distantly but she endured until finally the pain receded. The sickness left her and she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see the same woman crouched in front of her.

  “Thank you,” the woman said and then walked away.

  Dahlia watched that part of her psyche go. Then she stood up slow
ly and walked the opposite direction. She felt something calling to her there.

  Soon Dahlia came to a dark pool she’d never seen before. She smelled blood and fear. A woman who looked almost exactly like her sat at the edge, splashing her feet in the water. She was dressed in ragged clothes with Dahlia’s jet axes on her hips. Her hair hung in her face and she chewed her lip. Her hair was a more vivid shade than Dahlia’s and her exposed canine was unusually pointed.

  Dahlia sat down next to her and touched her hand. The woman jerked back.

  “Don’t touch me,” the woman snapped, long canines showing in a snarl.

  “That might be hard. You are a part of me.”

  “The part you despise.”

  “I don’t despise you. How could I despise a part of myself?”

  “So many people do,” the woman responded bitterly.

  “Why do you think I despise you?” Dahlia asked, steeling herself again.

  “You hate what I feel. I love power and everything that comes with it. Destruction of our enemies, domination over anyone who would challenge or threaten us. What you term darkness is my heart.” The woman kicked at the water. Dahlia saw pain and rejection in every line of the woman’s body. She was quiet for a moment as she struggled with her response

  “I don’t hate it. What I feel is fear.” Dahlia finally admitted. Not just to the woman, but to herself as well. She truly didn’t hate it. She’d loved it. The allure still called to her so strongly that she had to hold herself back.

  “So you are afraid of me?” The woman seemed curious now.

  “I am afraid of what I could become. I don’t want to become like the first Puppet Master. I don’t want to be cruel.”

  “So you do not trust me? You think me cruel?”

  “You revel in destruction, power, and blood. It scares me to think how close that is to cruelty.”

  “And yet you accept the strength it gives you. I cannot offer you strength without the desire for power. And yes, the desire to fight. If you do not want to fight then go follow the path of your old master.”