The Dark Materials

by Amanda Churi

  Lucy’s body suddenly stirred beneath Calla, both spirits immediately refocusing their attention on the main prize of the evening. Lucy’s pulse strengthened, the trickle of air transpiring between her lungs and the outside world turning into a gentle breeze.

  The Eyla of Calla suddenly began to solidify, her levels of opacity rising as her weathered bond began to stitch itself back together. The Eyla smiled, a heinous cackle of victory escaping her mouth as slowly, like that of a shadow, she began to sink back into Lucy’s body. “Hm, seems that he still can use his powers unknowingly, though…

  “You were strong even when you were alive,” she praised as Lucy watched the evil spirit submerge herself inside her body once more, helpless to do anything to stop it. “But I guess my time is not done… Now, allow me, much like I did to Calla, to open the dark chambers of your heart.”

  On those last words, her manipulative soul forged with the weak body of the Returned, disappearing from view. As soon as the link between the two was restored, Lucy’s eyes flew open. Her back lurched up violently, the beat of her heart resembling that of a hummingbird as her organs remembered their designated purposes, frantically trying to make up for lost time.

  Kevin gasped, abruptly rising from his seat and throwing his arms around Lucy in a crushing hug. “LUCY!” he screamed happily, the tears flowing down his face at such a high rate that he could hardly breathe. “Oh my God, thank you, Lucy… Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

  The soul of Lucy looked on in despair. She hung her head, closing her eyes as tears made of minuscule, innocent white stars broke free. How much longer did this have to go on—her love living in such an awful land that showed both he and his heart no mercy? The people around him were formed by illusions; the ground beneath his feet was birthed by shadows; the words in the air were flooded with lies; and the skin that encased his bone was nothing more than a product of all three.

  She wished that he would just die at this point… For his own sake… So that the evil of the world could blind him no longer.

  Not wanting to see more, Lucy allowed her soul to disperse, leaving her love and the dastardly Eyla alone.

  Kevin could not be more thankful for the revival of she who he thought of as a wife. It didn’t matter at that moment what had brewed between them over the past while. When he sat by her protectively for days, watching her fight for her life, all that he could think about were the amazing journeys they had experienced throughout their two short, young years together. She was changing, there was no arguing that, but he couldn’t let go of her.

  It took Lucy a moment to process what exactly was going on. She blinked her eyes unsurely, pain rattling both her bones and abdomen the moment that she tried to shift her weight. Her mind was fuzzy, her limbs were drained, and her tongue felt as dry as sandpaper.

  “Honey…?” Kevin cooed softly. He caressed the side of her face with the soft touch of a hand. “How are you feeling?”

  She groaned, moving to sit up against the pillows. Kevin immediately helped her, allowing her to use him for as much support as need be. “What happened?” she grunted, resting a hand on her stomach instinctively.

  Kevin’s smile fell to a frown. Sighing, he rested a hand on top of hers, shaking his head. Confused, Lucy cocked her head to the side, silently staring at him as she tried to extract the information from his mind.

  Kevin broke her pressing stare, leaning down and grabbing a small cup before holding it up to Lucy’s lips. “Just rest and get strong…” he told her glumly, choosing not to answer. “You’ve been out for five days; it’s a miracle that you are still alive.”

  Lucy did not speak, her eyes studying his every movement as she swallowed the strong, warm tea. It did not sit well in her stomach, Lucy quickly pulling her head back and refusing to drink any more. She was severely dehydrated, but her body did not feel right accepting it. It was almost as though she felt… Empty?

  Her eyes broadened as Kevin retracted the cup from her lips, flashbacks overtaking her. The blue eyes… The pain that now had a permanent slot in her memory, as she had experienced it twice. Blood in her fire… Blackness closing in on her…

  “Lucy…” Kevin tried as he placed the cup back down. He grabbed her thin hand tighter, hoping to strengthen her fragile heart.

  She could hardly say the words that surfaced in her brain. “O-our baby…” she squeaked, her voice immediately breaking.

  “Shh,” Kevin said quickly, leaning over and hugging her before she crumbled beyond repair. “It’s ok… It’s ok…”

  “Ok…?” she mumbled, despair holding her voice hostage, but not enough so that it could prevent the single being of rage from racing through her stomach and fueling her simmering blood. “That’s twice, Kevin…”

  “…But at least you’re still alive.”

  Lucy squirmed in his hold, Kevin cautiously pulling away. In spite of her deteriorated physical state, her eyes were engulfed by flames, which she did not hold back. “And they’re not!” she snapped. “How are you so calm and collected? Two babies, Kevin! Two wonderful, beautiful, innocent creatures gone before their lives could start! Where are they?! Where is my baby?!”

  Kevin stuttered, desperately trying to figure out what to say. “I-I buried them…”

  “WITHOUT LETTING ME HOLD THEM FIRST?!”

  “Please, Lucy, calm down…” Kevin begged. “It’s alright. You’re here, and that’s what’s important.”

  Lucy scoffed, furious. Males… They were all the same! No one cared about what the girl went through—how deeply the loss of a child affected them, did they?

  She could hardly stand to look at him—an event that was starting to become a frequent reoccurrence. Disregarding her body’s condition, Lucy shoved the covers away and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  Kevin immediately stood up, resting a stern hand on her shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Out,” she responded hastily. Calling on her muscles to work together the best that they could manage, Lucy rose to her feet, tottering in place as she tried to distribute her weight evenly. Her legs were shivering, as were her very bones, but she would not allow her body to hold her back.

  “Y-you just woke up!” Kevin exclaimed, flabbergasted. “You’re too weak! You need to stay in bed!”

  Lucy wriggled away from him, refusing to be restrained. “I’m not weak,” she snarled, sharply spinning around and hardly catching the bed before she stumbled. “Stop trying to act like you care about me! Just stop it!”

  Kevin shook his head. Where the heck was all of this coming from?

  Her anger and discontent proving it was the strongest, Lucy pushed Kevin away from her with a shoulder, trudging over to and out the door. Kevin did not attempt to follow. He just stared at her, sitting down heftily as his eyes remained one with the door she had vanished through. What was he doing wrong? Why did it feel like every word that he said anymore only caused the rift between them to grow wider…?

  Lucy did not care about his feelings as she sauntered down the hallway and began to make her way down the staircase. A tiny, nearly inaudible whimper came from her lips like a puppy as she kept one hand on the rail at all times and the other on her flattened stomach. Did the forces just love to mess with her? To take away any and every ounce of happiness she held? Even now, she began to feel like Kevin was against her, and she knew for a fact that Daisy was—perhaps it was time that she took matters into her own hands for a change. She didn’t need a man; she didn’t need anyone.

  “Madam!” a voice called, Lucy looking down at the night encrusted palace. A lone knight holding a torch stood at the bottom of the staircase next to the lowered portcullis, his eyes embiggening when he realized that his queen had regained consciousness. “Are you alright, milady?” He rushed up the few stairs that Lucy had yet to conquer, grabbing her hand and helping her down to stable ground.

  “Yes, thank you for your concern,” she said glumly.

  “We
were worried that you were gone…”

  A rusty smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Well, I’m not.” She paused. “Would you care to fetch me a steed?”

  The knight took a step back, looking her over. She was not dressed in the typical royal clothing that she usually wore; she was in the barest of rags, which after five days of deprivation hung over her like a board. “Pardon me, madam,” the knight began cautiously. “But tis the middle of a winter’s night. You may catch a chill and—”

  “I want to go out,” she demanded sharply, her tone closing the argument.

  Against his better will, the knight nodded, running off down the hallway and leaving Lucy in the dark as he fulfilled his duties. She was silent and still, staring through the iron bars and listening to the ghoulish howl of the blistering wind. The crank of a wheel reverberated through the empty halls, the portcullis slowly rising before the knight returned on horseback, stopping directly beside Lucy and dismounting. He handed her the reins, Lucy quietly taking them from his hold before climbing onto the large steed herself.

  “Would you like some accompaniment?” the knight asked sincerely.

  “No,” Lucy grunted, the horse whinnying as it tried to move forward, but Lucy forced it to be kept in place. She shifted her ebony eyes to the knight, her pupils narrowing. “Also, if the king tries to follow me, kindly tell him I never left, would you?”

  The knight was astonished. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me,” she hissed. “As your queen, you will obey me.”

  The guard did not protest, even though he was very disturbed by the order. “As you wish, my… Liege…” He was hesitant to do so, but he bowed.

  She tightly nodded, looking away from her follower and giving the horse a quick snap of the reins to get it in gear. With a startled huff, the horse scrambled across the slick stone with its hooves, quickly gaining its bearings and tearing across the drawbridge towards the small fiefdom in the distance.

  A cloud of ivory, crystalized mist flew from the horse’s nostrils, leaving a trail behind them. The rapid gallop of hooves hitting rock was drowned by the treacherous gusts sprinting through the atmosphere, a few stray snowflakes beginning to fall from the dark night sky—the first of the season.

  She hardly knew where to lead her companion; she was so distraught that it really did not matter. Any place with a masked ambiance would do—anywhere that her mind could be fogged and she could focus on nobody except herself.

  The horse did not slow its pace. Its hooves abandoned the stone and found refuge on the frozen earth, guiding the lost queen where it so desired. In spite of the damp, nippy air, which should have kept most tucked in their beds, a large number of peasants were out and about.

  But not lively ones.

  Bodies littered the streets as the queen rode onwards, left for the vultures and remaining animals to carry off so that the people would be spared the job. Some had the decency of having tarps thrown over their bodies—corpses that had swelled with puss and nearly burst open. Many, however, just lied on their backs with their broken bodies facing the heavens, asking “why?”

  Her nose shriveled from the horrid stench, Lucy nearly unable to keep herself from hurling as she continued on. Those few who dared to wander the streets did not trust one another; any who passed too close received a piercing glare, and the queen was no exception—in fact, her stares were far worse.

  Five days she had been out… Five sun cycles since the Smite had taken its first victim from the blooming kingdom of Phantome—a town that had shown so much promise now falling further and faster than she thought it ever could. Everywhere she looked, even in the midst of the night, there were people dying as the plague spread like wildfire, poisoning the hearts of any and all whom it deemed fit.

  Lucy’s face was a rock as many hateful eyes settled upon her; her mind went into lockdown, her teeth were bared, and her pupils were almost unseen as the black veins in her body made yet another advance on her humanity.

  Her steed came to a rhythmic trot, Lucy further noticing the extremity of the situation. Faces flushed with grief and despair followed her every move as Lucy self-consciously brought her horse to a halt, stopping to look about. They were the subjects of shadows and gloom, their eyes minions to all of the pain they had undergone as many held the bodies of their loved ones in their arms, refusing to part. The vines beneath their skin reeked of revenge, beginning to cross their faces and overlap their sternums, stretching its profane hands into their hosts’ hearts and brains. They held no torches, and the lanterns around them were extinguished, keeping their identities wrapped in secrecy.

  The silhouette of a single man came forward, a swarm of scleras following him. He did not take more than a few steps forward, but his sight never drifted from Lucy’s placid face. A large, unknown object rested in his flexed arms, covered with a sheet that was drenched in body fluids.

  Lucy did not move. After living through all that she had as of late, not much could frighten her—not even a hold up on the streets of her own kingdom.

  Another man came to stand beside the first, his movements stiff and skeptical. For a heartbeat, he did nothing, before in one brief motion, he ripped the sheet away from his ally.

  Lucy nearly hurled as soon as she took in the horrendous sight. Held in the clutch of the man was the body of the old town elder, Clay. His face was so flushed that even with minimal luminance available in the outside world, he seemed to slightly glow. His eyes were cursed with the film of Death, his face littered with scabs, and skin swollen with the sickly remains from his lyzing organs.

  “Guess it really is witchcraft, isn’t it?” one man growled cynically, his arms trembling as he forced himself to keep his voice even. “God wouldn’t resort to slaying someone so close to him, nor mortals alone. Not even one Returned has taken a hit.”

  Lucy scoffed, dismounting her horse and turning her back to the crowd as she tied its reins to a lone post. She didn’t know what they were hinting at, but, quite honestly, she couldn’t be bothered by their inner burdens.

  “Of course it is the works of magic,” she told them, her voice smooth and unfazed as she proceeded towards the door of the building that she latched her horse to. “They can never be trusted; they want us to suffer for their damnation and feast on our bleeding hearts.”

  “Then why do they only take our loved ones?!”

  Lucy rested her hand on the handle of the door, her head low. “You tell me…” She pushed up on the latch, the door swinging open and Lucy following its motion. Sighing, she pressed her body up against the timbers and closed the barrier behind her, muffling their voices that continued to batter her with questions.

  The warmth dancing within the building helped ease the slight anxiety that the mob brought her. When the fires chugged through Phantome months ago, almost all establishments were brought to ruin. The people worked diligently to rebuild their shambled lives, and once Kevin stepped up to the plate, he helped them that much more.

  One place, although he had advised against such, that was the first to be rebuilt was the pub. With the stress of day-to-day living and all of the grief among both mortals and Returned, the peasants urged for it, and eventually, Kevin obliged. Although nothing compared to before, the stone walls helped trap in the troubles of the living so that they were not carried back to their homes. Most of the money that the villagers managed to conjure went into restocking the shelves so that they were teeming with all sorts of alcoholic beverages; they didn’t care too much about the inside at the moment so long as they were able to consume what they came there for.

  Few were inside, but the moment that Lucy entered, conversations ceased. All heads turned to the queen, only two people in total acknowledging her presence with a slight bow.

  Scowling, Lucy lumbered over to the bar, heftily sitting down on a stool. With her thoughts mixing together, she groggily raised her head to the man behind the counter, who hesitantly approached his ruler. He was drying
a glass with the bottom of his shirt, one eyebrow heightened when he took note of the odd guest. His skin was a radiant shade of bronze, his black hair poofing out beside him in small ringlets and falling to his shoulders. The veins of the Returned circled his trachea and began their travels under his chin, preparing to enter the domain of his face.

  “Get me the strongest thing you’ve got,” Lucy ordered, running her fingers through her greasy bangs.

  The bartender looked her over with questionable black eyes. “No lo necesitas.”

  Lucy scoffed. “Excuse me? Last I checked, civilized people spoke Italian.”

  His pupils condensed, his eyes cold and saturated. “You. Do. Not. Need it,” he restated in a heavy accent.

  Lucy raised a hand, straightening her back and cocking her head to the side. “That’s better,” she praised. “But why don’t I need it?”

  “Why you think?” the man pressed, placing the glass down with an irritated thud. He leaned across the counter, his nostrils wide and eyes tense. “You done nothing to help us. You nothing but a woman who somehow snuck into power.” He spit into the glass, licking his lips with distaste. “Este lugar es un caldo de cultivo para putas de poder…”

  “What was that?”

  The man grunted. “Nada… Weasel.”

  “I’m a weasel?” Lucy exclaimed, pressing a hand to her heart and gasping sarcastically to reiterate how ridiculous his accusations were. “I didn’t ‘weasel’ into power; I didn’t ask for power at all—Kevin did.”

  “He was chosen,” the man rounded, countering Lucy’s brashness with his own. “Sadly, you came with him.” He inched forward. “Tell me, what you have against mortals?”