by Chloe Hodge
“Figures. So, you’re a former prostitute with feelings for an evil being, and a blind notion that you’re on the victor’s side. Who says the darkness will win?”
“He has powers you could not begin to comprehend. His army will obliterate this world. There will be nothing left when he is finished.”
Shara studied the stranger’s brown eyes. The woman was overflowing with confidence— much like a peacock amongst a flock of pigeons. She wasn’t lying. She believed what she had said.
This is bad. Really bad. Time to gather information.
“The races of Everosia have united before. They will do so again,” Shara said bluntly.
“And what are men, elves and dwarves in the face of such evil? These creatures are not of this earth. They hunger for the taste of flesh and the smell of blood.”
We know that much. But when? When will the darkness strike?
“The darkness won’t beat us. He hasn’t amassed an army big enough to dare.”
Another smirk. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Your pet wizard and all his mage friends are in for a little treat sometime soon. Such a shame you won’t be there to see them all die at the legendary Academy.”
He plans to attack Renlock?
A raspy voice cut through shadows. “Now, now, Vera. Let’s not spoil the fun before the party arrives.”
The woman stiffened and stood up straight. “I, I was just…”
“Just what? I told you not to come down here. And I see you’ve shared some valuable information with our guest.” The presence clucked his tongue a few times and Vera shrivelled. “No matter. She won’t remember it after I’m through with her. Now scurry away little mouse and send for our friend.”
The woman bit her lip, a little hurt by the dismissal, but she bowed and flew up the stairs in a flash.
“My assistant, Vera. Not the most intelligent or beautiful of creatures but she has her uses. It’s rather easy to get what you want with empty promises.”
Shara searched the shadows for the voice. “You’re disgusting.”
The voice shrugged of the comment. “Maybe. Disgust, fear, brutality. They’re all qualities that can scare a man into doing your bidding. Fear is powerful. It grants me an army who fight for me because the other option is too horrible to think of. It’s simple, really. Almost boring from lack of effort.”
Shara wriggled vainly in her restraints. “What do you want with me?”
The voice considered quietly. “I don’t really want anything from you. Consider yourself a project. A work in progress. You see, there is someone I have high hopes for, but he needs some adjustments, a little training, before I’ll be satisfied.”
“Training?”
“Yes, he’s rather good at his craft but this time I’d like him to work with a subject he knows. Iron out the emotions. Clear out the baggage, so to speak.”
Shara swallowed the rising lump in her throat and an uneasy shiver coursed over her. “How well do I know this craftsman?”
“Oh, you’re very close. You are family after all.”
Realisation hit her in the face and sudden nausea swirled in her stomach, threatening to erupt. Words failed to form, and her eyes widened in panicked protest.
“No, no it can’t be.”
“Yes, yes it can. Little sister reunites with her long-lost brother. What a tale this will be.”
The voice dripped with glee and its host stepped forward into the light. Wispy tendrils of smoky ash swirled around a male elf. Red, glinting eyes blinked and were replaced by steel grey ones. He leered at her, malice etched into a smile, eyes lusting for blood.
Her lips barely met. “What have you done to him?”
“I’d say it’s a vast improvement. His mind is locked away somewhere too deep and dark to reach. I command, and he obeys. It’s the only kind of relationship I like. Would you like to meet him now?”
The door opened again in the landing above and one set of boots began the descent. It felt like a lifetime passed in the minute it took him to arrive. Shara squeezed her eyes shut, willing it to be a dream, willing the madness to all go away. The darkness stared at her thoughtfully all the while.
When she opened them, the familiar face of her brother stared back at her. Only, his eyes lacked any light. Devoid of emotion, two dark brown orbs looked unseeing as he waited for an order. His skin was pale and sickly, the usual suntanned lustre long gone. His short brown hair was now long and unkempt. His mouth was set in a grim, unmoving line.
“Flynn! Flynn, please, It’s me, Shara. Your sister!” She searched his eyes desperately. Her wails grew louder and more desperate. “Wake up, Flynn. Come back to me, come back to the Onyxonites. To father and our people!”
“I wouldn’t bother, girl. Your efforts are useless— he can’t hear you. The brother you knew is gone and this,” he gestured at Flynn, “this is what stands in his place.”
She balled her fists and spat at the writhing creature before her. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Her anger bounced off the walls of the too tight room.
A flash of irritation pulled at the darkness’ mouth but was quickly replaced by a cold smile. “Flynn is my best soldier. He is going to lead part of my army. We just need to remove some—” he paused searching for the word, “glitches. And you’re the perfect way to do that.”
He bent over and whispered something in Flynn’s ear. He bent his head and pulled out a flat pouch from the back of his tunic. Laying it at Shara’s feet, he untethered the binding and rolled it open.
An array of silver glittered in all shapes and sizes. Small devices and contraptions designed for pain waited eagerly for their taste of flesh. Shara craned her neck and her breath caught in horror. Finally, she understood what Flynn was meant to do. Her eyes welled up, and a sob escaped her throat.
The darkness bent over and kissed her with icy lips on her sweaty brow. A single hand traced the curve of her cheek. “I trust you’ll enjoy lost time together. You have so much to catch up on.”
His eyes glittered and reverted to red, his shape transforming into a weightless cloud once again. Before he left the room, she saw his smile; malice and murder all wound into one.
Her eyes darted back to Flynn, who had selected his first weapon of choice. A small blade, its wicked arch glittering and deadly. She tried to find his eyes, tried to find any trace of humanity; of the bond they shared.
He was such a handsome man. The ladies always whispered it was so, crooning over his olive skin, his dark brown eyes and the easy flash of his smile. People liked Flynn. He was always the first one to put himself in the line of fire, always the first to praise when it was due, and humble himself before others. He was a soldier. An elite assassin. His countless missions had meant something. Had changed things for the good of the Onyxonite Clan. And so, they respected him for it. And they lamented his disappearance as Shara had done every day since.
For a moment, Shara questioned what her father would see in the man before her. What he would do should he find out his prized son was now a torturer for evil. His heir, the next lord-in-waiting, a pawn of the darkness.
Flynn’s hand began to shake, and he gripped the blade with white knuckles. A small grunt escaped his lips, and Shara felt her heart fill with hope. “Fight it Flynn.”
His eyed darted to hers, filled with panic as he fought whatever control the darkness held over him. They shared a momentary connection before the light in his eyes went out and his body went rigid again.
Then she saw the blade descend upon her body and stared blankly as it sliced into skin. It kissed her with stinging lips, and she grit her teeth against the pain. Flynn was the artist. She, the painting.
Shara scanned his eyes once more. Those soft eyes that reminded her of a stag. Proud, gentle, unyielding. The ones lovers would lose themselves in and men would see mirth in.
“Flynn,” she managed to croak, “please, brother. Please don’t do this. Don’t let him take your will. Don’t let him make you into a monster.”
>
His eyes met hers and for a resounding moment a bright spark of hope lit in her stomach and she held her breath. But his gaze was still lifeless, all memory of the man he once was, gone.
A single tear trickled down her cheek and she squeezed her eyes shut, steeling herself for what was to come.
Her screams lasted long into the night.
A New Hope
Ashalea shivered in the cool night air, a soft breeze raising the hairs on her arms and whipping her silver hair like a curtain to a window. Irritated, she swept it into a tight braid with practiced hands and clutched a shawl around her shoulders. She gazed up at the moon, basking in its pure glow.
She was exhausted. The Magicka spent healing Bonodo and Denavar, and conjuring the portal had taken a toll, and she had been able to do little more than eat and sleep. Five days had passed since Shara was taken, and not a day went by where she didn’t miss the jibes and jeers of her witty friend. The odd sincerity and kind words covered up by casual banter.
Shara hid her emotions behind a mask, preferring to be the harder, thick skinned woman that favoured shadows to the light. There was a mystery about her that intrigued men and caused women to whisper. Then there was her brash personality, the smirks and fiery sense of humour. But Ashalea knew better. Beneath the thin veil lay insecurities and fear; a reluctance to let walls down and allow herself to be loved or known, truly. What a hard life she must have had. How lonely it must have been.
I can relate to that. Like a caged bird unable to take flight. To only see the world from one point of view. To do as told or deal with the consequences.
She wondered if her friend was still alive. Ashalea dared not contemplate where or what state she was in if she were. She couldn’t. Her brain still clearly remembered the ghostly expressions of her parents in their final moments. The slashes on their skin, their hands tightly entwined in that red room of death. She shook her head. Too painful. All she knew was she missed her friend and would do anything to get her back.
Ashalea forced her mind to change the subject and let thoughts stray to the task at hand. Wezlan had departed for Renlock once again, this time to consult the tome and prepare to close the darkness’ portholes. Denavar journeyed with him, excited as a child with a new toy. The pair would be a force to be reckoned with, Ashalea had no doubt.
She had tried to go with them but both Wezlan and Denavar had forced her back into bed, ordering her to get some rest. The portal had taken less of a toll on their energy, given neither of them had spent it healing others beforehand.
Their absence was immediately noticeable. No cheeky winks, lessons or parental guidance from her old friend, no flirty exchanges, jokes or masked touches from Denavar. It was odd. He was never far from her thoughts and she questioned the nagging fluttering in her stomach.
Some nights she wished she could catch all the butterflies and set them free, but Denavar almost felt a part of her now. A bond had been made; a connection too deep to sever. She hadn’t known him long and yet; the feelings were there. Ashalea just had to figure out what they meant.
She shook her head. Thinking about him was no use right now. Besides, the longer she lingered on the memory of his lips on hers the more she felt a weird pang deep inside.
She sighed. So much had happened in the past few months. Discovering the truth of her parents, losing new friends, learning to love— it had all taken its toll, and she had no one to share her thoughts with. Even Captain Bonodo had been so busy overseeing the construction of a new ship he hadn’t the time to exchange pleasantries with her. She was all alone. Not for the first time her mind wandered to Kinna and Ondori. She missed their easy nature, their spontaneity and quick laughter. They made Windarion shine all the brighter for it. But they were gone. Lost in a black abyss, much like she felt trapped in.
No more. Remaining cooped up in her quarters and wishing upon a star was helping no one. Besides, she had plans to visit a recent acquaintance tonight. She could no longer sit idly by, waiting for some news of Shara. It was time to take matters into her own hands. Ashalea inhaled deeply, letting the cool air slide down her throat, burning her lungs and lighting a fiery courage. Spurred to action, she jumped up lightly on her feet and grabbed a grey hood, the material perfect to mask her movement under the moonlight sky. She wanted the cover of darkness, nay, she wanted to become the night, hoping to avoid questioning from the guards or worst case, the King himself.
She was in no mood for a verbal spar with him. His distaste for her was amplified now, having learned that his prized pawn, Denavar, was the one who had saved the day and retrieved the tome. Perhaps the King was privy to the relationship Ashalea and Denavar shared. She snorted softly. Sure, whatever relationship that may be. If the King knows I might just bow down myself and proclaim loyalty.
She slinked down the hallway with agile feet, stepping carefully to stifle the noise of her boots on the marble floor. Where shadows fell, she used them, spying round corners and pricking her ears for sound. The palace was quiet, well after dark as it was. By now the occasional servant might be plodding off to bed, weary after a long day’s work. Anyone else lurking the corridors were on their own secret mission, finding lovers in vacant rooms and giggling like naughty school children, to be scolded by a teacher if they were discovered.
Ashalea avoided them easily. They were too focused on other things to pay her any mind. As she neared the main exit, she veered abruptly to the left towards the servants’ passage, which was rarely used at night. Perhaps the only helpful scrap of knowledge I’ve learned since everyone departed, she thought glumly. She hopped along like a mouse to its hole, pausing so often and checking for danger. It was abandoned.
Slipping outside, she navigated the palace gardens with ease, vaulting over walls and running along tree branches when the ground provided no cover. If there’s one thing you can say about elves, it’s their uncanny ability to outwit each other, even in the simplest circumstances. If an elf wanted to be quiet, and further if that elf were trained, those who wished to remain silent usually succeeded in doing so. Something Ashalea took great pleasure in doing this moment, evading guards at every turn, their faces oblivious and uncaring.
She avoided bonfires and danced around gatherings with ease. The village was alive tonight, elves dancing gracefully to the soft lilting of a harp, another bard singing melodies of lost loves and tragic endings. The music was haunting— the low notes a poignant reminder of recent weeks. Stalking through reeds and wildflowers, Ashalea reached the cave exit, descending into the rocky passage. Crystals glowed luminescent, twinkling encouragement as she ran through shallow waters. Bursting through the other side she stood at the precipice and gazed upon white waters, the moon reflecting off the stillness of the lake.
Two hands cupped besides pursed lips. “Gruvar! Grruuuuvaaarrrr!”
The waters stirred, and up came the friendly beast, lolling its tongue excitedly as it spied the she-elf. It graced her with a long lick, and she laughed, patting the ridiculous splice of duck-like creature with dog-like behaviour. It squeaked incessantly. Ashalea could have sworn it uttered a couple rumbles akin to a purr.
She held its gigantic face in her hands. “Take me to the depths. Take me to the water dragon.”
It nodded its head in a moment of clarity and wriggled its fin invitingly. Ashalea smiled, springing onto its back, giving Gruvar a quick scratch and taking a deep breath. The waters drank them in greedily as the great aqua beast torpedoed down to the lake floor. The sprites greeted Ashalea once again, their tiny hands weaving a bubble of oxygen as they laughed in glee. They flitted along playfully, darting to and fro and peeking out from Ashalea’s silver hair.
She hadn’t thought it possible, but the lake floor was even more beautiful in the dark. Corals, shells, and plants glowed with bioluminescent algae and the crystals thrummed in unison, their purple hues shining like stars in a clear black sky. When she approached the dragon’s nest, her companions trailed off, and Gruvar ascended to t
he lake surface. The water dragon was awake this time, regarding her with those burning orbs, like a thousand suns exploding. It was still an eerie, humbling sight to see.
What wisdom do you seek, Guardian?
Ashalea bent her head respectfully, feeling abashed at her request. “My friend, Shara, she was taken hostage by the darkness. We have learned nothing of her location. They’re just… gone.”
The dragon yawned. Why should I care what happens to one insignificant human? Were we not discussing the world’s peril not so long ago?
“Yes, but I,” Ashalea fumbled, “she’s a Guardian, too.”
Oh? A long neck snaked around so he could regard her with one eye. How do you know this to be true?
“The seer, Harrietti Hardov, told us as much before she died.”
The dragon made a slight hissing sound. I knew the old woman from long ago. Her Magicka spoke a language few could understand. Did she die well?
“Peacefully, in her sleep. It’s almost as if she welcomed it.”
He nodded his giant head. We who have the old Magicka know when it is time. Now, tell me about this Guardian of yours.
“Shara Silvaren. Daughter of Lord Harvar Silvaren of the Onyxonites. She was taken by the darkness but the mages of Renlock have been unsuccessful in finding any trace of her whereabouts.”
Perhaps the means don’t justify the ends, young one.
“What? I don’t understand.” Ashalea crinkled her nose. “They are our best hope at finding her.”
The dragon rumbled a chuckle. If that were true, you wouldn’t be here right now, stealing away like a thief in the night seeking treasure melted from words.
Ashalea sighed, irritation seeping into her bones as the water sunk into her skin. “The longer we wait, the sooner the darkness will find what he is looking for. Shara is brave, but she’s only human. She will break.”
Are you so sure she hasn’t already?