Riftkeepers: Prime

by Carrie Whitethorne

  Mum warded it. That's why Callan couldn't find me. Why he didn't recognise me.

  “That friend of yours is very chatty. She practically handed you over.”

  Where am I? What time is it?

  “So, are you giving it to me or will I have to take it?” His rough voice sent a cold shudder down her spine.

  “I, I don't know what you mean. Please, I don't have anything,” she sobbed. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she tried to work out what he wanted from her. “Please just let me go home.”

  “Not until I get what you're hiding, Charlotte. I'll find it, so you can fight and die or give me what I want.”

  Oh, god what does he want? He's going to kill me.

  He took a step closer, opening a hand, and said, “Make a choice.”

  She shrank against the wall shaking her head.

  “Fine,” he growled as shadow, just like Dane's, spread around his hand, completely covering it.

  She had nowhere to go. Trapped against the wall she sobbed as he grabbed her wrists and forced them over her head, dragging her from the cold floor.

  The shadow wrapped around them, burning into her skin. Grabbing her throat with his now free hand he crushed her against the wall.

  “Last chance,” he hissed against her cheek.

  She tried to turn her face from his bared teeth as he chuckled against her skin. His hand left her wrists and he moved back slightly, a vicious grin spread across his face. She couldn't lower her arms, shadow gripping her tight, his hand maintaining its hold on her throat. Frozen with fear, there was nothing she could do to defend herself.

  You've no magic. He's going to kill you.

  Tendrils of shadow crept toward her face. “If you're lucky I'll find it quickly,” he growled.

  Charlotte choked on a scream as her already throbbing head felt as though it had burst.

  Icy fingers gripped her, pressing and probing, searching for a way into her mind. A thin veil held them back. It was delicate, fragile, but it protected her.

  Oh my god, thank you… Fight him off!

  “Get out of my head!” she rasped, his grip on her throat loosening as she kicked wildly.

  “Don't you dare, you thieving little whore,” he spat, releasing her. “This lasts as long as you want it to.”

  As she sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face, he laughed. The rough grating sound turning her stomach. She flinched as she crouched at her side and said, “I've got to get back to your little friend. There's no way out of here, so you just sit tight and wait for me.” Tapping her temple, he added, “Have a look in there and find what I need. Then I can send you home.”

  He took the camping lamp from the table as he left, leaving her in the cold and dark.

  Exhaustion took over as she curled herself into a ball on the floor. She didn't try to stop the tears as she rubbed her painful wrists.

  I just want to go home.

  At some point, she had fallen asleep, propped against the cold wall. She squinted. Small shafts of light crept past the once white sheets at the windows, showing dust particles floating in the air. The pain in her head had dulled but was still there, pulsing gently.

  Her throat hurt.

  When was the last time I had anything to drink?

  Groaning, she pushed herself from the floor, her whole body ached.

  Her clothes were damp where moisture had seeped from the wall. “Urgh,” she grumbled as she tried to pull the cold, wet fabric from her skin.

  Looking down she assessed herself. She was filthy, her arms were scratched, grime filling the stinging tracks. Her, once pretty, top was covered in dust and dirt. Her skirt was ripped, the split in the hem running the length of her thigh Her bare feet were cut and freezing, she trembled with cold.

  Running her hands through her hair she flinched.

  My head must have hit that door with some force judging by this lump. I'm probably concussed.

  Walking slowly to the window closest to her, trying not to make any sound, she stumbled on an old brick. Stifling a cry, she fought to keep her balance and waited for a sound, any indication that he was here, that he was coming. Pulse racing, she strained to pick up any sound at all. Nothing.

  Ripping the sheet from the window, she turned her eyes from the watery light seeping through the grimy glass.

  Wherever she was there was no-one to hear her if she screamed for help.

  Sycamores lined the edge of the garden, heavy with amber and golden leaves. They blocked any view. The sun was low in the sky behind them.

  Am I in a forest? Ten out of ten for originality…

  She was clearly on the first floor. A small overgrown lawn sat beneath the window she peered from.

  I could jump.

  The window was painted shut. She pushed at the handle but it didn't move.

  I can smash it.

  Remembering the brick, she'd stumbled on, she turned and grasped it. Heavy in her hand, she was sure it would shatter the thin pane. She winced as she hurled it, waiting for the sound of shattering glass, but none came. It dropped straight down and landed with a dull thud on the bare floorboards.

  Desperation filled her. Rushing for the door she wrenched at the handle. It didn't so much as wobble.

  He's sealed the room. How is he even able to do that? I'm not getting out. I can't get out.

  Retreating to the far corner she found a dry patch of wall and sat with her back to it, defeated. A partially demolished fireplace, its bricks strewn across the floor, dominated one wall. All exposed brick, the plaster having been stripped years before, they were patched with black mould. The ceiling was falling in in places, water dripping onto the bare floorboards.

  And the roof leaks.

  Will Callan be looking for me? Would he even know where to start?

  She'd managed not to think of them up to now, but Zander and Enya flooded her mind. Closing her eyes, she tried to force them away. Whatever he was doing with her head she needed to keep them away. He couldn't see them. They were safe in the palace, Callan would keep them there.

  Would they be told she was missing? What would that do to them?

  As despair settled over her, she fell into an uneasy, exhausted sleep.

  Chapter 21

  It was dark, again, when she woke up. Her head still throbbed and she needed to use the toilet.

  Hearing a door slam, her blood ran cold. Heavy footsteps on stairs.

  What's he going to do to me now?

  “Oh, you're awake. Good,” he grunted, throwing a plastic bag at her. “Drink. Eat.”

  “I need the toilet,” she mumbled, not touching the bag.

  He huffed, clearing the room in a few short strides, and grabbed her arm.

  “Make it quick.” He marched her to a small, dirty bathroom across the landing, shoved her forward, flicked on the light and jammed the door open with a foot.

  Catching sight of her face in a grime smeared mirror her stomach turned. She was deathly pale, her eyes puffy from crying, tear tracks streaking her dirty cheeks. Her hair was tangled and knotted. She looked away quickly.

  When she was done, he moved her back to the bedroom roughly, shoving her to the floor and slamming the door. “Eat. Drink,” he growled, lighting the small lamp he'd brought back with him.

  A bottle of coke, two bottles of water and a chocolate bar, great.

  “What day is it?” she asked quietly opening the chocolate bar.

  “Tuesday, three o'clock.” He didn't look her way.

  No wonder you feel like shit. God it's been three days. Callan's bound to be frantic.

  When she had finished choking down the chocolate and had a few sips of water she stood and leaned on the wall. “I'm cold.”

  He laughed at her, “Be a good girl and you can go home and warm up.” He shrugged out of his coat and looked her up and down. “Wonder what he saw in you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  I've asked myself the same question enough times.


  “Why do you hate them so much?” she whispered to the floor.

  “Why? They keep all that power to themselves. They've no right to it. I'll take it, I'll use it,” he spat.

  He's insane. They don't do anything with it. They protect it.

  He rubbed his hands together and blew into his palms. “Ready?” The smile he gave her struck fear into her very core.

  Oh no, please…

  “I don't know what you want,” she choked. Her whole body shook with fear as she begged him. “Please!”

  “When she got herself pregnant, something left me. It's in you. I can feel it. I'm taking it back,” he said, his eyes flashing.

  There's a darkness in you Charlotte.

  Her stomach emptied, there wasn't much to give up but her body expelled everything she had. The throbbing in her head grew to a pounding thud. Pushing herself into the wall, trying to put distance between them she begged, “I'd give you it if I knew what it was. There's nothing there. I don't have anything, please, just let me go home.” She was too afraid to keep the desperate, shrill whine from her voice as she pleaded.

  “You're a lying little bitch,” he barked, slapping her with the back of his hand. Pain splintered through her face as her lip split. He dragged her from the wall by her hair and threw her into the centre of the room.

  Spitting blood, she landed on her knees, wrists jarring as she tried to save herself.

  “Please,” she whispered through her rapidly swelling, bloody lips.

  Pain seared through her in answer. Her whole body was on fire. Burning shadow and flame that itched in her veins, roiling through every inch of her. She tried to block it out, tried to run from it, but it was too fast, it consumed her.

  As quickly as it had hit her, the pain vanished. She lay still, bracing for another attack.

  “He won't come for you,” he hissed in her ear. Her head snapped back as he yanked her hair, “He has his kids, Charlotte. Do you think he's going to look for his whore now he has what he wants? They don't want you now.”

  He's lying. He's lying.

  She couldn't speak, he didn't give her time as he came at her mind. The pressure was agony as the sharp talons scraped at the thin veil of defence that was holding him at bay.

  What's doing that? Thank you. Thank you.

  Roaring in frustration, he kicked her hard, pain shattering through her ribs. She couldn't breathe. Gasping, blood dripping from her split lip, she remained face down on the hard floor.

  He hadn't moved. Still standing beside her, he was panting, hard ragged breaths of anger and frustration. “Get up!”

  Not sure she could, she didn't respond.

  “Get up or I'll get you up,” he roared.

  Pain pierced her side like a volley of arrows as she pushed herself from the floor. Catching her under one arm, he dragged her back to the bathroom.

  “Wash your fucking face,” he spat with disgust.

  He left her, it was clear she couldn't go anywhere as she clutched her side and sobbed over the sink.

  He's going to beat me to death. He crushed mum in her car and now he's going to beat me to death.

  Her lower face was swollen, blood dripped from her chin onto her chest. Splashing water, she cooled the burning in her lip and drank from her hands, washing the metallic taste of blood from her mouth. She could only manage short, sharp breaths.

  As she turned to leave the room he was waiting at the door. She flinched as he grabbed her arm.

  He pushed her towards a flimsy sleeping bag he'd dumped on the floor. Sinking onto it, she curled herself up and closed her eyes.

  “You're only making this worse for yourself,” he mumbled. She made no reply, flinching as the door slammed shut behind him.

  Silence settled back over the house and she heaved herself from the floor. The pain was excruciating but she forced herself up. He'd left the lamp. Glancing at the window she noticed the sun was rising.

  Must be about seven o'clock now… The kids must wonder why I'm not home.

  Her cold feet threatened to trip her as she staggered to the little table and dragged the camping lamp back to the sleeping bag on the floor.

  Using the dim light from the lamp she examined her arms. Dark tracks lined her hands and wrists where her light blue veins once sat, painful evidence of the blistering heat that had run through her. She itched. Her wrists still had dark marks where he'd held her steady with shadow days before. Her upper arms were ringed with angry bruises where he'd grasped her.

  Reaching for the bag he'd left her, she pulled out the coke and took small sips. The steady beat in her head hadn't subsided.

  How am I supposed to give him what he wants when I don't know what it is or how to get at it?

  Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten for days apart from the chocolate bar that stayed in her for less than an hour. She was in too much pain everywhere else to care much about the hunger anyway.

  Opening the sleeping bag, she crawled inside. She couldn't get warm. Shaking with the cold she closed her eyes.

  Where are you? What are you? Please, don't let him find you!

  As the room grew brighter she thought of her babies. They were so happy with Callan and his family. Would they be missing her?

  Of course, they miss you. You're their mother.

  She held onto that as she lay alone, terrified and in pain.

  Chapter 22

  She dreamt of darkness. Nothing but darkness. Running to it, seeking, hiding.

  Where are you?

  The darkness shifted to grey to her right. She ran to the brighter place within her mind.

  Where are you?

  A tiny white candle sat alone in the darkness. The tiniest purple flame flickering, fighting against a wind she couldn't detect, visible at its wick. She tried to shield it, to nurture it to his full height but the wind was too strong. It sputtered, threatening to gutter out completely. Sitting down, she lifted it towards her, using her whole body as a shield. The flame strengthened and grew brighter. Purple light spread around her, warmed her, then the flame disappeared.

  Her eyes few open.

  He can't be back. Not yet!

  She lay perfectly still, listening. It was windy outside. Rain tapped on the thin panes of the windows. It was dark again. She didn't move, she just lay in the darkness, listening to the sound of her own pulse in her ears and the patter of the rain.

  This is all my fault. All of it. It all comes down to my existence.

  Will it end with me?

  Probably not, he's mental.

  What do I do? I want my kids. I want Callan. I want to go home!

  You stop him. He'll kill you anyway.

  Silent tears brimmed in her eyes as she realised she was never going to see her family again. Her stomach hurt. It wasn't as bad as the pain in her ribs or her face, but it hurt. A dull, ache of emptiness matching that in her head.

  I should drink.

  When the coke was gone, she opened the spare bottle of water. Not daring to drink too fast in case she was sick, she sipped and sank back down.

  Her thoughts went to Callan. How she'd always hoped they'd meet again. It never occurred to her to find someone else. He was all she'd ever wanted. One weekend and she knew. So, had he. He'd searched for her as she'd waited for him, without even knowing it.

  Typical that I'd finally find him and end up like this.

  She slept on and off, waking to cramps in her legs, back and stomach. The cold of the hard floor and damp of the room crept through the thin sleeping bag adding to the chill that already gripped her. The pain in her side was spreading round into her lower back, making it even more difficult to breathe.

  I'm going to die here, alone, on this shitty sleeping bag.

  It was days before he came back. She was in a deep, exhausted sleep and didn't hear him.

  “Have you found what I'm looking for yet?” he growled in her ear, his hot breath on her frozen skin shocking her awake. Her hand flew up and raked at his face, di
rty nails tearing at his cheek.

  “Bitch” he hissed. His arm came back and he punched her in the face. Her nose burst, hot blood pouring down her face, pooling in her open mouth as she gasped for tiny breaths of air. She didn't have the energy to move, just managing to roll onto her front and let the blood spill beneath her.

  Grabbing her hair, he dragged her to the bathroom. Legs too cold and stiff to keep up, she kicked and stumbled. As he dropped her on the cold, tiled floor her hands found her nose and she watched the blood coat them in thick crimson liquid.

  “Pinch the bridge, sit up.” He snapped, running the taps of the sink.

  Why is he helping me?

  “It won't stop,” she mumbled. Her head spun as the blood gushed.

  “Sit up.” He grabbed her hair and dragged her to a sitting position. Her scalp burned as hair came away in his hand.

  He knocked her hands away and pinched the bridge of her nose hard.

  “Why?” Her voice was small, brittle.

  “I don't want you dead, yet.”

  Overcome with hysteria, she laughed in his face. Her body screamed its protest as it shook but she couldn't stop.

  He ignored her. Once the bleeding had slowed he soaked a rag in the sink and held it over her nose, pinching through the cloth.

  “He's looking for you. He won't find you, but he's looking,” he said as washed his hands. “Shame really.”

  Callan! He found me again once. He'll find me again.

  “What if he does?” she mumbled through the soaked rag. Hope was all she had left.

  “There won't be anything left to find if you don't give me what I want.” Grabbing her already bruised arm, he dragged her back to the bedroom.

  The blood covering her was sticky as it dried.

  How much have I lost?

  Her head spun. She felt drunk. Her vision was foggy, her words coming in slow, slurred drawls.

  “Your lovely friend told me all about your kids. Such a shame,” he mocked.

  “They're nothing to do with this, leave them alone,” she rasped. Her breathing was coming in short gasps, the pain in her side raw and sharp. “What do you still want with Ferne? She's done all you needed. Just leave her alone.”