the Dark shall do what Light cannot (LiGa Book 2)

by Sanem Ozdural

  I will hide in the mountains. I will travel at night under the Dark One’s eye. He will be my guide.

  But he had not reckoned on the light bird that circled overhead. The light bird that was trained to find its special lightseed treated armband. Half of which was still attached to the sleeve of his coat, however carefully he might have hidden himself in the cart.

  Light birds have a sense about these things…

  * * *

  The cart drew to a stop at the intersection of Nightingale Boulevard and Forlorn Row. This point marked the entrance to Red’s Road, which was closed to traffic after Evening Song.

  “It’s just across the street,” Shady told Cat, offering her his arm. She smiled graciously in acceptance as they stepped on to Nightingale Boulevard. Cat peered closely at the ground ahead.

  “What is it?” she asked. “It’s some kind of mosaic, I think?”

  Red’s Road is a mosaic. It is made of granite and limestone. It is made of sunlight and stardust. It lies under the Sun; it lies above the River. It is the middle way and it is neither.

  “The road is made up of specially-coated cubes of granite and limestone,” Shady explained. “The entire road is a mosaic which changes depending on the light.”

  The River undulates in the center of the road, built out of granite with a reflective surface. On one side of the River lies the Land, lit by the Sun by day, fearful and ominous by Night. On the other side of the River lies the Sky along which the Sun traces her daily arc. The Land and the Sky are fashioned from limestone.

  “During the day, the Land and the Sky are pale, and the River shimmers dark. After Evening Song, though, when the sun sets, the effect is reversed. This time the Sky and the Land are dark, and the River glitters with the moon’s glow – as you can see,” Shady explained, pointing to the road stretching out before them.

  Father Griffith closed his eyes. But the vision of the sparkling River remained, etched glowingly into his mind’s eye. All he could see was the River against the dark sky. And all he could hear were those thoughts? No, words perhaps, seared into his being. The words that he had felt…in the Cistern…

  You will find a way

  You are not alone…

  Shadow had told them.

  But I am alone, Father Griffith thought, resolutely. Alone in this foreign land, among a strange people… Even my companions…Cat…I do not belong to their world.

  I am lost and in need of Your guidance… He opened his eyes. But I am not alone, he felt, in this foreign land where even the road does not stay the same all day…It was unexpected, this feeling. It is not right, he determined. I am not of this world. This is not Your truth, Lord. This world…

  Lord, have mercy.

  There was a group of street musicians a few meters away. Their music consisted mostly of a few handheld drums, and the rhythmic stamping of feet. They sang:

  To the left and to the right

  At the entrance of the Night.

  From the light birds flying high

  To the guardians in a row…

  Bright Night

  Fire bright

  Night lights blue and white

  And the light birds are swooping low:

  A sparkling, dancing glow.

  And the light trees are dressed in black

  Like the jacket on His back.

  But the House of Light

  Is bright

  Bright Night

  Fire bright

  And the House of Dark

  Is bright

  Bright Night

  Fire bright

  Hear the singing,

  Watch the dance

  All Night

  Ever bright.

  You must sing now!

  You must dance!

  This Night

  Ever bright.

  “Do we dance now?” Bruce laughed.

  “As you wish,” Shady smiled, tapping his foot lightly.

  For there was dancing. A couple here and a couple there, near a warmlight or in the middle of the street. They may have been dancing to music of their own, but there was music enough in the street from the clubs and restaurants that populated Nightingale Boulevard.

  “Shady darling, will you dance with me?” Cat reached out a black satin-gloved hand.

  Shady complied, swooping her towards the center of the avenue.

  “People certainly like to dress up,” Father Griffith observed. “Quite beautiful…and interesting…” he added under his breath as a small group passed them. The men wore dark colored coats of a precise, almost military cut, but the formality ended there. One of the men carried a black walking stick with a golden knob, which appeared to glow from within, and his coat was emblazoned with a silver serpent that curved around the nape of his neck, snaked along the back of his close-shaven head and traced along his skull to form a glassless monocle in front of his left eye. One of his male companions wore a long black coat on the back of which a large golden circle flashed as he walked.

  “What is that?” Father Griffith asked.

  “What do you mean?” Shady asked. Cat had disengaged herself to observe these new surroundings.

  “That– that circle that keeps appearing and disappearing on that young man’s back–” the priest added, pointing. “Is that similar to the effect on the road?”

  “Ah yes,” Shady nodded knowingly. “Very good. That’s just reversible Sunlightsmear,” he explained. “As I understand it, there’s a method by which the molecular structure of the essence of the lightberry is configured to exist in an ‘on/off’ state. Like a light switch – in fact, it is used most often for that purpose. And as for the sun on that young man’s coat, well, as he moves, the angle of the coating creates the on/off effect. Sorry. That’s the best I can do. I’m not a scientist!”

  Cat was not listening. It’s like Carnival, she thought happily. Carnival in my youth…beautiful costumes…people out celebrating… Life. But there are no masks here, Cat noted. There are hats with feathers, hats that glitter, and scarves and capes… but there are no masks. Masks are for Carnival. But Carnival is one day – well, stretching out to a month at least, if and when she had her way… but still, Carnival is an occasion. A special time. Not that people – namely herself – did not enjoy themselves at other times, but Carnival was a special time… And people wore masks to separate that special time from the ordinary days.

  In Pera, there are no masks, marveled Cat, watching a couple whirl past her laughing, in an ecstasy of color as the woman’s skirt – an apparition in rich burgundy touched with light – liberated itself from the constriction of her dark, heavy coat.

  There is no mask behind which the knife juggler standing on the corner need hide. The blades which he watches intently dance and sparkle in the night.

  * * *

  “What did you have him brought here for?” Orion demanded, barging into the Rooster’s office without bothering to knock.

  “Because he was the man who brought the jar of poisoned jam to Shady’s house,” the Rooster explained patiently.

  “And did you find out where he got the jar?”

  “As far as we’ve been able to determine, the jar came from one of Shady’s neighbors. It was Shady’s favorite, apparently – quince. The woman who prepared it was beside herself when she was told that the jam was poisonous. I believe her,” the Rooster added levelly.

  “Fair enough. Who tampered with it?”

  “Didn’t he tell you?” the Rooster was quick to fight back. “Didn’t you read his mind?”

  Orion did not answer immediately. “I did–” he began.

  “He doesn’t know, does he?” the Rooster said quickly.

  “I don’t think he does,” Orion conceded. “But then again, he has an extremely disorganized – and I might add, stupid – mind. It was difficult to glean any coherent thoughts from him, even after I got him calmed down a bit.”

  “Exactly. So? Some poor woman – living in the building adjoining Shady�
�s – prepared the jam, and gave it to the janitor of Shady’s building – currently sitting in our cell now – who put it on Shady’s doorstep… And a few hours later–” the Rooster rapped his knuckles on the desk, “Shady picks it up and decides to get it tested instead of digging into it for breakfast – thankfully,” he added. “Who tampered with it between the time the janitor left it and when Shady picked it up?”

  “What happened to the man you had picked up in relation to Carl’s death?” Orion asked abruptly. “Shady told me he was an Islander.”

  “We let him go,” the Rooster replied reluctantly. “We had nothing on him. It really seemed like an accident.”

  “Went back to the islands…” Orion mused.

  “That’s right. You must have read my mind!” the Rooster quipped.

  “Yes,” Orion said.

  “There’s no hiding anything from you.”

  “That’s not true… unfortunately. The ignorant can hide…” Orion said meditatively. “If you don’t know the truth, you can only tell lies…”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “It’s all connected to the islands – all of it: Dragan, Philippa, Carl… Shady. And Cypress…”

  The Rooster made a sympathetic sound. “I heard about the girl. Those people never seem to learn. I am very glad you found her in time.”

  “I have to go out to the islands. Tonight. Did you find out anything, by the way, about the other one? Carl’s assistant?”

  The police chief slid a sheet of paper towards Orion. “Not much yet, as you can see.”

  Orion glanced at the sheet. “Hmm… Nothing that I didn’t already know. I’ll see what I can find out tonight. What about the other one?” he asked impatiently.

  “Who? You have to spell it out for me. I’ve never gotten the hang of telepathy.”

  “The islander that’s supposedly responsible for the lightberry in Carl’s drink.”

  “Him? I don’t know for sure. He came to the mainland from the Elder’s island, and he was returned there. I cannot say anymore than that.”

  “You didn’t keep track of him?” Orion sounded accusatory.

  “That’s outside our jurisdiction now,” the Rooster replied angrily. “It wasn’t my choice. Fiona convinced that damn fool of a mayor we have now that they were fine by themselves; that they needed to ‘empower themselves.’ I swear–” he protested, shaking his head in disbelief, “those are the exact words she used.”

  “I will deal with Fiona tomorrow,” Orion said ominously.

  “I wish I could see her face when you do,” the Rooster chuckled. “You’re the one person she truly fears.”

  “Because she has no sense,” Orion said. “In a way she’s blind. She’s afraid of me because I have the best sight.”

  The Rooster eyed him cautiously. “Anyway, she definitely did not want you here. She made that abundantly clear, even to the mayor. But the mayor couldn’t do anything about you coming even if he wanted to. He knows the LiGa Immortals are out of his jurisdiction. He knows that. He wouldn’t dare cross Xavier and Blanca. And of course I reminded him what an asset you are for Pera,” the Rooster added loyally.

  Orion acknowledged the flattery with a perfunctory nod. “All right, I’d better go and collect my people and head out to the fights.”

  “Your people?”

  “The new immortals,” Orion explained. “They are with Shady.”

  “I look forward to meeting the new immortals. Please bring them along when you have time so we can be properly introduced. Do you think any of them will stay?”

  “Possibly…probably. So long, Rooster. I’ll let you know what, if anything, I find out.” Orion strode out of the police station.

  The Rooster watched him leave with a sense of unease. There was no point sending people to follow the Hunter. The Hunter hunted alone and he was territorial…

  The thought of Orion…. unattended… was enough to drive away sleep. I hope he completes whatever it is he needs – whatever Shadow wants him to – as soon as possible, thought the chief of police fervently.

  And then you must leave, Orion, much as I like you…

  35

  Lola.

  No one remembers her now. Perhaps she did not exist. Some say it was a man, really. A bearded pirate who preferred the moniker ‘butterfly knife’, with an irrepressible, though unexpressed, love of fine desserts…

  Perhaps it was a courtesan…

  Some say.

  Who knows, now? Perhaps Shadow, but it does not care… or will not say…

  And no one knows precisely when it opened for business. True, there is a brass plaque by the door, but it declares the original date to be unknown.

  Some say it dates back to the finding of the first light tree, which is called the Last Tree, and it is a fact that the Last Tree and the dark hall are less than two hundred meters away…

  But that is just nonsense, others say…nothing but romantic nostalgia for a bygone era. A time of legend. One that never existed…

  Some say… that Pera would cease to exist were it to close.

  And others say…

  Let’s go to Lola tonight: they make the best nightingale’s nest!

  Shady held the door for Cat.

  “Such a pretty door,” she couldn’t help commenting, running gloved fingers along the polished brass bar that curved around the gleaming cypress wood.

  They walked behind Shady on a pale gold and black tiled floor past several dainty wooden tables to a large circular table near the back of the establishment.

  “This is our table,” he announced and motioned for them to sit.

  “Our table?” Cat asked, taking a seat with her back to the wall. She did not want to miss anything!

  Shady pointed to a polished brass plaque in the middle of the table with one word engraved upon it: LiGa.

  “It’s our table!” Cat clapped happily. “I can already tell I am going to be spending a lot of time at our table,” she predicted, gazing adoringly around her.

  On the walls hung frescoes depicting the four seasons: the dormant season was on the opposite wall. It showed a starlit, barren landscape upon which stood a lone, bare tree. The tree was as black as a shadow, but on one of its lower branches slept a bird. It was obvious that the bird was asleep for its little head was tucked cozily into the crook of a tiny wing that glittered as though sprayed with stardust.

  The awakening season was next to the dormant season, as it should be, thought Cat. It is the same tree, she realized, but dressed this time in pink and white blossoms now. A beautiful lady dressed in a pale gold robe floated overhead. She wore a beneficent smile and her golden flowing hair was garlanded with flowers. Ah… the Sun, thought Cat. Our Golden One.

  But the lady had changed her colors in the next fresco, which Cat leaned forward to examine as it was on the same wall against which they were seated. The golden lady was sterner now, and she was larger, more powerful. Her flowing garb was a coppery gold, and her eyes flashed with a green, not entirely pleasant, fire. Her open arms seemed ready to envelope the now-leafy tree in a hard, burning embrace...or it might have been that those arms were opened in the process of giving… it might be either, thought Cat, and it is both, for this was the harvesting season.

  Cat pushed her chair away from the wall to get a good look at the last fresco: the changeling season. I know you, Cat smiled at the black-clad figure of a man leaning against the dark tree which had now shed some of its leaves, and those that remained were red and green and gold. You are the Dark One. What an interesting smile you have on your pale face framed with black hair that seems to have tangled in an unseen wind. It’s mischievous and kind, knowing and uncaring. Where’s your sister, then? Has she gone to sleep in the River?

  The entire back wall was a fresco of intertwined flowers, birds and a glittering white crocodile.

  “Do you like the frescoes?” Shady asked.

  “Oh, very much,” Cat replied eagerly. “It’s almost exactly
as I pictured them – the Sun and her brother Twilight, I mean. Do other people have designated tables?” she added.

  “Yes, of course,” Shady replied.

  Anyone who has managed to make a name for him or herself in Pera has a table at Lola. Anyone. The celebrated courtesan Fidane had a table. She particularly requested that it be placed under the fresco of the awakening season. She passed to the silent dark ten years ago…but her plaque remains. It was not replaced, but next to hers is now that of a famous architect. He insisted.

  “That table next to us–” Shady continued and gestured politely towards a table near the fresco of the changeling season, “is where the Rooster likes to sit. He’s the chief of police,” he explained. “Rarely comes without his wife, and almost every weekend they will come here for an after dinner drink. Before or after a turn at sleet at the dark hall…”

  As Shady spoke, a waiter presented himself to take their order. An after dinner liqueur? A cup of coffee perhaps? Would the lady care for a dessert?

  Yes, to all three, they said, turning to Shady for guidance in all things gastronomic.

  “All their desserts are excellent, but I am partial to one of their specialties–” Shady said. “It’s called the nightingale’s nest…”

  They saw him stiffen suddenly. Alert, wary. Shady cleared his throat. “Hello, Fiona.”

  Cat’s gaze was riveted on the tall woman swaying slightly as she walked towards them. Her abundant, copper-colored hair framed a long, pinched face. She nudged past a few patrons at adjoining tables, and sat down next to Shady. She barely smiled in acknowledgement at the other occupants of the table before rounding on Shady.

  “I heard Orion’s here,” she barked.

  “So nice to meet you.” Cat thrust a bejeweled hand in front of Fiona. “I’m Cat, and this is Roland – well, Father Roland, I think he prefers–” she continued, reaching out to give Father Griffith’s hand an affectionate squeeze.