Darkness Falling

by David Niall Wilson

  "Well," she said, "I for one am glad of a little entertainment. Sometimes life is so boring. Don't you agree, Copper?"

  He felt uncomfortable at the way she kept dragging him back into the conversation. He feared that some note in his voice would alert Rosa, or even Alicia herself, to his feelings. He knew, also, that Alex only tolerated his presence because they had a real need for him. His position was precarious enough, with enough at stake, to chill his heart each time a potentially bad situation arose.

  "I have no way to know what's boring to you," he said finally. "My life has been nothing but a long string of interesting events since meeting Rosa. I haven't got the same number of years of tolerance built up against the entertainments of life. It will be interesting, no doubt, to see these young men perform. I like music, too."

  Rosa's tinkling laughter eased the tension instantly from the room. "Oh, Copper," she said, flopping herself onto a dark leather couch and stretching her exquisite body out to its full, provocative length, "you are so amusing, at times. It is your naive, un-blemished love of life that makes me keep you around as you are. And quit flinching away from Alicia. You will give her a complex one day, if you don't."

  Copper started almost from his seat in sudden fright. His skin went cold and sweat coated his brow.

  "Relax." Rosa still sounded amused. "I know you want her. How could I not see? How could you not want her? After all, she is one of us, and you desire me, do you not?"

  He didn't answer, but she knew. Of course he desired her. He had given her his life – would give her his eternity, if given the chance.

  "I am not always easy to please, Copper," Rosa went on, ignoring his terror – or enjoying it. It was impossible to tell the difference, at times. "You have done well for me – for all of us. Alicia speaks well of you. Even Alex doesn't ask my permission to kill you so often these days. You become more like us with each passing moon. From now on, I want you to act as you feel. Do not think you can deceive me on this. Your burdens will one day pass, and you will be with us, still. Life is too short for restraint, even a life such as ours."

  Alicia's hands trailed down over his shoulders now, massaging his chest. His heart hammered, and he knew that she felt it frantically pumping blood through his veins. He knew that it would excite her. Her hair tickled his neck, followed by her tongue. She pressed it gently to the side of his throat – lingering on his carotid artery – and he felt her shiver.

  "Enough!" Alex's voice cut through the room like a knife. It slashed the mood to ribbons, rending the fabric of the moment with shuddering finality. He spun off his couch like dark lightning and stopped directly in front of Copper, trembling with rage. His eyes flared like twin stars of glittering silver. His hands were clenched so tightly that Copper expected at any moment to see the nails bite through and protrude from the back of his fists.

  "I have tolerated this long enough," he fairly spat, his voice dripping with arrogant rage. "He is not one of us. He does not deserve to be. I will end it . . . now."

  He lunged. Alex moved with fluid grace born of power, and he was at Copper's throat before the breath of a scream could escape his lungs.

  "Alex." The word was a sibilant hiss like trailing silk on a dance floor, or wind brushing through the petals of a field of flowers. It stopped Alex cold. There was more force in the air in that moment than Copper had ever experienced. It took his breath a second time in the same instant, but softly this time, as though sucked from his lungs.

  Nothing but Rosa moved. She slid to her feet and crossed the floor like mist. The temperature in the room, already chill and damp, dropped to the level of ice. Before they had registered her motion, she was simply…there. Copper trembled.

  "Are you king, then, little Alex?" she asked. "Are you ready to decide for us all what will be, and what will not? Will you control me, too?"

  Now Alex trembled as well. He was afraid, that was obvious, but he was proud, as well. He was shamed at how easily she had checked his attack – how swiftly she'd had her way, but he was no fool. He released his grip on Copper's jacket and stepped back. He dropped to the floor, hitting on both knees with a thud. He did not raise his eyes.

  "I… I am sorry." He grated. "I was presumptuous."

  "As always," Rosa said, the ice not leaving her voice. "Am I now unable to trust you if I'm not around? Are you to need constant supervision, like an infant? You would be dead a hundred times over if not for Copper. For all your strength, and mine, a child could end us in one unguarded moment of daylight. Are you so naive, even after these long years we've been together, that you think you are immortal? You have survived one death – do not believe that the second will concede so easily, or so painlessly."

  Alex did not speak again. He slunk over to a corner of the room and returned to his divan.

  Though she had pulled back slightly at Alex's sudden outburst, Copper found that Alicia had not removed her hands from his shoulders. There was an odd heat emanating from them, where before their touch had been cool. The contact fogged his thoughts. The blood in his veins pressed against the skin from the inside, reaching out to her. He found his throat far too dry for speech. She leaned forward once again, so close that his skin tingled, and whispered in his ear.

  "Tonight, dear Copper. Tonight we will be together. I will sleep for now, and you must rest." She leaned around and met his lips with the silken smoothness of her own, cool and inviting. She ran her tongue across his teeth, insinuated it between his lips and pressed herself tightly against him.

  Copper dared not breathe for fear the moment would end. Then she was gone. She was already curling into another of the large divans before shock released him. He was vaguely aware of Rosa's laughter, vaguely aware of the two dimly flaring coals that were Alex's eyes. His concentration was centered, focused on the warmth where Alicia's hands had rested on his flesh, on the memory of soft lips pressed to his own, on the promise of the coming night. He closed his eyes, not even bothering to move to a divan. The chair was soft and comfortable enough, and it was only a short time until the dreams took him. For once, the nightmares were sweet.

  Chapter Four

  The short walk from the cottage to the makeshift gates that led to the stage was more like a funeral procession than the beginning of a performance. The band spoke very little. Damon had his guitar case in his hand, the handle gripped so tightly that his knuckles shone white in the moonlight, which was so bright that it made the night seem almost as bright as day.

  Over by the field, the floodlights created their own eerie parody of daylight. There was movement in that light, multi-colored and teeming with vitality, though it looked more like a huge mutated organism than a crowd of individual human life. As they continued, the funereal aspect faded to a sensation like taking a sacrificial plunge into the maw of some ancient, malevolent demon. Sebastian took it all in and wondered which sensation was more correct.

  The promoters, managers, and stagehands mistook their solemn, strangely silent attitude for an attack of nerves, and hustled the band solicitously to the foot of the ladders that led up to the stone-ledge stage. Everything had been checked, calibrated, and checked again. Circuits had been tested, and other circuits backed these up, just in case disaster struck; these had been tested as well. Energy crackled through the air, both artificial – like a static charge around the sound system – and natural, generating from the thousands of fans massed in the field below.

  As they climbed the tall ladders to the stage, Klaus, Sebastian, Damon and Peyton saw the crowd. Their fans couldn't see them in the shadowed darkness, but they seemed to sense the band's presence. The hum of voices rose in pitch and intensity. Damon struggled slightly with the guitar case, and Sebastian wondered if he'd begun to regret his insistence on carrying it himself.

  Just before they reached the stage, Klaus grabbed Sebastian tightly by the shoulder, motioned him to silence and pulled him a few steps back down, out of hearing of the others. Klaus' eyes were fiery and intense, gl
ittering in the half light, and yet there was a haunted aspect to them as well.

  "Sebastian," he said quickly. "You're the one who knows what this all means to me. The music – you know it's my life."

  "Of course," Sebastian said. "That's why I'm here, too. Why do you think I put up with animals like Peyton?"

  Klaus' eyes didn't share Sebastian's humor. Something serious was bothering the young singer, something he was obviously determined to unload before the start of the show.

  "I'm afraid you might have been right," Klaus said. "There's something powerful in this song, something that is compelling me to perform it. It's almost too good. I don't know why I feel this, but I do. Sebastian, I'm afraid this will be the last time – my final chance to perform for the world."

  Sebastian just stared at him. Klaus wasn't the one who worried, or who ran from his fears, that was Sebastian's place in the band. The keyboardist searched for something to say, any words that might comfort his friend, but each time they started to come, he heard the melody of that song, echoing in his mind, and he stopped. He was scared too.

  "The music never ends," he said finally. "You'll play again, Klaus, and I'll be there. Now let's get to it. There's a show waiting."

  Klaus turned, glanced down at the crowd, and then met his friend's gaze for one last, long, tortuous moment. Whatever it was he was looking for, whatever he hoped he'd find in Sebastian's eyes, he didn't say. Sebastian knew his own words had been hollow, as empty of substance as his understanding of what frightened him. He doubted they'd been much help or comfort to Klaus.

  Then, as suddenly as the flash of a camera, Klaus smiled. His expression wasn't completely normal, but he was clearly the Klaus of old when he turned quickly, mounted the last few rungs of the ladder, and assumed control of the stage.

  Sebastian watched Klaus ascend and felt his reservations about the performance melt into the energy of the moment. It was almost narcotic in intensity. The butterflies that chased one another through his insides slowly faded to normal density. With the reality of the show ahead it was hard to focus any real concern on one, oddly powerful song. It was, after all, just a song. This was his life.

  The others were also shaking off their lethargy. Peyton looked down on the sea of upturned faces, did a quick mental calculation of the ratio of men to women, and his customary grin began to spread. Damon ran his fingers up and down the neck of his guitar in a series of warm-up exercises, and he seemed intent on their completion. Klaus beamed confidence.

  Of course, it was his show. It was his mountain, and his homeland. The thousands of screaming wild-eyed young people below were his as well. The rest of the band was the trapping that accompanied the treasure. It was Klaus the crowd wanted, and he knew it as well as they did.

  The stage was dark. There were a few glowing, red-tinted lights near the equipment, and the "floor" of the stage was illuminated with small fluorescent tubes so the band wouldn't stumble about. It was much too dim to compete with what was going on below. They could look out over that sea of milling humanity, but as far as the crowd knew, the band members were still back in their rooms, drinking and keeping the show on hold. They didn't mind, of course, it was part of the game, and Sebastian was glad for the moment's respite it afforded after their climb. He liked to get a feel for the audience before they played.

  He glanced down at the small gate where the security people were gathered. It was open, and an odd little group was entering. There were two women, one with flaming red hair and another with long, ebony tresses that trailed behind her in a braided ponytail. There were two men, as well, one swaggering, with a huge shock of blond hair waving wildly about his face, the other a stately, very tall black man. The guards ushered them in as though they owned the place. Immediately, the black man and the brunette disappeared together into the crowd. The other two split as well; the man waded into the teeming mass of bodies, and the woman stood and stared up at the stage.

  Sebastian knew that it wasn't possible for her to see him. The shadows hid the stage as effectively as a curtain could have, but she stared right into his eyes. Hers were deep, and despite the distance and lack of light, Sebastian thought he saw small flashes of green. Sea green. Her face was lovely, and she held his gaze for a long moment, detaching them both from reality as easily as if the world were a light bulb and her eyes the switch. Sebastian began to sweat, and it was he who broke the contact. Those eyes, for a moment, had seemed to grow, and to whirl. What he felt, he knew, was an almost staggering sense of déjà vu.

  Sebastian stepped back from the edge, shook, and headed for his keyboards. Klaus was nearly ready to signal the lighting crew, and Sebastian fought to regain control of his heaving breath.

  They'd worked out their repertoire for the show days earlier. It wasn't a scheduled, album-promoting tour spot, so they'd taken a lot of license with it. They'd included a few cover tunes from old blues-rock artists, a lot of material from their previous four albums, and the finale would be the new song.

  This last wouldn't have been the best of ideas, normally. It was a bad idea for a rock concert to end with a slow number; better to leave them screaming and shaking their fists at the sky, but they were all in agreement on this one point. They couldn't follow that song with anything, and it was likely that any attempt to do so would not be met favorably. Its only possible placement was the end of the show, and for Sebastian, that was fine. It meant one and a half solid hours of therapeutic work at his keyboards, treading familiar musical ground, before the moment of truth arrived.

  In his customary, flamboyant manner, Klaus raised his arms over his head dramatically. The sound and light engineers behind and below the stage scurried about frantically at his signal, and seconds later the lights in the field dimmed. It was a slow fade. The idea – and it seemed to work admirably – was to slowly brighten the lights on the stage, at the same time removing all light below. Before the crowd was done adjusting to being plunged into a world of shadow, the band would be there, the light behind them lit up like a small sun, and the music would flash to life like an explosion.

  They began with a song from their first album – lyrics by Klaus, music by Damon – called Dragon's Breath. It was lightning fast, energetic, and the words held just enough of the mysticism of rock culture to approach the deep and meaningful. It was one of their more powerful numbers, and they played it flawlessly. Above the sound feeding back from the monitor speakers, Klaus' voice rose clear and pure.

  Ride upon the dragon's breath,

  The essence of the mistral wind,

  Take the pathways sealed to men,

  On astral wings ascend.

  Reject your common, earthly sight,

  Find the freedom of the air.

  Ride the dragon's coiling scales,

  Ride them if you dare.

  Klaus' dynamic stage presence left no doubt in the minds of those who saw him that, if such a dragon existed, Klaus would dare. The sound flowed out and on, and on, and Sebastian felt the familiar numb detachment that came with performance, stepping into that small place, just beyond the world, where musicians, artists, writers – all those who create – exist when they work.

  Note by note the show unfolded. There was little transition from song to song. Klaus wasn't the type of performer to stand on the stage and harangue the crowd with inanities. His voice spoke most eloquently through his music.

  With the lights dimmed below, the field – the very world itself – seemed to have disappeared. The floodlights that were trained on the stage blinded them all. Even with the dark shades Sebastian always wore on stage he couldn't penetrate the brilliance very far. It added to the surreality of the moment, as though they'd been removed and placed in a void of light to fill it with sound.

  Klaus had always been able to control the emotions of his shows. The audiences moved with him, swayed to his rhythm. He could halt the breath in a room with a pregnant pause, or shake the rafters with a primal scream. On the mountain his power seemed
magnified. The lights danced on the cascading locks of his hair. Backlit and glittering as he was he seemed very much the silhouette of a young god – taut with suppressed energy.

  Then Klaus paused. It was the longest space of silence since the show had begun, and as he held it, like an indrawn breath, the crowd below didn't mar the moment with a single sound. Klaus' head was bowed. His arms drooped to his sides in a pose of ultimate concentration. His long hair draped forward and nearly swept the ground at his feet. It seemed that nothing could spoil the perfection of the moment. Sebastian closed his eyes, waited yet another second, not wanting to jump the gun, and then began.

  The haunting strains of the solo grew slowly in volume, following careful instructions from Klaus to the man at the soundboard. In moments, the notes of Sebastian's synthesized harp resonated boldly off the mountain, and Damon's guitar rose to dance with them. The harmony was exquisite. He was peripherally aware of Peyton's shimmering drum interlude, and then he was afloat on the lyrics, riding a wave of harmony and rhythm. The stage and the others who shared it had vanished. There was no group playing the music, only a single entity, and its timing was flawless.

  Later, Sebastian recalled very little of that performance. He remembered the tears, and the perfection that dragged them out of him. He remembered the lyrics, those he would never forget, but the details, like playing the keyboards, the transitions, and the signals that had been agreed upon to trigger the finale faded from his memory almost as soon as they occurred. It was as though something had taken them over, used them to its purpose, and left them standing in silent awe of its passing.

  He stood, dazed, for several moments after he realized that there was no more sound. His hands rested on the keys, but didn't move. Klaus stood, just as he had at the beginning of the song, arms drooping toward the ground, head leaning forward. He did not move for a very long time.