Darkness Falling

by David Niall Wilson

  Peyton and Sebastian exchanged a quick glance. Klaus met women everywhere we went, but none of them had made it much past the first date.

  "Not entirely, no," he answered. "Somehow, and I couldn't tell you how if I tried, she is tied up in it all. She is also from the mountain. She knew your song, Sebastian. Not how we've written it, but the original, the melody that spawned it. She sang it to me last night on the mountain."

  "Who?" Sebastian cried out in exasperation. "Who in hell are you talking about, Klaus? And, by the way, where were you last night when every fan in the world decided to descend on us in a pack, all looking for you?"

  "I went to a place from my childhood," he said slowly, turning his gaze back down to his own coffee. "A place my parents would only call, `The Shrine.' A shrine to what, they never said. I just wanted to be alone for a while, to think about what I would do next.

  "I thought coming here would be enough. I thought that once I saw the mountain again, once I played here, I might be able to leave the questions behind and just get on with my life, and with the music. It's only made it worse.

  "My parents disappeared on that mountain, first my father, and then my mother after him, and nothing was ever heard from them again. I guess maybe I thought, if they died up there, then I could play my music for their spirits, let them know who I am, and what I've become. I thought that would be enough.

  "Now I'm here, and I've played, and this damned song starts to haunt everything I do. First the concert; did you see how they reacted? We're good, maybe even great, but that was beyond anything I've ever seen. It affected us as deeply as it did them. It changed us.

  "Then I go for a walk up the mountain to make peace with the ghosts of my past, and I meet a woman, Rosa. She's gorgeous, long red hair, even longer legs, and those eyes...but that's not what was strange. When I met her, she was singing our new song, said her mother used to sing it to her on this mountain, that it was a love song. She was incredible. Before I even knew what was happening, we were making love, and then she was gone.

  "I woke up this morning alone in the clearing with the biggest damned headache of my life and more questions than I came here with."

  He fell silent, eyes downcast. Sebastian stared a moment longer, then turned back to his breakfast, tossing down three eggs and a thick sausage to churn around with the previous night's acidic mixture of wine and champagne. Being a glutton for punishment, he washed it all down with strong, black coffee.

  There was nothing to say, in any case. Klaus had made his decision, and that would be that. All that remained was to finalize the arrangements. Sebastian turned to Damon, thinking he would be near the point of explosion, but the guitarist's expression was strangely calm.

  "So," Peyton said finally, "this album. Maybe it's just me, but I believe that the natural order of things is that you write a bunch of music, and then you go somewhere to make an album. Did your mystery woman give you some new lyrics, Klaus, or are we just winging it?"

  Looking startled, Klaus snapped back to the present. "Actually," he said with a grin, "asking her might not be a bad idea. If she knew the song that's turned our lives upside down, what others does she know? She even has a good voice; maybe we could convince her to sing backup.

  "I'm going to find Hechinger and get all the arrangements straightened out before he really wakes up. With any luck, I'll be in and out of there before he knows what he's agreed to. Is there anything in particular you three want me to check on?"

  Damon looked up quickly, but Klaus stopped him with a gesture. "I know, I know. I'll see to it that they don't forget your ladylove. I'm afraid I'm going to need you all at peak performance while we're here, so no bad feelings.

  "I also know that I'm asking a lot," he continued with a sudden and very uncharacteristic burst of camaraderie. "It's just something I have to do. I'll make it up to you as soon as this is done, however it turns out."

  Then he turned, and he was gone, leaving the others to shovel the last few bites of breakfast into their mouths and nurse the already failing pot of coffee.

  "Great," Peyton muttered as soon as Klaus was out of range. "In the middle of nowhere he decides to go on a quest to `find' himself, and he falls in love. I should have told him to bring me in a truckload of blondes and a beer tanker while he was at it. Sure seems to be in an agreeable mood."

  Damon and Sebastian didn't answer. When the coffee was gone they staggered to their feet and headed to their cottages to settle in more permanently.

  Ever practical, Sebastian decided it would be a good idea, if they were going to do actual recording, to make a quick check of the equipment. Anything to get his mind off of the pounding in his head and the slight chill that was beginning to coat his heart was welcome.

  He couldn't place the sensation, but there was something about the woman Klaus had described, something familiar and frightening at the same time, that would not release his thoughts. He knew that his reaction was childish, but couldn't shake it. Between the odd song, the concert, and Klaus' decision to stay, his mind was filled with a chaotic whirl of conflicting emotion.

  A part of him wanted more than anything just to pack up and run as far away from that place and that song as his wits could carry him. Another part was trapped as surely as a rabbit in a snare. The song had been only the beginning of something larger, something that was just beginning. He was certain of it. He didn't want to be left behind, to always wonder what would have come next. All he could do was hang on and hope they lasted out the ride.

  ~*~

  There was really very little they would need that they hadn't brought in the first place. If they were going to do any serious recording, of course, they'd need to do some work on the actual "studio," soundproofing and acoustic panels, but just to work on the music itself, they were set. They had Klaus' four-track, and after much cajoling and not a little screaming and banging of heads, Hechinger had promised to send up a more sophisticated mixing system.

  Hechinger made a lot of blustering threats, but was actually pleased with the arrangements when all was said and done. The band was settled into accommodations that were not setting their accounts back far, and he had the prospect of the revenue generated by a new album to look forward to. The tours could be rescheduled to promote the new music and would no doubt be more successful even than the ones he would have to cancel. Besides, he'd been with Klaus almost as long as the rest of them and knew only too well the futility of arguing.

  After a few days, the villagers returned to their normal routines, albeit sullenly and without time or words to spare for the intruders. It seemed that, if they were not to be accepted, they'd at least be tolerated. As he'd promised, Klaus had secured a third cottage, which Damon moved into almost immediately in anticipation of Melissa's arrival.

  With a kind of universal understanding of the timing involved in all of this, none of them mentioned music for several days. Klaus was hardly ever around. He woke early, headed up the mountain trails in search of his mystery woman and God knows what else, and returned occasionally to join the others for a meal, or to wander the streets of the village and strike up ill-fated conversations with the natives. He moved in a sort of daze, as though something had been taken from him, or added to him.

  He'd lost some weight, and had taken to wearing a hat that shaded his eyes, which seemed kind of hollow, or haunted. Sebastian kidded him one day that he and Damon would soon be mistaken for twins, but the laugh Klaus returned was neither long nor particularly sincere. His actions and his words were distant, detached. Rather than press the issue, the others chose to leave him alone and pursue their own avenues of amusement.

  After about two days of sitting around and fiddling with the equipment, Sebastian couldn't stand being cooped up any longer, and he set out to explore the village. There were several quaint old shops, mostly for the sale of practical things. There was little money or time for frivolities so far into the mountains, and they didn't get many tourists. Eventually his travels bro
ught him to the front of the old chapel, tucked away beneath an overhanging cliff.

  He'd seen the place several times before, but had paid no attention. Now he took a closer look, noting the small graveyard that flanked the building and the stone-lined trail that led from the back of the cemetery up the side of the mountain. It wound up and disappeared in the same direction as the trail Klaus was so fond of following.

  The chapel itself was in good repair, simple, but clean, and Sebastian saw the priest, kneeling out in front to tend a small bed of flowers that grew beneath the windows. He was an old man, his hair gray and flying loosely in the wind above the brilliant white of his collar. Sebastian walked up to the front gate, expecting to be met with the same blank stare and dull hostility that emanated from the other villagers.

  "Good morning," he called out, hoping his German wouldn't prove too much of a disgrace.

  The priest turned, leaned back on his ankles and peered up at Sebastian with dark, serious eyes. He didn't speak at first, preferring to look the young keyboardist up and down, as though assessing what manner of man greeted him.

  "Yes," he answered finally, "the morning is good. The morning is the best time for many things. Welcome to my humble church, young man. You are one of Klaus' friends?"

  "I'm Sebastian," he replied, taking the gnarled old hand that was offered and smiling with unexpected relief at the old man's good humor. "I play the keyboards in Klaus' band. You heard our concert?"

  The old priest broke into a grin. "I did not, of course, attend. I don't believe that my neighbors would have appreciated such behavior. But, how can a man stop his ears from listening? I must say that music has changed a great deal since I was a young man. It was very powerful. Very moving; particularly the last song . . ."

  The old man's eyes drifted to a kind of far away, glazed expression, but then they snapped back with a surprising brightness. "That is a very old song," he finished. "It was good to hear it again, even under such strange circumstances. Would you come in for tea?"

  He rose without waiting for Sebastian to answer, and entered the small chapel, brushing dirt and leaves from the flower bed off of the front of his robes. Sebastian trailed after him, letting his eyes wander over the walls inside and taking in the simple beauty of the place. The windows were of multi-colored panes of stained glass, obviously very old, and their light was a prismatic splash of color, mellowing the invasion of the morning sun.

  Several wooden pews lined the center aisle of the room. In the front was a pulpit, fronted by an altar of smooth, polished wood. Behind the altar, and raised slightly above the floor, a basin had been carved into the very rock of the mountain itself. It was a baptismal pool. Above it, eyes awash in pain and trained on the heavens, a hand carved statue of Jesus adorned the wall, arms spread in supplication on an almost life-sized cross. The effect was calming, subtly charming in a way the great cathedrals of Paris and London could never achieve. Sebastian took this all in during the short walk to the back of the building, where the priest led him through a small wooden door and into the chamber beyond.

  "Pardon me for my discourtesy; I am father Adolph," the priest said. He smiled and gestured at one of the two padded chairs that flanked a small round table. Sebastian sat and Father Adolph moved slowly about, pouring water into an old pot and starting a small flame in the oven beneath it.

  "I don't have all of the comforts of the city here," he said almost apologetically, "but I make do. I've always said that, if there is warm tea and God, what more does a man need?"

  Sebastian smiled back at him. Unable to contain his curiosity on the subject any longer, he said, "You are very kind. It seems, though, that the rest of the villagers don't share your sense of hospitality."

  Father Adolph's smile became rueful. "They are an old people, very set in their ways. Your friend Klaus knows this all too well. I have only been here these past eight years myself; they tolerate me out of the need for spiritual guidance, I'm afraid."

  Sebastian started slightly, and the older man's smile widened. "You thought perhaps, being an old man, that I had always lived here?"

  Sebastian nodded, embarrassed, and he continued. "I was sent here to finish off the remainder of my useful years at the death of Father Faust. His was a strange and unexplained death, I might add. In my own years of service I have stepped on a few toes, questioned things a few too many times. This is my penance, I suppose, though I have no complaint with it.

  "The Church has its own secrets and indiscretions. I am not as able as many of my peers to pass them off as unimportant. Even in this place, I am curious. But enough of this. Your concert is days past, are you not preparing to leave us?"

  "No. Klaus has decided that we will stay, for a time, anyway. He wants to search for his roots, I suppose, and he's decided we will record an album here while he is doing it. Then there's the matter of this woman, Rosa…"

  "Rosa, you say?" the priest interrupted, "Who is that?"

  "I really have no idea," Sebastian answered, glad for the chance to discuss the issue and order his own thoughts. "She's someone Klaus met the night of our concert, a woman who also lived here at one time, I take it. She, too, remembers the song you mentioned earlier, though in an earlier form. Klaus has been walking the paths of the mountain ever since, hoping to find her again."

  "It's curious," Father Adolph mused, pulling the now boiling water from the stove and pouring it over two tea bags he'd placed in brown ceramic cups. As the liquid steeped, he settled down across from Sebastian, stirring honey into his tea almost absently.

  "I've heard that name many times since coming here, but never spoken in any but the most hushed and fearful tones. I've asked after this woman many times, but none will speak of her. They only look at me strangely, as though such a question is ill placed on the lips of a man of God, and they walk away, mumbling to themselves.

  "I'm no stranger to superstition. I go back a few years." he chuckled at his own joke, and I smiled with him. "I grew up in a village very similar to this one, though more friendly, I think. I can smell the mystery of local legends still at play, and there are many here. Rosa. That is a name that I have wondered over for some years."

  "Well," Sebastian said, "I have wondered over her for only a couple of days, but it's been enough to turn our lives upside down. I thought she was just one of those who came here to attend the concert. I personally think that, legend, or woman, or whatever she is, Klaus would be better off putting her and this village far behind him – no offense meant, of course. He seems almost obsessed with his past now, and his health is beginning to fade."

  "Ah, well," said Father Adolph, "he has you though, doesn't he? I hope you will stop to see me again. Perhaps we can help your friend to find this Rosa. It would ease my own mind some, I think."

  "I'd like that," Sebastian said, downing the tea. "There are some things I'd like to ask about the village. Klaus mentioned a place on the mountain they call "The Shrine," for example. I'd like to see that."

  "I'll take you one day this week," Father Adolph said, rising to shake the younger man's hand. "It is a very old place, a remnant of the pagan ceremonies of this mountain's past. Neither the ravages of time nor the coaxing of my predecessor were able to wrest it from its seat on the mountain. I find the place calming, and I'm sure that any ancient gods who might have been hovering about the glade have long since gone on to meet their various makers."

  His eyes twinkled, and Sebastian found that he liked this strange little old priest a great deal after only a short conversation. They shook hands, and Sebastian made his way back out to the front of the chapel, deep in thought over what he'd heard, and happy to have finally found something to pass the time other than re-winding microphone cables and staring at the walls.

  It was going to be some time before he saw real civilization again, and it would be good to have someone to talk to who seemed at least willing to admit that something odd might be going on. Sebastian headed back to the village, and the cottage
, whistling softly under his breath. The sun beat down on his shoulders, and he reflected that, yes, in fact, it was a very good morning.

  Chapter Eight

  Darkness engulfed him, and yet Copper sensed things, saw them more completely than he had before. He was aware that he'd been carried back to the cellar of the Flagon and Barrel and aware that it was Alicia who had done the carrying. He lay on one of the many couches in the room, eyes wide, waiting for his strength to return.

  He recalled his last moments of humanity vividly. He tasted and smelled them and savored the wonder of it. He recalled Alicia's eyes, whirling with desires and needs of her own, and heard her words echo in his mind.

  "Are you sure? Is this what you want, forever?"

  He wasn't alone in the room. They were all there, Alex in one corner, Alicia and Rosa curled together in the other. There was no sound, not even his own shallow breathing, which had always seemed so loud in the grave-silence he'd lived in for so long. With a great effort he managed to shift his gaze about and to seek Alicia. He yearned for her.

  She was at his side in seconds, as though the slight tilting of his head had been the crack of a gun or an alarm. The others were up too, moving so swiftly that they seemed to disappear from one place and re-materialize in another.

  "He awakens," Alex said, his voice dripping cold mockery. He stood back from Copper, holding himself aloof. The glitter in his eyes held unconcealed malice, as usual, but Copper no longer feared that malice. Soon enough there would come a time when he would not be confined to lying on his back, and a later time when he would teach arrogant brother Alex a lesson or two Copper had been saving in his imagination for a long time.

  "Lay still, little brother," Rosa said softly, letting her hand trail lightly down his face and come to rest against the fresh marks at his throat. "We will bring food, and your strength will return. There is no need to be impatient; you have all the time in the world."

  "Come, Alex," she said, gesturing toward the door, "the moon is high – let us hunt."