Darkness Falling

by David Niall Wilson

  Across the village, in the trees below the trail that led up the side of the mountain, Klaus stood, sheathed in shadow. He'd been having trouble sleeping since the concert. Something about the darkness felt more soothing than the daylight, and he needed to feel it wrapping around him to relax. He figured it was just because he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, some inner sense that sought the solitude of late night and moonlight. Tonight it was stronger than ever.

  There was something in the air, some scent he couldn't quite place, some vibration he sensed on a level below his conscious thought. He'd heard wolves earlier, a sound he remembered well from his childhood. Their voices had been raised in a harmony that thrilled him in a deep, primal way, like the music, only magnified a thousand fold.

  He'd walked the trails, slipped through the shadowed clearings and down the bank of the stream that wound down from somewhere far up the mountain, but he had not found them. They were like the wind, slipping through his senses and then gone.

  As the sun rose, outlining the mountain in scarlet and orange, he turned and slipped back to his cottage, closing the door quietly behind himself. He was glad of the fact of Damon's moving to the new cottage – he needed time to sort things out for himself, and he didn't wish to be disturbed.

  ~*~

  Father Adolph rose from his seat with the intrusion of the dawn. It was Sunday – his congregation would arrive in a few short hours, and there were preparations to be made. He still wondered about the wolves, but no answers were forthcoming.

  Chapter Nine

  After so many years on the road and so much time spent in the great cities of the world, the village felt too quiet to Sebastian. This was enhanced by the attitude of the people toward the band, but even had they been on the friendliest of terms, it would have been quiet. He awoke that first Sunday after the concert with the sense that the silence held something more ominous than it had previously. Something felt wrong.

  Rising slowly, from a restless night filled with odd snatches of dream, he dressed and walked out into the growing sunlight. The scent of eggs and sausage from the Inn was no different than usual, and the few lone villagers who trudged down from the mountains each day to do their business and to meet in the small square and the common room of the Inn were, if anything, more numerous than usual. When the chapel's bell rang, announcing the commencement of the mass, he understood.

  But there were no smiles. It was more like a mourning party than a congregation of simple folk on their way to worship services. Small clusters of men gathered together outside the door of the Inn, smoking and speaking in hushed tones. Sebastian made his way toward the door, having decided to go on to breakfast without waiting for the others, and noticed that the villagers fell silent as he passed, their eyes more furtive and sullen than usual. Something was going on, and it was obvious that they resented more than ever that Klaus had kept the band on the mountain.

  Finding a small table in the rear of the dining hall, Sebastian ordered coffee and a small platter of pastries. He intended to sit there and let himself come fully awake, then make his way to the chapel after services and see if Father Adolph could shed any light on the morning's happenings. At the very least the old priest would speak to him.

  He was surprised a few moments later when Damon walked in, wide awake, and slid into the seat across the table.

  "Pretty early start for you, isn't it?" Sebastian asked, happy for the company. Damon's usual habit was to remain in bed until nearly noon, then to eat and spend the entire afternoon practicing.

  "Melissa's coming in today," the guitarist said simply. "I haven't slept since around midnight. Did you hear those wolves last night?"

  "Wolves?" Sebastian replied. "I didn't hear them, but I dreamed about them. Maybe the sound was what caused my dreams?"

  "I don't know, but they were damned spooky," Damon said. "I'd just finished working out this new arrangement, trying to get my mind off of today. It's been too long since I saw her last. Anyway, just about the time I thought I was actually going to be able to sleep, I heard this terrible howling coming from up the mountain. It went on forever, and it was louder than I would have thought possible. Worse than that, it almost sounded human. After that, all I could do was lay there.

  "Hand me one of those pastries."

  Sebastian's mind wandered as his friend talked about Melissa and her imminent arrival. Damon had been prattling the same litany day in and day out since Klaus promised to have her brought to the mountain. He'd picked just the right flowers for the table in the cottage they would share, and just the right wine from the local shop. He was so happy, and so intent on his preparations, that he hardly noticed Sebastian's inattention.

  Sebastian's thoughts drifted back to his dreams; he'd spent the night trying to escape. He'd been alone on the mountain, the moon shining down brightly to light his way. Although he'd never been there while awake, in his dreams he saw the place as clearly as if he'd been going there all of his life. Somewhere up ahead, far in the distance, he'd seen a strange light, and he headed for it, though he had no idea why.

  A great crashing sound had risen behind him, and his heart sped. He'd hurried, then stumbled and finally broken into a run, pushing his body to and beyond its limits, rushing toward the light in the distance that had seemed to recede as fast as he approached it, always just out of reach, but in clear sight.

  The sounds behind him had drawn nearer, and he'd heard the rapid steps of many feet, or large animals. He'd heard their heavy, panting breath closing in and his fear had redoubled. He'd watched over his shoulder, searching the shadows, but there had been nothing to see. He'd caught glimpses of movement in those shadows, silver streaks, golden flashes, and glowing eyes. None of it had stayed in focus long enough for him to get a good view of his pursuers.

  He'd awoken in a cold sweat, shivering and gripping the sides of his bed in terror. It had taken nearly an hour to calm down after the nightmare, and though he'd tried for hours, he'd slept only in fitful spurts from then until dawn. If there had truly been wolves on the mountain, what did it mean? Was he having a vision, or did the howling just trigger some inner fear that was already with him, rendering it in dream form?

  When the coffee and the pastries were gone, and it was getting close to time for Melissa to arrive, Damon said a quick goodbye and left Sebastian alone once more, still pondering the strange mood of the morning and the even stranger dreams of the past night.

  He rose soon after his friend was gone and made his way through the Flagon and Barrel and into the street. With nowhere else to go, he turned toward the chapel. The villagers had long since finished Mass, and were huddled once more in small groups about the streets. They ignored Sebastian as he passed them by.

  He saw no sign of Klaus. Apparently he'd managed to overcome the restlessness that had gripped him when he'd shared quarters with Damon. Peyton was just stepping out into the street. He waved to Sebastian as he moved off toward the Inn, and Sebastian knew he would see nothing of the big drummer until he'd put away at least two plates of food. After long months of touring, it was an almost eerie sensation to have so much time alone. He'd grown accustomed to being surrounded by sound and activity. He hurried on toward the chapel.

  Father Adolph was not in the yard, so he went inside, passing through the pews and on toward the small room at the back of the chapel. As Sebastian approached the doorway, however, he heard raised voices. One was obviously the priest's, the other that of a woman Sebastian didn't know. He halted, not certain whether he'd be out of line to interrupt.

  The oor flew open violently and the woman stormed from the office. Her eyes were filled with such pain and grief that Sebastian stepped back as she faced him and lowered his gaze to the floor. She didn't speak, only crossed herself and scurried off toward the front door, leaving Sebastian to stare after her in consternation.

  "Sebastian," Father Adolph's voice rose from behind him, "so good of you to stop by. I regret that you were forced to witness
this, but it seems that there has been a tragedy."

  "A tragedy?" Sebastian asked, turning back to face the priest. The man's features were pained, lines of tension and weariness creasing his brow.

  "Yes. A man died on the mountain last night, devoured by wolves, by all appearances. That woman was his wife."

  "I'm sorry. She seems in such pain; it must have been horrible for her."

  "It was horrible for the entire village. But that doesn't explain her manner just now, nor can I. She came to me after services this morning with a strange claim, almost a plea. Let me see if I recall just exactly what she said…"

  The priest's brow furrowed even deeper as he concentrated, then he went on. "She said that her husband is dead, torn limb from limb. I offered her my condolences and asked how he came to be on the mountain so late."

  "I heard there were wolves out last night," Sebastian interrupted. "Did they have something to do with this?"

  "That's the story I first heard," Father Adolph nodded. "His body was found beside the trail that leads from the Inn back up to his home on the mountain, a road he's walked these past sixty years. It seems he was fond of the wine, perhaps a bit too fond of it. They caught him on the trail; he was not able to outrun them."

  "Why do you say that this is what you heard first? Isn't it the truth, then?" Sebastian asked.

  "I don't know. His wife doesn't believe it, though she's seen the mangled remains with her own eyes. I heard the wolves baying last night. It was quite disturbing."

  Sebastian told him quickly of his dream, and of Damon's hearing the wolves as well, and how disturbed he'd been by the incident. Still, though, it seemed fairly cut and dried. Animals devoured the man, and the wolves had been heard, if not seen.

  "But the wife," he went on finally, "she says I must perform an exorcism. She says her husband has been slain by evil – that he will rise again if I do not put him properly to rest. I tried to get her to explain, but she would not, only insisting over and over again that I perform the exorcism ceremony."

  "And you agreed?"

  "Of course not. I am an old man, a priest, yes, but only that. An exorcist is cut from a different cloth, and superstition has no place in my church. I told her that I would perform the last rites as always, that I would bury her husband in God's holy ground, right here beside this church.

  "She screamed at me then, screamed that 'the witch of darkness' had stolen his soul, and that I was damning him to scratch eternally at the inside of a restless grave. She was out of control, I'm afraid, deluded by her own grief. I have never seen anyone so full of fear and hatred."

  "Surely not toward you?" Sebastian asked, truly surprised. "If there is a 'witch of darkness,' you certainly don't fit the description."

  "No, her hatred was directed at that mountain, maybe at the very night itself. It wouldn't surprise me if she believed that the wolves were demons, or that they were sent here to do some evil deed, but it pains me. I wanted to comfort her. It's part of my calling, and I find that she will not even tell me what it is that troubles her so. What am I to do?"

  "What can you do?" Sebastian smiled sympathetically and placed a hand on the old priest's shoulder. "You must do what you know is right. It will pass. Uncommon as it may be, this is not the first time someone has died here. Once he is laid safely in the grave and his spirit has passed on she will come to her senses. Grief is a strange thing."

  "You are wise for such a young man," he smiled at me. "Come inside. We will have some tea and discuss these wolves further. The good Lord knows I get little enough company."

  "Tell me more about this village," Sebastian asked him as he went once more about his comfortable ritual of making the tea. "There seem to be more than a few local legends and mysteries. I've never seen such reclusive, stand-offish folks."

  "They all come from old families," Father Adolph began, "very set in their ways. The shrine you mentioned is one thing that seems to hold meaning for them, though I can't imagine why. This chapel has stood here for nearly a hundred years, and another stood here before that. They are God-fearing people, if a little backward in their customs.

  "But that shrine; I've tried on numerous occasions to get one of the older men to tell me about it. Invariably, when I mention the place, their eyes glaze over and their faces take on an odd, faraway expression. They will say nothing at all in answer to my questions, and that is not the strangest thing. The women react in a completely different manner.

  "When the subject of that mountain comes up the women, especially the older women, become enraged. They don't let their children play there, if they can help it, and if their men go near the place, they fall silent, not speaking to them for weeks at a time."

  "Sounds like a shrine to some love goddess," Sebastian said, and grinned. "How strange that Klaus would meet a woman there. Stranger still," he added thoughtfully, "that the name of that woman would be one that causes such distress to the villagers."

  "I don't know who your friend met on that mountain," Father Adolph said, "but I wish I could meet her. If she's lived on or near the mountain long enough to be familiar with music that was old when I was young, then she, or her parents, might be able to shed some light on things here that the villagers themselves will not."

  "You said you remembered that song, too," Sebastian recalled suddenly, "but you haven't lived that many years on this mountain. Where did you hear it first?"

  "I wish I could recall, exactly," he said, taking a sip of his tea. "I was in the seminary, third year, I believe. A young music student performed it. For some reason the song stuck in my head, and I sought the young man out. His name was Evander, a quiet, slender youth, almost pretty in an ethereal way. He wouldn't tell me exactly where he'd learned the song, and I never saw him again. He only spoke of mountains and ancient times."

  "He was studying to be a priest?" Sebastian asked, thinking the music a strange choice for one whose life would be spent in the service of God.

  "No, not at all. He was one of a few privileged students who in some way gained approval from the Vatican to spend time among us. He was particularly interested in learning the ancient hymns, and he had a wonderful voice."

  The talk went on for hours, it seemed, but it never returned to the strange events of the previous night, or to the music. Sebastian said his goodbyes when the afternoon sun was just beginning to fade to twilight. He left the old priest standing in the doorway of the church, staring up the mountain.

  ~*~

  When Sebastian returned, he found Peyton in their cottage, brushing his hair carefully and staring into the small mirror he'd brought along with him.

  "Hot date?" Sebastian asked, smiling at him. "And I was just about to ask you if you were ready for an early supper."

  "In a minute, I will be," Peyton answered, concentrating on his image in the mirror. "I think I may be making progress with the Inn-keepers daughter. Have to make sure I look my best."

  Sebastian sighed, sitting down to wait for his friend to finish. "You could find a willing woman in a monastery," I told him. "Can't you concentrate on anything else for once?"

  "If we had any music to work on, maybe," he said, finally turning away from the mirror. "We've been sitting on our collective duffs here about long enough, don't you think? Let's go roust Klaus and see if we can't talk some sort of sense into that lovesick mind of his. I'm ready to either do this album, or get the hell out of here.

  "Do you know how long it took me just to get one of these girls to talk to me?" he asked, and his expression was so pained and comical all at once that Sebastian burst out laughing.

  "All right," Sebastian said. "Let's go get him. At the very least maybe we can find out if he's found his mystery woman again, and, by the way, why doesn't he ever seem to be awake? I've never seen him sleep so much."

  "One way or the other," Peyton said, opening the door and gestured for Sebastian to precede him, "it's time to do something. Besides, I'm starved."

  ~*~

 
Klaus was just getting up when they banged on the door to his cottage, and Sebastian's concern grew. It wasn't like his friend to be so lethargic.

  "Come on," Peyton urged him, grinning in from the doorway. "It's time to eat, man. You spend more time in that bed than I do in mine, and you're always alone!"

  It didn't take Klaus long to dress, and he followed the other two down the road to the Flagon and Barrel quietly. His expression and the glint in his eyes seemed different, somehow, and several times Sebastian caught him staring strangely at objects along the way.

  They maneuvered him as quickly through the aisles at the Inn as they could and took seats around their usual table in the back. While Peyton busied himself with ordering food, Sebastian turned to Klaus.

  "We were wondering," he began, "about this album we're supposed to be working on. So far we've spent about a week wandering around this village, where everyone would rather see us dead or gone than anything else, and there hasn't been the first mention of music. Did you have a plan for this creative surge you mentioned, or are we just wasting our time here?"

  Klaus hardly seemed to hear the words at all. He was staring at the waitress as she made her way up and down the aisles with her trays. He wasn't leering, just staring in fascination.

  "Hey!" Sebastian said a little louder, tapping him on the arm, "are you awake or what?"

  Shaking his head, Klaus turned to face his friend, and a bit of his old self returned to his features. "Sorry, Sebastian," he apologized, another very un-Klaus like action. "I don't know what's come over me lately. I think maybe I'll be starting on the music tonight. I've had some ideas; I just haven't had the motivation to set them down on paper. I've been working mostly at night."