The Dark Calling

by Cole, Kresley

  “Such aspersions!” she cried, but I could hear the humor in her tone. “You’re not the only one struggling with powers these days. My water form is difficult to maintain. Materializing is simpler.”

  “I thought we all agreed that your body wasn’t coming to land as long as the game continued.” Or until Aric and I died, and she came to claim our kid.

  “It’s awfully quiet down here in this lonely abyss. You four sat together this morning to share breakfast.” Her voice grew absent as she admitted, “I felt a scalding envy.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Making her tone brisk, she said, “While you were unconscious, I officially met Lark and Finn.”

  Apparently, the lovebirds had been bonding like crazy, whenever Lark had time off. The blizzard meant she was getting a break from her Richter-watch duties. Even if her falcon could negotiate the arctic wind gusts, visibility was nil.

  “Finn wanted to share magic secrets with me.” Circe chuckled. “How adorable. He’s only an illusionist, able to create lifelike scenes and fool the senses, but not much more. An entertainer versus a practitioner.” At my raised eyebrows, she said, “He can’t seal blood invocations to stretch over centuries or brew esoteric potions. He doesn’t control a spell book that’s as old as the oceans. While Finn can mimic the look of a tide, I can steer them. I explained all this to him.” Circe wasn’t one to sugarcoat.

  “What was Lark’s reaction?”

  “Sharpened fangs and claws. Even her ears seemed to point. In her mind, he’s one of the greats. They’re already so in love, picking up right where they left off in the last game. Just before you murdered them.”

  I can deny nothing. But her comment made me wonder what my relationship with Aric would be like if we’d had no animosity between us in the past. Maybe he would believe me about Paul.

  Earlier, Aric had told me, “I informed him that he will be exiled once the weather breaks. Sievā, I will not reverse myself on this.” His gaze had gone distant. “We’re giving him no mercy with this course. Exile equals execution.”

  True. I’d often pictured the castle as a spaceship on a barren moon, with the only life support around: crops and livestock, clean water, sunlamps, and tankers of fuel. But I still wasn’t satisfied with only a banishment, much less a belated one.

  I asked Circe, “Have you noticed anything off with Paul? Ever heard him say something suspicious?”

  “Not a single time. In light of current events, I suppose you no longer want to set me up with him?”

  I might have once mentioned that. “I got conned. We all did.” But Lark and Aric still seemed to be under the influence. The jury was out on Finn. “What would you do about Paul if you were me?”

  “In the past, you would already have stabbed him with your poisonous claws, then desecrated his corpse with your plants. In this life, you’ve agreed to wait for an exile, with the added mercy of a storm break. Perhaps you are different from before.”

  That was about the nicest thing Circe had ever said to me. Great. Now I’d have to go along with the exile plan just to stay in her favor. Don’t want to piss off the watery godmother. “So, speaking of sealing blood invocations across centuries . . .”

  “I told Death that I would look into a memory spell as a gift to honor my alliance—with him.” Was I never to be forgiven for betraying her in the past? I’d keep working on her. “Such a spell would tax me greatly.”

  Making my tone light, I teased, “Ah, but you’re a great practitioner. Unless you think I should ask Finn to do it?”

  “You push your luck, Evie Greene.” But she sounded amused.

  “So you’re freezing, and I’m knocked up. Ain’t we a pair?”

  “Worse things could have happened.”

  “Really?” I was having a difficult time seeing this pregnancy as anything other than a parasitic invasion—probably not a tidbit I should share with the kid-loving Ruler of the Deep. “One of the last entries my grandmother made in my chronicles was She can never be with him. She has no idea what Life and Death become. Sounds pretty dire to me.”

  “Perhaps you two become the End and the Beginning. The end of the game and the beginning of a new era.”

  “Gran said the earth won’t come back until there’s an Arcana victor.” Until all were dead but one.

  “Though that was true in the past, do you not feel as if destiny had a hand in this pregnancy? Life and Death uniting for the first time? Maybe the arrival of your baby will bring about the rejuvenation of the earth. I told you the Fool’s powers were unfathomable, but Mother Earth also has powers of birth and rebirth that we can’t know.”

  “Mother Earth, huh? So I pop out a kid, and the sun rises?”

  In a wistful tone, she said, “I can imagine an infant’s cry clearing the skies for the sun to shine. I see tiny balled fists flailing in time with grass poking up from the soil.”

  I blinked at the water plume. And everyone thought I was loopy? “When Aric and I first slept together, the weather freaked out. Apocalyptic hail, winds, and lightning. We both had the feeling we were crossing a line that maybe we shouldn’t.”

  “Hmm. Do you think the gods were protesting?”

  “Sounds insane when you put it that way. But Matthew specifically told Finn that the gods mark us all.”

  “Perhaps he meant that they were listening to us. A pregnancy like this would be a huge statement, a message that we Arcana won’t be defined by our histories.”

  Yet all the other cards kept defining me by mine. Everyone knows the Empress breaks her vows each game . . . . The Empress is a treacherous betrayer . . . . Creature, you folded first . . . .

  “In short, I believe this is a good thing,” Circe said. “It’s in our best interest to protect you and your child.”

  At least I’d no longer fall asleep wondering if she would turn against Aric and me. “What happens if I have this baby, and nothing changes?”

  “The game trudges on.” The plume suddenly perked up. “Do you hear that?”

  “What?” All I heard were assorted animal grunts in the castle above.

  “A ringing sound. It seems Death is getting a call.”

  4

  I ran to Aric’s study. Only one person would be calling him. The Centurion.

  When I sped through the doorway, Aric was sitting at his desk, phone to his ear. He gestured for me to join him. I took a seat and dropped my chronicles onto his desk. Scattered over the surface were papers that looked like inventories. Of our rations?

  “Then we’re in agreement,” Aric said into the phone. “You have our coordinates. When can we expect you?” Pause. “Very good.” He disconnected the call.

  “Was that Kentarch?”

  Aric cast me one of his unguarded smiles. “Indeed. He is journeying to the castle as we speak.” He sounded almost jubilant.

  “What was the agreement?”

  “His months-long search for his wife, Issa, has reached a dead end.” Aric had told me that Kentarch was obsessed with finding her. “He needs Fauna’s tracking skills. In exchange, he will join us here and help protect the castle and those within.”

  “What if Issa’s not alive?”

  “The odds are against her survival, but he refuses to accept she might be gone.”

  Sounded familiar. “If you’re so concerned about rations—and about the convergence of cards—why would you invite another Arcana here?”

  I knew Kentarch wasn’t a friend of his. Just a few nights ago, Aric had told me, “Jack was the closest thing I’ve had to a friend since my father died.”

  Aric stacked papers on his desk. “I invited him because his teleportation ability makes him a crucial ally. Aside from that, he is a decorated soldier with an impeccable military record and advanced technical skills. He told me his truck is a weapon in itself, stocked with guns, a winch, and hi-tech electronics.”

  “If he can teleport, why does he need a truck?”

  “As with all Arcana, he must conse
rve his power.” According to my chronicles, I’d been able to defeat him in a past game because he’d been wiped out. “And his dire food situation has weakened him. Once he’s here and rested, he will be an invaluable safeguard, able to evacuate this castle’s inhabitants, should the need arise. His presence will help me sleep better at night.”

  I thought of Circe’s “sitting ducks” comment. She wasn’t the only one worried about that. “Evacuate all of us? Not just me and a kid?”

  He inclined his head. “All of us.”

  “What’s Kentarch like?” When Aric’s gaze slid to a folder on his desk, I teased, “Do you have, like, a dossier on him?”

  “Yes.” He handed it to me.

  Brows raised, I opened the folder. The photo on the first page was of a young man dressed in a military uniform and beret. Whoa. Kentarch was hot, with smooth, dark skin, intense brown eyes, and sigh-worthy cheekbones. He looked to be in his mid-twenties.

  I thumbed through his basic information. Born into the Maasai tribe in Kenya . . . raised to be a lion hunter . . . nearly killed by a lion . . . still bears scars over his torso.

  Before the Flash, he’d been assigned to train conservation officers. He’d gone from hunting lions to protecting them against deadly poachers. Talk about a change of heart.

  I knew from my chronicles that he’d also been called the Chariot. His title was the Wicked Champion, his card all about duality and victory. His Arcana call was Woe to the bloody vanquished, and he’d always allied with Death and Circe.

  I closed the folder. “Do you have one of these on me?”

  After a slight hesitation, Aric went to a cabinet and retrieved another dossier. Why had he never divulged this to me?

  Another pause before he handed it over. Mine was much thicker than Kentarch’s. On the first page was a glossy picture of me from some social media account or another.

  My smiling face had clearly been stabbed with a blade.

  I ran my fingers over the serrated edges. So much rage. It reminded me of our early days in this game when I’d been his prisoner; the nights he’d tormented me, making me walk barefoot over punishing terrain; how he’d forced that barbed cilice onto my arm to curtail my powers.

  I peered up at him. “You really despised me.”

  “I did.” Honest as ever. “Your actions warranted it.”

  “The Lovers were shaped by their deranged father—and my history with them. I’m pretty sure the Hermit was abused by his father as well. Maybe those Arcana wouldn’t have become murderers if their parents had treated them decently. If taught a better path, I might not have become a murderer.”

  But no matter what, the heat of battle would still have called to me. My mind touched on memories of what I’d done to the Lovers in a previous game before I recoiled from those grisly scenes. “Or maybe killer is my default. Aric, what if I’m . . . evil to the bone?”

  He didn’t answer, his gaze growing unfocused.

  “Aric?”

  “My apologies. These errant thoughts keep hitting me. Strange.” Seeming to shake himself, he murmured, “You were saying?”

  “Forget it.” I glanced at the folder again. The picture of me was pre-Flash. “How did you know I was the Empress in this game?”

  “Your home has always been called Haven. You were the right age. I sensed it.”

  Just as I sensed Paul was a dangerous liar. I flipped through more pages, coming across aerial maps of the sugar cane farm. Aric had known right where I was. “You could have struck before the Flash.”

  Nod. “I think some part of me hoped you would perish.”

  “And spare you the confusion? What a great foundation we have.” I quashed the urge to cheerily ask him, What color shall we paint the nursery, darling? “And now I’m carrying the spawn of a bloodthirsty Empress and Death—seasoned with zombie juice. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Aric shook his head. “Do you not understand how monumental this is? We are changing history. You wanted to end the game; this child might do just that. Our destiny feels fated. It feels right.”

  “For you!” I cried, slamming the folder onto his desk. “Of course it does to you. You’re the Grim Reaper, and all of a sudden you believe you’re going to have a line to come after you. But I’m the one bearing this burden. The real reason you hesitate to punish Paul is because of what he’s done for you. Because of his actions, you’re getting what you want most—a child.”

  Bitter laugh. “Do you think that’s what I want most?”

  “Then what?”

  Aric stood. “I wonder if you know me at all.”

  I watched him walk out the door. He’d left me with my folder. Part of me clamored to read the rest of the contents, but I feared to as well.

  Our strained relationship couldn’t take the weight of a feather right now.

  5

  Day 528 A.F.

  I tossed and turned in bed as the blizzard-without-end raged on. When I finally drifted off to sleep, a nightmare scene arose.

  Richter and Zara, the deadly Fortune Card, were in a locked warehouse full of their ragtag prisoners—men, a few children, and even a couple of women. Ropes bound their captives’ wrists.

  Zara reached out a bare hand to touch one man’s face. As soon as their skin made contact, her eyes and veins turned purple. She’d just stolen his luck!

  She moved on to the man beside him, and then the next. She even knelt to brush one child’s tears away.

  When she’d harvested from all of them, Richter motioned for her to leave. They shared a look as he locked the door behind them.

  Outside, Zara handed him a knife. As she gazed on with sick fascination, Richter sliced his palm. Blood welled, beginning to glow and heat, turning into lava. It pooled out of his skin, spreading over the ground, nearing the warehouse.

  Then he began to slowly cook those people . . . .

  I shot upright, their agonized screams still ringing in my ears.

  Had that been a dream, or had Matthew sent me a vision of Zara building up her luck reserves through survivors?

  I rubbed my eyes, glancing at Aric’s empty side of the bed. He rarely slept these days. With a troubled sigh, I rose, anxiety like a noose around my neck.

  Despite this, my stomach growled. I glared at my belly, then bundled up in a thick robe and slippers. Maybe if I could keep some food down, it’d help me sleep. As tension mounted within the castle, so had my nausea.

  I started for the kitchen, my breaths beginning to smoke in the stairwell. The winter storm continued, the temperature dropping. Paul remained.

  After mulling over what Gran had said and written in her last days, I’d grown more convinced that he’d harmed her. Yet I’d lived under the same roof with her killer for an additional two weeks.

  I passed a frosted window and glowered at the falling snow. Nature wasn’t cooperating with me—or Circe. Whenever she slept, ice would creep over the moat. To break up the frozen surface, she would strain her powers.

  We often heard ice cracking down at the river shore, then the SLOSH as a huge block plunged into the water.

  If the weather didn’t change, she waged a losing battle. When I’d spoken to her a couple of days ago, she’d sounded increasingly weak and harried: “The ice choking my rivers is like giant earmuffs. The thicker the ice, the more isolated I feel.” She’d added in a whisper, “My coffin of ice . . .”

  Downstairs, I shuffled through the withered leaves covering the floor. All my vines had died. My powers showed no signs of rebounding; my red witch seemed to be taking a long winter’s nap.

  The light in the kitchen was on. I wasn’t the only one making a food run at this late hour. Could it be Aric?

  He and I seemed to have reached a standstill. When he wasn’t training to an obsessive degree, he was staring out the window, awaiting Kentarch’s arrival.

  I’d once felt like the castle of lost time was a powder keg. Now it seemed to be a warhead. Just when I was ready to go nuclear on Ar
ic, he would come to bed and we’d lose ourselves in sex. He was gentle, even worshipful.

  Last night, I’d again tried to reach him.

  “You keep saying this is my home, but it doesn’t feel like it. It won’t as long as Paul’s here.”

  In a distracted tone, he answered, “I’ve made my decision. The rest is up to nature.”

  “You told me I could decide his fate.”

  “And you have. But I have chosen the timeline: after the blizzard.”

  That comment still set my teeth on edge.

  I found the Magician in flannel pj’s, raiding the fridge. “Blondie!” His brown eyes lit up. Since he’d arrived, he’d put on weight, thriving here—except for his leg.

  I often heard Lark and him laughing as they explored the castle. I envied the simplicity of their relationship. They had no baggage, and they didn’t take a single second for granted.

  He asked me, “You making another attempt at dinner?”

  Earlier, I’d bolted from the table to vomit up good food. Thanks, kid. Jack had once called Matthew a resource-suck; I was currently saddled with one. “Maybe I should.”

  Finn held up his triple-decker sandwich. “Here. Take mine.” A dollop of mayonnaise oozed to his plate. Plop.

  Ugh. “No thanks. I’ll just grab some toast.”

  “Suit yourself, chica.” Balancing his plate, Finn maneuvered his crutch to hobble over to the kitchen table. Without a hint of bitterness, he said, “When you have a crutch, you’re always one hand short.” And a Magician would need both of his. Finn’s Arcana call was Don’t look at this hand, look at that one.

  I popped a frozen piece of bread into the toaster, then poured a glass of milk. Now that Lark had taken over cooking duties, I helped her as much as possible. Mainly, I cut up things while trying not to puke.

  She’d prepared meals for her dad before the Flash, so she could put together a decent spread. But she couldn’t recreate Paul’s staples—like hot-out-of-the-oven pastries and succulent, freshly butchered game; our frozen supplies continued to dwindle.