by Taylor Leigh
‘What do you need to dispose of them?’ Reginald inquired.
‘Certain type of metal. Not found here, only in a different Realm. Doesn’t matter. I’ll handle them. My magic ability should be able to hold them back long enough to try to shatter the connection. Energy can deal with energy. Marus,’ she turned to the gladiator, ‘you’re in charge of the Denizens. Do what you have to do.’
Arkron fitted a golden, jewelled device over her hand.
Marus saluted. ‘Yes Ma’am.’
For the first time, Reginald noticed a gaping wound striped across Marus’s shoulder. Blood was soaking his sleeve and dripping down his arm. But that wasn’t what caused Reginald to stare. Even in the circumstances they were in, he still caught himself frozen, unable to tear his eyes away. Marus’s blood was not red. Not human. It was a beautiful, glittering metallic colour, like shining coppery bronze.
Who were these people? Gods?
Marus caught him looking and gave Reginald a playful wink. Reginald stared.
Arkron turned to Reginald, pulling him away from the hundred questions battling in his mind. ‘You, kid, get the best job.’ She handed him the chalice. When Reginald took it, he noticed a lumpy pouch inside. It felt like it was full of sand. ‘The powder in that pouch will restore people who are affected back to normal. You have to mix it with water and then get the Queen and your father to drink it. It probably won’t work right away considering how long they’ve been exposed to it.
‘Now that’s all I’ve got of that stuff and I had to do a lot of trading to get my hands on it, so just use it on the most important people in the room. When my friend gets back, hopefully he’ll bring more, if he can find more of it, so use it sparingly.’ She tied her rag round her face. ‘Everyone ready?’
Marus took a deep breath, causing the rag to press against his face. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’
Reginald nodded in agreement.
‘Right. Let’s go.’
Marus slammed his body up against the heavy metal doors, causing them to swing inward like they were nothing but flimsy wood.
It was hot darkness inside; the air was overwhelmingly stuffy and close, making his head swim. He could smell the sickening sweet scent of the spores and was grateful for the veil he was wearing. Already sweat was forming over his body, his palms slick as he gripped his sword and the chalice.
He had known the throne room would be bad, but he hadn’t known how bad, not till the doors swung open to reveal the yawning, hot blackness beyond.
Though his eyes took in all the horrible, fantastic spectacles the room held, the worst part of the room wasn’t even visible to Reginald. It hit him in a primal, animal panic the second the doors were thrown open. Reginald had been feeling a growing sense of apprehension ever since entering the palace, a feeling close to what he assumed a hare must feel under the shadow of an eagle. Now that he was in the throne room, he was struck by a predatory presence that momentarily froze him cold. There was something inside the room, something hunting and hungry. He could see it, or perhaps it was simply his mind, putting some acceptable form to the horrible sense. It was circling about in a black, inky cloud, revolving round the room in tight, impatient circles like a starving wolf. Like it was looking for something to devour. It was alive. Cunning.
With dread, Reginald knew he’d encountered it before. It was the thing from the city below. The thing he’d encountered in the black. The thing that wasn’t a Daemon but was alive and not physical and terrifying all at the same time. But this…this was so much more massive, so much more hungry and petrifying. He couldn’t move.
‘Arkron, what is it?’ he stammered.
Arkron, for the briefest of seconds, stopped dead. Though the black cloud was far from the only thing in the room, he knew she understood exactly what he was talking about.
‘I don’t know,’ Arkron confessed weakly. She gave Reginald a slight push which brought a shock to his system, breaking him out of his frozen terror. ‘Just ignore it and get moving. Don’t think about it.’
It wasn’t he most reassuring of commands, but Reginald figured standing in the doorway wasn’t much protection anyway. If that thing was going to come for him, he’d much rather be inside with his friends than frozen just beyond the door. Perhaps it wasn’t a threat to him. The thing hadn’t hurt him in the city below. It had simply been inquisitive, searching. With a deep, shaky breath, he stepped into the room.
In the hazy darkness Reginald could hear the screams, inhuman and angry. As he dashed towards the throne, keeping to the far wall, he cast a furtive look round the room. It was a living mass of shapes, swelling, surging, screaming. Maddening.
At the centre of the room was a horrible light. It was like a tear in the very air, jagged and breathing, stretching from floor to ceiling. And in between its torn edges? Flashing images, hazy and soft and of another world. It was an amazing sight. He was awed that such a phenomenon could occur. A rift between Realms! And it was expanding.
Reginald felt pulled, as if he’d fall into its middle and never be seen again. It expanded and contracted, sucking light from the room. How much longer before the rift completely opened the doorway? What would happen then? Would the palace be destroyed? Would Reginald even know if it happened?
There were Denizens everywhere. Most of them seemed to be so incapacitated by the spores that they simply huddled against the walls. He stumbled across one in his path and swept his blade out wide, cutting the creature down at the knees.
Other shadows were there in the darkness as well, great spindly things and teeth and fur and glowing yellow eyes. They were all swarming round Arkron, who was a bright green colour, which Reginald could only explain as powerful magic. She and the Daemons reminded him a bit of the familiar sight of blue beetles surrounding a lantern. The Daemons seemed attracted to her. To her light. Arkron was clearly struggling with just how many of the things there were. He prayed she’d be able to hold them back.
The throne room was maddening to the senses. Daemons were howling, an ear-shattering oppressive noise that blocked out any thought. The air was vibrating before him, shifting the room sickeningly. The dark cloud was still circling, seeming, at least for the moment, unconcerned or unaware that there were intruders in its space.
He watched the shadows move with liquid speed and saw Arkron, glowing green in the darkness, pull them in with merely a wave of her hand. Fire flared out, yellow, from an unidentifiable source, lighting up the room for Reginald to see clearly, if only for a brief flash. The ground shook wildly, throwing him against the wall.
Across the room moved Marus, flickering before Reginald’s eyes. The darkness was playing tricks on his eyes. Sometimes the gladiator appeared to be flesh, sometimes his shadow seemed to morph and become much larger and more misshapen then the gladiator should have been, a distortion of his reality. The spores were beginning to effect Reginald’s perception of things, making shapes jump, despite the veil. Fear of the thought brought speed to his movements. To have a fit in the middle of this place would mean certain death.
He dashed forward dizzily, only to run smack into an invisible net. Reginald shouted in panic and tried to back up, but he was stuck fast. From the ceiling twisted a great flat insect, clicking its poisonous jaws as it set one of its long feet on the web. Reginald hacked at the invisible bindings with his sword in growing desperation, watching the hundreds of eyes move closer. On the near wall, a horned bat was watching him, all-too human face alight with Daemonic hunger. The spiderlike creature scrabbled down the web towards Reginald at the same time the bat took off in flight towards him. Reginald lurched forward with his one free hand and grabbed the leg of the Daemon as it flew above him. The monster shrieked and jerked wildly, in its panic pulling Reginald free from the unseen sticky strands. Reginald rammed his sword up into the beast’s chest for its trouble and he tumbled to the earth as it flapped away, screaming.
More unseen hands grabbed at him from the floor, tossing him about. Regin
ald jumped to his feet, ignoring the groping claws, and cast a wild look round the vast space, looking for his aunt.
At the end of the room sat the thrones and Reginald felt a surge of relief at the sight. The Queen and his father were there, slumped over in their chairs, not moving, but seemingly unharmed.
Between the two of them stood a glowing red orb set on a pedestal, which their hands were firmly clamped to. Bursting from this orb twisted a thick rope of dark light, which the orb appeared to be generating. This light was sending wave after wave of energy towards the rift at the centre of the room. With every wave that hit the rift, it expanded just a little bit wider.
Reginald didn’t know if his family was alive, but he could see them and he counted that good enough. The flare of yellow fire died away and the room went dark again. Reginald staggered forward blindly, tripping over Denizen legs protruding from where they slumped against the wall.
He reached the throne and checked his aunt’s pulse. It was hammering like a drum. Same with his father. Their lips were a disgusting black, the surrounding skin tinged a grey, sickly colour. Their eyes were open and rolled back, unseeing. He tried to pull their hands from the orb, but they were stuck fast. What was he supposed to do? The stone was sucking away at their life forces like some hungry parasite. Perhaps if he could wake her up…
The Queen’s fingers arched against the stone orb, her skin was alight with the dark blue light. Round her finger he spotted the red ring he’d seen the last time he was in the throne room. It shone with the same bloody colour as the red orb beneath it, throbbed with the same life. They were in sync with the same energy, Reginald realised in sudden clarity. He checked her pulse. It was beating with the light of the orb, same as the ring. The thing was sucking the life from her!
Reginald cast about for water, panicking. Somewhere in the tumult of the throne room he heard it, the slight tinkle of water. Reginald whirled round and his eyes set on a fountain trickling water. He dove for it and filled the chalice up to the brim. With shaking hands he dumped the black powder into the water and stirred it as best he could.
Eyeing a warty, pointy nosed Daemon that was heading his direction, Reginald walked as quickly as he could back to the thrones without spilling his potion. He rather awkwardly tilted the Queen’s head back and helped her down half the chalice’s contents. She offered no resistance. Quickly he did the same to his father.
Nothing.
They gagged. Black liquid escaped their lips, but they were still stuck fast to the orb. Reginald stared at the rope of light connecting to the rift in dismay. He needed a way to sever the connection. He gripped his sword tightly in his hand and brought the hilt down hard on the stone. It bounced off harmlessly, not even scratching the deceptively fragile surface. Again and again he tried, to no effect. His arms ached from the impact.
His aunt moaned, her breath leaving her body. He had to do something—now. There was only one option left that Reginald could think of. Feeling ill, Reginald flipped his blade back round and slammed it down upon his aunt’s fingers, which were glued tight to the stone. The finger with the ring fell away from the stone reluctantly which now spurt energy with the same lost life as her severed fingers. The stone let out a high-pitched scream, expanding with red light, growing agonisingly bright and loud. And then it died. The rope of light broke away from the stone and thrashed about the room like a wounded snake, before being sucked away into the rift. The rift flashed above them alarmingly, fizzing in and out, unstable and wild.
Still circling the room, the living dark entity’s displeasure was almost palpable. It did not scream in protest. It made no sound at all, but Reginald could feel it expanding, crushing everything else in the room beyond till everything went dark. Reginald could no longer see Arkron or Marus. Horrified and left blind, Reginald turned back to his family.
At first Lucinda and Rovin did nothing, then they started to retch and convulse. Lucinda fell from her chair and rolled down the three steps, jerking wildly. Reginald bent over her, completely lost at what to do.
Marus was suddenly beside him, freed from the darkness. He caught Reginald’s father before he could hit the stone floor and hauled him down beside the Queen.
‘What now?’ Reginald cried.
The Daemons were screaming now, a loud, uniform noise that rattled the stone walls. The palace shook uncontrollably. The noise was loud enough that Reginald thought his eardrums would burst. The darkness started to coil, twisting up like an angry viper. In little breaks through it here and there, he saw Arkron was walking back towards the rift, arms outstretched, followed by the entire army of strange, Daemonic figures.
‘Now we just hope we survive this!’ Marus shouted.
‘Survive what?’
In answer to Reginald’s question, he watched Arkron focus her attention on the rift. It was gaping wide now, unstable, out of control, flickering like a sputtering candle as it expanded and contracted, fighting against her. Arkron held her hands out to it. As it widened, the wind picked up round them and started to howl. Reginald could feel the foul air being pulled away from him as if in a vacuum. His clothing whipped in the wind.
The Queen’s severed finger, with the ring still attached, started to slide across the floor along with everything else that wasn’t fastened down. Without really thinking, Reginald reached out and grabbed it. Something inside of him screamed to not let the Daemons get their hands on it.
The Daemons scrabbled against the floor, shrieking wildly, flapping wings and waving claws and swiping hooves, desperate for any sort of handhold as the intense wind rose. Reginald gripped the stone leg of the Queen’s throne with one hand and the Queen herself with the other. His boots slipped against the ground. Beside him, Marus was much the same.
Daemons started flying towards the portal, unable to stop themselves, as if hooked by invisible lines. Arkron stood still, unaffected by the terrible wind, forcing the failing rip open wider. Daemon after Daemon was sucked inside, like being pulled down a drain. They swirled through the air and disappeared into the rift in howls of rage.
The darkness twisted and writhed, completely undisturbed by the violent portal below it. Arkron was staring up at it with a horrified, unsure expression across her features that turned Reginald’s stomach. She couldn’t stop it. He understood that then. She had no idea what it was, and didn’t know how to destroy it. After all they’d done, this thing was still there, growing in size and presence like a heavy weight that would soon crush them. Yet it stayed where it was, pressed up close near the ceiling, twisting in angry circles.
The portal yawned wider as the last few Daemons, roaring all the way, were swallowed alive. The rift seemed to loom over Arkron, as if threatening to devour her as well, but Arkron simply swept her arms wide, and the portal dissipated like smoke.
The entire throne room went dead silent, save for the moaning of a few Denizens and the retching of the Queen and Reginald’s father.
Arkron took a deep breath and turned to look at them.
‘Oh,’ she said, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Am I good!’
‘NO!’ Came a howl from the far end of the throne room.
The three turned and watched as Sinsetun staggered inside the room. Reginald had completely forgotten about him upon entering the throne room. His insides tightened.
Arkron crossed her arms across her chest. ‘Oh, look what the cat dragged in.’
Sinsetun lurched forwards, heaving with insanity. ‘You all think you’re so clever! Breaking the connection. My Master will never be stopped!’
‘We are rather clever, yeah.’ Arkron smiled. ‘You won’t be opening that portal any time soon. Those stars won’t realign for another five hundred years, and I have a feeling you won’t be around by then.’
Sinsentun bared his sharp teeth. ‘You can’t win this! These people may fight now, but they’re still our slaves and always will be! They don’t know how willing they are to serve us. Even if the rift is temporar
ily closed, even if the spores are destroyed, this Realm still belongs to us. People always find our Master in the end.’
Arkron frowned. ‘Who exactly is this master of yours?’
Sinsetun’s eyes glowed. He reached up one crooked finger and pointed to the black cloud looming over their heads. ‘The Creator.’
Arkron’s eyes followed his up. ‘Right. I’ll admit I don’t know what that thing is. You call this thing your creator? What exactly is it?’
Sinsetun let out a hollow laugh. ‘You are so blind! How have you missed it all of these years? Do you not remember the Darkness, you stupid witch!’
‘That’s impossible,’ Arkron stammered, watching the angry cloud. ‘The Traveller destroyed that thing hundreds of years ago.’
The Darkness started to coil, twisting up like an angry viper.
Sinsetun ran his black tongue over his teeth. ‘Not all of it. And all this time it’s been growing in power and size, right under your nose. Its time is coming, and we’re all going to help!’
Arkron seemed to be struggling to compose herself. ‘It won’t be able to survive here! It can’t!’ She smiled tightly. ‘Your threats mean nothing!’
The Darkness began to stir. And as Reginald watched Arkron’s face he felt his hopes drop. She couldn’t save them. She was terrified.
It started to circle tighter, growing more deliberate in its actions, much like a cornered, thinking animal. And then it began to branch. A long, thin tendril of black started to snake down from the cloud and it tapped the top of Sinsetun’s head.
The Denizen’s head snapped back and he gasped. His yellow eyes started to cloud over, going coal black. The tendril grew in thickness, pumping more of itself into Sinsetun. The cloud above started to funnel and shrink as it drained downwards.
Sinsetun let out a dark, shaking snarl and backed up, the last of the cloud sinking through his skull. And he began to change, much to Reginald’s revulsion. His body began to crack and split, expanding and stretching till he towered over the others, eyes blazing with black fire. As if his body couldn’t contain the massive amount of blackness now inside of him. When he looked down on them now, his face was one of daemonic rage. His jaws swung open impossibly wide and he screamed, shaking the air with terror. He continued to stretch, roaring, towering over them. Sinsetun’s great arm swung out, hooking his claws as he swept it towards them, grinning in mad delight.