by Aimee Hunter
“It’s right here.” Was the softly spoken reply she received. Mason frowned, walking the rest of the way into the room. Her attention focused on the wall. Lana stayed in the doorway, making sure no one interrupted them.
A faintly familiar scent teased Mason’s sensitive nose. She drew it in through flared nostrils, cataloguing each individual smell. Trying to identify the peculiar odor. Mildew, dust, the musty aroma of age and neglect. And that strange smell of charged air. Where had she encountered it before? She moved closer to the wall, barely registering Sylvia’s presence. Placing her hands on the blank wall, the rest of the room fell away into blackness.
At first she thought she had passed out, but then she realized she was indeed still conscious. Her hands were still on the wall; she could feel the roughness of the plaster used on the stone the wall was made from. She felt Sylvia standing next to her and Lana still in the doorway, she could feel her sisters concern. But the wall in front of her, was no more than a phantom presence that was quickly fading.
In its place was a scene from another world. A world that died out nearly a thousand years ago. Again the scent teased her. As she watched the scene play out, a jolt of recognition shot through her. It was a memory. Her memory of the last time she had smelled that same electric scent.
A woman walked into her line of sight and Mason recognized her as a friend of her parents that hadn’t been seen since she was very young. She was the only person she had ever known that practiced true magic. The last time Mason had seen the woman, forever imprinted the smell of it into her memory. It was the closest she had ever seen her mother come to being truly afraid. They were arguing in the foyer of her family’s estate, she remembered their raised voices, clearly heard from where she hid on the staircase that led to the wing she and her sisters shared. She’d never seen her mother so angry. Not even that time one of their fosterlings had dared her to ride a wild horse her father had recently captured. She’d been thrown off and nearly trampled. She vividly remembers the feel of the horse’s hoof connecting with her arm. Snapping the bone, before her father appeared out of nowhere, yelling and waving his arms to distract the horse while her mother pulled her to safety. She remembers how Aine’s hands shook while they checked her over, making sure there was no serious damage done to her.
The argument it caused between her parents was nowhere near as frightening as the one she witnessed between her mother and the strange woman. Her entire body tensed when her mind’s eye recalled seeing the woman use magic against her parents. Her father, always so tall and strong, was helplessly pinned to a wall by unseen hands and her mother was on her knees grasping at her throat where an invisible hand was choking her. The woman was standing there with her arms outstretched, one towards her father, the other towards her mother, her hand curled like a claw. Mason watched herself as a child, race down the stairs screaming at the woman to let her parents go, flinging her little body against her legs. Fists pounding at her, crying. She sees how the woman was distracted for just a moment by her display, long enough for her mother to launch herself forward, tackling the woman to the ground. The memory fades as her eldest sister rushes into the room to help her mother and father subdue the crazed woman. She would never forget the smell of magic from that day forth.
Mason blinked, her hands falling from the stone back to her side, slightly disoriented to find herself back in the barracks with Lana and Sylvia. She turned her head, gazing at the Nightkin woman in bewilderment. Lana stepped closer to her sister who had gone very pale, placing her hand on her shoulder.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she wanted to know. Mason continued to stare at Sylvia silently for a long moment before answering.
“The door is concealed by magic.” She informed her little sister, causing Lana to turn to stare at the other woman as well. Sylvia’s eyes darted between the sisters nervously. Mason was not supposed to be able to detect her use of magic. No one was. It was the Summa’s greatest secret. People had died protecting it. “I didn’t know you could perform magic, Sylvia.” Mason murmured, her voice deceptively soft.
“I can’t.” Sylvia denied, too quickly. The Stone heir raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her.
“Then how do you explain the enchantments that conceal this door?” she asked her. The pale woman swallowed hard, trying to think of a plausible explanation but coming up empty. Mason shook her head sharply, not having the time nor the patience for whatever story she was about to be fed. “Never mind,” she snapped, placing her hands on the wall once more. “It’s not important right now.” Her hands moved gracefully, tracing an ancient rune as she chanted softly in a language Sylvia had never heard before. The rune flared in a brilliant flash of gold, before falling like snow to the ground. Revealing the hidden door. The Nightkin woman was frozen in shock as she watched her enchantment disintegrate before her eyes.
“How did you do that?” she demanded, finally finding her voice. Mason looked over at her as Lana opened the door.
“Magic,” she replied simply, locking her now electric blue eyes onto the agitated woman’s face.
“But, no one is supposed to possess magic!” she cried, everything she had been taught since childhood had just been disproven. What was it with Stone women turning her world on its ear anyway? She wondered.
“You mean. Besides you?” Mason asked sarcastically. Sylvia’s brow furrowed in confusion. As far as she knew, her people were the only race capable of casting spells, or incantations. Enchantments, like the one Mason had so effortlessly dispelled, were simply a natural byproduct of that knowledge. Her parent’s and tutors had gone to great lengths to help Sylvia harness her innate abilities. Impressing upon her the importance of not only control, but complete secrecy. Humanity had a long, bloody history of being afraid of what they don’t understand, of killing what they fear. Very few among her own people were even aware that she possessed magic. Not even her own twin knew all that she was capable of. A decision she is now grateful to her parents for making.
For as long as she could remember, she’d been taught that whatever magic had once existed in the world had died out long before the atom that lead to the discovery of nuclear power, was split. So now, to see someone outside of her own race, perform magic as though it were as natural to her as changing into a wolf, she could finally understand the term ‘shell shocked’.
Mason began to worry that she had broken the Nightkin woman. Sylvia hadn’t blinked in a solid three minutes. She glanced over at Lana, seeing her just as concerned.
“You forget, Sylvia. Our people have been around for eons longer than yours. We are not creatures of magic, but a few are born with it in them.” Mason explained gently. Sylvia slowly shook her head as it began to sink in.
“It’s impossible!” she denied. “Only…” she caught herself before she blurted out her secret.
“Only what?” Lana asked, catching Sylvia’s near slip. “Only the Nightkin have magic?” She sighted at Sylvia’s horrified expression, moving through the door and down three steps to stand in the old passage way that angled downward. Mason was standing in front of her, having gone through during Sylvia’s denial. Now she turned and gave the Nightkin an impatient glare.
“Your people are only the latest to possess magic, Sylvia. You are not the first and you certainly won’t be the last.” She gestured between Lana and herself, saying. “As for us, we were born to our abilities. We had to be taught how to control them, what their practical uses could be, by a druid priestess whose order no longer exists. We’ve dealt with this since long before your race was even a possibility.” She took a breath, trying to reign in her irritation. “Relax. We’re not going to tell anyone. We’ve had to keep it a secret too. Humans have never been able to understand or accept magic. They always made something evil out of it. As is their way with things they don’t understand and can’t logically explain away.” She sighed, directing her attention down the long, dark passage.
It wasn’t Sylvia’s fault. Every
race that found itself capable of magic tended to guard it jealously. In most era’s it was understandable, but in this era, where everything is so very different than it has ever been. Having magic, being able to use it, was pretty low on the list of odd and unusual.
“So. Are you going to show us where this leads?” Mason prompted, changing the subject and getting them all back on task. Sylvia’s spine stiffed at the slight challenge she heard in the Kahlian’s voice, seeing it echo in Lana’s expression. A muscle jumped in her jaw and she moved through the doorway, joining the infuriating sisters. She watched, still awestruck, when Lana turned back to the entrance and waved her hand, chanting in the same strange language Mason used, to replace the enchantment. Taking a second to gather her scattered composure, she moved past Mason and continued down the incline.
“It’s this way,” she said, walking down the passage, not seeing Lana’s grin.
They continue down the dark corridor for another ten minutes before they come to a crossroads of sorts.
“Which way?” Lana asked standing in the middle looking down each of the three passages. Sylvia pointed to the one on the far right.
“That’s the quickest way to the surface,” she pointed to the left corridor. “That way also leads to the surface, but you have to make your way through one of the old abandoned underground villages first. Straight on takes you through the original underground site of Kansas City, with outlets that go on forever.” She faced the sisters, saying. “I haven’t been able to explore that area very much though.”
Mason nodded, considering the three passage ways carefully. She tested the stale air in all direction, finding that Sylvia was right. The corridor on the right was the quickest, she could almost taste the fresh air coming in from that direction.
“Well. Let’s go see where it leads.” She said, starting off in that direction. Lana noticed that the further they travelled, the darker it got. They would have to bring torches. Flashlights would be better but she knew it was a lost cause. There haven’t been batteries for centuries and lemons were a rare commodity in this part of the country. Especially during this time of year. But oh how she longed for the days of flashlights, even glow sticks would be welcome. It would be easy for someone to get lost down here. Or stay lost, she mused looking back down the way they had come. Her preternatural eyes easily seeing clearly into the darkest corners. She continued on, finding she had to hurry to catch up.
Having fallen behind, Lana was the only one to hear the scrapping of stone against stone. She stopped, listening. She was still for so long that Mason noticed her absence, reaching out to her across their mental link.
Everything alright back there? Nonplussed by the mental slap she received from her sister.
I heard something, Lana told her. She was listening intently now, using her sense of smell and her acute eyesight to help her find the source of the noise. She barely heard the light footsteps approaching the forked corridor before turning down the passage they were in.
Mason! Someone is coming, she warned. All three women pressed against the wall, hardly daring to breath.
A cloaked figure appeared out of the shadows, bypassing Lana’s position. The figure was tall, though nothing more could be discerned about the person’s appearance. The smelled of charged energy seemed to pour off the individual. Almost like burnt ozone. It made it difficult to determine anything about them. Underneath that sharp, assaulting odor, Mason picked up on something vaguely familiar. Something she felt she should be able to recognize without any trouble but just couldn’t put her finger on it.
Sylvia froze. She recognized the shrouded figure’s presence from her and Sylvan’s dealings with Damian. This was the one the Kahlian called Dominus. The one person in the entire world that he feared. She knew that Sylvan has always been nearly beside himself with curiosity over the mysterious person’s true identity and power. But this person seemed to be wrapped in a darkness so thick it was nearly corrosive, their power so overwhelming that she felt like it was choking her just walking into a room they had recently vacated. Up until today, this person had been the only other, outside of the Nightkin, she knew to have magic and she’d never been able to distinguish who or what they are. Sylvia couldn’t stand to be in close proximity to this Dominus. It felt like all the oxygen was being sucked out of the room, especially now, being in such close proximity.
The being stopped and seemed to look directly at Mason. She couldn’t really tell because it’s cowl hid its face, but the head turned towards her. Then dipped in acknowledgement of her presence before continuing on.
We shall meet soon, pup. The voice was low, and soft. Completely indistinguishable. Hearing it caused her eyes to bulge in shock, watching the being disappear in the shadows ahead. She didn’t even acknowledge Lana’s presence when she finally made her way to her side.
“What was that about? Do you know…whoever that was?” she asked her sister quietly. Mason shook her head wordlessly, her eyes still searching the passage ahead.
“No. But apparently, I will.” She told her. Lana frowned, giving her an odd look.
“They told me we would meet soon.” She explained, tapping her temple. “The connection almost felt Kahlian, but it was off somehow.” She pondered that for a moment. The person’s mind had felt foreign. They way Sylvia’s mind did when they spoke telepathically, and yet familiar as well. As though at some point in her life, she had come into contact with this person’s mind before. She filed that way for later, right now she had to figure out how to get the people of Culville to safety and this was obviously not going to work.
Mason huffed, thinking about what the being had called her. No one had called her that in centuries. At Lana’s quizzical look, she rolled her eyes before responding.
“Whoever that was, called me a ‘pup’.” She told her. Lana tried to smother her laughter. Really, she did. But just the idea of someone calling Mason ‘pup’ was too hilarious and she lost the battle.
“I’m sorry!” she chortled, “I can’t help it. You should see your face,” she continued giggling softly to herself. Mason glared at her sister, sometimes the girls sense of humor had the worst timing. She decided to just ignore her until she was able to control herself. Turning her attention to Sylvia, who had been quiet up to that point. She was staring down the hall in the direction the person had gone.
“Sylvia?” Mason called her name softly. Wanting to get her attention but not startle her. The night kin’s eyes snapped to her, then frowned at a still chuckling Lana. “Do you know who that was?” she asked. Sylvia looked towards the shadows the figure had disappeared in before answering.
“I don’t know who that is,” she began softly as if she was afraid of being overheard. “I just know Damian is afraid of them. He calls it…them, Dominus.” She glances back sharply at the Stone sisters when Lana’s laughter is cut off by a sharp gasp than is in tandem with Mason’s. She looks at them in confusion, not understanding the significance of the name. Lana supplies the clarification.
“Dominus is from an ancient language called Latin,” Sylvia nods her understanding, she’s heard of it before, having come across it in her studies of the world before the War. “It’s a title. One I never thought I would ever hear Damian use for any reason.” The Nightkin feels her confusion growing along with a feeling of trepidation. “It was a term used predominately by slaves in ancient Rome. It means Master.” Sylvia paled at that. She had quite a few opinions of Damian, but never did he strike her as the type to call another Master lightly.
Mason’s expression was grim as she listened to the two women talking. She was now convinced that there was more going on here than just simply wanting to take over a kingdom. Or several in this case. There was some larger goal in mind here. She just didn’t have enough information to determine what that was yet.
“Where does this passage come out at?” she asked suddenly, startling both her sister and the Nightkin. Sylvia was silent for a moment, mentally switching gears w
ith Mason’s abrupt subject change.
“About fifty feet behind the Impure encampment. Just inside the tree line.” She supplied. Mason nodded, her eyes’ trailing back to the darkness before them.
“We’re going to have to find another way.”
The black cloaked individual stood in the shadows, observing the two Kahlian women and Damian’s pet Nightkin’s sister. They watched as Mason decided to find another way out for the doomed people of Culville. Smiling a savage, cold grin within the dark folds of the cloaks hood.
Foolish children. There is no escape from me. The being laughed to itself, sinking deeper into the blackness it was so comfortable with. Alone in the shadows, unnoticed, the silent observer of nations. It had seen empires rise and fall. They had known Julius Caesar most of his life, been present at his slaying. Watched gleefully from the shadows while the drama between Cleopatra and Marc Antony played out. Had even known Alexander the Great.
Yes, they were old. Indeed, they were among the oldest left alive. Marcus Stone had been among that number. His wife Aine, and eldest daughter, Diana as well. A snarl marred the beings hidden features thinking about the Stone matriarch. They would take great pleasure in killing that one. But first, it thought, their attention drawn back to the departing women. I’ll destroy everything she loves.
It frowned when Mason paused, glancing over her shoulder directly at them. Her expression holding a deadly warning. Her eyes flashed in the darkness and to the beings’ astonishment, they felt tendrils of power slide over them then retreat. The cold, triumphant smile that played across the Stone heirs face enraged the one Damian Augustus called Dominus. For it was indeed the Master of all things existing in the realm of Shadow.
Green energy sparked at tapered fingertips as the Stone woman hurried to catch up to her companions. The rage sweeping through the ancient body a result of how shaken that brief touch of power had left them. The chill twinge of fear, that hadn’t been felt in nearly three millennia. Dominus had made itself a promise, long ago, to never allow them self to be in a position to fear another. They had accumulated more power than any who had lived before or after. It had become the shadow of death that stalked to night, taking their tribute indiscriminately. No man, woman or child was safe from their touch. No pity lived in their heart for those who knelt before them, begging for their lives. Neither did it care if its victims had families or responsibilities. Such things meant nothing to so old a creature.