Rigel

by Eli Ingle

  “Welcome to my world,” said Frivlok. “It’s really quite something, isn’t it? Trapped here for millennia but rather than keep it as our prison, we made it into our home.”

  Rigel was shaking; the feelings of utter terror mingled unpleasantly with the after effects of the spell until he was left hopeless and weak.

  So this was the Dark Realm.

  The man led them through the streets, new horrors meeting them at every corner. Men, women and children trapped, left to wander the Realm and scream. There was an insufferable feeling of dread that pervaded the air and drained any willpower they had, so that they were filled with despair and wished they could feel nothing, for it would have been better than the sick feeling of dread that clung to their hearts. Their brains shut down, could not take it, refused to see what was happening in front of them. The Light Ones stared at the floor, shutting it out. Rigel found himself staring at his feet, concentrating on the creases in the material – anything to distract him from what was happening. But still they could not help but think: Was the fate of the people already here the same as was in store for them?

  On and on they walked, passing the familiar but horribly twisted versions of landmarks of the city: the Ministry, befouled and aflame, the grand train station abandoned with the girders of the roof fallen in, the golden statue of Alcor and Mizar instead depicting Frivlok and two other men who Rigel had never seen before. It was like looking into a nightmarish mirror of a world he no longer recognised.

  Still on they walked, the dread in the air sapping their wills as they came closer to a building that was not present in the Kozenia they knew: a castle. Made of black stone and resting high on a cliff, it twisted into the sky and dominated the whole view of Kozenia, like a malignant watchtower. It had none of the angular grace of Norman castles and instead was a mass of spiked turrets and bent windows that matched nothing. It was a commanding sight that drew their eyes upwards. The imposing building seemed to stare down at them, making them quail and shy away. Frivlok obviously sensed their feelings because he grabbed their arms and dragged them towards the castle.

  Leaving the city, they climbed up a steep and curving path up the cliff. The group arrived at the front gate as the portcullis opened for them – although Rigel could see no-one around to do it for them. It shut again with a horrific metallic clang once they had passed through.

  The courtyard was barren except for statues of guards. They held swords and shields but even though they were unmoving Rigel could not help but feel a sense of being watched and that the guards were very much aware of them.

  Up, up, up. Through doors, up stairs, along corridors and then down one long staircase that wound to below the dungeons.

  Cells.

  They were thrown in separate ones, with dripping walls and a heavy metal door. The man left, saying nothing to them.

  At first, Rigel tried blasting his way out but the magic was deflected back off the door and back onto him every time, leaving him exhausted and broken.

  Time passed, although how much, he could not tell.

  None of them spoke. Rigel had tried to talk to the others but the cells must have been enchanted to make them soundproof, as he never heard a reply and could hear no-one trying to speak to him.

  He cried endless tears of fear and frustration.

  Hours passed. Days passed. Maybe even weeks, he could not tell. There was an endless and senseless cycle of sleeping and sitting slumped against the wall. He lost weight rapidly as he had no appetite to eat the bowls of sludge that they pushed under a slot in his cell wall each morning and then removed an hour later when they found it untouched. He saw no-one and his attempts to talk to whoever was on the other side of the food slot achieved nothing – he never heard anything from them.

  Then one day, the sound of rattling. Opening his eyes a crack, he looked up from the floor and towards the door. It was swung open and Frivlok was standing in the corridor, giving him a look he did not like at all: his head was tilted down, casting shadow over the higher areas and he was grinning with a snake-like leer. Knowing what he must do, Rigel stood up and walked unsteadily towards the open door.

  Out in the corridor he started to feel the unpleasant sensation of the feeling returning to his legs. Rona and the boy were also fetched by the guards, dragged out of their cells. Rigel noticed that they looked as weak and thin as he did. Rona looked as though she could barely stand up. Frivlok waited for them. Once the guards had drawn level Frivlok turned on his heel and walked upstairs. The guards dragged the Light Ones after him.

  Eventually they arrived in a large room with bottles on shelves and all kinds of wicked instruments on trays lying around. So that was how it would begin ….

  “You,” the man said, pointing at the other boy. “On there.” He indicated a table that was raised to an angle. Straps at wrist and ankle level invited limbs to be restrained.

  “I’ve got a name,” said the boy, not moving.

  “Oh, really?” asked Frivlok, folding his arms. “And what’s that? Pyne-in Neck? Stu Burne Mule?”

  “It’s Zeph and I’ll be damned if I’m going to do what you tell me.” Raising his hand, the boy was about to fire at Frivlok, but the man was quicker, spinning out of the way he grabbed Zeph’s hand and twisted it behind his back. The boy whimpered and half fell to the floor before being dragged over to the table, where he was restrained.

  “Don’t!” cried Rona, unable to help herself.

  With three quick strides Frivlok had crossed the room and silenced her with a backhanded blow. She fell to the floor, her lip split and bleeding.

  “Silence,” he hissed. “I’m about to teach you something very important so I wish you to listen. If you don’t comply, I’m sure we can find ways of keeping you silent.” His eyes darted to a dainty knife that rested nearby. Rigel did not have to think hard about what he could cut with it.

  The man moved over to the boy and stroked his hair back with a cold finger. He shuddered from the contact and unsuccessfully tried to move away.

  “Yes … the secret. The reason you are born with such powers.” Frivlok addressed the three children who, despite their sickness and fear, became enchanted with that one sentence. What was the secret to their power? “Your heart is an orb of burning light. It is pure, untainted and full of power beyond belief or understanding. Encompassed in each orb is the power of a hundred blue O-class stars. How unfortunate it is to know the power would fail, trusting the orbs to humans whose height of folly is falling from power. Ha! How unwise. Yes! So now you know … but I also know and I intend to use that against you all, reclaiming power that I never even had before. I already have one Celestial Heart. Perhaps you have already guessed from whom?” he asked, pointing to the orb on a shelf and then at Rigel.

  “Iselt!” Rigel gasped, horrified. So she really was gone … He glanced at the orb and saw that the light within it was flickering oddly.

  “That’s right. Well done my boy, well done. Yes, she put up quite a fight that one … but she wasn’t so strong and determined when I cut it out of her.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” asked Rigel, looking to the odd light. The flickering light made him uneasy; it looked unhealthy, sickly.

  “I told you she put up a fight. She managed to drain some of the power out of it before I finished her off. It is inconsequential damage. It’s over now.”

  “Now what?” asked Rona.

  “I only need two more orbs and then I will have enough power to break out of this Dark Realm forever and spread the Shadow to every living corner of the world. So as this boy was obedient enough to volunteer, he can go first.”

  He picked up a knife and advanced towards the table. Zeph screamed, trying to pull free from the restraints.

  “Stop it!” screamed Rona. “Please stop it!”

  The man turned around and looked at her.

  “And why, oh, why should I do that?” he asked.

  She gaped at him
. “Because what you’re doing is evil!”

  “Is it though?” he asked. “Is it really?”

  “Of course it is!”

  “Why?” He seemed genuinely interested.

  “Because you’re going to kill an innocent boy!” she cried.

  “But you would kill me.”

  “What?”

  “Well you have to admit that, given the chance, you would kill me, wouldn’t you?” he asked. She looked to the floor. “Yes. See?”

  “But you’re evil. You want to spread misery to the whole world and we want to make everything right!”

  “That would still involve killing me though, wouldn’t it? And all my lieutenants and all the other demons and creatures you saw when you came here. What gives you the right to do that? If killing you is wrong, then killing me is just as wrong.”

  Rigel gaped at him. The tumult of his thoughts made it difficult to articulate anything.

  “I don’t suppose anyone would have told you that, would they? No-one thinks about it, because people seem to honestly believe that it is acceptable to kill in certain situations. Killing is wrong but if you’re in a war and fighting the enemy, they give you a medal for valour if you kill enough of them. How does that work? If you kill someone on the street you go to jail. People seem to decide what they think is acceptable. The guards on Death Row who kill the prisoners, they might be destroying murderers but they are becoming murderers themselves in the process. No-one ever thinks about that, do they? Are those people going to hell? Probably. They’re all still murderers. Just because certain people say that it’s okay it doesn’t make it so.”

  “That’s rich: you talking from the moral high ground,” spat Rona, unable to think of anything else to say.

  “Criticise all you want,” Frivlok replied calmly. “It doesn’t make any difference. It’s still the truth. I might kill but that’s because I’m evil; that’s just the way I am. You might have to kill me for the greater good, but in doing so you also become a murderer. Do you disagree? Here.” He held out the knife, handle towards them. “Take it, go on. Gut me and see if you feel any better.”

  Rigel stared at the blade he was being offered.

  “It’s not a trick,” said Frivlok. “Go on, take it!”

  Rigel and Rona looked at each other. She turned towards Frivlok and slowly began to reach for the knife. Halfway there she hesitated. Frivlok spun the knife around until he was gripping the handle again and grinned at them.

  “I thought not,” he said. “When it comes down to it you’re just scared children. But think on this: in striking me down you would have been damned; by not striking me down you are damned because you did nothing to save this poor boy’s life.” He turned to stroke the boy’s face softly before jabbing the knife into his stomach. The boy grunted and looked down to see the handle protruding from his stomach. Frivlok turned back to the other two. “Just ponder on what you’ve done, won’t you?” He grinned, showing off his sharp teeth. “Oh what fun we have. Now, where were we?” Readjusting his grip on the knife, he stepped towards the boy again.

  Rigel charged forwards, aiming to stop him before it was too late, but with a flick of his wrist, the man had pinned the Light Ones against the wall and they were unable to move. Rigel shut his eyes to block out the sight but could not stop himself from hearing the screams.

  Once it was finished Zeph lay slumped against the restraints as Frivlok held the orb in his hand, a look of wonder on his face. Blood trickled from it down his arm but still he grinned wildly, a look of ecstatic joy on his face.

  “Would you like to see what we do to him next?” he asked, addressing the children in a whisper. He did not wait for a response, but continued talking. “Watch ….”

  With a flick of his wrist, the wound in the boy’s chest closed up and healed. With a gasp he opened his eyes, looking around with such pain. There was a moment’s silence before Zeph let out a piercing scream that did not stop.

  “They say having a Celestial Heart removed from your body is the most traumatic experience anyone could ever feel,” said the man over the wails of pain and misery, examining him as if he were an interesting science project. “I’ll tell you what we do with them next: we show them their worth without the heart – how wasted, pathetic and useless they are. Follow me!”

  Leading them down another corridor, he dragged Zeph along with him. He was handed over to several guards who dragged the screaming figure away. Rigel and Rona were grabbed by their upper arms by Frivlok and taken up a short set of stairs.

  After a few minutes’ confusion, Rigel realised that they were being led into the seats of a coliseum. The arena was round and the floor covered in sand. Steep stone walls surrounded it with tiered seating on top of the walls. Two portcullises were set into the wall on either side of the area.

  Frivlok sat them on either side of him before putting his arm around both of them. They shuddered at the contact but dared not move away for fear of what might happen if they did. The seats soon began to fill up as the other demons and guards caught word of the imminent proceedings. Neither Rigel nor Rona had any idea what was going to happen, but they knew it was not something good.

  Finally a horrible fanfare was played on clarinets and oboes that warbled and wailed to make their skin crawl and a man announced that the “Last Stand of a Light One” would commence. He read out the last rights of the prisoner: he would be given a sword to attack and a shield to defend; if he won the fight, he would go free.

  The announcer sat down and a moment later the gates swung open. The portcullis was raised, and Zeph stumbled into the sand-covered arena. He had stopped screaming but even in the few minutes since they had seen him his face had gone pale and his eyes dark and lifeless. Any confidence he had had when he was a Light One had vanished as he stumbled forwards. A tiny wooden shield was strapped to his left arm whilst a short sword was clutched in his sweaty right hand. At the opposite end of the arena, a huge portcullis, at least four times higher than the other, opened with a clatter. A colossal arch-demon entered slowly as a huge cheer came up from the audience. Its skin was dark blue and it had teeth and claws honed to a razor sharp edge. Both portcullises closed in unison when the contestants had entered, clanking and groaning until a puff of sand erupted as the spikes at the bottom locked into place. The boy seemed to becoming more aware of what was happening – he was looking at the demon, his mouth moving as if trying to cry out but no sound came. Taunts of ‘coward’, ‘yellow belly’, ‘spineless’ and other ruder things were shouted from the crowd. Frivlok was humming happily. Rigel considered shouting words of encouragement but decided against it; even if he were heard, it was a lost cause. Zeph was completely senseless – he looked as though he could barely remember his own name or where he was, let alone what was happening. Words would be lost on him. A huge feeling of sadness and pity welled in Rigel’s heart as he looked at the boy, so young and not unlike himself. How had this happened? He did not deserve this.

  “I’ll fight instead!” he shouted, standing up.

  “Sit down,” said Frivlok, grabbing his shoulder. “You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

  Sure enough, several demons who had been sitting nearby were laughing and pointing at him. He had to try though.

  “I want to fight in his place.”

  “You can’t. Only those who have been chosen have that right. Now shut up and watch!” snapped the man. He clicked his fingers and the children found themselves pressed against their seats with their eyes opened, barely able to move.

  Zeph was staring at the arch-demon and loosely grasping his sword and shield. The demon was circling him and growling. The noise filled the air and made the stones of the coliseum rumble. The creature charged at Zeph, shrieking and extending a hooked claw. The boy raised his shield but the claw split it with the weight of the impact. The cheers and screaming of the audience – already at quite a pitch – increased at the sight of this. Rigel heard Rona gr
oan.

  “Kill him!” Frivlok shouted.

  “Kill it!” shouted Rigel.

  “Shut up,” growled Frivlok, clicking again and making Rigel’s lips glue shut.

  Zeph had adjusted his grip on his short sword, managing to hold it in two hands. Rigel thought he saw some clarity in the boy’s vision and wondered if Zeph might stand more of a chance.

  The demon began circling him again before swinging its left hand at him. He ducked, rolled forwards in the sand and swung his sword at the creature’s leg. It roared in pain and fury as the blade buried itself in its leathery skin and kicked out, sending the boy flying backwards and hitting the wall, his sword still stuck in the demon’s leg. Gasping and shuffling through the sand, the boy stood up again, only to see the demon lumbering towards him. It swung at him again. Zeph dived forwards, pulled his sword free, and took another forward roll, twisting at the end to face the demon. The creature’s hand – having missed Zeph – hit the wall and shattered chunks of stone from it. The demon roared in fury and turned to face the boy. Zep haltered his stance to meet the demon which was careering towards him. The boy raised his sword but the creature knocked it from his hand and in the same motion stabbed a claw through his stomach.