Rising Dark (The Darkling Trilogy, Book 2)

by A. D. Koboah

  “Thank you.”

  I spun around, astonished, as she closed the window and went back to bed. She was fast asleep a few seconds later.

  I smiled, marvelling at what had just occurred. I was even more reluctant to leave now, but I had no reason to stay. She was safe, I was sure of that. But now I knew where she was, I would keep an eye on her.

  I spent the day holed up in the woods. I was woken up at sunset by two words, a deeper, emotionally charged echo of Lina’s sleepy ones.

  Thank you.

  Mama Akosua was gone before I could respond.

  I left my grave and spent a few moments watching the sun set. In the wilderness, before I found Luna, this sight signified death. The slow death of my soul and a literal death for whoever was unfortunate enough to fall prey to the demon that was tethered to me. Now it signified hope. I had lost Luna, but as long as she lived, I would have a reason to carry on because my existence had made it possible for her, and those she loved, to live as men and women. So I would live and find a way past my pain until she was truly gone.

  ***

  A few days later, I made my weekly visit to the Marshall plantation. Hidden a safe distance away, I played the usual game of entering Mama’s mind, pretending I did not know she was aware of my presence. But this time, I found myself up against a blank wall. I waited, anxiety slithering into my heart at the thought that she would deny me my weekly glimpse of Luna. Then she spoke into my mind.

  If you want to know how Luna is, you must sit with me.

  I did not move. I was desperate for my weekly glimpse of Luna, but it would be sheer folly to willingly enter the witch’s cabin.

  A second later, I was outside the open cabin door. When I entered, she was in the process of adding hot water to two cups and did not look up.

  “Please sit down,” she said.

  Her tone was soft and her demeanour almost deferential, which immediately sounded warning bells.

  Her mind was still a blank wall, and knowing that entering her cabin willingly was perhaps one of the stupidest things I had ever done in my life, I moved to the table and sat down opposite her.

  She began stirring the tea.

  “Do you realise you were able to enter my home although I did not invite you in?”

  “But you said—”

  “No. I said you must sit with me, but I did not say you could enter. The magic is very precise and it must be a very clear invitation from the heart, and mind, that will allow you into a home. Mine was not.”

  Silence filled the cabin. Her gaze remained trained on me, her mind a blank wall. I shifted uneasily. No, it was not a good idea to enter her cabin willingly.

  She spoke again a few moments later.

  “The fact that you were able to walk into my cabin, and Luna’s, without an invitation is just one of many things about you, and your connection to my daughter, that I do not understand.”

  She seemed uneasy and I was reminded of Auria’s terror regarding that vision of Luna.

  “She had reason to be fearful,” Mama Akosua said. “Your maker is another thing I do not understand. She did not die in that fire. Did you know that?”

  I shook my head.

  “But it appears as if she has not tried to find you. And I suspect it is because she was blocked from doing so.”

  “As you were blocked when you first tried to find Luna and myself?”

  “Yes.”

  I was quiet now, deeply concerned, and those days in the wilderness, of going to sleep in the middle of summer and waking to a grim winter, came clearly to me.

  Mama Akosua gasped, her eyes round with shock as she stared at me. “That is not possible.”

  But judging from her expression, she knew it had happened but did not understand it. Silence hung in the small dark cabin.

  She pushed one of the cups toward me.

  “It is tea. Perhaps if you begin with simple food and flavours, you will begin to move on to, and perhaps be able to taste, real food again.”

  “Um, how very gracious of you. Thank you.”

  I picked up the cup, wondering how I was going to pour it away without her seeing, because it would be folly for me to drink it. Her gaze was sharp, watching my every move. No. There was no way I was going to drink it.

  “It is one of the things I see in Luna’s mind the most,” she continued. “The meal she prepared for you that last night. She always tells herself she could have included this thing or other. Or that she should have said or done more.”

  I was touched by that grief again, so swift, so complete in its total devastation as I listened to her words. She seemed sad too, although I could not tell why.

  “I had to leave her,” I said. “If I had kept her with me I would have done the unthinkable, and...”

  She held up a hand.

  “I know more than anyone why you did not make her your wife. That is what you would have done, is it not?”

  I nodded, unsure of whether or not by admitting this I was laying a trap for myself. But the image of Luna on her wedding day in a simple white dress was like a barbwire kiss and I lowered my gaze, unable to speak.

  “Yes,” Mama Akosua said. “I know, for was it not I who summoned the spirit and was nearly consumed so I could find you? I cannot tell her it is because of my foolish actions that she is separated from you. It has tasted our blood now. It will forever plague us unless I find a way to banish it once and for all.”

  A heavy silence settled over us, leaving me lost in thoughts of Luna and all that had been snatched from me. And in the lull of the silence that followed, I brought the tea to my lips and sipped it, my thoughts on Luna and the meal she had prepared for me on our last evening at the mansion.

  “Oh, how she worries about you. She thinks you are too trusting,” Mama said, drawing me away from the gut wrenching image of Luna in the red gown. Mama Akosua’s soft tone turned to a knife edge when she spoke again. “And she is right.”

  I glanced sharply up at her. She was very still, watching me like a tiger that has its prey pinned by the neck. My gaze immediately returned to the cup and my eyes widened.

  When I glanced up again in consternation, she was smiling softly.

  “You are too trusting,” she continued. “But I will never betray that trust.”

  I closed my eyes for a few seconds as relief washed over me. When I met her gaze again, I couldn’t help smiling, the first time I had smiled in months.

  “But I must warn you,” she said. “If you ever enter a witch’s home, especially one who vowed to kill you, and drink anything she offers you, I will break your skull!”

  “I promise you, Mama, I will never do anything like that again.”

  “Good. I asked you to sit with me today for two reasons. First, to thank you for helping my granddaughter. Luna does not know what you have done, so I will thank you for the two of us. The other reason I called you here is that there is another that needs you. A man I dreamt of. His name is Thomas.” I stared blankly at her. “You have never met him, but were he not born out of wedlock, he would share your surname.”

  I leaned forward in my chair.

  “He is your nephew.” She showed me an image, a hazy one, of a man in his early twenties. I did not need her to tell me he was related to me, for he had my blue eyes and I could see Albert in the slightly condescending curve of his lips. “He is a clever boy, but poor. I have foreseen that he will go on to be a great man. But he needs money and the right doors to be opened for him. You could be of great help to him.”

  The image of the boy had been like a hard slap across the face and I longed for the home and life I used to have in England, especially the people I had left behind. They were no doubt all dead by now. I also thought of the second heartbeat that had haunted me for decades. Is that what my son would have looked like had I a child?

  “I will set sail for England as soon as I can,” I said.

  “You must leave tonight.”

  I stared at her, wond
ering at the urgency. But I had learned that Mama Akosua often said only what she felt was necessary for someone to know, so I nodded and got to my feet.

  At the door, I faced her again. “Thank you.”

  She waved it away. “You may not be able to see Luna. But my door is always open to you, Wɔfa Avery.”

  Wɔfa was a word in her native tongue that meant “uncle” and was sometimes used to precede the name of those that were older than you as a mark of respect.

  I nodded and left. I wondered at the complete change in stance from the witch, my old foe. But my mind was on my family and the brief image of the boy that I now clutched tightly as if I were afraid it would be torn from me.

  Chapter 23

  The trip to London was a successful one and I was able to secure my nephew’s future quickly and easily. I chose not to reveal myself to the boy, but watched him from a distance, and from all accounts, he was an honourable, hardworking man.

  Much of the trip found me wandering the streets of London aimlessly, my heart heavy. The streets of my old home were familiar, yet changed beyond recognition. Memories of a different time, a different man from the one that now wandered its streets, bombarded me. I keenly felt Julia’s loss as well as Luna’s. My mortal life had been a lonely one once my mother died. But I realised I was more alone than I had ever been and that this would always be the case.

  One overcast morning, a few days before I was due to return to America, I stopped halfway down Oxford Street to gaze at the display in a shop window, not seeing much of anything but my own tortured thoughts. A voice interrupted my musings.

  Avery?

  Jolted out of my reverie, I turned to see an old man standing a few metres from me. He was a well-dressed gentleman and appeared to be in his sixties, with smooth, pink skin and white neatly trimmed hair. He was staring intently at me, his face a mask of shock. His thoughts intruded on mine but they were confused, and did not give me any clue as to who he was or how he knew my name.

  Then I realised he hadn’t actually spoken my name aloud and part of his apparent shock was at the fact that I had responded as if he had and was standing there staring at him with a bemused expression on my face.

  I quickly looked away and made to walk past him, but he grasped me by the arm, his grip surprisingly strong.

  “You are not a ghost. You are real.”

  I was saved from answering, first of all by the fact that his thoughts suddenly became cloudy and I noticed that one eye was drooping slightly. He was trying to speak, but no words came out of his mouth and I caught nothing coherent from his mind. His legs seemed to give way beneath him and he fell to his knees, still clutching my arm and that was when I was able to grasp one of his memories clearly.

  It was an old memory that had been revisited countless times over the decades and was like an ancient photograph that was worn and frayed. It was a cherished memory, but one that sang of sorrow and anguish.

  It was night time and he was looking out of a window down at a man who had his back to him. The man was with a woman who was young, radiant, and clearly in love. The boy at the window was only fourteen, and for most of his life, he had sought his father’s attention, approval, and love. He had never considered that the man below meant almost as much to him as his father. And it made him sad because although the man with the young woman had always been kind and generous, he had also been distant.

  Suddenly seized with urgency, he called out to him and when the man turned around, he rushed from the window, leaping down the stairs, anxiety making his breath shallow at the thought that he would get downstairs and the man would be gone. Relief flooded him when he opened the front door and saw him waiting by the carriage. He rushed forward and threw himself into my arms.

  “Philip!”

  I dropped to my knees and gathered him in my arms as he tilted backwards whilst throngs of people moved past us.

  He was so frail, but he grasped my hand tightly and nodded. His vivid blue eyes, a virtual mirror of my own, filling with tears.

  “Avery.” His speech was slurred and I saw now that the reason I had struggled to read his thoughts earlier was because something was happening within his mind.

  “Father! What happened?” A beautiful, slender young woman with deep blue eyes and long flaxen curls appeared out of nowhere and was kneeling on Philip’s other side. But he wouldn’t even look at her and his grip on my hand tightened.

  I wanted to take him away from there, but the street was now heaving with passersby who had stopped to surround us. Someone had already flagged down a carriage and two other males, who appeared to know him and the young woman, were gently pulling him out of my arms. Even if my blood could possibly save him, I couldn’t risk exposing myself as I was so weak from days spent out in the daylight and knew there was no way I could try and control all these people. I noticed now that the young woman by his side was staring at me intently, hazy recognition in her eyes.

  I had to let him go and I gently pried his hand away from mine. I backed away as they picked him up to place him in the carriage. He appeared to become more distressed when he saw me move back, and fearing it would exacerbate whatever had caused him to collapse, I reached for his mind and lulled him into a semiconscious state. He was placed in the carriage and I watched it pull away. I followed, already knowing from the minds of those around him that they were heading for his home.

  I was distraught. To get here and find one of them alive, only to have him taken away like this, was a cruel joke.

  ***

  I spent the rest of the day outside his home listening to the events that were taking place inside. The doctor had been called, and as was usual for the times, there didn’t seem to be much he could do but make sure Philip was kept comfortable. His health had been bad for a while now, due to the kind of excesses I had seen in our father. The doctor did not think he would last the week.

  I sat outside until dusk, and then went to the front door, desperately needing to see Philip. I had come too far to have this opportunity snatched from me. I rang the bell, considering using my powers to control them into inviting me in, but this was Philip and the people inside were my family. I did not want to enter his home under deception or coercion.

  One of the maids answered the door.

  “Good evening, I...I...”

  I grew quiet when the young woman that had been with Philip that afternoon appeared behind the maid. Again there was recognition in her eyes, but it seemed as if she could not place my face.

  “Thank you, Jane. I will deal with this,” she said to the maid.

  “Yes, Miss Jennifer.” She disappeared down the corridor.

  “You were there this afternoon?” Her eyes were accusing, her tone sharp.

  “Yes. You see, I know, or used to know, your father very well. It was a shock for both of us to come across one another after so many years, and I do not wish to intrude on such a private moment, but I wondered if you could invite me into your home so that I may see him.”

  “He is very unwell. For some reason he is also extremely agitated and is not resting well as he should. He is not supposed to have visitors.” Looking at my youthful appearance, she did not believe I could know her father.

  “Miss...I...I...” I felt my grief begin to overwhelm me. “I mean your family no harm. I cannot explain how I know your father, but he would want to see me, so please, let me spend some time with him, even if it is only a few moments.”

  She stared at me for a long moment and then moved aside to let me inside.

  Philip was in his room with a nurse, his two sons, and a few of his grandchildren. The drooping I had seen in one of his eyelids had progressed down the side of his face, his complexion was grey and he seemed much older than his sixty-four years. But I immediately saw the tall, gangly boy he used to be in his eyes, which lit up the moment I entered the room. His eyes welled up with tears as I went to his side and knelt by the bed beside him, clasping his hand, unable to hold back my own tea
rs.

  The others merely stared at me, wondering at the stranger in their midst, the recognition I had seen in his daughter’s eyes in one of the male’s. Philip gestured for them all to leave the room. At first they all stared at him until his daughter, my niece Jennifer, ushered them out of the room. She stared intently at me for a long moment before she closed the door, leaving us alone.

  “Philip, my dearest brother,” I was able to say after a few moments.

  He was trying to speak, attempting to mutter my name and I felt his frustration at the fact that he couldn’t speak properly. I placed my hand against his forehead.

  Please, do not exert yourself. Say what you will in your mind. I will hear you.

  You can hear me? The grip on my hand increased and he became excited again. He knew. He knew you were still alive but no one believed him.

  I searched his mind.

  Father?

  He nodded emphatically. When the news reached us that you had perished in a fire, he flew into a rage the likes of which I have never seen.

  I could see the memory of that moment.

  Albert and Philip had gone looking for my father and found him at his club. They had been taken to a private room and I saw Albert as Philip had seen him then, his face completely white, his hands shaking as he tried to deliver the bad news.

  “Father, there...there is something I must tell you. It concerns Avery,” he said.

  “I told you to never mention his name in my presence!” my father roared at Albert, then took a swig of his brandy.

  “Father, please sit down.”

  My father looked to Philip and then Albert, seeing now that something was wrong. Instead of sitting down, he closed the space between him and Albert and grasped him by the arm in one of those painful, heavy handed touches of his that used to irritate me so much when I was a man.