Darkstone

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  “Three minutes!” came the call from Ivan outside the door.

  Joram waved everyone together, hooking her arms over Jubal’s and Chloe’s shoulders while they did the same. As she’d done for years, she said, “Welcome to the first day of the rest of our lives. Wah wi gwine do?”

  “Mash up the place!”

  “Kick ass!”

  “Shell dung!”

  “Blow the roof off!”

  “Then let’s do it!” Joram threw back her head and howled, the rest of them joining her.

  Ivan pushed open the doors. “It’s time, people!”

  The band roughly slapped each others’ shoulders as they broke their huddle and exited the room. They flowed past Ivan and through the backstage hallway toward the stage. Joram enjoyed the excitement and the well-wishes from the roadies, groupies and technicians they passed. In moments they’d be onstage, the one place she’d always felt at home. If this was the last time she’d perform there was no better place to be.

  Even Anders meeting them didn’t mar her exhilaration. Anders yelled encouragement to all of them, his voice barely heard over the crowd’s demands. Rand snuck through the back to climb into her drum kit while the others donned their guitars and went out onto the darkened stage.

  Anders intercepted Joram before she could avoid him, grasping her upper arm. “Remember, you’re my Chosen One.”

  Joram refused to do more than glance at him, not wanting to disrupt her pre-gig fervor. “I promised, didn’t I? And when this is over, you’ll get the hell out of my life.”

  His answering smile wasn’t pleasant. “Just do your job.” As she pulled away, he grabbed her arm again, yanking her close. “The very best part of you is me.”

  She jerked away with a growl and ran to her position onstage. Awash with musical passion and fresh anger at Anders, she began to play the opening song on the keyboard as the lights came up.

  * * *

  Naomi chewed at her thumbnail, curled in her seat as she stared at the stage.

  Rebecca sat beside her, fidgeting, one foot tapping the floor in the rapid tempo of anxiety. “Are you going to go backstage during the concert?”

  “I don’t know.” Naomi left off the thumbnail to worry her lower lip. “Do you think I should?”

  “I guess that depends on what you’re trying to accomplish.” Rebecca huffed a breath. “Are you going to go through with it?”

  Naomi sank lower in her chair, returning her gaze to the stage curtains. “I don’t know. I don’t want to.”

  Rebecca gave a sharp nod. “In that case, stay here. If that guy catches you backstage…” She trailed off, letting imagination take over as she shivered. They’d chosen the first row of the balcony, and she now leaned forward, hands on the railing. “At least we’ve got a damned good view of the fireworks.”

  Naomi couldn’t dredge up the energy to answer, too unnerved by unfolding events. She’d told Joram that she wouldn’t stop her, wouldn’t kill her. She’d tried to talk Joram into walking away. That had backfired. Tonight was the defining moment of both of their lives. This night had been the reason for Naomi’s training and education, perhaps even the reason she’d been adopted by Inanna to begin with, and she still couldn’t decide what action to take.

  There would be three encores, each spurring the audience’s emotions higher and higher, the third culminating with the opening of the door. What had Joram said last night, that she was the Harbinger of Invocation? Leave it to Anders to give Joram’s band such a name. It was a wonder Naomi hadn’t figured out where the danger lay long before.

  The crowd below began to chant. “Invocation. Invocation. Invocation.” As if on cue, the theater lights dimmed. A different style of music bled through the speakers, louder and rougher than the canned songs played to soothe the pre-concert audience.

  “Naomi.”

  Startled, she turned to see Inanna gliding down the steps toward her seat. In the dimness, her mother seemed to have a faint glow about her. Naomi turned to her companion, but Rebecca seemed oblivious of the new arrival, her attention riveted upon the stage.

  Inanna knelt beside Naomi, a sad smile on her face. With gentle hands she caressed Naomi’s face. “I’m so sorry it has to be this way.”

  Naomi grasped her mother’s hands, leaning toward her. “Maybe it doesn’t.”

  The cinnamon-brown eyes above Inanna’s smile were resigned. “You know it has to be. You yourself have seen the signs, you brought them to us just a few days ago. You can’t deny them now.”

  Tears stung Naomi’s eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this, Mama.”

  “You can. You must. You’re my daughter. You’re beautiful and intelligent and strong. I trust you to do the right thing.” Inanna pressed something cold and hard into Naomi’s hands.

  Looking down, Naomi studied the knife her mother had brought her. It was old, a dark blade of pitted iron with a bright shine along its sharpened edge. The hilt was aged deer antler, smooth and worn. A flowing script had been engraved along one side. Written in Elvish, she’d never known what it had said. She remembered the blade, remembered lessons with Nathan in a chill monastery as she hacked and stabbed with this blade in her palm. Instinctively, she wrapped her hand around the hilt and felt the familiarity as she tested the edge with her thumb. A bead of blood welled from the resulting incision, the knife so sharp she didn’t feel the pain.

  “Do what you must, sweetness. I’m depending on you, as is Nathan and the rest of the world. We need you.” She stood and took a step backward, vanishing in a sprinkle of golden light.

  Rebecca glanced over. “What was that?”

  Naomi stared at the knife in her hands. “That was my mother.”

  The audience roared approval as the first strains of a keyboard began to play in the darkness.

  * * *

  Joram reveled in the sensations as she romped around the stage. The audience howled and screamed on cue as she and the band performed. She wondered if this was how an orchestra conductor felt, directing each individual instrument and combining the mass results into a masterpiece. With just the right amount of harmony or scream, growl or keyboard note she maneuvered the crowd’s emotions, creating her own masterpiece. It pulsed around her, filling the venue with a crimson cloud of passion and fury like none she’d produced before. This is magic. This is what I’ve been trained to do. This is what I’ve always done.

  She finished the song, and the lights went out. Fifteen seconds later they came up again and the band gathered together to accept thunderous approval. Rand threw her drumsticks out into the audience and the guitarists did the same with their picks. They joined hands and bowed, hearing roars of angry denial demanding they play more.

  It was the first encore, leading into the second. The band prepared to exit stage right, but she tugged on Jarod’s and Jubal’s hands, pulling them in the other direction. Rand at the far end stumbled, but followed as everyone went stage left.

  “What’s up?” Bayani asked, panting. He accepted a bottle of water from a roadie.

  Joram had thought long and hard about this moment ever since she’d realized that it was possible that she wouldn’t survive it. These people were her friends, broken by Anders and Hell but loyal to her and the music despite his influence in their lives. She couldn’t endanger them. “After the next encore you’re leaving.”

  “What?” Jubal shot a look across the stage at Anders who stared at the audience with a satisfied smile. “Obeah Man nuh like dat.”

  “Fuck him.” Joram held back a hysterical giggle at her friends’ stares of surprise. “I’m doing this one alone.”

  “But—” Rand started.

  Joram didn’t let her finish. “I’m going out there a cappella and I’m going to sing the butterflies.”

  Bayani gaped and Jarod turned pale. Jubal swallowed hard, placing a hand on Joram’s shoulder. “He gwaan kill yuh.”

  Joram smiled. “No he won’t.” Something else probably will. She looked
across the stage, sensing Anders’s attention as the interlude reached its breaking point. “Let’s go! At the next break we exit this direction and you beat feet. I’ll take it from there.” Before they could argue, she ran back onstage, holding her arms up to better feel the power wash over her.

  * * *

  Naomi didn’t know how she’d gotten backstage. She didn’t recall leaving the balcony seating or walking the busy corridors of a theater venue in the midst of a production. Yet here she stood at the stairs leading up to the stage left wings while Joram bred hatred and violence among the people who’d come to the concert. Frowning, Naomi looked around, realizing Rebecca wasn’t with her. She had a vague memory of her friend screaming in defiance, bared teeth, fists thrust into the air, completely lost to the spell that was being woven in the auditorium.

  What would happen when the door opened? It had been open to begin with, so the platitudes Inanna and Nathan had expounded all Naomi’s life couldn’t be true in the exact sense. The world wouldn’t end this night if Joram succeeded. There’d be no science fiction explosion as the molecules from the two worlds finally met. Opening the door would allow the fey creatures access to the world, yes. The destruction would come from the resulting wars that would follow as mankind attempted to destroy what it didn’t understand and didn’t trust. The reintroduction of magic into the world would create more opportunities for destruction as humans experimented with powers they’d only imagined before. Enforced poverty, fracking, corporate greed—what kind of place would Earth become when the magical equivalent of such things came into existence?

  Nathan had said his people could sense the developing rift, would in all likelihood be waiting on the other side. If they were as fearful of mankind as they’d been in the distant past they’d be ready for war. Naomi crept up the stairs, staying to the shadows as she looked out over the savage audience. The fey folk would be ready for war and they’d find one. She imagined the initial clash between the forces—well-armed creatures diving into this crowd of defenseless humans. Naomi’s people, Joram’s audience, had been whipped into a berserker state; they’d fight to the end and they’d lose the battle. Nothing would stop an all-out war after that. The fey would be considered an invading force, ancient memories of their past offenses mingling with present atrocities to create a propaganda mill that wouldn’t quit.

  Joram’s growl turned into a scream as the band finished their second encore. Naomi panted, unable to get enough air as the band trotted toward her. She clutched the knife she’d slipped into the front waistband of her jeans, the aged deer antler hard against her abdomen.

  Three of the band members slipped by her, heading for the stairs she’d just ascended. Jubal remained behind just long enough to clasp Joram’s hand, a significant look passing between them. Joram, sweaty from exertion, smiled brightly and nodded. She mouthed the word, “Go.” Perhaps she spoke aloud. Naomi couldn’t hear over the sound of the audience going wild. Jubal nodded and followed his friends, lowering his sunglasses to pierce Naomi with a sharp glance as he passed.

  Chloe stepped forward past Naomi, startling her. She hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone in this dark little corner. Chloe’s platinum hair shone in the lights and she held a silver piccolo out to Joram. Taking it, Joram tucked it into her back pocket. She pulled Chloe in for a kiss, spoke into her ear and pushed her away with a smile. It was a bittersweet moment, two dear friends possibly parting for the last time. Naomi felt the sensations of love and melancholy affection between them. Joram was projecting even now, still tied into the ritual. Chloe turned and fled past Naomi, tears in her eyes.

  Hilt pressing against her palm and a lump in her throat, Naomi stepped forward, trying not to stumble as her knees shook. Joram’s eyes met hers and she felt an electric flash and tingle along her spine. Can I do this?

  Joram smiled, her relief and acceptance flowing through Naomi. As the crowd demanded satisfaction behind her, she held her arms out in welcome. Naomi’s steps faltered but she closed the distance. Somehow the knife was no longer in her waistband, it was hot in her hand, the worn hilt absorbing the sweat from her palm. Seeing the weapon, Joram didn’t hesitate. Her smile remained and she pulled Naomi close. At the last moment, Naomi dropped her hand to her side, the blade pointing behind her. She closed her eyes, feeling the heat and darkness, nightmarish blood flowing over her hands.

  “Thank you,” Joram said into her ear. “Thank you.”

  A flash of dream memory filled Naomi’s mind, Joram lying in a growing pool, teeth and mouth bloody as she said the very same words, throat slit from ear to ear. Terrified, Naomi gasped and jerked away, the knife clattering to the floor. She stepped back. “I can’t do this! I can’t do this!”

  “It’s okay.” Joram eased closer, reaching forward to snag Naomi’s fluttering hands. She pulled Naomi into another embrace. “It’s okay. You don’t have to, I promise.”

  Promises. Joram’s promise had gotten Naomi into this. How would another get Joram out of danger? “But I do,” Naomi cried into Joram’s shoulder.

  “You can choose not to. That’s what you told me, and I believe you.” Love, acceptance and perhaps a slight measure of regret radiated from her.

  Naomi wiped her eyes with one hand, sniffling as she looked into Joram’s face. “So can you.”

  Joram smiled, wistful. “I promised.”

  “You can’t!” Naomi waved at the stage, eyes widening as she noticed Anders glaring from the other side. “Oh, shit.”

  Craning her neck, Joram smiled and waved at him, laughing at his scowl. Though he began walking toward them, she turned back to Naomi. “I promised I’d do this, I didn’t promise to do it his way.” She gave Naomi a brisk kiss. “I love you. Now get out of the building.”

  Her cheerfulness puzzled Naomi. “But—”

  Joram shoved her toward the stairs. “Get out!” She paused only long enough to scoop up the knife before running back onstage.

  Naomi looked for Anders who’d stopped his forward progress a third of the way across. He retreated by increments when Joram reached her spot onstage, irritated speculation on his cruel face as he scanned the rest of the stage for the other band members, shooting glares in Naomi’s direction. He glowered at their absence, snagging a technician and yelling something into his ear.

  “Doan fret! I ain’t done yet!”

  The crowd screamed approval at Joram who screamed right along with them.

  * * *

  Joram wallowed, lost in the nimbus of emotion she’d created with her audience. She saw the first rows of the crowd screaming at her, reaching forward with slathering teeth and vicious expressions. If she opened the door now, what sort of world would she create? One of fury and blood? She’d made a promise to Anders, denying herself the opportunity to stop this travesty from occurring. But as she’d told Naomi, she still had a choice.

  She left her front stage center position to retrieve one of the microphones. There was a hitch in the crowd’s demands at this deviation from routine. In moments she had the stand in place, mic adjusted. With a smile, she pulled the piccolo from her pocket, letting the lights slither from its silver surface, casting bright shards of reflections across the eyes of those closest to the stage.

  “I’ve got a little treat for you,” she called. “Some of you may have heard this song before but I thought I’d play it again for shits and giggles. Whaddya say?”

  The audience crowed with approval, curiosity dimming the rage in their hearts.

  Joram smiled and raised the flute to her lips. That’s right, the Pied Piper of Hamlin. She began to play the intro to Naomi’s ballad, easily slipping into the notes. Gathering the thick cloud of magic she’d created from the audience, she teased and manipulated the sensation into something far different from what she’d begun.

  * * *

  The sweet pure notes from the flute seized Naomi’s heart, filling it with a sense of longing. Was this her emotion she felt or did this belong to Joram? Lost in the mus
ic, Naomi came to the conclusion that Joram must have the ability to magnify other people’s emotions as well as project her own. This yearning, this desire Naomi felt as Joram played held a rightness to it, a familiarity. Somehow Joram evinced the emotions she projected and used this energy to attain her goals.

  Naomi looked out over the audience, only able to see the first few rows in the glaring lights. What was Joram doing?

  Movement caught her eye and she looked across the stage. Anders glared daggers at Joram, fists clenched at his side. He said something to a crewmember standing beside him. The response was harried with a lot of frantic arm waving. Apparently Anders didn’t care for the answer. He shouted, words inaudible over the sound of Joram’s music, and roughly pushed the crewmember aside.

  The flute faded and Joram began to sing. Naomi recognized her ballad. She felt her eyes widen in sudden understanding as she glanced around the theater. Would Joram’s action manifest butterflies again? Would that make a difference when the door was opened? She looked back to Anders whose face had become purple with apoplexy. He strode forward, intent on his recalcitrant charge. Without thought, Naomi dashed to intercept, meeting him before he’d covered half the distance.

  “Get out of my way, you little chit. I’ll take care of you later.” He attempted to shove her aside.

  Naomi did as Nathan had taught her, grabbing Anders’s hand and arm, using his own force against him. Swinging him around, she shoved his arm up behind his back in a bid for control. He wasn’t a tall man, and she’d had experience with the taller and preternaturally stronger Nathan. Such a move would keep even a martially trained elf in place for a moment. She was therefore stunned when she suddenly held nothing but air, Anders nowhere in sight between she and Joram at stage center. “What the…?” A tap on her shoulder spun her around.