After his heart slowed in its hammering, he grabbed one chain with both hands. Sucking in a deep breath, he pulled himself up its length, hand over hand, slowly dragging the rest of chains behind him. With no support under his feet and the heavy chains draping below, he wondered if his shoulders would tear out of their sockets the rest of the way. They should. He knew that the only thing holding him together and giving him strength was his celestial gift. And it could fail him any moment.
But it would not. It could not.
He climbed higher and higher, taking care to be as silent and still as possible as he neared the top. There would be little time. As soon as the first shred of light touched his knuckles, he surged. Up the chains he darted and grasped the wooden beam. Heaving with all his might, he flung a leg over it and straddled its length. The guards, leaning lazily by the door, spun around with shocked shouts. They leaped towards him, right into range. He caught up a length of chain and flung it out over their shoulders. Then with a jerk, he pulled them forward, and they unbalanced, tottered, and then toppled into the abyss.
Long after their screams had faded, he clung to the beam, his head sagging over the edge. Not an inch of strength remained in him, he knew if he tried to move he’d slip, and the darkness and weight of the chains would drag him down into that deathly drop again. So he only hoped no one had heard the cries and come running.
Finally, the frantic pounding in his chest settled, and he gathered himself up again for another effort. Crawling across the beam, he reached the supporting pillars and climbed down to solid ground. But no time for relief on that. The heavy chains pulled against his wrists, teasing him back to the edge. He found the gears of the pulley and pressed the chain links in between their teeth. The crank refused to turn on his first attempts, it took his fifth lurch and strain to roll it and then—the chain links snapped and the dead weight sped off like a snake across the floor and plunged silently into the pit.
He stumbled to the door and stared up the stairwell, not daring to remember how long it had taken to come down, not that he would be any great judge of what the distance was now. But he’d only made it a few turns up the stair when the clatter of footsteps echoed above. No turning back, no stopping, nothing could get in his way. Taking a sharp breath, he sped around the corner…and…curses, he had misjudged the distance. The guard, still several steps away, stared at him in mute surprise that swiftly morphed into a snarl of rage. The man drew a sword from his belt and jumped towards Errance, but the prince ducked aside at the last moment. He caught the guard’s collar and wrenched him back onto the steps with a crack, then twisted the sword from his grasp and ran him through before any recovery could be made.
He went to move onward, but his legs collapsed on the first try. Panting, he pressed his brow against the wall and tried to steady the scattered fray of his mind. What…what was he even doing? He knew he couldn’t escape, he knew it, so why try this another time?
He already knew how it ended, it always ended in one way because there was no other way…no…other…way…
Unless…
Not even daring to think it through lest it prove wrong, he jostled the guard’s body free of his jacket and slipped it over his bare torso. If this would be his final stand, so help him, he would not face it half-naked.
Forcing himself up, he took the next step and then the next. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Never stop. The beat hammered out in his heart, giving strength to his legs, and soon he was running, breaking free of the stairwell and set loose in the narrow halls.
The rush of air past his ears was cold and sorrowful, just as it had been long ago on a night when he rode for his life and ran straight into death. But back then he had not known where he was going…he knew now. He knew and he would not be afraid.
“Errance? Errance!”
The girlish cry tripped his pace, sent him lurching to a halt and staring back with wide eyes. Tellie…she couldn’t be here. She’d left, just as she should have. But here she was now down the hall, trotting towards him with a look of hope and excitement. Kelm was beside her too, and that was not right. Kelm had not been brought here a second time.
It was a trick. A trap.
“Stay back,” he rasped. “Stay away!” He turned and ran again, ignoring their wailing cries and pursing footsteps. It was all just an illusion, a way to lure him from his purpose.
Errance…you are running the wrong way.
This voice was still and small, a strange calm in the midst of his chaos. But he drowned it out with an inward scream. “Leave me alone, leave me!” He saw an iron door barring his way, but kept hurtling towards it without breaking speed. “Darkness, if ever you wanted to do me a favor, do it now!”
He wrenched open the door and flung himself through into the shadows beyond.
“Errance!” Tellie threw herself against the door, only to stumble back with a cry of pain. She grabbled for a handle, a knob, a latch, anything that might open it. But whatever had let the elf prince through was gone now, and she could not make the stone budge.
Even so, Kelm joined her, and together they pushed and huffed and pounded against the iron, calling Errance’s name. When nothing prevailed, Tellie sank against the wall, rubbing a sore shoulder. Why must he always run…and where was he running in this place if he’d given up hope of escaping?
Frowning, she leaned harder against the door and closed her eyes. Kelm started to say something, and she shushed him sharply. She just needed silence for a bit. Here, if she concentrated just so, she could still sense the thin veil between the Unseen and the mortal realm. If she could just reach out with that special sight that gazed past all substance, she could peel back the stone, the shadows, the sorrow, and she would see…
“No!” With a haggard gasp, she jerked backwards and fell to the floor.
Kelm was beside her in an instant, grabbing her by the arms. “What’s wrong?” he yelped. “What did you just do? Are you okay? Talk to me, Tellie!”
She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. How could she explain that which she barely understood? Except she did understand, however impossibly. She had never been to the place where Errance had gone. And yet she knew its presence all the same.
“Errance has gone into the Nyght.”
35
oOo
It was dark.
Only not.
Errance stood on the very brink of a precipice, looking out into the belly of the beastly sphere that he’d watched hover above his world for more days than he had seen the sun or the moon. It was both less and more terrible then he had expected.
For one, he could see. Although the encircling surface was as black as ink, everything within it was lit in a pale shade. So he could see thousands of broken fragments floating soft and silent throughout a prison so vast, so small. When he first saw the debris, he thought it nothing more than the broken teeth of sharp rock or glass. But the closer he looked, the less he was sure, and so he stopped looking.
Instead he looked to the center where the largest suspended stalactite hung, and upon it stood a lone and ghastly figure. The figure stood with his back to him, though surely he had summoned him here.
Clenching his teeth, Errance waited for the next bit of rock to float by and then he leapt upon it. It swayed under his weight, and he clung to the surface. When it settled, he carefully rose and jumped for the next. This one was larger; it did not mind how he caught its edge and scrambled to pull himself onto the top. But now there were no pieces anywhere near and though he waited, breath whisking in and out of his lungs, none came any closer.
“Don’t give up.” The Voice of His Darkness, still not bothering to turn and face him, inspected his fingers in patient waiting. “‘Tisn’t like you to just give up.”
A fragment came a little closer, tempting. He leaped, but just as his hands touched, it skimmed backwards. He barely caught hold and slammed into the hard rock-face. As he hung, vision spinning, the surface of the stone looked back at h
im like the surface of a mirror. Only…it wasn’t his face. But it was a face he knew.
He cried out and lashed himself up to the top before he could see anything more. Too late. The stone was glowing now with that same sickly half-light and the images within were searing into his thought even while his eyes squeezed shut.
“You like them?” The Voice said, as droll as a keeper of the finest antiques. “My collection. Of broken dreams. I daresay there’s a bit of yours in here, like this little sliver, so hard to find anything left…but there are others you might recognize better. Or if you don’t, shame on you, because you had a primary hand in breaking them. Who did you just see? One of your loyal elven guards, I suspect? Funny, he’d already lived so long and yet his life was still so incomplete.”
“Shut up,” Errance whispered, pressing his hands hard into his head in an effort to shove the images away.
“What’s this one? Oh, yes, this belongs to that doe-eyed, little orphan girl who thinks you’re a hero. Too bad you didn’t tell her what you really are before she pinned all her hopes on you.” The sound of His Voice was so very clear, as if speaking right in his ear instead of lengths away. “And here, I don’t think you’d know this one, but this man, an enlisted guard in my service, had very fine dreams, lots of ambition, most of them even good once upon a time. Maybe someday he could have returned to those good dreams. Of course, we’ll never know now because, oh yes, you killed him.”
He wouldn’t stop. There was only one possible way to make him silent.
He crouched as the stone drifted near the center stalactite and then he leapt. It was almost too far. His fingers tore as he caught the side of it, but he pulled up and rolled to the solid, unmoving ground.
“Nice of you to drop in,” The Voice said.
“Well,” Kelm cried, “is there any other way to get to the Nyght?”
“No.” Tellie paced, raking her hands through her hair. “Didn’t you see it when you flew in on The…” Her mouth dropped open and formed into a silent ‘O’. “The Daisha! She can reach it! Come on!” She grabbed her friend by the arm and led him pell-mell back through the corridor to the entrance by which they’d come in. The outside storm was a shock after the dead silence of the halls, and she staggered at the force of the violent wind. “Daisha!” she called, fearing that her voice would be drowned out, “Daisha, where are you?”
They scanned the visible sky, fortress, and mountains desperately for a sign of The Daisha and it was not long before they spotted her. She was hard to miss, cavorting about the towers and battlements, always one wingbeat ahead of the arrows and spears that sped in pursuit. She’d dash in and out to grab unfortunate soldiers and toss them away.
“She’s not hearing us,” Tellie wailed, after they’d yelled and screamed several times to catch her attention.
“DAISHA!” Kelm shouted, his young lungs finding a power as to be nearly deafening.
This time the creature’s head twitched, and with a tilt of her wings, she soared over their station, muttering loud enough for them to hear, “That’s funny, never heard of anyone called Daisha before…”
“The Daisha, come here right now before your wings rot off!” Tellie shrieked.
She plunged down, her front paws wrapping nimbly around the border wall, and flashed a blood-stained grin. “No need to get snippy. You called?”
“Errance! He’s gone to the Nyght, that dark globe in the sky. He’s going to get himself killed!”
The Daisha’s ears turned back disapprovingly. “My Errance?” she said, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t think he was so stupid.”
“He’s desperate. He has got to be stopped. We need to fly up there and figure out a way in!” Tellie pleaded.
“We most certainly must,” The Daisha agreed coldly, turning her head to stare at the distant Nyght. “And when I say ‘we’ I apply it to myself in the most singular form of the word.” With a powerful thrust of her wings and haunches, she launched into the sky.
“No!” Tellie cried, reaching after her in dismay. Kelm caught her about the waist and pulled her back as she leaned dangerously out over the edge.
“She’s right,” he said, holding her tight as she struggled. “We would only hinder her.”
She couldn’t argue, she couldn’t say anything at all, only watch through fearful tears as The Daisha’s figure became a blur racing towards the remorseless heart of Tertorem.
Errance staggered to his feet, keeping a careful distance from the Voice who had not moved from where he stood.
The demon watched him from the corner of his eyes, a small smile tugging across his lips. “Now this is an intriguing mystery. Why would you bother escaping again if you were only coming to turn yourself in? It can’t be that you’ve finally sided with me after all these years…”
Aches pulsed through every nerve and muscle of Errance’s body, but he straightened. “It has been more than enough,” he whispered. “It’s time for an end.”
“Whose end?” The Voice asked.
“Yours,” Errance said, and even before the word had left his lips, he’d drawn the knife hidden in the guard’s jacket, and he sprang—
Tellie and Kelm watched in dismay as The Daisha, now looking so terribly small, scratched against the Nyght’s surface. She flew up and down, hammering at it with her paws and body at several points. And then she turned and flew away, flew away as if she needed an ocean of a distance.
“Is she giving up?” Tellie exclaimed, dragging nails against her cheeks. “She can’t give up!”
But Kelm’s face whitened. “Oh,” he said. “Oh. No. She can’t really…no, that’s too dangerous. She’d couldn’t. She is.”
“What? What is she doing?” There was no need for an answer. She could see it happening that very moment. Her heart rose in the breath before the plummet as she watched The Daisha rise into the sky, stall, and then fall in a grey streak towards the Nyght.
—the Nyhgt shattered.
Black glass exploded through the air in flying knives, and the dark surface webbed with bright, blinding natural light. Bursting through the darkness, shards crumbling around her, came The Daisha.
She did not so much as falter as her front paws extended and caught Errance, jerking him off his feet. With three more powerful thrusts of her wings, she continued right on, barreling through the other side in a cloud of glass flakes.
All of Tertorem stilled. Everyone standing within its realm felt the sudden intake of breath within their own chests, felt the change under their feet. Whether man, elf, chema, or shard, they all looked up as one to the towers where once the Nyght had hung. But now it fell in a rain of ash and death.
And streaking out of its ruin, in pursuit of the beast who had shattered it, came a dark and terrible wind.
“Daisha, no, NO!” Errance screamed, writhing in his friend’s grip as she hurtled through the air. The rush of her speed rendered him nearly helpless and he did not know if she could even hear his gasping cry. Forcing his head around, he looked behind them and saw what was coming after.
“Let me go! You can’t save me!” he shouted. “You idiot, please, drop me, let go! You can’t win!”
But whether she could not hear or just ignored him, it was apparent The Daisha believed she could win, and not only could she outrace the wind to the mountains but lose it in the process.
It was perhaps her very determination that blinded her to the realization that the spires and arches she flew through were not ending. She didn’t seem to notice that when she flew straight, they went in circles. When she flew up, they flew down, down, down, into an arena of smoke and shadow where the walls of Tertorem rose up on every side.
“This is his realm, you can’t escape him—not with me!” Errance pushed against her paws, trying to break free. “Daisha, let go of me and save yourself!”
Suddenly, The Daisha dropped, without warning, without reason, without intention. She spread out her wings to slow the fall, but even her wings folded in on the
mselves. At the last possible second before impact, she whirled upside down and clutched Errance to her chest so that her back and shoulders crashed into the ground.
All was strangely soft and silent now that the wind no longer rushed by. Just a quiet world of cold stone.
Errance wrenched out of The Daisha’s grasp and rolled to the ground. Struggling up, he cried, “Now go! Get out of here, you—” His words strangled in his throat as he saw how motionless she lay. With a gasp, he collapsed to his knees at The Daisha’s side. His hands ran over her heaving shoulders and neck, the soft grey fur matted with blood and slivers of the Nyght’s exterior.
Trembling, he crawled up to where her head lay against the ground, her nostrils flaring with each breath. Gently, he stroked her jaw. “Why’d didn’t you listen to me?” he whispered.
Her beautiful diamond-blue eye flickered open and looked reprovingly at him. “You didn’t say The…”
And her eyes closed.
The dark wind spiraled down, its terrible length coiling into the form of the Voice. He watched from across the arena in mock respect, hands folded quietly in front of him.
Errance didn’t turn. He simply huddled over The Daisha, looking as fragile as a child beside their dying mother.
“What a pity,” The Voice stepped up behind him, stroking a hand across his shoulders. “She was the last of her kind, wasn’t she?”
For one breath, Errance was still. Then his hand shot back and grasped the Voice’s wrist as he spun around, knife leaping into his other hand—and he plunged the blade into the demon’s chest.
The Voice shuddered, fingers convulsing. His eyes widened, then slowly looked down into Errance’s own…and then those pupils ruptured like ink in water. With a rush, his body melted away from around the knife and spread out in a flood of consuming darkness. The weight of it sent Errance to his knees.
Moonscript (Kings of Aselvia Book 1) Page 42