Rend the Dark (3 page)

“The one with the darkness on him. It covers him.” She
gestured with her small hands, moving them over her heart.

A mixture of thrill and dread crawled up his spine. “Can
you tell me more about what he looks like?”

The girl seemed to think for a moment. “Maarjo was helping
my papa fix a roof one day and he fell and knocked over the barrel of pitch. It
got all over him. Black and sticky and you could barely tell it was him. He
looked like Maarjo did.” She frowned. “But the dark on him didn’t look sticky like
the pitch. It moved. It scared me.”

In the back of Ferran’s mind, memories came unbidden.
Memories of himself as a child hiding in his bed in the orphanage as something
wearing the skin of a man and dripping a viscous living darkness walked among
the other sleeping orphans. “Where did you see him?” he asked, trying to keep
his voice soft and gentle.

The girl gestured past the edge of the village and into the
fields and surrounding forests. “I used to go out with Papa when he would check
the fields. I used to like going out and seeing the workers. But when we were
coming back from the far fields, I saw him. I was frightened and told Papa but
he told me to hush and quit telling tales. Then I saw him again.”

Her words came faster now, like a rain-flooded river
bursting over the edge of a dam. “I told again, but Papa got angry and told me
to stop with the lies.” She looked at Ferran and there was such a familiar,
haunted sadness in her eyes. “He couldn’t see it, you know? He didn’t see it
the way I did. That’s why he was angry and thought I was telling tales.” She
shook her head. “He didn’t know to be afraid.”

“No, but you were afraid for him. And you kept him safe,
didn’t you?” Ferran said.

The girl nodded.

“You did good,” Ferran said, and the girl smiled. “What
about in the village? Have you ever seen anything like that here?”

“No,” the girl said. “Grandfather made sure they would
never hurt us here.”

From above the two of them, Warden Aker spoke. “Who is your
father, child?”

“Hamond,” she said. “He is the headsman of the village.”

Aker nodded. “Run along now and finish your chores. You
should head home to your father, girl.”

The girl walked back across the way, headed for her
discarded bucket. She waved at Ferran, then the girl was gone, heading into the
center of the village.

As he stared, Ferran saw the two magistrates and Mireia
approaching. It was Mireia’s expression that caught and held his attention.
There was a slight frown working at the corners of her mouth and creasing the
smooth perfection of her forehead. He knew what she was going to say before she
opened her mouth.

“I sense nothing here,” she said as the group reunited.
“Nothing at all.”

Ferran nodded. “I saw no sign here as well, but there was
something else. A child. She has the sight.”

Mireia’s eyes widened. “Here in the village?”

“The headsman’s daughter,” Warden Aker said in a low voice.

Ferran stared at the forest, watching the wisps of mist
curl and trail around the trees at the edge. “She said she had seen a tainted
one outside the village, near the woods where those bandits emerged from.”

“Then the hunt is not yet over,” Mireia said.

Ferran nodded and started for the woods.

His fingers
shook.

Hil did his best to still them as they walked through the
darkened forest. The gray clouds had not lifted through the day, and now, at
the height of the afternoon, it was no brighter than morning. With the close
trees and their twisting branches overhead, even that small bit of light was
obscured, filtering down to the forest floor in shadowed streams that mingled
with the mist.

Hil pressed his hand against his leg until the muscles
ached, but still the shaking continued. He hoped the others had not noticed.
Ferran led the way through the twisting paths of the forest. There was
something about the way he looked at the ground, picking their way through the
forest, that reminded Hil of the hounds his father had used to hunt back home.
Hil never enjoyed hunting. He found it even less to his liking right now, when
he couldn’t tell whether he was with the hunters or the prey.

Behind Ferran was the warden. Aker was checking the ground,
searching for any sign. It was said that a warden knew every tree and blade of
grass in the marches under his authority. Watching the warden move through the
forest, Hil could almost believe it.

Yesterday, Hil would have thought being under the direct
scrutiny of a King’s Warden would be the worst danger possible. But yesterday,
he also hadn’t watched a man die without any expression of pain on his face. He
hadn’t seen the body of a man burst open from within. Yesterday, he had feared
for his career.

Today, he feared for so much more.

Riffolk came next in their line, and despite his friend’s
bold words and confident posture, his hand had not strayed far from the hilt of
his blade.

Ferran stopped the group once more. “The path is well worn.
Enough feet to be the bandits we faced, as well as smooth spots worn into the
brush.”

Riffolk leaned forward to look where the witch hunter
pointed. “Dragging plunder?”

Wiping his hands on his legs, Ferran stood. “Or victims,”
he said, turning back to the trail.

Hil closed his eyes. Everything these people said,
everything they talked about was the stuff of nightmares. For the thousandth
time, he wished he was back at his desk. Comfortable, warm, safe. He stumbled
on a downed branch and opened his eyes, forcing himself back to the harsh
reality of his current situation.

As he opened his eyes, he saw Mireia looking at him. Her
long brown hair was pulled back from her face. She gave him a radiant smile. It
was genuine and light and seemed utterly incongruous with the frightening
madness of their current situation. “You’re doing quite well,” she said, her
voice soft and gentle. “All things considered.”

Hil stopped in his tracks. “How can you do this?” he asked,
the question slipping from his lips. He could not stop shaking his head, and he
felt his twitching fingers again against his thigh. “How can you live like
this, surrounded by the fear and the horror?”

There was kindness in her face as she reached out and
touched his arm. Mireia held his gaze as she asked, “Do you know the tale of
Aedan and Talan? How they drove the demons down into the Abyss?”

Hil nodded his head. “Yes,” he said. “Every child does.”

Mireia continued walking, and Hil moved with her. “That
Abyss, that pit, is real,” she said. “And the Ruins banished there are real as
well.”

His mouth fell open and Hil stared at her wide-eyed.
“Real?” he almost choked on the word. “What if those creatures try and get out?
Try to escape?”

“They do try,” Mireia said, her voice calm. “There have
been two major risings in my lifetime. Many more minor ones. They try often.”
She gave him a smile. “But they never succeed. Our order has spent over a
thousand years in our vigil over the Abyss. It is a prison unlike any other and
it is constantly being built upon and improved.”

She paused for a second. “There is a man, an acolyte like
us, stationed down at the lowest level,” she said. “He lives a solitary life.
Down in the very depths of the Abyss itself.” Mireia turned back to Hil. “And
he has the single greatest responsibility in the world. He is the first person
the creatures will encounter when they rise. And when they do, he knows he
cannot win. His fight, as brief as it might be, serves only to warn the next
station up, and so on. His duty is to die. So that others, and perhaps the rest
of the world, may live.”

“That is so terribly sad,” Hil said, shaking his head. “He
is so alone with his hopeless lot, merely waiting for his death.”

“You might think so, but it is far from the truth. I have
met him, spoken to him once, when Ferran and I brought supplies down to his
camp. He is warm and funny, and he lives life more fully than you or I will
ever know.”

“But how?” Hil asked. “How can he be happy living in the
shadow of death constantly?” His voice grew quieter. “How can any of us?”

Mireia looked up, seeking the weak gray light that filtered
through the trees. “Because every day we live is a blessing. A blessing that
has been given from all those who have come before us. A blessing earned with
blood and sacrifice and love.” She looked at him, her eyes sparkling. “You
asked me how I live with the horror around us. It’s because every day I think
of that acolyte at the bottom of the Abyss. And every day, he thinks of us.”
She patted him on the shoulder once, and then she moved on down the trail,
catching up to the others.

Hil moved long after her, Mireia’s words playing in his
mind.

***

Ferran halted the group and gestured ahead.
As Hil moved up alongside Riffolk, he saw what had stopped them. The forest led
to a moss-covered hill of stone featuring a dark cavern.

“Ferran,” Mireia whispered. There was a strange edge to her
voice that got Hil’s attention. There was not alarm in her voice, but a slight
confusion. “I don’t feel any trace of the Dark,” she said. “Nothing.”

Ferran’s eyes narrowed, and he pulled the spear from its
place on his back. With his other hand, he wrapped the silver chain around his
palm. He knelt at the edge of the trail, weapons in his hands, and watched the
darkness of the cavern mouth. “This is where the bandits trail ends. This is
where they came from.”

Mireia had already produced her iron lantern. There was no
flame in it now, but she held it before her anyway. “The bandits we fought were
taken by the Dark. We could see it rolling off them. So too was whatever
birthed from the body we found.” She shook her head. “If those bandits came
from here, laired here, then the stain of their taint should be in the rocks of
this place. Even on the very air.” She looked at the cavern, her eyes focused
on it the same way that Ferran’s were. “And yet, as I said, I feel nothing.”

Warden Aker drew his blade slowly, the sound of steel on
leather like a long hiss. “Alright. Then we make sure.” With that, he moved out
from the trees and approached the yawning darkness. The others followed close
behind.

Hil unsheathed his sword when Riffolk did, trying to
imitate the way the other magistrate carried his weapon. He thought holding it
might make him feel less uneasy, but as they stepped into the shadowed darkness
of the cave, there was little that could ease his anxiety.

As they moved past the first turn, the darkness became
oppressive. It was hard for Hil to bring himself to step further. He could
barely make out the shapes of the others around them. Ferran signaled a stop.
Hil only caught the shape of the movement, but was grateful to not have to go
further.

A flare of light stung his eyes as a flame was kindled in a
small lantern. Ferran stood illuminated in the flickering flame, the shadows
making his facial tattoos more sinister looking. He closed the small door that
protected the flame and handed the lantern to Riffolk. The magistrate took it,
but looked in confusion at the black lantern that Mireia held in her own hands.
It remained dark.

Ferran shook his head. “Hers has another purpose. You are
carrying the light. No matter what happens, you keep that held high. Do you
understand?”

“Let Hil carry it,” Riffolk said. “I’m the better swordsman.”

Ferran looked over at Hil and then back at Riffolk. “We
can’t afford for him to run and lose the light,” he said simply, then turned
back toward the depths of the cave.

Riffolk’s face grew pinched. It looked as if he would say
something to the witch hunter, but Hil caught his eye and shook his head.

“He’s right,” Hil said. “Even I’ll feel better knowing it’s
you.”

Riffolk frowned. Hil could see he wanted to say something
to comfort him, but eventually, Riffolk pointed the lantern light into the tunnel
ahead and moved forward.

They moved slowly and cautiously through the cavern. After
the second turn, they began to find traces that the cave had been used
recently. Bits of fabric, discarded tools, and lengths of chain scattered here
and there. Hil felt his fear again, heavy and dull in the pit of his stomach,
like he had swallowed some of the stone of the cavern. Then as they made a
final turn and looked out into a wide, open gallery, his fear blossomed into
vibrant life.

In the open space, bones littered the floor like leaves
cast down from a dead tree. But that was not the true horror of the room.
Suspended from the ceiling were multiple pendulous, bulbous sacks. They
glistened wetly with an organic sheen, and through the semi-translucent
sacks, Hil could barely make out familiar looking shapes. A person’s face
pressed up against the inside of the sack, and his fear broke into a wild
terror that stole the breath from his lungs and caused tears to leak from his
eyes.

“Steel and blood,” Riffolk whispered. He turned slowly and
the lantern’s light moved as well, sending the dark shadows of the suspended
sacks moving madly over the cavern walls.

Amidst the horror of the find, Ferran moved to one of the
walls. At his feet was a wooden board about as long as a forearm. On the board
were the same markings Hil had seen throughout the village. Ferran stared at
them intently, then suddenly, he thrust his spear up through the shadowed
darkness above him. A piercing shriek tore through the cold silence of the
cavern and a horrific shape fell to the ground.

Hil froze in abject horror. His mind tried to categorize
the thing as some sort of giant spider, but there was too much of the human
mixed in for that to be accurate. A swollen, arachnid abdomen thrust forth from
between two kicking and spasming human legs, and a fanged maw and black
glittering eyes jutted out from the back of a human face. It gave the
impression of man and spider caught in the middle of a violent and profane
birth, though it was unclear which was bringing life to which.

The spindly legs scraped against the rock wall of the
cavern as it righted itself and lashed out at Ferran. It reached out with human
arms, trying to grapple with the witch hunter. The monster’s maw hissed and
snapped at Ferran’s face, but he braced the spear between himself and the thing
and shoved it backwards. The creature flipped over, landing heavily against the
rock wall and atop the wooden board with the strange symbols, snapping the
wooden icon in two.

As the board splintered, Mireia gasped and spun around. Hil
looked to her and saw her eyes were wide. She raised her dark lantern high,
pointing to the shadowed recesses of the cavern ceiling and yelled out, “It’s
not alone!”

Where she was pointing, something moved in the darkness.
Shining silvery threads shot toward Warden Aker from within the shadows. The
warden dove to the earth, narrowly avoiding the threads.

“Light!” Aker yelled. Riffolk raised the light high,
directing it onto the ceiling above. Two more of the nightmarish creatures
scuttled across the ceiling as they screamed at the light, their disjointed
jaws opened wide. They leapt down, clawing at the warden and Riffolk, and all
around was chaos.

Ferran fought with the first creature, stabbing with his
spear and swinging the length of chain while Warden Aker and Riffolk
desperately cut at the two other spider-things that cornered them. Mireia
charged in, swinging her lantern and smashing it into the head of one of the
creatures. It screamed in pain and lashed out viciously.

Amidst the cacophony, Hil heard a different sound. It was a
scream, but unlike the sound of madness that came from the spider-things.
This was much more human, full of life and fear. Hil tried to see where it was
coming from as the light from Riffolk’s lantern swung crazily about.

There. Behind a pile of bones near one of the corners, Hil
saw a young woman. She was pale and covered in filth. Her eyes looked wild and
frightened and almost feral with terror. The girl saw him and shrank back at
first, but then she seemed to realize he was human and struggled to get up.

Despite his own fear screaming at him, Hil darted across
the open room toward the girl. “Please,” he heard her whisper as he came close.
“Please.”

She reached up for him, and Hil pulled her to her feet,
holding her at his side and bringing his blade out before him. The girl clung
to him desperately as Hil began to move around the edge of the room and toward
the exit tunnel.

“Hileon!” Mireia’s voice cut through the chaos. Hil turned
toward her and saw her staring back at him across the length of the cavern, her
eyes wide.

Hil felt the girl he rescued clinging to him tightly, and
it was only then that he realized in a moment of cold horror that he felt more
than just two arms embracing him. He looked down at the face of the girl and
saw her mouth open impossibly wide to reveal row upon row of sharp teeth. Her
body stretched and swelled in his arms as she reared up over him, covering him
with her shadow.

“A blessing,” Hil said, his eyes wet, and then the creature
lowered her fanged maw to his face and fed.