by J G Smith
I take a deep breath and take a few steps forward, into the light – with my eyes closed, of course. A strange tingling sensation creeps over my skin, my stomach churns and my head starts feeling weightless. Even through my eyelids, I’m able to see the bright light all around me, as well as odd shadows hurrying past.
Something is here.
I take another step forward, leaving the light fixed in its place behind me. The first thing I notice, before opening my eyes, is a howling wind beating against my face and hands.
“Please don’t be Rex’s tomb,” I whisper as I open my eyes.
It isn’t, I note, with a fleeting yet welcomed sense of relief. I take a moment, look around and see a blighted land coated in dense fog. Two full moons gaze from a blackened and starless sky while a rocky path leads away from the light—portal—thing.
Behind the portal is an eerie scene with a large makeshift fence and tombstones – too many to count. I choose to follow the path, slowly, away from the graveyard.
My hands find their way into my jacket pockets to escape the cold. My shoulders press against my neck and I’m able to see the condensation from my breath. Even the skeletal frames of barren trees seem to quiver in the biting wind.
But there’s more. I look to my left, to my right, in front and behind me in rapid succession as I move along. It feels as if something is watching me. The hairs on my neck rise and ghastly whispers become more and more apparent the further I get along the path.
They’re like the ones from Rex’s tomb.
The tingling sensation returns, making its way through my veins as my anxiety builds. Static electricity builds up inside of me and a few sparks trigger on my face and across my body. You’ve got this, Robert, I think to myself.
I don’t want a repeat of what happened in the restroom with Dylan. I clench my fists and take a breath, focussing on the voices to see if I can hear what they’re saying. But all I’m getting is an echo of “Ska—Ska—” and something else I can’t quite make out.
The voices get louder… closer. I find myself spinning as I walk, turning my head to face the rapidly shifting origin of the babel. As dark as it is, I can still see a shadowy movement in the fog around me. The light from the moons above is just enough.
“Who are you?” I call, loudly.
“Ska—Ska—” echo the voices, sending an unnerving chill down my spine. “Skadewijem.”
The mysterious static inside me builds up even more and the sparks intensify on my ears, on my nose, down my back and on my finger-and-toe-tips. I don’t know if I can control this – whatever it is.
The shadows thicken and I start feeling suffocated. They can’t do anything to you, I remind myself, remembering the shadowy figures from the Ghost Master’s tomb. They can’t—
My head feels light and my chest feels heavy. The shrouding and echoing continues and I—I’m drowning. I can no longer see the archway made of light and the moons above me barely pass a glimmer through this cloud of darkness.
Something grabs my shoulder – my left shoulder – and then my ankle—no, my ankles. What is this? I ask myself. Multiple hands, all over my body, pull me to the ground. I try fighting them off, but I see nothing – only darkness… shadows that I can’t hold onto. I’m panicking.
My temperature rises, several drops of sweat run down my face and the sparks of electricity across my body grow larger and more intense. Electricity courses through my veins. Though, it seems to be doing nothing to the figures engulfing me in the shade.
My back hits the ground, followed by my head. I’m struggling to move. I’m struggling to breathe. And the electricity – it’s not helping. Control it, Robert, I tell myself. You’ll pass out and these things in the shadows will—I don’t even want to think it.
I feel something inside me shift, being taken out of me. It hurts – an agonising hurt – but at the same time it doesn’t. It’s phantom. It’s a strange and intense pressure right through my being and I… “Help!” I cry in a plea of desperation.
Then I hear her voice – a strong melody singing through the cacophony of shadowy murmurs.
It’s only the shadow of yesterday
Remember its cry, remember its call
And don’t forget to say:
Step back, I’m walkin’
Step back, I’m here
You’ve taken all you’ve taken
You’re not welcome here
Her song enthrals and soothes the ache the shadows cause, as well as the current of electricity formed from within me. But my vision continues to grow faint. I’m lying flat on the ground, drained of energy, and catch glimpses of her – of her ebony skin and silky black hair, adorned with golden braids.
A heavy wind blows past – I can’t tell wherefrom – and I fade with the image of her face (shaded with royal blue and golden hues). I remember seeing it somewhere before this… or, at least, a similar profile. Then, even that fades out.
§
I’m pacing a dark room, up and down. It’s hazy, but I know where I am. I’ve been here before. There are old couches and a plain coffee table, distinctly in view. To the side – my right side – is an archway. It probably leads to the dining room with the tree—the Christmas tree as the girl explained.
Back on the coffee table, I notice the tribal-looking knife I stabbed myself with in the dream I had with Lighkame. There’s still blood on it, but for some reason I don’t think it’s mine.
I look over my shoulder with a heightened sense of alertness. You’re only dreaming, Robert, I tell myself. But that isn’t really true. Is it? If something happens here—now… If Lighkame’s around, I’ll need to be careful of what happens.
“Hello?” I call out.
I hear a few whispers scurry past. I’m not certain wherefrom.
“Who is that?” I ask.
“Do it,” whisper a few voices, much like the voices in Rex’s tomb and in the shroud of darkness that engulfed me. “Do it!”
The hazy view of the couch flashes and I see a boy – a younger version of the person that has been taking the place of my reflection… Rex. He must be around eleven or twelve. There are tears streaming from his eyes and he has the tribal-looking knife in his hand.
Again, the image flashes and the voices hurry through. “Do it!”
I take a step back and am met with, “You don’t really know what happened here, do you?”
My heart skips a beat – a few beats – and a heavy pit sinks deep in my chest. It’s him.
I turn around to find Lighkame in his naked and long-haired form. His normal form, I assume. I take heavy and panted breaths and the electricity from inside me starts working.
“Robert, James, Rex,” he starts, “whatever you want to call yourself. I tried.” There’s a look of defeat in his eyes, quickly replaced by menacing determination. “I have to get back home,” he says, “and that place I went to, Greetha, didn’t help me one bit. You’re my only way back. You can send me home, but you still have no clue how to do it.”
“You killed my friend,” I tell him, with a fixed look of vengeance sculpting my face. What are you doing, Robert? My inner voice calls, but I don’t listen. There’s an ugly rage boiling over and it’s stronger than my fear of him. “Even if I knew how, I wouldn’t help you.”
He looks to the ground and I can’t tell if he’s feeling guilty or if he’s snickering. “And for that I’m sorry,” he says. I’m taken aback, but only briefly. “I thought taking Steve’s memories and image would help me get closer to you, but it only made it harder for me to do what I know I have to.” He pauses, then adds, “Kill you.”
His hands and eyes shine a bright red and he manoeuvres forward to strike. The current of electricity inside me builds up, I raise my hand and a large electric jolt is released. But the scene goes black. I don’t… I don’t know what’s happening. And this feeling… this overwhelming feeling…
Before I fade, completely, I hear his voice, “I’m coming for you, Robert.
”
§
I wake up. My heart is still pounding and the feeling of pins and needles runs up my arms, down my back and into my legs. Lighkame had made it back into one of my dreams – the same dream—the same scene.
I remember the mystery girl’s words as we spoke about him before heading back into the forest. “He’s going to come back,” she said. His face—his eyes flash before mine. She was right. I hope we find whatever it is we came out for. I hope I find her. I hope Bradley and the others are okay.
Go back! shouts the voice inside my head. But I don’t know what I’m going to do, this voice is soft and self-defeating. I need to find the Arcane Messenger. She’ll have the answers. But I don’t know where to look. I need to find the girl I followed to the tombs. I need to find the girl who saved me from the shades. But… I, honestly, don’t know what to do.
Get a grip of yourself, Robert. Lighkame is looking for you – and only you. The further away you are from Bradley and Skye, the better. It’s true. I don’t like it, but it’s true.
I roll to my side and push myself to focus on the scene at hand, redirecting my thoughts. My neck, my back and all over in general hurts. You slept wrong, Robert, I think to myself. I continue rolling over from right to left and left to right. I find that I’m on top of a hardened mattress – covered with what feels like a thin and worn-out blanket.
My eyes squeeze tighter before opening to find my body sprawled over a small and rickety bed; feet hanging over the edge. Normally, I’d be vying for an extra hour or two of sleep, but seeing as I’m far from home and a cluster of shadows managed what they did, I’m better off awake.
I reach over to the left side of the bed and then to the right side. My hands scramble up and down, from head to toe, and search every pocket on my person. Where’s my phone? I think, having a minor panic attack. Then, almost as soon as I think up the question, I remember, You left it in your bag, Robert, back in the room with the statues.
I’m also not wearing my clothes. I throw the blanket off of me and see that I have a pair of white trousers and a loose white top – white socks too. Did I black out, again? I ask myself. No, it was different. I passed out after I saw that girl through the shadows. I take a breath and sit upright on the bed. It squeaks with every movement I make, making me worry that it’ll break at any moment. Wait, who changed me, then? I shake the thought; it doesn’t really matter – not now.
I look forward and notice, with the light of dawn breaking through a single and curtainless window, that the room I’m in is dull and more than a little cramped. There isn’t much in here besides the bed and an old chest of drawers. Where am I? I ask myself, stepping off the bed. What happened last night? At least, I’m assuming it was last night. The last time I passed out, I woke up a whole day later.
As I make my way to my feet, my head runs light and my stomach growls. I haven’t eaten in quite some time. I’m starving. My body aches in a few places, but that’s probably from the encounter with that patch of darkness and whatever it is that was inside.
I allow my curiosity to get the better of me and start looking through the cracked, warped and brown chest of drawers, causing a strange sense of déjà vu to come over me. Have I done this before? The three upper drawers are filled with white tops and white pants, like I’m wearing now, except some of them have minor tears and a few spots of blood. The drawer at the bottom has my clothes and shoes – the ones I remember wearing.
What are you doing, Robert? Play the thoughts in my head. You came here for a reason.
I take my shoes, put them on and step outside. There is only one door and it leads to a narrow corridor outside, with doors and windows as far as my eyes can see. They’re all single-storey rooms, like the one I just walked out of, attached wall to wall. But they all seem empty. It’s a ghost town. At least there is a clear view of the sky – the patchy early morning sky.
There are numerous clouds moving briskly with the wind, but that’s not what stands out. It isn’t even the two moons. Though, only one is painfully visible. It’s the patches of darkness scattered across the sky – moving, like the shadows that dragged me to the ground.
I walk along the corridor, with my eyes fixed on the sky and notice that the patches are thicker – a lot thicker – in the areas around me. It’s only in the few square meters of my immediate vicinity that light is clearly seen.
I feel something grab my foot – like the hands that grabbed me in the shrouding darkness – and fall flat on my side. Fortunately, my left hand takes the brunt of the impact and I’m able to roll onto my back, left hand clenched. Ow! I look back and see another shadow – also moving. Though, sluggishly.
I notice the white top is torn, slightly, towards my left elbow and that it is coloured with a few spots of blood, on top of existing scrapes and scabs. Already?
And that’s when I notice – singing. The same voice that calmed the shadows. I turn over, onto my knees and turn my head towards the sound or, at least, towards the area where it appears loudest. It’s enough to distract me from my injury—well, mostly. Pathways intersect the corridors in the distance, leading to a number of other areas, I assume. It’s not one endless road.
Her voice continues to sing the welcome melody and I stand up to follow it, as if in a trance.
Remember the sunlight, the day dawn, the clear
Bid them ‘Come down and cast the shade away’
‘Cause you won’t crawl down in fear
Today is your day
Bid the shadows away (away)
I take the first available left turn and the next turn right, a few paces forward and then a couple of steps back. You almost missed her, Robert. I see her through the window to a room on my right. There’s no curtain and it’s just as cramped as the room I was in. Only, instead of a bed, there’s a small table with four chairs and, instead of a chest of drawers, there’s a fridge.
I don’t see any plugs or wires nor do I see any lights or other electrical appliances. Maybe it runs off gas? I think to myself.
The girl’s singing grows quiet and I notice her preparing two plates of what I think is fruit. There are colours I don’t recognise as edible as well as shapes and textures I’ve never seen before. But I’m hungry and I’m praying one of those plates is for me.
She turns around and I see that she’s wearing a rugged and worn crop top, beige in colour. The straps are thick and the parts exposing her abdomen are as well. On her left side, just above her similarly beige pants is a tattoo, still distinct on her midnight skin. The symbol it makes, I recognise. It’s the elegant symbol from Claire Stryker’s tomb and the nomadic statue’s left side.
She jumps as she sees me, moving her left hand to her chest. “Morning,” she greets through the open window, recovering her breath with a smile. “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to. My name is—”
“Robert,” she says. “I know.” How? I ask myself, before my thoughts issue a rapid antagonistic response. That’s not the most important thing right now.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
Her smile fades before she turns back around to continue setting the plates at the table. She becomes awkward and sombre, bringing my mood down with hers.
“I’m looking for someone,” I say as she fiddles around with the fruit in one of the plates. She doesn’t move. “She’s wearing a black top and khaki shorts, no shoes. Her hair is light brown – wavy – and her skin is golden.”
The sable girl turns her head, over her shoulder, to look at me. There’s a frown in her expression.
I continue, “And her eyes… they’re hazel, I think.”
“You and I are the only ones here,” she says. Even as she speaks, her words enthral as the song of countless ages. “Before you, it was only me. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
Nobody else? I think to myself. And waiting? Did she know I’d be coming?
I shoot a confused glare as she approaches the
door, opens it and invites me in. “My name is Nazriya,” she says, directing me to take a seat by the other plate of fruit – the fruit she didn’t play with. “I’m sorry about your friend. What’s her name?” The sable girl – Nazriya – takes her seat opposite me and starts eating, gesturing for me to do the same.
“I don’t actually know,” I tell her. “She doesn’t even know.”
Nazriya pauses and looks at me more intently. That part caught her attention – the part about the girl – the mystery girl – not knowing her name.
“I only met her the other day—wait, how long was I out for?”
“I have to show you something,” she says, seeming to have missed my question.
“Okay…” I say, dragging out the word. My stomach growls, again.
“After breakfast,” she adds. “Eat up.”
I practically devour the yellow, orange and green fruits, keeping the red and purple ones aside for last. I’m surprised by their flavours. “What is it?” I ask.
“The fruit?” queries Nazriya.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve never seen, or tasted, anything like it before.”
“The fruit must be different in your universe,” she mutters.
My eyes open wide. She knows?
She points to and names the different fruits. Still, they’re as foreign to me as… well, pretty much everything else going on at the moment.
I give an awkward, half-effort grin and ask, “What do you know about different universes?”
She smiles. “I’ll explain later. There’s a lot I need to tell you.”
More questions, comes the thought. I pull a muddled face and try the red fruit. It’s sweet, very sweet.
“Can you at least tell me how you knew I’d be coming?” Wrong question, Robert, I quickly think, almost as soon as the words escape my mouth. Where are these thoughts coming from? I question.
Nazriya simply smiles at me, again. She’s making me think of Bradley. Though, her smile doesn’t come close to his – at least, not close enough. “I have to show you,” she says, moving her now empty plate aside. “It’s all been building up to this.”
