Dark Labyrinth: The Nine Hells (Circle of Nine Book 1)

by Conny Conway

  The warrior didn’t trust the dark male a lot but opened his mind a little to him.

  Evening drew close as the terrain changed, from forest floor to wet leaves, mud and even bigger puddles. Their feet sank deep into the muck, water became stagnant and smelly.

  They waded through the sludge, exuberated their bodies.

  Humidity didn’t help that fact.

  Sweat pearled on the ladies’ brows, soon Shiloh’s T-shirt was damp, her hair clammy and curly, exhaustion written all over her.

  She moaned.

  She wanted to rest, but knew they would have to find a dry spot to camp, to light a fire.

  Willie turned and looked at the human.

  “Soon,” He told her, reading her mind it seemed.

  He kept his promise, as the land elevated just a tat he declared this is where they should rest for the night.

  Fast a fire was stroked, burning brightly in the dusk, beckoning with comfort. The warrior and the woman grew dutifully the plant and then fed it to the willow wisp.

  Sebastian watched them intrigued.

  Derwa handed out food she had collected, as darkness deepened.

  The friends sat around the campfire quietly, aware of the unicorn somewhere close by, maybe even in ear shot.

  Sebastian produced some incense from his pocket and threw it in the fire, before anyone could have stopped him.

  “Don’t get nervous, it’s just some glimmer dust, it relaxes our sore muscles, intensifies the feeling of comfort.”

  He explained without being asked.

  Lann relaxed his sword arm, which had whipped to the hilt as La Fayette had ignited the dust.

  An aroma of wood, jasmine and honeysuckle hung in the air.

  Shiloh unwound also.

  “What are you doing in this part of the…..realm?” She had to think how to call this place.

  “I was on the way from Aimé fanmi mwen.”

  He saw her puzzled gaze and added, “Uhm, my….oh. Family?”

  He waited for Shiloh’s approving nod.

  “I have business with wa nou.”

  Again the misunderstanding gazes from his companions.

  “Uhm, my family is not safe.” He explained, “I’m going to get safety from wa nou.”

  The aroma of the incense hovered in Shiloh’s nose as she turned to the warrior.

  “Police?”

  “No, not polis, Balor, wa nou.” Sebastian answered instead.

  “Balor.”

  Lann grunted, but kept his opinion of the king of the underworld to himself.

  “Why is your family not safe anymore?”

  The woman asked, as Lann growled about receiving safety from Balor. Yeah, right!

  “Because the fantômes invaded my land.”

  “Fantômes?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “No.”

  “Who are you not knowing fantômes?” He baffled.

  “I’m human. I don’t know any of this…this…world.” she puffed.

  “Oh, that explains a lot.”

  Shiloh shot him an angry glare as he had said it like an insult.

  “It explains why I cannot feel your sanp. You don’t have any.” He smiled.

  “What? I don’t have what?”

  “How do you say?” Sebastian pondered. “Ah….magic.”

  Shiloh kept quiet, waiting that he would continue.

  “Fantômes are scary creatures. They are the worse.”

  His voice deflating to a bare whisper.

  His gaze fixated at the fire in their midst.

  For a few moments the Creole sat quietly, sunken into his own musings, glassy eyed, consumed by a past which had seemed to have formed a deep scar on his heart, so obviously seen on his face.

  His grief was tangible to the companions.

  Shiloh laid her soft hand gently on his, careful not to hurt his burns.

  She said nothing and yet so much with this simple gesture.

  Sebastian closed his eyes, opened them as he looked at her with the biggest despair she had ever seen of felt.

  She swallowed hard.

  The brown man nodded as to give her a sign that he would be okay, just allowing him a little time.

  “They…they took everything I held dear.” His eyes shut as he was overpowered by the pain of his loss.

  The female’s grip tightened, but again with his gaze he calmed her so lost in his anguish.

  “They invaded about two weeks ago. They are ….almost not visible just a shade, darkening out the sun with their slight grey tinge, as dark clouds do when a storm moves in. Fear spread like wild fire as the day grew dull, even the livestock became listless and depressed, the hens stopped laying eggs, cows no longer gave milk, horses grew weak. Then they started to die off.” Again he seemed to fight for the next breath to continue. “My people fell sick….including my wife, my children, my kin. All, except my brother Pierre, my aunt Edith and me...”

  He cleared his throat from the choking sensation.

  “First they slept a lot, but it seemed the sleep didn’t offer wellbeing and rest. My wife, a vivid dreamer, told me, her dreams were gone. Her mind started to cloud. Then they all became feverish, slept even more, but even though the high fever, none of them became delusional. It seemed they became mindless throughout their slumber. The few moments awake they became strangers, emotionless, heartless, and mindless. As the Phantoms sucked out their souls, while they rested. None of them were aware of it till much later, they didn’t drink, they didn’t eat, and they urinated on themselves, even fececating their breaches. More and more they bodies became a lifeless husk.”

  A tear traced a silver track down the dark cheek, but the man didn’t feel it, staring into the fire as to keep his mind fixated on the flames to keep his pain in check.

  ” My youngest child had a lucid moment before her… She yelled for me, claiming darkness was embracing her and she feared it. As I held her in my arms, her fever singed me. She was so terrified she clawed at me…hands. Then, she drew a deep breath and let out a scream so horrible, it echoed in my very bones and still does.”

  More tears fell.

  From the brushes Xylophia had emerged closer to the fire, captivated by the man’s tale.

  He blinked his tears away, pulled more dust out of his pocket and threw it into the flames.

  This time the aroma had more of the smell of burning fields of sugar cane to it, also roasted chicken wavered through the night air.

  The little band of friends was quiet, waiting for Sebastian to continue his story.

  “As my baby died, so did her three brothers. My wife followed them the next day. Most of the villages were deserted to flee death, but the phantoms caught up with them. My aunt, Pierre and I decided to go to the court cave to beg Balor for help, before our whole race would be wiped out. The first night my aunt fell sick, she died towards first morning light. “

  The unicorn sighed, but hushed quickly.

  “Pierre and I walked for two days. He became slower each day. Then he sat down, saying he was exhausted and needed to rest. We made camp, ate and lay down. In the morning he was still sound to sleep, but his eyes had sunken deep into his face, dark circles under his eyes told me he was… He died in the afternoon, before he died he told me to continue our trip that I needed to get to safety, that I was the last of my kind.”

  The unicorn was the last of her kind.

  It had never bothered her, but now she felt the burden of it.

  She knew how Sebastian must feel.

  With deep dark eyes she held her gaze on the beautiful face of the Creole. Silver swirled in the corner of her eyes, loneliness overpowered her and the silver teardrop fell.

  It hit the ground with such force that the dust flew up, disturbing everyone’s vision.

  As the dust settled, a pearly aura remained, it grew quickly, stabilized, small hooves sprouted out of the shiny, milky sensation, round and round the disturbance spun, while it raised higher, to
reveal a tail and the hind legs of a white colt, faster it swirled, freeing the head with its lacey mane, deep black eyes anxious peering at the older unicorn, between its eyes only a heart of mother of pearl marked where one day its horn will sprout.

  Still somber, teary eyed from Sebastian’s loss, the whole company starred at the baby unicorn.

  Awed by the happenings no one spoke a word. Their gazes shifted from one to another.

  Did Shiloh imagined it or had they been a spark of something dark, something eerie in the dark man’s blue eyes?

  No, she must have been wrong, because Sebastian’s eyes were filled in wonder.

  “Why is everyone so quiet?”

  Derwa broke the silence finally, then cocked her head as she heard small hooves trample nervously.

  On insecure little legs it inched closer to the bigger unicorn as to ask for protection.

  Xylophia got to her feet and closed the distance swiftly, she bowed her majestic head to caress the babe.

  “By all saints, is it possible? My Lady, is there a baby close by?”

  The Druid inquired, doubting her hearing for the first time since she had lost her sight.

  The little one whinnied instead of the adult beast.

  “Impossible.”

  Derwa muttered as she slipped onto her knees.

  Shiloh and Lann followed her, though silent, but the human’s tears of sorrow became the ones of joy, bliss.

  She had been witnessed to the birth of a unicorn.

  Whiplash had fallen from the branch he had perched on, the willow wisp was quiet for once, not having any remark on his little tongue.

  Sebastian followed the others example. Knelt in front of the unicorns, bowed his head.

  “Tou le de ou a pou mwen vre.” He said with conviction in his native tongue, an oath no one understood.

  Chapter 10

  Marcus Aurelius hurried to the throne cave.

  It had all played out so well, Balor would be pleased.

  The Gladiator didn’t feel pride; the last feeling the Italian had felt was many centuries ago. The only emotion he had and fed continuously was his hate for the king, who had diminished him to ...to what?

  Marcus was not even a bug, he was nothing, he was not a slave, and he just had forgotten he’d existed at some time long ago.

  He didn’t remember heat or cold, wellbeing or pain.

  Nothing, just hate. Hate was the only thing which kept him going.

  Yet, hate was better than absolute emptiness, but he had to hide his hate, until the time was right.

  If the one eyed freak ever discovered that there was still a spark of humanity in Marcus, he would rip it out, even though the fighter didn’t understand agony and did not fear it, he’d rather wanted to keep this one single emotion and concealed it from prying eyes.

  “My Lord, there has been an unusual occurrence in the forest.” His voice was monotone just as his gestures, his hand rested on his sword while he bowed deep.

  “And that would be?” The snarling echoed through the hall.

  Again Marcus’ voice held no emotion.

  “The unicorn multiplied.”

  “What?” Balor’s ugly mouth gaped, exposing his sharp teeth.

  “The unicorn cried.” The gladiator replied.

  “Great news, Marcus, great news. Finally more of those beasts, more power for me.” The King roared in laughter.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Marcus, don’t be a party pooper, a little more enthusiasm.”

  “Of cause, my Liege.” He plastered his best fake smile on his cheeks.

  “Ah, much better.” Balor thundered. “Now, this calls for celebration, Marcus. Get me some blood vine, my concubines, no scratch that, instead of the concubines, get my daughter. It’s time she’ll receives my rod. I will fuck her hard in her sex, in her ass and her mouth. Go, Marcus, get your roman ass in gear.”

  That Balor planned to rape his own daughter didn’t amaze or faze the gladiator. She was not the first one to get his gift of fatherly love, she was his youngest though and so far the only one left, the other four the king had ridden until their black hearts had stopped, then the monster had feasted on their blood and flesh, invited his closest friends to join the feast.

  It was not Marcus’ problem, so he turned to fetch Jezebeth.

  He could care less what became of the beautiful demon girl. He stopped by the kitchen to inform the slaves that the king wanted his blood vine and two chalices. Then he climbed the raw steps up to the unholy chamber of Balor’s last daughter.

  He knew the evil spirit would not return to her room.

  That night none of the small group in the marsh slept, the adventures of the day stirred each of them deeply. Lann saving Sebastian, Willie’s and Whiplash’s close encounter with the grim reaper, Sebastian’s sad story and then the tiny unicorn, was too much to process.

  Each of them pondered over their own musings close to the fire.

  Shiloh had snuggled into Lann’s strong embrace, Sebastian sat by himself, still deep in thought.

  He had stopped throwing any dust into the flames.

  Whiplash sat in Shiloh’s lap, purring, every so often he fluttered one of his wings.

  Willie had not ask for his payment, he was alive and he had witness a miracle, the rush of his beloved plant could not have measured up with the real happenings.

  Derwa had distanced herself just a few feet away from the unicorns, she wouldn’t pry.

  Xylophia couldn’t explain the feeling of butterflies in her stomach, the pounding of her heart, the urge to caress and touch the smaller beast; amazed what her tear had produced from the soil, she was swept away from all sorts of emotions, realizing that this was what she was supposed to feel, she had gratefully accepted the flood of feelings, as confusing as they all were.

  The small, white babe whinnied happily, feeling safe and comforted by her parent’s presence.

  As the morning tinged the night sky to a trace of purple, Derwa prepared breakfast of the surrounding nature’s gifts.

  Thankfully the humanoids took their shells of root coffee and drank deeply. Shiloh walked to Xylophia and her child, asking with her gaze for permission to pat and love the little one.

  As she stroke the too long mane on the small head she looked up to her friend.

  “Don’t we need to name it?”

  “No.” Xylophia explained. “Unicorns choose their own name when they are ready.”

  The human puzzled over this answer.

  “See, Shiloh, I could call her night wind, but down the road, will she be as swift as the wind? I might call Flaming star, but I don’t know if she will lighten the night for lost souls and ease their burdens. She will have to choose on her abilities ones they stabilize.”

  Understanding gleamed in the green eyes.

  “What does Xylophia mean?”

  “It means the one from the forest.” The unicorn answered. “I discovered I feel safest, most satisfied in the woods.”

  “Ah.” it was not amazing anymore that the unicorn had not minded to climb the angled tree to sleep.

  “Well, Sweetling, until you’ll know your name, I will call you just that, Sweetling.”

  Again Shiloh turned to her friend.

  “When will the horn grow?” she asked as her finger touched the star on the babe’s forehead. The little one cuddled its head into the woman’s palm.

  “This too depends on its abilities, how strong the magic is in it and if it needs to use magic a lot or a little.” The unicorn explained patiently.

  “So, now you are not the only one anymore? And what happened, that the babe just appeared?”

  “No, I’m not alone any longer. Remember, I told you I couldn’t feel emotions?”

  Shiloh nodded.

  “Well, that changed last night. I was comprehensive of the new comer, you know. But when he told his story, last night, his words struck a chord in my heart. I experienced ache inside of me like never b
efore, and then my eyes watered up. I felt. Even though this feeling was hurting me, I counted my blessings and then, I knew I felt sadness, pity or whatever you should feel for this man and his immense loss. I couldn’t help it, my eye tickled and a water drop fell on the ground. Obviously this is some kind of magic how we reproduce. I knew our tears were magic, I had overheard two Phoenixes talking about unicorn tears turning into diamond when they were shed. I would have never suspected a tear could be our off spring.”

  “The story about the diamonds I had heard also.” The woman exclaimed, “But the babe is much more precious.”

  The beautiful, bright beast became very solemn, then she gazed into Shiloh’s eyes.

  “You are to me the dearest friend, Child. I need to ask you for an oath.”

  She hesitated as she tried to choose the right words. The woman’s eyes held already the promise to do whatever the unicorn would ask of her.

  “If I was to die, teach my colt emotions. Don’t let it grow up without feelings.”

  “You’re not going to die! You are as healthy as a horse and you….”

  “Swear it!”

  “Xylophia, this….”

  “Swear it!” The dark deep eyes in the white face pleaded.

  Shiloh cleared her throat, saw that her friend was in need of this oath.

  “I do swear.” She said silently.

  The unicorn whinnied in satisfaction.

  By midafternoon the group slowed down, tired from stumping through ankle high mud and murk.

  Everywhere their gaze fell was water, not one dry inch of land in sight.

  Sparse mangrove trees grew in groups here and there, a fine mist laid on top of the water, in the air.

  No sounds were heard, except the breathing of the companions, the water sloshing as the fought their step through the sludge, too exhausted to keep up a conversation.

  Even Willie was quiet and seemed depressed, this was his home, yet the dreariness of this place dimmed his shiny light.

  Whiplash had long settled on Shiloh’s shoulder and took a cat nap.

  They took a break, ate some berries and bread, which Derwa had baked from who knows what plant.