Darkness Rising

by Cate Farren

  "I won't leave her," Loki whispered.

  "Are we going to have trouble?" the caveman demanded. The tone was more than threatening, it was apocalyptic. "I can make you help us."

  Loki laughed bitterly. "No, you can't. But the fact that you're threatening me means you really are desperate."

  The caveman growled and shifted into a familiar looking Prime Demon. It was Gable Trent. Somehow Clover had known it was him. It was the way he threatened Loki that gave it away. You could never forget being on the receiving end of a Prime Demon’s ire.

  "I know you're hurting," said Gable, his voice deeper, darker. The man looked nothing like the Gable Trent she knew, but she felt him in there somewhere. "But you could take your mind off it by helping us. I know I like to kill things when I'm upset."

  Loki looked up at him. "You want to kill the Le'ans?"

  "Every single one of them."

  “I’m not comfortable committing genocide.”

  “And I’m not comfortable seeing the Le’ans constantly trying to gain power just so they can rule over us. It’s time we put a stop to them; permanently.”

  The old Loki packed up his meagre belongings and left with Gable Trent. The scene didn't shift. Her Loki just kept staring at the grave, lost in his past.

  "You really did love her," said Clover. She didn’t want to mention the fact that his past self had gone off to commit genocide.

  "Of course I did," Loki insisted. "I'm not a monster."

  He kneeled down by the grave. Clover watched, studying him. His grief was painful to see.

  She said, "It must be agonizing seeing all this again."

  "It is," he admitted.

  "So you know how the relatives of the people you kill feel."

  THE SCENE SHIFTED TO a smoking battlefield. A carpet of corpses stretched as far as the eye could see. Clover bent down to examine a body and gasped. It was a human like being with beautiful, twisted antlers and a fierce face, even in death. They were stunning.

  "The Le'ans," said Loki.

  "They have antlers," said Clover. "They're beautiful."

  "They were brutal and xenophobic and cold.” He looked away, as if disgusted by what he’d done. “And now they're gone."

  They walked through the mass of bodies. Each Le'ans warrior, male and female, had distinctly different antlers. The bones twisted in all sorts of whorls and shapes. Did the size of the antlers denote rank or place in their society? Could the Le’ans perform magic like the Fey and human witches? What were their children like?

  The children...

  “Where are the rest of them?” she asked. “Surely the children didn’t go to war.”

  Loki looked her in the eye as he said, “We attacked their city first. Only the young and the infirm were there to stop us. We killed them all.”

  It wasn’t a boast. He didn’t look guilty or proud of his actions. It was just a statement of fact. Clover wanted to be sick. Why was she here watching this? Loki was a monster. He’d committed genocide over and over again and he wanted to do it again. This was a huge mistake. She should be crying out for help. She needed Gable Trent.

  “I know what you think of me,” said Loki.

  “Then you know you’re not convincing me of anything,” she stated.

  In the distance they could see the old Loki and Trent, standing on the edge of some sort of cliff. Lightening crackled and the skies directly above were a startling purple. She started to walk forward but her companion held her back.

  "What is it?" she said.

  "No human has ever looked upon the Primordial Womb," said Loki. "I'm not sure what it would do to you. It would be like...it would be a like a Christian looking at the face of God."

  The purple skies roiled. The power emanating from the Womb was immense. Even through the power of this memory she could feel it.

  The power of creation...

  "We came from the Primordial Womb?" she asked him.

  "The ancient supernatural species did,” Loki explained. “Humans came about as you know it, through evolution. Species like vampires, witches and shifters are all either results of interbreeding or powerful curses and magic."

  Clover felt her pulse quickening. The Primordial Womb was calling to her, whispering inside her head.

  "Are you sure?" Loki asked.

  She nodded. "I need to see this. I'm half shapeshifter. This was where I came from."

  "Technically I created the shapeshifters from...Just watch."

  He grasped her hand and led her forward. She didn't flinch from his touch, despite the fact that he made her skin crawl. If this was to be some life altering cosmic experience then she wanted someone to be there to share it with her, even if that person was a murderous fallen angel.

  He's also my grandfather in a way. Weird.

  I wish Jared were here to see this with me.

  She smiled as a vision of the man she'd lost walked in step with her.

  They continued towards the edge of the cliff. Clover had to shield her eyes the light was so bright, blinding almost. She slipped at one point but Loki helped to keep her balance. She smiled at him and they carried on.

  The Primordial Womb literally made her gasp.

  "It's beautiful," she whispered.

  The Primordial Womb was an endless, purple sea of crackling energy. It pulsated with magic. It filled Clover’s mind with images of past births – she witnessed the first Prime Demon escaping from its depths, the first Fey climbing out, a twin pair of infant Le’ans escaping an amniotic sack. She saw hundreds of other weird and wonderful and beautiful creatures being born in a never-ending birth of supernatural life.

  Is that...

  She saw Loki being born. He was the very first angel.

  "It goes on for as far as the eye can see and is bottomless," Trent explained to the old Loki. He stared at it as if seeing it for the first time himself. "Not literally bottomless I assume, but very deep."

  "What could the Le'ans have possibly wanted with it?" said Loki. His words were slurred, as if seeing the Womb made him literally drunk on its majesty. "It's not as if they could have stolen it."

  "With the right magic you can use essence from the Womb and create new life," Trent explained. "You could create anything you desired as long as you had the power to back it up."

  Both Lokis, young and old, turned back to the charred battlefield. Clover pulled her eyes away from the Womb, smiling. She’d never seen anything so life altering. She would cherish this memory.

  "The Le'ans didn't have that power," said Trent. “They were physically powerful, but when it came to magic they had to rely on outside sources.”

  "Then why did they do this?" Loki demanded. "They made themselves extinct for no reason!"

  "They did have the power to steal it," Trent pondered. "I think they were going to shift the Womb to another dimension."

  Trent revealed an object he held in his bloodstained hands. It was some sort of amulet, a twisted metal object made from gold. Clover thought it kind of looked like a pretzel, and it radiated immense power.

  "They had this," said Trent.

  "What is it?" Loki asked, curious.

  "I don't know," Trent admitted. "But it's very powerful. Not powerful enough for them to use the Primordial Womb, but powerful enough for them to shift it."

  "Maybe we should shift it. Maybe we don't deserve the Womb." Loki looked at Trent, a sudden shift in his face causing Clover to step back. "That's what they were trying to do. They weren't stealing it so they could find some loophole so they could use it. The Le'ans wanted to keep it away from us."

  Trent nodded his head sadly.

  "They wanted to keep it away from you," Loki stated. He stepped back away from the edge, passing through his future self as if he were a hologram. "You caused all this! The Le'ans wanted to keep the Womb out of the Prime Demon's grubby claws and we massacred them for it."

  Loki went to grab the amulet but Trent backed away. The fallen angel screamed in rage and flew
at the Prime Demon. His intent was to kill.

  Trent transformed into his true demon form. His clawed hand shot out, grabbing Loki by the neck. He twisted savagely. The crack of bones snapping echoed across the bloody plain before Trent tossed the corpse over the cliff and into the tepid waters of the Primordial Womb.

  Clover looked on in horror as Loki sank, dead, into the liquid.

  "The Primordial Womb belongs to me," Trent spat, grinning wickedly. "And none shall have it."

  The demon sped off, running through the field of corpses, oblivious to the wet sounds his cloven hooves made as they splashed through the mud and blood. Clover looked towards Loki, speechless. She knew Trent wasn't exactly on the side of good but she respected him. This was a side of him she'd never seen before, a side that was truly evil.

  "He never got his wish," said Loki, staring into the Womb where his old self had been tossed. "I think killing the Le'ans got to him in the end. He ended up shifting the Primordial Womb himself to stop anyone else from getting their hands on it. Even he doesn’t remember where it is due to some spell.”

  Clover could barely form the words. “He killed you.”

  “He did, but it didn’t take. The Primordial Womb revived me in more ways than one.” Loki smiled, his face lit up with fervor. He was quite beautiful. “When I crawled out of there days later I was more powerful than ever before. I now had it in me to use the Primordial Womb itself to create life.”

  “So you created the shapeshifters to get revenge? Stop another war from happening? Your biological clock was ticking?”

  He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “Perhaps a little of all three. To be perfectly honest I created the first shapeshifter because I wanted to know if I could. Do you know what it’s like to have the powers of creation at your fingertips? I felt like a god.”

  “You’re an arrogant prick.”

  CLOVER OPENED HER EYES. She was back in her room at the psychiatric hospital, lying on her bed. Loki was nowhere to be found. She sat up and stretched, feeling like she'd been asleep for a thousand years.

  I feel sympathy for the devil.

  It wouldn't dissuade her from her course. She would still end Loki, no matter what.

  Chapter 6

  "Is this some kind of joke?" the sheriff demanded.

  Deputy Morgan looked sheepish as he shuffled the papers nervously in his hands. He wouldn't look him in the eye.

  "You want to run for sheriff?" Gable asked.

  Morgan nodded. "I considered it when Adrian was sheriff during your disappearance, but then you came back, and it's taken me a while to get the courage to actually go through with it."

  "The position of sheriff isn't voted in," Gable reminded him. "I am the sheriff, no matter what."

  "And I think it's time for a change."

  This was the last thing he needed at a time like this. Not only did he have Loki to worry about he now had this. He was just glad Celia had come to terms with her powers at long last. Seeing his daughter happy made him feel a little less stressful.

  "No," Gable declared. "Absolutely not."

  "But I could make a good sheriff," Morgan declared. He stared the sheriff in the eye, which was surprising. “I know I could!”

  "Get out of my sight before you make me angry."

  The deputy slammed the door behind him. Gable's irritation started to dissipate as he considered what courage it took for Morgan to confront him like that. The kid had more balls than he'd realized. Maybe it was time to give him more responsibility?

  The door opened again. Gable was prepared to vent his anger when he realized it was Darin.

  “What brings you here?” he asked his son.

  “We have some trouble brewing,” Darin explained. He sat down, looking exhausted. “I really needed to put my feet up. You got any blood in that fridge of yours?”

  Gable smiled and took out a sachet of blood from his small refrigerator. Darin drank it down in one gulp.

  “Our Fey council member is being a pain in the ass,” Darin complained.

  “That man was born a pain in the ass,” said Trent.

  Darin sighed. “He thinks we’re not keeping him informed about Loki. He’s already complained to the king. I expect him to contact you any day now.”

  “What does he think we’re hiding from him?”

  “Who the fuck knows? I do know that I’m on the verge of biting him.”

  Trent laughed. He enjoyed this time with his son. It wasn’t often they got to spend any time together, especially now. Even when they did meet they ended up talking about Loki or council business or Sutton.

  Anything to stop him moping over Sutton.

  “We haven’t been on a camping trip in a while,” said Trent, thinking.

  “I’m an adult now,” said Darin. “We stopped doing that when I was sixteen.”

  “You know what? Let’s go to some backwards shit hole of a dimension and go camping there. We can fight off monsters and live off what we find. It’ll be fun.”

  “I only know you’re giving me all this tasks to take my mind off Sutton, but I appreciate it. I...I miss her.”

  As much as Trent hated to admit it his son loved Sutton. He may get used to it over the next thousand or so years.

  His phone rang. Gable answered it quickly. He quite enjoyed swearing at cold callers. He used his real demonic voice to scare the shit out of them.

  "It's me," said Toren.

  "Have you blown up any more landmarks lately?" he asked her. He enjoyed winding the princess up. He had few pleasures these days. "I hear the Statue of Liberty is just itching to be set on fire."

  Toren sighed. "I'll regret my part in that disaster until the day I die, but this isn't about that. I've got one left to go."

  Gable nodded, satisfied. "You sound different."

  "I'm just giving you an update."

  She hung up. Trent tried calling her back but she blocked him. This was what he was afraid of. Toren was succumbing to her dark urges, bringing out the Black Fey. That didn't bode well for anyone, least of all Toren. He only hoped she had the power inside her to fight it.

  BLOOD MAGIC WASN’T needed after all, which Toren thought was a shame. She was starting to crave it. She knew it was bad, and she knew it was sending her down a very dark course, but she enjoyed having the power. Blood magic made her feel like she could do anything, be anything. Who didn’t want that?

  “What’s the matter with you?” Wynn asked.

  Toren shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

  Wynn was obviously worried about her. She dismissed it. He had nothing to worry about. She could control The Black Fey, though she might need her right now. Ziibi had painfully revealed that his child was posing as a guard in the Fey imperial palace. The thought of letting rip and putting that bastard usurper in his place was too much to pass up on. She could almost taste Lachlan’s blood on her tongue even now.

  They’d left via portal to Dublin, Ireland. They were staying in a cheap chain hotel that her people avoided because they were snobs. The palace was a few miles outside of the city, hidden by a magic spell, but there was a sizable Fey population who lived in Dublin, hidden among the local humans. She was fairly sure she could keep hidden, should she bump into one. Whenever she had to venture outside she obfuscated her face with her spell, making her look human (which all her race did to fit in).

  “I don’t like Ireland,” Anton groaned. He was sitting at the table, picking at a plate of fish and chips he’d ordered. “I lived here once and they tried to kill me.”

  “Why did they do that?” Roberta asked.

  “Someone caught me shifting shape and they wanted to burn me at the stake.”

  “That must have been hundreds of years ago! Ireland has changed.”

  “It was a hundred years ago. Things don’t change. Humans always lash out at things they don’t understand. Look at the news! All a Muslim has to do is sneeze on a plane and they’re carted off to Guantanamo Bay.”

  Tore
n couldn’t seem to tune out their incessant prattling. Quite how beings thousands of years old had turned into such annoying imbeciles she didn’t know. They were proving to be more a hindrance than a help. She ought to just kill them now and put them out of her misery.

  Am I joking or serious?

  “Why do you think he’s in the palace?” Roberta asked.

  “He’s probably there to assassinate the king,” Anton suggested. “But he seems to be taking his sweet time with it if he is.”

  They looked towards Ziibi, who was busy staring out through the window, ignoring them. He hadn’t spoken much since revealing the whereabouts of his son. Toren figured he was going to betray them any day now. She was just waiting for it.

  “He’s been there for nearly a year,” Ziibi told them, eyes still on the window. His previous perkiness had gone completely, replaced by an intense brooding. “He’s not there to kill the king.”

  Wynn nodded. “It’s more likely he’s there to keep an eye on him.”

  “How do you know all this?” Anton asked.

  Ziibi turned to him. “He told me. What was I supposed to do about it? I don’t control him. Ever since Loki found him and turned him I...I lost him.”

  The room turned silent. Toren didn’t feel an ounce of pity for Ziibi. He should never have let his son join up with Loki in the first place. He should have been stricter with his children and not allowed them to do whatever they wanted. Her father had been strict with her, and she’d turned out fine.

  Apart from the Black Fey thing.

  “Can I ask you something?” said Roberta.

  Ziibi nodded. “As long as it’s not about my son.”

  “I’ve been with many humans over the years and never once gotten pregnant. What makes you so special?”

  Toren had been wondering this too. Sometimes miracles happened. Carla had been able to get two women pregnant, but aside from that she’d never heard of a shapeshifter being able to conceive with another race before. At first she’d suspected some sort of magical interference, some sort of ancient spell, but now she wasn’t so sure.