Saving The Dark Side Book 2: The Harbingers

by Joseph Paradis

  Kreed’s voice dropped to a rich, husky rumble, like oiled leather worked by strong hands: “You know this will cost you.”

  “I know…but still…I can’t…I won’t.” Habbad bit his lip to stop its trembling, finally meeting Kreed’s eyes. There was no trace of anger in Father Kreed. Instead, the Aenerian looked as if his most gratifying fantasy were being served on a gilded platter.

  “I am proud of you, my son,” Kreed said, leaning close and placing a wet kiss on Habbad’s forehead. “So brave. You grow quicker than a starving shadow, but I think you’re ready now to grow just a little more.”

  Dripping, crippling anticipation stole Habbad’s voice as he tried to tell Kreed that he would do the thing, but his breath lacked the conviction to utter so much as a whisper. He felt himself descend to the floor as the pillow room swirled about him. Frozen, he sat gazing at a mural on the wall as Kreed used magic to conjure his day clothes.

  Fully dressed, Kreed approached the door, pausing before it. “Get in,” he ordered, pointing at a chest that had not been there seconds ago.

  Habbad snapped upright and ran for the chest, throwing it open as if his life depended on it. He turned to Kreed, looking for affirmation that he was doing it correctly, but Kreed was gone. Heart hammering against his little ribs, Habbad squirmed his way up into the chest, flipping and landing painfully on the bottom. The lid crashed shut, shrouding him in complete darkness. Habbad reached up and pushed, but the lid may as well have been made from solid rock. He punched and scratched at the chest, skin flaking off his knuckles. The air seemed too thick, too hot. He couldn’t breathe. Habbad kicked, and thrashed, breaking himself upon the crate as invisible hands seemed to close upon his throat and chest. His screams went unheard by anyone who might care.

  Why? Why would he defy Father Kreed? Father Kreed did the worst things to people who disobeyed him. Why should he think he was any different? What would his mother and father say if he lost his apprenticeship? Would Lexy look at him the same? Underkin never got a chance to use magic or be anyone important. Habbad knew he’d just thrown it all away. If he even survived the punishment, he would have to return to his district a shamed mess, a poor excuse for a son, useless. Kreed was probably running through his workshop now, looking for the perfect tools for torture. Or maybe he would come back and fill the chest with wriggling, burrowing insects, the kind that wouldn’t stop digging until they found marrow.

  Habbad’s breath shocked him with uncontrollable gasps. He shuddered as he recalled the various ways he’d seen Father Kreed punish people. However, in his panic he remembered that he was not entirely useless, not yet anyway. Kreed had taken him for a reason. Habbad was valuable. Habbad could use Wisdom.

  Little hands shaking through wracking sobs, Habbad focused with all his might, tapping his fingers together as Father Kreed had taught him. Green sparks flew between his fingertips, bringing flickering light to the darkness. As terrible as his situation was, he found solace in the little control he had. The failed spell brought his gusting breath to a gradual, steady rhythm as he tried over and over, each time getting closer. Finally, a minute candle of olive flame danced in between his little hands.

  Fluttering giggles slipped into Habbad’s whimpers as he hugged the little flame, rubbing and pressing it against his cheek. He was not alone. Nor was he unable to breathe. The chest had plenty of air for him. The suffocation was only in his mind. Locking him in here was probably just a test, just another way to bring out more of his Wisdom. That must be it.

  Wiping his nose and eyes on his wrappings, Habbad stilled his mind just as Father Kreed had taught him. He was going to be punished, of that there was no doubt, but it wouldn’t be too severe. Father Kreed had invested too much time and effort in him. He was too valuable.

  Habbad inventoried every spell he knew, recalling the extreme measures that were used to bring the Wisdom out of him. The first time he had altered gravity came to mind. Habbad had been placed in a pit in that instance, the walls too slippery and tall for him to even scratch the top. Father Kreed had dropped Habbad into the pit; his only instruction was to ‘stay alive.’ Father Kreed had then emptied a barrel full of blood crabs into the hole. The creeping, armored bugs had clutches of sharp legs and a lamprey’s mouth made for scraping and sucking. Alone, the blood crabs had been of little threat so long as he didn’t stray within leaping distance, but there were far too many in the narrow pit. Within seconds, several of the parasites had latched themselves deep into his legs and back. In the panic his Wisdom had presented itself, causing himself and his attackers to float out of the pit. Habbad had survived, but the crabs had taken too much, their sacs full and firm with his blood as they bobbed like balloons. Father Kreed had been there to catch him, to save him. He was proud of his son.

  The pillow room was eerily quiet now, all the better for Habbad to focus. He snuffed his candle and shifted his Wisdom to his ears instead, sharpening them further than he had ever done before. His heartbeat suddenly became the loudest thing in the room. It took a moment for the gushing pump in his chest to become white noise, but when it did the rest of the room seemed illuminated by his augmented hearing. Habbad experimented, rapping his bloody knuckles against his prison. Through the echo, he could hear the softness of the pillows, hear the smoothness of the walls. It was an odd sensation, though somehow it felt natural. Habbad smiled in the dark, reveling in his control over the situation. He would make Father Kreed proud. He would make his family proud.

  Hours seeped by and Habbad eventually grew tired. He was afraid to sleep, afraid to miss anything important. Father Kreed could not be disappointed again. The slow and steady rhythm of his heart lulled him, beckoning him to rest his mind. Habbad had never kept a spell up for so long, and it taxed him dearly. Eventually he gave in, confident that even the faintest whisper would wake him as easily as a banshee’s scream. Gently tapping his knuckles on the chest, he checked the room once more before succumbing to his lethargy.

  Habbad was woken by a hail of popping so loud that he feared a thunderstorm had broken in through the window. The final POP was much louder than the others.

  “Please, come on in and make yourselves at home,” Father Kreed’s voice rang through the room, jarring Habbad’s skull. “And I must thank you all again for coming, young Habbad is going to flourish like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “We live to serve, Father Kreed,” said a familiar voice. “My family is honored to be of assistance to you, Sir. Might I ask where my son is, however? I thought we were going to help him.”

  “Don’t you fret, Mr. Sermund, Habbad is in a place where he can hear everything happening in this room,” Kreed replied. “I’m afraid it won’t be appropriate for you to see him, however. It would hinder the boy’s prodigious progress. I tell you he’s blazing along like a little meteorite! We wouldn’t want to slow him down now would we?”

  “Oh no, no, just a father missing his son is all,” Sermund said, laughing jovially.

  “Perfect,” Kreed gushed, clapping his hands together rapidly. A tiny, deadly giggle fell from Kreed’s lips. Habbad knew that giggle. “You’re going to help him more than you’ll ever know.”

  Fear, potent and pure fell over Habbad. His heart stopped beating. One, two, three seconds. Then it doubled up, crashing against his ribs like an icy fist. The sound of it echoed painfully off the walls of the chest. He could hear their hearts too; his mother, his father and…

  “Beautiful Lexy!” Kreed exclaimed. “Why don’t I perch your cute little bum right up here on this chair. Give you a prime seat for the show. How does that sound?”

  “I live to serve!” Lexy squeaked. Habbad heard her fluttering heart sail across the room as a muffled thump landed atop his prison.

  Habbad jumped, pushing and battering himself against the lid of the chest. “LEXY NO! DON’T LISTEN TO HIM! RUN AWAY NOW!”

  “That’s a good girl,” Kreed said with an audible grin. “Sweet Lexy, may I ask you a favor?”

&n
bsp; “Of course, Father Kreed!” Lexy replied, her heels bouncing merrily off the chest. “This chair is comfy!”

  “I’m glad you like it,” Kreed said. His voice then dropped to a whisper, though every syllable stabbed into Habbad’s ears. “Lexy, I need you to watch what’s about to happen, I need you to watch very closely. Would you mind if I placed just a few spells on you, just so you can see it better? If you do a good job then maybe I’ll find an important spot for you one day, just like Habbad.”

  Habbad threw himself against the lid, smashing his head over and over. “LEXY RUN! HE’S GOING TO KILL YOU! RUN AWAY NOW!”

  Lexy giggled. “Yes yes! Please use magic on me! I love magic!”

  “Father Kreed,” said a woman’s voice who could only be Habbad’s mother. “I’m not so sure I feel comfortable with you…with magic and Lexy. She’s so small, you’re sure she won’t be hurt at all?”

  “Not a hair on her beautiful head. You have my word, Mrs. Dainis,” Kreed hummed.

  “Oh all right then,” Dainis sighed. “Be brave Lexy. Be brave for Habbad.”

  “Okay mommy,” Lexy said in her most adorably obedient voice.

  Habbad plunged his fingers into his ears. He did not want to hear this. He could not. Reaching for his Wisdom, he released his spell. He pulled his fingers from his ears, but he could still hear every heartbeat, every breath, even the swishing and scraping of their clothes. Cursing, Habbad tried again, but his hearing was just as acute as ever, perhaps even more so. His stomach flipped as he realized that the spell was no longer his own. Horror tickling him, he felt Father Kreed’s spell layered seamlessly over his own. Habbad was meant to hear everything, just as Lexy was meant to watch.

  “Hold still now Lexy-sweet,” Kreed said, his voice grating like a hungry predator’s.

  Habbad could hear Lexy tense, feel her tiny heart thrum faster. Her squeaking voice sounded like an animal caught in a snare. “No no no…I don’t think I like this. Father Kreed I can’t shut my eyes. I can’t move. Please let me go-let me go! Get it off me!”

  Footsteps. Swishing legs. Father’s voice. “What is this Kreed, you didn’t say anything about tying her up with the magic. No, we’re stopping this right-”

  Father’s Groan. Mother’s scream. Lexy’s squeal. A clinking glass hammer sounded, bashing into Habbad’s ears.

  tink

  tink

  tink

  tink

  Five hearts, four in the room and one in the chest. Together drumming a horrible symphony, each battling as if to see which was loudest. Four ran with fevered abandon while one chased with lustful intent. Mother and Lexy wailed in tandem. Habbad felt their souls unravel with wild Fear. He coiled into a ball at the bottom of his prison, eyes shut tight in the loud darkness. The sounds painted a scene that Habbad’s eyes were blind to.

  tink

  tink

  tink

  tink

  Skin snapping. Sinew popping. Make it end. Wet flesh stretching, slapping to the pillows. Slow. Too long. Make it end. Father’s heart still beating. Air still whistling from a torn whole. Screams rising. Make it end. Let him die. Big footsteps. Pillows kicked aside. Mother gasping, swishing legs kicking. Clothes tearing. A soft thud striking. Nakedness. Shame. Make it end. Mother’s screams changing, rushing, rising. Pain. Slick, slow sliding; a blade on skin. Tearing, wrenching, squelching. Too slow. Move faster. Make it end. Let her die. Mother’s heart slogging, unyielding.

  tug-rip

  tug-tug-rip

  tug-rip

  tug-tug-rip

  “Let them die,” Habbad babbled into the darkness. “Kill them. Please make it end.”

  With a final yank Mother’s screams ceased, though her heart did not. Her breath came and went, in and out, scratching alongside Father’s ragged whistling. Something heavy and soaked fell to the ground as a steady tap tap tap beat against the pillows. Lexy’s screams discovered new levels of horror, making sounds that no child ought to know how to make. Father Kreed’s footsteps clacked nearer.

  Habbad sprung to his feet, wrestling his Wisdom into submission. He had it. Focusing with mortal intent, he readied a spell that would kill Lexy. He brought his hands together and willed a tiny sphere of volatile gravity into existence. It didn’t need to be large, or strong. The sphere was immaterial, made of nothing but twisting thought. It would pass through the lid of the chest, bending and twisting space along the way. Confident the spell would hold, Habbad thrust the sphere towards Lexy’s pulsing heart.

  “NO!” Habbad bellowed.

  The spell bounced off the lid of the chest. It fell back as Habbad threw his arms out to shield his face. The sphere entered his forearm, blending vein, muscle, and fat, leaving a shredded mess in its wake. The pain was so sudden and severe that the spell failed and faded. Ignoring his arm, he settled his mind and refocused, casting every spell he knew, hoping, yearning for one to slip through and kill Lexy. None did.

  Lexy’s screams moved across the room as Kreed brought her near the still-beating hearts of their parents. Defeated, Habbad slammed his head repeatedly against the chest wall, hoping for the end, for their deaths. He was powerless. He could hear all.

  Kreed’s hands wiped against the tassels of a pillow. Habbad could hear him straightening out his clothes and brushing pieces off. With a loud pop, he left the room. Lexy’s screams never stopped.

  Habbad’s eyes opened to bright light. He was no longer in the chest, or the pillow-room. That was another lifetime ago. He was now in Kreed’s library, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his mentor. His breath was steady, relaxed. He was at home.

  “How are you, Habbad?” Kreed gasped as their eyes met. “My word, you look dreadful!”

  “Again,” Habbad replied.

  “Nonsense,” Kreed scoffed. “That was no stroll in the garden. Perhaps tomorrow.” He planted a hand on the floor, hoisting himself to his feet with a grunt.

  Habbad caught Kreed’s wrist, yanking him back down. “Again.” Having only half risen, Kreed stumbled into a heap onto the floor.

  “Ungrateful little shit aren’t you?” Kreed fumed. With an effort, he pried Habbad’s hand from his wrist. “You know Grotton is called The Hungry, right? Not The Rude.”

  “I don’t care what he’s called,” Habbad said. “There’s something in that memory I need. Do it again.”

  Kreed’s scowl bent into a reluctant smile. “Oh there it is, there’s the Hunger we need. I see it plain as starlight. You get a single frightened mirak to swear itself as Domina and the bump in power leaves you lusting for more. It’s a start I suppose, though I am glad you didn’t grow any fur or start clawing up the furniture. Not to mention I’d probably have to get you fixed.”

  Habbad ignored him. Rising, he walked across the embroidered carpet to a serving table, where a platter of food had been thrown together. Habbad sprung onto the table and tore into the food with savage gusto. Crumbs and scraps fell to the floor about him.

  Kreed watched with disgusted interest. “You’d better choose your next Domina with care. Grotton won’t take you as Harbinger if you’re more animal than not. And you’re going to have to clean that up by the way; the Aenerian servants just quit.”

  Habbad stuffed a hunk of meat into his mouth. Standing upright, he cradled a goblet in one hand while pointing a finger down at the spilled food, incinerating every bit with a flash of white flame. “I think your definition of quitting is a little loose,” Habbad replied, still chewing.

  “Hardly,” Kreed scowled as Habbad chugged a goblet, spilling milk down his front. “They stopped doing their jobs adequately, so I considered that their resignation. What happened after was no less than what they deserved. If the damned Underkin weren’t so good with these menial tasks then perhaps the general public would have learned how to cook a simple fillet. It’s a shame there’s none of your kind left.”

  “So what’s next then?” Habbad demanded, dropping his goblet with an obnoxious clunk. “I have other memories
we could use.”

  “No, we’re done with memories for today. It’s been awhile since you’ve taken a Domina, why don’t you give some thought to your next thrall?” Kreed asked. He walked over to the table and considered the food, which was now a complete mess. He shooed Habbad back onto the floor.

  “Domina bore me. The one I have already only whines about wanting to go back to its clan. I don’t see the benefit of having a host of complaining souls bickering on all day. Are you going to eat any of this?” Habbad asked, placing his chin on the edge of the table.

  “Not anymore,” Kreed sighed. “You’ll be on your own for the rest of the day. Decreath and Sorronis have business that will keep Talin and me occupied for some time. I want your candidates for your next thralls first thing in the morning. No excuses.”

  “You’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Talin lately,” Habbad said, grinning darkly up at Kreed. “It seems you’ve taken favor with him.”

  “The business of Harbingers is of little concern to you, my budding apprentice. Talin has a big job coming up and we’ve got a few things to sort out before he crosses over to the-” Kreed cut himself short as his face contorted with disgust. “Wait, why the hell am I explaining myself to an Underkin? Get out of my sight. Now.”

  Habbad stuffed his pockets with food before darting out of the room. Kreed may have been more lenient since Habbad proved himself a worthy candidate for Harbinger, but there was no need to provoke his creative side. Habbad knew he could survive any sort of punishment, but Kreed’s punishment could take valuable time away from Habbad’s personal endeavors.

  Popping out of the library, Habbad indulged himself in a wild burst of speed, just one of the fruits that his mirak Domina provided. The halls of Kreed’s home passed by in a blur. Even with Wisdom he never could have run as fast as he did now with the mirak augmenting his limbs. Grunting, he leaped up to the base of a statue, launching himself up once more to the second-level balcony. He had no intention of leaving through the front door. He despised walking among the rabble.