The Shadow of Death: The Conquering Darkness

by Lucas Hault

  “Now don’t get started as one among the believers,” stated Edd at once. He sounded sharp, trying to imitate Allan Will. His arrogance had often attracted him and he was partial to the qualities that the man possessed.

  Rickard stood still beside Allan, with his mouth clutched up, while Edd had moved across the necropolis to seek some other way out of that place.

  “I think Edd was absolutely right!” said Allan.

  “For what?”

  “You do sound like a moron now.”

  Rickard looked at him inanely. “I just want to get back.”

  “And we will,” he replied boldly, rubbing his hands in a pompous and self-satisfied manner. “We will be back once we are through this thing.”

  “Allan!” called a loud voice. It was Edd. The men rushed in his direction, eager to discover something staggering. Their eyes sparkled with anticipation, while impetuousness dangled their minds.

  “What’s that?” asked Allan holding his breath, as they discovered a huge well before them which actually killed the animosity within themselves. The well was big and dark, located immediately beside the graveyard. The small broken boundary encircling it was blotched with lichens and mosses. Allan and Rickard peeped into it but could see absolutely nothing, except for the pitch-blackness.

  Allan grabbed a pebble from the ground and threw it deep within. They waited for it to hit the surface beneath, but couldn’t hear anything. No splash nor any sort of resonance.

  “Its depth looks to be profound,” said Rickard, staring at the large surface of darkness. His companion nodded.

  Edd, all this while had moved on, continuing with his initial endeavour.

  “Shouldn’t we head back?” asked Rickard.

  Allan looked at him annoyingly. “If you ever utter another word of return anytime, I swear I will knock you down into this dark shit.”

  His words never frightened Rickard, but the place did. He could sense something abnormal, perhaps alarming, and wanted to get back at once.

  Edd’s voice called again, this time being much louder and comprehensive than before. The men speeded towards him, pushing themselves vigorously against the winds, approaching Edd, who stood before a high slope with his eyes gaped and a grave expression over his face. Allan and Rickard were dumbfounded too, frozen like a statue—bolted and braced, stunned by the view before them. It was perceptible and evident—the mysterious city of Harot, with fine streets, high palatial structures, large gateway and the royal houses. Everything that they had ever heard about the city stood apparent to their own eyes.

  The magnificent city was bordered with enduring walls that were high and resplendent. The large gate attached with the boundary was sealed with a big tarnished lock and was the only possible way to enter the city.

  The streets were wide and large, and the palaces were more brimming and superior than any individual could have ever imagined. The houses were megalithic and much in number, expensive and radiant, constructed using the early art and architecture. The outer walls of the structure were carved with altered stones—an artistry that was remarkable within itself. There were tall dense trees growing along the borders of the city which made the place mesmerizing. It never looked like a relinquished place, not a bit, but appeared to be the residence of the royal bloods.

  The city was fantastic, but at the same time looked abstruse and bizarre, for there was an extreme silence lying over the place, and no sign of life anywhere around the extensive city. The winds blew harder, causing a violent shake over the trees and making the leaves rustle emphatically, as that of a dog that snarls at the strangers. The inconvenient weather chilled them to the bones and set their teeth chattering.

  “What is that?” asked Edd instantaneously, pointing out something high towards the far end.

  “It is the Cristal Barrier,” replied Allan boldly. “I have heard about it from some of the men whom I once met in a military campaign, but had never actually thought it to be true.”

  They contemplated the high barrier which stood quite distant, but its enormous height and shimmer were easy to perceive.

  “Should we proceed?” asked Edd in a low but resolute voice.

  Allan gave a slight nod. “Just stick together.”

  They steadily descended the slope, which was golden-green on one side and grey shadow on the other. The approaching footsteps sounded like some army march—so accute was the silence, which buzzed into their heads, making it more oppressive than the unforgiving winds. They paced through the ground and stomped over the grasses, and found themselves before the large gate—a hinged barrier, painted in black, with iron bars similar to those of a prison cell. Allan pulled out his revolver and took a shot to break it down. The gunshot sounded like an explosion filling up the entire place. The seal cleft and the gates wide-opened.

  They were finally into the city of Harot. The charm of the place had doubled, abruptly, as if by magic, making it appear more fetching as they got within. The gravel roads were wide and clean, houses remarkably big and appealling, while the lights were brighter and beckoning. The atmosphere within was calm, while the deserted city was tied up in dumbness. The crisp sound of their boots upon gravel was the only sound audible, beside the howling winds.

  Each and every house of the city was bigger and far more lavishing than any other house that they had ever seen. The way in which it were constructed and embellished was truly laudable. The men ambled across the wooden-floored houses and through the lonely streets, before standing by a colossal Palace. It was a high storey structure with two tall towers connected to it. The greyish tint and the jumbled battlements made it resemble like a beautiful castle.

  “This one must be bigger than the Palace of Townslane,” flattered Edd as they adored the pile of bricks before them. The entrance to the Palace was through a large stairway covered with fancy red carpet. The gateway was big, larger than the one at the entrance of the city, and led into the big royal hall within the Palace.

  “I have never heard anyone calling it beautiful,” wondered Rickard Jones, who could hardly move his eyes off the edifice.

  “They call it mysterious,” replied Edd.

  “And so it is,” said Allan Will, waving at them to follow him through. “Keep your eyes and your ears open,” he added, and they sluggishly mounted the stairs. The thick carpet felt good and comfortable beneath their boots.

  The hall was big, with its ceiling and pillars decorated with expensive gems. The matting had brilliant designs imprinted on it, something perhaps never seen before. The wide stairwell led up to the various chambers in the Palace, and the railings were embedded with gold.

  “Check everything around in here,” commanded Allan. “I am sure there are certain mysteries to unfold.” The men dispersed, glancing everything around.

  There were beautiful paintings hanging on the walls. It were so perfectly done that Rickard could spend whole night admiring the art. But unfortunately it wasn’t the errand, and he needed to be quick. He thus moved on, unwilling, involving himself into the task. Edd on the other hand, was busy looking for something on the shelves and over the chests. Allan, the young commander was involved in examining the stuffs placed on the big tables in that spacious hall.

  Rickard could hardly avoid those paintings despite being at work. The brilliant art drew his attention every single time and he could barely prevent himself. He proceeded towards the large bookcase located beside the stairway. It was completely occupied with books—some thin, while others thick and bulky. Some were quite old, and the remaining were recent. He went closer and pulled out a thick one, but could find nothing useful. He looked over some others but none made any difference. He continued digging amongst the shelves, like a gravedigger dredging a grave, while Allan and Edd walked towards their struggling friend for assistance.

  “How about some abetment?” asked Allan derisively.

  “You are most welcome!”

  Allan could watch him work the whole night, enjoying his
smirk, but time did matter and so he had to join his friend. He came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air, putting on his hands to assist.

  “What stops you?” asked Rickard, watching Edd standing distant.

  “You actually know,” he replied. Rickard was no stranger to it and spoke to him no further. He handed him the book to hold for the instance as the other two engaged into the task.

  Edd was never fond of reading. He stood distant from the bookcase, as if it was the last thing that he would ever like to behold. He stood behind his friends, with the filth held in his hand, flipping the pages over and over again. He was ignorant to certain scriptures and was not interested in learning any. He just enjoyed his act, repeating it time and again, before all of a sudden, caught a glimpse of a gorgeous woman in red standing by the railing on the upper floor.

  She was perhaps twenty-nine or around, standing with her figure outlined against the flood of light, one hand upon the railing, one resting by her waist, her body slightly bent, her head and face protruded, with eager eyes and parted lips, as if welcoming the presence of the strangers into her place. A tall and ravishing figure, clasped in a blood-red gown that flaunted her luscious curves, she was caramel-haired, white-skinned, with slim lips whose colour matched that of a beautiful rose, and a pair of luring amber eyes that were just hard to miss.

  He admired her incessantly with wide-opened eyes and senses that had flattened before her beauty. He never blinked, not once, but continued adoring every inch of the enchantress who had blown-up his mind. The sight of those alluring eyes staring him back simply sent a thrilling sensation down his spine. He wanted his friends to see this, but remembered the annoyed face of Allan Will. Interfering in his work would do no good, and the man would yell at him for disturbing them. It was best to keep it within himself.

  “I think I shall search upstairs,” he said impatiently, though Allan and Rickard were too involved to hear him speak. He placed the book on the table beside the stairway and dragged himself upstairs as quick as he could.

  Allan and Rickard searched the other shelves but found nothing useful, not until Rickard caught the glimpse of a book, placed in a corner of the uppermost shelve. The book was chunky and old, similar to the ancient ruins they had seen before. It looked relic, dipped in dust. He pulled it out at once and displayed it before his friend.

  The pages had turned yellow and were mangled. Termites and pests had already begun to feed on it. It was scribbled in the Holferian scripture—a writing which not all were capable to decode, and fortunately Rickard wasn’t one among them.

  “What is this book about?” asked Allan staring at it with ignorance.

  “It’s the Holferian scripture,” he replied, wiping off the layers of dust over it. “Apocalypse says the title.” He sounded grim and scary, a manner which only the presence of a torment inspires.

  “What does the book says?” asked Allan anxiously.

  Rickard opened the book to begin, but couldn’t, as the ragged pages painted with dust had gobbled most of its content. He struggled to brush off the dust over it, focusing on some of the scribblings noticeable and tried, “A Banshee Knight shall give rise to……? He couldn’t complete, as most of the content was blotted, leaving it meagre and nugatory.

  He turned some pages and read, “The Year of the Scorpion and the Raven.” The further content was the same, blotted and invisible, making it hard to conceive. But the last sentence said, “The promise was never forgotten, and shall be fulfilled. And by the fall of the year mentioned, shall he rise again.”

  “What was all this about?” asked Rickard, staring bluntly at his companion. He seemed perturbed, and his body soaked up in sweat.

  “I do not know much about it,” replied Allan in dull voice as of someone who could sense danger, but could do nothing about it. “The year that you just mentioned, the one of the Scorpion and the Raven falls into the Holferian calendar.”

  “And what promise did it speak about?” asked Rickard curiously.

  “I know nothing about it,” he replied at once, but the same thing bumbled within his head. He suddenly noticed another bookcase, this one being smaller than the one behind him, located beside the entrance. Though none among them had ever noticed it in the first place.

  “Look for some other stuff here. I will check the other shelves.”

  Rickard nodded and returned to the bookcase, while Allan proceeded towards the other at the opposite.

  The bookshelf, though small, was fully lined with books. He was involved in examining the books, when suddenly, within a blink of an eye, he sensed something rushing down the stairs before the Palace. It seemed as quick as lightening, and a very odd sensation thrilled through him.

  “What was that?” he asked himself distrustfully, as he pulled out his revolver and cautiously descended the stairs that dropped down to the streets.

  He found himself back on the roads; flustered, anxious, dismayed and somewhat shaken in his nerves to sense something so meteoric, that scrambled for a moment and disappeared in the other. There was not a soul to be seen or a sound to be heard. It was just him and the lonely place, which had begun to get wrapped in a light fog of the cold night.

  “Must be some illusion,” he murmured under his breath, allowing the agitation to settle down within him. He shook his head distrustfully and slowly pulled himself towards the stairs.

  He was about to ascend the remaining steps, when, in a trice, the sound of the approaching footsteps fell into his ears. By now he had no second thought, as he was sure of it to be Edd. He was already mad at him and wanted to scold him. He descended again, loping over the remaining steps and into the street. It was just the deserted roads covered in the growing fog. There was no other movement anywhere around. He was troubled, too much involved in vague imagination that had overwhelmed him.

  It appeared aberrant, a bit daunting as well. This couldn’t be his illusion, not for a second time. “I should speak to Rickard,” he said to himself and turned his way back to the Palace. He was about to proceed towards the stairs when the crisp sound over the gravel was heard for the other time. This time it came from the opposite street, across the rows of houses which was covered in thick snow-like fog, diluting the light from various lamp posts fixed by the solid road. He grasped his revolver, and slowly and guardedly began chasing it. Allan Will was a brave man, but something around there surely crucified him with terror!

  Rickard was almost done with the entire shelves but discovered nothing.

  “Did you find something?” he asked, turning around to find himself the sole living creature in the entire hall. There was absolutely no sign of his companions. The chamber was lonely and still, as if there had never been anyone around for centuries.

  “Allan!” he called, his voice echoing everywhere around, but no answer. He called it a second time but things remained unchanged. There was something weird about the situation that had overtook his emotions. He could breathe in fear—a fear that was so unnatural and yet so familiar, as if it had never faded in his mind. A chilling sensation crawled up his spine, making him recoil in horror. He cocked his pistol, and with shuddering footsteps made his way out of the hall seeking his companions.

  “Was it a mirage?” murmured Edd to himself, looking over the last corridor. It was the only inquisition hitting his head right from the moment he stepped his foot into the upper floor. His features were dull, and he resembled the look of a weary buccaneer whose repeated attempts had brought nothing but despondency. He had explored for that mystery woman all over the floor, including the second, third and fourth, but found no sign of her. He walked past the row of chambers within the last corridor, but it proved no good.

  The man was disheartened as he slowly descended the steps that dropped into the big hall. He got down, but to his astonishment found it decamped. His companions were no where to be found. Discovering no sign of the woman did dismay him, but finding his friends missing just anguished the man.

  �
�Allan! Rickard!” he cried, but no answer. He repeated it a couple of time but no response. The hall was forlorn, leaving him aghast.

  “They must have moved out,” he said to himself, storming his way out of the hall. He hurtled down the large stairway and into the streets, but was thunderstruck to find it occupied with countless individuals. The city that was bare and lonely was now filled with eerie creatures, dressed in black hoods, emerging from the light fog which draped the place. At the first glance he started back so suddenly that he almost slipped down to the ground, and a deadly pallor overspread his face. His knees shook, and heavy drops of sweat came on his forehead, and he trembled like an aspen. They had their hoods on, veiling all of their faces, save for the hands that were pale white, similar to the fog draping the place.

  All were busy walking around the street, involved with their own endeavour, neglecting the odd one amongst them. It looked liked some floating flesh amongst the lake filled with crocodiles.

  His legs were frozen into place, so he crouched into a crawl and dragged himself towards the entrance gate. But before he could successfully make it, the sky hit with a deafening thunderbolt, so heavy that it destroyed his soul within. A sudden lightening followed, allowing him to see their pale white faces covered in hoods which was enough to give anyone sleepless nights. Never had he seen features so deeply marked with all bestality and dreadfulness. The pale white faces were strong and merciless, evil, and vindictive, with dark scales covering the skin, and fierce blood-red eyes staring him ferociously. The men and women, everyone the same. They looked beastly and disastrous, harrowing and dreadful, for their robust appearance was enough to freeze his nerves. They stood still, like firm mountains over the earth.

  The audacity and decisiveness within him were burnt to ashes. He, almost in a chill of horror, turned slowly around, and then he began to shake and tremble like a man in a palsy, for his eyes witnessed countless dead bodies hanging down from the Palaces and all the houses. The bodies were wrapped in white sheets, and hung lifeless all over the place, including the branches of the leafy trees over the boundaries.