The Shadow of Death: The Conquering Darkness

by Lucas Hault

  “Do we have any clue regarding the incident in Balin?” asked Lord Rayne. He was flustered, drowned deep into a sea of worry. His cousin Joshua Hocaine had spoken to him over the phone last night, describing the dreadful incident. It was then that he spoke about it to President Marven Fraser, explaining him everything briefly. The President had thus commanded them to get to the big brothel and get Stephen Ray by any means possible.

  “I have spoken to the local detectives in Balin. They have examined the remains of fire and say that they resemble the similar sign like that in the forests of Townslane, the sign of a sword pierced through the skull. The bodies were in the same state and there is no further clue found. We have a witness named Brutus, who could have described everything about the attacker. But unfortunately, the incident has deeply affected him, and the man has lost his mind. The identity of the attacker remains veiled in darkness, and we know nothing except for that sign”.

  “It’s a queer case that has tortured and defiled our minds and soul,” remarked Lord Rayne, as they ascended the steps leading into the large brothel. “I don’t exactly know what, but there is something worst to come”. His forehead was covered in running sweat, while his mind battled the endless thoughts piercing within. There was something so methodical and so incomprehensible about the deeds of this unknown assassin that it imparted a fresh ghastliness to its crimes. Elias’ nerves, which were steady enough on the field of battle, tingled as he thought of it.

  “We have still not lost anything,” reminded Sir Thomas. “The Ministry of Human Rights still knows nothing about this. Plus we have the President’s support over the case. Everything is under control, and within moments shall the accused be captured who would be speaking everything out.”

  Lord Elias Rayne nodded, and the two got themselves through the big entrance and into the brothel. A fine structure of medieval art and architecture, with big round pillars and various statues of women carved at its front, the brothel was a unique attraction within itself. But it wasn’t a whorehouse right from its very existence. It was once said to be an enormous rest house for the travellers in the land. The place had been damaged during the Great War of Syneria, with broken walls and ruined gardens and piles of bodies all around, before being repaired by the authority and eventually turned into a brothel. Though there followed various backlashes with the decision, about which nothing was remembered much.

  “I still cannot conceive it as a brothel”, said Elias Rayne as the men walked in.

  “A majority of Synerians still remember it as the royal rest house,” supported the detective.

  The big entrance gate led straight into the corridors that connected to various small chambers. There was a big hall following those rooms which perhaps was used by the wealthy clients.

  Lord Elias Rayne walked in, step by step, marking his arrival in the bordello. The guards had already begun their search, and he could notice the nervous faces of the individuals before him. The whores and wenches, including the managers and visitors remained still, with their heads bent low, welcoming the presence of Lord Elias Solomon Rayne.

  He was habitual to this sort of cordialness, while Thomas Wright, the private detective, enjoyed their salutation.

  “My Lord!” stepped forward a group of managers. “Can we prove of some assistance?”

  Elias nodded. The firmness around his face remained constant.

  “Where is Stephen Ray?” he asked, sounding very particular, while his fierce eyes stared them. The furrowed eyebrows labelled his austerity.

  “Who?” asked one amongst them. Some of them looked barren, or perhaps pretended the same, but it wasn’t acceptable and that could be concluded by the stern look on the face of Elias Rayne.

  “Stephen Ray”, repeated Thomas. “The pimp of this very brothel”. He said it in a high-pitched voice, so as to avoid any further repetition.

  They remained silent, perhaps concealing something, or too many things, and this could be attested by none other than the private detective, whom they could hardly lie to.

  Elias once looked at Thomas Wright. The detective’s eyes spoke all of it. Thomas simply gave a nod.

  “Close all the exits and fall back quick to this place”, commanded Lord Rayne.

  “Yes My Lord!” replied some of the men and began to scatter, like ants from a row.

  Thomas remained in the hall, while Lord Rayne proceeded towards the corridors, inspecting the place. He walked impatiently about the walkway with considerable bitterness in his heart. Some of the rooms were occupied with clients who were receiving return for their payment. Their sound filled the corridor, making it weird to interrupt. But the guards hardly cared, giving a knock at every door and signalling the wenches standing by the passages to do the needful and gather everyone in the hall.

  Elias Rayne moved upstairs, watching the guards in action. He discovered a small yet beautiful garden, situated before the other storey of the brothel. It was admirable, comprising a little pool by its side which was used for the same purpose of sexual activities. There were nude men and women immersed in it, and wrapped into each other. The couples were too delighted in their sensual bath, but were soon disturbed by the guards who were in search for Stephen Ray.

  Elias walked through the other corridors in that storey, which were all occupied with guards, who were busy in their allotted onus. Elias crossed the corridors, before descending back to the big hall where Thomas awaited him. Everyone stood before them, with their heads bent low in respect, though the detective could notice some of the tarts secretly gazing at them.

  “I know the man we mention is no alien to you. This is something alarming for the nation and keeping it secret will be regarded as an offence”, mentioned the Detective. There was no corner for mercy, and he clearly meant it.

  “Forgive me, My Lord! But I truly know nothing,” replied Leah, a red-headed plump whore around thirty.

  Elias nodded. He knew this well within himself that she or any other of her kind had nothing to do with it. The mutual managers and the pimps were the prime suspects in his eyes.

  “Is there something you wish to tell us?” inquired the detective, with his eyes set on Joey Walter. Thomas Wright, the private detective, was perfected in this and could pen it down, judging the man before him that he had much to speak. The man was over fifty years of age, middle-sized, broad-shouldered, with crisp curling black hair and a short, stubbly beard. He was dressed in a heavy broadcloth frock coat and waistcoat, with light-coloured trousers, and immaculate collar and cuffs. The man hesitated and looked down, simply shaking his head. A no!

  Thomas stared into his brownish eyes. He had laid his stamp of suspicion on the man, Joey Walter, which couldn’t be removed unless the truth was spoken out.

  “What makes you dubious about me?” asked Joey with bland surprise, though he could hardly match the eyes staring at him all the while.

  “Your bag!” replied the detective. “I can no longer see it around your waist”.

  Thomas was absolutely right. The man had a small bulky bag tied around his waist. The detective had noticed it during their arrival. But the bag was no longer anywhere around him. A clever strategy indeed it was, but unfortunately proved useless before him.

  A terrible change came over the man’s face as the detective framed his theory. His features turned perfectly pale, while he looked frozen, with his lips stuck to one another. Sweats of anxiety covered his forehead, and the man stood numb.

  “I will ask you for the last time”, warned Lord Elias Rayne in a voice filled with gruffness.

  The fierceness on Elias’ face was enough to turn him cold. On his rigid face there stood an expression of horror, and of hatred, such as none had ever seen upon human features. Fear ran through his veins as he lazily and dauntingly nodded.

  Elias immediately, without a moment’s pause, waved the others to get back to their work and leave them in private. It was a strict command from the Governor General of Townslane, and none of the feet
remained fixed to the ground once the gesticulation was made.

  Elias moved closer to the suspect, carrying the interrogation further.

  “Where is Stephen Ray?” he asked strictly. He was in no mood to tolerate any nuisance. He wanted the truth, and he wanted it quick, real quick, as every moment counted.

  The man remained bolted, as if he was hit by lightning. Elias could see by the twitch of his lip that there was a struggle going on within him.

  “You must be aware that your silence is in itself an answer, for you would not remain quiet if you had nothing to conceal,” said the detective.

  The anxious look around the man’s face turned into a cunning smile. It was abrupt, a little wicked too, as if there would follow something spectral and turn the cards in his favour.

  For a moment or two he remained still, perhaps awaiting the situation to change; but nothing worked. This made his smile disappear and the look of disdain reconquered his face. The smile seemed to have passed from the suspect to Lord Elias Rayne and Sir Thomas Wright. This stunned the man Joey Walter.

  “We know what bothers you,” said Elias smiling. “The authority is always far too ahead from the apprentice”. He gave a loud call, following which a bunch of guards entered, with five of Joey’s men held captive. They were handcuffed and captured and stood helpless before the valiant guards of the Capital.

  “It is all over, Joey”, mentioned the detective. “It is best to speak out the truth”.

  “What if I don’t?” he said with utmost stubbornness.

  “Don’t test my patience!” roared Elias, with a malicious glance at him. He was furious and couldn’t tolerate him any further.

  He asked for the last time, but it proved no good. Joey kept his lips stitched, with an intolerable smile round his face that annoyed him every single time.

  Elias shot a quick glance at Thomas. The private detective slapped the revolver butt which protruded from the front of his tunic. He pulled out his revolver, and without a moment’s pause, shot him right in his leg. The firing sound filled the entire mansion, and the man fell down thrashing to the floor. His wounds bleed as he rolled around the floor, groaning in unimaginable pain.

  “Where is Stephen Ray?” he interrogated.

  Joey said nothing but continued to whine. The sensation ran through his lower body, making it severe and unbearable.

  He ordered the detective to proceed, who quickly took the second shot in the other leg. This one proved excruciating and the man could bear no more. Blood was everywhere around the tiled floor, and the man, Joey Walter lay paralyzed.

  “Where is Stephen Ray?” asked Thomas Wright, pointing the revolver at his throat.

  Joey had begun to turn unconscious, but could see the fierceness around the detective’s face. He absolutely believed that the man won’t hesitate, not a bit, to take his final shot once commanded. It was best to speak out everything, and thus he, in a grunting voice began, “I don’t know what he is up to. He has offered me my reward for helping him escape unnoticed”.

  “When did he leave and where did he go?” asked Elias.

  “He left some moments before your arrival here,” replied Joey in the same shivering voice. “I don’t know much, but he was speaking of returning to Spion.” This statement came from his lips with many gasps and pauses. At times, it was so low that they could hardly catch the words.

  Joey laid out the truth before them, following which he fainted.

  Lord Elias Solomon Rayne lacked time. The accused had to be stopped anyhow before it would be too late. The sand of time had already begun to slip away, and every moment was precious.

  “We have to stop him at all costs!” said Sir Thomas.

  Lord Elias Rayne nodded. “Heal this man quick and throw him into prison,” he commanded the guards, and both the men rushed out of the brothel.

  The lonely roads of Gubby were once again occupied with the large population of residents, all involved in their own lives. The stall owners and vendors, the blacksmiths and cobblers, everyone was back to their daily lives. The town was at its evanescent peace until the roar of the approaching enduros tore it apart.

  Borkan saw the people rushing everywhere around, like ants over a surface. He was in a spacious automobile, decorated with the skin of various animals that were hunted down by the Grim Reapers. The lavishing vehicle belonged to their Master, and now it was him—their new Master, about which he remembered nothing. The car was surrounded by numerous Grim Reapers riding their enduros, and Owen was seated on one of them.

  He was Borkan—the Borkan whom Owen and everyone had always known. A man with extraordinary good looks and a bold heart. The new Borkan had long vanished in the cave, and he remembered absolutely nothing following the assault where he almost laid dead. He could remember the flabbergasted Owen Green, and the stunned faces of all the enslaved women, once falling back in consciousness. Owen had asked him more than a hundred times about his incredible powers, and how actually did he do it? But nothing pierced into his head, absolutely nothing.

  He could follow nothing and Owen’s words sounded no different than the alien tongue of Gubby. The other thing disturbing him all the while were the Grim Reapers. The invincible creatures to beat him down were now the ones behaving as his slaves. None among them had dared to look him in the eyes, ever since regaining consciousness. The biggest blow to his senses was when he woke up on the Master’s throne and found the Grim Reapers lying prostrate before him.

  The people did not stop, not until the nearing vehicles ceased and out stepped Borkan. He could observe the staggered expressions everywhere around. People stood still with thumping hearts, straining their senses. It looked like the residents had conceived some alien or a different monster before them. They froze like a statue, with their dull senses battling to believe their eyes. Words had left them. Their mind was blank and eyes stretched wide as they stared at him in shock. Borkan stood before the citizens of the town, with the Grim Reapers all around him whose heads were bent low before their Master. He did not had the slightest of idea about his dominance but was clever enough to exercise his power and righten all the wrongs. He enjoyed his sudden supremacy, making its use to the fullest.

  The enslaved women were all set free over his command. They were filled with tears of joy and rushed immediately to their respective families. The residents who had always known these horrendous Grim Reapers to be harsh and unbeatable, could hardly believe watching them helpless and obedient to a normal human being, Borkan Solomon Rayne.

  “I hereby command you to stay away from these people, and never trouble anyone anywhere!”

  They roared, their voice echoing in every street of the town.

  Cade Brown had also made his presence along with his family, watching everything in awe.

  “You never told me that you possess such uncommon powers?” whispered Owen as he stood beside him.

  Borkan turned to notice the surprised face of Owen. “I truly don’t know what you are talking about”.

  No one spoke any further, simply gazing at the sporadic scene before them, until Borkan waved the Reapers to leave.

  “Master!” they roared, getting back on the enduros, and finally making their way back towards the desert hills.

  “Who are you?” asked Cade Brown stepping before him.

  Borkan could hear the rustle and murmur of the people around him. “I am Borkan Solomon Rayne, the son of Lord Elias Solomon Rayne”.

  “I am not asking your name, I know who you are,” said the old Cade Brown abruptly. “What I intend to know is what exactly happened between you and the Grim Reapers, and why were they obeying you all the while?” Not just he, but everyone looked troubled, with the same question buzzing around their head.

  Borkan sighed. “That is the least thing to bother about. But I assure you that never will they cross paths with you anytime in the future. You are free and independent just like everyone else”.

  People still stared at him with bland s
urprise.

  “Your parents have indeed brought you up with great values”, remarked the old man. He passed a sweet smile, which honestly looked good on his face.

  Owen too was pleased to see the happy faces of everyone before them; the happiness of freedom, the joy of getting their abducted ones back and the contentment of a fearless future.

  “I know the purpose for your visit to Gubby. But I honestly don’t know much about my ancestors. I will share my little knowledge with you only if you promise me something”. Cade Brown sounded different, completely different, and the features upon his face had turned sombre.

  “What promise?” asked Borkan surprisingly.

  “My daughter has always been interested in the past. She is on the same boat as you and wants to explore more about Harot and everything related to it. It was me who has always prevented her from doing so. But now as I see you and I trust you for the honourable man that you really are, I want you to promise me that you would take her with you and bring her back to us safely”.

  Though he sounded simple, his words were equally challenging and difficult to accept. Giving your word and unable to keep it was something that was said to be unforgiving. Borkan’s parents had always taught him that one should give his word, only and only if he believes himself to be capable of keeping it. This complicated things in his mind.

  He was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give any immediate answer.

  “We promise you”, said Owen, rubbing his hands in a self-satisfied way. It no longer appeared challenging, especially after discovering the incredible powers that Borkan possessed.

  He once turned to Owen, who was bold and determined about each and every word out of his mouth.

  Cade Brown smiled. With many mumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude, the old man waved at his wife standing amongst the residents of the town, and she stepped forward, along with their daughter.

  “She is my only daughter Zelina Brown”, he said introducing his girl to Borkan and Owen. A slim beauty in her early twenties, brown-eyed, long-nosed, with olive skin and dark, shiny hair that curled down her broad-brimmed hat and swept the back of her long cotton frock. She was a pretty woman, and in her simplicity was hidden a charm that had always caught Owen’s eyes.