Dark Souls

by Quinn Blackbird

“I have some painkillers.” Hassan starts to rummage through his pockets. “That’s all I can do for you.”

  The truth of it punches my gut, hard. I’ve grown too fond of her to lose her so soon.

  I don’t feel anything more than friendship for her. She’s not my type. In women, I like dark skin like mocha, and chocolate brown eyes that swirl in the right light. But just because I don't fancy her doesn't mean I don't want to help her.

  I have an idea that might save her...

  It’s a terrible idea. One that goes against every survival instinct I have. An idea that sends coils of ice-cold fear unravelling through my body.

  My hands start to tremble before I can even get to my feet. Cautiously, I approach the nearest guard. My legs are stiff like wooden boards, aching to turn back, to rush me to safety. But this might be my only way of saving Adrianna.

  Stopping behind the guard who stands taller than me by at least a half-metre, I clear my throat. His muscles are already tense—he sensed my presence before I could alert him.

  Slowly, he turns on me. His narrowed emerald eyes cut through me like shards of glass shattering from a stained window.

  “What?” he spits.

  My shoulders tense, tight. “I need to speak to the healer.”

  His lips curl into a snarl that bares his sharp, white teeth. Teeth made for tearing out throats. “No.” He shoves me back with such force that I near land on my arse.

  “General Caspan, then,” I plead and stagger closer to him. “Tell him I want to speak with him.”

  “You do not make demands, kuri.” His voice reminds me of a snake’s hiss before it strikes, and I shiver. “Get back, or face punishment.”

  Gaze downcast, I roll my jaw for a beat before I stomp back to Adrianna.

  Hassan has sat himself beside her.

  I watch as he stuffs painkillers back into his pocket—I think she declined them.

  I don’t sit with them yet. Standing beside Adrianna as she picks at gravelly stones on the road, I look up at the head of the army—those who don’t join in on the raid. Caspan sits on his steed far ahead. He watches his soldiers tear apart the town.

  I stand for a long time, waiting for him to look my way. Who knows if he even will. It’s a long shot, but I do it.

  I’m about to give up when he finally turns his head in my direction.

  His inky black eyes find me instantly.

  My hand trembles as I raise it and wave him down.

  His eyes narrow on me into dangerous slits, and a predictable shiver clutches my spine. He looks away. He ignores me, and all hope of saving Adrianna is stomped on before it could ever really blossom.

  I slump down beside Adrianna.

  She looks at me, but I keep my downcast gaze on my scuffed boots.

  “It’s all right,” she tells me. “Not everyone can be saved.”

  This hits me hard. Feels like a knife twisting in my chest. Because hearing her acceptance of her fate is brutal. More brutal than it should be. Maybe it’s because Caspan had the healer treat me twice that I feel so guilty. Maybe it’s that people tend to fight in their final moments—at least in my experience.

  But Adrianna just seems to accept it, and that hurts.

  Keeping my gaze on my boots, I mutter, “I wish I could do something for you.”

  It strikes me just how much I mean what I say. Because it’s been a long-ass time since I’ve wanted to help anyone.

  “Me too,” she says after a moment, then she rests her head on my shoulder.

  Again, it’s not romantic what I feel for her. Still, my arm urges to comfort her and wrap around her back, hold her to me. It’s an alien feeling to have, when you’ve felt so little for so long. It could be that I haven’t cut for a while. I haven’t been able to distance myself from emotion. Now, I’m stranded in the middle of an emotional tornado, and I have no way to escape it.

  We sit in silence for a long while.

  Eventually, the army re-bands together in the middle of the road, and we’re forced ahead to escape the fire and smoke. So much effort into keeping us alive, yet so little at the same time.

  Hassan walks with us up the road. He breaks our silence; “What I would give if I could loot before they destroy it. It would make all the difference.”

  I trace his gaze to the medical clinic whose windows are shattered, and flames roar inside of it. To me, it’s another building on fire. To him, it’s the last chance at saving anyone in the group being consumed by flames.

  My brows knit together as I glance around at my fellow captives.

  None of us carry bags or supplies. We carry with us the clothes on our backs, and the pain of our lives. That’s all. No supplies. No food. No medical tools or remedies.

  Nothing.

  Even when Adrianna gave me that power bar, it had been stuffed deep in her pocket. A little stash picked up along the way, maybe plucked from the road in an abandoned town.

  Hassan has tweezers in his pocket, and a small pair of scissors whose blades aren’t longer than a fingernail.

  All Nicole had with her was a scarf. Maybe it meant something to her. I don’t know.

  But we’re all the same. We have nothing with us.

  And, as a plan starts to form in my mind, I wonder if maybe I can change that.

  4

  We leave the town behind as it turns to ash and dust. The army pushes on for days.

  That’s what it feels like. Days.

  Cold and warmth pass us by. Sometimes, we stop for a few moments and catch some rest. It’s in those moments that ahead, the high fae check the map. They have a path that they forge. A path of destruction to leave in their wake.

  It’s never long before we push on again.

  The towns and villages we come across all meet the same fate. They all become forgotten memories, turned to dust.

  I know they follow specific directions in their mission, because we never encounter other dark fae armies, and we don’t fail to march on settlements. All over, I suspect other fae armies are following their owns paths—and they all lead to the end of the human world, where our worlds overlap.

  When all those missions are finished, there won’t be anything left of the humans. Any who are lucky enough to evade the fae and survive their attacks on us won’t last long. Towns, food, buildings—all of it will be gone. There will be nothing left to loot, nowhere to take shelter. Our world will be truly gone.

  In that way, I suppose we—the human captives—are blessed. We are kept alive throughout the fae missions. We are fed and sheltered and protected from the fires. But how far will that protection extend once they reach the end of their missions? Are we fated to be the fae’s final hunt, or will we be faced with a fate much more dire?

  Either way, there’s no escape in sight. We are as trapped as we would be in cages. And the end of this mission draws nearer every day that we’re forced to march on.

  The fear of our fate starts to grow inside of me, like a flower bud coming to blossom. I feel it in my tingly fingertips when the torches illuminate road signs, and I recognise the name of the city we’re closing in on.

  Paris.

  We have almost reached the far end of the country. Getting too close to Britain, where the darkness first spread, where the dark fae undoubtedly come from.

  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Britain is the end of the road for us. And each day brings us closer to it.

  Not long after the Paris sign, the runner boy starts to fall short.

  Honestly, it took a lot longer than I expected. A while back, he used his sweater to bind his wound. Guess that kept him going for a few more days. But finally, the blood loss and the cut to the back of his leg is taking its toll.

  For a while, our group walks behind him in silence. Some look away or ignore him completely as he starts to trip over himself. But I watch.

  I watch as his feet tangle together and he lands so hard on the road that I hear the crack of his knees against the asphalt. The
last time he falls, he can’t get up again.

  By the chain on his wrists, he’s dragged behind the cart. His screams split the air and chill my insides. Adrianna, leaning on me, buries her face in the crook of her arm, but I don’t see what good that’ll do her. It’s not the sight of him being dragged, bloody and torn, up the road that’s hard—it’s the curdle of his screams.

  No one moves to help him.

  An excited hunger has rippled over the guards. All eyes are on the runner boy. The guards watch him with an unquenchable thirst for pain and suffering. Something they will never be able to satiate, because it’s what they are at their core. Rotten and hungry for blood.

  It takes a while for the boy to stop screaming. We’ve passed at least six signs on the road before silence turns him limper than a cooked noodle, and he’s quietly dragged along the road.

  A bloody trail seeps out from behind him. I walk along it.

  I wonder if he’s dead yet, or if he’s just unconscious. I hope he’s dead. His suffering has gone on too long now. Too many days and nights. Too much pain, all for trying to flee the dark fae.

  Can’t blame him for what he did. Hell, I tried to do the same thing. And if Hassan didn’t stop me, then I would have been tied up with the boy behind the cart. Maybe I would have died days ago. Maybe I would have been made to suffer more. Who knows?

  I feel like I don’t know anything anymore. This world is too dark, too tangled, to understand. It should be simple. Serve the fae and survive. But Adrianna served them without a hiccup, and as I look at her now, I see it’s not everyone’s fate to survive.

  She’s worse now than she’s ever been. Her eyes have been closed for hours now. Her face is paler than a full moon on a clear sky, and sweat soaks her clothes so badly that it’s even started to wet my own clothes just from holding her up.

  She leans on me for support so she doesn’t lag behind in the group. I’m all that’s keeping the guards from eating her up like a long-awaited meal. But I can’t hold her weight much longer.

  For days, my shoulders have felt like rusty bolts coming loose from a creaky door. Nothing feels like it’s in the right place. Her arm around my shoulders grows heavier, like solid metal, and the amount of sweat seeping from her pores sticks her clothes to mine. Beneath me, my legs wobble like jelly, trying to hold us both up.

  If we don’t stop soon, my legs will give out. I’ll collapse, and neither of us will be able to get back up. We’ll both be tied to the cart and made to suffer for too long before death brings its kindness to us.

  I wish I stole Caspan’s daggers from his tent. That way, at least I could end Adrianna’s suffering now. And before I could pay the price for it, I could slit my own throat and join her in a peaceful place where dark fae don’t rule.

  All that works in our favour right now is the pace of the army. The dark fae are slowing down. Every moment that passes us by, the speed of the army stalls just that bit more. It makes it easier to keep up, to stop from falling behind. But it’s more than that.

  I suspect we’ll stop to make camp soon. I hope we do. Because if I want any shot at my plan, I need to see Caspan. I need a second of his time to plead with him to help Adrianna.

  But not everyone can hold on as long as I can.

  Behind me, there’s a loud thud, followed by a grunt. I can only twist around so far without letting go of Adrianna, but I glimpse what happened.

  Nicole’s friend—the sweater-chest guy—has fallen to his knees. He stays down on his hands and knees, his head bowed in defeat.

  I watch as Nicole and fox-face hook their arms around his and try to haul him to his feet. But the guy is too large, too bulky, and no matter how hard they try to lift him back up, their arms keep giving way.

  The guards are honing in on him, like predators to weak and injured prey. Two fae seperate from the guards. The way they move in on the burly guy sends chills up my spine. Their steps are sure-footed, and their toothy smiles are wicked.

  Fox-face lets go of sweater-guy first. But Nicole isn’t giving up so easily. She crouches beside her companion and, with all her might, tries to heave him up with her weak, bony arms. Her face twists into a grimace as she struggles.

  Before she can so much as lift one of his arms off the ground, one of the fae boots her on the side. The impact is loud, and she’s sent sprawling to the road. I’m certain one of her ribs is cracked. She writhes on the ground, her arms wrapped around her middle, and her face is twisted into something ugly.

  The two fae scoop up the large, bulky guy with little effort at all. It’s as though they are picking up litter from the ground, they make it look so easy.

  I pull Adrianna to the side as the fae drag the man up our way. As they pass us, I hear a mutter that sounds like “weak human”. Then, they throw the man onto the back of the cart like he’s little more than a sack of grain, and bind his limbs with rope.

  It’s now that the runner boy is confirmed dead. The fae step over his motionless body before they unhook the chain from him, then one of them sticks a dagger into the side of his neck for good measure. He doesn’t even flinch at the killing blow. He’s been dead for a good while, I suspect.

  As the fae retake their places in the guard, I look back over my shoulder. Nicole is being helped to her feet by fox-face. Tears make her eyes shine crimson in the torch-light, and she stares longingly at the cart her companion was deposited on. Her pathetic sobs carry in the air.

  We move on. Nicole’s cries don’t soften.

  It makes me wonder what the man means to her. Not because I care, but because I’m curious. That’s all.

  And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? The people at the end of the world—even us captives—aren’t the ones who deserve to live. The worst of us are the ones who survive.

  I never said I was good. I only ever claimed to be what I am. Just as much of a monster as the dark fae. Maybe even worse, because they own what they are, they don’t try to hide it. But we do.

  5

  We finally stop off-road in a large, grassy field.

  There’s no tree coverage, so where we’ll relieve ourselves, I don’t know. For days, I’ve been holding in bottles of water in my bladder and I’m just about to burst at the seams. A couple of the other humans don’t bother holding it anymore—they just go as they walk.

  Adrianna is one of them. Her jeans are soaked in the middle. In her defence, she’s barely clinging to consciousness now. I’ve carried her weight most of the trek, and it’s getting heavier each moment. Finally, we can both rest.

  She’s half-asleep when the army comes to a stop.

  After I set her down on a mossy log, I quickly weave through the crowd and head for the edge of the dim torch-light. There, I find a lick of privacy. I can still see guards spreading out around the camp, but modesty these days is something left behind in the old world.

  I pull down my leggings and squat in the shadows. As I empty myself, I watch the slight movement in the camp. Only a few of the humans are marching off to their duties. They set up some tents at the far end, where the torch-light burns brightest. But, from what I can see, most of the humans are unfolding themselves over the grass and delving right into sleep. Some pick through their pockets for scraps they have, and nibble quietly.

  No one is starting campfires. There are no meals being prepped, no furniture being removed from the carts and taken into the larger tents. Looks like most of the fae are quick to fall asleep, too.

  The camp is still and calm.

  Once I’m done, I shimmy up my leggings and head back to the human side. From the shadows, the stares of the closest guards silently watch me go.

  Some humans pass me on my way back, headed to relieve themselves in the shadows as well. The shadows are all the privacy we are afforded right now.

  Before I find my way back to Adrianna, I spot Nicole sitting on a rock. She’s alone, slouched over, and she picks at blades of overgrown grass. Her face is forlorn, slack with sorrow. While her stare is fi
xed on the blades of grass she demolishes with her fingers, her eyes look ever distant.

  At the sad sight of her, I’m reminded about her friend, and I look up at the cart where he’s tied up, motionless. Wonder if he’s asleep or just defeated.

  I don’t know why, but my legs are moving me closer to her, and I find myself coming to a stop in front of her.

  My fingers fidget as she looks up at me.

  Her lashes are fringed with the tears she silently sheds.

  “What do you want?” There’s not much bite in her words this time around. Her tone carries as much defeat as her face wears.

  I glance around the camp, as if I’ll find something to say.

  Really, I want to know about the man she weeps over. I want to know what he means to her, and if the scarf I stole is something of a token from her past life. I want to learn about her—see her as a person, and not an enemy. Not because I care about her or anything. I need leverage if I’m to persuade her to switch duties with me.

  I have a plan to help Adrianna. And if it works, I need a way to wiggle out of the focus of Caspan afterwards. Nicole might be the shield I’m searching for. But to use her, I need to know her.

  I bring my gaze back to her.

  She’s looking down at the grass again, but her shoulders are stiff enough that I know she’s not keen on my presence.

  “Why aren’t we setting up camp?” It’s the first question that springs to mind—the ice-breaker, as it is. All I need to do is hook her attention first, then slowly reel her in to my web of a plan that’s spinning wide.

  She sighs a choked-sob sound, then brushes of crumbs of grass from her hands. “They do this sometimes,” she says after a pause. “The fae. They stop between camps for a short rest.”

  She looks up at me. Her glassy eyes shimmer in the torch light, carrying pain that’s caged inside of her. I can tell that all she wants to do is run to her companion, save him from the fae. But the consequences would be deadly.

  “No point in setting up camp,” she goes on. “We’ll leave in hours.”

  Nodding, I lift my gaze to the cart ahead. Torches are planted in the dirt on either side of it. The orange light dances over the motionless body of the hairy man.