Dark Souls

by Quinn Blackbird

  Relief floods me. I won’t have to drag her with us. I just hope she’s strong enough to walk on her own, because I’m feeling tired and run down. And starving.

  This little bowl of dry cereal that the humans get isn’t enough to fight off that sickly feeling of hunger I carry.

  I feed some to Adrianna.

  Before we leave the field, the hairy guy is fastened to the rear of the cart. Caspan is the one to strike down the back of his leg with his dagger. The same final punishment given to the runner boy.

  Guess that’s the fine for falling behind in this group. You either die by bleeding out, or be dragged to your death after you’ve reached the point of exhaustion.

  As it is, I barely feel like I can keep up much longer. From the lethargy clinging to all of us humans in our slow steps and slumped postures, I know I’m not alone. But we all push through the pain and fatigue, because letting it win means certain death.

  I just hope Adrianna and I can pull through for the rest of the trek before we have to stop again.

  8

  It’s working.

  My half-assed plan isn’t fully finished yet—I still need to trade duties with Nicole if I can—but already, it seems to have worked. Caspan hasn’t so much as looked in my direction, and we’ve been moving for days. In all the towns and villages and even farm houses that the dark fae have destroyed, I’ve not seen Caspan watching me once.

  His interest in me is well and truly dead.

  Now that he knows all about my scars, my tattoo, my past, he has moved on. No more glances my way, no more watching me, nothing. Even when we stop to watch the dark fae burn down the places we pass through, he stays at the far end of the army and keeps his back facing my direction.

  It’s a strange feeling to have succeeded. I got what I wanted; to save Adrianna and avoid the General. Yet, I find myself looking up at him sitting tall and proud on his steed, sort of hoping he will look my way. A part of me—a small hidden part that I’m ashamed of—wishes he would catch my gaze, if even for a moment.

  Guess the dark fae truly are as cold as I first thought. How quickly they lose interest. But it’s what I wanted, so I can’t complain. Especially since Adrianna is at full health by my side as the army approaches the French town of Sangatte, where the Channel Tunnel starts.

  Adrianna doesn’t lean on me anymore. She walks on her own beside me. But while she’s as healthy as she was before the gunshot wound, we both feel the hunger gnawing at us.

  We’re all out of power bars and packets of chocolate. No more food to share between us. And this isn't the sort of group where we can ask others for some scraps. Or maybe it is, and I’m just stuck on the old ways.

  Since leaving behind the field, we’ve marched through much of France. When we approached Paris, my gut churned as I laid eyes on the scorched remains of the once-brilliant city. It’s gone. All gone. Dark fae had already laid siege on the city before we passed through it. And it was just a pit-stop to this fae army. We stopped only for a few hours before heading out of the city and walking along the coastline.

  I suspect we’re headed for the Channel Tunnel, the old rail tunnel in the seaport commune, Sangatte. I’ve been there before.

  The first time my parents took me to France (not long before the dreaded divorce years), we took the train through the Channel Tunnel and stayed a short while in the nearby town of Calais.

  I remember the beach—the smell of saltwater in the air, the taste of salted toffee from coastline shops, my first ever coffee at nine years old (a sweetened latte). That trip was one of firsts. My first sip of wine (I detested it. Thought it tasted like off vinegar.), first coffee, first visit to France, and the first time my father cheated on my mother.

  I mean, he didn’t cheat on the trip, of course. Too risky. But the woman he had an affair with kept calling and calling and calling his phone. Mother finally pieced it together when we were in Paris. The arguments in the hotel room were violent.

  From a plush armchair near the balcony that overlooked the Eiffel Tower, I watched my mother throw expensive glasses at my father’s head—the kind used for aged whiskey. Tumblers. Those thick crystal glasses. One of them struck his head. Blood streaked down the side of his face. He had to get three stitches because of it.

  That was the first time I ever decided that I hated my parents. Both of them. I hated my mother for forgiving my father, and I hated him for hurting her. I hated them for their arguments and their betrayals and their blatant disregard of me. In those days, I was pushed aside. They were too busy hating each other to pay me any mind.

  I spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house after that trip.

  Even now, as I start to taste the memories on the salty air as we walk down a highway that mirrors the seashore, I hate them. The cold breeze envelopes me, my skin prickles into tiny thorns, and all it does is remind me of the trip. If I listen to the air long enough, I can still hear their shouts carry on the winds.

  I wonder if the dark fae are like us.

  They are no strangers to pain, I know. They take particular pleasure in inflicting pain on us. But are they the same with each other?

  Do they enjoy harming one of their own? Do they betray each other and hurt the ones they love, or do they reserve that barbarity for us?

  Do they love?

  I doubt love is in their nature. And if they are capable of it, I suspect it’s more dangerous than it’s worth. Even just having Caspan’s mild, fleeting attention almost cost me my life.

  No, I think that if the dark fae love, it’s a death sentence. Might well be safer to be the object of their hatred rather than the object of their affection.

  But me? I would rather be ignored by them. Hidden in the shadows, watching as they unleash their cruelties upon others. So long as I stay safe, that’s all that matters to me. And Adrianna, of course.

  Still, I wouldn’t sacrifice my life for her. I risked it already, and that was enough for me. No more. No more bargains with Caspan, no more collecting his laundry and fuelling his interest—not that he pays me much mind anymore.

  Things are just simpler when I only have myself to worry about. Much simpler. It’s a hell of a lot easier to survive.

  And that’s what I am at the end of it all. A survivor.

  *

  A road sign rears up ahead, telling us that we’re approaching Sangatte, and my suspicions about where we’re headed are near-confirmed.

  To my surprise, the army comes to a slow stop before we pass the sign, and the direction twists to the left. We head towards the beach instead of straight ahead to the town where the tunnel begins.

  A nice change from the hard road, sand starts to sink beneath the weight of me. The soles of my boots are slender. The texture of the sand is like an embrace on the sore, cracked heels of my feet, compared to the rough gravelly road we’ve been trekking on for days.

  As always, darkness lashes all around us. It licks at the edges of the torch-light that illuminates the vastness of the fae army. But it doesn’t feel so dark here, on the seaside. Probably got something to do with the salt that carries on the breeze. It wisps up old memories inside of me, and I remember the days when the sun shone down on these beaches, and when the night came, the sky was speckled with stars and a bright moon. It’s dark now, sure. But it feels light.

  Clinging onto those brighter days, I plod down the sandy slope next to Adrianna, as we shadow the bulk of the army.

  Ahead, they start to slow again, and I think of dogs walking around in circles on their beds, around and around until they find just the right spot. That’s what the dark fae are doing up ahead—scouting for the right spot to make camp.

  Maybe they are looking for the prime coverage from the road. They might see better in the dark than we do, and want full vantage of any attacks that might come their way.

  It makes sense that they can see in the dark. Like cats and lions and bats. Creatures made for the darkness. The torches might be for our benefit, the humans
. Or maybe they just prefer a touch of light to surround them in the eternal, pressing darkness they carry with them. I think of the glowworms jars that were in Caspan’s tent, and wonder if they use such things for light in their own world.

  Finally, they find their spot further up the shore, where the sand starts to give way to pebbles and stones, and the air seems thicker. There must be some coverage around here. A cliff’s edge to block the sharp cold from the winds, maybe.

  It’s here that the army comes to a stop, and we wind down the shore like a dragon’s tail. At the very tip, the humans get to work immediately.

  We take no breaks or rest before urgency stirs through us.

  Guards take post where the light breaks and the true darkness begins. As always, they stick to the shadows as though that is where they most belong. Because they do.

  Two humans head to the water’s edge with pots and buckets in their arms to collect water. Normally fae guards go with them to get water, but with the guards pressing in on us like a crescent moon, and the waves crashing on the edge of the sand and rocks, there’s no escape. So we’re left mostly to ourselves as we start work.

  Adrianna squeezes my hand gently before she heads off to gather food from the cart. Now that she’s feeling better, she’s able to work her assignment without my help.

  All around, exhausted and battered humans keep moving. Food prep starts, tents are pitched up the far end of camp, water is being heaved back to us, fire pits are ignited, and the carts are unloaded. The only undisturbed matter on the carts is the hairy guy that Nicole is so attached to, Georgi.

  From here, I can see he’s awake.

  He sits up against the wooden wall of the cart, his wrists bound to an iron bolt by heavy chains, and he watches us go about our duties as though he isn't there at all. It’s ugly how humans get when they need to look out for themselves. No one aids him. And I’m not about to help, either. I’ve got my own concerns to worry myself about.

  Nicole starts on the fire pit as I carry a tall pot out to the shore and plod through the water. It foams at my boots and, distantly, I can hear the rage of the sea crashing against rocks and water. It’s violent. Probably why the dark fae stopped here. It calls to them. Violence to violence, chaos to chaos.

  The pot is too heavy for me to carry back to the camp, so I clutch the metal handle tightly and drag it up the shore. When I reach Nicole by the roaring fire pit, I’m exhausted, and I’ve spilled much of the seawater I collected.

  In silence, Nicole and I divide up the rope. Only, before we spread out to tie it up, we realise we have nothing to attach it to. No tree trunks to bind the rope around.

  Silent and defeated, she tosses her share of the rope onto the sandy ground and stalks off to the cart to collect the laundry baskets. Not the cart where her lover is bound, though she does look over at him longingly before she jumps up onto the cart.

  I watch her with a frown on my face before I turn my gaze down at the rope in my hands. Without the rope to hang the clothes we wash, we can’t dry the laundry. It’s not a problem I’ve encountered with the group before, but I can’t imagine that returning wet clothes and armour to the dark fae will bode very well.

  Nicole returns with a stack of baskets that she dumps at my feet. She watches the flames burn bright in the fire pit. As always, she started our little work-fire away from the others. I think she likes the solitude, really.

  Without looking at me, she mutters, “We’ll have to dry them by hand.”

  My gaze flips downward to the sand clinging to the toes of my damp boots. Drying each item of clothing by hand? Talk about miserable. Not a task I’m willing to take on.

  Eyeing the rope still tangled in my hands, I look up at the cart where her lover is chained, then to my right where our shitty little tents are being perched.

  “Fuck that,” I say, then boot her half of the rope towards her. “We can run it from there—” I gesture up at the cart, then down to the faded beige tents. “—to there.”

  The rope will split our human side of camp right down the middle, and give us no shelter from the fae side, but it’s better than hand-drying each piece of clothing we have to wash. I don’t fancy holding up trousers to fire pits for hours on end.

  Nicole doesn’t hesitate before she scoops up her half of the rope, then heads up the sand to the cart where her lover is chained.

  She takes longer than she needs to, and I suspect—as I look over at her—that she’s muttering words of comfort to him. Like it’ll help. But we all tell ourselves lies in those final moments, don't we? It’s our nature. To lie when we’re well, and to lie when we’re not.

  Once we’re done with the rope, Nicole surprises me by taking two baskets into her arms. “I’ll get the laundry,” she tells me, and I arch my brows at her. “If that’s all right?”

  I look at her like she’s slapped me with a fish that washed up on the shore. This wasn’t part of my plan. I was meant to persuade her to trade spots with me, to collect Caspan’s armour and clothes in my place. This was supposed to be another battle of ours to fight out. But she offers so freely that my suspicions are disturbed and I eye her darkly.

  “Why?” I can’t hide the surprise from my prickly voice.

  She shrugs and avoids my gaze.

  Hiding something from me.

  Whatever her motivations are, she doesn't want to share them with the likes of me. Maybe she thinks I’ll stop her or force her to stay behind with the fire pit and boiling water.

  She’s wrong.

  “Whatever.”

  I wave her off as though it makes no difference to me, then turn to the pot of water. I kick some sand onto the flames to slow the boil.

  Nicole takes off with the baskets, and I’m left to watch water simmer. I can’t explain why, but there’s a hollow pit swelling up in my stomach. I feel cold all over, despite that I stand so close to the hot pot and flames.

  Maybe it’s that it wasn’t supposed to be this easy. My plan had phases and steps. Lessen Caspan’s interest in me by sharing with him what he wanted to know about me. But he lost interest far faster than I expected.

  Now, I’m meant to be convincing Nicole to collect the clothes—that way, Caspan doesn't see me, I can avoid him and his attention. But she offered, and I can’t imagine why.

  Whatever the reason, I have a cold and bitter taste in my mouth as I kick damp sand onto the edge of the fire pit, threatening the already weak flames that survive there.

  After a few moments, I pull away from the pot of water and dig through the supply bag. I scoop out a tub of washing powder.

  Fleetingly, I steal a glance up at the tents ahead. Caspan’s black tent sits tall against the dim orange light that illuminates the camp. I don’t see any movement up there. No Nicole, no General, no Cheekbones even. It’s still and quiet.

  I place the cleaning instruments along the sand at my feet before I tip a few scoops of washing powder into the pot. Once I’m done, I wipe off powder residue on my leggings as Adrianna comes over.

  I look up at her.

  She carries a bowl of something hidden in shadows. Still, even in the darkness sneaking around this end of camp, I see the ribbons of steam wafting up from the bowl.

  A hot meal.

  I’m rushing towards her faster than any table manner allows. She smiles as she passes off the bowl into my hands.

  “It’s just soup,” she tells me. “Tomato and pumpkin.”

  I make a face. Not a fan of mixing two flavours together. Never have been. Chai lattes, peppermint chocolates, orange-vanilla cake. None of it ever enticed me.

  Still, these are desperate times, and our food stores don’t always allow for my picky appetite. Sometimes, those on meal duties have to mix whatever we have together to cook up enough for all of us.

  I park myself on the sand and cup the bowl with one hand.

  Adrianna sits beside me as I stick into my soup.

  “I owe you,” she says after a long, quiet moment. “You sav
ed my life, Vale.”

  I don’t look at her. I keep my gaze on the wooden spoon as I deliver more and more soup into my mouth. The heat of the meal is warming me up. My bones begin to loosen their grip on that pinching chill they’ve carried for days, and the little prickles on my arms start to soften.

  It’s the first time Adrianna has acknowledged what I did for her. Mostly, she’s beaten around the bush for the past few days, and the few times we’ve talked, it’s been of other things. No mention of her almost dying and me bringing her back to life. Well, the black powder did that, but semantics.

  “It’s fine,” I tell her. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  I almost add ‘You would do the same for me’, but I falter, because I’m not certain she would. We might be friends, co-survivors or whatever label you want to slap on us, but I’m not convinced that the ‘saving each other’ part applies here.

  I mean, even I had selfish motives for risking myself to save her. I didn’t do it for her. I did it for me, so I wouldn’t be alone, so I wouldn’t have to lose the last friend I have in this world. It was one hundred percent self-motivated.

  And I’m ok with that.

  “I’m in your debt.” Adrianna pushes up from the sand and wipes her bum clean. “Let’s see—I’m thinking a stolen chocolate bar will settle what I owe.”

  I smile crookedly and hand her the empty bowl. “Who’s got chocolate around here?”

  “Trust me.” She levels her stare with mine. “I’ll find out.”

  I laugh as she takes off, back to her duty. But I hope she’s not really joking, because I would kill for some chocolate on those long, cold treks the army forces us to take. That sugar-energy never seemed important to me before, because in the old group we had a rule of finding real food to nourish ourselves. But in this group, eating only on the fae’s schedule, a sugar-hit might just give me enough energy to push onwards on a long trek and not fall behind. And that might just save my life.

  But then again, if Adrianna does find me chocolate, does that mean her debt to me is paid? That’s a disappointing thought. Because there isn’t anything more valuable these days than people who owe you.