The Moon Shines Red (Heart of Darkness Book 1)

by Pamela Sparkman

  Lord, do not turn away from me. Stay with me and feed me Your strength.

  Over and over he repeated those words. They were all the power he had. It had to be enough. He was only human, taken by those who possessed magic and strength that he did not. Had they taken anyone else? Thaddeus. Had they taken him too?

  Crack!

  Lord, do not turn away from me. Stay with me…

  Crack!

  …and feed me Your st-strength.

  He waited for what was to come. His lids were too heavy and his head drooped forward, arms extended above his head, preventing him from sinking to the ground. He was slipping into oblivion even though he fought to stay alert.

  In the distance, the dissonant creak of a heavy metal door opened and Searly forced himself to look up, to listen to the footfalls coming closer, watching the shadow on the wall come nearer, marching ahead of its owner.

  The whip sliced the air again and kissed its target. This time, the leather strip fell from his mouth and he cried out in agony, the chains clinking and clattering as his body jerked and pulled in painful, angry fits.

  Lord, do not t-turn away from me.

  “That is enough!”

  The owner of the shadow and footsteps was now before him on the other side of the cell, peering through the metal bars. Searly had to blink several times to make out the figure, because the walls seemed to swell with darkness, eating up the light, making it difficult to see.

  Blinking, he noticed the clear, soulless eyes staring back, though not at him. They stared at the one who held the whip.

  There was a brief pause. “I assumed you would be pleased.” The voice behind Searly sounded like darkness, if darkness had a voice. Absent of light and thick with gloom. It was the first time his tormentor had spoken, choosing the whip to do the talking instead.

  “Well you assumed wrong,” the one with the cold, soulless eyes said.

  Searly heard shuffling of feet behind him. He couldn’t see the one who had spent the last hours torturing him, but he could sense his fear. Searly’s lip pulled into a delirious smile.

  Good. Be afraid.

  “He’s just a human. A man of letters, a scribe. Why didn’t we kill him instead of bringing him here? And her? Why didn’t we kill her too? Why did we–”

  “Because I make the rules.”

  “The king will hear about this! You’re going soft–”

  His voice was cut off by a choking, strangling sound. Searly dared a glimpse over his shoulder and saw his tormenter clawing at his own throat, gasping for air, though there were no hands around his neck other than his own.

  The one with the soulless eyes snarled, “Do not question me!”

  Searly’s tormentor fell into a heap on the floor. He stood back up and glared while swallowing gulps of air. Searly’s eyes traveled back to the other one, the one with the white hair, dressed in white robes, with eyes clear as rain. When he noticed Searly staring, his lips parted and white fangs descended. He knew he should look away, but he wanted to remember his face, carry it to the grave if these would be his last minutes of living.

  Then he saw movement from the corner of his eye, heard the sound of the whip breaking the air and then… he shouted in agony when the last of his strength gave way.

  The next thing he heard was a roar, a battle cry. “NO!”

  And then the lights went out for Searly.

  With a tug his wrists were freed. He fell to his knees, wanting to cry out in relief. He’d blacked out and he wondered how he was still alive. He’d lost a lot of blood. Still, he continued his prayer, repeating the words over and over.

  Stay with me, Lord, and feed me Your strength.

  “Why do you pray when it is clear He chooses not to answer you?”

  Searly lifted his head and found the white-haired Fae standing over him, a blank expression on his angelic-like face with a thistle crown upon his head. Deceptive he was. “Who are you?” Searly rasped.

  “Oh, that’s right. We haven’t been introduced.” He bowed. “I am Zeph. You are Searly, the monk, friend of the half-breed.” Zeph asked his question again. “Why do you pray? I am truly curious.”

  Searly tried to stand, got dizzy, and nearly fell. Zeph moved in and took him by the elbow. “Easy.”

  Searly flinched. “I don’t need your help.”

  There was a look in Zeph’s eyes when Searly straightened, a look he couldn’t quite make out. It caused him to pause, to examine this Fae who stole him from his home. “What do you want with me?”

  “I don’t quite know.”

  “You don’t know? Why did you–”

  “You are too weak to stand.” Zeph snapped his fingers and a chair appeared. “Sit.”

  Searly swayed on his feet, trying not to wheeze with every breath he took. His ribs were broken, he was sure of it. “I’m fine,” he said, not wanting to give this Fae any satisfaction over him.

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Who else did you steal? Thaddeus? Is he here as well?”

  Zeph’s eyes were so clear that when a shadow passed behind his irises, Searly didn’t miss it. “What did you do?”

  “You are not asking the right questions.”

  Inclining his head, Searly asked, “What are the right questions?”

  Zeph tucked his hands behind his back. “The girl gave her life for yours and–”

  Searly lunged for him, grabbing a fistful of his white robe and hissed against the pain, “What did you do to her?”

  Zeph responded with a laugh so manic, so evil, it sent an icy chill down Searly’s spine. Zeph’s expression went blank and he shoved Searly off him, and Searly tumbled to the cold earth.

  “She’s alive, human. But she offered to die in your stead.” He angled his head, looking Searly over. “I have to wonder, would you give your life for hers?”

  “Yes. Leave me here. Let her go.”

  “Don’t even want to think about it?”

  “Let her go,” Searly seethed.

  “Interesting.” Zeph resumed his position of posturing with his hands clasped behind his back and began to move casually about, eyeing Searly. “Very interesting.”

  Exerting all his energy, clutching his side, Searly stood so he could look evil in the face. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I asked you a question you never answered. Why do you pray?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t care. I’m merely curious.”

  “Well…you know what they say about curiosity.”

  “And what is that?”

  “It can kill you.”

  Zeph stopped pacing and a contemplative look etched lines into his features. “Hmm…perhaps. I’m willing to risk it, though.”

  Searly spat at Zeph’s feet. It was tinged pink with blood. “Where is she?”

  “I did not order Xincs to beat you. Let it be known.”

  Searly stilled and looked around, realizing his tormentor was no longer present. “Where is he?”

  “Dead. Ashes now.” Zeph’s eyes drifted down, smirking. “We are stepping all over his grave as we speak.”

  “Why? Why kill one of your disciples?”

  Zeph laughed bitterly. “Disciple? He was not my disciple. He betrayed me. I do not tolerate betrayal.”

  Searly wiped the blood from his split lip, “Jesus had disciples who betrayed him. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “And look how that ended for Him. Nailed to a cross.” Zeph’s eyes fell to the wooden cross around Searly’s neck, now stained with blood. “Why do you pray? Why have you given your life to Him? What have you gained by doing so?”

  Searly stared at Zeph for a time, picking apart his question, dissecting his words, trying to find the heart of the matter. There was a reason Zeph was persisting. Perhaps Zeph wanted him to feel foolish, but it would never happen. At least not for believing in God, for believing in the power of prayer. After all, his prayer had been answered.

  With his cross held betwee
n his thumb and forefinger, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. “I prayed for strength. And I am still standing while my tormentor is ash beneath my boot, am I not?”

  “One might say that I answered your prayers.”

  Searly laughed at his foolishness and instantly regretted it. The pain in his side burned like he’d been stabbed with a spear. “The Lord works in m-mysterious ways.”

  Zeph’s lip curled, smiling with all the charm of a guileless wolf. “I can heal your wounds if you like.”

  It was all Searly could do not to prostrate at his feet, beg for healing, but he would never succumb to begging the cruel Fae, not even to end his suffering. He would rather die. “No.”

  “Very well.” Zeph stepped forward, his lifeless eyes set against stone features. “You will not be harmed any further while you remain here. You are free to roam about the grounds so long as you do not cause trouble.”

  “Why?” Searly asked. “Why not just kill me?”

  The lifeless eyes blinked and looked away. When his eyes landed on Searly’s again, something had chipped away the coldness in them. “Contrary to what you may believe, I do not wish to harm you. I only want to accomplish my goal, seek what is mine, and own it. Though I will kill you if you leave me no choice. However, I suspect a man of the cloth will behave. I hope you do not prove me wrong.”

  Zeph walked toward the corner of the cell to retrieve Searly’s clothes. A slip of paper floated to the ground. He bent at the waist to pick it up. “What is this?”

  Searly gritted his teeth. It was the paper Thaddeus had given him just before. “It is nothing.”

  Reading it, Zeph chortled. “It is a fool’s errand is what it is.”

  “You are probably right,” said Searly, his voice flat and hard.

  “But you don’t believe that, do you?”

  Searly chose not to answer. Defiant to the end.

  Stepping closer, he could feel Zeph’s stare, inspecting him like an insect. It made his skin crawl, like how one feels when they walk through a spider’s web. He chuffed under his breath because, thinking about it, he was trapped in a web. How long would it be before Zeph spun him in sticky silk and devoured him? Days? Maybe only hours. He certainly didn’t trust his claim that he would not be harmed. He was no fool.

  Zeph folded the paper and handed it to him, along with his clothing. “If you want to waste your time with this, by all means, waste away. I’ll even show you to my library where you can pore over books as long as you like. Just do not cause me trouble and we’ll get along splendidly.”

  Searly slipped the paper into the pocket of his breeches. He hadn’t even had the opportunity to read it yet. “I’m sure there isn’t a cure. I am like a dog with a bone. One of my many flaws.” He would play down his quest, not deny it altogether. The use of Zeph’s library could be beneficial.

  “A bit of advice for you. You really should do better about setting up your wards. All sorts of nasty things can slither through when you are not careful. I have spied on you for a time now. I know how important this little mission is for you. Do not take me for a fool. I am offering you my library. You could say thank you.”

  “Why make the offer?”

  Zeph shrugged. “If you’re in the library then you’re not in my hair.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “You may prove to be useful to me. I haven’t yet decided. I’ve said I won’t harm you.”

  “Too late.”

  “That was not by my direction. It has been taken care of.”

  “You will understand if I don’t trust you. There is the little matter of stealing me from my home. Nor have you answered my question about Thaddeus or where Elin is.”

  If Searly didn’t know better he would swear a look of regret crossed Zeph’s face. It was brief, quiet. There and gone.

  “Elin is safe, I assure you. In fact, I will let you see her soon. As for your friend, I am sorry to say that he is most likely with your Lord, assuming he was a good man, which I’m sure he was.”

  Searly lunged for Zeph again, anger rippling through him in powerful, violent waves. Zeph had been anticipating it this time and threw up a protective shield. Searly bounced off of it and fell hard on his backside, his back scraping the dungeon wall. He cried out in agony, the wounds tearing even further.

  Zeph stepped closer, a hairsbreadth away from him. He stopped and loosed a breath. His clear eyes softened, though they swirled like stormy clouds, and he took one tiny step back. “If it makes you feel better,” he said quietly, “I didn’t enjoy it.”

  Searly shook his head. “You’re a monster.”

  Zeph eased back, stared into Searly’s rich brown eyes, and touched his forehead with the palm of his hand. The pain from the lashings, the broken ribs, the split lip, and swollen eyes were gone. Like magic. Healed.

  Zeph walked toward the cell door and opened it. “Come, I’ll show you to your chamber. Unless you want to stay down here.” The corners of Zeph’s lips lifted a fraction. “Do not worry. I am not asking for gratitude. But I am ready to accept your thanks for answering your prayers whenever you are ready to offer it.”

  The torchlights cast shadows all around the dungeon cell and Searly noticed the shadow belonging to Zeph had moved, shifted, even though Zeph remained perfectly still. Although it was unsettling, Searly held his cross, kissed it once more, and said with conviction, “I was wrong before. Curiosity will not kill you. Arrogance will.”

  Zeph bowed his head, an acknowledgment of sorts, when Searly passed by, a devil-may-care grin on his face. Searly stayed away from the walls where the shadows lurked, lingering about like spies. He felt their presence, that otherworldly sensation that couldn’t be put into words. He carefully kept to the center of the dark and eerie passageway. Zeph staying just behind him, making him feel uneasy until a closed door marked the end of the journey. Or perhaps it marked the beginning.

  Zeph stepped around him, wearing a slow, easy smile that was cunning, yet bright as a new moon. “Welcome to Faery, human.”

  Zeph opened the door and a whole new world unfolded before Searly’s eyes.

  Mirova had become a labyrinth of frigid temperatures and ice. Soon after Zeph had taken Elin, winter had inexplicably moved in, painted everything white, and refused to leave. Battering gusts of wind would occasionally rise up, blowing thick flurries, and when they died, a tomblike silence haunted the land.

  Frozen tundra or not, Lochlan waged war against the Unseelie, picking them off as they slipped through the seam, which was easy enough. An ash arrow with a long bodkin arrowhead seemed to do the trick. The arrows easily penetrated their thick skin, and the iron arrowhead was poison to them. Because they were lesser Fae, they were slow and woefully ill-equipped against Lochlan. Half-breed or not, he was powerful and he was all too happy to prove it. This was what had become of Lochlan since the abduction, lying in wait to spill the blood of his enemies before his enemies could spill the blood of any more people he cared about, people he knew Searly and Elin cared about. But he had to get to Faery soon. Today, he was going to get the answers he was looking for, one way or another.

  Lochlan’s footsteps were loud against the eerie, arctic stillness, his boots crunching in the snow underneath the flint-gray skies. He maneuvered to get closer to his target, crouched behind a tree, pulled an arrow from his quiver, and waited for another Unseelie to slip through the seam behind the waterfall, which was now motionless, frozen in a delicate arch.

  Minutes ticked by. He pressed his forehead against the rough bark of the tree and breathed through his nose. He was tired. So tired. Turning around to lean his back against the old oak, he huffed out a breath, a puff of white vapor, and closed his eyes thinking maybe he could rest for a minute. Just for a minute. How many days had it been? Three? Four? It felt like a lifetime. He needed her back. Desperately. Searly too.

  Don’t give up on me. I’m trying to get to you. I swear it.

  Ice cracked behind him and he bristled. Slowly, he p
eeked around the tree. An Unseelie slithered through the seam. Carefully, without making any noise, Lochlan took his stance. He nocked the arrow, drew the bow, and aimed for the heart. A wicked grin pulled at his lips when he released the shot. His father had taught him archery as a child, and because Lochlan had an abundance of time on his hands growing up, he became an excellent marksman.

  The Unseelie fell to his knees; the arrow plunged deep into his chest, blood spilling from his mouth. Lochlan stepped from behind the tree, no longer concerned with noise, and approached his victim. The Unseelie had bluish-gray skin, pointy ears, and red-slanted eyes. It hissed the closer Lochlan drew, but no matter, he would be dead soon enough. First, though, he was going to answer some questions.

  “Why is Zeph sending you all here?” Lochlan had interrogated every Unseelie before this one, and none would cooperate. This one was going to. Because Lochlan was one step away from falling over the edge of insanity, and what was the point of going insane if he couldn’t use it to his advantage? Something useful would come of it, like answers.

  “I’m not telling you anything,” the Unseelie grunted.

  Lochlan pulled a blade from his belt and hacked off the Unseelie’s toe. It screamed in agony.

  “Start talking, you slimy piece of filth, or I’ll cut off every toe one by one. All fourteen of them. Then I’ll start on your fingers. I’ll watch you bleed and you’ll beg me to kill you. I’ll draw it out nice and slow, maybe for days. So you better…” he leaned in, getting in the creature’s face and grinding the arrow further into its chest, “…start talking.”

  “H-he wants to keep you busy. Distracted.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In the realm of nightmares and shadows.”

  “How do I get there?”

  “He has it warded. You can’t get through.”