Raven Heart

by Angharad Thompson Rees

  She braced herself, taking a deep breath, then grabbed the door handle. Dermot placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. She turned to face him, and he shook his head, no.

  Regardless, she pushed open the door.

  The room was cold. More than cold. Bitter and ice and impossibly dark. Shapes and shadows shifted. Emrysa stepped forward, a metallic odor caught in her throat as her bare toes stepped into a warm puddle of...

  Dermot grabbed her, pulling his sister back to him once more. “Careful,” he urged.

  Emrysa lifted her hand to summon fire to her palm to light the way.

  In a flash she saw it. Saw them—her parents. She stifled a scream, but a whimper escaped. Something else shrieked louder, its breath extinguishing her flame. Darkness prevailed.

  Emrysa could hear the short, shallow breaths of her brother, Merlin, and Nimue behind her while she tried to steady her own. Nobody spoke but their fear held its own voice.

  Hidden in shadows, Emrysa trembled, and though she wished to never see the gruesome image again, she had to. She had to find out what happened... and... what was in the room.

  With a timid gesture, Emrysa cast a dim light spell. This time the otherworldly shriek was louder, if that was even possible, and immediately, the light was extinguished before she could witness the grisly death of her parents once more. She clasped her hands over her ears as the shrieking pitch hit a crescendo. The noise subsided, but its effect did not. Emrysa turned to her brother. He didn’t say a word, but within the shadows she saw his head shake.

  Merlin placed a hand on Emrysa’s shoulder, and she jumped at his touch. She glanced over at him. “I think I know what this is...” she whispered urgently. “I felt it before—”

  “Before, where?” Merlin asked although none of them needed her to answer to know the truth of it.

  This, this thing, was not of their world. This Darkness, this… hopelessness. It was darker than their world could perceive. And whatever it was, it had killed Lord and Lady Cheval in a way that would stain Emrysa’s mind for eternity. Her heart, already heavy, pulled itself deeper into gloom. And she had a terrible feeling that everyone she had ever loved would leave her. Leave her to rot a lonely death.

  “This is the madness you brought back with you, Emrysa.” Nimue joined her side, sliding in as silent as an assassin.

  Deep in the darkness, they could all see it now—the mass had formed together to make a shape, darker than the shadows, snaking and coiling its way ever forward.

  “Well, don’t just stand there gawping like idiots,” Emrysa cursed, pain in her heart from her parent’s death escaping as fury. “Let’s blast this thing to Kingdom come.”

  All four dropped to a defensive crouch, palms braced toward the entwining darkness; each with they own powerful spell glowing.

  Red. Blue. Green. Purple.

  There was no shriek this time as their glows shone enough to light the macabre site once more.

  “By the Goddess,” Merlin hissed.

  Emrysa and Dermot did their best not to look, although Emrysa could see from the corner of her eye. She could see what she wished she could not. She felt herself heave, then the acrid burn of vomit blazed her throat, her mouth, and she retched onto the floor. Head bowed over her knees she could see exactly what the flagstones were stained with as her vomit hit the ground with a slop. Disgust roiled in the pit of her stomach making her heave again.

  A scream erupted, transforming into a wail—then began the whirring Emrysa had first heard in the darkened forest. She rose, watching the mass as it writhed and coiled, faster, wilder. It was angered, whatever this was. Angered by their light. By their working together. She prepared herself once more, re-joining the group and braced for attack. It hurtled toward them.

  “Now!” Emrysa yelled.

  Together, the bright colors charged from their hands, pounding into the Darkness. With a screech, the Darkness parted in the exact places of collision, holes the sizes of a fist sizzled and smoked through the mass. The bright colors turned to grey ash, rendering their spells useless.

  “Shit!” Emrysa cursed.

  “We can’t attack it,” Merlin yelled over the growing scream of the Darkness.

  “Then we need to defend,” Emrysa said. “We need to immobilize it, stop it from leaving this room. Stop it from escaping into the world.”

  “What we need,” Nimue grunted, “is help from the Alchive Council.”

  This time, Emrysa did not disagree. They needed all the help they could get, and there were none so powerful as the Council.

  “Still,” Dermot said. “We need to deal with this thing now!”

  They thrust their arms outwards, casting their own versions of a protective barrier, but it was no good. The Darkness, like smoke, simply found the gaps, the weak points and morphed its shape to get through any spell they created. But they continued in an avalanche of spell casting. Intricate hand movements, wild arm gestures, incantations, roars and rages. Nothing, nothing, worked.

  “It is useless,” Nimue said without emotion. “There is nothing we can do to stop the Darkness spreading. It is out of our hands. It is out of our control.”

  With that, the Darkness almost seemed to laugh, a strange sound of serrated edges and jagged blades. Then it bolted with a sudden blink of an eye to Emrysa. It stopped just as suddenly and hovered in the space before her. Time seemed to hover before her, as if the world stopped turning.

  Frozen to the spot, only her eyes widened, and in a swift half-second the Darkness morphed, elongating, details forming, until it turned into the shape of Emrysa. A darkened version of herself staring right back at her.

  Emrysa stepped back.

  The Darkness followed.

  Emrysa brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a brewing scream.

  The Darkness mimicked her every move, but it did not stifle its scream. Instead, it shrieked its otherworldly call in her face, sending Merlin, Dermot, and Nimue crashing to the gore-covered floor. They clasped their ears, painting blood on their faces from the burgundy puddle soaking the flagstone floor. But just as the Darkness seeped through their spells, the otherworldly yells seeped through their fingers, piercing ear drums and soul.

  Only Emrysa remained standing, staring at the darkened version of herself as it yelled in her face. And its sound, its scratching metal-on-metal voice morphed in her blood. She heard it. She could understand it.

  It spoke to her.

  “You will succumb to me,” it said, cold and cruel, a leering and taunting command.

  “No!” yelled Emrysa. “I will never succumb to your darkness.”

  But she felt her fraying soul betray her mind. She tried to grapple with it, pull its edges, but the more she did, the more it unravelled. Is this what it means to lose your soul, to lose command of your own desires?

  “You and I are as one,” the Darkness continued. “Come with me...”

  Her blackened form smoked into a shapeless mass once more and in a half-breath, it bolted from the dead Lord and Lady Cheval’s bedchamber and hurtled through the door, expanding as it travelled.

  Emrysa watched the others scramble to their feet, looking for any sign they may have heard what she had. Sharing a fearful glance at her brother, a longing look of approval from Merlin, and a disdainful half-glance at Nimue, Emrysa spun, gathering her nightdress in her clutches.

  “Emrysa, wait!” Dermot yelled. “You can’t do this alone. You always try to do everything alone!”

  But it was too late, she was already charging after the Darkness, telling herself she was chasing it down, promising herself she was not following its command.

  And she prayed with her fraying soul that she was telling herself the truth.

  14

  Blame

  Unease settled upon Emrysa as she chased the elusive Darkness. It tore through the corridors, expanding as it did until it rounded the first spiral staircase and disappeared. While she could no longer see the shifting mass, she could
follow its wake. Every place it touched reeked of death. Mold now appeared, creeping up the walls; a thick green mildew stinking of decay. Vibrant tapestries also felt the touch of darkness, their once bright colors now dulled in shades of grey and black and patches of infected green that worsened as the long seconds rolled by. She slowed to a stilted jog, looking about herself. Breath plumed in front of her face, lingering and expanding into the bitter ice cold that had nothing to do with the Welsh winter.

  What is this thing? Emrysa knew of no dark power that could consume all life and light. Not that she knew that much about the dark arts, but she would have been a fool not to know something—not to gather an understanding of what’s out there in the world, what she might need to know to defend herself, defend her brother. Her family. Not that the knowledge had saved her family. In the end, to save herself, she had brought this thing back. And it had killed her parents. It may as well have been by her very own hand, she thought with ever increasing pain and guilt. Oh yes, she knew what darkness was now—its weight pressed down on her, making her insides ache.

  The corridors, the chambers, they were all empty. Besides the darkened touch, there was nothing.

  Where is everybody?

  Had they run for cover? Did they escape before the Darkness took hold? There were no bodies—she shivered at the memory of her parents’ massacred bodies.

  The castle was a ghost’s shadow.

  “I don’t like this, I don’t like this one bit,” Emrysa muttered as she turned into the dining hall.

  She stopped short, her hand shooting to her mouth as bile rose to her throat. With the moon a little higher in the sky now, casting its glow through the tall windows, she had just enough light to see what she wished she could not. Holding her breath and pinching her nostrils, Emrysa tiptoed to two maids face down on the flagstones. She knelt, squirming with a gulp as she turned the redhead’s cold body over. It wasn’t Rhian, and she breathed only a small sigh of relief. She knew she shouldn’t have favorites but that didn’t stop the feeling that the young maid was the closest thing to a sister Emrysa had ever had. Pale dead eyes stared back at her, and at once Emrysa felt guilt for her thoughts. Nobody deserved to die like this. Especially these girls. Girls. Younger than her by years, never to know life or freedom. Both dead. Brutally, savagely murdered.

  Emrysa backed away from the horror, from the morbid impossibility of it all. A rare moment where she wished to have her father’s men—his warriors—close.

  She made her way to the main hall now, hoping in vain to see a sign of life instead of the consuming emptiness. Hoping to find her father’s men. Hoping and not hoping to find the Darkness. On the threshold, Emrysa paused, wondering for a moment if she should wait for the others. Even Nimue’s help would be appreciated if the Darkness was hiding in the room before her. But her curiosity won out. And on impulse, she shuffled forward.

  The showpiece of the main hall, the golden oak, was still standing. Just.

  But where hours ago the branches were thick and full of golden leaves, laden with ripe fruit, now it stood bare. As naked as Emrysa’s fears. She could see it in the shadows if she looked closely, the way the empty branches now crumbled, turning to ash. The floor knee-deep with fallen leaves, but these were not the fallen leaves of autumn, crisp and golden. These leaves were as sharp and as black as broken promises. As black as a raven’s heart. It was as if the golden oak had been replaced by another tree altogether.

  And then she remembered. She had seen trees like this before.

  In the world through the portal.

  Leaves crunched behind her, she spun.

  “It is not completely your fault,” Merlin said, looking in horror at the dying tree. “I should have been quicker to grab you, or I should have ensured a spell to only allow beings from this world back in. You cannot blame yourself entirely.”

  Emrysa scoffed, because she did not blame herself entirely. In fact, now she thought about it, she did not blame herself one bit. If the stupid Council had just left her and her brother to their own devices and not planned her murder, none of this would have happened.

  Her parents would still be alive. Her maids. Her dragon heart... her soul would still be whole.

  “Whatever this is, Merlin, it is not my fault,” Emrysa began, dead leaves disintegrating beneath her feet as she placed her palm upon the dying golden oak. A sickly feeling came over her—the silent screams nestled within the death trees of the other world. “But I do intend to fix it.”

  “How?!” Merlin barked. “If our powers combined could not stop it, what makes you so sure you can alone?”

  Emrysa turned away with a shrug. She didn’t know, except she had a feeling in her bones, deep in the marrow of her being that she must do something. A heaviness brewed, one that said everything, everyone, whether they knew it or not, whether they believed her or not, were reliant upon her next move.

  “I’ll make a plan, find a spell. I always do.” She started toward Merlin, but her eyes tore from his to the view over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  They both turned to the window.

  Torches, dozens of them, on the far horizon. By the way the lights bounced, they belonged to horsemen. They were coming a clip, whoever they were.

  “Our townsfolk seeking safety here, no doubt,” Emrysa said, but Nimue burst through the shadows, Dermot in tow.

  “Emrysa!” Nimue said. “It’s the Council.”

  “Here to help? Finally, they do something positive for this family,” Emrysa said, surprisingly hopeful. But Nimue’s face was twisted in a painful grimace.

  Dermot cast his eyes to his feet, his complexion paler than ever. “Nimue and I, we’ve... we’ve seen something—in the scrying board.”

  Merlin shot Nimue a stern stare. Emrysa looked between the two. It was Nimue who pushed past Merlin to grab Emrysa’s hands.

  “I’ve just been in communication with the Council—while you made your way here—I had to. We need their help.”

  Emrysa frowned. “We do, but it doesn’t make sense. How can they be here so quickly?”

  “They were already close... to prepare for your…”

  “Execution?”

  Nimue looked away and Emrysa wondered if it was through shame or guilt, or both.

  “The Council know of the Darkness, Emrysa,” Nimue continued. “They are coming to eradicate it.” Her fingers, as cold as steel, clenched around Emrysa’s own.

  “Okay, so grievances forgotten for now, I’ll help them—help you.” She turned to Merlin. “If it means we can get rid of this thing.”

  “Emrysa,” Nimue shook her head. “They are not only planning to eradicate the Darkness. They plan to eradicate you as well.”

  “What on hell fire?!” Merlin yelled, breaking between the two. “What have you told them? What have you done?!”

  “I didn’t need to tell them anything for them to know! The Darkness has already spread across the kingdom. I’m only telling you what they told me through the scrying board.”

  “Well, what did they say?” demanded Emrysa.

  “They’re blaming you for unleashing the Darkness. They think you killed your parents too—”

  “But that’s ridiculous! We’ll tell them, show them, when they get here. And then I can, I don’t know, make them believe me.”

  Nimue shook her head. “They will not wait to ask questions, Emrysa. They have commanded me to ensure we have you ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Dermot asked.

  “To… to be condemned.”

  Dermot hissed through his teeth. Merlin kicked up the dead leaves in frustration.

  Emrysa raged. “Why are you telling me this? You of all people?”

  “You know why,” Nimue said, her stare ardent. She licked her lips reminding Emrysa of the stolen kiss. “I was sent here to do a job. I didn’t expect to feel anything about the mission. I didn’t expect to feel anything toward you...”

  Emrysa stood stunned.

 
“Here, let me show you,” Nimue said finally.

  Nimue cleared the leaves, exposing dying sap that seeped across the floor like thick tar. It was enough liquid to replay the scrying scene she and Dermot had seen only moments before. Though the images were far from clear, the voices rang as true as death.

  15

  The Protectors of Magic

  “This is our opportunity, we all know this, do we not?” A wizened woman said, her voice as cold as steel.

  She addressed a long, narrow table full of witches and wizards and other beings—half-animal, half-human. Things Emrysa had never before seen. She stepped forward, bending closer to the vision before her.

  “What are they?’ Dermot asked, but Emrysa hushed him with a single finger to her lips. She couldn’t miss a word.

  “The Cheval bloodline has caused nothing but controversy for centuries—”

  “By being powerful wielders of magic?” One young witch pitched in. “Is that what this is about? Power?”

  “Oh goodness. She’s pretty,” Dermot mused aloud, earning a dig in the ribs from Emrysa’s elbow.

  “We cannot have one family wield more power than the entire Alchive Council!” the first witch roared, pounding the table with her fist to better make her point. All jumped, but the young witch.

  “I was sworn into the Council to protect the very people you are trying to condemn. Are we not meant to be the protectors of magic? Therefore, the protectors of the very beings who wield it?”

  “She’s wonderful,” Dermot said dreamily. Emrysa flapped her hand to quieten him as the old witch pointed a finger to the girl, and with one slice through the air, silenced the witch. Her lips melded together until they were no longer there.

  Neat spell, Emrysa thought with an arching eyebrow, and tucked the knowledge away in her arsenal.

  “Something has happened, something... dark,” the old witch began. “Something that has altered the course of the future, and our future within it. What has happened has marked a turning point. From now on, everything in our world is insecure.”