Darkness Beneath the Dying Light

by R. T. Donlon

  There was something strange in the way Latvala explained all of this to her, as if all the teachings in the world could not have prepared her for this moment.

  “Your final task is as follows,” he continued. “You must enter the cave by your own volition. It is there you will find a man by the name of Actuano. It is he who must accept you. Then comes the choice…”

  Latvala’s voice trailed off as if overcome with anguish. He breathed slowly, dragging the air through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.

  “You must choose to stay in the caves or climb your way back out.”

  Latvala’s eyes shifted from cave to apprentice, then back to the cave. He saw no fear in Kyrah’s eyes, nor intimidation in her stance. She offered none.

  “This may seem like a simple task,” he continued, “but allow me to assure you, it is not one for the faint of heart. The taerji plays tricks with your heart, but it can doom your soul.”

  Kyrah could not speak. She could only nod to accept her fate. She wobbled to keep her balance against the violent gusts of wind.

  “Kyrah of the North,” Latvala addressed her. It was more formal than he had ever addressed her. “Are you prepared for what is before you?”

  Without hesitation, Kyrah affirmed: “Yes, Mountain Teacher.”

  “Very well,” he replied, “then follow me.”

  But where he went was no longer a physical undertaking, but an inward one. Nothing changed in Latvala’s sturdy appearance but the slightest shrug of his shoulders, the momentary bowing of his chin against his chest, and then the sudden—but not debilitating—quick buckle of his knees. He stirred quietly against his own posture.

  “Bringing you here was a mistake,” he growled. The rock-solid constitution in his eyes told her he had, indeed, changed. “The secrets of the Mountains should stay secret. You must turn away from the Mountain now. There is nothing for you here.”

  “Mountain Teacher,” she spoke gently, as if she would shake him from himself, but there was no change in him.

  “Return to your lands now before I must do something I may regret.”

  She understood the test, perhaps better than anyone who had ever underwent it, yet she could not find herself to simply break into taerji. She attempted it, falling inward and deep into her own mind, but nothing changed. This was not that time.

  Make a choice, she thought. Make a break for the cave or fight.

  Each option seemed ineffective in its own right. Surely the Mountain Warrior would battle. He had no reason to let her live.

  “I know what you are thinking,” Latvala continued, “and it will not work. Many have tried to elude me. None have.”

  No more thinking.

  Kyrah exploded from planted feet, pivoting hard against her own momentum. If there was one thing she could do, it was run. Latvala had somehow miscalculated that. She had already lunged forward with three bounding steps before Latvala reacted. She heard a grunt from behind her as she pushed her shoulders inward to avoid his feverish swipes. He missed, forcing him to focus on balancing himself against his own violent movements. For a moment, she was clear and distancing herself from him!

  She pushed even harder, speeding herself up as she approached the cave opening and had nearly reached it when a sharp pain ripped through the outside part of her left ankle. She had no time to turn her head to see what had hit her, but instead, dove headfirst into the cavernous abyss, slapping hard against the dirt as she slid in. Despite the pain, she scampered down the slope and crumpled to her side, out of breath, as she reached the bottom level.

  She could hear the distant roars of her Mountain Teacher echoing from the tunnel where she had fell, but the barks never grew louder. She stood there listening for several minutes, listening for clues that Latvala was chasing her, but after some time, she convinced herself Latvala would not enter the cave at all. It was not his duty to do so.

  Move into the cave, she thought. Find Actuano.

  A tingling sensation rose from the line of pain in her ankle. She could feel it eating away at the nerves in her leg. In the impossible darkness of the tunnel, she could not decipher how large or small the cut was, but she could tell that something was very strange about it. Why couldn’t she feel its pain anymore? Why had her leg suddenly numbed? She touched the wound, then rubbed her fingers against her thumb. The warm stickiness of blood lubricated her already dirty and wrinkled fingers. She was losing blood quickly.

  There were no nerves that clouded the clarity of her thoughts, yet the rush of adrenaline that coursed through her bloodstream amplified her already heightened senses. The tingling in her leg reached her thigh. The surface of her skin suddenly broke wide into pain. A thousand figurative needles stabbed simultaneously into every pore, digging deep into the muscles of her legs until it dug like a saw into her bones.

  It was clear now. She had been poisoned.

  A bow, she thought. Latvala’s arrows…

  Her mind raced through the list of poisons used by the Tribes. Over and over she replayed the names of them in her head, but none met these symptoms. Panic joined the adrenaline in her veins. Her heart raced. If she entered taerji here—it would certainly take the pain away. She closed her eyes and attempted another inward dive, but still, nothing happened. The racing of her mind would not allow her to calm.

  Then, a vague smell crossed her nostrils, so faint she could barely decipher its origin. She sniffed across the open chamber on her hands and knees, but found nothing in the darkness. The numbing traveled further up her thigh and, instinctively, she reached for the wound. She felt the warmth of blood dripping from her palm and wiped it on her tunic, but in that moment, another wave of odor hit her hard. She brought her bloody fingers to her nose and smelled. It was! Pine tar and lemon, of all things! It was the poison of the Eldervarn sapling.

  “Forty minutes at the most,” she whispered to herself, “before it reaches the heart.”

  If there was a time to break taerji, it was now.

  She closed her eyes.

  Tell your heart to stop, she thought, and it will.

  And this time, it did—until it kicked back into motion—but something inside of her had shifted, something had lessened the scope of her vision and broadened the eye of her mind.

  She almost had it!

  A rustling from the winding tunnels on either side of her caught her attention.

  “Show yourself,” she spoke.

  Three figures emerged from the darkness. Her eyes had adjusted enough to see only augmented shapes, no detail or form.

  “Actuano,” she whispered. “I need to see the one they call Actuano.”

  “I have seen this story before,” he spoke in wobbly, mumbled syllables. “You have come so far…only to die.”

  She understood the figure spoke of her wound.

  “I can smell the drug,” the man continued. “Sad, really.”

  “Never mind my wound. I have come by way of Latvala of the Mountains. He says Actuano is here in the—”

  “I am the one you seek,” the voice said, deepening. “I am the leader of the Lost Warriors.”

  “I have come—”

  “I know why you have come,” Actuano continued. “They always come for the same reason. You are not the first and you are most certainly not the last.”

  “I was to find you—”

  But Kyrah was interrupted yet again.

  “If you know what is best for you, those will be the last words you speak to me.”

  It was as if they were standing in a storm of violent calm.

  “A Warrior who has yet to break taerji,” Actuano spoke. “Interesting. It has been a long time since Latvala has given me someone like you.”

  I can feel it, she thought. The taerji…

  “Take two steps toward me. Let me have a look at you.”

  Kyrah did as she was told.

  “What is this? A Warrior of the North?” he spat. “This is something I did not expect. ”

  Ky
rah kept very still, almost menacingly so. The weight of the moment seemed to be collapsing around her.

  “What you do next will tell me what kind of Warrior you truly are. First, drop into taerji. Show me it is possible for a Northerner to show promise.”

  She closed her eyes and felt the weight of her bodily limitations wash away. Nothing bound her—not the wound at her ankle, the fatigue of the climb, or the presence of the Lost Warriors in front of her.

  New.

  She felt nothing but new.

  “In my hands I hold a dagger,” Actuano continued. “I intend to kill you with it. Take two more steps toward me and I will plunge it deep into your heart.” He paused to breathe. “How many steps, Northerner, will you take toward me? Show me who you really are.”

  She thought of nothing, only stepped forward twice and kept her hands quietly tucked upward against her chest. Time split. She no longer slipped through each passing second, but instead, could choose the path she wished to take, so when she felt no dagger plunge into her chest, nor hear the whooshing sound of metal charging at her through the air, she understood that she had made the correct choice. Actuano remained frozen, analyzing her decisions.

  A test, she thought. A test to see if I would flinch.

  “Strong,” the sullen Warrior whispered. “I have not seen one like you in decades.”

  There was no need to respond. Taerji heightened action, every impulse.

  “Too bad this cannot last,” spoke Actuano. “The Eldervarn poison will kill you soon enough. I have no place for a dead girl in my ranks.”

  He thrust the dagger forward, connecting with flesh, then withdrew it quickly and tossed it to the floor. It rattled as it hit the dirt, echoing in strange, dissonant tones.

  “Goodbye, Northerner,” Actuano said. “I wish it did not have to end this way.”

  The dagger had not punctured her chest as he thought it had. Instead, the metal had pushed through the meaty center of Kyrah’s right hand and exited its back. The warm trickle of fresh blood drained from the wound, but she did not concern herself with that. She manifested the pain within herself and stopped the bleeding. The wound dried itself into a congealed cap. She pushed herself further into taerji.

  “You have made a grave mistake, Actuano,” Kyrah said.

  “I cannot accept you,” the Lost Warrior continued. “I will not.”

  Even further she went into taerji. She felt the world around her crumble, immersed in a gentle hue of serenity.

  So this is what true taerji is, she thought and, at last, Kyrah allowed the state to take hold of her, mold her, shape her into what it thought best.

  “I can feel you deepening,” Actuano barked. “You try so hard. Your actions are pointless!”

  And yet, Kyrah knew her mental depth was still not enough. She fell even deeper through the cracks of her mind, allowing herself to be lost in its eternal black, its vast empty shell of a space.

  “Futile!” Actuano bellowed. “The venom will have its way!”

  Even deeper she fell, now totally immersed in herself. Actuano’s voice only seemed like a distant glimpse of a memory some time ago.

  “I cannot—”

  And Actuano’s voice disappeared.

  It was not the silence of her own mind that disturbed her the most. It was the low buzz of the blackness around her. Something here had taken control.

  “How far did I fall?” she asked, but she knew no one could hear.

  Ahead, an ever-changing Dark orb kept her gaze. It was a blackness that consumed the black surrounding it, bending it to its will. She knew exactly what this was—the center of her being, the Darkness inside of her.

  I know what you desire, the Dark orb whispered.

  Each word seemed to sear the surface of her skin.

  There is no hiding now, the orb whispered. I have been waiting for you.

  She closed her eyes and attempted to propel outward from her trance, but taerji kept her firmly grounded.

  If it meant the acceptance of the Lost, the voice whispered, you would dive further, would you not?

  Kyrah refused to speak, mostly because what the orb had said was innately true. It knew her as she knew herself.

  It hovered closer, stopping at Kyrah’s open, bloody palm.

  “No closer,” she commanded. “Stay away.”

  But you know me! the voice persisted. I am you…and you are me.

  “No!” she screamed.

  She attempted yet another feeble jump out of the trance, but taerji glued her to the floor. A wave of doubt flooded her and, suddenly, the thought of total entrapment infected every one of her thoughts.

  “You sense it, don’t you?” Actuano’s voice was something lost in the air. Each word sounded as distant as a particle of sand fluttering across the ocean floor. “The Darkness.”

  Kyrah focused on Actuano’s voice, allowed it to stick.

  Keep talking, she pleaded. Please…keep talking.

  “There is power in you beyond comprehension, girl. Power you simply cannot fathom. It is so deep there is no longer any way to separate you from it. You must live as one, work as one…survive as one…else you die.”

  I can give you all that you have ever desired, the Dark Orb whispered. I will give you power, strength beyond anything you have ever known.

  She focused harder on Actuano’s voice—a thin, disappearing line of syllables snuffed out as soon as they appeared—while the orb drew closer, hovering, buzzing.

  Two shall become one, it whispered. Desire…power…

  “ENOUGH!” she screamed.

  The black walls on all sides of her buckled, then shattered like glass. The orb wobbled, stretched into a wiry display of particles, and liquified as it dropped lifelessly to the floor. It squirmed toward her whimpering, slithering through cracks in the floor until it reached the toes of her foot.

  The stone around your neck will not protect you for much longer, said the Darkness. You have grown strong enough to keep me hidden, but there is nothing you can do to outrun your fate. You cannot escape me.

  “You do not own me. Control is but a tool that I shall wield. Not you.”

  So be it. The day will come when you will need to choose. Fight the Darkness within you or allow it to be free.

  The whimpering Darkness gave way to an odd shade of deep gray-black, then dissolved before her eyes.

  We will meet again, the voice whispered. Sooner than you think.

  Then, as if waking from a bad dream, she somehow came to, lying uncomfortably on a bed of rocks, more disoriented than refreshed. She now found herself somewhere deeper in the tunnels. She rose from where she lay and sat up, nearly kicking someone at her feet. It was Actuano quietly watching her awake.

  “The lost sometimes find their way, despite the steepest climb,” he said. His voice bellowed this far in the caves. “You, my girl, seem to have escaped.”

  Kyrah did not speak. She could not tell if she wanted to or simply couldn’t.

  “You’ve come to,” a quieter voice interrupted. “No one has ever broken taerji as you just have.”

  “No one,” Actuano continued. “Not even Latvala himself.”

  The haze of her clearing mind had taken more out of her than she cared to admit, yet a thin shimmer of clarity remained. It blended with the gray-black darkness of the caves, manifesting itself as dizziness. The Warrior beside Actuano was of frail demeanor and tended to Kyrah’s ankle with thin, clay fingers, rubbing a clot of a smelly, mossy vegetative substance. She covered the wound at her ankle.

  “There is no need to be startled,” Actuano continued. “Taerji admits one’s truest intentions. That is what Latvala spoke of out there, no? Your truest intentions have been witnessed by all down here. You have accepted your call to remain here…with us.”

  The statement woke Kyrah further. She had not even had a chance to state her case.

  “No,” said Kyrah. “I will not.”

  She drew backward at the sight of Actuano’s bl
ade. Her vision has fully adjusted now and she could see the blade shimmer slightly in the hazy glow of Rose Pedal gems jutting from the walls. He pointed the blade at the soft center of Kyrah’s neck, not close enough to exact pain, but enough to feel.

  “But you have already decreed your loyalty to me, Kyrah Laeth. A Warrior’s word is as good as her soul, is it not? Certainly you do not wish to stake the lives of those dearest to you for that of your own, do you?”

  In her taerji trance, she must have accepted the call.

  “You have sold your soul to the Lost Warriors, Kyrah. We have been waiting for someone like you for a very long time.”

  “There is nothing you can do that can keep me here,” she said.

  Her words sifted through her teeth in a sort of growl. Actuano’s blade drew inches closer, drawing the smallest prick of blood.

  “Before you make that decision, you should know,” he said, “if you leave, there will be nowhere in the Great Range you can go that will keep you safe from us.”

  She knew, by the way the blade stiffened, that he spoke truth.

  “You lie,” she said, countering.

  “You are free to leave,” he replied, “but I have warned you. We are hunters, very good hunters. One day, you and your family will suffer for your dishonor. That is a promise.”

  Kyrah sat motionless, clinging to her thoughts, pulling back from the blade mere inches from her throat.

  “Choose now,” Actuano barked, “for there will be no doubters in my pack from this moment forward.”

  Images of faces rushed to the forefront of her mind—her mother, her father, Velc, Fenir. Should she spare her own life or theirs? Would the Lost Warriors really do something like that?