Dark Light
Anthology
Edited by S.J. Davis
Copyright of Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly 2012
All rights reserved
The right of Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing and each individual author to be identified as the holder of the rights of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Published by Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing
Cover Art by Para Graphic Designs
Dark Light
By Alexia Purdy
A twisted path in disarray
A siege inside my head.
As darkness grips at my eyes
I feel the mortal dread
As wired barbs and thorns embed
The world’s a different place
I shudder and remember when
The light shone on my face
The dusk relents to the night
My light that shuns and takes
Embraces me with its breath
Releasing what it makes
The path eludes as I go
An infinity of dead
Dark light immolates
Down pours on my head
Dawn expands its grip anew
As wild and cursed things
Retreat back into night
Light’s sanctuary brings
Table of Contents
Andrew Katz – Headless Homecoming
Dennis Sharpe – First Boy
Megan J. Parker – A Scarlet Night
Char Hardin – Empty The Bones For You
Jana Boskey – The Lost Changeling
L.D. Ricard – A Full Wolf Moon
Linna Drehmel – His First Snow
Amanda R. Browning – Dementria’s Task
William Greer – Blood and Soil
Linna Drehmel – The Darkon Prophecy
Alexia Purdy – The Faery Hunt
Bonnie Bernard – Breakdown
Dominique Goodall – Ouija’ust Wanted To Have Fun
Rebecca Gober – Ghost Reapers
M.R. Murphy – Death Becomes Him
S.J. Thomas – Dark Fairy Reflection
Lisa Goldman – Spider Whisperer
Jenny Phillips – The Kiss
John Hansen – Goddess of Death
Linna Drehmel – The Flaming Vengeance
Stefan Ellery – The Miller’s Daughter
Ruth Barrett – The Transformation
Naomi Bonthrone – Open Your Eyes and See
K.R. Jordan – Alba
Alicia Cannon – Honest Nightmare
S.J. Davis – The Last Picture
Headless Homecoming
by
Andrew Katz
Creepy. That was the only word one could use to describe the “trophy” I was looking at. The head of the infamous Headless Horseman, resting on the pike it had been shoved on by former North American King, Gavin Patronar. Looking at the grotesquely preserved head, I couldn’t help but think back to some of my history lessons from when I was younger. My teacher, Old McGee (he had received that name by simply outliving whatever it had once been) had mostly liked to use the Horseman as a boogieman of sorts, but I had still managed to learn the story. Before we get into that though, some quick background is in order.
During King Arthur’s rule he had succeeded in expanding Camelot to quite literally encompass the entire world. After the Great War between Mordred’s and Arthur’s armies ended with the deaths of their respective leaders, the people that the Knights of both sides were sworn to protect were left to fend for themselves. Now, this may not have been that much of a problem had it not been for the emergence of all the supernatural evils that Arthur and his legions of Knights had kept at bay. Most of the men and women being preyed on by the monsters that stalk the night were simple farmers and traders that felt nothing if not betrayed by the men that were meant to defend them… as opposed to slaughtering one another. Yet these Knights were men of honor and would protect those who could not protect themselves, even if they didn’t want them to. So the warriors fought in the shadows, slowly but surely throwing the evils that threatened their world back down. Eventually memories of monsters, demons, and dark predators faded as the Knights crushed them, and soon knowledge of the Knights did as well. However, there were those that kept faith in their protectors and supported them, and in time the hidden Kingdoms actually began to flourish. Even though the majority of man doesn’t know they exist, they have managed to turn into serious powers today through modern means. Don’t get it twisted though, the Knights still don their armor and swords and destroy the supernatural threats of the world… whether people know it or not.
But I digress - back to the Headless Horseman. In the earliest days of the North American Kingdom there was a Knight, far more talented and stronger than the rest. He lived in the days when much of the unrest from the Great War was still astir and the newer Kingdoms had just been formed. It was noted that he was – displeased – by the appointment of the new King, Godfrey Patronar, so naturally he attempted a mutiny. However, there were no men that would join with him so soon after the tragedy of Camelot’s downfall. This being the case, the Horseman was to be brought about on treason charges to surely be executed by his peers. But when the Knights came to bring the King’s justice, instead of facing his punishment; the Horseman fought. As I said, he was an unbelievable warrior and slew fifteen Anointed Knights in his escape. After which he pretty much just fell off the face of the Earth.
It was assumed that the Horseman was dead, and inevitably he was forgotten along with his original name. Unfortunately, in a terrible turn of events, the Horseman had not in fact died. It seems that since he had gone to ground with no army to command, he had begun building one. There had always been whispers about the Horseman’s extra-curricular activities away from his Knighthood, but no one ever truly found out what they were - until he emerged from the depths of his hideout. The specifics are still a mystery, but when he arose the Horseman did so with an army of walking dead. It turns out the Horseman had been a fairly talented practitioner of necromancy, a strictly forbidden art since even before Arthur came to power. His emergence came in a wave of sickening corruption and death that swept over the entire realm until he finally reached the King’s castle with the intent to overthrow him.
Thousands of men and women had been slaughtered by the Horseman and his undead and it looked like he might actually overtake the Kingdom. That is until the King at the time, Gavin Patronar (Godfrey’s great-great-great-grandson), took the field of battle to oppose the evildoer. Stories say that the King and a select few warriors drove all the way through the heart of the undead army and came upon the Horseman, reviling in all of his vile power. As his men fought off the surrounding horde, Gavin engaged the Necromancer directly. They say that their battle lasted for several hours, culminating with the King separating the Horseman’s head from his shoulders. Yet somehow (it was eventually chalked up to the practice of necromancy), decapitation did not end the Horseman’s life although his body fell. His power was released and his walking army fell. King Gavin took the severed head, grotesquely still breathing, and slammed it onto a pike as a message.
It’s said that the damn head didn’t stop screaming for revenge for over twelve hours before the King ordered it gagged. Finally, years later, the eyes rolled back into the severed head and the tedious cycle of chewing through gags and screaming abruptly ended. The head had, for some reason I still didn’t understand, been passed down through the generati
ons. Normally I avoided it, but I was bored today and had come to check out some of the cooler artifacts that King’s of the past had claimed. For some reason I had been drawn over to this gross, creepy, decapitated head. My examination of the thing was coming to a close, when suddenly, something unexpected happened. The Horseman’s head opened its eyes and grinned at me with a mouth full of decaying teeth.
I jumped back startled and looked at the thing, wide-eyed. “Well, that can’t be good.”
The Horseman’s severed head licked its flaking lips and spoke with a voice that had clearly not been used in centuries. “I don’t like your face. When I regain my powers I will make sure to kill you.” It rasped.
There was nothing wrong with my face. I mean sure I was a little scruffy from a lack of shaving, and my hair was getting on the long side, but overall I think I’m a good-looking guy. I have a square jaw, rigid nose, and bright burgundy eyes (they’re the same color as my hair). I stand five feet nine inches tall, and am layered in hard slabs of muscle. I’m not bad to look at. Sure I’m no model, but heading down this road could lead to some self-esteem problems later in life, so I’m going to let it go.
Pursing my lips and looking hard into its eyes, I said, “Yeah, I don’t like your face either.” And I didn’t, so I punched it in said face.
The head squealed in surprise, and I made a show of skipping off as I went to get the King’s Right Hand. Peter is a leonine man of below average height with ice blue eyes that burn with intelligence and exude authority. I found him sitting comfortably in his quarters, reading. Upon my approach he peered over his reading glasses at me and sighed. “What is it?”
I scratched my head nervously, “You might want to see this for yourself.”
We heard it long before Peter saw the head. As soon as the screaming reached his ears he took off sprinting down the castle halls to the trophy room with me on his heels the whole way. We arrived to the head shouting out obscenities and Peter swearing under his breath. The older man turned to me with fury in his eyes.
“What happened here? Did you do this?”
I put my hands in the air like I was being arrested. “Whoa there big fella, the thing just woke up. I didn’t do anything.”
“This whelp punched me.” The head snarled.
“Tattle tale.” I muttered.
“It woke up… because you punched it?” Peter asked quietly, trying to contain his anger.
“Hang on just one second there.” I said. “It woke up and told me it didn’t like my face. Then I punched it.”
The head said a few words that would make a sailor blush, and addressed Peter. “I have awoken to regain my power. My body grows restless and will soon come to claim me and restore our full glory. Then I shall slaughter you foolish usurpers and take what is rightfully mine.”
The King’s Hand stared hard into the head’s eyes and turned to me. “I can see why you punched it. Go get the King, I’ll gag the head and then we’ll figure out what to do”
Snapping off a mock salute, I started through the castle to the throne room. I found the King sitting his throne, staring off into space. He was a stocky, broad, and muscle-laden man of average height. His eyes were also burgundy and his close cut hair matched them (except where it was peppered with grey). The attire he chose wasn’t exactly regal since he was currently wearing a maroon long-sleeve T-shirt and brown corduroy pants. Then of course there was the brilliant granite crown studded with emeralds that he wore to signify his office.
I strolled up and waved my hand in front of his face to get his attention. He snapped back into the real world and placed an annoyed look on me. “Yes?”
“The Horseman’s head just woke up; figured you should know.”
The King rolled his shoulders and stood. “I knew today wasn’t going to be a fun one.” He grunted. “Come along, we’ll go talk to it.”
“Yeah… beat you to that one; the head doesn’t really like me.”
He snorted. “Why shouldn’t I be surprised?”
***
The King, Peter and I sat in the strategy room discussing what should be done.
“Do we have any possible way of locating the body?” I asked.
Peter let a heavy breath out through his nose. “I don’t think we have to at all. Clearly the head isn’t going anywhere, and it said that the body was going to come and reclaim it. I say we just wait for it to show up and kill it.”
“How do we do that?” The King asked reluctantly. “The Headless Horseman was supposed to have been dead for many, many years. How do you suppose we actually put him down?”
“We gather the Knights of the continent and we hack off the rest of the limbs.” Peter suggested.
“I’m OK with that plan.” I chimed in.
The King shrugged. “Works for me too.”
So we gathered the eight other active Knights of North America and filled them in on what was happening. There was Rudolph Richards, Marcus the Gruesome, Juan Corrales, Jacques Ribery, Trevor Wingback, Kellen Factarum, my best friend Devin Eversor, and the most terrifying of them all; Ashley Reyes. The King, Peter and I were all Anointed Warriors as well and now the majority of the most dangerous people on the continent were in the same room.
As Knight-Commander of the Realm, Peter gave them each their duties and told them to be ready to arrive at the castle to kill the Horseman. They nodded their understanding, exchanged a few pleasantries, and parted ways to resume their current activities. Only Devin stayed; mostly because he lived in the castle, but also because he had just returned from thwarting a nest of vampires outside of Houston responsible for ten recent homicides. Once the others had departed Dev came over and greeted me.
My best friend is a giant. Not literally of course, an actual giant wouldn’t fit in the castle, but as humans go he’s freaking huge. He goes about seven-two, two-sixty-five of pure rock hard muscle. He has dark blue eyes, a neat cut black goatee, and was wearing a dark brown leather jacket, white T-shirt, dark jeans, and his brutal steel headed mace. He may just as well swing a telephone pole with a fire hydrant attached to the end since they were probably about the same size.
“How were the vamps?” I asked.
“Nothing too tough.” He replied nonchalantly. “It might have been a little easier if you had gotten off your lazy ass and helped though.”
“You know I couldn’t, plus it’s not like there would have been space for me with you there, Tubbo.”
“I’m not fat.” He said sullenly (he was right of course, but I like to poke fun at him all the same).
“Sensitive.” I accused.
“Whatever. Let’s get some food… don’t you dare say a word.”
I laughed, clapped him on the back and set off.
***
Two weeks had passed without incident, and Peter had called Devin and me into the strategy room with an assignment.
“I need you two to go out to Denver. There have been reported decapitations there, and from what our people inside have told us it doesn’t look like human work.”
“What about the Horseman?” I asked bluntly.
Peter made a non-committal sound. “There’s been no sign of him so we’ll just put it on the backburner and continue to wait. It’s not like there’s much else we can do without more information, and the world isn’t stopping awaiting his arrival. For all we know it could be years before he reveals himself to us. So get to Denver and look into what’s going on, OK?”
Devin and I nodded and left the room to gather our gear. I didn’t like to go out into the real world wearing my armor; not because I really care about all the stares and blatant judgment from people that see me, but because there’s no need to draw unnecessary attention to yourself when you have as many enemies as I do. Stepping into my poster plastered bedroom, I put on my chainmail shirt, Kevlar vest, long-sleeve black T-shirt, and grey overcoat. I buckled on my sword; Laniatus (AKA my pride and joy), that I had forged myself. The blade was a wicked longsword made from my
own special ice-blue alloy and a hand carved dragonbone hilt and pommel. My overcoat came just far enough down to properly conceal the blade when I walked, and no one would see it unless I need use it (which generally meant they wouldn’t get to talk about it anyway).
As soon as I set foot out of my room Devin appeared in the hallway wearing his massive hunter green cloak over his usual attire. The cloak was a family heirloom from Devin’s deceased father and had some serious magical protections on it. I have honestly come to believe that it would take a WMD to do damage to Dev while wearing that thing. We strolled along down the hallway towards the castle portal. The way this works is certain VIPs are awarded transport runes, certain Words take you to certain places, but you have to know the Word. Luckily I know most of the key locations for North America, and boy did it make traveling easy.
The two of us went up to the ever-stoic men that guarded the portal, and as always I flashed them an obnoxiously cheery grin and waved jovially. None of them batted an eyelash as we sauntered on by. I produced my rune; a small, circular stone tablet with a single very complex marking on it. I murmured a soft Word into it and suddenly the world blurred, tilted, spun, and Devin and I were standing in the Denver International Airport. Airports are always good to appear in, people are focused on getting to and from where they’re going, and the terminals are so crowded no one ever really notices two new faces. One semi-aggravating transaction later with a fake ID (I’m not technically old enough to rent a car); Devin and I were cruising towards the Denver PD in a purple Chevy Impala.
“You are the worst person on the face of the planet.” Devin complained.
“I honestly don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Peter let you have the King’s own credit card, and you rent a purple Impala? You have the royal credit card, and you rent a purple Impala. We couldn’t have gotten a Corvette? A Jaguar? I mean honestly. You’re a disgrace.”
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