A Step into Darkscape (The Legacy Novels Book 2)

by Blake Rivers

  The Dragø whipped and swiped, teeth and claws grinding rock, the cracks now chasms, ever widening, the light of layers splashed across its mighty spikes and plates.

  Ami recovered, dizzy, and spun to avoid her coming foe, rolling forward beneath the beast and between its legs. Sword in hand she thrust again into the wound, hoping to kill it, kill it dead!

  This time though something felt different, for there was a pull on her power from above. Tendrils of light within her connected through the sword, and in her mind she saw a world of green that shuddered and cracked and fell to flame. She saw dragons taking flight, hundreds and thousands of them, disappearing into the sky.

  Romany’s hands found her throat and Ami was caught, fused to the sword, fused to the dragon as it lifted upward, wings and tail and flame-roaring head smashing the rock walls and roof, the cavern collapsing.

  She couldn’t let go, her power channelling and fluxing into it.

  What had she done?

  Golden light broke out a new sky above them, and through it Ami saw houses and streets, cars and people, throngs of people, tripping and running in fear as reality fractured around them, the layers slowly becoming one.

  “I shall kill you, I shall end you.” Romany’s hands gripped and slipped at her throat in an attempt to find purchase, long nails raking skin and scoring bloody furrows in their wake; but Ami managed to wriggle free each time, turning her head this way and that.

  Ami pulled back on her power, reversing the flow, not wanting to feed the dragon but to starve it; she pushed and pulled with all her might until she felt the creature’s power flux back into her, channelling through her, the two powers colliding within the sword—

  —and with an ear-splitting boom Ami and Romany were thrown to the ground as the dragon was set free, and the scenes buried deep within the forbidden sky began to overlap.

  *

  The quaking had stopped some time before, and all had become quiet across the fields that stretched out beneath a solid white moon; the wind swept through the crops, a whisper that told cold secrets. It would’ve been a peaceful scene had it not been for the large fissures in the earth that cut the dark scape in two.

  Grammy eyed them now from where she sat, their rough edges a web across the land. A faint orange light emanated from them. She brought her eyes back to the board and the game in hand, the creased brow of her opponent hovering over the pieces. His eyes were levelled to her queen.

  Only a handful were still in play, the rest—all but the missing piece—were stacked neatly to either side of the chequered board, threatening to fall from the dented old table. Somewhere a bird squawked and flapped, though her tired eyes couldn’t locate the source. Certainly not from nearby.

  She frowned, finding her position weak. Her king was out of play, swiped off the board early on, though his still stood. It was the queens that worried her, for their glittering bodies of silver and gold stood too close together. Her knight was too far away, and the bishops were all gone.

  Grammy grasped her fingers to the base of her silver rook.

  “Nope,” Pops said, though his lips barely moved. “Wouldn’t be doin’ that if I were you.”

  “Helping me is not part of the deal,” she said, lifting the piece; then spying his knight she placed it back down.

  “It’s goin’ to happen. There ain’t two ways ‘bout it.”

  She sighed, released her rook and stroked the metal queen. “I know. Just wish it were different. I’ve come to like her.”

  Pops grunted a laugh and raised his eyes from the board for the first time. “We’ll soon know.” He glanced toward the swaying, silver corn. It was all dead in the night. Skeleton corn. Dead. “Won’t be long.”

  Grammy nodded, sighed once more, and then pushed her queen into stalemate. Small threads of light passed from one to the other as the pieces trembled and fell, rolling ceaselessly across the board.

  Chapter Eighteen

  There had been a moment.

  The moment could not have lasted more than a second or two, and yet in that moment Hero had seen something of what she’d meant to do. Her eyes had sparkled within the white flame of the orb and he’d felt her reach out and touch him with faint images that floated beneath the surface of thought, half-remembered dreams that lingered. When the time had come, he’d known what to do.

  Now though Hero acted on instinct alone.

  The split beneath him filled with fire, setting alight his garments; it would be only seconds before he was consumed, and Raven along with him. The palace was ripping apart. With a quick thrust, his sword entered her chest, the steel scraping stone—or whatever she’d become—coming to a stop inches in. Then the breach widened. Hero leapt from the chasm, his skin singed raw and screaming as he slid, the floor tilting, the stone room splitting in two.

  Everything was sideways on and upside down, the chamber now a puzzle set, raised and demolished, the pieces tearing from each other like bread. Fire licked slick tongues in all directions and nothing made sense except for the knowledge that he’d failed and everything was for nothing. Ami, he thought, please forgive me.

  He slid, grasping and grappling for grip as stone turned to stars and the sky to fire.

  Something snagged him, fingers curling tight around his wrist, and looking up Hero saw a face worn and marred, shadowed within drapes of wet hair. The sword was still within her chest, fluxing and spitting sparks of white flame.

  “Come on,” Florence shouted. “Climb.”

  Broken mosaic floor jutted to the right, and with a painful tug on her steely grip, he swung to it and clung on. The small squares were sharp and dug into his skin, the blood seeping from his body now in many different places—but he barely felt it. He pulled himself up, the world tumbling toward him in a rush of cold air, while below, pale-lit tree tops ran over scoops of land, cracked and laced with rivers of molten light. He crawled onward, regardless of the death that awaited him, the final fall, and held on to the girl, locking her in a tight embrace.

  She was alive!

  Raven crouched beside her and helped pull him onto the small ledge that remained.

  The tower had broken just above them, the courtyard an inferno below, and they were now the tallest point of the palace—but not for long. The plinth shifted and tilted forward, breaking the small segment of wall from the stairwell, a chasm grinning, yawning, screaming in bright fiery light. Within that light, Hero saw faces peering through with arms beckoning. Another layer, another world ripped open.

  He looked to Florence and Raven, soon to die—and in that moment came to a decision.

  “Farewell, my friends,” he shouted above the winds, and launched his weight against them both, toppling them back from the plinth and into the light. Arms reached out and grasped them… and they were gone, just like that. “May you live on…”

  The chasm disappeared from view as the plinth gave beneath him, and both Hero and the palace fell into flames.

  *

  Summer breaths scattered rose petals and Ami watched them fly the cotton-candy skies of late evening. They twirled and spun, blood tears spilt and briskly wiped.

  She blinked and sighed. It was so beautiful, so tragic, each petal a life. Each one a love.

  And so she turned to her side to let it be.

  Pain didn’t need to be watched to be known, didn’t need to be known to exist; yet there were more petals on the ground, forgotten and lost. Some had blackened and curled, dried to a crisp. Others were so soft she could have reached out, could have…what, saved them? No. They’d already fallen, though they still held the scent of the living. But they were dead.

  Across the grass the setting sun made a dial of the arches, their long shadows pointing to the black woods, and there the branches moved. Slowly. She watched them. They watched back.

  “She won’t come unless you bring her.”

  Ami sat up, looking around for her double. She couldn’t see her. “Bring Romany?”

  A giggle
came from behind her and then finally the soft patter of small feet. “Back to that which remains, silly.”

  “Why?” Ami asked, turning in time to see the small blonde girl dance onto the walkway behind her. Grace. “I thought this was your place, our place?”

  “It is,” the girl sang, “but it’s hers, too.”

  “Bring her here,” the Shadow Princess said, somewhere out of sight. “Bring them all. They will come; they never truly left.”

  Summer breath kissed her cheek, a petal falling down and down to her throat where it cut.

  Dangerous.

  “Pitiful Princess.”

  Ami stared into the light, the black body of the dragon a silhouette, clambering. Above and to her left, Romany leered, her own sword at her neck.

  She swallowed. “This won’t bring back your home.”

  “It will create a new one,” she sneered, “and with your death, the Dragø will be strong enough to rip through all the layers. Everything will be as one.”

  “But what if I could get it back for you? Your home?” Ami looked across the now shattered ground, lined with cracks where orange light peeked like lava, the layer about to collapse.

  “You have no power, Princess.” She laughed, drawing the sharp blade over her heart. “Now be still, this will only hurt a little.”

  The blade pierced her suddenly and all at once, the leather outfit splitting, her skin slitting, the sword cutting into bone and muscle, straight into her heart. The pain was torture, a sudden release of life from limb—yet still, her eyes were locked to the mighty dragon that spread its wings high above and roared into skies, lands, hills and meadows; into seas, cities, towns and deserts, its fire touching each and all.

  She was dying, for immortal she was not.

  Hero whispered sweet nothings into her ear…as her mum wiped the soil from her. She swung back and forth and pushed…and the higher she got the dizzier she felt…and flying was a rush but the landing was…Legacy and magic and unicorns and…Hero loved her, she was sure, and she loved him…Raven, dear Raven…and the Mortrus Lands…and Talos…and art…and the ruins…and…

  Ami sought the eyes of the witch who killed her. “I’ll take you back.”

  Romany twisted the blade with a grin while green-misted power lifted and swirled from Ami, her body convulsing, her hands reaching to the blade. When she grasped the unicorn steel, the power spun around it, faster and faster, growing and surrounding them both.

  Ami smiled, seeing Romany falter. “I’ll take you back.”

  “What is this? Why won’t you die?” But even as she spoke, Ami felt her spirit soar, her body changing beneath the released power, morphing once more into light, into smoke and colour.

  She reached out to the woman, her ghostly hands twisting tangles around her arms as the power entered the sword, its steel tip slipping through her non-corporeal body, penetrating the thin crust of ground beneath. It gave way in rush—and then they were falling.

  Skies and lands spun and tumbled, they a part of each, and each a part of them, until finally the earth landed upon their backs and solidity returned.

  Ami gasped and looked to her side.

  Romany was beside her, laying in the grass, her head upon the white steps of the ruins. She looked peaceful, younger than she had before, Sofia-Maria perhaps, or maybe someone else entirely.

  There were no cracks here, no marks of orange, though a tremor could be felt beneath the earth.

  Ami stood, taking hold of her sword.

  There was no sign of her shadow-self, the stone and marble empty, the walkway shadowed as the sun sloped off behind abnormal clouds. They were dark-bellied and oppressive, filling the air with the sweet smell of rain to come, and perhaps a storm.

  Romany stirred, slowly pushing herself up onto her hands and knees. She didn’t look half as dangerous here, though here wasn’t quite here yet.

  She’d have to call them.

  Ami looked to the castle tower that overlooked the green, a monolith of mystery unexplored, its grey battlements a jagged black silhouette. It was part of the city, she thought, a left-over afterthought. It had always been there, had in fact been the place she’d emerged from when she’d entered the ruins the first time. Within its doorway were the mirrors of herself, her choice and strength, though she always thought them part of a dream more than a real place; but now she knew better, for elements remained, created by neither Grace nor herself, elements that were created by the Sentries.

  …but it’s hers, too.

  “I’ll kill you,” Romany hissed, now turning about, her eyes darting the clearing, the dark woods and the arches—eyes lingering on the arches. Does she recognise them?

  “You haven’t though, have you?” she whispered. “And I don’t think you can. Not here, not anywhere.”

  The woman spun on the spot, her red fire-blade emerging from her closed fist. “Where are we? Where’s the Dragø? I’ll—”

  “Kill me?” Ami finished, stepping slowly up the steps to the columns, to the arches broken or unmade, or perhaps only unfinished, a vision incomplete. “You’d like to, but you can’t.”

  “Why can’t I?” Romany sneered, her steps stealthy as she followed her, her blade ready to strike again. “I’m the goddess here. I’m—”

  “—already dead. Don’t you know where you are? Don’t you recognise it?”

  Romany looked around, shaking her head, though there was hesitation, apprehension, her mouth opening and closing without a word.

  Ami turned to the arches and lowered her sword, presenting it to the ground, placing its tip to the centre where it stood balanced by itself, perfect and still. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew it was right. Dangerous told her it was right. They will come; they never truly left. She backed away from it, allowing it to turn on the spot, a single solitary note singing, then another and another. It was a tune she herself had sung, as another being, as the double of herself; it was a tune she’d heard played at a tragic wedding. Romany looked like the bride somewhat, comprehension crossing her once innocent features, all things beginning to end. Her own sword had lowered as the Celtic tune carried across the green, vibrating each blade of grass as if they, too, had joined the song; then there were voices, somewhere far beyond the clearing and the platform, from the tangled forest, from the walkway, the spill of petals dancing with the sound.

  “What is this?” Romany asked, walking the edges of stone while Ami’s sword gently spun. The voices were far, far away, and yet were getting closer, ever so much closer. She stood aside and leant against a column, waiting and watching with muted awe as the arches began to grow, the sculpted and shorn stone stretching to join.

  Clouds passed above with little breeze, the tapping of the dead branches marking the coming of the others as they stepped dim and vaporous from between the trunks. First there were a few, and then ten, twenty, a hundred and more; wispy white and pure power only, the ghosts marched toward them.

  With each step taken the land stretched and changed, the small clearing blurring and becoming bigger. Romany dropped her sword, the blade bursting to flame and expiring. “How are you doing this?”

  Ami remained quiet and watched her sword sparkle and spin, faster and faster, singing the notes that the Sentries sang, a haunting melody that called to them, all of them. Bring them all.

  *

  Grammy reached across the board and held onto his hand, gripping it as hard as she could. Pops gripped back. A quiet and thoughtful man, she thought, such a shame to lose him. Though of course, she wasn’t losing him at all.

  The stalemated queens juddered on their board and fell.

  “Goodbye, old friend,” she whispered into the man’s ear.

  “Goodbye, and hello, and welcome back again,” he sang, a sweet old voice disappearing into the void.

  *

  The first spits of rain tapped a beat to the bass line of thunder beneath the melody, the darkening blue sinking finally to a dusky lilac. These were
no longer the ruins, if they ever were. Something was happening all around her that Ami neither planned nor expected. It was personal, and it was for Romany. Beyond the walkway against the coming dark emerged many shapes of white and rose. They were hazy at first, stretching far back into a land that had not been there before. Buildings, streets and trees were sketched out, branches overhanging monuments and fountains, a grand staircase rising from nothing to go nowhere. The castle tower was now far away, a pike of a distant land, the green a meadow that fringed a massive woodland, carved and kempt by a river. Statues of men and women littered the spaces, and colour began to bleed into the indistinct, as vivid yellows and reds hung as fruit from laden branches, from windows of on-looking buildings, flags and banners, rich greens, royal blues, and burned orange-shades to match the life-blood of the layers.

  And she’d brought them all.

  The forms of Sentries, millennia and millennia dead, gone, transformed, swarmed onto the meadow. Faces peered and watched, each clear and yet unclear. She felt them, the power emanating from them intensely. It made her want to run, it made her want to join them, it made her want to scream…

  Romany’s aura fluxed red and white as she turned to Ami, the rain falling heavy across the forming landscape. Her wet hair spat and sparked, plastering and cupping her chiselled face, curling just below her jaw. “They’re all here. They’re all here.” There were thousands clustered, hundreds of thousands, all advancing with the same melody on their lips, a chorale of merging white so bright that Ami had to shade her eyes.

  Romany raised her arms to the sky and screamed while thunder broke overhead, the flash and burn of the storm’s whip lashing down upon her face, tearing scores of deep lines into her skin which folded and greyed. Her Cleopatra beauty drew to a close in flanges of loose flesh, her eyes closing and reopening white-blind. “What is happening to me?” she whispered, all colour blanching from her long hair leaving it white. Her clothes remained unchanged, though the serpent fell from her arm and disappeared into nothing.