Golden Dawn

by Aldrea Alien

  "Better a chance at death there than a certainty here." His brother took a step towards the light. "Come on." His brother grabbed him when he didn't follow, hauling him closer.

  He could feel the heavy pull of the Haven urging them out. It sucked at his feet. He pitched sideways, held upright by his brother's grip. Any moment now they'd be expelled into the awaiting slaughter. Certain death? He'd take the unknown path every time. Anything had to be better than such certainty.

  They passed through the disc, the red light of the rocks banished by the portal's bright glow. He shrunk from it, only his brother's hand stopping him from returning to where they'd come from. Unable to do more, he lifted a hand to his face. Please, he begged, though not entirely sure what would answer, don't let it be the cooking pot. Free from certainty, his heart was suddenly bound with the heavy bands of doubt. Would a swift death by the other families not be better than suffering at the hands of the higher demons?

  Torchlight flared around him, the flame's sooty brilliance dulled by the portal behind them. He looked blindly about. His senses spoke of no threat. Just him and his brother. The air against his skin seemed too bitterly chill to belong in a level of Hell. And it smelled crisp. Most unlike anything he'd heard about. Fresh and cold. Where had the portal brought them?

  His eyes finally adjusted to the light. He looked about the large, unoccupied chamber, peering at the dark walls. They were alone. Safe. For now. It was more than he'd expected.

  There was a creaking sound emanating from the far end of the room. His head snapping around, he found a man standing in the open doorway. Other than giving a lopsided smile, the man was perfectly still, peering at them.

  He knew this man. Knew him like he did his full-blooded brother and his half-siblings. Even if he were blind he would've known this man's presence. "Father," he said. How could this be? No unborn ever met their strigoi parents. It was the Minder's core teachings.

  The man's smile broadened into a grin. "I knew it would work!" His arms wide, he closed the distance between them. "Welcome home, my sons." He clasped them in turn, his black eyes glittering with delight. The smile fell from his face as he looked to the portal. "I expected there to be more than the two of you." Concern creased the corners of his eyes. "There are no others?"

  He looked toward his brother, who shrugged. Why should his father expect more of them when he did nothing to increase their numbers?

  "We've suffered many casualties over the years," his brother replied, struggling to free himself from their father's grip. Few people lived grabbing his brother's sword arm. The restraint in his brother's movement was surprising. Did he also sense that odd knowledge? The echo of kinship?

  "Ah." Their father released them to return to the door. "It is of no consequence. The portal works and I can always create more children." He paused halfway across the room to look back at them. His soft chuckle echoed through the room. "I nearly forgot to ask my own children their names. How remiss of me."

  Again, he glanced at his brother. Near hidden under the wealth of brown hair, wrinkles marred his brother's forehead. Their names? As a child, they'd been taught that creatures who shouldn't exist didn't need naming. Guided by such logic, he'd always referred to his siblings as brother or sister. None had survived long enough to earn any label to mark them as being different from the other unborn of the realm. Even his full-blooded brother had no name.

  "Our names?" his brother asked, his voice flat.

  "You have none? I suppose, being your father, it is somewhat fitting that I shall name you." He silently looked them over before lifting a hand to indicate his brother. "Harbinger." His father's hand then moved to him. "And Herald."

  Herald inclined his head like his brother had after their father named him. The name felt right. It was his name. Why had he not called himself by it before? It fit. It always had.

  "Yes." His father grinned. "Herald and Harbinger. The forerunners." He clapped a hand on their shoulders. "Together, my sons, you will bring a new message to this world. One of our dominion."

  Chapter Seven

  Half-aware he slept, Herald turned over, grunting as his shoulder, made stiff by the hard floor, gave a twinge. He'd dreamt this exact dream many times over the centuries and knew exactly where it would end. Just as he knew he couldn't stop it until the dream ran its course into the realm of nightmares. He could wake, could seek out a meal in the kitchens below and return to guard the angel. But waking now only prolonged the inevitable. The nightmare could not be so easily banished.

  They stood in the newly-covered courtyard, their swords at the ready. Herald stared at the closed gates so hard he swore the heavy wooden panels were beginning to bow outward. He could sense the sun gliding across the sky, oblivious to the imminent skirmish below.

  Half a dozen men from the nearby village stood on the other side of the heavy gates. The hinges holding the wooden barrier issued the occasional groan as they hammered at them. The sound was growing louder now with the efforts of the invading men. Not long now. The thin bar that kept the men at bay would break soon. Then there would be fighting. And death.

  Their father had given them the same strict order, to limit injuries and not kill, but whether through recklessness or sheer misfortune, someone always died. Who would fall this time? One of the humans? Or one of us?

  The men hunted for them, the demons, when they should've been securing themselves in their little homes. Herald blamed the raiding. The success of his siblings' past raids had made them overconfident in their abilities. They pressed on, driven by their father's hunger, when they should've kept to the shadows. Kept the humans wondering.

  We're not ready to defend. Herald adjusted, and then readjusted, his stance. It was a small stroke of luck that the men sought to enter through the front gate rather than the lesser guarded accesses. Like the kitchen entrance. His gut fluttered at the thought. He tried to convince himself it did so in anticipation. His fingers wriggled on his sword hilt, the old leather creaking under his tight grip.

  Beside him, as always, stood his brother. Harbinger shrugged his shoulders and shuffled on the spot. His face had twisted with the eager need for the men to break through. "How many do you think we'll take down before they surrender or flee?"

  Herald snorted. If a human fell in the fight, his brother's blade was often at fault. Even after decades of fighting, Harbinger had yet to learn control. "We're not supposed to kill them, brother. We are to—"

  "—capture as many as we can so our dearest father has plenty of food." His brother sneered, baring his fangs. Blue eyes glittered with his delight, stripping the point off his supposed annoyance with his sibling. "This isn't the first time, Herald. I know." His eyes narrowed at the doors as the bar gave a sharp crack. "Do you ever wonder what human blood tastes like?" he whispered, no doubt so their father did not hear. Or at least, pretend he did not. They were meant to crave nothing but goat's blood.

  Herald shook his head. Although, truthfully, he had in the past. The same thoughts used to surface in Herald's mind before a skirmish. He'd finally learnt to suppress such ideas. However, he didn't quite understand why his father kept hunting the humans. There was no need for it. Not when their eldest sister had devised this new method with the goats they once used to slaughter. So far, it seemed to be working well enough. No doubt with practice and a few adjustments, it would be faultless.

  The bar gave. The doors swung inwards to the mighty snap of splintering wood. Sunlight streamed into the courtyard, playing upon the dust motes the sudden wind had stirred. Herald smiled at the sight. It was hypnotic. Would've been breathtaking, if not for the men standing in the doorway.

  None of the invading humans seemed all that willing to join Herald and his siblings in the shadows. Would they shoot into the darkness, hoping to hit them? That's what he'd do if facing himself, yet he couldn't see any bows. They carried an air of anticipation that lifted the hairs on the back of Herald's neck. They were too sure in themselves for his likin
g. Had they come to the front gates for a reason rather than scout out a lesser guarded area?

  One of the biggest men he'd ever seen stepped forward. He stood on the edge of the sunlight, a hand lifted to shield his eyes, and peered into the darkness at them. "I am a fair man, demon, even to the unholy," he called out, holding himself with the wary stance of a seasoned fighter. "If you and your children surrender peacefully, what's left of your souls may be saved." The man's other hand hid behind his waist.

  Herald frowned. He was not mistaken. This man did not grip his belt or a sheathed weapon. He was deliberately keeping his hand at his back. What weapon did the man conceal? There was no glimmer of metal to speak of as the customary weaponry. A sword already hung from his hip. Anything smaller than a mace wouldn't be of any use, yet the confidence rolling off the people behind this giant of a man spoke differently.

  "Saved?" his father replied from his place somewhere in the ranks of Herald's siblings, his voice deathly low. "Harbinger, show him what I think of his offer."

  Flashing their father a wild grin, his brother raised his sword high and charged at the man.

  Light flared across the courtyard. Herald threw up his hand, furiously blinking away the glaring after-effects. The faint smell of scorched flesh drifted on the wind. Just like when his newest sister had once attempted to walk outside. Sunlight. They'd brought the sun inside? But how could that be? They were meant to be safe in the shadows.

  Herald lowered his hand to the sound of his brother's snarl. Harbinger had recoiled from the man, scrubbing madly at his face. A chill prickled down Herald's back at the sight. Had the human's procured a demon hunter?

  The man's lips pressed into a grim smile. "So be it." There was a brief flicker of a small object as he tucked away the strange, glittering weapon he'd used and stepped into the shadows. Calmly drawing his sword, the man—the hunter—attacked the still-distracted Harbinger.

  Herald raced to stop him, a cry of warning thrumming through his throat.

  He was too late. The man reached Harbinger first and, with his brother still rubbing his eyes, the metal met no resistance as it slid into living flesh.

  His brother stiffened. The hand dropped from his face. Mouth agape, he stared at the sword embedded in his chest. Blood coated the blade sticking out his back, dripping from the point onto the dry ground. He lifted his head, locking eyes with Herald. Harbinger stretched a hand toward him. "Broth—"

  No. Herald watched as the blue and whites of his brother's eyes turned black. All colour drained from his tannish skin, leaving it ghostly pale. If it wasn't for the dark stripe the shining object had left across his brother's face and the stubble adorning his chin, he would've been the exact image of their father; even the dark-brown hair suddenly looked black.

  "An unborn," the hunter hissed, eyes widening as he stepped back to stand on the edge of the shadows. There, he fumbled with the straps of his belt pouch. "So the legends are true."

  Harbinger made no effort to answer the man. He merely laughed as he fingered the sword hilt. The bleeding had stopped. Hauling on the bloody blade, he wrenched it from his body. In one quick move, his brother twisted the sword in the air and, before the hunter had time to react, closed the gap between them to jab the weapon into the man's throat and up through his head.

  Herald stepped back from the pair. The tang of blood drifted on the wind, the scent wriggling its way into his nose. That grin... The way it twisted his brother's face was not natural. With a giggle that sent a shiver down Herald's spine, Harbinger hoisted the corpse upon the sword, wriggling the blade deeper into the skull until the slack jaw sat against the hilt. Herald shuddered at the grating of metal on bone.

  He wasn't one to miss an opportunity to defeat an opponent, but he'd never seen his brother take such delight in mutilating a corpse. The most he'd ever seen Harbinger do to another was drink from the unborns back in Hell. Despite the occasional failure, they took care not to kill humans, for his father did not like feeding from dead flesh.

  With a sneer of disdain, Harbinger threw the corpse back out into the sunlight and turned to face his siblings. The dead man's companions cried in horror as they looked upon the corpse.

  Herald hastened to his brother's side. Harbinger appeared unharmed. At least, not where it was obvious. The physical wound in his chest seemed mostly healed, although Herald knew the organ once beating beneath the mended flesh had failed. But what about his mind? What damage had been done there as the stopping of his heart had him joining his father in becoming strigoi? "Brother—"

  "Listen to them," Harbinger said, his voice high with more than amusement. He cocked his head, although the cries were anything but muffled. "Listen to how they mourn their leader's death, like orphaned goats bleating for their herd."

  Silent, Herald stared into a face he was no longer sure he knew. One look into those inky-dark eyes and the suspicion of his brother's insanity switched into surety.

  "How strange." Harbinger's head twitched. His eyes narrowed, the chilling gaze boring into Herald. "I can... taste your concern." He gave a short laugh. "Do not worry so, brother. I am fine." He clasped Herald's shoulders, fingers digging into flesh until it bordered on being painful. "All this power and strength... you cannot imagine what it's like!"

  "You're right." He stepped back, pulling free of his brother's grip. "I don't know." A handful of his siblings had suffered the misfortune of becoming strigoi in the past couple of centuries they'd been here. "And I don't want to." All of them had lost their minds. Many more had gone on to lose the remainder of their lives. And now, my brother, you are dead. Dead, but still living. Still moving and feeling. Still feeding. He didn't want Harbinger to be the next one to share the strigoi's fate.

  "You don't get to choose, brother." His eyes were wide. Faint images danced along the glossy blackness. "Just one mistake, Herald. That's all it takes. One chance for your heart to stop beating and..." Laughing, he spread his hands.

  The flicker of movement over Harbinger’s shoulder caught Herald's eye. Two men crept forward, poleaxes thrust far ahead of them. Before Herald could utter a word of warning, the spikes jabbed through his brother's body. Harbinger snarled, pain twisting his face, banishing the madness from his eyes.

  The men pulled and Harbinger staggered back toward the open gate. Herald clasped his brother's hand, fighting to keep the men from dragging Harbinger out into the sunlight. Herald braced himself, but to his dismay, his boots continued to slide along the worn cobbles, the heels grinding into the dust.

  Together, with his brother's strength, wounded though Harbinger was, they were enough to stop the two men. Herald hauled harder, pain flaring in his shoulder. They could halt the men, but not win free. Behind him, he could hear the shuffling of his siblings. Were none brave enough to aid him? "Cowards!" he screamed at them over his shoulder. "Help me!"

  Beyond the barrier of shadows, he spied another couple of humans grab hold of the shafts. The men hauled and regained ground. He fought to keep his brother in the shadows. Harbinger screamed as he was forced backwards into the light. Herald’s brother struggled to break free, howling anew as his actions only caused the wounds to enlarge.

  His grip was slipping. Herald squeezed his brother's hand harder. It made no difference. The men were strong and now dug the spikes into his brother's sides. He needed both hands, but he didn’t dare relinquish his sword for surely the men would attack him.

  Ten seconds. The thought flittered through his mind. Too short a time to bring his brother back out of the sunlight and into the safety of the castle. Even so...

  Sensing a presence coming at him, he glanced to one side. A sword blade, the steel glinting in the noon light, headed for his skull. Herald ducked, his own weapon raised to ward off the blow. His hand slipped from Harbinger's grasp as he pushed the man back, the sudden lack of resistance throwing him to the cobblestones.

  Scrambling to one knee, he reached out, blindly seeking his brother's hand. His finger slipped int
o the sunlight. An unseen fire licked at his flesh. Teeth gritted at the burning sensation, Herald shoved aside the pain and continued trying to reach his brother. A thousand tiny daggers stabbing at his palm would've hurt less.

  Harbinger could not regain the ground they'd lost. Like himself, his brother fought to clasp hands. Sweat glistened off a face that agony had twisted into a sick parody of itself. Their fingers briefly touched, missed, and touched again. Then...

  Dust.

  For one pure moment, his brother stood before him, brownish-grey ash replacing pallid flesh. Then a gentle breeze blew across the entrance, scattering the frail image over the men sprawled on the ground. All that was left of his brother were the clothes smouldering on the dirt.

  Herald staggered back, faintly aware of arrows flying passed his head, the wind of their passage disturbing his hair. Humans screamed as they were struck. The hot, heady scent of blood filled the air. Harbinger? Tears welled as he watched the gritty cloud that had been his brother dissipate.

  Hands grabbed him, hauling him away from the entrance. Into safety. No. He shoved his siblings aside and dove for the line where sun met shadow. There had to be something left. Some small piece of his brother that could be revived. Brother!

  Men fell over the pile of Harbinger’s clothes as they succumbed to the arrows. Blood seeped from their wounds. The sticky pools soaked into the ground, mixing the dust into the age-compacted dirt. Dust to stone. It was no different here. They hadn't escaped Hell. They'd brought it with them.

  Chapter Eight

  Opening his eyes, Herald stared at the wall before him. He ached, his sleeping conditions not entirely to blame. It'd been years since the nightmare plagued him. Not since the fortress had been completed. I shouldn't have returned. He could've feigned some minor problem. Ștefan wouldn't check. His father was too content with the life Herald had secured for him to bother. The valley was safe, peaceful. Because of me.