River Into Darkness

by Sean Russell

  Walky remained where he stood, waiting to be released. Unlike the countess, his patience was nearly infinite: he would quite literally wait all day and feel no resentment.

  He is the last of his kind, Walky thought, the final chapter of a story that is to be lost forever. Even now, while one still lived, men were less and less inclined to believe the stories of the mages and their powers—but Walky knew the truth.

  “Is she to be trusted, Walky?” Eldrich asked softly.

  “This woman, sir?”

  “The countess, Walky. She is from a decadent class. Has had no purpose in life but to please herself. Everything has been given to her. Everything. What will she do when I am gone?”

  “It is not my place to say, but, for my money, she is a person of substance. A woman who would have the courage to take the difficult way if it were necessary, sir.”

  “Yes, I believe she would make her way through difficulty. But there will be some hard decisions, Walky. Decisions where some must make sacrifices. I fear she could not bear that burden.”

  Walky nodded. “That is not impossible, sir. She has a . . . a good heart.”

  “And I do not?”

  Walky knew this game. Would he tell the truth or resort to a small lie, knowing the mage could detect lies. “Yours has a hardened shell, sir.”

  The mage nodded, the trace of a smile appearing. “That will be all, Walky,” the mage said quietly, his breathing suddenly deep and regular.

  The servant waited a moment, watching over his master, observing the troubled sleep. He heard him mutter in the secret tongue, yet there was nothing he could do to bring him peace.

  Walky slipped out of the room. Almost as silent as a mage.

  Thirty-Six

  Dusk upon the harvest field

  Gilded stooks afire,

  Aflame the shivering sky.

  Clouds bubble up, burning,

  And night,

  The terrible night,

  Is upon us.

  —Ansel Bead, “Harvest”

  The countess gazed at the portrait, wondering what it was that so unsettled her. At a glance it was a flattering likeness, for Eldrich had a presence like no other, and all of that was there. The mystery, the brooding silence, the irony which verged on cruelty, the complete disinterest. But there was something else as well.

  Sadness, certainly, though this did not begin to describe it—the right word eluded her. But even this was not what she found unsettling. She leaned a bit closer, narrowing her eyes.

  Eyes.

  Yes, whatever it was resided in the eyes. Dark, almost black, beneath heavy brows. A bit too sunken to be really attractive, though Eldrich’s eyes had a way of unsettling her. It was likely the disinterest. The coldness. As well as the feeling that he looked through her. She might as well have been naked before that gaze, for it stripped her bare every time.

  The countess shivered.

  Fear.

  No, it couldn’t be that. He was Eldrich, the last mage; certainly the most powerful man in the known world. What could such a man fear?

  She turned the question over in her mind, and came up with the not too very remarkable answer that his fear was no different from anyone else’s.

  “Flames,” she whispered. Is he near to death? Could that be possible? Has it come stalking even the long-lived Eldrich?

  The words from the Book of Farrelle came to her.

  And the river into darkness shall carry you, away from this desperate world and the memories of men.

  And there had been the Paths, the golden wolf, and from there only her path continued. In his attempts to part the mist and look into the future he had discovered his own end, and it was not distant.

  “Farrelle preserve him,” she whispered.

  Kent had seen. Even if he had not known, he had seen it all the same.

  * * *

  * * *

  Hayes was disobeying his very clear instructions. They had been billeted, two to a room: Hayes with Clarendon, oddly, and poor Kehler with Deacon Rose. As though the youngsters needed an older stabilizing influence.

  But Hayes was worried about Clarendon, who had lain down on a bed and not moved in several hours. Neither would he answer to Hayes’ entreaties, nor respond to shaking, even fairly violently done.

  He was also concerned about Kehler left alone with the priest. Holding up his candle, he stared into the gloom of the hallway, searching for wolf-sized shadows. But no shadows moved. He hoped Kehler was in the next room along, and was relieved to see the faintest glow beneath the door.

  Afraid of discovery, he did not knock, but only pressed the door open, looking in. “What in . . . ?”

  He stared into the dim room, lit by a single candle, thinking that he looked into a land of wonder. A tiny carriage pulled by miniature horses, a castle barely taller than he . . .

  “I hope, for your sake, you are not a robber,” came a lovely female voice.

  Hayes searched for the source, but could only tell that it came from a shadowed area by the window.

  “No. No, I am a guest.”

  “Then you will not mind telling me the name of your host,” she said quickly, though if she thought him a robber she did not seem the least frightened.

  “Lord Eldrich.”

  “Come in then, and close the door; the beast is afoot.”

  Hayes did as he was told, and quickly.

  “It is proper to tell a lady your name. . . .”

  “Samual Hayes, ma’am.”

  “A pleasure, Mr. Hayes. I am the Countess of Chilton.”

  Hayes was sure she heard his indrawn breath. Could it really be? “The pleasure is mine, Lady Chilton.”

  “And what brings you to be a guest in the house of Eldrich, if I am not prying?”

  His eyes were adjusting a little, and he could see her shape dimly now, sitting in the window, touched by starlight.

  “Bad luck and even worse judgment, I’m afraid.”

  He could see her head nod. “The common reasons, I see.” She turned to look out into the night as a small bird flitted before the window, nearly hovering there. She reached out her hand, and the bird darted away. “I will tell you, wandering around this house at night does not suggest that your judgment’s improving.”

  Hayes felt a little chagrin at this slight mockery from such a woman. “I—I was looking for a friend. I thought this was his room. You see, I am worried about Clarendon.”

  “Randall Clarendon? A very small man?”

  “The very one.”

  She rose, her movements full of grace. “Take me to him.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Take me to him.” Then she paused. “He knows a friend of mine of whom I seek news, but then maybe you do yourself. Erasmus Flattery?”

  Erasmus knew the Countess of Chilton? “I knew him, Lady Chilton.”

  He saw her reach out a hand to the window frame, and a long silence ensued, Hayes unsure what to say.

  “What has befallen Mr. Clarendon?” the countess asked in a near whisper.

  “Despair, I fear. It is a long story, and one which he might not wish repeated—not that his part was anything less than honorable. . . .”

  “Of course. Let me see him, Mr. Hayes. Perhaps I can make myself useful in this small way at least, and then you can tell me what befell Erasmus.”

  Hayes opened the door, gazing out again, the countess close behind. He could feel her presence, like a source of heat. They slipped quietly out into the hallway, and through the door to Clarendon.

  The little man still lay upon his bed, as though he had not moved at all.

  The countess stopped and stared down at him with great solemnity. It was the first time Hayes could really see her, and he thought no description he’d heard did the woman justice. Thick, dark hair an
d perfect brow, her manner pensive and unbearably sad. There was nothing he would not do to comfort her, to take away the sadness—and they had barely met. The power of the attraction shocked him.

  “It is not natural, Mr. Hayes,” she said.

  “What Eldrich has done to him?”

  “No, what are you feeling. I was bespelled, or my grandmother was, I don’t know which, but it works upon the men around me. What you are feeling is caused by the arts, and is an illusion. I am not really so appealing. It is good to remember.” She went to the bedside. “Mr. Clarendon?” she said, but he did not stir. “Sir . . . ?”

  Still there was no response. She sat down beside him and gently took his hand, and leaning forward, kissed his brow tenderly.

  He stirred then. “Lizzy?”

  “No, Mr. Clarendon, I am sorry to disappoint you. I am Lady Chilton, I believe we met briefly. Erasmus spoke most highly of you.”

  Clarendon did not open his eyes but was like a man half-roused from the deepest sleep. “Erasmus. . . . Gone, you know.”

  “So I have been told. May he find peace beyond this life.”

  Clarendon nodded, stretching a little, then settling back as though he would sleep again.

  “Mr. Clarendon? That is a dream you return to. A pleasant dream, I have no doubt. A dream in which the dead live again, perhaps, but a dream nonetheless and everything that happens there is illusory. Illusion, Mr. Clarendon, no different from that which Eldrich perpetuates when it suits him.” She lifted up his hand and touched it with her lips. “There are those in this world who rely upon you, who care for you. Come back, Mr. Clarendon, you will find the long sleep soon enough.”

  Randall opened his eyes and sighed. “Why does everyone wish to see me suffer, even you, lady?”

  “No one wants to see you suffer. Certainly I have no such wish. Many, I think, would sacrifice much to see you free of pain. Mr. Hayes was willing to brave Eldrich’s wolf out of concern for you, and few would risk that, I will assure you. No, your suffering brings pain to all who care for you. You have lost someone, it seems, other than Mr. Flattery?”

  Clarendon nodded, looking up at this vision with wonder. “Lizzy,” he breathed.

  “Will you tell me about her, or would you rather not?”

  “She was my guardian,” he said, “my guardian angel . . . before Eldrich found us.”

  Hayes saw the countess shut her eyes tightly at the mention of the mage, but then she glanced up at him, and toward the door. Hayes took up his candle and went out into the fearful hallway, hoping he would find Kehler’s door before the wolf found him.

  * * *

  * * *

  Hayes returned later to find Clarendon tucked into bed and sleeping peacefully, not lying insensible, as he had been. For a moment he stood there, struggling with himself, and then went out, and into the peculiar room where he had first found the countess.

  “Is that Mr. Hayes?”

  “It is, Lady Chilton.”

  “I have been expecting you.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “It is the enchantment, Mr. Hayes—I fear it makes men rather predictable. Most men, at least.”

  “Shall I leave you in peace?”

  He heard her sigh. She was perched in the window where he had first seen her, the single candle burned down to a stub.

  “No, come in,” she said, her voice tired. “You promised to tell me a story, if it is not too . . . distressing for you.”

  “It is not a story to lift one’s heart, that’s certain,” he said. “But it deserves to be known, all the same.”

  Hayes found a seat in the window, setting his candles atop the tiny carriage where they cast their light upon the countess. He was a little flattered that she awaited him, here, even if just to learn what had befallen Erasmus.

  “I looked in on Clarendon just now,” Hayes said. “I think you performed something of a miracle. He was sleeping peacefully.”

  “Let us hope that he wakes feeling so, though I think it will be some time before your friend finds peace.” She pulled up her knees, encircling them with her arms as though she were still a young girl, not yet trained in proper ladylike deportment. “Mr. Clarendon says you found no bodies?”

  Hayes shook his head.

  She fixed her lovely eyes on him. “Do you think Erasmus is dead, Mr. Hayes?”

  “I . . . I fear that he is, Lady Chilton.” Hayes could not bear the sadness in her gaze and looked down. “Anna would, no doubt, have hidden herself had she survived, but there was no reason for Erasmus to do so, or our guide, for that matter. No, I fear they all perished and were swept away. If you had seen the waters there, you would likely think the same. I’m sure it is challenge enough to stay afloat in calm waters, let alone fast-running rivers with whirlpools and rapids and falls. I don’t think anyone could have survived. Though it was the measure of Erasmus that he dove in after young Pryor without hesitation, for Pryor was no one dear to him.”

  The countess nodded. “I did not know Erasmus at all well, but I feel the loss all the same. I am gratified to learn that he did not falter when it came to saving another, even at great risk. I—I had wondered. . . .” She looked up at him again. “Had you known Erasmus long?”

  “All my life,” Hayes answered, “or nearly so.”

  “How was that?”

  And Hayes began to tell the story of his association with Erasmus, the fall of his family’s fortunes, and his “chance” meeting with Erasmus in the brothel. It took some time to tell, for Hayes held back nothing, not even his own fears and humiliations, and if he enlarged the parts played by Erasmus and Clarendon—well, it seemed to be what the countess needed to hear, and one did not wish to disappoint the Countess of Chilton.

  She listened raptly, and the complete focus of her attention flattered him immeasurably.

  When he finally finished his tale, the countess shook her head. “He is completely without heart, isn’t he?” she said bitterly.

  “Eldrich, ma’am?” Hayes lowered his voice. “I think that is being too generous.”

  “But it is a wondrous tale, isn’t it?” she said, as though trying to pass beyond her anger toward Eldrich.

  “Yes, I certainly never expected to see such things in my lifetime. It is like an old tale, from the distant past, all of it larger than life. I suppose no one will believe it in years to come.”

  “I don’t suppose, though it is not likely anyone will ever know of it or the parts played by Erasmus and yourself, Mr. Hayes.”

  “My part has been small and largely accidental, I think.”

  “And I think you are being too modest, though it hardly matters. No one will know; Eldrich will see to that. He is secretive—strangely so, in fact.” She turned and opened the window slightly, staring out at the rain and struggling storm. “Do you know, for the first time in my life I have begun to see the use of diaries. I had always thought them the most foolish vanity—the desire by the eminently unremarkable to be remembered. But now I am less sure. What else illuminates our passing through this world? We spend all our lives collecting memories, accumulating experience and some sliver of wisdom—and to what end? So that it all might be surrendered in our dotage, when memories are lost. One by one, the treasured experiences of our lives, gone. Is it not tragic, Mr. Hayes, that we lose everything in the end? I have seen great men reduced to the state of animals, unable to speak, to feed themselves. And the people who cared for them treated them with such disregard! It was shameful. As though they had not left their mark upon society—upon the world, in some cases.

  “The vast majority of people born are too quickly forgotten, Mr. Hayes. And so we keep journals, hoping at least to remain in people’s memories a little longer. A vain and foolish endeavor, perhaps, but completely understandable, I think. Don’t you?”

  Hayes nodded. “I had never thought much abo
ut it. I only know that I have never kept a diary beyond three entries, myself.”

  “Yes, but you suffer the illusion of youth, Mr. Hayes, if you will excuse me for saying so. You believe life is long, when it is absurdly brief—brief and shadowed by anonymity.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Hayes thought he caught a glimpse of a slim form in an upper window, but could not be sure. He smiled at his own reaction. Had not the countess said it was an enchantment that caused this response among men? She had said it so seriously that he had been half inclined to believe her. Whatever the cause, he now knew why men made complete fools of themselves over her.

  An evening of conversation, and he was ready to do battle for her himself.

  Steady on, now, he thought. She certainly gave you no indication that there would even be a continued acquaintance.

  Despite that, the world did not seem such a bad place that morning. Not in the least bad. Even his continued servitude to Eldrich did not seem such a terrible burden.

  Hayes glanced over at Clarendon, and this deflated him a little. Randall had not met anyone’s gaze all morning, but busied himself about his horse, lifting each of its feet and cleaning the hooves with a hook.

  Hayes should have looked as melancholy as poor Clarendon, for they were being sent to do the mage’s bidding still. After all his hope of having escaped Eldrich . . . Apparently the mage did not believe Anna dead, for they were to seek her again, along the coast this time. It seemed Eldrich’s greatest fear was that she would find a boat to take her to the island of Farrow.

  Hayes glanced over at Kehler, whose mood was so downcast and black that the others were reticent to speak with him. In such a temper Kehler looked as though he had aged substantially in recent weeks: the lines on his face cut deeper, his hair appeared more silvered in the morning sun.