Light Dawning

by Ty Arthur

  Three other recruits, also not yet full members of the order, currently sat amongst their full brethren surrounding the fire, and like Fenton they were always on the lookout for some way to distinguish themselves and display devotion to the darkness. It was a fine line to walk between clear boot licking and actual commitment to the Empress' glorious cause. He was determined to be the first of the group to take the oaths and stand before the judging dark to be found worthy of serving.

  Further clear trampling of boots against the dry brush out in the woods brought the whole unit to their feet and into a defensive wedge position, prepared for any friend or foe who might approach. They remained in formation and at attention as the group's advance runner approached out of the tree line, followed after by their commanding officer, a broad smile covering his face and helm in hand at his side.

  “This is what we we've been searching for, brothers. A nest of the light worshipers in one of their heretical temples, and with some unholy prey truly worthy of hunting. Prepare your weapons, we attack as soon as the sun fully recedes.”

  A chorus of hushed murmuring broke out among the recruits at his back, but he didn't bother responding, instead whispering a quick prayer of thanks to the dark father who watched over them from the void and had at last provided for his faithful servant. All the preparation, all the waiting, was coming to an end. He glanced up at his gleaming spear tip in anticipation of finally cleaning blood from its edge.

  5 (Western Ward, Old Market District, Late Dimmet)

  Some time later after passing in and out of slumber on the uncomfortably damp soil, Myrr wasn't surprised to see the group of conspirators had gathered their meager belongings and departed the underground sanctuary. No doubt they aimed to stir up trouble with a patrol or attempt to kidnap some ranking officer. A rising tide of nervousness spread throughout his body as we wondered when they'd left and whether they'd been spotted leaving the safe house. Any brief moment of carelessness would see them all killed.

  After his vocal outburst triggered by that awful memory, he expected the departed resistance members likely felt the same way about him and wanted to put some distance between themselves and the liability he'd become. Everyone else trapped in the darkness beneath the empty shop remained more at ease, likely glad for the additional room to try to find a dry patch of dirt to rest upon.

  Looking over the desperate lot, Myrr tried to think back if he had learned any of their names besides Casterly and his now mercifully-dead father. When his gaze settled on the broken girl, he stopped trying to recall any specifics. It would just make it harder when the inevitable occurred. The young woman seemed to have worn herself out from the constant rocking and hugged tightly against a dirty corner after exhaustion had set in.

  Casterly on the other hand clearly had pent up energy in need of releasing, slowly grasping his hands into tight fists before opening them up again and cursing with a quiet intensity. It was obvious who those curses were aimed at, but he seemed to have the good sense not to leave the safety offered underground and directly act on his simmering hatred. The angry young man had wisely remained behind rather than leaving with the resistance fighters to cause trouble that would save no one.

  Standing up and stretching his aching legs, Myrr's nervousness slowly shifted into a claustrophobic accounting of his surroundings, needing to be somewhere that wasn't within arms-length of a dirt wall or decrepit floorboard ceiling. Common sense dictated remaining within, but the growling that intermittently erupted from empty stomachs, and the knowledge that this family was on the verge of hysteria, were finally overriding conventional wisdom.

  Coming to the understanding that dying of starvation in the dark was just a slower way to reach the same end awaiting them all outside, his fear of meeting the tip of a spear or end of a mace was diminishing. A grim determination was growing within, and Myrr quickly turned aside from the nagging thought that perhaps the thing inside him was the true cause. He didn't know whether it had his best interests in mind, but even if that utterly black thing was the driving force behind his desire to leave, he was beginning to see the wisdom in the idea.

  He couldn't explain how it had come to inhabit him. Thinking too closely on the event clearly agitated it, as he'd unfortunately learned before catching the last few fleeting hours of sporadic sleep. Life under the occupation was deadly enough without a malevolent force guiding his thoughts; a force that was being actively sought by the occupiers. One way or another, he was going to have to find a way to be rid of the thing using him as a host to hide from its pursuers. If such an action was even possible, it wouldn't be accomplished while hiding in a cellar.

  He didn't know what the sensation was that filled his secret second mind then, but he suspected if that damnable thing had a face, it would be grinning. While clearly beyond his fragile mortal reckoning, it wasn't beyond mirth at the thought of Myrr overriding its desires somehow. Resolve doubled then, and he swore he'd find a way to be rid of the thing before it could cause another outburst that put them all in danger.

  Surrounded by smothering darkness, a bout of gallows humor welled up to counteract the crushing despair that would descend if he thought too long on his situation and the chances of survival. Myrr was certainly going to die, but at the least he could die with a full belly and having rested on a bed that wasn't filled with things that wriggled and skittered.

  That growing sense of resolute purpose was dashed in an instant when a loud crash echoed down from above, followed by a surprised shout from a male voice. Casterly's mother quickly had the small children huddled against her to keep their terrified sobs muffled, and in the commotion it was difficult to decipher what was occurring above. Multiple voices could be heard, one agitated and another soft and low, but the words wouldn't straighten themselves out and become clear through the barrier of the uneven floorboards above.

  Whatever conversation was going on in the storefront ended when rapid footsteps darted across the floor from one end of the building to the other, followed by a stampede as several others followed. The chase ended with three loud and rapid thumps and then long, agonizing seconds of silence.

  The shafts of light in the cellar went cursedly dark in a slow procession from back to front as something large was dragged across the shop's floor. Between the size of whatever was being dragged and the methodical advance, Myrr could only think of dead weight being pulled without regard to comfort.

  Though he'd only interacted with the store owner briefly, Myrr hoped Otta had met a swift end free of the lingering pain to come with an inevitable interrogation. A grumbling came from the thing inside then, prompting thoughts of what torturous horror was sure to come if death hadn't been dealt cleanly above.

  When the dim lighting returned, Myrr found Casterly already coming towards him, voice dangerous and low as he stated the obvious, “We have to leave. Right now.”

  The time for uncertainty was over. If Otta was being taken alive, it would only be a matter of time before he was broken and the soldiers would be searching the hidden cellar. As Casterly gathered the shattered remnants of his family, Myrr made his way up the damp incline towards a world holding either freedom or death.

  He carefully nudged the recessed wood door slightly upward, just enough to reveal a slit of the alleyway above. A sudden deluge of water splashed into the fugitive's eyes, forcing him to drop the door back down and rub his face, chastising himself silently for not being prepared for so mundane an obstacle.

  Myrr tilted up the doorway again, more slowly this time to allow the trickle of water to run down, his eyes scanning back and forth across the surrounding area through the tiny horizon of light. Lapsing back into the safety protocols the now-kidnapped or perhaps dead shopkeeper had insisted on, he counted slowly to ten before pushing up slightly further for a better look, catching a glimpse of the surroundings made hazy by a slight drizzling rain.

  As he applied slight pressure upward he felt the refuse that had been set over the door to keep it
hidden slide apart to either side. Now that their benefactor was presumed captured, it occurred to him that all the strict instructions given to avoid detection were free to be thrown into the wind. Myrr tossed open the door haphazardly before looking back to see the haggard and terrified family following close behind, eager to be out of the cellar and on the run, even if there was nowhere to go.

  All eager except for that poor broken girl, being led like a sheep to slaughter by the hand of her mother, clearly unaware of what was happening or why they were leaving their makeshift home behind. The architects of her shattered mind and body were up in that bright world ahead somewhere, and certain to be interested in finishing what they had started.

  The alleyway leading to the back of Otta's shop, safely tucked in a maze-like corner of what had once been a thriving market district, remained shrouded in silence, and Myrr realized with a jolt that night was falling. His sense of time had become jumbled staying in the hideout for so long, and thinking back he couldn't recall for sure how many days it had been, or even if it had been dark or light when he'd first entered it.

  Noticing no obvious signs of danger or any passing patrols, the doomed family and their possessed guide finally stopped hiding and returned to the danger of the city above. Even the failing rays of a departing sun were more than the pack of unintentional criminals were used to, and each stumbled while returning to a world with more than just slivers of pale light filtered through layers of wood.

  A wave of nausea struck Myrr and then passed as swiftly as it came when an image flashed in his mind of each member of the family meeting their demise at the hands of the occupying force. Tired of unwanted thoughts, he gathered the strength of his purpose to leave the underground prison behind and pushed back against his intruder, blanking out any feeling that didn't involve fleeing to a new safe haven.

  Grateful for the lack of windows lining the back of the shop, Myrr motioned for the group to stay close to the nearby walls and move ahead quietly, hoping they could be free of the area before the soldiers thought to investigate the back end of the building. Casterly slipped down to the edge of the alley as lookout while Myrr quickly shut the entrance behind him, hugging low to the ground and again waiting several breaths to see if anyone else had stumbled into this forsaken corner of the dying city.

  Satisfied of their solitude after seeing a brief nod from his conspirator at the other end of the alley, he reached down to smear a pile of something awful over the cellar's door and then carefully arranged the broken wood and tattered rags he'd disturbed back into position. Between the gag-inducing smell and the unappealing pile of cast off junk, the area would hopefully ward off any attempts at investigation.

  With a deep breath and a moment to gather his courage, Myrr cast off all remaining doubts and strode to the alley's entrance, trying to adopt the persona of just another citizen traveling across the streets. Everyone in the city was on edge, so he hoped the nervous paranoia he felt certain was written all over his body language would seem like business as usual to anyone who glanced his way.

  The pilgrimage of lost and damned souls was over before it started when someone not far behind shouted about discovering a crawlspace visible below the floorboards. The unmistakable sound of heavily-armored feet crashed across wood and stone from the front side of the building.

  Chaos overtook the disorganized group of outcasts, with Casterly grabbing his younger siblings by the hands and crashing through a nearby door to a tailor's storefront, while his mother and sister slid into a shadowed alcove and huddled down out of sight. Realizing there was no way to regroup and move ahead together, Myrr followed the lead of his disordered fellows and put his old skills to use.

  Grabbing a cracked pieced of wood protruding from the nearest building, he lifted himself up the ledge and across the broad open window on the side of the tailor's shop, clutching the slate roof of the building and pulling himself upwards.

  Just as he positioned himself flatly across the edge of the rooftop, two of the men who had raided Otta's shop came into view at a frantic run, bearing the familiar armor and weaponry of the knights who sought to bring the city to ruin. They slowed down to a more cautious pace when coming across the closed off alleyway and moving ahead in tandem, clearly searching across the seemingly empty street for signs of more malcontents to accost.

  Myrr knew he had been very lucky surviving this long, and an outright confrontation with these armed soldiers was sure to end that streak of good fortune. They already had those steel maces slipped free from the loops at their belts, ready and waiting to maim or kill anyone who seemed out of place or just had the bad luck to be passing by.

  With their backs turned to the end of the alleyway as they kicked through piles of refuse and peeked through windows, Myrr carefully inched forward as silently as possible, hoping to move beyond them and make his escape when they found the cellar. Crawling forward at an agonizing pace and thankful for the dying light hiding his presence, he perched himself just back from the roof's edge and observed silently when they came within stone's throw of the two women with nowhere to run.

  Already knowing what was sure to happen but utterly helpless to stop it, he silently urged Casterly's mother to stand and flee, or perhaps smother her daughter before she could be returned to the rough hands of the knights who would have no concern about her mental state.

  One of them reached out and grabbed his companion's shoulder, pointing his mace towards the shadowy forms hidden inside the darkened alcove between two buildings. Cursing under his breath, Myrr pulled the knife free from his boot, sparing no time to consider the warm pleasure spreading inside the hollow cavern occupied by his stowaway. The rain picked up then, as dusk began its transformation to full darkness, but it would offer no aid to the desperate folk with nowhere to run.

  He waited a few moments longer, hoping something else would catch the attention of the soldiers, desperately wishing for a riot or a fire or a crazed rebel noticing these knights all alone in a dark alley and deciding to do something stupid. Something like what he was about to do.

  Moving forward, Myrr immediately regretted his hubris, misjudging his ability to balance on the smooth slate covered in the thickening sheen of slick rain. He only managed to barely keep from flying off the side of the roof after immediately slipping on the slick material, slamming back down and grabbing hold of a slate tile with one hand while maintaining his grip on the knife with the other.

  Getting his wish in the worst possible way, the soldiers immediately turned away from Casterly's defenseless family and approached the man dangling from the rooftop. They remained silent while watching the spectacle, waiting for their prey to fall from his precarious position. Not willing to give in to capture so soon after fleeing that cramped underground prison, Myrr struggled to regain his footing. Even if he couldn't escape, he might offer some usefulness by leading the soldiers away on a chase with only one possible outcome.

  A great clamor rose up below when Myrr finally threw himself back up on the roof and took to his feet, followed by more angry shouts echoing what had been heard just before they'd fled the cellar. Turning back to his pursuers, Myrr cursed loudly when seeing Casterly had given into foolishness after all. The disfigured man had burst out of the shop and was now engaged in a hopeless, unarmed battle with the knights, who toyed with their new victim, moving him into position between them before one or the other could bring down the killing blow.

  That warm pleasure he'd felt before turned to absolute bliss when he flung himself downward, driving the point of his thin blade through the neck and shoulder of the unsuspecting knight below, directly between the gaps in the chain loops of the dead man's armor. He dragged it out of the soldier's dense flesh and then shoved back inward again, and then a third time when the heavy bulk beneath him still struggled, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and knees after the awkward landing.

  Looking up to discover the fate of his fellow fugitives, Myrr was shocked to see the edge of a spi
ked mace jutting from Casterly's side, driven with enough force to catch in his ribs. The devastating blow hadn't stopped the enraged man from grabbing hold of his attacker, holding him aloft in a bizarre bear hug before slamming him down with a force born of pure hate. The mace went flying then, sending a free flow of blood from the Casterly's torn-open side as he pounded down against unyielding chain armor.

  Sliding the blade out yet again from the flesh sheath it currently inhabited, Myrr wiped the blood off to ensure accuracy and then let fly, sending the dagger hurtling across the alley. Casterly stopped his assault when the knight beneath him went limp and suddenly sprouted a knife from the side of his temple. The soldier, so sure of his ability to deal with this defenseless peasant moments before, let out a wet gasp and then slipped into whatever afterlife laid beyond the hell of Cestia.

  Limping over to Casterly, he tried to assess the extent of the damage from the mace blow, but turned his head when his wounded friend's arm flung upward and pointed to the alley's entrance. A line of waiting guardsmen watched in mute condemnation at the duo standing over a dying knight. Their courageous last stand had been in vain, with a solid wall of death bearing down on them.