The Darkness of Light

by Tammy Farrell

  Mara fell forward. At first there was only the feeling of pressure at the side of her waist, but then the blood began to pour from the torn fabric of her dress. She doubled over and fell to her knees, clutching the gushing wound.

  “No!” Annora shrieked, running to Mara.

  Mara was dumbstruck as the pressure gave way to a slicing pain.

  “Gareth!” one of the men shouted. “What have you done?”

  Annora pressed her hands over Mara’s wound and stroked her forehead. “Please don’t die, please don’t die.”

  Mara could tell Annora was attempting to heal the wound, but it was clear she didn’t possess the ability.

  “I won’t die,” Mara breathed, trying to get to her feet, but she tumbled back down.

  One of the men stepped closer. “For heaven’s sake, Gareth, she’s just a girl.”

  “She came at me so fast…I didn’t see her, I simply reacted.”

  Mara looked up at the faces before her, but the loss of blood made it hard for her to focus. One of the men knelt over her. “She’s losing a lot of blood, Gareth.” He examined the gash at her side.

  “Is she going to die?” Annora wailed.

  “Only the gods know that,” said the man as he pulled back the hood of Mara’s cloak and looked at her face. He gasped. “Shit, Gareth, I know this girl.”

  Mara tried to make out the details of his face.

  “You know her?” Gareth asked in disbelief.

  “I do. She looks changed, but by heavens, it’s her.”

  Through her blurry vision, Mara could see the outline of the man pick up the dagger that laid beside her. He held it up. “I gave this to her.”

  Annora began to cry harder. “Well, help her then. She’s turning gray!”

  The man went to work quickly, ripping a piece of fabric from the bottom half of his cloak and wrapping it tightly around Mara’s waist.

  “Mara, can you see me?” he asked, giving her a light tap on the cheek to rouse her.

  She tried to focus, but her eyes were heavy.

  “Mara, it’s Drake. Do you remember me? I helped you get out of Moorthrop. Don’t worry, dear. We will get you some help.”

  Mara forced herself to open her eyes. His face was familiar.

  He turned to Annora. “What’s your name?”

  “Annora,” she cried. “You know her?” There was still uncertainty in her voice.

  “Yes. I saved her life once, and it looks as though I must do it again. Don’t be afraid, Annora. I promise no harm will come to you either of you, but we have to get her out of here before she bleeds to death.”

  Mara started to feel like she was floating in dark water. It was as though she was trapped in darkness with only sound as her awareness.

  “Where will you take us?” Annora asked.

  “There is a woman of the forest, she will know what to do, but we must move quickly. Do you have trust in me?”

  Annora was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” she finally said.

  Drake quickly scooped Mara up off the ground. The movement sent searing torrents of pain through her body, and then she went numb. Mara felt the life fading from her and couldn’t help but think that this was the end. With all the strength of her soul, she tried to hold on, but her will to fight was fading.

  She wanted to sleep.

  “Our horses are just down that way. Gareth, you take Annora.” Drake ran as gently as he could with Mara in his arms. “Don’t be afraid, Mara. I won’t let you die today.”

  Corbin could smell the stench of death as he, Barrett, and Ailwen approached Redlow. The gates were wide open and unmanned. What they saw behind the walls made them pause. This was not the doings of man. No houses burned, no soldiers lay wounded on the ground, and no raiders sacked the buildings.

  This was something greater than man.

  Corbin turned to his companions with a look of warning. Being that they were mortal, he knew they could easily succumb to whatever pestilence lingered there. And while he could mend wounds with his Light, he didn’t know if he could heal them from this.

  He turned his horse to face them. “I think it’s best if you two wait here.”

  Ailwen shook his head. “That’s not necessary, Corbin. We’ve seen this before.”

  Corbin frowned. “Well then you were lucky to evade its reach. Let’s see to it that you continue to be so lucky.”

  “But you don’t know what lay within, Corbin,” Barrett said.

  Corbin smirked. “What danger is there for me in a village full of the dead and dying? I’ll call for you if I need you.” Corbin spurred his horse forward, leaving his companions behind. He wasn’t about to risk their lives against an enemy they couldn’t fight with their swords.

  As his horse trotted forward, Corbin observed the crestfallen faces occupying the windows and doorways of the village huts. Near the well, at the foot of the main road, he saw twenty bodies laid out shoulder to shoulder. Two men with cloth tied around their faces carried another body and added it to the end of the row. Corbin dismounted his horse and walked towards them, counting the bodies of ten men, four women, and seven children. The bloated corpses were covered in thousands of hard, bloody bumps that seemed to leave no part of their skin untouched. The sight and the stench of them almost made Corbin retch. He looked at the two men. They had similar bumps on their faces that had begun to heal.

  “What happened here?” Corbin asked.

  It was as if the men hadn’t seen him until he spoke. They looked up at him with surprise.

  “What has happened here?” Corbin repeated.

  They stared at Corbin blankly. “A curse,” said the thinner of the two men. He pulled down the cloth on his face to reveal more scars on his mouth and chin.

  “This is not the work of a curse,” Corbin said.

  The bearded man nodded with certainty. “Oh, yes it is. They cursed us for the burnings. They called their curses to the devil. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Corbin grimaced. “There have been persecutions here?”

  The men nodded. “Yes. But some of them escaped. Maybe it’s a curse from God for letting them get away,” said the bearded man.

  Corbin narrowed his eyes at the men and their ridiculous beliefs. “How many escaped?” he asked.

  “Seven or so. Two of the guards let them go. Heathens themselves, most likely,” he said.

  Corbin nodded. “When did this start?” he asked and pointed to the bodies.

  “Last month. Not long after the pagans escaped. It happened so quickly. It started with the fevers and then the rash. We sent for help, but no one returned. I bet they ran as far away as they could get.”

  The thinner man knelt down and touched the forehead of one of the children. She was a young girl of about six years. Corbin was immediately reminded of Isa. The man began to sob. “They even cursed the babes.”

  “Don’t touch them,” Corbin said. “This is not a curse. This is a sickness. And you shouldn’t be placing the bodies near the well.”

  The man shook his head. “No. I have already caught it. God sees fit to save those worthy of his protection.”

  “Then you’re a blessed fool,” Corbin said under his breath. “Are there many others who have endured this?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, several. Even Magistrate John has held on through the worst of it.” He made the sign of the cross.

  “Your magistrate is here?” Corbin asked.

  “He is. But you don’t want to see him. No. I would advise against it.”

  Corbin laughed at the irony of it. “My people have our own curses to fear,” he said contemptuously. “Tell me where I can find the magistrate.”

  The men hesitated for a moment, eyeing him. Then the bearded man pointed down the hill of the main road to a building larger than the other wooden huts. “He’s in the village hall. It’s being used as an infirmary.”

  Corbin acknowledged the men with a nod and walked his horse down the hill. Inside the hall, the benche
s normally arranged in rows for village tribunals were pushed off to the side and in the open space were four men laying on pallets.

  They all looked rather young, and although they were gaunt with sickness, Corbin could sense they were recovering. None of them appeared to be Magistrate John. Corbin looked on them with pity. If this was a curse, it was a result of their own ignorance, not because they let pagans escape. A young woman wearing a white woolen cap and apron knelt beside one of the men and pressed a damp cloth to his head. Corbin walked towards her, not realizing the sword on his back must have startled her. He held up his hands to show he meant no harm.

  “Excuse me, miss,” he said, nodding his head to her. “Is this the last of the sick?”

  She looked weary with dark circles under her eyes. “Yes.” She wiped her forehead with her arm. “The spread seems to have stopped. I don’t know if these will make it, but they’ve held out longer than some of the others.”

  “I’m looking for Magistrate John,” Corbin said.

  As he scanned the room he began to feel the heaviness of the dark energy. Something was there.

  The woman glanced towards the door at the end of the room. “He’s in there, though I don’t know if he will be able to speak to you. He’s been taken with delirium all day.”

  “May I see him anyway?” Corbin asked.

  She regarded him with a lift of her brow and then pointed towards the door. “Fine.”

  Corbin took another glimpse around the room. “Is he being tended to by another?” he asked.

  A look of antipathy came over her. “No. He may be the magistrate of this village, but he deserves to die for what he’s done to us. And he can do it alone.”

  Corbin nodded and walked towards the door. The moment he entered the anteroom, he sensed the presence they had been searching for, and he could feel it was terribly weak. Corbin stepped in and closed the door.

  Even though the room was dark, Corbin could see a man laying on a straw mattress. His breathing was labored, and the stench of sickness was all around him. Corbin observed the same rotting, puss-filled marks all over the man’s body and blood ringed around his nostrils. He took a heavy step towards the man, waking him with a start.

  “What? Who’s there?” the man grumbled. “Girl? Is that you? Fetch me some water. I’m insufferably thirsty.”

  Corbin moved closer. “I don’t think you’ll need anything but your prayers soon enough.” He made his tone low and menacing.

  The man stilled. “Who is that? Show yourself!” He pulled the woolen blanket closer to him as if it might offer protection. With an almost imperceptible gesture, Corbin grabbed the candle near the bedside and lit it using his power. Then he let the flame illuminate his face and his eyes intensified to a vibrant, furious blue.

  The magistrate gasped at the sight of him. “You’re a demon,” he hissed.

  Corbin’s lip curled into a wicked smile and he knelt down closer to the cowering man. “Then tell me, magistrate. What does that make you?” He looked him over carefully, trying to decide whether he was a man or a Dia.

  The magistrate’s face hardened, but his hands still shook. “I am redeemed, you wicked creature. Now be gone from my sight!”

  Corbin clenched his teeth and leaned over the man, grabbing the collar of his shirt. “You are a descendant, aren’t you?”

  The energy of the man was undeniably Dia, but Corbin could sense he was dying, and showed no sign of Light. Perhaps he was more human than Dia, and like Annora, was a distant descendant of the Tuatha Dé Danann. But how did he know about the rest of them? Corbin twisted the man’s collar. “You are, aren’t you?”

  The magistrate scowled. “If you are asking if I am a descendant of evil, then yes, but if you are asking if I am like you, then no.”

  Corbin let go of the man and leaned back. “Then what are you and why have you been hunting us?”

  The man pursed his lips.

  Corbin allowed the Light to show in his eyes. “Tell me, old man, or you won’t have only death to fear.”

  The magistrate spat. “I don’t know what I am. But I have purified my soul by ridding the world of your kind when I sensed you,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “God gave me the gift to know your kind so that I could kill you.”

  Corbin laughed scornfully. “You are a fool, old man. That was not God who gave you that gift.”

  “It was, you villain. I heard the voice of angels. They promised me salvation if I would rid the world of abominations such as you.”

  Corbin glowered. This seemed too simple. How had he not sensed this man on the day of Ethnea’s execution? Could he have been too distracted to notice him?

  “How did you escape us?” Corbin asked.

  The magistrate snorted. “God’s protection.”

  Corbin reached out and clutched the man by the arm. “Then is your God protecting you now?”

  “He is!” the magistrate insisted. “I am already at death’s door, you devil. You can’t frighten me!” His tone was rough, but Corbin could see the fear in his eyes.

  Once again, the image of Isa flashed through his mind and his entire body tensed. He got closer so the man was sure to see the burning anger in his face. “You are at death’s door, old man. But let me tell you this… I am not a devil, and neither were any of the innocent people you killed. Your senses were wrong. You killed innocent mortals. So in this room, you are the only devil I see,” Corbin fumed.

  The magistrate’s eyes widened with horror, and he began to pray.

  “Enough of this,” Corbin growled, ripping the man’s hands from his prayer. He summoned all of his energy and pushed the man back. Before Corbin even realized what he was doing, he felt his body stiffen, and his energy began to flow out of him until he heard the magistrate’s bones cracking.

  The magistrate screamed out in pain.

  “Is he listening to you now, John?” Corbin demanded, watching the man writhe. He’d never used a power like this before; he didn’t even know he had it. Was it borne from the extreme hatred he felt for this man?

  Corbin paused over the magistrate. “There’s one more thing you should know about what we are, John, and this includes you. We don’t go to heaven.”

  The man’s mouth gaped as Corbin directed the energy to his throat, inching it closed, and crushing it until his body relaxed with a horrible grimace on his face.

  Corbin stood, staring at the creature that was responsible for killing his Isa. The sense of satisfaction he thought he should feel wasn’t there. He left the corpse and walked back through to the main room. The young woman was still tending to the sick men. She looked up with a kind smile. “Were you able to make any sense of him?”

  Corbin nodded. “Yes, miss. And I’m content to tell you that he is now dead…and alone.”

  An ominous fog loomed over Valenia. The closer Corbin got, the more he could feel it; something was wrong. He expected Valenia would still be in mourning over the death of their little one, but that feeling was there when he left eight days ago. This was heavier, and darker than even death. Corbin pushed Findias into a run until he reached the base of the mound. He dismounted and looked up at the veiled structure, realizing it was odd that no one came out to meet them. Surely they would have heard the horses.

  When Corbin, Ailwen, and Barrett walked through the door, Corbin became alarmingly aware of the silence within. The inner hall was gloomy, no fires burned to warm against the late autumn air, and the sense of unease rose inside him with each passing moment. Corbin drew his sword and walked up the steps to Rowan’s chamber. He looked up and noticed a soft white light seeping through the seams of the door. Corbin turned back to give a warning look to his companions and put his hand on the latch when suddenly he heard his name called from behind them. All three men spun around on the steps, prepared to defend themselves, but relaxed when they saw it was only Malcolm.

  Corbin perceived a change in Malcolm the moment their eyes met. He lifted a torch off the wall an
d lit it. In the glow of the fire, any difference Corbin thought he saw seemed to vanish. There was a troubled look on Malcolm’s face.

  “What’s the matter?” Corbin asked, walking back down the steps.

  Malcolm shook his head. “Mara’s gone,” he wailed.

  “What do you mean, gone?” Corbin’s heart sank.

  Malcolm held out his hands. “She left. I hoped you would cross paths on your way back from Moorthrop.”

  “Well, I didn’t,” Corbin said. “Where did she go? Why did she leave?”

  Malcolm shook his head again. “I don’t know, Corbin. She packed her things and left the same day you went to Moorthrop.”

  Corbin gripped the hilt of his sword. Something in Malcolm’s eyes spoke of deception. “Why would she do that?” he asked.

  Malcolm shrugged. “She was out of her mind. I found her by Isa’s grave the day you left. She was despondent and wouldn’t listen to reason. She said she didn’t want her powers anymore and didn’t want to be a Dia because it brought on nothing but sorrow. I tried to talk some sense into her, but she wouldn’t hear me. I thought maybe she would listen to Rowan, but by the time he went to talk to her, she was gone.” Malcolm put his hand to his forehead.

  Corbin peered around the hall. “And where is Rowan now?”

  “He went to look for her, but that was days ago. I’m truly worried, Corbin. How could she be so foolish?”

  Corbin narrowed his eyes and then stormed back up the steps and opened Rowan’s door. Everything seemed in order. Corbin looked back at Malcolm, unable to shake the feeling of suspicion. He kept his sword drawn and moved past Malcolm towards the chamber hall, stopping at Mara’s door. He peered inside and ran back to his room. Both were empty.

  Malcolm followed Corbin and leaned on the wall with his arms crossed in front of him, while Ailwen and Barrett waited, watching Corbin apprehensively.

  Charged with panic, and the nagging sense of doubt, Corbin stormed up to Malcolm. “Where is Annora?” he demanded. Corbin thought he saw a momentary flash in Malcolm’s eye, even though he furrowed his brow with concern.

  Malcolm tilted his head. “She went with Rowan. He thought she might be able to persuade Mara to come home.”