A Glimmer of Hope

by Steve McHugh

  “Who did you choose?”

  “Servius. I just felt like he was the right choice for me, just like whoever you pick will be the right one for you.”

  Layla nodded. “So, what happens now?”

  “Now, you get to see a pivotal moment in my life. It’s the one where I decided that I needed to change what I was becoming. Stay here and don’t move.”

  “What were you becoming?”

  Rosa didn’t bother answering. Instead she set off across the perfectly mown grass toward the group of women. She stood beside them, looking as if she was waiting for someone, while Layla wondered exactly what she was doing. Eventually, a middle-aged man walked over to the group, ignoring Rosa, and began talking to one of the women. Another of the group laughed at something the man said, but Layla was too far away to know if it was genuinely funny, or if they were just being polite.

  Rosa moved smoothly and with incredible speed. Stepping up behind the man, she reached around his neck with one arm, her hand holding a blade. Another blade appeared in Rosa’s free hand and she repeatedly stabbed the man in the back. Layla tried to shout out, but found she wasn’t able to. Rosa released the man and stepped away as screams filled the air.

  The man turned as he collapsed to his knees, and Layla saw the cut across his throat. People ran over to him, trying to help him, shouting for help, and in the commotion Rosa just walked over to Layla.

  “In reality, I was running at this point,” she said to Layla.

  “You murdered him.”

  “Him and people like him, yes.” Her hands were red and she dropped two daggers onto the grass beside Layla.

  “You’re a killer.”

  “An assassin. I worked for Queen Victoria. I removed people who needed removing.”

  “And what was that man’s crime?”

  “He was a wealthy man with a lot of influence, and someone who met a young woman by the name of Elizabeth. A woman he and his equally rich friends forced into prostitution. This group were hurting a lot of people in London at the time, and I was tasked with the removal of each of them. Eighteen in all. He was the first. He had no idea what was about to befall the rest of his comrades. He thought the group untouchable. He was wrong.”

  “You murdered all of these people for the queen?”

  “It was my job, yes. I didn’t enjoy it, but they certainly deserved it. They needed to be removed from this planet. They were too rich, powerful, and influential to be simply exposed as the vermin they were, so a more permanent solution was required. Prostitution, drugs, the murder of anyone who investigated them—they were responsible for a lot of awful things happening. I believe one of the people they hurt was the sister of one of Victoria’s maids, and that was what started this whole thing, but I have no proof of that.

  “You think because your father murdered all of those people that it’s either black or white, you either kill or you don’t. That’s not how things work. Some people need to be threatened, some need to have their crimes exposed, and some need to be expunged from the face of the earth in such a way that it sends a message to anyone who might cross you. I understand your need to see things so distinctly, but they’re not that easy to tell apart. Your father’s crimes, crimes I only know because you’re thinking about them, were committed because he wanted to satisfy his own need to administer punishment. I killed for queen and country. I killed because leaving them alive meant more lives ruined.

  “This was a pivotal moment in my life. Before this, I killed bad people, I ruined bad people, but this group stretched out across London, across the entire world. This group needed to be stopped. This was a turning point for me. It was the time I decided I wanted to do some good, to care about more than just me.”

  “I get that. I get that sometimes killing is necessary. Self-defense for one. I just don’t know if I can do that. My father did it so often that . . . what if I’m the same? What if I kill someone in self-defense, and then I’m on the road to becoming him?”

  “I was a soldier in a war. It might have been a hidden war, but it was a war nonetheless. It wasn’t just me; there were several of us. Most died before the task was completed. I was one of the few who lived through it. I even outlived my queen. A month after what happened here, I discovered the spirit scroll you now possess. It changed everything about my world. About my life. I found it in the safe of one of my victims; he had no idea what it really was. Probably best for everyone.”

  “If I accept you, does that mean I’ll accept your ability to murder without pause?”

  “You think I didn’t pause? You think I didn’t see the faces of those lives I’ve taken? You’re unbelievably wrong. I killed because I had no choice, but I never took pleasure in it. I just did what was needed. If you accept me, then yes, maybe you’ll be able to kill without crying yourself to sleep that first night, or scrubbing your skin for so long it bleeds. Maybe you’ll be able to rest knowing you did some good. Or maybe you won’t. I don’t know. But know this: the world you now reside in will destroy you and spit you out if you’re not willing to do what you need to do.”

  14

  The world around Layla changed to white and she found herself atop a large hill. A gradual curve down one side ended at the flatness of the beach a few hundred feet in front of her. Several dozen longboats sat on the dark sands, their sails blowing in the strong wind.

  She saw no one inside the wooden boats, nor anyone close by. She took a few steps forward.

  The grass was several inches high and caressed the backs of her calves. She wore a dark blue dress that stopped just above the knee, and black Adidas trainers. An outfit she’d worn the previous summer at a party Chloe had dragged her along to. It had been a fun time. She had no idea why she was wearing it now, though.

  “It’s a comforting thing, that dress,” a woman said, as she appeared further down the hill. The woman paused and glanced back at the ships, before walking toward Layla. She was taller than Layla by several inches and had many scars across one of her bare arms. They crisscrossed over one another. Her long blonde hair was tied behind her head, although strands of it had broken loose and were batting around in the wind.

  The woman’s skin was pale, and she wore an ankle-length red dress with a burgundy apron-like dress over the top, which was clasped on her shoulders. Layla instantly knew it was called a hangerock. A rope, golden in color, was tied around her waist. She wore no jewelry that Layla could see, and thick leather boots adorned her feet. She drew a long sword from the sheath on her hip and stopped in front of Layla.

  “My name is Gyda,” she said. “I’m the spirit that took control of you in the compound.”

  “Thank you for getting me out alive.”

  Gyda shrugged. “That was nothing. Couldn’t let Rosa do it, she only likes to kill from the shadows.”

  “You don’t like Rosa?”

  Gyda shrugged again. “She’s not bad, at least as far as assassins go. Fighting shouldn’t be done with a blade to the back. It should be done face to face. Anything else is just . . . well, it feels wrong to me.”

  Layla wasn’t sure she agreed with Gyda. If you’re forced to fight, win. It was another of her father’s many lessons, but one that she actually found herself agreeing with. “So, I guess you’ll tell me about yourself.”

  “My name is Gyda. I was born in the city of Darim in the dwarven realm of Nidavellir.”

  “Dwarven realm?”

  “You would call them the Norse dwarves. Dwarves from mythology.”

  “Wait, like Odin and Thor? That kind of mythology? So these dwarves are the ones from the stories of gods and goddesses?”

  Gyda stared at her. “What other dwarves from mythology are there?”

  “But they’re just stories.”

  “You have three spirits living in your head, as well as a demon. You can control metal to your whim. Why is it so hard to believe that the characters from mythology are in fact real? The stories aren’t necessarily accurate—I knew that
even before I took a spirit scroll—but the people in them are.”

  “So, you lived in a different realm?”

  “Earth realm is the center, and all around it are hundreds of other realms, all linked to earth. Each realm is a separate world. This world, my home, is here. Nidavellir.”

  “And humans live here?”

  “Lived. Humans haven’t lived here in centuries. At least not to my knowledge. I was the first person given the scrolls. I had only the demon to deal with, and it drove me insane. It broke me and I refused to accept it. Obviously it’s easier now, because there are three of us to help, but back then, there was nothing and no one who could help me. I volunteered to help the dwarves create the spirit scrolls. In hindsight, it was a mistake.”

  “What did you do?”

  Gyda pointed to the tree line, which began to glow a fiery orange, until part of it exploded. Wood rained down over the landscape as trees collapsed into one another, causing a domino effect as several more succumbed to the force exerted on them.

  Screams were carried by the wind as Gyda, covered head to toe in incandescent flame, burst through the remains of the trees, sprinting toward Layla. Gyda ran past and continued until she reached the water. She dove in, screaming as the flames refused to die, crying out for help every time she resurfaced.

  “I couldn’t get the flames to stop,” the spirit of Gyda said from beside Layla. “They didn’t hurt, I just panicked. The demon kept telling me that I would kill everyone I loved. That I would burn them to a cinder. It showed me visions of a future I was sure would come to pass.”

  “Did they come true?”

  She nodded and took a deep breath. “Whether those visions came to pass because it said so, or because I was destined to do it, I don’t know. My husband tried to help me, but the fire that didn’t hurt me incinerated him in an instant. Twelve people died in seconds for the crime of being good people who tried to help me.

  “I died soon after. I killed myself with a silver dagger. And sometime after my death, the scroll was taken into the earth realm. I tried to do the right thing by my people and was driven mad for it. The only thing I could do to stop the demon before it took total control was kill myself.”

  Layla didn’t know what to say. She placed a hand on Gyda’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “The demon is a monster. It should not be trusted. It should not be given into. You should kill yourself before it has the chance to do so.”

  “What kind of help is that?” Rosa said, as she appeared beside Gyda and Layla.

  “This is my time with the umbra, assassin,” Gyda spat. “I am to offer her aid and advice. And my advice is that she should kill herself and ensure that no one can ever find the scroll afterward.”

  “I’m not going to commit suicide,” Layla said, utterly flabbergasted that anyone would suggest such a thing.

  “Then the demon will take control of you and will destroy your life. Just like it destroyed mine.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Rosa snapped. “You allowed the demon to take control because you had no one else to help. You were scared and alone, and I get that. Layla isn’t alone, and she’s not afraid to face this thing.”

  “She’s afraid she’ll become a murderer like her father,” Gyda snapped back. “And if she lets the demon in, it’ll make sure of it. She’ll either be driven insane and the demon will take control, or she’ll somehow accept it and then the second it takes control, it’ll gut everyone she loves, and laugh while it does it.”

  “You keep calling the demon an ‘it,’” Layla said. “Not he or she. Rosa said it can change its outward appearance.”

  “No matter how the demon looks, it will always be an it to me.”

  Layla sensed so much anger and fear still in Gyda, and wasn’t sure whether, even as a spirit, she would ever be able to let go of what the demon had done to her and those she loved.

  “I won’t become a murderer,” Layla said. “I won’t kill for the sake of killing, and I certainly won’t allow something to take control of me.”

  Rosa sighed. “You’re not helping, Gyda, you’re feeding your own fears.”

  “Perfect little Rosa,” Gyda snapped. “Always capable of keeping the demon at bay, always able to have friends and loved ones. You just enjoyed murdering people a bit too much for even a demon to stomach, I think.”

  For a second Layla thought that Rosa was going to punch Gyda, but instead she took a step away.

  “Do you remember when I first took the scroll and came to see you?” Rosa asked. “You were all kill yourself and save the demon the trouble back then too.” She turned to Layla. “Killing a monster or doing it for self-defense doesn’t make you your father. You’ve decided that fighting leads to killing, which leads to your father. And that’s not how it works.”

  “But I always want it to go a step further. I think, What if I just hurt them more? They’ll stop then.”

  “You have an instinct your father cultivated, an instinct to win at any cost. He taught you from a young age that to win, you might have to hurt someone. He taught you this to survive in his world. I know that you didn’t choose to be a part of his world, but now that you’re here, you’d better figure out how to fight back and survive, or else you’ll die. Someone new will pick up your scroll, and we’ll just have to do this all over again.”

  15

  Layla woke up feeling tired and with a headache behind her eyes. She felt as if she’d been sleeping in a room where all of the air had been sucked out. She climbed out of bed and padded over to the window, but the pain behind her eyes wouldn’t budge. The metal frame surrounding the window glass had long since been sealed closed. Parts of the runners had a block of metal soldered to them, one on either side of the window, to give extra protection against being able to open it. Layla placed her head against the cold glass and sighed as the headache began to dissipate.

  She held her hand against the frame and wondered whether or not she’d be able to use her newly discovered powers. There was no point in denying what had happened to her; it wasn’t as if she could just pass it all off as a dream. She was no longer human. She paused. “I’m not human anymore.” Saying it out loud stung more than she’d expected it to.

  She knew that not being human and not acting human were two exceptionally different things. She was determined that whatever power she’d managed to acquire wouldn’t change who she was.

  She stared at the metal and wondered how she was meant to get her power to work.

  Just think what you want to happen, and if you’re powerful enough, it’ll happen, Rosa said in her head.

  “I thought we couldn’t talk when I’m awake.”

  We’re closer now. You’ve seen part of my life, you’ve seen part of the person I am. I see no reason to go on as if we can’t communicate during the day.

  Layla looked around the room. “I can’t see you. I expected I’d be able to.”

  Rosa appeared in the doorway to the en suite bathroom. “Is this more what you had in mind?” Unlike the clothing she’d worn in Layla’s memory, Rosa wore faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt.

  “That’s not especially Victorian.”

  Rosa glanced down at herself. “Ah, modern clothing. Looks like a lot really has changed. The spirits can wear the clothing of the current period, same as our speech patterns. I think it’s meant to make it easier for the umbra to adjust to what’s happening to them.”

  Layla turned back to the window. “So, I just think about moving the metal around this window and it should move?”

  “Picture it in your mind. Picture what you want to do, and then do it. It’ll become easier over time.”

  Layla pictured moving the metal frame and immediately felt a connection to the metal. It was as if they were two magnets attracted to one another. She turned her hand and found a connection to the metal blocks that had been soldered onto the runners years earlier. Another slight movement of her fingers and the solder in the runners melted, and
the metal blocks fell out of the runners, allowing the window the freedom to slide. The window slid open at high speed, slamming into the stop that had been placed at the top and bottom of the frame. A remnant from days gone past when opening windows wasn’t forbidden.

  Layla turned back to Rosa as the door burst open and Diana stormed in. “What happened?”

  Layla pointed to the open window. “I had a headache.”

  Diana walked over to the window and stared at the metal runners. “I didn’t think these were meant to open.”

  “Must have been defective. Once it started, I couldn’t stop it from slamming into the stops. Sorry.”

  Diana’s serious expression softened. “That’s okay. Did you sleep well?”

  Layla sat down in the pink leather chair next to the window, and immediately decided that sitting in it was better than having to look at it. “As well as can be expected, I guess. How long do I have to stay here?”

  “A few days. The doctors want to make sure you’re okay.”

  Layla looked out of the window. “Do you think Elias will come for me, then?”

  Diana was silent for several seconds before answering. “In hospital? I honestly don’t know. I know it’s easier to defend you from here than from your home. Once the doctors give you an all-clear, we can always move you to a more secure location.”

  “I just want to go home.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not hurt. I feel fine.”

  “You were kidnapped and held by a group of psychopaths. They murdered your friends, and managed to hurt you. You arrived here covered in blood and had a bullet wound. The doctors want to know how you’re doing, but they’ll also want to know how it managed to heal so quickly.”

  Layla opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing.

  “It’s okay, weird shit is sort of my job specification. Healing a bullet wound isn’t anything I haven’t seen before.”

  “How?”

  “It’s probably best you just concentrate on you for now. Don’t worry too much about the world around you. But just know this: what you can do now is incredible. It’s nothing to be afraid of.”