by Ross Turner
“What is it?” Kaylm asked, seeing that something was clearly wrong.
Midnight glanced at Kaylm for a moment, seemingly trying to decide whether to be entirely truthful or not.
Eventually he sighed and pursed his lips, determining that withholding the truth at this point wouldn’t help anybody.
If there was one advantage of the numerous lifetimes he’d been forced to endure, it was undoubtedly knowledge.
“It’s difficult to explain…” He warned. “But I thought I sensed my brother…”
“Alistair?” Kaylm replied, shocked, his eyes widening slightly with fear.
“Hmm…” The old man replied, distracted. “Come on.” He ushered, moving off briskly.
But Kaylm did not follow and his eyes had grown yet even wider.
Turning back, Midnight felt the boy’s fear.
“What is it?” He asked.
“Marcii…” Kaylm breathed.
“What about her?” Midnight bit back, fearing the worst.
“I was looking for her…” Kaylm explained. “I followed her footprints in the snow. They joined another set of footprints…” He went on. “I thought they were yours…”
He looked across at Midnight and the old man’s gaze was filled all of a sudden with grim certainty.
“No.” He replied coldly. “They weren’t.”
Chapter Seventeen
Alistair grinned, showing his teeth like fangs.
The powder beneath his feet did not crunch as he moved. His every action was silent and swift and purposeful, filling Marcii with terrible dread.
“How do you know me…?” The young Dougherty breathed. Her whole body tensed up as Alistair stalked around her in shallow, scorching circles.
Still he did not speak another word, though his silence somehow told Marcii that he held many of the answers to the questions that so plagued her.
He ceased his circling and placed his firm arm gently about Marcii’s shoulders.
Pulling her close, Alistair swept Marcii up with his cruel knowledge, and even crueller charm.
He led the young Dougherty off into the vast whiteness, winding gracefully through the snowy streets without a sound.
“Jenson.” He finally breathed.
Marcii noted that when Alistair spoke his words sounded cold and lifeless. His harsh tone and rugged demeanour filled every syllable with wild anger.
They walked swiftly through the whiteness that surrounded them as if they were trespassing upon a world within which they did not belong.
Though strangely, the further from the centre of Ravenhead that they walked, the more and more at ease Alistair appeared to become.
“Jenson?” The young Dougherty repeated, confused.
“He hasn’t even told you that, has he!?” A threatening sneer broke out across his face.
He scratched lightly at something on the thick wolf pelt draped over his shoulders as he spoke. It reached down past his knees and was clearly from an animal that had once been a size more formidable than Marcii cared to imagine.
“Who hasn’t told me what?” Marcii questioned.
“My cowardly brother.” Alistair replied harshly, spitting the words as if they were poison on his tongue. “His name is Jenson.”
The look of surprise on Marcii’s face told Alistair all that he needed to know.
This would be even easier than he’d first imagined, he thought darkly to himself, though his face betrayed no sign of the malicious intent beneath.
All he need do was win this one, simple bout.
Fill her with doubt and claim her trust.
If he could only do that, soon he could make amends, and all would be right again.
“No…” Marcii breathed, and sure enough, just as he’d hoped, her voice was indeed filled with uncertainty. “He didn’t tell me. He said he couldn’t remember his name…”
Alistair snorted loudly, harshly.
Theatrical perhaps, but it did the job. Marcii’s face fell yet even further.
“Would you forget your name?” He asked then, most unfairly. “Even if you had lived for three lifetimes?”
“No…” Marcii quivered. “No, I wouldn’t…”
“He’s been lying to you, Marcii.” Alistair breathed. “He’s been lying to everyone.”
Unfortunately, though he wasn’t telling Marcii anything she didn’t already know, he was right.
His malicious words were winning her over, without her even realising.
Nonetheless, the young Dougherty wasn’t one to be persuaded quite so easily. She countered with an accusation of her own.
“He didn’t have a choice.” She replied. “He’s been hiding from you for all these years.”
Her tone was accusatory, but not riling, for from all that Midnight had told her she expected Alistair to be rather quick to anger.
He’d been expecting such an allegation however and handled his response perfectly.
It was after all the truth and he was more than prepared for it.
He sighed dramatically and tipped his head sideways as he shook it, adopting a saddened expression that seemed to engulf his aged face.
Shocked, Marcii fell yet again for his guise and doubted Midnight’s words further and further by the moment.
“My brother is a troubled soul.” Alistair began to explain. “And I feel his pain in equal measure…” He let his voice trail off dramatically, filling the silence with charisma. “Ever since those thieves and murderers killed our family…” His black eyes darted to capture Marcii’s gaze. “I presume he’s told you about that…?”
She nodded in reply, but could not find words to speak.
The old man Alistair pursed his lips.
This was too easy.
“And I imagine he told you that I killed them all too…?”
Again, Marcii nodded.
“I see…” He replied.
The old man rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“He’s not wrong, of course.” Alistair admitted. “I did kill them. They would have killed me too. I had no choice.”
“You could have run.” Marcii pointed out, defending Midnight still. “You could have left with him.”
But Alistair only sighed again.
“No…” He replied sorrowfully, crushing Marcii’s hopes of defending the old man Midnight. “I was surrounded. He wasn’t. They were ready to run me through.”
“What happened?” Marcii asked, shocked at the thought that the version of events she believed to be true, that Midnight had told her, might not be accurate.
“He ran.” Alistair confirmed. “As he’s already told you I’m sure. He left me to die. I had to fight for my life.”
Marcii did not reply.
“But that’s all in the past.” Alistair assured her. “I can’t dwell over things that happened so long ago.”
Marcii looked deep into his old, coal eyes.
“I’m tired.” He admitted, slumping his shoulders slightly. “Tired of running. Tired of chasing. I just want it to end.”
“Want what to end?” Marcii asked, narrowing her eyes shrewdly, wondering exactly what he meant by that.
He looked at her with serious eyes, black as ever and filled with heavy gravity.
“I’m old, Marcii.” He proclaimed. “And my brother is even older. We’ve both lived long lives. Not always good, but long nonetheless.”
“What are you saying?” The young Dougherty questioned, prying with curious eyes as deep as she could into Alistair’s soul.
As deep as he would let her go, at least.
“Our time is almost up.” He went on. “We’re nearing our end. Both of us.”
“Nearing your end?”
“Death, child.” He told her gently, his smile sickly sweet. “It’s beckoning us both, my brother and I.”
All of a sudden Marcii saw this old man Alistair, Midnight’s younger brother, in an entirely new light.
In fact, seeing the dreadful loss in his eyes,
she almost felt sorry for him.
For a brief moment, entirely convinced by his façade, Marcii forgot the wolves and the deaths and all the pain Alistair had caused.
He had her now.
“Doesn’t that frighten you?” She asked, her voice low and cautious, pitying the poor fellow. He had been alive for so long, yet in all that time he had never lived.
“Very little frightens me these days, child.” He admitted with a sigh. “The world has changed so. I’ve seen it. And not always for the better.”
Marcii nodded. Though she could barely imagine what he spoke of, she sensed that his words were the truth.
By now Marcii had lost track of how long they’d been walking for and the outskirts of Ravenhead came into view.
Soon Marcii found that she and Alistair were almost beyond the citadel, with no sign of halting.
Her heart fluttered for a moment as she realised suddenly he was leading her further and further from her friends.
It was as if she’d just awoken from a dream.
Her head cleared slightly and the invisible fog that had descended upon Marcii’s vision, that she hadn’t even noticed, seemed to lift.
She felt suddenly wary and exposed.
Alistair’s smile was sickly sweet and every now and then he brushed her arm lightly, bridging the bond between them.
But beneath his soft exterior Marcii sensed that Alistair was hard and cold and sharp as a knife.
Suddenly she realised that she didn’t trust him in the slightest, and found herself becoming more and more guarded as Ravenhead gradually melted away behind them.
Yet, though his words might have been laced with something that only resembled sincerity, Alistair had indeed instilled doubt within the young Dougherty’s mind.
Even if he’d managed no more than to plant the seed of it.
Plant it he had.
Chapter Eighteen
“I know you can help me, Marcii.” The old man Alistair purred softly.
The air seemed to have grown much colder and the afternoon was bearing in heavily. As the day wore cautiously on Marcii felt a flurry of emotions surge through her and the skies above reflected her torment in their ever changing colours.
“How?” She asked cautiously, afraid to offer much more than that.
“I can feel it.” He replied evasively. “I can sense it.”
“Sense what?” She responded immediately, drawn and repelled all at once.
“Connection.” He answered mysteriously.
“We don’t have a connection.” Marcii denied without a second thought, assuming instantly that’s what Alistair meant.
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face and his eyes flashed for a second. He quickly schooled his emotions however and corrected her.
“Not between you and I, child.” He explained softly. “Between you and Her.”
Marcii was suddenly confused.
“Her? She questioned.
“It’s very strong.” Alistair went on. “I can feel it. She and I have the same connection. That’s how I can recognise it. But yours is different. Yours is growing stronger every day.”
Captivated, Marcii leaned in, unaware of the danger.
“What connection?” She pressed quietly. “Who is She?”
The old man Alistair, Midnight’s younger brother, grinned and eyed the young Dougherty meaningfully.
“Don’t you see?” He asked. “She wants you to help me.”
Clouds swelled dangerously above.
“No…” Marcii started, nervous. “I don’t feel it.”
That was a lie and she knew it.
She could feel something.
She’d been able to feel it for some time now. She just hadn’t known what it was.
Perhaps Alistair was right.
Maybe he did speak the truth.
He saw her indecision in her eyes.
Smiling calmly, swooping in upon her, he took full advantage.
“She can help you.” He assured Marcii. “Just as you can help me.”
This time Marcii didn’t reply and the same slight glimmer of annoyance crossed Alistair’s features.
Again though he swiftly righted his features, pressing on.
“I need to see my brother.” He told her, pleading almost. “Just one last time, before the breath is gone from the both of us, never to return.”
His phrasing was strange and made Marcii listen intently, regardless of how dubious she might be.
“What connection?” Marcii repeated, still confused. “With who?”
“Please.” He pressed, ignoring her question.
His silver hair gleamed and his black eyes heaved, drawing the young Dougherty ever further from her friends. Ravenhead was far behind them now and they walked through the icy landscape like ghosts trespassing upon forbidden land.
The snowdrifts were thick and they were forced to plough slowly through them, trudging one foot laboriously after another.
Alistair seemed to struggle much less than she did, Marcii noted critically. She thought once again of the incredible strength Midnight had shown in Newmarket and didn’t doubt for one second that Alistair was any weaker or slower. In fact, she got the impression that he was probably stronger, faster and infinitely more lethal.
“He thinks you want to kill him.” Marcii stated then, abandoning all diplomacy and deception in favour of the bare faced truth.
Alistair sighed theatrically and shook his head, staying well in character.
“He’s lying, child.” He told her, and not for the first time. “He’s still a coward I see. Unable to face the truth.”
“The truth?” Marcii questioned.
“The fact that I survived!” Alistair exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. “The fact that, even though he abandoned me, even though he left me to die, just when I needed him the most, still here I am!”
His words were filled with elation and his false grin spoke of a hundred and more emotions that he did not feel, and only a handful that he did.
Marcii’s eyes found the white ground beneath her feet, still churning and crunching snow as she walked. Alistair’s bare feet had not yet made a sound upon the snow and he almost seemed to float over the ground without disturbing it, unaffected by the cold, perpetually on the hunt.
“I can’t make him see you.” Marcii admitted solemnly.
“You have the power to.” Alistair assured her, his black coal eyes brightening at her words.
“Power?” Marcii questioned, looking up again.
“I told you.” He said, growing a little exasperated now. “Your connection. It grows with each passing day. It gives you great power. You need only use it!”
Alistair’s words rang with promises and ecstasy, none of which Marcii would have ever believed had he not filled her mind with such doubts about her friends.
“How?” Marcii asked, still unsure. “I don’t have great power.”
“Listen, child.” Alistair urged, more force in his voice now. “Hear me.”
Marcii started slightly as he bore down upon her, not menacingly, but enough to threaten her calm.
“Your power is vast, and it is only growing stronger.” His eyes drilled into Marcii as he spoke. “With such a thing you could bend anybody to your will. You need only desire it.”
“But I don’t want to bend anyone to my will…” Marcii replied nervously, taking a half pace back.
Alistair followed her relentlessly, pressing his face close to hers.
“You must!” He urged. “You must do what is right!”
“But it’s not right…” Marcii argued, though there was little fight in her denial. “I won’t force him to face you.”
After what Alistair had told her she might not have trusted Midnight as fully as she had done before, but she certainly didn’t trust his younger brother either.
The old man Alistair ceased his protests for a minute, adopting a level, stern look.
Marcii swallowed nervously as sh
e returned his gaze with as much confidence as she could muster. She tried desperately not to give away her overwhelming fear, wondering how in the world she’d managed to get herself into this situation.
The silence hung upon a thread. Marcii couldn’t help but think Alistair looked very much like he was deciding whether to keep arguing with her, or to just kill her.
Eventually, it seemed, he came to a compromise.
“Make him face me.” The old man breathed, his voice low and devilish and commanding.
His lean body was tense as coiled spring and he looked like at any moment he might explode from his invisible restraints.
Like sharp, black agates his eyes were cruel and piercing, more so than ever. Marcii found herself fighting the temptation to shrink away from his wild, animalistic gaze.
Nonetheless, the young Dougherty hadn’t survived the trials of her short life by giving in that easily and her reply was filled with both denial and grit.
“No.”
It was not the response Alistair had been hoping for.
However, once more, that’s not to say he was unprepared, as Marcii soon discovered.
Though she hadn’t noticed them before, within mere seconds an army of shadows swarmed in loping packs all about her. They slipped unseen and unheard through the trees and somehow even across the great, white plains, as the late afternoon light faded rapidly into night.
The encroaching darkness, all too evident, filled Marcii with yet even greater horror, as she felt the heavy weight of her dreadful err that day bearing down upon her.
Alistair’s pack bayed and howled, finally released from hiding by their Alpha.
They had smelled the sweet aroma of human fear many times of late and, much to their delight, tasted human flesh almost as often too.
It mattered little to them that they didn’t understand their Master’s intentions and motivations. They understood enough to remain loyal, and loyal they were indeed.
He provided them with prey.
Entertainment.
They cared very little that they’d been hunting the same human for so long: the one who smelled like their Master.
The pack was used to travelling.
They enjoyed it in fact.
