They see us.
Margery’s arm went limp in Finn’s hand. She fell hard to the ground. Her dress was soaked with dirt and blood; it poured from two arrows lodged in her chest. She got to her knees. She was in shock, but strangely calm. For a brief moment, she took in all around her. She felt the arrows jutting from her chest. A slow stream of blood dripped from their steel tips that protruded from her back.
“Margery!” yelled Finn.
“Finn, go … it’s ok. Go … please,” she said.
Another arrow passed through her neck forcing her to the ground. She lay dead on the wet ground. Rain fell around her. She was face down with her hair twisted. It almost seemed a dream.
This can’t be real.
Finn heard more arrows bite into the wooden building behind him. One arrow hit the ground and slid another twenty yards. It disappeared into the night. He ran. Finn heard arrows and cries behind him. He couldn't tell if it was the sound of horses or more thunder. His heart raced while his head pulsed. Finn didn’t look around him. He just ran.
I have to make it to the woods.
Suddenly, his world went black. He was on the ground, laying on his side. His vision came and went. It was like struggling to wake from a dream.
They’re coming for me. I have to go.
His eyes wouldn’t focus. He heard the rain, the thunder, and screams. The sound of people crying out and animals dying filled his head. More arrows flew through the night but they seemed random. Perhaps, they were volleys or stray shots. There was no way for him to take in what was actually happening. Things were moving in a haze.
The falcon.
Finn had no idea why he had thought it.
They will kill it.
It had lived longer than any of them.
He is a prisoner as much I. Where will I go?
He made a decision without the question of why. It brought him staggering to his feet. His soaked clothes clung to him. He ran west back towards Castle Red. The ground shook with the crashing of thunder. Horses beat the ground while running through the night. Finn had trouble staying on his feet. His legs were flailing faster than his balance. He would fall and not know whether it was from his coordination or an arrow. It took him no time to reach the tower, but it felt an eternity. He opened the door to the tower. The hinges moaned. Then, there was yelling. Finn didn’t understand the guttural bellows of their language, but two gorgons ran towards him. One stopped and let loose a bolt from a crossbow. It hit hard into the stone wall of the tower and broke. A fragment of wood whipped into Finn’s face. It burned and stung. He ran into the tower and began the ascent.
I will die here. I die today.
The gorgons’ massive frames made them turn sideways to enter the tower. The larger of the two was more gray than black. His face looked to have been burned. One eye had turned a putrid yellow while the other stayed a soulless black. He wore boiled leather with tarnished steel greaves. His arms seemed to almost bust from his skin. The gorgon was a beast but moved with cautious agility. He yelled at Finn from the bottom of the stairs. Finn couldn’t tell if it was anger or a mocking laughter. He ran up the broken stone steps as fast as his legs would take him. His lungs burned; his heart felt as if it was going to explode. Finn began to smell smoke. The higher he went, the thicker it became.
The tower is on fire.
He could hear the steel cage rattling and thumping against the wall.
Smoke bellowed from beneath the door. It rolled out in choking waves. There was sporadic clanging against the door that echoed throughout the tower. Finn didn’t have time to think about what lay behind it. He simply lunged into the door, pushing it open. One of the iron hinges burned his shoulder, as he stumbled through the door and onto the floor. The wind was knocked out of him. Finn kicked the door from the floor, knocking it shut. He took in a deep breath, but then coughed until he gagged and vomited a thin, smoky bile. The gorgons were near the top of the tower. He could hear their weapons scratching against the stone walls. He pulled himself to his feet. The massive falcon kicked at the cage trying to spread its wings.
“Easy now,” said Finn. He didn’t know if he spoke to the bird or himself.
The massive Blood Falcon thrashed against the cage.
“Be calm. I’m going to get you out. I’m opening the gate,” said Finn, as he slowly opened the thick steel cage. The bird paused. The leather mask was still clasped tight to its head. There was a crash at the door. The falcon twisted its head towards the noise. In one motion, Finn pulled the leather from atop the massive beast. He felt the cold hands of a gorgon clasp to the back of his neck. Its fingers dug into his skin causing his neck to twist. Then there was a noise … a scream. His eardrums felt as if they exploded. Darkness took his vision as he fell to the floor.
Chapter 5
Out of the Shadows
The nails on his spiny fingers smoothed out the edges of the wooden flower. It was a rain flower with a long curved stem and drooping pedals, each one would be painted white with a maroon center. He rolled the stem in his fingers. It worked just as intended. The drooping pedals rose up and slowly brought the flower out of his hands. It floated briefly into the air and landed on its side. If teacher Carolyn poured some water on it first, Mirkus was sure it would sprinkle and twist through the air. Rain flowers only bloomed in the Green Lands. This one was made of wood but would be magical to the school children. If the paint dried quickly enough, he could leave it by the door. He knew their instructor would be teaching them about it. What a surprise to have one waiting for them that morning!
Mirkus shuffled through the hollowed trunk of the mallop tree. Mallop trees were rare these days. Hundreds of years ago, King Tiersus had gathered all the trees in the four realms to build fleets of ships for the Sea Guard. The remaining mallops were but a few and scattered across the land. Their ancestors were now long rotted leagues below the surface of the water, remnants of a long ago battle. Mirkus had lived there for a few seasons so far. He was leery of being too close to the village and its school, no less. However, the mallop tree was quite large and made a suitable home. Mirkus had grown quite fond of the children as well. Their distant laughter filled the old tree with life. He had also taken an interest in his letters. It was one of teacher Carolyn’s favorite subjects. He would listen to her teaching the kids and then practice carving his letters into a thin sliver of wood. What would the class think if they knew a Nighteye listened intently to their lessons? The thought of a cursed creature learning with the children of men. He had decided early on to only go outdoors at night while remaining safely hidden during the daylight hours. A Nighteye was a bad omen to most villagers. They wouldn’t take kindly to a cursed race living among them. It made no difference. Nighteyes were beasts of fairy tales now anyway. He often wondered how many villagers still believed in Nighteyes at all. Everyone knew the story of the collapse of Grimhaven. However, with enough time, the world can forget even the worst of times. History is quick to take to story. According to folklore, Nighteyes’ were now just a smarter version of a goblin that tricks knights and kings out of gold and maidens; a thing of times past … make believe. Mirkus was very real though. He might slightly resemble a kind of goblin, one with soft yellow eyes and moss colored skin. However, he was no goblin. As far as he knew, goblins weren't real. This was all of no consequence to Mirkus. For that night, he was only thinking of painting a toy rain flower.
The morning would soon rise with a thick coat of mist covering the grass. The dim light of the hour would give the village and adjourning school a hazy and tired demeanor. Smoke would begin to drizzle from chimneys, as the villagers prepared for another day. The smell of apples and sweet rolls would drift into the schoolyard filling the mallop tree with fresh scents of breakfast. Mirkus lay in his large tree dreaming of the smells. He had a hard time during those hours of the breaking dawn. They were peaceful … calm. Mirkus would lay there listening to the world once again come to life. Those hazy hours of the morning
were for the common and rich alike. It was a time held by no man, but each found a pleasure in it. However, Mirkus would also find himself at his lowest when the sun began to wake. Isolation and solitude never hurt as hard as when a new day arose to all but him. He was a Nighteye and the curse of those before him had stolen all that could have lain ahead. There was no new day for Mirkus. Instead, he laid there dreaming of the smell of sweet rolls and honey. The rain flower would be waiting at the school. What new contraption would he leave the children tomorrow?
Mirkus sat up in a start. Something wasn’t right. He could smell it. There was a thickness to the air. Those last hours of darkness seemed to harbor a dread. There was a sense of fear that crept up his neck causing a cloud of anxiety to grip him like an iron vise.
I must do something. What? Something’s wrong.
Thoughts poured through his head. The ground began to tremble. He heard the mallop tree cry out like a great ship turning hard at sea. Wood twisted slightly and then settled back in place. The ground moved and swelled. Dust fell to the floor; it filled the air. The ground continued to move. It was a slow stirring, like the earth itself was waking from a deep slumber. A large echoing grind pulled through the bowels of the dirt below. Then … it stopped. There was silence.
Mirkus left his tree. The normal chill was gone. There was a musky stench of decay rising from the ground. It was nauseating. Worms and other creatures scurried from the safety of the soil. They toiled blindly on the loose dirt. Mirkus could hear stirring in the village.
I’m not the only one that heard this.
A howl pierced the night. It was neither dog nor wolf. It had the sound of human agony layered with a bestial moan. The ground moved once again. Mirkus shifted to keep his balance. There were screams.
It’s coming from the village.
He ran towards it. Suddenly, roots began to snap and burst. Patches of earth ripped open and gave birth to beasts that clawed their way into the night. The creatures ran with the swiftness of wild horses. The black mass of their frame was hulking; it lifted with each breath. Steam rose from matted fur. They were darker than the night that surrounded them. The wolves’ eyes did not glow red, but rather had the dark lingering tint of blood. The night hid them. However, Mirkus could see them all. His eyes were attuned with the night. He could see the screaming wolven beasts descend upon the town. The villagers did not see them until it was too late.
Do something! I can’t just stand and watch!
Mirkus paced outside the village. What could be done? He had no idea how long he could fight, even if he tried. It was forbidden. He could only think of the children from the school. What was happening to them at that very moment? They would wake to the sound of a true monster at their door. The beasts would crash through their windows or walls.
No, this is not right!
He could stand it no longer. His heart felt as if it would burst from his chest.
They are only children!
He ran.
Rain began to fall to the ground. Mirkus’ legs moved faster than he thought possible. He was quiet and agile by instinct. Every moment seemed to flow together. The village stank of death and blood. Mirkus entered the turmoil of the village. Villagers ran only to be engulfed by hungry beasts. Their screams lasted only until claws and teeth ripped the life from them. Their bodies were pulled and twisted in many directions, as the soulless creatures fought for food. Mirkus grabbed the first object he passed. It was a dulled pitch fork leaning against a stable. He felt heat grow beneath his skin. Two fires kindled within him. One was a controlled rage, while the other was the burn of a curse on his kind. He tightened his grip on the handle. He had no idea how long he would live.
I will take as many with me as I can.
One of the hulking creatures stood in the middle of the road. It growled, as it feasted on a lump of flesh. Mirkus could not tell who or what it had been. The beast stared up at him. Mirkus ran with the pitch fork. He was amazed at how easy it was; time seemed to slow for him. He knew when to dodge and strike. It was as if he had battled his entire life. It felt so natural. With one motion, he thrust the dull metal rods of the pitch fork into the chest of the beast. They tore through muscle and bit into bone. He drove the creature into the ground. It howled with fright as it struggled. Mirkus then twisted the weapon to pull it free. He heard flesh tear and bone snap. He then threw the pitch fork into another beast. It thudded into its skull with the grace of a javelin. The beast made no sound. It simply fell to the wet earth, as if it had been long dead. Mirkus continued to run towards the screams. He began to feel as if he were sweating boiling oil. His hands felt like melting wax. However, the other fire of rage kept him moving. He saw it lying in the hand of a corpse. The lower torso had been clawed off. A line of entrails littered the earth. It was a sword. It was tarnished and old but an actual weapon none-the-less. Mirkus took it with an agile grace while continuing to run in the chaos.
Mirkus cut and slashed his way through the beasts. He pivoted his frame from the onslaught of attacks. When he was clawed, he instinctively twisted with the motion. The wolves could not claw him to the ground. It was all too natural for him.
This is who I am.
He could not keep track of the dead creatures that lay in his wake. He simply killed all that he saw.
The sun will be up shortly. They will leave. I must live till the sun rises.
It was an eternity until the first ray of light crawled from the darkness. The rain began to carry the sun like falling prisms. The pack of wolves began to thin. Some clawed back into the earth, while others ran to shadowy patches of the forest. Others stayed. They were blood thirsty for the Nighteye that had cut through them. Blood leaked from his body; it dripped down his legs and off his fingers. He clutched the blade with a fury. Mirkus didn’t feel the wounds from battle. The burning of his skin was far too potent. The last of the vile creatures caught Mirkus’ blade in its skull. The sword bit down deep pushing its jaw from its socket. The blade would not dislodge, or Mirkus was simply too weak. It didn't matter. The beast fell to the wet soil. Blood and rain mixed throughout the road. Mirkus fell to his knees. Rain washed the blood from his face and hair. He could see some of the villagers … some of the children. They looked at him with wonder. Some villagers pointed while others cried holding loved ones.
Some live.
They were not all dead.
I saved some.
He looked at his hands. They cast a dull red glow. The pain was immense. It spread to his limbs. He felt it crawl up his neck.
I raised weapons but I do not regret it. I do not regret this death.
He looked at the morning sky. He could hear the rain gently land upon the roofs of the village. A trough was filling with water. There was a dog barking in the distance. The clouds were a soft white against the light purple sky of morning. The heat overtook him. He fell back, as the last bit of life left him.
Today will be a good day.
Blackness.
The purple sky had turned into a light maroon with clouds scattered throughout. The villagers had gathered around the Nighteye to look. None had seen one and some children were too young to even hear tales about them. They did not look to the sky but rather the ground. No one saw the white light that descended down from the great expanse above. The water on the earth around them began to be pushed back. Something was repelling it. This is when they first noticed her. She was not a true color but almost a pure light. Some would say silver while others called it a flame. The light was a translucent blue that was brighter than anything they had seen. A great wave of heat blew against them. Her wings slowly beat with the pulse of the world. The villagers backed away in awe.
“A Grandeur,” some said, while others fell to their knees.
The Grandeur’s slender frame towered over them. Her wings draped over her like a cloak, as her feet touched the earth.
“Do not be afraid,” her voice was a thousand voices at once. It was calming, yet powerful
, an ancient power that had lingered since creation. “I am here for this one.”
“Please,” a crying woman clutched her dead child. “They killed my Marilynn. They’ve killed her.” Her child was cradled in her arms like an ivory doll.
The Granduer had a look of sadness. She approached the crying woman. A hand of light caressed her face.
“All that is wrong will be turned right,” said the Grandeur.
“Bring her back! Please!” pleaded the woman.
“Bring my boys back as well!” a voice cried out. Slowly, chaos began to erupt. Shouts and pleas for the dead to again live rang out. Crowds of the remaining villagers surrounded the Grandeur.
The Grandeur turned and took the dead Nighteye into her arms. Her light radiated over him. Her wings opened with the sound of a great ship’s sails filling with wind. She rose from the earth hovering above the masses.
“Don’t leave us! Please!” they shouted as she ascended into the sky.
Suddenly, a great light in the sky rivaled the sun and a thousand voices echoed at once, “Do not lose yourselves in despair. The time will soon be at hand. Look above, the sun has risen.”
The Grandeur disappeared like a star shooting back into the heavens. The sun had overtaken the morning.
Chapter 6
Of Monsters and Curses
Blackness. There was no light or color. Matthias couldn’t tell if it was dark or if he was dead. It was simply nothing, a void. He wrestled with the utter lack of awareness. He could smell. There was a musky smell of earth, moss on rock.
I can hear. The sounds of water dripping … slowly. A stream? No. A leak. The ground is hard … more rock than dirt.
A Dark Tyranny Page 4
