by Kris Kramer
Like always, it came right at me, but this time I was able to adjust, and let it flow around me. Again I felt like a nimble swordsman, dodging lazy and unfocused strikes. Instead of the visions flooding through me, they whipped past like a fading memory, disappearing into the void. It was not painless. They left their mark, nipping and cutting at me like the talons of a falcon. And I couldn’t avoid all of them, including some of Oswald’s horrible crimes, what he did to those women and children, and then what came after, when he cut the bodies up and ate them. It was horrifying, but I stood strong this time. I held up against the torrent. And even more importantly, I could see the end.
Finally, after a blissfully short amount of time compared to the last few attempts, the visions disappeared, and I freed myself from the void that lay at the edges of Ewen’s soul. I pulled away in a daze, and grabbed the wall for support, still feeling some residual effects from the effort – mostly an aching body and weak legs. Arkael released his hold on Ewen, who lay sprawled on the floor, and I leaned over cautiously to get a better look. His eyes fluttered open, and I nearly recoiled in fear. But once they stayed open, I saw no malice in them. It was Ewen. He was back.
He looked at me, and he recognized me right away.
“Father.”
“No,” I said, smiling back. “Just Daniel.”
He coughed, a horrible, wretched hacking, and Arkael and I helped him to his feet. He was weak and his hands shook, but his spirit was strong. Arkael looked at me, and his expression softened.
“You spoke the truth.”
I nodded. He looked away then, thoughtfully, as if working through a new wrinkle in our plan. Ewen glanced at Arkael, then back at me.
“You did it,” Ewen said. “You healed me. Again.”
“Yes. And this time I remembered it.”
“It was awful,” Ewen said, a pained expression on his face, “what they did to me.”
“Tell him later,” Arkael said, pulling his sword back out. “We need to finish this.” He stalked into the darkness ahead. I grabbed the torch and motioned Ewen to follow.
Ewen looked at me, confused. “He’s a friend,” I said to him. “The one I told you about. He’s the one who will save us. He’s here to kill Lorcan.”
“He will?” Ewen followed along, gathering his strength quickly.
“Yes. You should go back up, where it’s safe.”
“No," he grabbed my arm, as much to steady himself as to emphasize his point, "I will stay with you. I owe you my life. Again.”
I frowned. He owed me nothing. He was here because of me, but I didn’t quibble over that. I didn’t mind having a friend nearby, just in case.
The sound of blades coming free of their scabbards echoed through the halls. Arkael stood in the center room ahead of us, facing some new threat to our right. The two of us approached cautiously, until we saw Lorcan's four servants filing in from the side hallway, their own weapons drawn.
"Who are you?" Arthan demanded. Boric stood next to him, and his face tightened when he saw me enter the room with Ewen.
Arkael ignored them, staring instead at the hallway behind, where an amber light slowly brightened the walls. A low moaning accompanied the light, one I recognized, and a moment later, Lorcan appeared, holding a torch in one hand and a knife in the other. Behind him were two more men I didn’t recognize, though their heavy furs and wild hair meant they were probably drawn from Ruark’s army. They stood on each side of Avaline, clutching her arms, very nearly dragging her along the floor. Lorcan stopped when he saw us, and looked all three of us over, but his eyes eventually settled on me.
“What is this?” he hissed, reaching back to stroke Avaline’s hair. “The pet has returned for its master?”
“I’ve come to watch you die,” I said. Knowing what would probably come next, I held my arm out to gently push Ewen back and out of the way.
Lorcan chuckled, and he glanced at Arkael and his sword, which now pointed at him. “How? From him?”
“The demon has tainted your soul,” Arkael said, his commanding voice filling the room. “I will send it back to the darkness from whence it came.”
Lorcan eyed Arkael carefully, then lazily pointed a finger. "Kill him," he said. Then he pointed at me. “Leave him alive.”
Boric, Arthan, and the other two men in black rushed forward, swarming Arkael. But it made no difference. He dodged, parried, slashed and lunged and all four men fell to the ground. My eyes followed Boric as he clutched his throat, blood pouring through his fingers, and his legs failing him. When he fell, his eyes found me briefly, and I saw in them the barest sliver of guilt. I didn’t care, though. He died in the service of a demented madman. His fate was earned.
Lorcan’s eyes widened, and he retreated behind the other two, who’d dropped Avaline and pulled their own weapons. “Get him!” Lorcan screamed. “Kill him!”
After watching the slaughter of their companions, the two Irishmen were much more measured in their approach. One hefted a small shield, and he took the lead, but he stayed just out of range of Arkael’s reach. Arkael waited patiently until the second Irishman finally pushed the other in the back, prodding him onward. He charged, Arkael sidestepped, then jabbed his blade into the man’s chest, just under his wildly outstretched arm. He pulled the blade free, grabbed the Irishman by the furs wrapped around his neck, and yanked him forward. He fell to his knees, struggling to catch his breath as blood dripped from his mouth, while the second one watched in horror, his hands shaking. Arkael took a single step in his direction and the last Irishman dropped his sword, the clang of iron on stone echoing loudly through the tunnels. He ran back in the other direction, past Lorcan and Avaline, into the darkness of the dungeon.
Lorcan stepped forward and angrily shouted words that made no sense, waving his hands about. He stopped, then thrust his palm out and a torrent of flame appeared, flying toward Arkael. Arkael leapt to the side, then lunged ahead, swinging his weapon in a downward arc that cut right through Lorcan’s arm, just below the elbow. The sorcerer’s hand fell to the ground and he screamed, a wild, primal shriek. He stumbled backward, clutching the stump of his arm, until he hit the wall and slid down.
Avaline scurried away from the fallen sorcerer, and I finally saw my chance to save her. I ran over and helped her up, then pulled her away from Lorcan's inevitable execution.
“You…” Lorcan spat at Arkael, his contorted with rage, “you will… pay… for this.”
“Your soul no longer belongs to you," Arkael said as he approached. "When this is over, you will finally be free.”
“No!” he shouted. Somehow he seemed to be ignoring the pain, because he gritted his teeth and slowly, laboriously stood up. I saw Arkael shift his stance, too subtly for anyone to notice had they not seen him do it before. But something stopped him. The clang of iron latches popping open sounded throughout the hall, echoing deep into the dungeon. Dozens of them, at least. I looked around, hearing it in every direction. That was followed by doors creaking open, and grunts as those trapped within the cells began to make their way out.
Lorcan turned at the sound, and a slow smile crept over his face.
“It’s time,” he said, reverently, his eyes wide with glee. “It’s begun! He’s released his army,” he paused, a twisted, pained smile forming on his lips, “and you can’t stop them! They will spread across the land… and his beautiful voice will call to everyone!”
Arkael’s face changed then, briefly, and I saw in his expression something that scared me more than I could possibly describe. For the first time since I’d known him, Arkael looked worried. He regained his composure quickly, though, and drove his blade deep into Lorcan’s chest. Lorcan’s mouth opened in shock, and his body contorted around the wound. Arkael pulled the blade free and stepped away, while Lorcan slowly deflated as he leaned over, fell to the ground, then lay still.
“You can’t stop…” As Lorcan’s final breath left his body, I saw the sickness disappear from his eyes, lea
ving only a frail, tiny old man behind. Avaline, leaning against my shoulder and gripping my arm, reached down and squeezed my hand. Ewen stood frozen behind me. Arkael moved to stand next to the three of us, his sword still out.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“Quiet.” Arkael raised his finger at me and looked around, listening more than seeing.
A scream, down the tunnel the Irishman disappeared into. Had he met his fate at the hands of Lorcan’s army? Suddenly, the push of darkness that permeated this place grew stronger, wrapping around me tightly. I tried to adjust, to move away, to let it blow past me, but none of that worked any longer. I could feel it slip around my arms and legs, my body, my head and my neck, growing tighter. And I couldn’t move away from it. Something terrible was about to happen.
“Hello, old friend.” The voice permeated the darkness, assaulting me from all directions. But I could feel it strongest from behind, and I turned to see a new figure emerge from the shadows at the end of the hall. He was average height and build, unassuming, with long, straight brown hair and brilliantly green eyes that never left Arkael. It was the eyes that held my gaze. Always the eyes. I could see no darkness in them. No touch of the demon. But I didn’t need to see it there. The touch surrounded this one. He hadn’t been infected by the darkness... he was the darkness. “We haven’t seen you in ages, child. Our lord would be pleased to know that you’ve come to visit.” His lips moved when he spoke, but I couldn’t hear the words as much as I felt them.
“Your lord has held sway for too long, Nephilim. I’ve come to cast you out of here.”
The man, this Nephilim, showed no concern at Arkael’s challenge. He stepped forward, slowly, and pulled a blade from the scabbard at his side. It was magnificent, brilliantly polished. It gleamed in the darkness of the dungeon, seemingly catching all the light of the nearby torches on its blade. He held it out in front of him, as sure a swordsman as Arkael ever seemed to be.
“You would cast me out? Here in my own home? You must think me as weak as the others. You must think our lord hasn’t learned from the lessons of the past.”
“I think,” Arkael said, “that you will die today.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He glanced behind him, at the darkened hallway, and that's when I heard the footsteps, and the mindless growling, of his army. Men appeared. First a few, then a dozen, then two dozen. They piled into the room, spreading out to either side of the Nephilim, blocking the way out, but otherwise never moving past him. An invisible line kept them subordinate to this demon-spawned general. “These men are different. They don’t carry the demon’s will, not directly. Not like him.” He motioned to Lorcan. “So these don’t count. And if they don’t count, you don’t much care, do you?”
Avaline held my arm and squeezed. She began humming that song again, the one I couldn't place, although now it was frantic and desperate. Not that I could hear it over my own shallow breaths.
“Now,” the Nephilim said, “do we continue with this pointless exercise? Neither of us can truly win. We both know that. So why come down here? Why pretend to defend this world when it’s given you nothing back in return?”
“Through your death,” Arkael whispered, “another will be free.”
The Nephilim’s expression hardened. “You’ve learned nothing.”
“It is my path,” Arkael continued, “not to repentance, but to forgiveness.”
“So you hope.”
The Nephilim attacked, moving at a speed unnatural for anything else on this earth, but it wasn’t Arkael he intended to kill. It was me his blade came for. He lunged forward, his face taught, his shoulders squared up to face me. I could see his intent, I knew I would die, and I wondered in meticulous detail what it would feel like for that blade to pierce my skin and stab straight into my heart. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything, except wonder why it was taking so long for him to kill me. An instant after that puzzling thought, however, a glint of metal appeared at the edge of my vision, followed by Arkael’s twisted form as he threw himself sideways, moving just as deliberately as the Nephilim. His sword came up, catching the Nephilim’s blade before it could reach me, and then he moved to stand between us. The Nephilim grinned and nodded his head to Arkael in patronizing admiration.
“I look forward to this,” he said.
They threw themselves at each other, their blades clashing together over and over again in a wild frenzy of metal, muscle and guile. They lunged, parried, and countered, trading attacks like two duelists in a palace courtyard, neither gaining an inch on the other. It was a brilliant battle between two epic swordsmen, and it was all too fast to see, too much to take in. But not for me.
Time had slowed to a crawl. The same thing happened in Rogwallow, just after Caenwyld died, but I'd brushed that off as a trick of my overwhelmed mind. This time, however, was fantastically real. Every move between Arkael and the Nephilim played out in slow, exaggerated detail while everyone else in the room stood frozen, like statues stuck in whatever pose they’d struck when the battle started. The sense of detail and focus was magnificent, but I couldn’t help but wonder why I was the only spectator. That didn’t matter though. I only thought to watch in awe as these two warriors determined the fate of Britain.
A hand grabbed my shoulder, and the world suddenly slammed into all five of my senses, reverting to its normal pace. I turned in dazed annoyance to see Ewen desperately trying to pull me away.
"Daniel! Run!" I followed his terrified gaze to see all of the demon’s crazed soldiers charging toward us. If Ewen hadn't already been dragging Avaline and myself back down the hallway we'd just left, I’d have been caught and torn to pieces by those beasts. We left Arkael and the Nephilim behind and ran down the hall.
"No, wait!" I shouted, grabbing Avaline and Ewen and pulling them into Ewen’s old cell. "In here!" Ewen grabbed the door handle, slamming it shut behind him. “Hold it tight,” I implored, and Ewen flexed mightily, gripping the latch mechanism on the inside handle as if our lives depended on it, which they did. Not a moment later, the door shook as the monsters outside pounded away, trying to get inside. But Ewen held firm. For now.
"We can't stay in here forever," he said, grunting.
"Arkael will kill them. He'll save us."
"He's surrounded. There’s no way he’ll survive.”
"He will save us!"
"What if he doesn't?"
I huffed in frustration, and paced in a tight circle, avoiding the half-corpse in the corner. Ewen was right. This demon, or Nephilim, whichever he may be, was easily as powerful as Arkael. What if the Nephilim killed him? We’d be alone, and completely at its mercy. If these things outside didn’t finish us first. God save us if they got through that door.
God save us.
No. I would save us.
Two hands and a set of fingers zealously worked their way through the small grate at eye level. I ran up to the door and grabbed one of the hands, and then I did the only thing in my power. I healed him. The darkness inside him assaulted me immediately, but I pulled it out of him, avoiding the brunt of the horrifying visions by dancing away from them, just as Arkael taught me.
I let go of his hand and staggered back, winded. I saw the hand slide away limply, and I knew it had worked. I'd healed him of the demon's taint, and I would continue to heal everyone else out there until we were safe. No matter what the cost. Another hand took its place, and I grabbed that one too, and the darkness tore through me again.
My chest burned, and I leaned over and grabbed my knees, fighting the urge to vomit. The healing was taking its toll on me. I’d never be able to do this for every monster outside that door. I looked at Ewen and saw him strain against the strength of those on the other side. I turned to Avaline, leaning against the wall nearby, anxiously rubbing her hands together. They were both here because of me, lured into a quest to satiate my own desires, no matter what I let them believe initially. And now all three of us were trapped in th
is terrible dungeon, with no other way out, unless I saved them.
I steadied myself, fought through the sickness and reached out for the next one. I braced myself for an experience that might just knock me out, but instead, everything became easy. The visions raced past me, but they weren't fading away like they normally did. They just seemed to go somewhere else. I didn't question it; I just pulled them out as fast as I could, until none were left. When I released him, I could breath and my legs weren't weak, and when I felt a soft hand in mine, I realized why. Avaline stood next to me, holding my hand. She was using her own ability to somehow strengthen mine. I didn't know how, all I knew is that we were connected, and it worked. So I smiled down at her, and I grabbed the next hand reaching through the grate. And then the next one. And the next one.
Before I knew it I'd healed at least ten of them, maybe a dozen, maybe more. And I’d learned something else. Instead of just letting the visions race past me, I was able to direct them. I could push them, or guide them, sending them anywhere but through me. It was as if the visions flowed past me like a diseased river, but when I opened my arms, the river split, like I was Moses. It worked gloriously, and all I thought about was how I would heal all these afflicted men, and we would survive this terrible place. For once in this abysmal journey of discovery, I would know victory.
Cries of anger filled the hallway outside, along with screams of pain, and I let go of the hand in the grate, sensing that the battle outside had been decided, one way or the other. The screams were followed by scared men shouting for mercy, and I backed away from the door, as did Ewen. I felt Avaline's hand slip out of mine, but I didn't dare look away from that door. The rest of my life depended on who waited on the other side.
The door buckled, and the iron groaned as the hinges strained against unseen pressure. Three loud pops, one after the other, signaled the end, and as the door fell to the ground with a whump, I gazed upon the man standing in its place.
Arkael. He'd won. We'd won.
