Those of the Light & Dark

by Rob Heinze

Exasperated, she yelled: “I’m going after them!”

  “Wait, I’ll get through!”

  He tried to stumble over the man, who cried out as if in pain, and Peter fell on top of the man. The Mesha turned and stalked off.

  They’d come. They’d come eventually. But she couldn’t lose Charley Allen. She couldn’t let him cross the bridge.

  She couldn’t.

  16

  It was as if they were looking at it from an outside point of view, and thus they had the luxury of marveling. It was just as it had been in their dreams.

  The place where Those of the Light and Dark come to do battle:

  The place was huge, a wide open cavern that gave view onto a star-filled sky. How, they had no idea, for it had been blue daylight outside. The rock walls rose so high that they disappeared somewhere in the darkness above. Ahead of them was the stone bridge stretching over a massive, massive chasm. The bridge fed to a small area of flat rock, and waiting at the end of the rock was the odd, temple-like structure carved into the rock wall. It looked like something out of an unearthed ancient city that had been buried in leagues of debris. And the oddest, most commanding thing about the place was the color of it. Lines of red and pink seemed woven into every crevice in the rock walls—these light-lines seeming to pulse minutely; from the chasm issued a pale, hovering red-pink glow; in the open spaces of the structure across the bridge shined that glow. The entire space seemed infused with a red-pink mist, but it was interlaced so magically through the air that its consistency was unbroken. The whole effect was surreal. He wanted to cry.

  I’ve been here before, Charley thought. I my deepest, most beautiful dreams.

  They were all so focused on the scene that they hadn’t noticed The Mesha coming up behind them. The woman, who was no stranger to the place, was not awe-struck. When she had first come here, yes, it had inspired ten minutes of stunned silence. It lost its charm after the fourth time, and it was made less appealing by what it symbolized—that which The Mesha wished to avoid: salvation.

  She didn’t hesitate for a second. Before she had even reached them, her arm was out and reaching for Charley. She grabbed his hair with long fingers and it was there that she buried them. Before Charley had time to react, she yanked backwards. Charley’s head jerked, his neck assaulted with intense pain. He yelped.

  “Charley!” Eve yelled, turning and seeing The Mesha pulling him down.

  The Mesha was smiling slightly, a deranged, joyful smile that told pages of the woman’s life story. On his knees now, pulled down by the woman’s maniac strength, Charley swung at the woman. He hit her hip somewhere, but the blow was useless; she had gotten him in an odd position. He felt the pain of his hair’s roots tearing.

  “You fuck! Who do you think you are!” She screamed, practically in his ear.

  She yanked hard, and this yank toppled Charley over onto his back. Eve, flashing back to how Charley had attacked John (he saved me, she thought), abruptly charged the woman. She didn’t even think about it; she darted straight at the woman. She leapt into the air and connected against The Mesha’s torso like a football player tackling a quarterback. The Mesha let out a gust of air and then they were tumbling backwards. Charley, now freed, felt his head for lack of hair and was pretty sure some pieces were missing. He glanced up and saw the two women rolling around. His head swam dangerously.

  The Mesha tried to jab Eve’s eyes, but Eve was able to turn her head, deflecting the woman’s fingers to her cheeks. Blood was already welling on Eve’s face from scratches The Mesha had inflicted.

  Charley didn’t hesitate any longer; he ran towards them as The Mesha rolled on top of Eve. She had not wanted to hurt Eve, had even planned on letting her choose her fate, but the stupid girl had attacked her. Now The Mesha had no choice. She drew her fist back and propelled it towards the girl’s face. The fist connected. Eve’s face crinkled under the blow.

  It was the first and last hit that The Mesha got in.

  Charley had come behind her and laced his arms around her neck. Yanking, he hoisted her, kicking and screaming, into the air.

  “Let go of me, you fuc—” Charley tightened his grasp around her, neck, cutting off her sentence.

  “Let us go! Let us go!”

  “You don’t want to go! Think of everything you could have had here!” She choked.

  “There’s nothing here for me! Not you, not that hospital, not anything!” Charley squeezed. “Now let us go!”

  Sam, who had stood watching this whole spectacle, suddenly felt a cold gust of air. He glanced away from the scuffle towards the walls. He watched as the lines of red light along the walls pulsed slightly, darker then lighter, as if this place had some sort of primordial heartbeat. He glanced up, his eyes following the walls, until they saw the shapes descending ant-like down the walls. His eyes stopped, and the excitement he had felt upon first coming into this place was replaced by cold fear.

  Those of the Dark.

  There might have been hundreds of them coming down the walls. Sam goggled at them, unable to think, speak, let alone warn the others of their impending approach.

  The malaise and chilling fear that Sam felt soon spread to everyone else. Eve stood up, blood running down from her beaten nose. She caught sight of the dark figures descending the walls. Her spirit sank. So this was it? This was how it was going to end, after all that?

  Charley felt his grip involuntarily loosen on The Mesha’s neck as he saw the proliferating horde. All of the energy and hope that had been inside of him diffused out of him like foul gas. The Mesha staggered away from him, clutching at her neck and coughing. She actually looked disheveled for once. Her hair was lumpy and frizzy, her eyes swollen, her body speckled with Eve’s blood. Her dress was crinkled all over, shifted badly, and one of her breasts had been exposed.

  She saw Those of the Dark coming to stand around them. She smiled, and felt triumphant. They would simply take them here, she thought, not remembering that the place in the woods had a warding effect on Those of the Light. This place didn’t; this place was—

  “It’s the place where Those of the Light and Those of the Dark come to do battle,” Sam whispered.

  He noticed something then—they all did: Those of the Dark had not extended beyond the bridge or even close to the brink of it. The lingered, shaded, near the rock walls. Charley glanced out to the temple-structure beyond. The light in the open spaces of the rock started to change: cycling, it went from red to orange to yellow to bright, clear, holy white. So bright was the white that rays started to shoot out in upward angles. They all winced and shielded their eyes, and when their eyes adjusted to the brilliance, they saw Those of the Light emerging. They emerged and formed a cluster three rows deep, one by one by one, their sacred vividness so bright that it made Charley want to cry.

  Holy Lord God, he thought.

  Now The Mesha went quiet. All of her joy was gone.

  This is the place where Those of the Light and Those of the Dark come to do battle.

  “What are they doing?” Sam whispered, feeling sacrilegious.

  No one heard him; they were all too involved with the scene.

  The tension mounted, grew and grew as Those of the Light moved across the stone bridge. The air started to grow warmer and colder at turns. They all felt their heartbeats slow to a drawn out, slow-motion beat.

  One of the Dark moved. It strolled slowly away from the pack, leaving a brilliant smudge of black in the air that petered out to nothing. It was still hurtful to see black glowing. How could black glow? It went against all of their senses. The One of the Dark stood on the brink of the bridge, as if waiting to do battle.

  On the other side, One of the Light moved away from the pack. It shone, glowing, and as it glided across the stone bridge, Charley watched in amazement.

  They’re pulsing, he thought. Their colors are growing stronger.

  The One of the Dark began to pulse. Two spheres of opposite colors began to balloon outwards like a r
adiating force-field, meeting in the center of the bridge and seeming to physically press against each other like balloons.

  Is this how they fight? Charley wondered.

  A crowd had formed at the entrance to the place; The Mesha’s people had finally broken through. But they stood in awe of the unfolding scene. None of them even noticed the disheveled woman who was their leader.

  Instantly, the two spheres vanished.

  Then the battle began:

  The movement was god-like; The Dark leapt into the air, its color suddenly blazing out like a massive tsunami of no-light; The Light leapt to meet it, trailing holy brightness in its wake; they collided somewhere above the bridge, and a massive explosion ensued, shaking the walls of the place; red squirts of whatever lay within the walls gushed out; rocks and pebbles tumbled; the onlookers stumbled. A brilliant display of sparks plumed out from the impact, both white and black, life and death, salvation and damnation. Charley felt as if he were watching something from a video game.

  The figures darted back to their original positions, their motion too quick for the onlookers to follow accurately. They hung back, as if measuring each other, and then they moved at each other again, this time seeming to glide across the bridge. They collided in the middle; an immense spray of sparks bloomed like a fireworks display, Charley shielding his eyes. The place quaked.

  What if they bring it down? What if the whole place collapses? We’ll never get out!

  CRASH! There was a brilliant rain of white/black sparks.

  They’re fighting for us, Charley thought, feeling goosebumps pimple his skin. And what if Those of the Dark win?

  Then, abruptly, without any warning, without any sign that one was losing, it ended.

  It ended.

  The two ancient figures raced towards each other again, soaring across the stone bridge, leaving shimmering streams in their wake—

  The Light passed through the Dark, passed through it like a blade through a cloud of smoke.

  There was a sudden intake of air, and then there was a powerful burst of black sparks, all of which fizzled down to nothing, silent and terrible. The One of the Light stood defiantly, glowing holy and marvelous.

  It won! It won! Charley screamed in his mind, feeling like a child rooting for the home team.

  Those of the Dark began to migrate back up the walls. They watched them go, Charley Eve and Sarah, their hope resurfacing. Soon, Those of the Dark were gone. Those of the Light moved not, spoke not; they simply stood shedding their radiance.

  They’re waiting for us, Eve thought.

  She turned around to Charley, to Sam.

  “They’re waiting for us.”

  They were, weren’t they?

  Yeah, they are, Charley thought.

  A sharply clear image of Sarah came to him: beautiful and resplendent in a long dress, a dress she had once worn to a wedding, and he felt himself wanting to cry.

  “Let’s go Sam!”

  He was excited, truly excited, the first time he’d been this way since he’d awoken in this awful place. Eve, Sam, and Charley started towards the stone bridge, nervous but excited, each step like walking towards a new life. They were going home, leaving this no-world. It was right there—

  But no.

  Not yet.

  The Mesha, suddenly coming to her senses, screamed: “NO!!!”

  She charged Charley, who was a few feet out on the bridge now. Red/pink liquid swirled a hundred feet below in unnatural wonder. He turned. The Mesha was running at him, her hair waving, her exposed breast bouncing absurdly. When she had closed the distance, she leapt at him. She caught Charley in the waist and brought him down. He landed on the bridge, and for a wild, horror-stricken moment, he felt as if he were going over into that liquid.

  “I hate you! I hate all of you!” The Mesha yelled.

  She grabbed his head and brought it up, then smashed it down. She felt all-powerful, all-hateful.

  Charley felt white spikes of pain explode in his head, shooting around his mind like contour-conforming missiles.

  The Mesha saw Mr. Tartano in Charley’s face, saw herself apologizing to him—saw every man to whom she had been a sexual object, saw the lust, the want, the greed in their eyes—saw herself blaming herself, saw herself feeling bad, guilty, and she hated it. She bashed Charley’s head harder, wanting to make that pain in her belly leave, the pain that had assaulted her since Jane had stolen looks at her breasts—

  Somehow, Charley managed a quick left-handed punch. The blow connected on the woman’s jaw; there was a low crack, an instance of pain in his hand, and she was suddenly off him. She rolled, rolled, and her body went off the narrow bridge.

  She saw the wide red/pink maw of the chasm below her, felt an intense instance of vertigo, and she grappled madly with the ledge. Her hands could find no purchase, felt nothing but a flat surface, and now she would start to drop, moving insanely fast towards that odd liquid (liquid?) below.

  At the last moment, her hand found a hand-hold on the bridge’s edge. Her fingers clamped down, and her body swung out over open space. She hung there, heart pounding. Her sneakers glowed red from the light below.

  “Help,” she breathed, looking up at Charley.

  Though she had once killed a gay man in this no-world, she had not once thought about what might happen when you died here.

  Charley stood above her. He pitied her, the way Gandalf had told Frodo to pity Gollum. The reference was surprisingly apt, and he had no idea from where it had come.

  “Help, please.”

  “Come on, Charley!” Eve called.

  Charley glanced up. She was by the temple. Those of the Light stood around her like angels. Sam was by her side. Charley glanced back down to The Mesha, saw the tears in her eyes, and turned away. He would let fate do with her what it would; he was not going to interfere. He went across the bridge slowly, mechanically, like a person too afraid they might awake and find that it was all a dream.

  That’s what I want, he thought.

  To awake.

  To see Sarah again.

  The brightness from Those of the Light grew strong. Their shapes became less formed, more formless: now they were just bright white light. He could see the temple (if it was a temple), its light now insane in its intensity. Eve and Sam, they were somewhere in that light, two faces lost in the glow.

  “We made it,” Eve said weakly.

  “I’m afraid,” Sam said, thinking of his mother—what if they didn’t make it out?

  Those of the Light, though, had some sort of narcotic effect on them and real fear never had a chance to develop.

  “Thanks,” Charley said feebly, not knowing what else to say and not knowing how long they had to talk.

  “Will we remember anything?” Eve asked, hoping they wouldn’t (John) and hoping they would (Charley).

  They didn’t look at each other; their vision was focused on Those of the Light.

  “I don’t know,” Charley said.

  “I guess we’ll find out,” Sam said.

  They turned towards the temple-structure. The light was blinding; they could see nothing beyond it. There was a hand in each of Charley Allen’s hands, one small and one medium, one a boy and one a young woman. He swallowed difficultly and started to walk towards the temple-structure. The light grew stronger and more intense; Those of the Light were now no more than shapes, just shapes, just light, and—

  Oh, and—

  He felt the hands slip from his grip, tried to hold them tighter, and in the light ahead he saw—

  17

  The Mesha dangled from the bridge, her fingers in red agony.

  “Help!” She called.

  She knew that her followers had come; they would help her. But they were too afraid to come out to the bridge for fear that Those of the Light would take them back, and so she hung helplessly, her grip slipping. Tears ran down her cheeks, plopping off and dropping. She didn’t know what that liquid was, but she had a feeling she w
ould find out soon. If she could hang until Peter came; he would come; he was…her love?—

  What have I done to myself? She thought, in the moment before she fell.

  Her fingers gave way.

  She wouldn’t look down at the approaching death; she kept her gaze fixed above her, waiting for salvation.

  It came like a bolt from God, growing closer and closer, and halfway between the bridge and the liquid, One of the Light caught her.

  The Mesha, who had once been known as Belinda Coles, never touched the liquid and when she opened her eyes, she found herself in a dark place.

  Part Five - ad vitam aeternam

  1

  Charley's recovery started tentatively, his eyes coming open with little cognition except to acknowledge Sarah, his mom and dad. Later he would have no recollection of the recovery of the first few days.

  "Where am I?"

  Sarah was there. She was holding his hand, and looking at him. In his haze he saw her: brown eyes, too wide, above deep black rings. She was willing him to recovery, as if she could accomplish this solely by raising her eyebrows.

  "You're in the hospital," she said. "You were in a coma."

  Coma?

  ###

  One day he awoke and found his mind crystal clear. He sat up in bed. There was no pain, not in his neck, not in his head. He felt strange, sharp, too aware. He heard talking across the hallway, each word crystal clear. Sarah was there: he could smell her. He got out of bed and moved towards the door to the hall. The IV attached to his hand pulled as the wheels were

  locked, his skin stretching yet he kept moving and there was no pain, none when there should have been.

  The IV cart fell. It crashed to the floor. Charley kept moving, pulling with him the IV. The cart finally lodged under the bed, and the line pulled out of his hand. The leeds attached to his chest, back and legs pulled off.

  He stood in the doorway. Outside there was little commotion. He saw the room across the hallway, the patient of which had visitors. They didn't turn to see him.

  He could feel the pull now. It was coming from his right. It was a sort of light vacuum, like a breeze urging him in that direction. He went towards it. His gown fluttered open at the back, showing his buttock. He didn’t care, didn’t notice: all of his thought was focus on this pull towards the room next door.