by Tanya Huff
Roland lifted his head and watched something that was definitely not a squirrel scamper along the hydro wires.
“She sees little people in bushes,” he muttered.
Daru followed his gaze and snorted. “So do you.”
In answer to Roland’s unspoken question, she shrugged and said, “So do I. After looking into Evan’s eyes, I’d be more surprised if I didn’t see them.” She tugged open her door, slid in, and leaned across to pop the lock on the passenger side.
“Doesn’t that bother you?” Roland asked, stowing his guitar in the back seat.
“Why should it?” Daru put the car in gear and pulled carefully out of the parking space. “They’ll live their lives and I’ll live mine. Poverty, hunger, and discrimination bother me a lot more. Where to?”
“Neal, just east of Pape, north of the Danforth.”
“I know it.”
They drove in silence for a while; Roland’s mind turning over the way he saw Rebecca, Daru’s on the traffic.
“Until she was twelve,” Daru said suddenly, braking for a light, “Rebecca was a normal little girl. Then one Sunday, on a drive out into the country, a truck broadsided the family car. The impact threw Rebecca clear and when the emergency vehicles arrived the truck and the car were burning and she was the only survivor. They found her lying in a ditch by the side of the road, covered in mud and blood. According to the medical report, she began to menstruate that day, probably during or just after the accident.”
Roland squirmed, made more uncomfortable by the reference to menstruation than by the deaths of three people. It’s not my fault, he excused himself, that’s woman stuff.
“Her most serious injury was a skull fracture; a large piece of bone pressing down on her brain. She’d lost so much blood that the doctors were afraid she wasn’t going to make it, but she sailed through the surgery to a quick and complete recovery. Well, physically complete. It didn’t take long for the brain damage to become apparent. In less than a year, her reading skills deteriorated down to a very basic level, she lost all her math, and most of her ability to deal with abstracts.”
“With what?”
“Abstracts. All the things that people have created to clutter up their lives. A hundred years ago, maybe even fifty in parts of the world, she would have been fine. She’d have gotten married, raised children, cared for living things, spending her whole life within established parameters dealing with things she is quite capable of dealing with. But life today,” her hands left the steering wheel for a second and spread helplessly, “it just doesn’t give her that option. Doctors and social workers soon found that since she couldn’t deal with abstracts, she couldn’t take shortcuts. Everything, thoughts and actions, had to be done one well-defined step at a time. Still, it wasn’t bad enough to institutionalize her, so she stayed in a series of foster homes.”
“What about relatives?”
“She hasn’t any.” Daru slammed the car into third, the motion violent and barely under control. “When she was fifteen, her foster father came to Children’s Aid and confessed to a long string of sexual attacks on children supposedly in his care.”
Roland had a sudden vision of the man drawn and quartered. Prompted, he had no doubt, by the grinding anger in Daru’s voice.
“He’d tried the same thing on Rebecca. He said he didn’t remember what happened, that the next thing he knew he was on his way to confess. I read the report. He kept repeating, ‘I didn’t realize,’ and bursting into tears. All Rebecca ever said about it, both in the report and later when I asked her, was, ‘I showed him what he’d done.’” She paused as she maneuvered the car around a bus and onto Neal Street. “No, I don’t think you have to worry about Rebecca. Besides, I’ve never seen her as stable as she was today.”
“Evan?”
“Well, it’s hardly the situation.” Her smile flashed white in the darkness, a gleaming counterpoint to the heavy sarcasm in her voice. “It would make sense. He is the Light, after all, and one would think he’s supposed to bring out the best in people. Say when.”
Roland pointed at his uncle’s house and Daru pulled over. He got out, fished his guitar from the back, closed the door, then leaned back in the open window. “Thanks for the lift. And for the information. You’ve …” he sighed. Evan and Rebecca. Right. “You’ve given me something to think about.”
“Here’s something else.” She met his eyes and he almost flinched, so uncompromising was her expression. “You were upset because of Rebecca, granted, but I don’t think her disability had anything to do with it. I think you’re more upset because she gets to sleep with Evan, and you don’t.”
He watched the car’s taillights until they disappeared around the corner and, with Daru no longer there to argue the point, he said, “That’s ridiculous.” Then he turned and went into the house, ignoring whatever it was that snickered at him from the peonies.
Evan rested his cheek against Rebecca’s hair, his eyes half-closed, his breathing shallow. She snuggled hard against his chest and he smiled sleepily, stroking one hand lightly down her damp back. An hour in her arms had done much to replace the power he’d expended quelling the riot. By morning …
The balance shifted, suddenly, painfully, and he barely managed to stop himself from crying out.
Here I am, said the Darkness. Come and get me if you dare.
He knew it was a challenge intended to take him when he was weak and unprepared, still drained from the afternoon’s effort. Knew the Dark would not have issued it if it thought he could win. Knew, and knew that the Darkness knew, that he couldn’t refuse.
Gently, he lifted Rebecca to one side of the bed and slid out from under her outstretched arm. She stirred, and half woke, calling his name. He leaned forward and lightly kissed her brow.
“Sleep, Lady,” he said, tasting the salt tang of her on his lips. Tonight he would keep her safe, and tomorrow, and for all time if he could. She had enchanted him with her clarity from the moment he first saw her and what Darkness would do to such sweet simplicity …
Rebecca sighed and settled back against the pillows. Seen through Evan’s eyes, she glowed with a warm and golden light.
Tom stepped into the alcove and leaped up on the bed, heading for his regular, now vacated, place.
“Watch her, little one,” Evan murmured. “Stay with her while I am gone.”
Tom spread one paw in the air and began to wash between his toes. He didn’t need Evan to tell him what to do.
Evan straightened, fully clothed in the instant between one heartbeat and the next, touched the flaring curve of Rebecca’s hip one last time to keep the memory fresh, and then moved toward the Darkness.
… an alley, shadowed by more than the night. He heard voices, laughter, and walked cautiously forward.
“No … Please….”
He stumbled as a wave of Darkness roared down on him, and then he broke into a run.
At the end of the alley, under the weak red light of a flickering fire exit sign:
A boy, mid-teens, up against a wall, both hands to his face and blood seeping through his fingers.
At his feet, another. Facedown in a spreading puddle.
In front of him, five laughing shadows with knives.
Beyond, a well-dressed man who spread his arms and smiled a welcome. A smile only Evan could see.
“Not so pretty now, are you, shithead?” One of the shadows strutted forward and prodded at the boy’s shoulder with the butt of his knife. The red light reflected off his shaved head and turned the tattoos covering it to purple. “We’re gonna have us some fun with you.”
“Here I am,” purred the Darkness. “Your chance to take me out.”
Behind his hands the boy whimpered, and his pale pants suddenly darkened at the crotch.
“Hey! He pissed himself!” One of the shadows found this hysterically funny.
“Bad boy,” sneered another. “And bad boys have to be punished.”
“Shall we c
“Cut his prick off!” screamed the shadows in enthusiastic agreement.
“Or maybe there’s something you should take care of first,” the Darkness suggested. He glanced at his watch. “Do hurry. I haven’t all night.”
Evan moved forward, into the shadow’s circle, conscious of a cold fury that lives would be so blithely spent to trap him. He couldn’t not save the boy.
“Well, what have we here?” The leader of the gang, sensing new prey, turned and sneered. “Some sort of fucking white knight riding to the rescue?”
The others laughed and the circle closed about Evan. The pleasure they took in causing pain lapped at him, surrounded him, isolated him, and would weaken him in time.
“Please,” he said softly, his hands open, his arms spread, “let the boy go. Put down your knives. Release the Darkness.” All beings capable of choosing had to be given the choice.
“Turn from darkness?” The leader advanced, knife cradled loosely in his right hand. “We got us a fucking preacher here, gentlemen.”
“Looks like a fag,” observed a gang member with swastikas tattooed on both cheeks.
“Let’s cut his prick off!” The third voice rose and almost cracked with excitement.
That afternoon, Evan had given himself to a stadium full of rioters, reminded them of the Light and helped them push away the Darkness. The five he now faced only narrowed their eyes against the glare and gripped their weapons tighter. They had no Light left in them for him to reach.
He saw the blade out of the corner of one eye and ducked. The steel slid through his hair and he slammed an elbow into the wielder’s stomach. A boot heel, sticky with blood, just missed his knee and he kicked out in return, sending the gang leader to the ground.
“Bastard!” the leader shrieked, scrambling back to his feet. “Take him OUT!”
Leaning against the alley wall, Darkness laughed.
It was the wounded boy, who could’ve run to safety but instead grabbed a dangling scalp lock and yanked a knife away from Evan’s ribs, that gave Evan the strength to do what he had to.
A great blaze of light flared up from his clenched hands.
The fight ended very quickly after that.
“So He drove out the man,” the Dark Adept said, straightening, “and He placed at the east of the garden of Eden cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.”
Evan sighed and drew the bar of light back into himself. “If you want a quote,” he said wearily, scrubbing his hand across his face. “Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace but a sword.”
“For behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people.”
“That’s only half the verse,” Evan pointed out.
The Dark Adept shrugged. “I forget the rest.” He moved gracefully out into the alley, confident that the Light had so depleted its power it was not, at present, a threat. That it retained enough power to deal as it had with the gang of toughs had surprised him a little, for he knew that calming the multitudes at the stadium had left it virtually helpless. He could have taken it then, wiped the Light from this world for a time, but it wouldn’t have known what hit it and where would be the fun in that? Fortunately, the Light, so predictable, was easy to trap. And, also fortunately, his shock troops had worn the enemy down further. Although he wouldn’t have minded if they’d finished the job, it was perhaps better this way. He raised his hand and snapped it forward.
Evan grinned and threw up his arm, his exhausted stance vanishing with the motion. His silver bracelets caught the whip of Dark power and broke it into a thousand harmless splinters. He didn’t know why so much of his strength had returned so quickly—perhaps this world had more good in it than he thought—but he rejoiced in the surge of power. The Darkness was in for a nasty shock. Quickly he threw a dozen shining disks and his grin grew wolfish as one got through a hastily erected defense, and the Dark Adept cried out in pain. His eyes began to glow and he advanced palms up …
… on nothing.
He stood alone in the alley with the wounded boy and the corpse of the boy’s friend.
He extended his senses as far as he dared, but the Dark Adept had left no trail to mark its retreat.
Sobs tearing at an innocent’s throat drew him back to himself.
Gently, he reached down and touched the boy’s shoulder, giving comfort and easing pain.
“Richard’s dead,” he heard whispered from between bloody fingers.
“Yes.”
Hazel eyes peered up at him, lashes matted together into points. “Can you bring him back?”
“No.”
“But you made those others,” his voice broke, “disappear.”
“I did,” Evan admitted. “But I cannot defeat death.”
The barricade of hands dropped, one falling to rest lightly on Richard’s stiffening back. The boy was no more than fifteen, if that. Blood continued to seep slowly from the gash across his cheek. “What are you?” he asked.
“I am a warrior against the Darkness, Matthew.” The boy’s head jerked up at the sound of his name. “As you have become this night. Your scar will be a warrior’s mark. Wear it proudly.”
And Matthew knelt alone.
“Wear it proudly, indeed,” Mrs. Ruth snorted, stomping out of the shadows. “What bloody help is that? Men!”
Matthew started and spun around. When he saw the short, round shape of the bag lady trudging forward, dragging an overloaded bundle buggy behind her, the terror on his face slid into confusion. “Who …”
“Just someone picking up the pieces, bubba. Let me see that face,” She pinched his chin and he tried to flinch away, although not from pain; the breath washing down over him was redolent with onions and garlic. “Prompt medical attention to this and it may not scar at all. Warrior’s mark. Humph.”
“Wha …” Matthew tried to look away and found he couldn’t. All of a sudden he just didn’t have the energy to turn his head. The old woman’s eyes were black and deep and he had the strangest sensation of falling.
“We will go out and call the police now. You will tell them how those wicked boys cornered you and your friend and how when I came up the alley they ran away. Maybe they thought I was the Mounties, I don’t know.”
Matthew let her help him up and, leaning heavily on her shoulder, they made their way toward the street. He saw, he heard: the punks, the knives, Richard falling, the sudden noise of the bag lady’s approach, the sneering faces vanishing into the darkness. “Why …” He looked down at his hands. They were covered with blood. “Why don’t I feel anything?”
“Shock.” Mrs. Ruth tightened her arm about his waist. “Don’t fall down on me, bubba. I’m too old to pick you up again.”
They got to the phone and Matthew somehow managed to dial the emergency number. In a shaking voice he told the story Mrs. Ruth had given him while the bag lady nodded in approval.
Let the policemen look for a gang of no-goods matching those descriptions, she thought, catching Matthew as he slid down the glass of the phone booth. The two of them sagged to the sidewalk together and waited there, listening to the sirens coming closer. And if they never find them, which they won’t, so what. It’ll keep them from having to deal with other things. From trying to deal with other things.
She remembered the laughter of the Darkness and knew he was spreading a shroud over the city. For a while.
Chapter Seven
The alarm clock had barely begun to chime when Rebecca stretched out an arm and switched it off. Knowing full well that lingering meant being late for work, and being late for work was very bad, she sighed and swung her legs out of bed. Then she paused, reached back, and stroked a finger gently down the soft skin over Evan’s spine.
He stirred but didn’t wake.
Rebecca checked the clock and sighed again. Four minutes after five, no time to cuddle. Daru said she had to be in the shower by five after five and as she watched, the four shivered and changed.
The shower washed away the last bits of sleep and she sang quietly to herself as she scrubbed her hair, toweled dry, and reached into the medicine cabinet for the little pink package of pills. Monday morning’s pill dropped into the toilet.
She placed one hand just below her navel and with the other reached out and shoved the plastic handle down. “No babies,” she murmured quietly to the sound of the water swirling away. And beneath her hand she felt her body agree.
When she returned to the alcove, Evan was watching her through half-closed eyes.
“Wind and rain, Lady,” he murmured.” ‘Tis but the middle of the night and yet you have risen.”
Rebecca giggled. He’d talked that way during lovemaking. She liked it. It sounded like a fairy tale. She didn’t always understand it, but she liked it.
“I’m going to work,” she explained, pulling on clothes. “The first batch of muffins has to be ready by seven o’clock.”
“My life shall be bleak without you.”
Even Rebecca’s literal mind recognized this as blatant flattery. “Silly.” She grinned, drew a fingernail down the exposed sole of his foot, and laughed as he whipped it away. Slipping her own feet into thongs, she gathered up her fresh uniforms and went into the other room. Her red bag was under the kitchen table, the black dagger still inside it. Carefully, she reached in, grabbed the rolled towel, and lifted it out. She could feel the edges of the weapon even through the layers of terry cloth.
Now what? Her eyes lit on the shelf over the television. it would be safe there because nobody could touch it accidentally; they’d have to make an effort.
Pleased with herself for thinking of it, she pushed her plush dragon to one side and put the towel on the shelf. Then she packed her uniforms, took her keys off the hook by the door, and went to say good-bye to Evan.
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