by K. R. Bowman
I sat outside the patient area until things quieted a bit. Brand eventually came outside to check on the survivors. Most of the people had gone to their sleeping quarters and were in bed. There were a few roaming the campsite trying to be useful. A group of women talked about Hunters that were patrolling around the camp to keep watch. I’m guessing Hunters were a good thing.
“Why don’t you go on and find your bed?” Brand stood beside me; he bent down and put his hand on my arm and gently helped me to my feet. He nudged me toward the girl’s sleeping quarters.
My feet were like lead as I wound my way toward the huge tent. I hadn’t realized how tired I was. Being surrounded by darkness didn't help my sleep schedule either. A shadow to my left moved, and a massive figure blocked my path.
“Well, you did survive.” My captor stood before the opening of the tent with his arms crossed over his broad chest and stared me down. His eyes had returned to the rich dark green color that matched the realm’s vegetation.
Exhaustion was setting in, and when it takes residence, I get cranky. “Yes… Thank you for your concern.” I was fed up with his moodiness and lack of empathy.
His eyebrow arched then he took a step toward me. I stood my ground. “It’s going to be interesting to see how long you’ll last,” with that snide remark, he sauntered off into the center of camp.
Jackass. Ugh, boys.
I stomped into the tent. The majority of the beds were empty, including Ashlen’s. Most of the occupants were asleep, except a small group gathered in the corner of the tent, whispering. I sat on the bed’s edge, tugging off my Vans. I placed my shoes under the bed. Climbing in with my clothes on, I pulled the sheets over my head, letting the whispers lull me to sleep.
The next morning, we woke up to the smell of bacon, at least, that’s what it smelled like to me. Ashlen still wasn’t in her bunk. When we went outside, the moon still shone unwavering in the morning as a small hint of light could be seen from the horizon. My watch displayed at nine o’clock. It was going to take some time to get used to not seeing the sun anymore. My heart twinged a little with the realization. The cool, morning air and dew-covered ground welcomed me.
The tiniest bit of light broke the horizon and touched the plants around me. The plants lit from within, which made me stop in my tracks. My mouth fell open like a fish out of water. The trees and each piece of grass took a deep breath, absorbing as much light as possible in those moments. It was like I had stepped into James Cameron’s Avatar world Pandora. Tendrils of steam rose from the heated earth, making the Night Realm more like a hazy dream. Maybe ten minutes passed, then the small amount of light blinked out. Darkness enveloped us once again, with only the moon as light. The Realmers continued by, not paying any attention.
Unbelievable. I shook my head and followed everyone to the food.
Whatever they had cooked didn’t look anything like bacon, but I ate it up; to me, it tasted more like chicken. I found out later it was part of the creature that had attacked us. These particular Nightlins were called Aeroes.
I surveyed the wreckage from the night before. The campfire had been strewn across the middle of the camp, and several tents had been knocked over or torn to pieces. The people around me had hollow eyes and vacant expressions. We ate, hardly talking at all. A few voices carried across the camp, but most were hushed. We grabbed food, brought it to our mouths. Chew. Chew. Swallow. Grab more food. Repeat.
I needed to do something useful. I went in search of Ashlen and Brand. I found Brand first. He had walked out of the survivor tent. His face and clothes were completely covered with soot and dirt. He was a mess.
“Brand, how is everything?”
Brand stopped, running a hand through his dirty hair. His Scottish accent was more pronounced with his tiredness. “Sloane, there ya are I was coming to find ya. In all the commotion, ma head’s mush. Last night, yous said ya had gone home, what da ya mean?”
“Well, exactly that. I went home the night before. I went to sleep in the tent, and then, I woke up in the Norm world.”
“Hmm, I dinna ken what to say…” He scrubbed his face. “If ever there was a time when something weird was going to happen, it would be now.”
“I wish I could help explain, but I’m probably more lost than you.”
“Eh, don’t worry, lass, it’ll all be revealed. I’m sure of it. But we need to figure out how to get you home to stay, or have ya decided to stay with us?” His eyes twinkled as he slowly smiled.
“Despite everything that happened last night, I think I’m going to stay. I have so many questions, and I know the only place with answers is here.” I pulled the necklace up from under my shirt and held it out to him. “When I went back, my mother gave this to me and told me it was my father’s. She also gave me a knife with writing on it.”
Brand came closer and lifted the necklace to his face. “Well, I’ll be.” He looked at me with amusement. “If I’m correct, this necklace will lead you to wherever you want.”
I took the necklace from him and studied it closely, trying to see the magic behind it. No way could I have something this cool. It was worn and even had rust around the edges. I shook my head back and forth.
Brand smiled and placed his hands on his hips. “Ya said ya had a knife too?”
I nodded and drew the knife out, holding it out to show him. He carefully took it.
“Hmmm…” He turned his eyes toward me; his eyes traveled down to my shoes and back up to my face. “Yous keep surprising me. These artifacts haven’t been seen in years, and the only reason why I ken about them is because my mum and da told me story after story about ‘em.” He shook his head in awe.
I liked him immensely. Maybe my father resembled him, minus the accent, sadly. He handed the knife back to me. I placed it in my pocket.
“That dagger will kill any and all Nightlin it touches. You have some pretty prizes you’re carrying.” He crossed his arms over his barrel chest and surveyed the camp.
“Do these attacks happen a lot?”
“Aye, they ‘appen a good bit. This last one, though.” He shook his head. “We had the barriers in place, so they shouldn’t have found us. At least, we weren’t attacked by so many this time.”He turned back to me, “We’re gonna need to set up some time so that we can train you.”
6
Ashlen was in the survivor tent with minor scrapes and bruises all over. She had a terrible headache, but other than that, she was fine.
“What took you so long?” she croaked.
I slipped my arm around her shoulders to help her up. She sat on the edge of the bed and stood - very slowly.
“I feel as if someone slammed a two by four across my whole body and maybe ran me over.” Her face twisted in pain, and she placed her free hand at the base of her back.
“I’m sorry it took me forever to find you.”
“It’s alright. I’m glad you came back. We had no idea where you had gone. Callum led the guys and searched the whole outskirts of the forest for you.”
“Callum?” I asked.
She nodded. Her face contorting into pain from the movement, “I’m sure you’ve seen him. He’s the dark-headed brooding guy with a limited vocabulary of maybe five words. He’s the type that can get by with his looks?” Even in pain, her animated face winked.
“Oh. Right. Yeah, I know who you’re talking about now. He’s moody and rude, but I’m pretty sure he said about ten different words to me.”
“Really?” She said with surprise.
“Yep.”
“Wow. Aren’t you lucky.” She continued to watch the ground, concentrating on moving her feet. “Just be careful around him. He likes to use his temper to his advantage.”
“Don’t worry. Red flags erupted the moment I ran into him, literally.”
“Alright, don’t ever say I didn’t warn you.”
I rolled my eyes, “Okay, okay, moving on.”
The corner of her mouth twitched, “Okay.”
“When does training start?”
Ashlen turned her head so she could see me. “It already started about a month ago. I guess you’ll have to catch up. I don’t think it should take you too long.”
“Sure, except, I’m the only one who hasn’t had the history lesson.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that. We can help you.” She stared back up at the ceiling. “I think they said we would start training again in a few weeks.”
“Good. We need some sort of order and something that everyone can look forward to.” I laid on my bed to take a short nap. I was more than ready to begin training.
“Ashlen?”
“Yeah?” she croaked.
“Can you tell me why people’s eyes turn black?”
Ashlen shifted in her bed and chuckled, “I bet seeing that almost made you faint.” She chuckled again, “It happens whenever the Nightlins get close. Warning us, they’re near. It’s our first mark as Watchers.”
I settled back into bed, “Oh, okay.” I paused, letting that information sink in, “You said something about marks before. What other marks appear?”
Ashlen yawned deeply, “If we’re lucky to become Protectors, you get a second mark, where you use a force field for protection.” I looked around to see if anyone else was paying attention, but nothing.
“As a Hunter, you get your final mark. That’s when you change the force field into one of those gigantic dragon-like creatures, your Czar, and use it for travel and, more importantly, attacking the Nightlins. It’s all straight from a sci-fi movie.” She yawned again.
“What about tattoos?”
“Hmm?” She had her eyes closed. She would be asleep in a few minutes.
“I saw a guy with bands tattooed on his arm.” I whispered.
Ashlen shifted some in her bed. “Oh, that. Yeah, some people like to mark which level they're at.”
Ashlen sighed softly then, and her breathing grew deeper as she fell asleep. I laid my head back and shut my eyes, welcoming the darkness.
Later that night, we had a memorial. Four people had died during and after the fight due to injuries, and three were missing. The pyre stood in the center of the camp. We gathered around with our heads bowed and eyes closed. The faces surrounding me were filled with sadness, fear, and anger. Only a handful had masked their feelings behind a calm façade.
One pair of eyes stared fixedly at me from underneath his dark hair. The fire reflected in his dark green eyes casting shadows across his face, making him seem younger and poignant. I met his stare for a moment then back at the fire as the ashes flew off into the sky.
The next few weeks passed quite slowly. I met with Brand every single day to catch up on the history of the Night Realm. Brand had me reading a 100-year-old small paper book bound in leather; someone had had the bright idea to write down the full history of the realm. It had drawings and other people’s notes that had been passed down from each family and comprised the book for the one day when someone, like me, needed it.
* * *
January 1901 – Our History
Age of the Night Realm has always been since the Night was born. The first to cross over was given as a sacrifice so that the creatures would be sustained and not attack the people as each year passed, more and more crossed over. Sometimes the tradition would carry from family to family, and sometimes the tradition would end.
No one is really sure how the Nightlins first crossed over into the Norm, but we know that the moment one of the creatures crossed over the threshold of this world, it gave free reign to all Nightlins. The punishment belongs to us to guard the portals until this world ends.
Our days are filled with the regular twenty-four, except that we only have a few minutes of daylight each day - 8 minutes to be exact. We never truly see the sun, only a haze of light.
The first recorded leader of the Night Realm was Kane. He is said to have been cruel and cunning. Each leader is given a key so they can cross to both worlds freely. A magnificent sword, with gold inlaid and intricate designs across the hilt and scabbard of the sword, is passed down to each leader. The only way that someone can become the next leader is if the current leader freely gives over their leadership. If the leader dies in war, then his second takes the responsibility of the Leadership. Whoever holds that leadership lives an immortal life, keeping their bodies frozen in time. They do not age as long as they hold the key.
The main portals between the two realms are spread throughout the world. Each is guarded by realmers in that region.
Nightlins are creatures that scavenge and kill. Their main goal is to take over this realm and the other. There are Nightlin creatures that can fly. Others swim, some are large, others small, most with razor-sharp teeth, and gigantic claws. They ravage and tear with no cognitive thought. They want blood. In the other world, the feeling that makes the hairs on your arms stand up or turns the air colder, are the creatures that have slipped through from this realm. They are the cause of the feelings of despair and tragedies. Nightlins live to destroy. There is still so much more that we need to learn about them.
The “Normal World” or “Norm” is directly affected by the Nightlins. Each time someone crosses over to the Realm, and however long the portal stays open, Nightlins are able to crossover as well. In the “Norm,” the Nightlins feed on death and fear, so that’s what they create. We know when more Nightlins have crossed over because of the increase in death and crime. Over the past few years, the numbers have slowly escalated.
Our first defense against the Nightlins are called Watchers. Watchers seem to acquire different specialties from gravity-defying acts to night vision. The first mark of a Watcher is their eyes changing to black, whenever Nightlins appear. The Watchers are trained in weaponry and do exactly what their title entails; they keep watch over our camps and the world beyond ours. As the years pass by, their aging slows.
The second is the Protector. Protectors’ powers evolve to shielding and more extensive weaponry. Not everyone will become a Protector. Some will remain Watchers. We have no knowledge as to why some are promoted to Protectors and some stay as Watchers, but it has been like this always. When someone is chosen to be a Protector, white light falls from their fingertips, forming a shield that is indestructible. I have even seen a Protector that can exude a light from within that repels the Nightlins.
Hunters are the final defense, and like the Protector, not all become Hunters; only the finest and most worthy. A Hunter’s third mark is absorbing the energy around them, and shifting that energy to form a large dragon-like bird with wingspans stretching to fifty feet wide and large mouths filled with razor-sharp teeth; they are called Czars. The Hunters use the Czars as an extension of themselves. They are the greatest of all the defenders.
Many in the Norm have forgotten or denied the Night Realms existence and the warriors who bravely fight for their lives, so we continue in silence—watching, protecting, and hunting the creatures that would gladly take each of their lives. The constant duel between good and evil will always exist in both of our worlds since Adam ate the fruit.
We live to keep the dark from engulfing the light.
* * *
The text consisted of more stories about fights between the Nightlins and Realmers. Stories about the leaders, their families, and their untimely deaths were printed on those pages with rigorous description. Every event and feeling recorded. I learned a lot in those first two weeks about our history. At least, it was interesting and new history that hadn’t been hammered into my head since the beginning of first grade.
By the third week, Brand began teaching me ho
w to fight. We used sticks at first, then graduated to sharper slats of wood. Those weeks I was so sore and bruised. So many times, I was afraid I would permanently be purple. As Brand instructed me, people stopped and watched us, including the tall, dark-haired man that would prop against a post and just watch for hours, Callum. Our eyes would meet briefly, and a shiver would slide down my back. I could never tell if he was laughing at me or if he thoroughly disapproved of my fighting skills.
As the weeks progressed, surprisingly, I improved. I was able to defend myself and attack efficiently. A couple of times, I whacked Brand’s arms. When I did, I was so happy with myself that I stopped defending. Therefore, I gave him the opportunity to knock me into the ground.
I arrived in the camp with a soft body, and through those tough weeks, my body was getting muscle definition. I hadn’t known my body was capable of muscles. My hair grew longer, shinier, and thicker. I used leather strips to tie it back. I’ve always been uncomfortable with my body and dressed modestly to hide it. So, my new wardrobe of sleeveless tops and painted on pants made me more than a little uncomfortable. They were made of thin, soft leather and tough leather boots that came to my knees. All in black, of course. I never removed the compass from my neck, and Brand gave me a leather holder that fitted around my thigh for the dagger.
I gradually became a decent fighter. At least, I was able to think and plan my strategy while swinging a sword. I sparred with other groundlings. We still used the wooden swords, but those hits left some nasty bruises.
One afternoon, I was sparring with Ashlen. Neither of us had shields, but we had hardened leather armor covering our arms, shins, back, and chests. We danced around each other on a square patch of grass jabbing and shielding, jabbing, and shielding. White light poles were positioned around the fighting circle. Other groundlings crowded around us, yells, and the sound of the wood against wood striking resounded throughout the camp.
