Betrayal of the Light

Twelve

We arrive at the lodge, but with my arm raised and ready to knock on its door, something seizes my attention from the corner of my eye: the next house over is decorated. I am sure those fir branches and candles were not scattered about just the day before, and there: all houses seem to cheer. Ironic how they glimmer against the streets of dirt. The weather was bad last night, we have walked through muddy snow ever since we left the woods. How do they…  

“Did I miss something?” I hear a voice from behind starling me.

I turn in an instant. Damien was a good distance out the other way of my reverie. His eyes befall Hunter, barely conscious in my arms.

“We got attacked by wolves last night,” I say taking the jacket off my shoulder and walking towards him with bloody bandages on display.

“Damn, I though you knew it’s a bad idea to walk through those woods after midnight.”

“I know now,” I say with my sarcastic smile as I meet his pace. “Tell me, do you remember the man who trained us, before all this?”

“I don’t remember his name, we used to call him Captain, but I recall the village and our home there.”

“That’s the place I need to go to.”

He meets my remark with questioning gaze, that meets me right before falling to the ground and back up at his cottage.

“Let’s get you inside first. I have a map of this land and Loreley baked cookies for us.”

“Loreley?” I ask faintly recalling the name, but nothing else about her.

He halts his steps the moment I asked the question, still at a distance from his door.

“I told you about her,” he says it seems in a lower tone. “Loreley Sulkin. We met her years ago, while on a messy job in Sangria. That’s the place where they make the best red wine in the country; and the worst criminals. She was crying and bruised on a corner alley, so we went out of our way and asked for her story. Poor thing was left alone with her uncle after both her parents were killed. The man, against all honor, made her into a servant; forced to endure his abuse as she had no other place to run to. I took care of him, nearly beating him to death I mean, and we returned to Westville, taking her with us. Ever since then she’s been living with me like my own family.”

Upon his last words, he takes the final steps and opens the cottage door. The warmth floods my senses, weakens the stiffness in my legs. I place Hunter on the couch and then I catch glimpse of a figure coming down the stairs with braided hair and a shy smile. She looks just like her, I think, uncertain, remembering is a pain. Might be the same girl from the forest or…

“Dante!” she shouts, hurrying her steps and clasping my chest in a tight embrace. “Damien just told me today what happened to you. I’m terribly sorry.”

“Maybe I would’ve told you earlier if you wouldn’t have run away,” says Damien.

“Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable,” she smirks at his remark. “I’ll bring cookies and some hot drinks from the kitchen.”

We sit down on either side of Hunter, sinking in the pillows while the cracking fireplace seeps its golden warmth under our skin. Loreley comes back, bearing cups of steaming liquid that she hands over to us before sitting own on a shabby armchair to munch on a cookie. Shadows dance against naked wood, snow falls enchanted somewhere beyond the windows and even Hunter starts to lift his head and sniff after food. Seems we are finally at rest, after a tumultuous night.

Damien places his empty mug on the table and reaches below it, pulling out a scrolled map. He lays it flat before us and places a finger on a specific point, amidst a multitude of lines and cities set in ink. Westville. He traces over a path, his finger stopping near a lake. The name above reads Kindawn. With all due explanations of terrain encountered on the way and specific remarks about our old home, he rolls it up and hands it over to me.

I remember not when I fell asleep on the couch, but I wake up wrapped in blankets. Hunter is slouching in front of the dead fireplace and Loreley is roaming through the lounge. The sun is hidden behind a thick screen of dark clouds, shifting around the sky by force of severe wind. As for Damien, he seems to be getting a habit of disappearing all the time.

“Look who’s up,” says Loreley, stopping for a moment in front of me. “Good morning you two.”

“Morning,” I reply rubbing my eyes.

“You want some coffee?

“Sure, but slip some alcohol in it, if you can. My head is killing me.”

Her head gestures me into the kitchen, where I follow her. Hunter got up at the sight, only to climb unto the couch where I left it empty. Loreley picks a tarnished vessel from the stove and turns around to pour into our mugs a dark liquid, I swear she was holding the night captive in that little pot of hers.

“Slept well?” she asks, picking a bottle from a shelf.

“Better than last few nights,” I reply taking a sip of coffee after she had poured some of that into it. “You covered us up, didn’t you?”

“Well, it does get chilly after the fire runs out. I didn’t want any of you waking up because of the cold.”

I drink half of the coffee and my head is still not in the right place. Loreley takes just a sip, tasting it more than anything, then unhooks a necklace from around her neck and places the rose-shaped silver pendant on the table, next to her steamy cup.

“You don’t remember this, do you?” she asks looking down on it, fiddling with its chain.

“No, should I?”

“You gave it to me when we arrived back here, said it was for me to always remember that now someone cared for me,” she paused. “Deeply.”

I silently pick the pendant up, but there is nothing that it reminds me of, no matter how long I stare or think or search through my mind. There is only one thing I truly wish to say, rather ask, her:

“Why were you out in the ocean?”

Her eyes left the pendant and table altogether, shifting to the side. Her silence for a moment was tearing a rift there where she just tried to build a bridge. Horrible with women, is what I am.

“The ocean…?” she replies, her eyes staring back into mine. “What do you mean? I haven’t seen you in ages before last night, in the woods.”

That cannot be right. I could have sworn then that the two were one and the same. Then again…I might be wrong.

“Nothing,” I say wiping the question. “You know how complicated my mind gets.”

Following my words, she leans in so close, enough that I can feel her breath, her intimidating eyes. I lean closer, as if drawn by an invisible force. So close in fact, that our lips almost meet, but then she is frozen. A sense of doom creeps over me and I break off the spell and distance myself once again.

Without saying a word, I storm outside. Hunter should rest. My wound still hurts, as if the fangs are still piercing it, but I am not as weak as he is.

I must shake this feeling off and I know no better way than to search for Damien and ask him of the passages in the cave. Though, I search both woods and village; all in vain. Where, on the boarders of hell, did he vanquish again?

I throw my weary bones down on a bench and look to my left to see Renegade. He starts talking, his tone sober, before I get a chance to say a word:

            “Most interesting of rumors are to be heard out here on the streets.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Bad people habit in alleys around the inn; and bad people love talking.”

            “Bad people, you say…” just what I was looking for.

It was as if he read my thoughts. The sky has shrouded itself in darkness. I feel this to be a great night for hunting. Bidding him farewell, I cross the path of every dark and narrow alley. Behind the inn I find no lingering soul, but venturing further into the outskirts, a hissing sound gets my attention. Along with it comes an unidentifiable stench that twist my nose and lips. I turn towards where it came from, the steps I take sinking in a thin layer of mud.

“Over here,” sounds that hissing voice again.

From under my hood, I scout the darkness for its source. Not so far away, a figure is shivering. I cannot help but grin at the idea of the two of us being alone, but I wipe that off my face the closer I move in on him.

            “What are you offering?” I ask looking up with a lost expression, letting false insecurity slip and show through.

            “Anything,” he smiles suspiciously, fidgeting the tip of a blade between his fingers. “I can get you anything, will do anything if the price is fair.”

            Morals. Has no one got any nowadays? He is a disgrace to bounty hunters around the country.

            “Ever put that knife of yours to good use against someone?” I stare him dead in the eyes.

            “How else would I thrive?”

            This went smoother than anticipated. His eyes lustrous from greed are fixing my every move. No matter, I approach him. The blade reflects a fading light, raised at my gut. With my left I grab his wrist, twisting the dagger away and with my right I grab his neck. Shoving him against the wall, his attempts to fight are struggle. He grasps for air, my fingers tightening around his throat. Still staring at me, for a moment I could swear his eyes beheld the void of his soul.

Just when I sense his body give in, I let go of him stumbling to his knees. Coughing, as the dagger falls impaled into the mud.  I look down on him and kick the weapon far out of his reach.

            “What the…?” his voice raspy and out of breath.

He never finished the question, before I kneel, grab his forehead and bash his skull against the wall. Silence. The struggling subsided in a fall.

That same moment, a burning sensation grips a patch of my arm, as if heated iron were pressed against my skin. The faint smell of incinerated flesh lingers after the pain is gone. Or maybe it seared into my mind alone.

I am down on my knees in dirty water with sweat dripping off strands of hair. This pain is unbearable to what the flashing memories brought back. Sure enough, some of the inked lines are bleeding down to my wrist. Once out into the open, I sigh in relief at the night sky. My face hidden beneath a deep shadow from the hood, I walk past a guard.

            “You should check the alleys,” I casually whisper to him keeping a rapid pace.

            Dirty and constantly devoured by thoughts I step among the veils of darkness. Their frozen, silky touch falls over my body. The lands I reach are immersed in sand and drowned in water. They glimmer under the crescent moon, under the stars as fireflies pinned up on the sky.

I hasten towards the ocean, opening my coat and discarding my boots along the way. Sand caves under my soles, the wind rushes. I dive under the ocean, emerging further from the shore. The moon hangs desired as lust. Beads of salty water glisten on my skin, too scared and frozen to run down my chest. I collapsed into sleep over the beach, awaken only by a bloody sunrise. Strange, I remember someone saying that blood had to have been spilled at night for the light of dawn to be glowing red.

Beneath the morning fog I find Damien sitting on a bench. I throw him an irritated look, every time I need him, he is nowhere to be found.

            “I’ve been madly searching for you,” I say relentless “where the hell have you been?”

            “Drinking and looking for a bounty at The Apothecaries,” he replies. “Did something happen?”

I hand him the diary, open at the pages where I copied the written passages from the wall. He takes and examines them for a moment, then promptly encloses them back between their covers.

“Oh, dear god,” he says looking up into the sky.

            “Is there something wrong?” I ask seeing the concerned look on his face.

            “No…I mean, it depends under what circumstances you found those,” he adjusts his collar, eyes lost beyond the fog. “I am no expert on the matter, but if I recall correctly, those are fragments from the Book of Revelations, Chapter Six.”

He tilts his head down, resting the weight of his elbows upon steady knees. Streaks of his hair gently follow the course of gravity, hiding his face.

“The Book of Revelations is the book that foresees the Apocalypse, brought on by the four horsemen. It also reveals the signs of it approaching and I believe they are upon us. You can see for yourself how this land is consumed by disease and hunger after the war has swept over it.”

            “The…Apocalypse,” I whisper taking out my knife and absently stroking a finger against its blade.

The four horsemen. War, Pestilence, Famine and…Death. I remember now, but how could I ever forget this in the first place? This is the reason I travelled back here. The reason why I killed that man in the alley, though it seemed driven by a primordial instinct back then. It might not have been a conscious thought, but it is a righteous one.

Rain falls in drops, as fine grains of sand, down from the black clouds into the white fog. They are invisible but my face can still perceive them. I shake my head and put my hood on. The pouring starts more and more ferocious as the minutes pass. It hits the surfaces around me in a violent, disordered noise. The drops become heavier, dripping down from my hair on my face. I will do anything in my power to prevent this Apocalypse, but before looking ahead, I must take a final glance behind.