Light of Elliana: Book One—Of Tears & Darkness

Chapter Nineteen: Nightmares

Morgan stumbled unsteadily to a narrow window of her bedroom and managed to grab hold of an amber curtain and the wooden window trim to steady herself. The coolness of the oak-paneled wall helped clear her head as she leaned against it. After pausing for a few minutes to clear her mind, the marks-woman stepped in front of the window and peered out its slender windowpane. It was a bright sunny day. Not a cloud was in the sky, and it looked to be a little past noon.

The marks-woman wearily tottered to her room’s oak door and tried to open it once more. It was locked and stubbornly refused to budge. She silently cursed the craftsmen who had built the castle and walked over to collapse on her bed. Her head hurt, and a mixture of confusing memories and nightmares filled her mind. Morgan shivered uncontrollably, terrified of what was happening to her.

Her father’s friend had taken to visiting her each night, giving her more of the sweet nectar. His smiling face would loom above her own. An omen, foretelling, another long night filled with nightmares was about to commence. Morgan was afraid to fall asleep. The darkness came alive with the whispers of the little ones. From out of the shadows, she could barely detect their little footfalls as they approached. Their forms were indistinct, darker than night itself. They’d told her they were her friends. Princess Morgan sensed they represented an all-consuming evil, and she was their intended helpless prey.

Morgan felt her eyelids growing heavy. She was losing the battle to stay awake again. Valiantly she desperately struggled to keep her eyes open, though her will-power was flagging. The princess was beginning to question what was real and what were imaginings from the darkest corners of her beleaguered mind.

“Morgan, where are you? Come, come, enough of this foolishness. Why won’t you answer me?” It was her father desperately calling for her.

The marks-woman struggled to break free, from whatever was holding her in place and keeping her silent. She wanted to run to her father, to escape but her body lay limp and unresponsive. She had mentally exhausted herself and was now drifting in and out of consciousness. From a small c***k in the shadowed heights above Morgan, a narrow shaft of sunlight gleamed. Its faint light was her link to sanity, for it was proof she was still alive. Fine motes of dust swirled within the thin beam of light, dancing within its golden rays.

“It’s almost time Princess Morgan to finish the game,” a voice whispered in Morgan’s mind.

“Get out of here, leave me be!” The princess mentally railed.

“Play the game.” Echoed another voice faintly in her mind. “Yeeesss, we are here to help you. Help us free you.” Many small whispers clamored as a great host, speaking as one.

In the darkest shadows, something pale caught Morgan’s attention. It was long and thread-like and ran through the small beam of sunlight toward a supporting timber of the castle ceiling. The stranger’s sweet, drugged syrup was beginning to wear off. The princess noted she appeared to be laying against something at an angle.

“Little brown eyes, young and bright, how much longer before they lose their light?” A pleasant feminine voice asked.

Morgan blinked her eyes to clear her vision. “Yes—this was much better,” she thought.

Deliberately the marks-woman scanned the area around her, bit by bit. Other than the faint shaft of sunlight, there were only shadows and gloom. After a minute or two, Princess Morgan realized she wasn’t leaning against anything. She was hanging from something.

“She’s awake. Princess Morgan is awake,” chanted many small whispering voices, excitedly.

“Yes—she most certainly is. It won’t be long, and this bird will be able to fly the coop,” The pleasant female voice said with a chuckle.

With a jerk, Morgan found she could now move her head a degree. Her feet and lower legs felt all tingly as if her circulation was returning. At this rate, it would not be long before she would be able to break free and escape. Something was covering her mouth; the princess blew upon it, but it would not move. As her awareness continued to return, the marks-woman found herself hanging from webbing.

“What is this? No, no!” Morgan mentally screamed.

Morgan attempted to move her arms and legs, to break free of her clinging prison. Her arms and legs wouldn’t move, but her head bobbed back and forth. The princess was sure in a few more minutes her legs would be fully functional. As the marks-woman struggled, her head dipped downward, and she saw her legs and feet. At first, her mind failed to recognize what she was seeing. She paused to study it further.

Within the dim light of the narrow shaft of sunlight, the princess saw bare-bones, dried cartilage, and bits of desiccated flesh. She recoiled in unmitigated horror. Morgan realized the sensation of feeling in her legs, was what old soldiers who had suffered amputations, described as ghost pains. Even though no limb was there, your mind refused to believe and acted as if nothing was wrong.

“No—Elliana, save me from this horror! Pleeaassee!” Princess Morgan’s mind pleaded.

As Morgan’s head bobbed downward, she looked at her legs above her knees. There she saw a multitude of small spiders hungrily feeding on her liquifying flesh. The princess thrashed her head about and saw both of her arms from the elbows to her fingertips, were only bare bones and dried cartilage.

“No, oh my God. No, aaiiee, no! Elliana, please end my agony!” Morgan’s mind silently screamed over and over.

A large shape approached through the waning sunlight from the c***k above. The rays of light revealed the form of a giant Regal Slayer, in all its deadly glory. The gold and red spider approached her silently and paused, with its black dripping fangs extended.

“Princess Morgan, are you ready?”

“Ready for what?” Morgan’s torn mind asked in a panic. The princess was unable to comprehend what was occurring. There were too many conflicting emotions as she attempted to deal with her pending death.

“It is time to end our game to free you from your fleshy prison. Your body provides food for my many hungry young. I will grant you the freedom to return to whence you came so you may restart your life’s journey.”

“Yes—please!”

The dawn slayer moved closer to Morgan, and she felt a burning sting on her neck. Moments later, all her suffering and pain were swept away by a tide of darkness. As the last lingering traces of daylight faded away, a deep sinister laugh broke the silence. “Oh—Princess Morgan, we are going to have such fun!”

The princess awakened with a jolt. She sat on the edge of the bed and grasped at her throat while breathing in long ragged gasps. The room air felt cold on Morgan’s sweat covered body. She cried uncontrollably for some time and finally lay still emotionally spent. A light tapping on the door served to waken and remind the marks-woman of where she was. She stretched and sat on the side of her bed, attempting to awaken fully. The gentle, insistent knocking on the door repeated, demanding a response.

“Come in,” Morgan said, struggling to maintain a calm voice.

One of the chambermaids, by the name of Fenelda, entered the room carrying a wooden platter laden with a warm meal. After placing the tray on a small wood stand beside Morgan’s bed, the maid poured her a large cup of juice. “Princess Morgan, you need to eat and drink. Do not worry; I have made sure this food is safe,” Fenelda said quietly. The Chamber Maid nodded to the two guards standing at the door. One of the guards stepped into the room.

“Princess Morgan, you are among friends here,” Fenelda said. She looked at Morgan with a pleasant smile and a kind expression on her face.

“Why—am I being held here, against my will?” Morgan asked fearfully. She no longer knew who she could trust.

“Princess Morgan, please listen to me closely. My name is Lieutenant Fieger. I have served your family faithfully for years,” Lieutenant Fieger said.

Morgan nodded, acknowledging his comment. She now ate like a famished wolf. With a mouthful of warm bread, the markswoman hacked a piece of meat from the game bird before her. Without pausing, the princess stuffed the juicy bit of meat into her mouth and swallowed.

“These days, King Aramus is not himself. The stranger seems to be in control of your father and now Etria. It is my fear; both of your lives are in great danger,” Lieutenant Fieger whispered. “For now, we must be careful until the time is right. Please be patient, if the stranger learns of our intentions, all of us will surely be put to death,” Lieutenant Fieger carefully explained.

“Lieutenant Fieger, I’m not sure how much longer I can last. The stranger has plans for me; I can sense it.” Morgan lowered her head, not willing to show she was on the verge of losing control.

“I understand this is difficult, Princess Morgan. Please understand you have friends who have not forgotten you. I will inform you when I have more information,” Lieutenant Fieger said in a lowered voice.

“What about my father?” Morgan asked with a quavering voice. She knew the stranger had some control over her father and fretted about it continually.

“Until the stranger is gone, there is little chance of helping King Aramus. Right now, the king seems to act on every beck and call of this man. It is time for us to leave before anyone sees or overhears us,” Lieutenant Fieger quietly stated.

“Lieutenant Fieger, it is nice to find some things that haven’t changed, and there are still those who remain loyal to the crown.” Morgan looked at him with a faint smile.

“Princess Morgan, many are loyal to king and country, yet we must tread carefully for now. If possible, we will rescue your father as well,” Lieutenant Fiegar said respectfully.

Fenelda quickly flitted about the room, gathering the princess’s soiled clothing and her last uneaten meal. She dutifully followed the two guards out the door. Before Morgan knew it, she was once more alone in her bedroom behind a locked door.

“I understand this is difficult, Princess Morgan.” Lieutenant Fieger’s words echoed in her mind. “Not one of you has any idea what I’m facing!” Morgan raged. She hurled an empty jeweled silver cup at the oak door of her room, and it clattered on the floor for a few moments before the room grew silent once more.