Shattered Exile

TWO Darkness

TWO

Darkness

‘Callum! Get your s**t together now and listen to me damn it!’ said Trix sternly over the analogue communications device attached to his ear.

‘Shut the hell up!’ he replied tersely.

‘Look, I know you’re pissed...’

‘Pissed?! There’s a man dying on the floor in front of me Trix – a man I killed, because of you!’

‘You can accuse me of all that later. Right now, we need to act fast, before the Peacekeepers are apprised of the situation. Look, if you won’t do it for me, do it for yourself!’

He chose not to respond to Trix’s hollow words. Instead, he continued to watch the expanding pool of dark red liquid beneath the fallen gentleman’s head. The fatal wound – incurred when Mr L. Cameron’s head struck the hard bedroom floor – was a result of his actions. He had been the one to push the elderly gentleman to the floor during their struggle. Yet if it were not for Trix’s wretched siren forcing his hand, the situation could have been avoided entirely. Instead, he had inadvertently murdered the senior citizen. The thought of the atrocity – by his own hands no less – made him sick. He retched abruptly over the deceased gentleman’s feet and began to breathe rapidly. Panic clawed at him; he was on the edge of losing control.

‘Callum, you must cut out his bio-key! We need to reconfigure it immediately to transmit a healthy signal.’

‘You speak as though I don’t have a choice. I’m not carrying out your macabre proposal Trix.’

‘If you don’t do this now, his life, and all our work, will be for nothing. Please Callum, cut it out!’

Trix continued to bleat in his ear, like unwanted background noise. He felt lightheaded and the room began to move – or so it seemed. Sensing he was on the cusp of fainting, he stumbled towards the room’s window and slid it open, hoping the fresh air would clear his head. After a few minutes the world ceased spinning and he quickly regained his balance. He turned his attention back to the prone body of Mr L. Cameron. The blood seeping from the man’s head injury had slowed considerably now. Spotlights studding the ceiling reflected brightly in the motionless pool of dark red liquid, which surrounded the gentleman’s head like some kind of demonic halo. Though he knew very little of medical science, by now Mr L. Cameron was surely dead. He lingered aimlessly, absently regarding the deceased, whilst Trix continued to twitter uncaringly in his ear; the detached software engineer clearly held little regard for the lives of those inhabiting the metropolis – including his own, perhaps. Yet regardless of the heinous crime orchestrated by Trix – realised by his own naïve hands – there remained the inescapable truth: that he would soon be detected. Unless he sought to disappear, along with the rest of his kin, he would need to act fast.

Casting aside his morals – albeit temporarily – he moved towards Mr L. Cameron’s right arm and dropped to his knees. Grabbing his knife from the side of his belt, he pressed the blade’s point deep into his victim’s skin and drew the knife down the length of the deceased’s forearm. Blood immediately saturated the man’s arm, running towards its limp hand before dripping onto the floor. Dropping the knife, he dug his fingers into the fresh wound, and began feeling around under the surface of the gentleman’s skin. It did not take him long before he felt the familiar rough surface of the owner’s bio-key. Pinching the small piece of tech between his thumb and forefinger, he teased the bio-key free from its host.

‘OK, I have the f*****g thing – are you happy?! Trix, are you listening?’

‘Yes, yes... I thought for a minute there that you were going to bail on the plan.’

‘Your plan – this is on you!’

‘Fine, whatever...is there an access panel in the room?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Use the bio-key to gain access and I will guide you through the rest.’

Holding the bio-key stolen from his victim – still slick with gore – in front of the holographic display at the foot of the elderly deceased’s bed caused the access panel to spring to life. Immediately he was on the Infonet – it had been sometime since he had last accessed the vast network of data.

‘OK, I’m in – where am I going?’

‘First, I need you to access level twelve.’

‘You’re kidding right? I’ve only ever accessed level three.’ he replied, taken aback by Trix’s request.

‘Callum, there are twenty-eight levels on the Infonet – that I know of. You have not been previously aware of their existence, simply because you have never been given access to them.’

Immediately he navigated his way to the Infonet’s main lobby. From there he could clearly see barrier twelve, along with many more. It was the first time he had acknowledged more than three data access levels on the Infonet – his virtual world just got significantly larger.

‘Trix, there are thirty-four barriers here!’

‘Son of a b***h! I knew his clearance was high, but still... Regardless, access level twelve.’

‘Why not level thirty-four?’

‘We don’t have time for your questions – access level twelve, now!’ replied Trix, tersely.

He sneered at the hacker’s words; Trix’s personality – or lack thereof – grated on him. All he wanted now was to complete the objective, so that each of them could go their own separate way. Despite being a fellow Shadow class member, his opinion of Trix had soured dramatically in light of Mr L. Cameron’s death – he had little appetite left to stomach the socially awkward hacker. As he passed unchallenged through the barrier to level twelve, the holographic access panel grew and expanded around him, like an ethereal bubble, giving him a better view of his virtual surroundings.

‘Are you there yet?’

‘Yes!’ he replied, irritably.

‘Good. Access sector seventy-two.’

He rapidly navigated his way across level twelve, paying little attention to the torrent of data streams flowing around him. Sector seventy-two was easy enough to locate, however, a fresh barrier blocked its access.

‘There’s a barrier here – it looks complex.’

‘Of course it is – I built it.’

‘How do I gain access?’

‘Repeat after me. Zero, seven, echo, nine, delta...’

‘Right, zero, seven...’

After what seemed like an eternity of repeating numbers and characters, the barrier opened, allowing him access to sector seventy-two. He reiterated thirty-two characters in total before breaching the barrier – he counted diligently on his fingers and thumbs whilst repeating Trix’s sequence. Though he was able to memorise information reasonably well, the access code was simply too long for him to remember, and Trix knew it.

‘What is this place?’

‘Think of it as one of your subterranean bolt-holes in the Wild, but instead buried within the Infonet.’

Though he comprehended little of what he was seeing, nevertheless he understood enough to confirm that Trix’s virtual space was akin to his real space – untidy. Complex data streams and objects were haphazardly strewn across the sector, with no apparent effort spent ordering or sorting them; this was not a bolt-hole, he mused – this was a playground.

‘More like a sandbox.’ he said, sardonically.

‘Check the stream-meta. Look for one with a timestamp approximately a month ago – it will be titled “Project Phoenix”.’ commanded Trix, who ignored his retort.

‘What is “Project Phoenix”?’

‘Enough of the questions Callum. Do you want to bring Mr L. Cameron back from the dead, or not?’

The pain in her torso was nearly too much to bear. With each bounding stride of the Meldbeast’s powerful legs, her body screamed defiantly, reminding her that it could no longer cope with such stresses and strains. She could feel herself slipping and sliding around on the beast’s thick chitin carapace, which covered the entire length of the top half of its body and part of its tail. Without the aid of the flesh straps, securing her legs to its flanks, Krashnar’s abomination would have long since discarded her from its armoured back.

‘Argh...’ she cried again in pain, as the Meldbeast landed heavily on yet another adverse camber.

The awkward angle caused her body to twist, pulling at the flesh-metal of her torso, causing fresh tears to spill from her eyes. The pain was agonising, yet they needed to press on regardless, given that time was against them. Their journey across the hard, dusty relief of the Narlakai borderlands had been punishing; she had felt each leap and every painful landing made by her frenetic mount, as it expertly navigated the cracked landscape with unerring agility. Nonetheless, her ghastly mode of transport had carried her across the borderlands at breakneck speed, as though Krashnar had specifically designed the monstrosity for such a task. Despite their rapid pace, she had routinely reigned in the beast with her mind, forcing it to rest – the Meldbeast seemingly cared little about its own wellbeing – lest it burn itself out before they could complete their task. Since the beast had been caged in a filthy pen since its grisly inception, Krashnar’s abhorrent creation was now enjoying its first taste of freedom. In spite of her strong telepathic link with the chaotic creature, its desire to roam and explore was insatiable, making it difficult to keep the unnatural creation under her control. Though she managed to dictate the beast’s heading, she could do little to ease its rapid pace.

For two cycles they had combed the borderlands in search of the withdrawing Narlakai herd, which had ultimately taken a back seat during her and Darlia’s short-lived invasion of Freylar. Occasionally they would pass small isolated groups of soul stealers, aimlessly drifting across the near-barren landscape, yet they had failed – thus far at least – to locate the mass of Narlakai she had previously gathered to her side. They had limited their hunt to the night, given the nocturnal disposition of the Narlakai and their natural aversion to light. Searching at night was far from ideal, though fortunately she had – in addition to her own above-average night vision – three more sets of nocturnal eyes at her disposal, courtesy of her many-headed mount. Each of the three dire wolf heads attached to the Meldbeast’s body keenly scanned the rugged landscape, whilst the hybrid construct continued its relentless advance across the harsh terrain. Each dawn, she fought with the beast’s mind, coercing the Meldbeast to go to ground, ultimately forcing it to sleep. However, since she was unable to remove the creature’s flesh straps without forcibly tearing them, she had little choice but to both eat and sleep in her saddle. Had she successfully managed to pull herself free from the skin wrapped across her legs, she would have never again been able to mount the beast – unassisted at least – let alone remain on top of it.

The Meldbeast continued to bound across the unforgiving landscape at speed, causing her short raven-black hair to flap in the cold night breeze. Although she no longer felt the cold as keenly as she once had, nonetheless she could still feel the encroaching winter biting at the exposed flesh of her arms and legs. In hindsight, she should have prepared better for her journey, though her sudden introduction to Krashnar’s monstrous pet had distracted her from such trivial concerns. She looked up towards the black sky to gain her bearings; the sky was devoid of any cloud cover, allowing the Night’s Lights to shine brightly, guiding her way. Given their current lack of success, it was possible that the herd had fallen back much faster, and in a more orderly fashion, than she had expected. Following her revised train of thought, she chose to alter the Meldbeast’s course by directing it deeper into the borderlands rather then combing the breadth of the frontier. After a while, the terrain started to change; the ground fractured even further, and what little cover there was became increasingly sparse. The once-familiar sight of the arid borderlands was morphing into something more sinister and unwelcoming. As the Meldbeast drove deeper into the inhospitable land, she no longer recognized the strange new environment rapidly consuming them. The air began to feel dry, and huge chasms started to split the landscape, restricting their movements. It was then that the obvious suddenly dawned on her: they were no longer in the Narlakai borderlands – they were in Narlak.

The moment she set foot into the arena, she felt its occupants tracking her hurried steps with understandable intrigue. It was rare that she visited the arena, typically only doing so when in urgent need of Nathaniel’s counsel – and yet The Teacher was notably absent. Unsurprisingly, Lothnar was also nowhere to be seen – a quick scan of the arena confirmed his lack of presence. However, at the far end of the arena, the Captain of The Blades sparred vigorously against several Blade Masters, each of whom struggled to turn the light bringer’s monstrous axe. Ragnar rarely used a shield – although skilled in its use – preferring instead the powerful swing of a double-handed axe. He used the weight and reach of his weapon to devastating effect, drubbing the shields of his opponents and controlling the crowd with wide arcs. She noticed that one of the Captain’s opponents had lost the use of their shield, courtesy of Ragnar who had buried the bite of a backup hand axe into it; the armour was now too heavy and cumbersome for its former wielder to bear. Ragnar’s fighting style was nothing short of aggressive. The Captain of The Blades loathed hanging back, and instead loved to engage his opponents using raw strength to overpower them. Despite their technical skill, Ragnar’s sparring partners struggled to deal with his brutish assault.

‘Kirika!’ boomed the Captain, who had clearly seen her enter the arena despite the melee around him. ‘Come fight with us!’

Typically, she ignored such passive-aggressive comments, especially when spoken by the Captain of The Blades, but it was high time that she challenged such childish jibes in front of her peers. Irritated by his words, she reminded herself of her secret pact – to be more assertive – and decided then to tackle his goading remark head on. Realising that her own voice would not carry the distance, she strode towards Ragnar, trying her best to feign confidence.

‘Do you require assistance Ragnar?’ she said, after closing the gap between them.

Ragnar offered her a quick sneer as he continued to battle his opponents.

‘Some of us no longer recall your fighting style – perhaps you can refresh our failing memories?’ mocked Ragnar, before swinging his double-handed axe in a wide arc, forcing his attackers back once more.

‘They say that memory abandons us all, with age. Shall I scry your past and recall the missing details for you?’

Her mocking retort clearly irked the Captain. She realised then that it was sometimes necessary to lower one’s tone in order to effectively manage those who sought to belittle others.

‘What do you want, Kirika?’

‘Simply to confirm if you will be attending the opening duel of the Trials, two cycles from now.’

‘Of course I will!’ replied Ragnar, who thrust the top of his axe into an encroaching shield, driving back its wielder once more and creating the separation he needed to swing his enormous weapon once again.

‘And Lothnar? Might you know if he too will be present?’

‘How should I know?’ replied Ragnar, tersely. ‘Can you not see that I am busy? Go ask him yourself!’

‘If I knew his location, I would.’

‘Search east of the bridge. You will likely find him throwing those knives of his into a fresh tree, close to the riverbank.’

It was unusual for Ragnar to be so cooperative; either her feigned confidence afforded her a modicum of respect, or – as was more likely the case – the gruff light bringer simply wanted her gone. Either way she had the information she required, and promptly left the arena, leaving the Captain behind to continue beating down his fellow Blades.

Despite the eventual arrival of winter, the air temperature was kinder back down in the vale; she had forgotten how exposed the Tri-Spires actually were, due to their elevated vantage point along the southern ridge. The heart of Freylar was well protected against the elements, blessed as it was by the natural shelter afforded by the mountains flanking the vale.

She soon arrived at the aging timber bridge spanning the breadth of the river, after her quick descent from the arena. The river ran the length of the vale, providing fresh water to both the local forest dwellers and those who lived in the Tri-Spires. The venerable bridge had become a nexus between the forest dwellers and those Freylarkai choosing to make their home within Mirielle’s artificially constructed granite spires. Despite favouring her comfortable lifestyle high up in the Tri-Spires, she envied the honest land, along with its way of life, and the genuine warmth of the community amidst the charming forest dwellings; life within the Tri-Spires had a more formal – or stale, according to Nathaniel – feel to it. The bridge acted as a natural hub for lively gossip and commerce. The landmark served as a place of communion between those living either side of the river, and thus the atmosphere was typically inviting. Yet something sinister had clearly befallen the site, casting a grim shadow across the gathered Freylarkai.

‘Kirika!’ cried the voice of a young female, who spotted her approach. ‘You need to see this – it is truly awful!’

Following the direction of the noise – making her way politely past the crowd of worried faces – she approached the front of the anxious congregation gathered on the south side of the bridge. She gasped as she saw the released body of a male Freylarkin, recently pulled from the river. The unnaturally pale corpse lay naked on the southern riverbank, adjacent to the bridge, and had been stripped of its clothing. Disturbingly, the Freylarkin’s legs were mutilated, well beyond any practical use – both were fused together, which would have made it impossible for the victim to walk, let alone swim. The male Freylarkin was young – she estimated him to be about her age – and had good-looking features, albeit now spoiled by the early stages of decomposition. She felt instantly saddened seeing the youth in such a miserable state – so much potential, laid low by the heinous actions of another.

‘My word...when did this happen?’ she asked, addressing no one in particular.

‘We do not know. The body was found only a short while ago, wrapped around one of the bridge piers. A few of us helped to pull him from the river, but he is well beyond the capability of a renewalist.’ replied one of the male forest dwellers.

‘This is horrible!’ she replied, appalled by the manner of the victim’s release. ‘His face looks familiar to me, though I cannot place it – do we know who he is?’

‘It is Riknar.’

‘What...you mean Keshar’s elder brother?’

‘Yes – he was well known throughout the local community.’ continued the Freylarkin. ‘We were about to send word to Keshar.’

‘That will not be possible; she is currently beyond the vale, carrying out an errand for me, no less. However, I will have word sent to her as soon as possible.’

‘Kirika,’ asked the voice of another, ‘Can you help us determine who was responsible for this crime? We need to protect ourselves from this monster, plus Keshar deserves to know who released her brother.’

‘Of course.’ she replied.

She knelt down beside Riknar’s body and touched his right hand with her own. Although she no longer needed to touch the subject of her scrying, nonetheless, physical contact with her target facilitated the process, allowing her to see more clearly. Engaging her second sight, she allowed the grisly images of the events leading up to Riknar’s release to flood her mind. She saw the released Fraylarkin’s attacker first-hand, along with the heinous shaping wrought upon Riknar’s legs, before he was unceremoniously dumped into the river, left to the mercy of its gentle current.

‘Krashnar, what are you up to?’ she whispered quietly to herself.

The same dread she had felt earlier that cycle, when scrying Rayna’s past, now clawed at her again. Not content with just the one victim, now there were two – how many more Freylarkai would fall foul of his evil before the cycle’s end, she wondered apprehensively. In any event, she could not allow her judgement to become impaired by fear; she needed to act clearly and decisively, now more than ever. Despite the expectant faces around her, she paused for a moment to consider her options; she could ill afford to incite panic amongst the Freylarkai by disclosing Krashnar’s presence within the vale, yet at the same time they needed to take precautionary measures, in order to protect themselves against the hidden threat at large.

‘Kirika, tell us, what do you see? Who would commit such an awful crime?’

Digging deep, she found the necessary resolve needed to command her audience; she rose to her feet and stood tall in the middle of the anxious sea of faces rapidly amassing around her.

‘Gather your loved ones now and stay in your dwellings until further notice.’ she said, with new-found authority. ‘As of now, a curfew is in effect, throughout the vale, until we can resolve this matter. Go now, inform the others, and then stay in your homes.’

‘You heard the Fate Weaver!’ cried a voice from the growing crowd. ‘Alert the others, and then get to your homes.’

The crowd immediately began to disperse as those around her moved quickly in response to her command. It was an odd feeling, seeing so many Freylarkai carry out her orders. She felt reassured knowing that the curfew would restrict Krashnar’s movements – the insidious shaper would find it difficult moving around the vale unseen, with her kin having gone to ground.