Dark Soul Silenced - Part One (6 page)

“
Thank you.  That will certainly help.”

“
So that leaves the question of your destination.  I am afraid that my memory is completely blank on the names of towns and cities, or for that matter where they lay.  Where is it you are travelling to?”

She looked away for a moment, clearly embarrassed, then busied herself stirring the pot with a wooden spoon.  Without looking up she spoke.

“We don't know.  When we left Hammersgate we had to go somewhere, anywhere.  To the south and east the land is heavily farmed, our passing would have been remembered.  Any pursuit would have tracked us easily.  To the west are mountains, treacherous even in summer, deadly the rest of the year.  That left one direction, north. 

Hammersgate is several days walk from the coast and the terrain is rocky, not suitable for farming at all.  That terrain is the reason for Hammersgate's existence, it sits on a rocky ridge with a good view of the land all around.  While that position means any advancing army could be seen easily it also means that very small groups of people can disappear into the rocky land to the north.  The man who guided us, the injured boy's uncle, was a smuggler I think.  He got us out of the city by a small tunnel that came up out of sight of any guards on the walls.  From there he guided us through the twisted, craggy landscape.  By the time he left us we were far from the city and any chance of pursuit.

The next three days were hard going, especially for Mary.  We saw many sheep but they were almost wild, certainly we saw no shepherd, no huts, not even signs of old camp fires.  We would have been hopelessly lost within hours if our saviour hadn't left us with an old, battered compass.  Even with it to guide us we spent as much time travelling east or west as we did north, the land there makes travelling in a straight line impossible.

It wasn't till evening of the fourth day that the land started to smooth out.  Soon after, we started to catch the smell of the sea, to hear the crash of the waves.  We slept that night in a small grove of trees overlooking the beach.  For the first time in days we felt some hope.  Travelling the rugged landscape had drained our energy, our hopes, our will.  Now they returned to us and we started to plan.

Though we had no maps with us we knew the lay of the land.  The coastline we had reached ran nearly east – west.  To the east it eventually curved round to the south.  That route would simply take us back into the farmland of the kingdom we had just escaped.  Heading east would be a death sentence.

That left travelling west.  Soon, possibly a day’s walk or less, the coast turned towards the north again.  From the maps we had seen the mountains continue to the north, many days travel at least, but set well back from the coast.  Between the coast and the mountains was a thick forest, the same forest we sit near now.

Eventually, some considerable distance to the north, the maps show towns.  We don't know their names.  We know little of the towns themselves.  We know they exist, merchants from the kingdom trade there at times, always travelling by boat.  And we know they are not part of the kingdom, that they owe no allegiance to it.  Sometimes there has even been talk of war with those towns, though it has never come to anything.

So we are running from certain death, yet we do not know what we run to.  We know the map showed several villages on the coast, and farther north were coastal towns, but as to how much farther they are… we don't know.”

She gesture to the pot with the spoon.  “And now we are cooking the last of our food.”

Her shoulders slumped and she sighed deeply, still not meeting his gaze.  Daniel was astonished at her story, at the fact they had driven themselves on so far in such trying circumstances.  He wanted to go to her, to put his arms around her and tell her everything was going to be all right.  He resisted the urge, knowing she would reject it, that it would make things worse.

“There at least we have good news,” he said.  “The bags from my horse are loaded with food.  Enough to keep the four of us going for at least two weeks.”

“
Stealing from the dead?” she asked, making a triangular symbol using the index finger of each hand, the thumbs joined together to make the base.  A memory stirred in Daniel's mind, he remembered this as being a symbol to ward off evil.

“
No, not stealing.  Most of the bags are mine, at least some of the food will have been too.  I only took from them those things they no longer need.  Anything that had special meaning, personal meaning, I buried with them.”

“
And you could tell which items those were?” she asked sarcastically.

Daniel's face bore a haunted expression as he recalled the series of images linked to the locket.

“Yes,” he stated in a leaden tone.

Sarah was shaken by the pain she saw in Daniel's face as he answered her question, by the tears flowing down his cheeks.  Despite her doubts, despite her fears of what he might become again, in that moment she felt a connection to him. 

She believed him when he said he could tell those items that had personal meaning from those that didn't.  She cursed herself inside for having asked the question in such a sarcastic way, yet how could she have known the painful emotions it would stir up in this strange man.

Her worries remained though.  Her world had already been shaken once, when her daughter had turned out to possess unnatural powers.  Had it been anyone else's child she would have been certain the witch hunters were in the right, would probably have helped them if she could.  All her life she'd heard the preachers warn of the dangers of unnatural powers, of how those afflicted with such power always wrought havoc on those around them.  Several times she had seen the witch hunters dragging some unfortunate through the streets.  Each time the sight had cheered her, had made her feel safe.

The moment she had been told of Mary's power was etched into her memory.  She hadn't believed it at first, was sure there was a mistake, but she knew that the witch hunters would be coming.  She realised that in her whole life she had never heard of someone being released after they'd been captured.  She was so worried for Mary that she agreed to Jon's plan, to leave the city and run. 

They had rushed to pack enough supplies and clothes then had quickly left by the back door, slipping into the alleyway behind the house and quickly moving towards the poorest area.  Their guide had led them into a small warehouse after checking no one was around to see them, then had opened a concealed passageway.

The journey through the tunnel lit only by a small lantern could only have lasted ten or fifteen minutes, yet it seemed so much longer.  When they finally emerged blinking into the daylight she breathed a huge sigh of relief.

As their journey continued she became more and more convinced that Mary had no powers, that there had been a mistake.  Jon clearly felt differently so she didn't discuss it with him.  Mary seldom mentioned it, in fact didn't talk much at all after the first day once the excitement of their journey wore off.  Sarah convinced herself that Mary would be fine once they reached their destination, that she had no powers so they could settle down safely and live a normal life.

Then their camp had been invaded and Mary nearly attacked, only the night before yet it seemed so much longer.  The horror would take a long time to fade she knew.  It couldn’t begin to fade while they travelled with Daniel, it would always be there — hanging over her like a cloud.

Bad as the night time incident was, the aftermath of the bandit attack was far worse.  Jon had lain dying in front of her and there had been nothing she could do.  Then Mary had stepped forward and placed her hands on her father.  In that moment the truth had been rammed home to Sarah, she could no longer doubt Mary's powers.  The shock of the realisation and the immense relief at seeing Jon brought back from the brink of death had pushed aside any concerns.  Then, soon after, she had fallen into what she was sure was an unnatural sleep.

Now the worries had returned.  She realised that much as she feared Daniel, feared he harboured a lingering darkness inside, she feared Mary just as much.  Every instinct in her body pushed her to protect Mary no matter what, to look after her daughter, to accept her.  Yet everything she had been taught, everything she knew, told her that Mary was dangerous and cursed, evil even.  The conflict swirled around in her head and her heart, feeling like it would rip her apart.

Preparing food was a mechanical task.  She had no appetite, was feeling sick from the conflict inside, but it helped distract her hands.  It gave her a chance to think without needing to talk to Daniel.  Maybe if she thought about things long enough she would be certain what to do.

Chapter Nine

Hans cursed his stubbornness as he stumbled along the dark path with only the flickering light of his lantern to see by.  The trees on either side seemed to crowd in close and the lantern's light made shadows dance all around him.  The forest was silent, without a breath of wind to stir the trees, which made things even worse.  He jumped each time he heard the slightest sound – something rustling in the undergrowth or an owl softly hooting.  Everyone knew better than to travel after dark, yet here he was doing exactly that.

It was his own fault.  He could be sat in the inn still, drinking beer and with a warm spot near the fire to look forward to.  Able to safely sleep the night away with the rest of the late night drinkers.  Even those who lived only a few doors away would stay over rather than risk the night.

Hans had squared up to Jonas, the blacksmith, and exchanged angry words when Jonas spilt his drink.  Several other men from the village had jumped in to separate them, and when Jonas realised what he had done he offered to replace the drink and shake hands.  Hans had been very drunk by that point and his pride wouldn't let him back down.  He'd kept trying to reach Jonas, trying to keep the fight going.  Eventually Stefan, the landlord, had intervened and told Hans to calm down or he'd be walking home right then.

Silence had fallen over the inn at the threat.  No one travelled the village at night, no one even stepped outside once dusk fell.  The silence had been broken by several people urgently telling Hans to calm down, to let it go.  They just made him angrier.

“You think I'm a coward?” he had roared.  “Scared of the dark, like you all are?  Well nothing scares me!  I've had enough of drinking with cowards.  I'm going home!”

He had lurched over to the main door, grabbed and lit a lantern, fumbled with the extensive set of bolts and finally pulled the door open, then stamped out into the night.  Almost immediately Stefan had slammed the door behind him, and he could hear the bolts being thrown again.

The chill night air quickly started to sober Hans up, as did the cold spikes of fear that increased with every step.  The inn was sealed up for the night, as was every house and shop in the small village.  Other than thin cracks of light seeping around windows and doors the only light came from the lantern, and that only reached a few yards.

By the time Hans had passed several houses his anger had evaporated, along with the warm alcoholic haze that had carried him out of the inn.  He had reached the forest path towards his house without incident, but had stopped dead several steps away from the path’s dark mouth.  At that moment he had almost turned around and ran back to the inn, to hammer on the door and beg to be let in.  Only his pride had stopped him.  He would not, could not, show that weakness to his drinking companions.  With going back ruled out there was only one direction to go – forwards.  He had steeled himself and started down the path.

Now he regretted that decision even more than the decision to leave the inn.  His cottage should only be a walk of six or seven minutes down the path, yet he already felt as if he'd been on it for an hour or more.  Every step was a huge strain.  His arms were trembling, making the shadows dance and move even more.  The skin on the back of his neck was itching and his heart leapt at every noise, even when he kicked a stone or snapped a stick underfoot.

It wasn't the first time he'd been out after sunset.  Many years before, when he'd been on the verge of manhood, he and four friends had stayed out for nearly an hour after sunset – challenging the monsters in the dark to do their worst.  Nothing had happened then.  This felt completely different.  For a start
there were no others along to bolster his confidence and lessen his fears.  It was more than that though.  They had never felt in danger that night.  Now he felt a strong sense of danger, of something being nearby.  He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but he was sure that
something
was out there – watching him, stalking him, preparing to attack him.

Suddenly his lantern lit something ahead on the path.  With a scream Hans froze in place, body trembling uncontrollably.  For many seconds his mind shut down.  He couldn't take in what stood before him, couldn't move, couldn't breath.  The spell was broken when his body took over, forcing a breath into his lungs, then another.  Still scared rigid he began to take in the sight before him.

It was a man, a tall man, dressed in a black cloak and black clothes.  The man had black hair laced with silver streaks and his face was pale white, seeming to almost float in the darkness unattached to anything else.  While less gruesome than the monsters Hans had been imagining the man radiated danger.  His stillness spoke of an expert hunter, observing its prey and preparing to strike.  The man's eyes both glowed a bright red.  Most chilling of all though was the slight smile the man wore, a smile full of malice and disdain.

Hans considered turning, running, but knew in his heart that taking his eyes off the man, or creature, he confronted would be a dreadful mistake.  He slowly slid his free hand into his pocket, closing it around the small object there and pulling his hand back out.

The man started to move towards Hans, smoothly gliding whilst hardly seeming to move.  He had covered half the distance before Hans even noticed, desperately Hans stepped back and brought up the object in his left hand, jabbing it against the man's arm.  To his amazement the man cried out in pain, smoke rising from where the small object had struck.  He moved back several steps, studying Hans.

Hans glanced down at the small metal shape in his hand.  Metallic and shaped into a small ankh the item had been passed down to Hans from his grandfather.  The old man had assured him it was a genuine ward against evil and Hans had carried it with him every day of his life since then.  He'd always had doubts though, and was both amazed and overjoyed to find it worked.

Confidence rapidly returning he advanced on the man before him, moving the charm in figures of eight.

“
Ha!  Don't like that do ya?  Thought you'd mess with Hans did ya?  Well look at us know.  I've got the power, and I'm gonna use it to kick yer arse back to hell!”

He took another step which took him almost close enough to touch the other's face with the charm.  In the blink of an eye the man was no longer in front of Hans, he was beside him holding the arm Hans was using to wave the charm around.  With a twist of his body the man snapped the bones in Hans arm, causing him to drop the charm to the floor screaming in agony.  The scream didn't last long, with an inhuman screech of rage the man started to literally tear Hans apart, using immense strength to rip and pulp.  Hans lost consciousness almost immediately, the shock of his injuries overwhelming his mind.  From that point on the man was simply tearing apart a dead hunk of meat, but it didn't seem to slow him down.  Indeed, he seemed to become more and more frenzied as the attack continued.

Rafael blinked as the red rage finally relented.  He stared down at the ruined chunks of what had been a body scattered around him, cursing the waste.  He couldn't feed on what remained, feeding was as much about draining life force as draining the victim’s blood.

His clothes were soaked in blood and gore, as were his boots.  With a thought and a gesture he exerted a small part of his power, causing his clothing to expel all traces of the butchered man.  Then he poked through the remains till he found the charm which had burnt him, still clutched in the dead man's hand.  Rafael took  out a leather pouch and his knife, then carefully used the knife to free the cursed item and slide it into the pouch.  Once the pouch was tied securely he relaxed.  Examining the burn on his arm he could see that it would take weeks to heal, rather than minutes as most wounds did.  This was no ordinary wound though. 

Rafael had encountered similar objects a handful of times through his long life and had been injured by several of them.  All were now safely locked away, as this one would soon be too.  Rafael had never learnt what was special about them – they all differed in shape, style and the material they were made from.  They were imbued with some form of power that was dangerous to him and his kind, the Chosen.

Having taken care of the ankh Rafael stared down the path towards the village, sensing the people clustered in their homes and the inn.  For a moment the warm promise of feeding they represented tempted him, then he gained control of himself again.  Growling angrily in the back of his throat he turned and started down the path, walking away from the village.  The dead man's lantern had smashed, its light had gone out, but Rafael had no need of its light – he could see the path ahead clearly.

Anger was his constant companion, anger and the dark burning hunger, but tonight his anger blazed higher than normal.  The aborted chance to feed increased his anger but wasn’t the main cause.  He was furious over losing his latest convert.  When he found the man trussed up and hanging from a tree, clearly the victim of an intense beating, Rafael had been unable to resist.  The man had an aura of strength despite what he had been subjected to, and the beating would prove a source of anger, a drive for revenge, which would help with the transformation.

Entering the clearing Rafael had exerted his influence, driving away the wolves and driving all resistance from the man.  Rafael quickly freed his victim, lowered him to the floor then started the ritual.  Turning someone, making them a convert, was an intricate process.  Each stage had to be carefully managed, each step timed correctly.  It began with Rafael feeding from the man, tasting both his blood and his life force, but only briefly.  He had to resist the desire to drain the victim dry.  Within his body Rafael’s blood mixed with that of his victim.  In the next stage Rafael sliced his own wrist and allowed his precious blood to flow into the victims mouth.  As the victim gulped down the blood, gagging and spluttering, the conversion began.

Over the next few hours gestures and rituals had to be performed at the right times, and twice more the victim was fed Rafael's own blood.  Finally, when he was sure the process was well underway, Rafael left – seeking shelter long before sunrise and the danger it brought.  The victim was left on the clearing floor, body already undergoing changes.

Rafael was weakened by the process and had rested for several nights — all the time sensing the transformation raging through his victim.  Powerful as the victim would end up being he would also be no more than a slave, unable to resist Rafael's will.  Each convert strengthened Rafael further, increased not only the allies he could call upon but also the power he could wield directly.

His most recent victim had made a fast recovery, proving to be every bit as powerful as Rafael had foreseen.  Rafael was pleased as he sensed the dark hunger exerting more and more power over the victim, driving him to seek shelter during the day, then to start hunting the creatures of the forest.  The slight setbacks when the victim refused to make the final kills didn't worry Rafael.  He had seen it before and knew that soon the burning hunger would demolish all resistance.

Then came the night when the victims mind sharpened into a finely honed blade, nothing left but the driving hunger.  The victim had sensed people.  He was heading for them to make his first kill.  Rafael followed the emotions of the hunt with relish, feeling the joy of the chase give way to the anticipation of feeding.  The convert was about to take the final step.

When the victim somehow managed to disrupt the feeding, to push away the dark hunger and flee, Rafael cursed and howled at the night.  He knew the victim would still succumb, but he was impatient.  Rafael decided the victim would pay a suitable penance once fully converted and under his control.  Annoyed though he was, he knew the victim couldn't possibly hold out much longer.  No one ever had.

With the victim's hunger pushed down deep Rafael found it harder to track what was happening, though he still had a vague sense of the victim's direction and location.  What happened next still came as a horrifying shock.  Rafael had settled down to sleep the day away in one of his many safe locations, but as the sun rose outside he screamed in agony.  Fire seemed to sweep through his body.  For a moment he thought that the sun had found its way into his safe haven, impossible as that was.  Soon he realised the pain wasn't his, but was coming from the convert.  With that knowledge Rafael managed to push some of the pain aside.

Rafael endured the pain, gritting his teeth against an agony far worse than anything he had felt for centuries even though it was secondhand.  He managed to maintain the connection until the end, the moment that the sunlight burst through the convert’s body and mind.  Rafael slumped down, body trembling, and howled out his anger over the loss.

Rafael woke shortly after sunset with a burning anger pulsing through his veins.  He couldn’t work out how the convert could have been caught out so badly, and now didn’t really care.  He wanted to feed, craved the release it gave.

The villager had been unfortunate enough to encounter Rafael on the paths, a surprise gift as people mostly spent nights locked up indoors.  Now Rafael was striding away from what remained of that gift more angry than before.

With a curse he reversed direction again, heading back to the village.  His need to feed overriding his normal caution.  Once he reached the village he paused, letting his senses play across the buildings, searching out those that only had a single person’s life force within.  The first two he dismissed, both potential victims were elderly, their life force already waning.