Dark Soul Silenced - Parts One & Two

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Jon was worried, scared even. He could tell Sarah, his wife, felt the same. They were both trying to hide the fear Mary, and he was pretty sure they were both failing badly.

They’d woken to Mary’s screams. Jon had jerked upright, and seen a man leaning over Mary. Before Jon could move the man had run, sprinting away at amazing speed despite the dark and the trees. Jon stood guard while Sarah tried to console the sobbing Mary, though the stout branch he held in his hands felt completely inadequate.

Once Jon was sure the intruder wasn’t circling back he built the fire up. That helped Mary settle a little. They slowly started to get the tale from her.

Mary had woken suddenly, fear clawing at her. That wasn’t surprising – Jon knew she woke that way at least a dozen times each night. This time she’d been right, though. The man, or possibly some form of demon, had appeared right above her. He’d had red glowing eyes, eyes that made her feel sleepy, her body heavy. She hadn’t been able to move, to shout, to scream for help.

Then the man opened his mouth and she’d seen teeth that were pointed and sharp. He’d leant in, stared into her eyes… and then froze. Mary started sobbing again at this point in her tale. She kept talking about the eyes, the terrible hungry eyes, blazing in the dark night.

Jon spoke to her gently, comforting her, telling her everything would be all right. All the while feeling sick within. Sick with horror at what had almost happened. Sick with anger at both the intruder and at himself for not waking sooner. And sick with fear that the creature would return. Whatever it was had fled their camp at tremendous speed without making a single noise. It could be stalking them now, creeping closer. Or even rushing at them. How would they be able to tell? For that matter, what could Jon do to stop the creature if it did attack?

When Sarah had managed to calm Mary enough to continue the tale the strangest part came out. Mary said the man had changed when he met her eyes. His face had softened, the pointed teeth withdrew, the anger left his face. And his eyes… their colour faded from red to grey – though she said they still seemed to be lit from the inside. She said it was like a different person stood there, one who was upset – almost crying. The spell on her had faded too. The scream that had been stuck inside finally found its way out. The scream had scared him away. He’d turned and run, then Mary’s parents had reached her. At that point in the tale she burst into tears once more, sobs racking her body. Sarah started trying to comfort her again. Jon resumed his vigil, trying to shake the crawling sensation of someone approaching from behind, whichever way he faced.

That night was one of the longest Jon had ever known. It seemed to last a lifetime. Mary dozed off eventually, but Sarah and he sat in silence, their eyes and ears straining to detect any threat. Every noise made them jump, every animal sounded like the creature returning. Yet the night passed without any sign the creature had done so.

When dawn finally arrived they agreed spending another night in the forest would be impossible. They would have to shelter near the coast, run the risk of someone stumbling on their camp. They would try to travel further each day so they reached safety more quickly.

After a quick breakfast they headed back east. Only when they left the forest did Jon realise just how tense he had felt. He found himself blinking away tears of relief. They turned north and continued their journey, the forest to their left and the sea to their right.

The feeling of relief faded as time went on. Hiking along the coastal path the tree line was never more than a few hundred yards away, and often much closer. Jon caught both the others casting nervous glances at the trees on many occasions. He knew he was doing the same.

Yet when danger found them it wasn’t what they had feared. As they approached a small copse of trees beside the path a man rode out, blocking their way. Several men on foot stepped out beside his horse. Jon looked behind and saw more men rising from hidden positions near the path. There were fifteen or so, all told, far too many to fight. With Mary to carry running wasn’t an option, either.

“Stay still,” Jon whispered to his family. He stepped towards the leader, who had dismounted and drawn a sword.

“Sir, how can we…” Jon began, but the leader interrupted him.

“Do you like my new sword?” he asked playfully.

Before Jon could answer the leader slashed the sword forwards and across Jon’s leg above his knee.

Jon collapsed, screaming in pain. The leader stepped closer, plunging the sword into Jon’s stomach then dragging it clear. A twisted grin settled on his face. He raised the sword and spoke…

“I’ve been wanting to test my new sword out. Thank you for giving me the chance. I do appreciate it.”

“That wasn’t very friendly was it?” said a new voice.

The question was softly spoken, but there was power in the voice too. The leader’s head shot round. Jon followed his gaze.

A man stepped past the surprised ring of thugs, moving to confront the leader. His clothes were dirty, his hair a mess, yet he carried himself like a lord.

He’d been scared to open his eyes. The pain had gone, the soothing blackness too. Wherever he was it was bright. Really bright.

He must have died. He’d seen the flesh burning off his body, smelt the stench, felt liquid fire burning every single nerve. He was scared now. Where would he be? His memories were gone but he had a feeling he’d never been particularly religious, that he had no ideas on what came after life. Now he was going to find out, but he was scared to see what state he was in. He felt nothing. Was he a burnt corpse? A cleansed skeleton? A wraith?

Summoning his courage he forced his eyes open, blinking in the bright light. The bright sunlight. Squinting he saw a beach. The same beach.

Other senses started to return now. First hearing. The crash of waves, the cries of seagulls. Then taste and smell. The salty tang of the sea carried in the air. And finally touch. A gentle breeze on his skin. Sand under his legs. Both felt far more intense than normal, as if his skin was tender. Burnt maybe. Heart in his mouth he lowered his gaze to his body. He saw skin. No burns, no scars. Just plain skin. He laughed in relief, tension he hadn’t been aware of flowing out.

So had he dreamed it all? No. The answer was definite, firmly in his mind. And somewhat scarily it was not exactly a thought of his own. He knew. Knew he’d been changed, knew the burning had been part of that change. Something dark had been purged from his body. He now knew the dark nights he’d endured had been preparation, had been a trial. Had he taken the blood of a living creature, especially human blood, he would have been ruled by the dark hunger forever. He didn’t know where this new knowledge came from, other than a feeling it was related to what he had just been through.

That was all the knowledge he’d gained so far, other than a feeling that there was more to learn, more to find out. As the initial shock of finding knowledge that wasn’t his within his mind faded he decided it was actually comforting. It told him that the darkness had definitely left his soul, and taken the hunger with it. Assuming he could trust the knowledge.

Despite the sun he shivered as the wind blew coolly. Glancing around he saw his clothes where he’d thrown them. He stood and stretched, then walked over and started to dress. The sensations of stretching and of dressing felt both familiar and strangely new at the same time.

Once dressed he sat again, staring at the sea. Thinking. His memories of the past week were much clearer now, which was both a blessing and a curse. He remembered the little girl’s face vividly. The horror he’d seen in her eyes. He knew he’d carry that image with him forever. He wished he could see her again, apologise to her.

He remembered falling under the spell of the darkness but now understood it was a catalyst. A necessary step to becoming what he was now, whatever that might be.

He could still remember very little of what had started this journey, of what happened when the wolves had slunk away from the clearing without attacking him. As for his life before the ambush, he had only fragments. Fleeting images. And then, suddenly, one clear memory. His name. Daniel. He almost wept at recovering that vital piece of himself, at the familiar feel of the word.

Suddenly he had a sense of something being very wrong. Daniel sensed fear, anger. He stood, turned. It was coming from the beach to the south. He could see figures, a good mile away and maybe more.

The feeling strengthened. He ran, covering the distance as fast as a racing horse could but moving silently, quickly finding himself approaching a group of armed men who were surrounding a family. It only took Daniel a moment to be sure these were bandits, and the family were their victims.

He arrived just as the leader of the bandits lashed out with his sword, deeply cutting the surrounded man’s leg before driving the sword into the man’s stomach and dragging it clear again.

“I’ve been wanting to test my new sword out. Thank you for giving me the chance. I do appreciate it,” said the leader, with a grin.

This had to be stopped and Daniel knew he had to do it.

“That wasn’t very friendly, was it?” he said. Then he stepped forward into the ring of thugs.

Kerant stood shocked, sword forgotten. How had this intruder got so close without being noticed? Suddenly a simple robbery, and the chance to gain a woman for a while, had turned complicated. Was the man alone? Looking around it seemed so. Better to make sure though.

“Wolfgang, Stephen… make sure he’s alone,” he barked out.

“Oh I am,” said the man, smiling gently.

“Good!” Kerant replied, thrusting with the sword as he spoke. He’d always been fast with a blade, in the army he’d been amongst the best swordsman. Turning outlaw had only sharpened those skills. His thrust was fast, with no warning tells. The stranger had no chance, the sword would punch through his stomach and out his back taking a chunk of backbone on the way. A wound sure to disable any opponent.

Except it didn’t. Impossibly, the man had moved, stepping around the blow then in towards Kerant. He was gently resting his hands on the elbow and shoulder of Kerant’s sword arm to prevent a further blow.

Kerant’s experience kicked in despite his surprise. He shoved at his opponent’s hands to push the stranger off-balance, but the stranger seemed to flow around him, stepping in even closer. Kerant attempted a brutal headbutt, again the stranger moved effortlessly out of the way and stepped back.

Kerant was angry now. This man was making him look stupid in front of his men. It was time to end it. He caught Wolfgang’s eye, nodded slightly. Wolfgang raised his crossbow slowly, at the same time Kerant swung the sword in a flat arc. Not at his opponent. He swung at the wounded man sitting trying to staunch his bleeding. Two birds with one stone Kerant thought. Finish the wounded man and distract the stranger.

To Kerant’s amazement the stranger stepped forward raising his bare arm to block the blade. If the arm wasn’t taken off cleanly it would be broken badly. Kerant was more than happy with either prospect.

The sword impacted the stranger’s arm and the shock nearly made Kerant drop it. It felt like he’d hit a steel post. The stranger hadn’t even flinched, the blow hadn’t moved his arm and he showed no signs of injury.

Things were going wrong quickly, and they got worse. Wolfgang shot the crossbow. Somehow the stranger caught the bolt as it flew. Then his hand moved in a blur. Wolfgang made a choking sound, eyes wide in disbelief. He collapsed to the floor dead, with the crossbow bolt jutting from his throat.

“Get him!” Kerant screamed. No one moved. His men stood with eyes half closed, looking dazed. Sleepy.

Kerant could feel the same effect – an energy sapping warmth washing against his mind. His anger was keeping it at bay. Magic was involved, he had no doubt of that now. He stepped back, anger burning through his mind and keeping him free from the spell. He grabbed the horse’s reins. Maybe mounted he’d stand more chance. If not he could flee far faster on the horse.

As he tried to mount the horse reared, sending him crashing to the floor.

“My horse doesn’t like you,” said the stranger softly, standing a few feet away and studying Kerant. “And I’d like my sword back too.”

“You!” exclaimed Kerant. Yes, with the clues he could see this was the man they’d beaten and strung up for the wolves.

“You!” he repeated. “We should have just killed you. Well, I can soon put that right!”

He stood, tightened his grip on the sword and let the fury wash over him. With a yell he charged, swinging the sword in a vicious diagonal strike. His opponent moved impossibly fast to stand almost on Kerant’s toes, facing the same way as Kerant. He span with the sword’s blow, using its momentum and the turn to wrench it free from Kerant’s hand. He continued with the movement. Pivoting until they were face to face again he punched the sword deep into Kerant’s chest.

Kerant stared down a quickly narrowing tunnel at the sword handle jutting from his chest. He collapsed to the floor, dead before he could take in what had happened.