Brett 16 | planet-helen-project

XVI.

There was a door at the far end of the conservatory.
There was a room beyond, a servants’ hall. Jun remembered this, though not clearly. He ran through the darkness, torches flashing shadows along the wall. He leapt over corpses, twisting through corridors. There was someone with him. Something. He couldn’t remember who, or what but he remembered they were running together.
They came to a split in the hall, and froze. There was a sinking moment of dread, the pain of not knowing what comes next. Then the creature, a woman perhaps, grabbed a torch from its mount and held it to the ground. Drops of blood lead the way, and like hounds on the scent Jun and the lady were off again. Their feet padded through the stuffy halls, his boots clomping, her bloodied feet smacking. For long minutes there was a drawn out rhythm of their footfalls. The rasping of breath.
Jun lapsed in memory.
The emerged into the dark of Dal Niente, and the darkness swallowed the light from their torch. The wall of water that struck him was so cold, he lost his breath. Yet it did little to bring him from his reverie. The torch, though lit by pitch; was useless in the rain, fighting valiantly before sputtering into darkness. There was a moan, and a gurgling shout. Jun couldn’t. He couldn’t hear the words nor remember their intent. But he remembered listening to the rain, waiting for the response in the storm.
Flash. There was a tableau frozen in time, and this was something Jun would never forget. Amidst the wreckage of crate and sack and lumber, a man sat astride a midnight horse. The beast stood facing Jun and his white shadow. Half his torso burnt and ruined, hanging limp beside him. The man held his other arm taunt before him, grasping something tight in his gloved fist. His face was ragged, his mouth open in breath of scream.
Crack! The flash from the shooter was something Jun wouldn’t forget.
But he didn’t die. In fact, the brief flash pushed them into action. They charged through the mud and puddles and nearly reached the man before his horse took off into the night. The beast screamed in fear, unable to see where it ran. But Jun could only chase after the sound of the galloping hooves. The Rain crashed, the wind started to howl, but Jun hung to the hope of following his ears in the dark.
Yet the sound grew thinner and thinner. The thundering of rainwater matched the footsteps. Then suddenly it was gone. He remembered the panic, the sinking sense of dread in his gut. He remembered running, his legs burning, his lungs heaving. After time, he came to a stop. The darkness shrouded him, water pounding his skull. He couldn’t continue. Helplessness consumed him. Heart hammered. Blood pumped. Rage flooded through his veins.
He had lost him.
He remembered losing control of his limbs, feeling them quiver with exhaustion and wear.
He remembered the rawness of his voice, as he screamed in the night. He remembered the pitch of his voice, twisted with hate and lust for blood. The tautness of the muscles in his neck and arms, lifting his face to the heavens; his rage evolving into soggy helplessness. He cried out, again and again, roaring in utter defeat.
Over the horizon, past the rolling hills that lead past the ambling Upper Solstice fields and leading to the Industrial district, Jun saw the blazing light of Forte peaking through the storm. Its spherical white wash flared like Corna, nearly blinding his eyes in the thick of Dal Niente. He stared into it, welcoming the pain; suffering the defeat.
And across the hills, casting a shadow at an ungodly length was a man on his horse. Jun felt his head go light, gasping for breath he knew he couldn’t stop. Betheloo. He wasn’t lost, he was just ahead. He was just over the next hill. If he moved, he could still catch him. If he ran there may still be hope. But Jun couldn’t move, despite his desires his limbs wouldn’t move. He was standing, and that alone was a feat in itself.
He remembered this all vaguely through the haze of disbelief.
Through the haze of exhaustion and exertion.
But the next image would live with him forever.
Jun turned at the sound of hooves approaching from behind. But the hill he had not knowingly ascended cast the rider in shadow. He stared into the darkness, his vision blurring from rainwater and blood. The sound grew louder, and shadows flashed and swirled everywhere he looked. In the valley’s of the hill Dal Niente fled; grasping onto its last moments of reign. He screamed at himself to move, and only managed to lift one leg off the ground before he lost balance and crashed to his knees. Pain seered, but it was only the vague memory of it. The rain water flooded downhill through his fingers, his hands grasping at the mud.
The rider came onward.
As Forte inches into the sky, the shadows receded.
Jun stared in horror as he saw not one, but a dozen. They thundered up to him, astride the most massive of mounts; all horses black as the night they emerged from. The riders were cloak and steel black as pitch, stitched with thread weaved from the shadows themselves. Their forms were misshapen, shifting, inhuman. He blinked the rainwater from his eyes and wiped at the wound on his head, disbelieving the visage.
They didn’t grind to a halt.
Their mounts didn’t rear or buck or cling to the mud of the hill.
They simply stopped. Jun blinked and they were in front of him. Despite the light of Forte, they remained shadows; twisted limbs straightened and twisted, cloaks slapped against the wind. Everything about them was wrong. Unnatural. Jun stared in disbelief, remembering the dread clutch at his chest. No words were exchanged, they stood in silence; like sentinels from Rentis-sphere itself.
Twelve unholy knights. Jun felt himself whimper.
His end had come for him.
But then they shifted, making way for something else.
A ghost by comparison, the thing that emerged from the blackness of Dal Niente shown like a beacon of white light amidst the shadows. They made way for her, evaporating form his vision as her horse cantered up to his collapsed form. Jun fought the exhaustion, with all his might.
Yet simultaneously, he realized he couldn’t look away.
Her skin was perfection. Her powerful musculature commanded respect.
She was carved from the face of Forte.
Shining white amidst the fleeting shadows.
Her eyes were green glowing orbs that steamed light. They pierced deep into his heart and poured ice into his veins. Somewhere behind her in the distance, there was a flicker of light. A cascading cluster of pops that illuminated the hillside before erupting into a brilliant eruption of blinding fury. The girl was lit from behind, casting shadows down at him in horrific angles. Her hair, though wet, hung loosely around her head. Her limbs stretched down to the ground, knuckles scraping the cobblestone. From the pole of her scalp stretched the hardened tendrils of antler. FLASH!
When she opened her mouth to speak, it extended far beyond its normal range.
The sound that followed was pummeled by the carcophony of pops and the loud CRACK of thunder. BRONG! Then it was gone, vanishing from his mind like sand down a drain. The ghastly image, the horrific sensation of paralyzing fear and exhaustion.
But to Jun’s sickening surprise, he wasn’t passing out.
He was waking up.
Jun’s ears rung. The world twisted around him, shaking like the surface of water being disturbed. A thousand voices seemed to scream around him. His head was being crushed from all direction; his chest and arms were restricted. His throat burned, his whole body burned. Even through open eyes, he couldn’t see. The darkness had him, and for a moment he knew he was dead.
Again.
Brong! The sound made his head spin, but his awareness was returning. His heart hammered, he opened his mouth to speak; but something suddenly stuffed inside it. He tasted blood. His vision was gone. His memories fading like smoke into a hazed distance. His conscious mind kicked hard. He shook in newfound pain, struggling hard against the restraints holding him. A soothing voice washed over him.
He vomited violently.
Brong!
Everything hurt. Moving hurt. Thinking hurt. And breathing was simply out of the question. He wanted to scream, to kick and fight and thrash. But he couldn’t. His energy faded, his eyes shut closed; and his mind raced with images that he had long buried. They broke from the shadows of his mind, and bleed before his eyes. The soothing voice became clear, but the words remained hazy.
It was singing to him.
And there was a gentle pressure against his head.
Jun felt tears blast down his cheek, he thrashed one last time; but the soother held him tight.
The words continued, drawing out into a song that calmed his nerves.
And he was powerless to stop it.
Slowly Jun slipped back into sleep.
And was greeted by his memories once more.