Chapter Two
“Bound by Darkness”
With a deep steadying breath, Anora focused her eyes and fired an arrow from her blackwood bow. The shot was dead-on, hitting the bull’s eye of her grass target and splitting an arrow that was already imbedded there. And without skipping a beat, she fired three more in rapid succession, hitting the center each time. Archery had always come naturally to her, ever since she’d picked up her first bow at the age of ten. She shot with pure grace and skill, skills that were honed through countless hours and rigorous training over the years. It was a way for her to channel her feelings, an outlet to release intrusive thoughts and turbulent emotions. It was a welcome distraction, a chance to realign her thoughts and allow her troubles to fade away, if only for a moment.
The archery range was tucked behind the castle walls in a sprawling field, there a gentle breeze brought the sweet floral aroma of varied flowers and other brightly colored plants; mixed ever so slightly with a crisp earthy scent. Though the world was shrouded by eternal night, there were cycles where the moon was vividly bright and when it was less so; within these cycles plant life found a way to thrive, to live off what little light was around. And as such, most plants had some sort of bioluminescence to it. The field that Anora chose to practice archery was one filled with glowing displays of living light.
Even with her little freedoms, the Darkwalkers were always there, watching in the shadows and keeping a vigilant eye over her whereabouts. She never asked their permission to do anything, but over the years she discovered what was off limits and what wasn’t. Lately, she was becoming more impatient with things as if she could feel that her time in Nightshadow was coming to an end and she would soon be away from it. She knew little about the outside world, only that in the last great war the Velagoth—demon kind—had emerged victorious. And by the power and will of their master the Hell God, they had vanquished the Viempire and the Sylph. It was all so distant to her but felt relevant.
What does it matter, now? She thought as she nocked another arrow and sent it hurling through the air. The arrow whistled as it cut through the air, flying into the fog of the forest beyond. She’d missed on purpose and the Darkwalkers were alerted by the miss and took positions closer to where she was. Emotions were boiling inside her as she readied another arrow, but this time she aimed it at one of the Darkwalkers. It would be so easy, to let loose the arrow and hit her mark. She wanted to, and in a sudden act of impulsiveness she fired but at the last moment she veered her shot and missed; the arrow grazing the armor of the Darkwalker. The creature didn’t flinch, or move, instead it kept its gaze fixed on her.
“What are you, foul thing?” she asked with bitterness. “Can you even die?” she raised her voice so the Darkwalker could hear her. “I am going to retrieve my arrow! Try not to cut down my target or destroy anything I care about in my absence!”
Without giving it a second thought, she went to gather the wayward arrow, which was near the border to the Gloomy Woods. Heavy curtains of mist fell from the treetops there, descending on her like a waterfall of smoke. She fanned over her face, scattering most of it that blocked her view. The mist ebbed and flowed, like a tide, eventually settling on the ground. Being near the woods reminded her of her childhood with Odessa, and how they often would traverse wild forests. Anora had grown to like the serenity of nature, but as she got older, she became haunted by the truth of why she and Odessa spent most of their time concealed behind the cover of trees. They were being hunted.
Odessa was a Viempire witch that had joined with the Hell God, betraying her Viempire allies and the ancient order of witches she once belonged to. The Viempire had long been enemies of the Hell God, determined to dethrone him and to drink his immortal blood. A war was fought after Odessa took flight with Anora, a war that lasted thirteen years; a war that ended with Odessa’s death and Anora’s imprisonment.
Before Odessa died, she was taken captive with Anora in Nightshadow Keep, both were confined to the castle grounds. Lautrec was somewhat cordial to their situation, paying mind to the importance of their presence. As the years passed, Anora pieced together the significance of those events and concluded that she was somehow connected to the Hell God; and even connected to Hell itself. It was a truth she couldn’t deny, yet one she avoided thinking about whenever she could. The more she dwelled on it, the more overwhelming it became, so she pushed it to the back of her mind, hoping that if she ignored it long enough, it might not be true. But she knew one day Lautrec would march through the heavy steel gates of her castle to make some grand announcement or declaration, and all would be revealed to her—her connection to the Hell God, her fate, and all the dark secrets she had tried so hard to avoid. Until then, all she could do was wait and brace herself for the awful truth she feared; one she knew she couldn’t escape.
Anora kicked aside some of the foliage on the ground, searching for the lost arrow. She looked behind her and saw that a few Darkwalkers were closing in. She knew she had only a few moments of “freedom” before they would be upon her, and she would be taken back to her chamber. She thought about running but a more insidious thought came to her as she once again contemplated killing the Darkwalkers, a thought that worried her. Any sinister thoughts she had was always a reminder that both sides of her lineage were evil in design, whether it was the bloodsucking nature of the Viempire or the demonic provenance of Hell.
Rather than prolong things she cut straight to the chase and began walking back to her tower. All at once the Darkwalkers followed her. She was bothered by their presence, bothered at the fact that the Prince held the keys to her freedom, bothered by a lot of things. Most of all, she was upset that the anniversary of the end to the War of Thirteen Autumns also marked the anniversary of Odessa’s death, and the haunting feelings that came with it.
***
The windowpane of Anora’s chamber was foggy, and streaks of rain ran down, like tears, as the lunar day drew on. She stared with a vacant expression at it, while sitting at the edge of her bed. Outside, on her balcony, Mourning Crows sat perched on the ledge once more. She imagined what it would be like to be a crow, sitting on the balcony and being free to fly to the endless skies above. Having wings like theirs could take her anywhere she wanted; but all she had were the small wings on the sides of her head. She couldn’t use them to fly, they were much too small to carry her body. Her wings were just there, another imperfection she used to testify to the accuracy of her flaws. That is how she viewed herself, as something or someone that was flawed. Was she really a woman or a creature? She often wondered.
She thought the women from paintings and books were pretty, especially drawings she once read in an encyclopedia about humans.. They didn’t have ‘ugly’ wings or bleak, gray, coloring. When she was little, she tried to remove her wings. Odessa caught her in the act and did nothing except watch. It was the expression on Odessa’s face that prompted Anora to stop; cold, uncaring. She clamored for Odessa’s attention back then, when she got older, she realized how foolish she was. Even in her last moments of life, Odessa stayed heartless and showed no love to Anora. Anora tried not to let that memory bother her, but it’s impact still haunted her; and on the anniversary of Odessa’s death, the emotions she felt back then became manifest; and she found herself heading toward Odessa’s chambers.
In the hallway outside her room were two long corridors, one that led to a locked door. The other lead to the top of another tower, to Odessa’s room. Anora had not visited it since Odessa’s death. Her hands trembled with uneasiness as she neared the large wooden door and opened it. The chambers were how she remembered but covered in layers of thick dust and infested with spiders and other insects. There was a four-post bed in the center of the circular room, with perfectly made ornate sheets and torn drapes effaced by time. Odessa’s chair lay broken next to one of the six tapered windows. The bleak oak wardrobe had been knocked over and Odessa’s old clothes were strewn all over the floor.
She was immediately hit with memories of when she used to visit the chambers. Odessa would sit in her chair, staring out of a window to the field below; her expression, blank, and her hands cupped over one another. Toward the end of her life, she stopped grooming herself. Anora recalled that she always saw Odessa with her horns marred by strands of a spider’s web dangling off the tips. Most of the memories Anora had left of Odessa were at the end, when she had stopped drinking blood and was withering away.
Anora found herself cleaning the room, starting with the scattered clothing. She sat proper, her back upright and shoulders straight, as she delicately folded each blouse, each of her trousers, bloomers, gowns, and the other assortment of clothes she had. After pushing the wardrobe upright, she methodically placed each piece of clothing back inside.
Next was the chair. She wiped the dust off it and inspected the broken parts. The legs were cracked and most of the wood was rotted. She was about to leave it when she noticed a small bronze box underneath. The box was decorated with intricate designs of thorns and the lock on it was cracked open. Anora wasted little time to look inside. The first thing she found was a an old, faded, picture of Odessa from when she was young. It was pocket size and drawn with skilled detail. She kept the picture and continued delving into the bronze box. There were several pieces of jewelry, from rings to necklaces, all expertly crafted and made from the finest silver.
Odessa’s chamber connected to a study, a vast and shadowed place with towering bookshelves that were carved from dark mahogany in intricate, twisted designs of ivy and serpents. On the far wall was a massive stone fireplace, stained black with soot but cold, dusty, and empty, showing its age and signs of years of not being used. She was immediately struck by the sheer breadth and depth of the collection of books before her. Lining the towering shelves were volumes upon volumes of encyclopedias, tomes, and reference works in a dizzying array of languages - from the harsh sounding bitter-taught tongue of Volkas, the Lycanth language, to Sitri the extinct Viempire dialect and even the majestic sounding Veroia that belonged to the Sylph.
Anora was impressed and surprised even by the size of Odessa’s personal library. It mirrored the size of the castle’s library but contained spell books and tomes with incantations. And above the bookshelves was a massive mural of the world, its paint cracked and effaced by time. Rendered in rich, somber tones, the painting depicted the Dark Earth - a representation of the fallen, corrupted lands where the dark races now dwelled. Anora was in awe of its grandeur, as she had never seen a full depiction of the Dark Earth. It showed all the kingdoms as they were before the Velagoths won the last war. In the far east was the gloomy realm of the Viempire, Valtheia. Illyndel in the lifeless north was the land of the Sylph, which bordered the wretched region of the Lycanth, Draethall. Far to the south, in an area covered in black sand, was Nephysia the realm of the undead. In the region of the fells, westward, was Morghalith , the kingdom of the Velagoth. Crowning the map was the Fall Mountains, depicted to be much larger than Anora could have imagined. And at the edge of the map east, was an area named the Withering Veil; a name that was new to Anora.
Seeing the vast array of books brought a sense of excitement, giddiness even, and within a matter of minutes she found herself flipping through their pages with unbridled enthusiasm. Her mind worked in such a way that she could read two books simultaneously, her brain seamlessly switching between the narratives and extracting insights from both with equal intensity. As time went on, books upon books were stacked next to her and before long she’d read nearly ten before taking a break.
“Blast,” she said, perturbed, staring at the stacks of books. She snatched them up, grudgingly, and marched toward the bookshelf to place them back where they belonged, recalling their exact location. Her eyes and head slowly moved up, examining the length of the bookcases. Each was nearly fifteen feet tall and about ten feet wide.
No sooner did she identify the books’ proper spot did she leap on to the ladder, clearing ten feet in a single bound. From there it was only a few more feet horizontal until she reached the correct row. Gently, as if it were delicate glass, she ushered the books back onto the shelves and jumped off the ladder with a victorious grin. The smile on her face quickly dropped however, when she noticed one of books was upside down. She blasted out a few swear words and sprang back onto the ladder to fix the book’s position. When she was done, she rolled her eyes, thinking about the trouble she was having. There, satisfied?
It was approaching the late hours, three o’clock in the morning, she’d been reading for hours. She yawned, feeling tired but dreading going to sleep. But, her tiredness was quickly dispelled when she heard a knock from within the room. Startled, she examined her surroundings. Then, a second knock. This time she located it, coming from a small box on one of the shelves. A third knock prompted her to open the box.
Odd, she thought, when she noticed a creature resting inside. Is it a bird? She wondered, inching towards it. Was it real? She started to wonder, doubting its very existence. She was, after all, tired and had been suffering from a severe case of insomnia. Hallucinations were not something she was privy too, even when she had been awake for an extended period. No, whatever was in the box was real.
She gauged the way it stared at her and the way it traced the outer edge of the box with its long fingers. She saw no threat in its demeanor. As she inspected it further, she recognized it as a Vyle, a lesser demon—a four legged being no bigger than her hand with the torso of a man, faceless, with four wings growing from its back. And it bolted out from the box, fluttering in the air. She recoiled but soon became fascinated by the wicked grace it had. There was no other way she could describe it.
Its wings fluttered gracefully, at times appearing void from the rest of its body. But, as graceful as it seemed its likeness appeared more sinister than its demeanor – harboring a fang-filled mouth on the palm of each hand and jagged claws on each finger. She froze, gasped even, remembering what she had read about Vyles and how they were known for stealing dreams and leaving nightmares in their place. Still, it was company, and she felt inclined to speak to it.
“Pardon me, but may I enquire as to what you are doing?” she asked.
The Vyle continued to fly around aimlessly.
“Are you friend or foe?” she questioned curiously.
It nodded.
“A friend?” she asked for clarification.
The Vyle flew toward her in a bolt of energy. She flinched and covered her eyes with her hands. It fluttered around her, studying her body with the same interest it had when she first opened the box. She observed it, through her fingers, as it hovered with its hand out, inviting her to follow.
“I can’t fly,” she explained.
The Vyle gestured to the pair of wings on the sides of her head.
She touched them. “These?”
It nodded with exuberance.
“They’re too small to carry my body.”
The Vyle blasted down the tower in an abrupt dive, as if losing patience, and waited for her at the bottom.
“Alright then...you want me to go down there?” she whispered with reluctance, debating whether or not to go after it. She had escaped the tower before and knew how to get out without being caught. Since she was constantly watched and guarded she used those times sparingly, especially since it was against the rules.
“It would be rather impolite to ignore the creature’s invitation,” she said to herself, justifying her decision to follow. “Besides, it is not as if I would be sleeping.”
She knew that if she thought about it any longer, she would just end up losing the Vyle and the opportunity for something to do. Any chance to break away from her mundane existence was one she was willing to take, in spite of breaking the rules. Bending them, I’m just bending them – it’s not like I’m going to leave the castle grounds. With her mind made up, she descended the tower. Her Viempiric Agility made it easy, enabling her to climb to the bottom with little exertion. When she got there, the Vyle had already moved into the castle grounds and was motioning her to follow. With a deep breath, she halfheartedly went.
The Vyle led her to Alune Cemetery. She froze in her tracks, unwilling to go further.
“Why are you taking me here?” she asked, her voice shaky.
It pointed with excitement at the graves.
“I-I will not venture inside that place,” she stated firmly. “Fly away, demon, I wish not to be a part of this any longer.”
The Vyle moaned while rubbing its stomach.
“You’re...hungry?” she asked curiously. “Do you believe that the dead dream?”
It nodded, although a bit uncertain.
“That was not mentioned in any of the books I read,” she recalled. “Vyle’s feed on the living dream…” her eyes wandered to the cemetery, where faint cries and moans crept up from deep within the earth. “Why did you keep this creature, Odessa?” she asked herself in a whisper.
The Vyle briskly fluttered into the cemetery, before returning moments later with a skull in hand. Anora was repulsed and distanced herself.
“Return that at once!” she commanded the creature. “Do you have no respect for the departed?”
The Vyle shook its head aggressively, gnawing on the skull. Anora waved her hand at the Vyle, causing it to drop the skull. She picked it up and in an instant heard its voice call to her saying: “Dark Princess”. Startled, she dropped the skull and scurred backward, tripping and cutting her head on a small rock. Before she could react, the Vyle was on her. Its fingers stretched into jagged claws, and a tiny mouth opened in the center of its palm. Within an instant, it pressed its hand to her wound latching on like a leech. A cold, hollow ache spread through her as it sucked at her blood, draining her so fast that the world around her spun. Her limbs grew heavy, and her vision blurred. She tried to push it away, but her arms felt weak, as though her strength was slipping away with every drop.
When the Vyle had gotten its fill, she collapsed to the ground. Her eyelids grew heavy, pulling her closer to unconsciousness. The Vyle coughed up her black blood and collapsed, dead. Darkness closed in on all corners of her sight until she passed out.
***
Anora winced, grasping her arms as her veins blistered and swelled - boiling from the heat around her. Her face closed tightly from the pain. She was unable to speak or move. Vines with thorns burrowed their way inside the long canals of her veins, blocking blood-flow and tearing their way through her flesh. She screamed an agonizing cry, helpless to do anything else. The vines broke through her skin and wrapped themselves around her wrists, pulling her down to the searing ground that was below her.
This is a nightmare! It has to be!
Sweat soaked through her clothing, mixing with tears that rained down along her face. Surges of heat burned through her body, sending her into uncontrolled spasms. The thorns from the vines cut open her wrists, lengthwise to the elbow, until numbness washed over her. A deadening, catatonic, state followed with the satisfaction that peace might have been obtained. But, there was none. Instead, the heat died; snuffed out by surges of freezing winds. Ice formed on her extremities and came alive. It inched toward her mouth taking the shape of serpents.
The Vyle! This is the nightmare it gave me! It has to be!
Realizing where she was, Anora tried to imagine the serpents away. But, things were too vivid and she closed her mouth tightly so that the serpents could not crawl inside. Insects, bugs of all kinds, emerged from the vines and gnawed at her lips. She held them off as long as she could, but the sensation of a thousand biting mouths became too much and she let out a horrific scream. The serpents hissed and snapped at her face, spitting venom. It hit with scorching heat, burning to the bone. A cloud of vapor arose, covering everything thing in a murky haze. Through the haze she saw the insects turn to dust and the serpents melt away.
My mind is my own. I control what it sees.
Unsure if she was awake or still dreaming, she covered her face with her hands and waited, hoping, for her mind to find peace – to find some sort of clarity. Her body hovered, swaying from side to side with an easy calm, rocking her gently in sharp contrast to the pain she had felt moments earlier. Her moment of peace seemed to embrace her body, wrapping it in warm and serene arms. The calmness abided and she peeked through her fingers and saw stars and galaxies, in an endless sea of darkness. It was as clear and as real as anything she had ever seen, so real that she doubted she was dreaming anymore. Allured by the stars, she reached for them. But, she couldn't touch them.
Time seemed to pass by in an instant. Years turned to mere seconds and centuries, to mere minutes. She saw the galaxies die and new ones born. She saw the whole spectrum of life, in an endless plane of eternity. She saw forever and its end. All life, since the dawn of existence, moved toward its conclusion and in their midst a voice of a man, vague and slow, played across the horizon of space: “Fear not the ending of time. The dawn of eternity waits, when all will be cast out and worlds will be without form and void.”
Then came the voice of Odessa calling out to her. “Anora…Anora…beware…they are coming…they are coming…shadow and spirit…the Sylph…”
“Odessa!” Anora cried with distress. “Help me!”
Her surroundings spun and splotches of light bloomed from a sudden headache. She felt the Vyle’s cut healing over with her Viempiric Regeneration as she slowly returned to reality. And when she finally came to, she found herself lying on the cold dirt with the dead body of the Vyle nearby. Her muscles ached and her head throbbed. Though the pain was aggravating, the fact that she was wearing dirty clothes bothered her even more. Tired and weary, she dragged herself back to her chamber where she staggered over to her wardrobe.
Her arms were sore with the lingering sensation of the vines that had burrowed through them in her nightmare. She let them dangle at her side to help relieve some of the soreness until it passed. She inched the heavy door of the wardrobe open. Inside was an assortment of clothes from gowns, to tunics, coats and leggings. It took her a while to remove her dirty gown, forcing her aching muscles to work. The gown was covered with spots of sweat and blood. Seeing its filthiness made her cringe.
After she was done cleaning and dressing herself, she collapsed onto her bed. Odessa’s warning played over and over in her mind. The Sylph are coming. The Sylph are coming. It was hard to believe, since they’d been defeated in the last war. However, last she heard they were not vanquished like the Viempire. Perhaps the words of Odessa were more than just a dream? Perhaps it was actually her voice, calling from beyond the grave?
