Darkness: The Beginning, S. G. Ricketts [e book reader for pc txt] 📗

Chapter One


The girl gasped for air, pushing herself up on raw elbows. The stench of burning flesh gagged her, making her retch. Her dress was torn from the sleeve down, the soft green velvet covered in dark blossoms of blood. More dripped from a gash in her forehead. She wiped her mouth with a shaky hand and pushed herself up. The rock underneath her gave way with a soft thump and she gasped, eyes wide. In the dark, it was hard to see as she groped for another rock to help her up. Her fingers found something promising, a branch perhaps. She pulled herself up and blinked swollen eyes. Smoke made her eyes water but she forced herself to keep looking. Her mind was still spinning; something had happened, but she didn’t know what. Slowly, ever so slowly, her eyes focused, just to shut them tightly again. “No… oh gods no…”

Once again, she opened her eyes. The once-white walls of Trogan towered above her, the bricks shadowed from soot and the fires at their base. The bodies of loyal soldiers and servants and commoners lay heaped in a pile, flames licking upon their bodies. Traitors hefted more bodies onto the ever-growing pyres, their laughter carrying on the wind. It was a sea of dead, stretching from the foot of the wall out. The dead were everywhere. The branch she was holding slipped slightly and she glanced down, only to recoil in horror. Tears burned in her eyes as she recognized her guard, Guisar. His throat was slit, and his mouth was full of blood. Flies danced around his eyes and in the gash. Numbly, she shut his mouth and lifted her hand from his arm. Such a loyal man…dead. Memories threatened to overwhelm her, and she shoved it to the back of her mind. She wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t want to think about this.

The girl blinked back tears and turned to look around her. The flames cast dark shadows against the walls, and she glanced away in disgust. Her eyes fell on the outline of something round, stuck on posts near the fires. There were about ten of them in an uneven row. She peered closer and recoiled in shock. The faces were slack-jawed and black from tar, but she recognized them nonetheless. The heads of Captain Sameron and Lord Vander were skewered on posts, along with eight other loyal men and chancellors. They had been some of her closest companions during the struggle. A tear slipped down her face, leaving a trail on her sooty face. The sky was dark with clouds, and a rank wind whipped through the skeletal trees, caressing her face. The Diamond Sea crashed before her, waves whipped into white caps from the coming storm. Pushing herself up off her elbows and into a sitting position, she gazed out across the ocean. The ocean was black and moody, so different from her memories. It was dark, everything was dark.

Breena felt her throat tighten as she stared blankly at the poles in front of her. The memories finally surfaced, flooding her senses. Tears slipped freely down her cheeks unchecked. She remembered the days when the darkness was just a far away threat, a black cloud over the plains. The sun still shone over Trogan, the sea sparkled with blue-green waves crashing against the white fortress. The peasants outside Trogan’s walls worked in the fields, harvesting golden wheat and hay. The long stalks of unharvested wheat waved like the ocean waves, blown by the wind. Inside the city’s walls, merchants sold their wares. Carpet dealers, street cooks, perfume dealers, and other ware-sellers filled the streets. Trogan was filled with colors and smells unimaginable. Down at the docks, Trogan’s magnificent navy waved their proud silver banners, Trogan’s white walls emblazened upon them. Soldiers manned the docks and sailors swarmed the decks. Fishermen brought their catch up and sea birds squawked overhead. Breena smiled slightly, seeing her city through the eyes of a child. Her memories were filled with wonder and excitement. The sea still glimmered with the reflection of the city. It was a beacon of hope to the girl and her father. As long as Trogan’s white walls stood pure, the darkness hadn’t won. She blinked and the vision faded. She was left staring at blackened walls, soot trails up the sides.

A shout broke through Breena’s thoughts and she jerked, bumping into bodies. Something moved to the right of her, and she froze. It was a dragging, slithering sound, almost like a giant lizard. The sound of footsteps followed it, and she shrank back into the surrounding bodies. From around the curve of the wall, a torch light lit up the darkness, and a soldier came into sight. His face was rough with day-old stubble and his eyes were bleary and red in the firelight. He was dragging something, and the girl shuddered when she saw the black outline of a body behind him. The soldier grunted and heaved the body onto the pile, muttering about something. She could smell the beer on his breath from where she sat. He chuckled evilly and began to sing a crude bar song. Grabbing the body, he turned his back to her and began to do something. From the way the man giggled and hiccupped, she was almost positive that she was glad she couldn’t see. Chuckling again and taking a swig out of the canteen at his side, he shoved another spear into the ground in the row of heads. Pulling out his sword, he raised it above the body and swung down once, twice, three times, messily beheading the corpse. The girl shivered at the sound, glad for the darkness. Then, the headless body was thrown onto the bonfire, the flames greedily devouring it like an animal. The head was dipped in tar and stuck upon a pole like the others, another trophy. Just before the man left, the light from his torch caught on the face. Breena gasped, but the man was too drunk to hear. Humming to himself, he wobbled around the corner and out of sight. She waited until his singing drifted away, then crept slowly forward, her wounds forgotten. Blood dripped down the pole and puddled on the muddy ground. Flickering light from the bonfire played across the still face. Ignoring the tar, she lifted a shaking hand to gently touch the face, running her fingers over the forehead, cheekbones, nose. Even in the darkness, she had recognized the blonde beard and wavy blonde hair, the wide open green eyes and crooked nose. The darkness had taken the King. It had beaten her father. Therin, king of the last of the good, had been killed by a bumbling, drunk idiot. Stunned, she sat back on her heels. “No…no, no, no, no…”

The darkness around her shuddered, and the flames cackled like laughter. The sea sent waves crashing upon the grimy walls of the city, roaring its ecstasy. Trogan had fallen. The riots had finally broken free of their restraints. The people had rebelled. The darkness whispered in her head, feeding wood to the flame of her despair. She heard the singing again and crawled back among the dead. The soldier dragged another body behind him, and her hands clenched. She hated this man. She hated them all, letting her father die… Breena glared into the roiling clouds. What was left for her? Her father was dead, her people were like dead. Everything was gone. Numb, she grabbed at the dagger still in her bodice and lifted it to her breast. Without her father, there was no point to living. Darkness had won. It was all over. A droplet of sweat ran down her nose, mingled with blood, and dropped onto the blade. Breena took a shuddering breath and steadied herself for the pain. Suddenly, the blade flashed like lightening, burning brightly. Yelping, she dropped it and pulled back. Ancient runes glowed blue in the darkness, fading swiftly. Moments passed before she could gather the courage to go near the blade. The sound of her breathing and of the waves filled her mind. Carefully Breena picked it up again.

Something tickled in the back of her mind and begged to be remembered, while the darkness strived to smother it. She could feel it, pushing and prodding to be remembered. He was still alive then, high on his dais as the day’s court drew to a close. Deep green eyes met hers, and Breena shivered. He had looked so sad that day, so tired. “My daughter, do not give in to the darkness. It yearns for your soul and for my soul. We are the only ones holding it back. The darkness feeds on anger, hate, sorrow, and pain. Instead, feed it the passion you have for your people, the life that flows in your veins, the beauty and grace that you have, and the love you have for everything. Above all else, my child, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of your life. Without a heart, a person is nothing, and without love a life is wasted.”

Her father’s voice faded into the gloom around her.

The tears came then, tears of grief for her father and for his people. They were now her people. Deep inside, she knew she was queen, and it tasted bitter on her tongue. She wasn’t ready for this. Her father wasn’t supposed to die. Her bitterness was redirected towards the darkness, and pity to the soldier. The clouds rumbled with evil laughter, and the flames leapt higher. Drunken laughter rang off the ramparts, and Breena choked back her sobs. She had to avoid unwanted attention Besides, Therin wouldn’t have wanted her to give up. Her father was dead, yes, but his people were not, nor his daughter. The tears slowed, and Breena wiped her face with the dirty hem of her skirt, then pushed the dirty, damp golden hair out of her face with the heel of her hand. “Remember the good times, my child, and they shall always live on. Love the ones gone, and never forget what they lived for.”

Therin had been strong when Oafane had fallen and her uncle had been killed. She had to love her father and remember him. She had to remember how the people used to be, before the darkness overtook Trogan, for they were all but dead now.

And the darkness too had once been good, or born from a creature once good. Breena felt her hatred begin to dissapate into stony resolve. As queen of the last stronghold of good, it was her duty to preserve the rest of Kerista from the darkness’ taint. It came from her people, and she was responsible for its destruction. She would deal with it. As she gazed around the fallen city, she swore not to let the Other Folk fall to the same fate.

The darkness recoiled at her thoughts, and Breena laughed at the sky. The world around her spun, winds swirling and water flying. She shut her eyes and thought about the days before this, when her father and she had sat up reading or talking about the kingdom, of a pure Kerista. Her face stung from the sudden storm, but she refused to move. She was a queen now. The wind howled in her ears flipping over the