SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Dark Words

The bleak emptiness of Nawhasou surrounded him, closing in like an oppressive, black fog. Everywhere he turned, shadows whispered at him: fallen, shadowsouled, darkness, tainted, unwinged. It was the last one that hurt the most, and reminded him that he wasn’t alone. Limping by his side, red eyes swollen so heavily that they were barely open, Noctis tried to keep pace. His new black fur was ruffled along his back, slicking the short hairs with an oily sheen. From his shoulders down his forelegs to his feet, deep, angry gashes ran. Wingless. Noctis had no wings anymore, he wasn’t even a bird. A black hound to follow the Darkness around. They had been changed.

All around him, he could feel the life of the tower slowly grow stronger. This world, which he had fallen upon, was rich and vibrant - he hated it. What right did this world have to a life force, when his own had been ripped so callously from him. He would drain it dry, until nothing was left but dust, and the great sentinel of his home. A drop of his blood, mixed with some of Noctis’, soaked into a ball of his own hair had been sufficient enough. A seed. From little acorns great oaks grow, or so it was said, and from such a small beginning, his new tower had been formed. But instead of a steady, gentle growth, this one had been instantaneous. With his anger, fear and hatred to fuel it, Nawhasou had sprouted roots immediately, sending them deep into the soft earth. From that moment on there had been no turning back.

The tower wasn’t much at the moment, just three storeys, but he knew in time it would come to dominate all it surveyed. Already the dying had begun. The valley he had planted the seed into had been a luscious forest, with a crystal-clear lake. They were gone now, and a chasm was opening beneath the tower - the roots were tearing the ground asunder.

Once, he thought to himself, I would have felt sadness at such destruction, now I feel only satisfaction. Life and beauty were worthless.

Beauty - he hardly knew what that was anymore. Only one face remained beautiful in his mind, the others he had forgotten. Yet with such beauty came pain and torment. She had rejected him, spurned him, and he had done the unforgivable. And now he was paying the price. It wasn’t fair, something had gone horribly wrong; how could he have seen signs that weren’t there? Over the days since his world had crumbled, he had been given plenty of time to think it through, and the answer had come back to him time and time again. He hadn’t been wrong, he hadn’t seen things that weren’t there - she was the one who was wrong. Someone else had bewitched her, taken her away, persuaded her away from her true feelings.

Shaiel.

He was the one who had destroyed it all. Now, he vowed to himself, I will destroy him. No matter how long it would take, he promised himself that Shaiel would feel as he felt - he would suffer as I have suffered. Only there would be no long years of tormented uncertainty for him, he would not allow him time to fester and fight back. Shaiel would suffer, and then he would be obliterated. It would be too dangerous to let the Star regroup and attack. That was the difference between the two of them - Shaiel was weak. When it came down to it, he lacked the killer instinct, and one day he would learn all about his mistake, but by then it would be too late.

“Too late, my friend, far, far too late.”

Noctis didn’t answer, he was exhausted, and simply slumped down at his master’s feet, emitting a faint whine of pain.

“Hold on in there, Noctis,” he whispered, scratching gently at the great hound’s ears. “I will get us out of this again, my friend, but don’t leave me. Stay with me.”

Whimpering, Noctis lifted his head and licked his master’s hand, beating his tail once with a heavy thud, before he lay down again and sighed. His eyes shut and the hound fell into an uneasy sleep.

A wave of helpless loneliness swept over him, catching him by surprise, and knocking him to his knees. When he had first fallen, such emotions had gripped him for days and days on end, till he had no idea if it was night or day, winter or summer, or how long it had been. But slowly, painfully slowly, he had won back control, dominating himself with rigid, fearsome strength, determined not to give into it again. However, not even he could stop the moments where his behaviour came back to haunt him. In these moments he was ashamed, so, so ashamed of what he had done, both to her and himself, and how it had impacted on Noctis. He was also lonely.

This world might be his, and eventually he would control the whole place, but it was empty. There was no one here to talk to, just Noctis, which did not make for great conversation. He missed the others, he missed them all. Demero, who had been so kind, and taught him all he could of being an Aekhartain. He had shown him around the Shadow Garden, and helped him to carve a place for himself amongst the eternal twilight. Maskaoí, whose tender-hearted kindness had taught him what it was to love, and what it was to make the gravest mistake he ever could. Even Shaiel. In the early days he had been even better company than Demero - friendly, boisterous, good-natured, powerful. Shaiel had shown him how to do things he could never even have dreamed about. Shaiel had taught him that not all darkness is a bad thing, that there are good sides to every situation - that hope exists inside everyone and everything. They had been friends.

Then it had all begun to change, slowly at first, then in a sudden rush and now he was alone. So terribly alone, with no other human face but his own reflection for company. He called a mirror forth from the darkness, more for the presence of another person, rather than because he wanted to look at himself. Vanity was not something he possessed anymore - how could he? His own features disgusted him, but they were the only ones he had to look at.

It was more than losing his wings in the fall that had destroyed him - he had no choice anymore. There was a whole world outside, and many, many more worlds beyond, he was Darkness itself, yet he could not choose that which he most wanted. He had only one person to talk to - himself. He had only one form of company - himself. He had only one comfort - the Darkness. In recent days it had grown on him, like a cruel, wicked temptation, which he knew he had to resist, and for now he could. But he also knew he would give in eventually. There would be no choice. The Darkness would consume him, and he would lose his old ways forever. It had already begun.

“You always look on the bright side, don’t you?” the familiar voice muttered from the mirror, sounding resentful for having been dragged there.

Nawaquí looked up into a pair of scornful emerald eyes. He shrugged. “What other side is there, for someone like me?”

Caligo sneered. “Poor, poor Nawaquí, who never did anything wrong in his entire existence, let us all fall down and feel pity for him.”

“I don’t want to be pitied,” Nawaquí snarled.

“Then what do you want?” Caligo asked, a glint in his eyes that warned he was playing games.

He was tempted to say I want you to leave me alone, but couldn’t quite form the words. After all he had invited him in the first place, because he was lonely and there was nothing else to do while the shadows grew about him. Instead, he gave a sullen half-shrug and mumbled, “I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t,” Caligo replied. “You never do. That’s the difference between you and I, Nawaquí, at least I knew what I wanted.”

“Oh, shut up,” Nawaquí drawled, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t have a clue what you wanted, not until Sidereus and Erro came along. And even then they manipulated you into leading the rebellion.”

“You would say that,” Caligo scoffed, “because you’re obsessed with the idea that everyone out there is just like you.”

“They’re nothing like me!” Nawaquí snapped. “And they’re the poorer for it.”

“Oh yes,” Caligo agreed sarcastically. “Look at how poor they are compared to your munificent wealth. How dreary it must be to put up with company, to have others to talk to other than your own, old, distant self who you dropped in favour of other things. Look where that got you,” he taunted.

“Shut up.”

“Look at this wonderful palace you are living in. Feel the silky touch of your magnificent wings.”

“I said, shut up!” he shouted, driving his hand through the shadow mirror. It disintegrated to the sound of laughter.

“You shouldn’t get so upset,” was the last thing he heard as Caligo vanished into the darkness for another night.

It was always the same; he would call up a mirror, look at his reflection, and before long it would talk to him. Was he losing his mind? Or had he really split into two somewhere along the line?

“I don’t want to know,” he murmured to himself, then reached out a hand to touch the snoring Noctis. “I don’t have to listen to myself, I don’t need company. I have all I need, all I want, right here.” He didn’t know who he was trying to convince, but he wondered if they would believe him, because he certainly didn’t believe himself. “I’ll have to work on that,” he told himself, then got to his feet. “Bring him,” he ordered the shadows, pointing to sleeping dog and walked away into the echoing emptiness of Nawhasou.

* * *

He woke to darkness, as he had fallen asleep in darkness, he wasn’t all that surprised. Living in the Shadow Garden had prepared him for a life without diurnal changes, and now he had his own world to control, he no longer wished to see the sun. An existence in the dark was soothing - he couldn’t tell how much time was running away from him, nor how long he was wallowing. It made things easier.

Getting out of bed, he ruffled his hair and headed through to the bathroom that had grown up sometime last week - he now measured his days by when he slept. Out of habit, he went through the motions of a morning routine, something that he hadn’t stopped even in the Shadow Garden. The only difference was that his bathroom was inside, which made a nice change, and that he didn’t have to go anywhere to fetch water; the darkness did it all for him. After washing his face, he stared at himself for a moment in the mirror and tried to recognise the face he was looking at.

“It’s all changing, isn’t it?” Caligo’s voice sounded almost mournful, as he stared dolefully out of the reflection. “You, me, the face. Only the eyes are the same. I hardly know who you are anymore.”

“Well that’s a relief, because I don’t know you either.”

He snorted, faintly amused. “But you did, Nawaquí, you did.”

“I knew nothing back then, I know so much more now. Change is good.”

“Is it?” Caligo asked, moving to the edge of the glass as Nawaquí wandered away. “Does it really have all the answers? Nawaquí?” he called, and waited while Nawaquí paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder at his reflection.

“Yes,” he replied coolly, “it does.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Caligo whispered.

“Yes,” he repeated, though his voice was tinged with sadness this time, “it does.” He turned and walked away, unable to face his own sad, accusative eyes any longer.

* * *

The emptiness of Nawhasou no longer bothered him these days, in fact he found it quite soothing, almost liberating. There was no one to interrupt his thoughts, no one else to think of, no one else to pretend to be nice to. And no expectations to live up to. Solitary life, in short, was proving to be quite blissful. There was no set regime - as there had been in the army - nor informal duties - as there had been in the Shadow Garden. His time was his own, completely and utterly, and if he chose to do nothing with it, then it was up to him. Finally, after drifting aimlessly for Shadow knows how long, he was finding that he did have choices after all. They might not be the same ones as he had before, but he was fast learning that those choices had never been free in the first place.

In the Garden there had always been someone around to check up on him; amazing when there had only been four of them there, including himself. Beneath the stars, he had always felt watched, as if someone was waiting for him to do something wrong. It had been like constant surveillance; it was only now that he didn’t have it, that he realised how oppressive it had been. Then there was Maskaoí. Always he had striven to impress her, to attract her eye, to win her affection, but now she had betrayed him, and he revelled in doing things that he knew would offend, or sadden her. Even if she couldn’t see him, he wanted to hurt her by proving how far she had thrown him.

In his mind he had no longer fallen, he had been pushed, shoved, thrown. The others were no longer former friends he had let down, he was no longer ashamed by his own actions; they had been his cruel masters, who had driven him to do what he had done. He was nothing but a victim.

Glancing in the mirror, he studied the darker shade of his eyes and the duskier hint to his skin and smiled.

“Pleased with yourself, are you?” His reflection was paled, and became more worn and wane.

“Yes,” Nawaquí replied stiffly, trying to recapture the former image of himself; the one he was starting to be proud of.

“Well you would be, wouldn’t you?”

Clenching his fists against the deliberately antagonising tone, he couldn’t help but ask, “What do you mean by that?”

Caligo snorted. “You’ve given in, haven’t you?”

“To what?” he snapped, hating that all Caligo had to say were questions.

“The Darkness,” Caligo whispered. “It’s finally seduced you to its call, and you can’t control it anymore, can you?”

“I am in perfect control.”

“Of course you are.” Caligo laughed scornfully. “The Darkness isn’t taking you over at all. You own it, you can tell it what to do, and at any moment you can stop what is happening to you.” The reflection lifted its hand and clicked its fingers. “Just like that.”

Nawaquí narrowed his eyes. “I am the Darkness,” he snarled. “The Darkness is me. It’s what I am, and you know it.”

Caligo shook his head slowly, sadly, and sighed. “Yes, Nawaquí, it’s what you are. But you used to be more.”

“What do you mean?” he demanded, but the reflection wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Look at me when I am talking to you!”

“I can’t,” Caligo whispered.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to see what I’ve become.”

Nawaquí turned away then and closed his eyes, and again wondered where the voice came from; was it inside the mirror, or his head? Was it the shadows, trying to drive him mad? He didn’t know, he couldn’t tell, nothing made sense anymore. But the one thing he did know, was that he couldn’t look even himself in the eyes anymore. Was he ashamed of his reflection? Or was his reflection ashamed of him? Worse, a third thought skittered across his mind before he could stop it, am I ashamed of myself? Or, if not ashamed, am I afraid? He looked deep into the shadows of the darkness surrounding him, but could not find an answer.

It took him days to work up the courage to face himself again, and all the time his mind was full of confusing thoughts. He no longer knew what to feel, or even what he was. All around him the shadows grew more numerous day by day, but he didn’t have the will to dominate them, or order them around. Instead he lay on his bed, staring at the swirling dark ceiling above him, and tried not to move or think. He was Aekhartain, immortal, dead, he needed nothing to sustain him. Only silence.

But the darkness whispered.

Slowly, gradually, with each day that went by, it seeped a little further inside of him, took control of another part of him, and he lay there in silence, submissively letting it do as it wished to him. Complicity was the only thing he could manage, leaving his body defenceless while his mind raged on in doubt, wondering, wondering, wondering about the nature of his inner self, and the darkness that was encroaching upon it.

Wouldn’t it be easier to survive out here, alone, if he gave in?

Before the Darkness began to take hold of him, he had been pitiful, lonely, regretful and sad. With the Darkness he was growing stronger, he had no regrets, he liked only his own company and was happy. As happy as he could be, of course; while inside him festered the rage, anger, contempt and obsession. Every genuine emotion he had ever felt throughout his life and early Aekhartain age, was twisted into a mockery of its former self. The Darkness did it, and he had no will to resist. It wasn’t a question of goodness, it was all about survival.

He would survive this trial, he would, and when he had grown, then he would make them pay. They would regret what they had done to him, eternally, he would make sure of it. But first he had to survive. That would be his decision.

* * *

When he finally moved and found himself looking into the mirror again, the only thing he noticed that hadn’t changed even slightly about his looks was his hair. It was still dark brown, but not quite black. It irked him.

“Why are you still the same?” he demanded.

His reflection stared back with drawn features and hollow eyes. “Change won’t solve your problems, Nawaquí,” Caligo told him, his voice harsh and broken. He sounded weak.

“What would you know?”

“Enough,” Caligo replied tiredly. “You are not the only one with nothing to do but think. You are not the only one who is isolated and alone. You are not the only one the Darkness is trying to control.”

Nawaquí’s lips twitched into a smile. “It is not a question of control, Caligo, it is survival.”

“For you,” Caligo rasped.

“Yes,” he snarled back, “for me. Who else is there in this pit of despair?”

Fading green eyes stared at him with watery contemplation for a long, silent moment, as if trying to convey some secret understanding. When nothing happened, Caligo shook his head sadly. “No one,” he whispered, his voice weaker still. “There is no one else. You are alone, Nawaquí. I hope it makes you happy.” Then he shut his eyes.

When Nawaquí opened them again, he found himself staring into dark emeralds, blacker than they had been in life. His skin was tinged with a dusky hued, his lips a darker shade of red and there was a dark freckle by the corner of his right eye which he’d never seen before. He was darker in every sense, and he smiled, which turned into a scowl. His hair was still brown, not quite black. “Damn you,” he hissed at his reflection. “Damn you to the Void, and back.”

His reflection didn’t respond. It was silent. It seemed it had nothing more to say.

“Good,” he nodded stiffly when he accepted that he was alone, “I’m glad.” He turned away from the mirror and walked towards the door, before he left the room he looked back, but the reflection was the same. There was no Caligo to pass a disparaging comment, or question him, or sneer. “Good,” he said again, and wondered why he felt he had lost something important.

But it was only a passing phase. The Darkness was whispering again, and this time he was ready, and willing to answer.