5: Darkness

*Content warning; mild fantasy violence, daggers

Leneah followed on Brother Night’s heel, or cloak hem, since she had never noticed his feet. A scream cut through the air around her but stopped short. What the hells were they doing in there, and what had she gotten herself into?

Every instinct screamed at her to run, to get as far away from this place as possible. It was too late for escape, though. She had to stick to the mission plan. Leneah schooled her expression, creating a protective shield of blank neutrality around her. All who served the Ivory Order learned to become unreadable and featureless as unhewn stone, unmarked parchment. Maintaining calm could mean the difference between safety and exposure, between life and death… especially for those in deep cover.

I’m in deep something, she thought, a twist of panicked humor threatening to shatter her indifference.

“Pay heed to me, Initiate,” Brother Night stopped ahead of her, a hiss of disdain in the quiet words. He did not even turn to face her as he spoke. “You will do as instructed. To the breath, to the heartbeat. Obey, or else there will be consequences.” The whispered threat faded into silence as he resumed his eerie glide through the foyer of the mausoleum.

Pale magelamps, white to honor the dead, flickered in their glass orbs, making the shadows between each sconce seem to undulate and shudder and the statues marking entrances to family crypts monstrous and mysterious.

Brother Night turned, and Leneah staggered, her boots scraping over the stone floor as she almost stumbled into him. He motioned her down a narrow hallway, pausing before an archway carved with sigils that made Leneah’s eyes ache–something in their spirals and spikes felt alive. Light spilled from behind the archway’s closed doors, different from the magelamps in the foyer.

Instead of the soft white radiance, this was a sickly poisonous hue. She shuddered. Something about the green glow was terrifying. Almost like it was gobbling up the surrounding shadows…

Before she could conjure up any theories, Brother Night turned, arm shooting out from his robe quicker than thought. A click sounded, and a needle-sharp pain stabbed through Leneah’s forearm.

“What was that? What d-did you do t-to me?” Leneah cried out, the words broken up by chattering teeth and sudden shivers.

“Insurance. You have not yet proven yourself worthy of my trust. I will force this proof,” Brother Night murmured, even and smooth as silk.

“B-but I’ve done everything y-you’ve asked—” She started, then winced as a wave of nausea crashed over her.

“You may wish to save your energy. This poison spell works slowly, but exertion hastens its effects. It would be such a shame for you to lose your chance to prove yourself and join our ranks.” Brother Night leaned in, and Leneah’s stomach dropped to her feet. She had never been so close to him.

Behind his mask, slivers of the same sickly green light that oozed from under the door veined the skin of his eyelids, his irises flashing with darkly verdant sparks. Some aethermages, the ones who overused their magic or allowed it to be corrupted, had a light in their eyes. This, however, wasn’t just corrupted aethermagic. It wasn’t anything she’d ever seen before. Even the smell wafting from the man next to her was wrong; musty, cloying, and familiar in a way that sickened her. Nobody should smell of death and decay.

“Youwish to prove yourself, don’t you, child?” Brother Night’s voice softened in a mockery of concern.

“Yes,” she managed, forcing the single word through a haze of fear and pain.

“That is a wise choice. You will receive the counterspell once your work is done. Now, lean on me for support if you need it . This way,” he said, the door before them swinging open as Brother Night sketched a complicated sigil in the air.

She coughed weakly, fighting away the sickness at the thought of having to touch that creature. She would much rather touch her Valiant. Thinking of Brennan brought warmth back to her chilling limbs, gave her strength and hope, pushing away the fear and despair. He was a remarkable hunter. If he’d followed them into the mausoleum…

Leneah shifted her weight from side to side, hoping the shuffling noise would mask the sound of popping thread. Agents of the Ivory Order kept a tell hidden in their clothing–a simple piece of off-white, everyday cotton. She pulled at the tag in her skirt’s pocket and flicked it behind her just in time.

“Enter,” Brother Night commanded.

Leneah prayed the tag would serve its purpose, rallied her courage, and followed in a stilted gait that made her feel like a puppet being controlled by a drunk. The image of marionette-Leneah, rosy paint on her cheeks, glassy eyes and her limbs animated by twine forced another cough, this time her attempt to stifle hysterical laughter. So absurd, so impossible. Like leading her Valiant on a merry chase on the same night as facing this horror.

Thoughts of puppets disappeared when she saw what awaited her. Sweat trickled down her back, and her breath wheezed in a too-tight chest. It had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real.

Brother Night stepped onto a dais in the center of the pentagonal room, holding the dagger Leneah had stolen with earnest reverence. At his feet, a figure wrapped in black fabric lay trussed on a makeshift cot. They were still breathing, barely.

Leneah’s gaze darted around the chamber, her panic spiking, shivers skittering over her freezing skin. Crypts lined each wall, guarded by figures wearing the same robes and masks as Brother Night. All five clutched orbs of that deathly green magelight in their gloved hands. Corrupted magic streamed from the artifacts, slogging over rubble and fresh gouges carved in the stone floor. The streams of dark power converged into a symbol that covered the entire chamber and hummed with a noise like buzzing insects. Leneah’s gorge rose at the smell of rot.

“The silencing spell,” Brother Night called out, facing one of the hooded figures against the wall. They kept both hands on their artifact, but whispered an incantation, toeing a sigil on the stone floor. A gust eddied through the room, followed by a punch of pressure.

“What is this?” She blurted out in horror. “It’s not what you told me to expect.”

It was not what the Order’s spies had said would happen, either. The Harbingers were a cult known for their use of corrupted aethermagic to enhance their own power, in the name of worshiping some long-forgotten dark goddess.

They weren’t supposed to be killers, or dangerous to the people of Ahra. Their rituals were for show–at least, that’s what she’d been told. And their mysterious exclusivity was just a ploy to draw in wealthy malcontents like she was pretending to be, posing these months as the problem-daughter of a noble family.

What filled this crypt was true dark magic. Was real. For a moment, she hoped Brennan hadn’t followed her. Surely, this crypt would be where she met her end–an end she didn’t wish him to share.

“Ahra has grown weak,” Brother Night said. “Our leaders are complacent, our leylines dull with mundanity, our citizens craven. The people of the Dominion don’t even allow use of protection leymagic anymore, and nobody knows about Orendt. We of the Harbingers are not content with this weakness. There is a source of true power that would give us all the strength we need for a thousand lifetimes. Things are coming. Things we can’t fight.”

“What things?” She bit out, anger bolstering what little energy she had left. “What could warrant this?” She gestured at the body on the dais, hands shaking.

“Why, the end of our world, child.” Brother Night stepped around the figure on the cot to stand over Leneah, eyes blazing with magic. “If we serve the Kraah of our own volition, they will give us leniency. And the prophecies are quite clear on the inevitability of their return. We become their loyal subjects, or the world burns.”

“No. No, this can’t be happening.” Leneah didn’t realize she was shaking her head until her vision doubled, dizziness threatening to overtake her. The Kraah were demons of myth. Fairytales. What kind of madness would make people like Brother Night worship the stuff of nightmares and delve into blood-sacrifice leymagic?

“Leneah Stillwater. Approach the offering,” Brother Night commanded, his voice as big and loud as a death knell.

“I want no part of this.” Leneah tried to back away, but froze, every muscle in her body seizing up in agony. Brother Night was murmuring something, harsh-sounding words repeated with growing urgency. Her chest tightened, her heart slammed into her ribs, and her skin itched and burned. She shifted her gaze with a groan of effort and whimpered. Veins of corrupted magic slivered over the backs of her hands, crawling under her sleeve. Poison-green specks shrouded her vision.

“I said, approach the offering,” Brother Night ordered. He whispered another incantation and, with a shudder, Leneah’s muscles relaxed enough she could move. She didn’t reply, but shuffled toward the black-bound figure, hot tears sliding down her cheeks.

“On my command, you will plunge the dagger into the left side of our offering’s chest. Do you understand?” He pressed the weapon into her hands, magic flaring from the eyeholes of his mask.

She could only nod. Leneah reached for the dagger, begging The Source for strength and courage. She thought of Brennan and prayed for his safety. Most of all, she prayed he would avoid this place of corruption.

A shock of clarity broke through the fog obscuring her mind, bringing with it a fresh surge of hope. By glorious accident, she had a way out of this. The dagger was secretly enchanted with cleansing leymagic before she’d even stolen it, making the rest of her mission possible—destroying any rogue aethermagic. This same magic that could overpower most corruption. Her next course of action was obvious.

Ignore the pain. Ignore what they did to you. She clasped the hilt of the dagger as tightly in her hand as her burning fingers would allow.

It wasn’t as easy to ignore the building energy in the room, how it clawed at her skin and picked at her soul with hungry tendrils. At some point, Brother Night had begun a different chant, the five hooded figures in the room joining him. Leneah’s tears threatened to turn to sobs… there was malice in the words they were intoning, and so much ugliness and hate.

The Source guides you. The Order trusts you. This blade can’t harm the light, only the darkness. Be ready…

Leneah positioned herself over the poor soul on the cot, raised the dagger high over her head in an unnecessary but distracting flourish. The chanting quickened to thunderous fever-pitch, their sickly leymagic rising in wisps of green flame from the carvings on the floor.

“Now,” Brother Night shouted.

She gritted her teeth and, before anyone could stop her, slashed the dagger along her arm.