Dark Company (8 page)

“No.” Caddy looked at her hands. They’d started to shake. She felt nauseous, the taste of the solvent coming back to her. She reached for the glass of water and took a small sip. It was cold and clean on her parched tongue. She took another sip and placed the
glass back on the table. What if it was laced with something? At this point, did it really matter? She couldn’t escape if she tried.

“Did your father ever tell you anything?” the girl asked.

I knew it, Caddy thought. It was her father they were interested in. She tried to appear calm, steadying her voice. “About what?”

The girl leaned forward, her face glowing in the lamplight. Slowly raising her hand, she removed her sunglasses. Where her left eye should have been was a dark, sunken knot. “They did this to me.” She fixed on Caddy with her good eye. It was as blue as a summer sky, its beauty in violent contrast to the obscenity of the empty socket. Replacing her sunglasses, she sat back in the shadows. “The men in grey suits are a cabalistic society, dedicated to the dark forces. They follow an entity they call The One. It is an ancient society, older than the Rosicrucians, though not as old as the entity itself, which is older than time.”

Caddy touched her safe stone with her bandaged hand. “What does this have to do with my father?”

The girl motioned to Red again. He gave Caddy a thick, leather-bound tome. It was deadweight heavy and seemed to whisper in a near-audible voice, like it was trying to speak to her, like it had a life of its own. The pages were thick—made of some kind of skin—and smelled of must and antiquity.

“Open it,” the girl said.

Caddy opened the book with one hand, the other still holding her safe stone. The pages were illustrated with ancient block prints of the most disturbing scenes. People bound and hanging by ropes. People impaled on stakes. It made her feel sick to look at them. The girl studied Caddy’s reaction as she flipped through the pages, the whispers growing louder with every turn. At the image of a decapitation, Caddy slammed the book shut. The thing should be burned. The girl motioned for Red to take it and Caddy practically threw it at him. She felt lighter the second it left her hands.

“Satanists?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” the girl said. “But their goal is similar—to assist the dark energies on the earth plane. They desire total annihilation.”

She’s talking about the Emptiness, Caddy thought. Hadn’t her visions warned her of something like that all along? Was this the connection to her father? It was clear the girl was deranged, though, some kind of radical who’d gone off the deep end. The last thing Caddy wanted was to trigger her or add fuel to the fire of her delusions. Who knew what she was capable of?

“Why would anyone want that?”

The girl folded her hands together. “To create a world where the forces of evil enjoy complete control. Power is their prime directive. Power over the Light and those who serve it.”

“People do all kinds of crazy things,” Caddy said. “Evil has always existed. So far, the earth is still here—as messed up as it is.”

“Look around you. It doesn’t take a genius to see that things are unravelling faster than ever before. We’ve reached critical mass.” The girl tilted her head slightly. “Are you aware of who’s responsible for the current state of affairs?”

“The men in grey suits?” Caddy answered innocently.

The girl gave a small smile. She paused, no doubt assessing Caddy’s sincerity. “The Company.”

“The Company …” Caddy repeated.

“Yes. The men in grey suits work for the Company. They dress in the image of The One. The Company is in league with dark forces. It’s funding the war—a perfect cover for its activities. The war is simply a sleight of hand, a distraction on the world stage from the real trick, the systematic divestment of governmental power, the systematic control of global wealth. When that is achieved, they will usher in The One and his dark armies, and their dream of annihilation will be closer to reality.”

Caddy slowly righted herself in her seat. God knows she’d heard her father say enough bad things about the Company. But
the idea that it was in league with dark forces hell-bent on total annihilation was insane. Not even her father had pushed it that far. She judged the distance to the oil lantern. She could throw it at the girl if she had to.

“So, the Company men are killing people, and this is allowing dark forces to take over on earth.”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“There have always been wars and destruction,” Caddy said.

“And the planet can no longer sustain the abuses,” the girl continued. “The Dreamers have been struggling for centuries to push back the Dark. But we’re losing ground. The Dark is too powerful. So many people in the world have given up hope. We’re on the brink of defeat. The entire planet and all we hold sacred will be destroyed.”

“The Dreamers?” Caddy said.

“The ones who work for the Light.”

Right. Caddy had had enough. She positioned her bandaged hands casually on her legs in case she needed to move quickly. “Obviously this is important to you … but I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

“Those men would have killed you,” the girl said.

“Then I have you to thank for my life. But I’m sick, and I’m tired, and I want to go home to see my father.”

“I told you, that isn’t possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because your father is already dead.”

Caddy lunged for the lamp but Red was too fast for her. He pushed her back into the chair and held her down.

“Let me out of here!” Caddy screamed. “I want to go home—now!”

Red restrained her until her anger broke into tears. The girl let her cry for a while before she spoke again.

“There was nothing we could do. They traced your address
through your phone. Your father was already targeted. It’s amazing he lasted as long as he did.”

Caddy wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket. “What did he ever do to them? Why would they kill him?”

The girl leaned into the lamplight again. “Because he was one of us,” she said. “He was a Dreamer.”

T
he recruits filed from the Great Hall into the streets, parading with their flag-bearers to a large green field. Meg hung back when the Warriors began to move, looking to the silver being for guidance.

“You must go,” it said. “And remember to keep your mouth closed.”

“But who will help me?” she asked. “Who will tell me what to do?”

“You will know in your soul.”

Meg didn’t have a clue what was in her soul. It was a twisted knot. She’d made such a mess of things—refusing to transform like the others, clinging to her past so fiercely. And now, after falling between the frequencies and failing the initiation ceremony, she was more upset and confused than ever.

“I’m afraid,” she said.

The silver being touched her forehead and a sense of tranquility washed over her.

“I will check on you when I can,” it said. “Go now. You are no longer my charge. You are bound to the Warriors and must answer the call.”

Meg turned, obedient, though she didn’t want to face the scrutiny of the other recruits. Gliding from the building, she glanced back and saw the silver being watching her. It raised its hand in farewell. She raised hers in return, feeling lonelier than ever. She had no choice but to follow the other Warriors to the meadow.

After the recruits had assembled in the field, a trumpet sounded and a new being appeared. It looked similar to the silver one, only fiercer and bigger. And it was the colour of pewter. It skimmed up and down the ranks, communicating telepathically.

“You will now receive your totem. This is your animal aid. It will assist you and offer guidance and friendship. It will be your eyes and ears. It will resonate with your thoughts and feelings. But it will not make decisions for you. Any action you take, any decision you make, is ultimately your own.” The being slowed as it passed Meg, taking note of her arm. She thought it would say something disparaging, but it simply continued its address. “You do not choose your totem. Your totem chooses you. Stay in position until your totem has made positive contact.”

The being signalled to start the selection and the trumpet blared. Clouds gathered, and the ground tore open with the sound of ripping fabric, the animals bursting forth. The first to come were the elephants, lions and wolves. The sky darkened with flocks of saw-whet owls, ravens, falcons, doves and canaries. To the Keepers of the Charts came the elephants. To the Messengers flew the saw-whet owls. The canaries found the Musicians; the wolves chose the Advisors; the doves fluttered to the Carriers. The falcons soared to meet the Healers, who received them with outstretched hands. To the Nightshades, the ravens flew, their dark forms merging seamlessly with the lightless beings. And to the Warriors, the lions came, with flowing manes and fathomless gold eyes.

Within minutes, each recruit had a totem and was ready for the next challenge. Except Meg. She looked around despondently
The cavernous opening in the ground rumbled closed, disappearing without a trace.

The pewter being hovered nearby, radiating disapproval. “Each recruit must have a totem.” It skimmed through the ranks, searching for a totem that may have lost its way. There were none. “You will have to make do,” it told Meg.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to fly from the meadow. Then the grass wiggled at her feet. It tickled her toes and she laughed when a small grey mouse appeared, scurried up her robe and sat on her shoulder next to her ear.

“Excuse my tardiness,” it said. “Darned elephants nearly flattened me.”

“Are you my totem?” Meg asked.

“Yes.” The mouse began grooming itself.

“You’re not a lion.”

The mouse chuckled. “Not since the last time I checked.”

The recruits turned as one to stare at the small creature on Meg’s shoulder. She forced a smile and tried to look casual. Before the gossip could start, seven additional pewter beings appeared and signalled for the trumpet to sound the beginning of the next challenge. At the blast of the horn, the recruits and their totems fell into line behind their flag bearers, following their pewter beings to their respective training grounds. Only the Nightshades didn’t go with the rest. They were spirited away to an undisclosed location to train in secret.

The Warriors glided in formation, their lions trotting beside them. The mouse busily groomed itself on Meg’s shoulder, unaware of their odd pairing.

“There is value in all things, no matter the size,” it finally said.

Meg felt guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you with my thoughts.”

“I was referring to you.”

“Oh.”

The mouse rubbed its small pink hands over its whiskers. “In time our purpose will be revealed.”

“Do you know our purpose?”

“No.”

Meg drooped. She’d hoped it could shed some light on the matter. “Does everyone get a totem?” she asked.

“No. Just those that need them.”

“So … those with a Frequency need them …”

“Every being possesses a Frequency,” the mouse said. “Only the Spectral frequencies—the single wavelengths—have totems. It helps to unify you in your purpose.”

Once again Meg felt confused. Did everything have to be a riddle?

The mouse fussed with the hairs on the back of her neck. “It’s best if you stop questioning and simply accept,” it advised.

Meg didn’t care, really, who had a totem and who didn’t. She was just happy to have someone to talk to, even if the mouse was kind of stuffy. “Do you have a name?” she asked.

“We have no use for names here.”

Meg sighed. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me. I had a name once … I just can’t remember it.”

“Attachments are unnecessary and cumbersome,” the mouse said. “Your name is a relic of your former life. It’s time to let it go.”

“But I want a name. It would make me happy. What am I supposed to call you? And what will you call me?”

The mouse clucked. “There’s no need for calling. We’ll evolve together, becoming telepathically linked as the bond between us grows. I will feel what you feel. I will see what you see. And vice versa. Names are restrictive.”

“Names are comforting,” Meg said. She thought about this for a moment. “I’m not sure why, but they are. I really want a name. And you should have one too. How about … Sebastian. That sounds nice. It’s a boy’s name, I think. And you can call me … 
Skylark.” It was the first thing that popped into her head but she liked it already. “From now on, my name is Skylark. I won’t answer unless you call me this.”

“If you insist. It makes no difference to me.”

Skylark fell silent, rolling the sound of her new name around in her head as she glided with the other Warriors. At last the flag bearer planted its banner in the ground. The pewter being stood at the head of the ranks.

“This is one of the most important ceremonies a Warrior will experience,” it said. “The Weapons Ceremony represents the final stage in the galvanization of your frequency. Warriors are known for their dedication, bravery and capability. While there are no favourites in the Light, your role in the Unfolding is of utmost importance.”