Dark Requiem (The Darkling Trilogy, Book 3) (11 page)

I went to lunge at her
when strong arms encircled me from behind, locking me in an iron
hold. The room wavered and vanished. Moments later I found myself
wrenched out of the void and into ghostly moonlight. I tore myself
out of the iron hold, crashing into the garage wall.

***

Held tight in Avery’s
arms, I screamed and screamed out Mallory’s name, my distress
increasing as she cried out for me and begged Avery not to hurt me.
He wouldn’t let me see her, or even tell me how badly hurt she was.
His face ashen, he drew us into the void.

His room swirled into view
around us moments later.

He released me.

“
Stay here,” he said, his
eyes wide, that helplessness I had seen before leaping out at
me.

He disappeared, leaving me
on my knees in his room, crying.

Long hours passed before
he returned. I had been curled up on his bed, crying
softly.

I sat up.

“
Is she—?”

“
She’s all right.” He was
pale and his hand shook as he ran it through his hair. “The cuts to
her neck—her wrist. It’s all healed now.”

He paused and looked away,
and for a moment I thought he was about to give into the emotions
thrilling through him. He managed to compose himself.

“
So is he. Your friend.
You could have easily killed him, too. Especially since he is still
weak from turning you into a vampire.”

I remembered my
invulnerable nails, as hard as diamonds, digging into the soft
flesh of Mallory’s neck, small amounts of blood oozing, her face
creasing in pain. And of Shadrach on his knees whilst I reached for
him, my hands grasping for his misshapen chest, blood darkening his
T-shirt.

“
Oh God!” I
moaned.

Tears overwhelmed me again
and I let out a loud, wrenching sob. Avery stood as silent as a
statue as I wept; his face blank as if he were somewhere else
entirely. Noises from within the mansion pulled him out of his
thoughts. He turned toward the door, that lost look still in his
eyes.

It was Mallory, the sound
of her heels tripping swiftly down the corridor toward Avery’s
room.

I expected Avery to try
and stop her from entering, but he just stood there. Moments later
the door was wrenched open and Mallory entered with Shadrach close
behind her. She had changed into a long sleeved, camel-coloured
dress and high heeled pumps.

Maryse appeared at the
bedroom door moments later. She stood there and fidgeted. When she
glanced up and saw me staring at her, she ducked out of sight and
down the corridor. Moments later I heard her moving around in the
field of flowers outside the mansion.

Mallory immediately moved
to me and placed her arms around me. She hugged me
tightly.

“
I’m so sorry, Mallory. I
fought so hard, but—”

“
Shh, Dallas. You would
never hurt me.” She pulled away to wipe the tears that were
streaming down my face and smoothed back my hair. “Uncle Avery
wants me to stay with Shadrach and Maryse for a day or two, but I
want you to know I’m fine and I know you’d never hurt
me.”

She rose, her gaze on
Avery. A silent look passed between them.

She placed a hand against
his arm briefly before she kissed me on the head.

I moved to Shadrach and
threw my arms around him. When I pulled away, he merely smiled and
placed his hand against my cheek.

“
Shadrach,” Avery said. “I
didn’t get to...” His voice trailed away and he was suddenly lost
for words.

Shadrach waved away his
words, seeming embarrassed by them. His gaze returned to Mallory,
his eyes softening, the expression on his face suggesting a glimpse
of something he thought had been lost.

“
We’ll see you tomorrow,”
Mallory said.

She hugged me once more
before she left the room with Shadrach.

Avery stood by the window
for a while, still in a daze. Then without warning, he turned and
left. I was alone again, my thoughts churning with what had taken
place in the drawing room. I lay down on his bed and
cried.

I didn’t expect Avery to
return to his room. I was sure he hated me even more now after what
I had done, but he returned just before dawn.

“
Avery, I know you won’t
want me at the mansion after what I did. But I didn’t mean to hurt
Mallory. I...I can’t even explain it, but I wasn’t—”

“
I’m not going to send you
away, Dallas. Especially not now.”

I expected him to say
more, demand an explanation for what had happened in the drawing
room, an explanation I wouldn’t have been able to give. All I
remembered clearly was the sense I was watching myself from afar,
my body filled with a cold malice. Instead he said nothing at all
about it, but sat on the bed, that shell-shocked look still on his
features.

I sniffed and wiped away
my tears, so miserable I wanted to sleep and never wake
up.

“
Avery. I—?”

“
Go to sleep,
Dallas.
Please
.”

He lay back on the bed and
closed his eyes. He appeared to be fast asleep moments
later.

Twenty-four hours ago I
would have seen this as the perfect opportunity to seduce him, but
now I was just thankful I didn’t have to be on my own after what
had happened. I lay there for a while and stared at him. Then,
doing my best not to wake him, I inched closer and lay my head
against his shoulder, my hand on his chest. I was surprised to feel
him move, his hand coming up to grasp mine. For a second I caught
the drift of his thoughts, a scorching snarl of emotion that had
wound itself tightly to him. It wasn’t something he meant for me to
see, but more what my intuition grasped from him.

The last thing he wanted
was to be alone after what had almost happened tonight. He was
terrified, not only because he had almost lost Mallory, but because
he was certain no matter what he did, like Julia, Henriette, and
then Luna—not to mention the other women in my family who had been
murdered over the decades—he was sure to lose me, too.

I frowned, his certainty
that he would lose me fluttering at my heart like a frightened
bird. I almost spoke, wanting to reassure him I would never leave
him. But I couldn’t. Instead I squeezed his hand tightly. Holding
onto that hand as if it were the be all and end all of life as I
knew it, I fell into an exhausted sleep.

I appeared to be dreaming,
standing in that ghostly courtyard belonging to another time. I
expected to see the brown mare, but it was the man who stood before
me.

He regarded me in silence
for a few moments, his gaze grave and steady.

Then he turned and walked
away. As I moved to follow him, I walked straight from a sunlit
afternoon into a night that was dense and absolute all around me. I
stared around in surprise before my gaze fell on a hill in the
distance. Atop the hill stood a house, large and noble in
comparison to the ones it peered down at. The man I had seen in the
woodlands exited the house.

I don’t know where the
knowledge came from, but I knew now his name was Akan and he
belonged to a people who were known as the Enwa. He began to show
me his story, allowing me to experience everything he
had.

He began his tale on the
day she entered his world.

Akan

When Akan left his home on
that fateful day, darkness lay like a funeral shroud over the land.
He knelt before the vast night sky and turned his face toward
it.

The moon would soon be
leaving the world and the morning star, or the sun carrier god,
shone like a dazzling jewel above him, its very presence the
promise of the gift of a new day. Akan bowed to the earth and
thanked the goddess of the moon for watching over the world whilst
the sun slumbered. As the sky began to lighten and the sun rose in
a triumph of seared copper light, Akan thanked the morning star for
bringing the sun into the world for yet another day.

He got to his feet and
looked out over the village spread out below him; a haphazard
smattering of low, crude stone houses all turned a dark gold in the
dawn light. A profusion of flowering trees and shrubs adorned every
untouched space. A wall surrounded the village, cutting it off from
dense woodlands which clustered beyond it. The houses all appeared
to lean towards the largest structure in the village—the
temple—which sat in the middle of a plaza and rose up above the
other structures like a stone vulture about to take flight. In the
centre of the village were fields of maize.

The walled village was a
beautiful sight to behold and was as close to the Enwa people’s
vision of heaven as one could imagine. However, on this morning it
was difficult for Akan to delight in its beauty, or the stillness
of the budding day, for a snake—one that had pure, dark anger for
venom—was curled tightly around his heart.

Akan let out a heavy sigh,
his gaze on the temple as the sun rose higher in the sky, bathing
it in the purest gold. With a last glance at the exultant morning,
the temple rising to meet it as if it could devour it, he entered
his home to begin the day, knowing he would soon have to face the
cause of his anger.

An hour later, he was
strolling through the village toward the temple, dressed in the
kilt-like garment most of the males in the village wore during the
warm season. His son, Tanu, who had just turned four, was with him.
Tanu darted to and fro, stopping to speak to other villagers before
running to linger at his father’s side. It wasn’t long before some
new thing caught his attention and he darted away again. The
morning appeared to be just like any other as people left their
homes to meet the coming day. Women passed him carrying bowls of
water, while others were already working in the fields. But on this
morning, as had been the case for the past week, there was an air
of celebration in the zeal with which people took to their morning
tasks. He could sense it in the smiles and shouts of greetings he
received from most of the people he passed.

As he neared the temple,
Akan came to a stop and waited for Tanu to break away from chasing
one of the village dogs. He was a small, lively boy with a thin
delicate face and quick, brown eyes. His hair was shaved at the
sides, what was left gathered into a knot at the back of his head.
He saw his father waiting and ceased pursuing the dog. He ran to
Akan and launched himself into his arms.

“
You make sure you don’t
give your mother a reason to shout today,” he said to his
son.

“
Yes, Father,” Tanu said,
an impish smile on his face.

“
I mean it.” He kissed him
on the head and placed him on his feet. “Now go home before she has
to come and look for you.”

“
Yes, Father. Here.” He
handed him a crude carving of a deer Akan had made for him a little
over a year ago. “It is a present, for the goddess.”

“
I will give it to her.
Now go on.”

He watched him scamper
away, darting in and out of the way of the other
villagers.

He gazed at a few of the
people around him, their eyes and faces still lit with the festival
air that had taken over the village. Most of the villagers were
plump from many abundant harvests, their bodies adorned with gold
neck plates and ear spools. Some of the younger males had even
taken to wearing gold skull caps. On this morning the sight of the
villagers angered Akan. He found such flagrant flaunting of their
gold distasteful. He also disliked the smug arrogance he saw in
them, the way their eyes and faces were lit with gleeful joy,
reminding him of spoilt children who have done wrong, but escaped
punishment for their sins.

His lips curled in
displeasure, he moved on, drawing closer to the temple and the
sight he had not wanted his son to see: The dominating presence of
the sacrificial altar. It loomed before him, a large, flat slab of
stone like the unfeeling face of a tyrant. Beneath it was a waist
high flat surface about two metres wide. Steps had been carved on
either side of it, the centre of the stone stained a putrid dark
brown. Flies hovered about it in the still morning air.

Although Akan was a
warrior who had shed the blood of many, the sight of the
sacrificial altar still brought a knot of nausea. Perhaps it was
the way the sacrifices were bound, their faces covered with a
leather mask that muffled their screams and spared onlookers from
gazing upon their terrified faces. The long slow pull of the knife
along their necks whilst they struggled in vain never failed to
send icy fingers down his spine. It was so very different to the
heat of battle—the triumphant thrust of metal sliding into warm
flesh and the sweet smell of blood that heralded a quick, clean
death.

He stopped to bow before
the sacrificial altar, a small act of remembrance for the many men,
women and children for whom its broad, cruel face had been the last
thing they had seen.

He moved on toward the
temple. Although the day was young people were already gathered
outside with flowers, offerings, and food which the temple
attendants, dressed in long black robes, collected. Guards armed
with spears stood at the entrance. He pushed past the crowd, the
snake in his heart biting deep, flooding his chest with its
venom.