Read Queen of the Dark Things Online
Authors: C. Robert Cargill
Queen of the Dark Things (35 page)
“Yes. Yes it is! Then I grant you this boon. It will do little to help you against some of my brothers. I might be among the most frightening of them, but some of them don't need lies or temptations to twist you apart.”
Bune held his right hand open, brought it to his lips, kissing his fingers lightly. Then he held out his hand and spoke with bone-rattling tones in a language far older than civilization, sharp consonants like the wet hiss of a knife going into a stomach. Colby's skin prickled, a blistering cold washing over him, his heart pounding, his blood thickening to ice. His head grew cloudy, vision fuzzy, every muscle in his body trembling. He doubled over, shivering on the ground, grunting against a sudden flu, his whole body rejecting the magic at once.
Colby threw up, chest heaving, blood vessels in his eyes bursting. He screamed and the ground shook.
And then it passed.
Everything became clearer, the intentions of the demon before him crystallizing in his thoughts. This was the boon Bune was most frightened he would ask for. Had he chosen the fire, that meant Colby was as weak and easily manipulated as most. But if he chose an immunity from deceit, it meant he was much more of a wild card.
But the demon hadn't lied. He couldn't. Not in the triangle. He honestly believed Colby to be weak-willed, filled with anger, and absolutely out of control. With that one decision, everything changed. Colby, it would appear, was something else entirely. And now Bune would tell his brothers what was coming for them.
Colby rose to his feet, his blood pumping again, heart no longer struggling in his chest. The air had returned to normal, the boon's only lingering remnants a cold layer of sweat pooling on Colby's brow.
“Thank you, demon. Our deal is struck. I will release your friend.”
Bune nodded, the flames in his eyes fading. “You know what happens if you don't?”
“I do.”
“Then, for your sake, I hope you keep your end of the bargain.” Then he winked away with a puff of smoke and the bitter stench of brimstone, leaving Colby alone in the dark, terrible jungle.
W
ade Looes was no more, but the kutji that was the shadow of Wade Looes very much still was. And while it didn't remember all the details of Wade's sad and unfulfilled life, it remembered very well how much he loved his daughter, which was very much indeed. It also remembered that he had done something very, very bad to her. Wade couldn't remember what, exactly, but it felt an overwhelming sense of guilt about it. Self-loathing. Despair. Anger. And it knew that, above all, it had to set things right.
So when Wade's daughter came and asked it to make the long journey alone, across Arnhem Land, to bring something back to her, it did not question; it simply did as she asked. For some reason it didn't quite understand, all of the other kutji had promised never to go there. But Wade hadn't. So it fell upon it and it alone to trek across the untamed wilderness to bring back the barely breathing corpse of Kaycee Looes.
The forest was still, dead quiet despite the life teeming throughout. No insects chirped, no cane toads croaked, everything dug well into their holes and hollows or instead wallowed in the mud. It was as if the swamps had been cleared of every living thing, the eerie calm unsettling, dreamlike. Mist rose up off the billabongs like a ghostly militia setting the charge, the forest beginning to take on the night's chill. The kutji Wade Looes had no idea that it was him they were afraid of.
Having flown most of the way, it now crept through the muck and mud, staying in the shadows cast by trees in the moonlight, darting out only long enough to find another. As he drew closer to the outskirts of the small village, he crept slower and slower. There was a Clever Man here, possibly even a powerful one, and if Clever Man saw it, it was cooked. It had to get the body. It could not let its daughter down. Not again. Not ever again.
At the outskirts of the tree line, it saw what it was looking for. The house, just as she had described it, silhouetted by the moon, towering three stories above the fresh mud. The windows were dark and the porch light off. Easy pickings. In. Out. Quick and easy.
Be like the shadow,
it thought
. Be like the shadow.
Flattening itself, wafer thin, it slipped in through the crack between the door and the floor. Inside it was pitch-black and silent as the grave, the only sound the soft, distant beeping of a heart monitor. It followed the sound, slinking soundlessly through the hallway, eyes peeled for any signs of life.
The door to the room was shut, but unlocked, and the handle squeaked ever so slightly as it turned, the creaking hinges whining only that much more. The loudest sound was the heart monitor that, while set to its lowest volume, still pulsed like a sonar ping against the dead of night.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
That sound rung in its head like a hangover, fragmented memories bubbling to the surface at each one. Pounding. Aching. Scratching to get out.
The shadow crept forward, and for the first time in ten years, laid eyes upon its daughter.
Kaycee didn't look anything like it remembered. She was taller now, gaunt, frail, so much skin draped over too small a skeleton. Her eyes were open and lifeless, a feeding tube running in through her mouth, an IV dripping water into her drop by drop. A thin blue bedsheet covered her from breast to toe, and as the kutji tugged it away, it saw that it was Wade's daughter for sure.
The shadow stroked the nubs along her clubfoot, then moved up and ran its wispy claws along the trace of her cleft palate. Though older and sickly, she was still every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Memories a decade old loosed themselves from piles of misery and angst, set free to run barefoot across the tracks of its mind. Flashes of a little girl tugging his arm awake. Of holding her in his arms, eyes warm with tears, as his wife lay lifeless beside them. Of a tiny hand grasping his thumb as they walked because she was not yet big enough to slip her fingers between his.
The shadow that was Wade Looes had no heart, but its insides broke as if it had. It had to set things right. This little girl had to go home. Once and for all. It wouldn't let her down. Not again. Not ever again.
Reaching down, it pulled the feeding tube out from her mouth, pulling her jaw back as wide as it would go, then squeezed itself inside. It pulled itself as tight and as thin as it could, forcing itself, headfirst, down her throat and into her belly.
Eyes blinked. Limbs twitched. She was possessed.
The shadow of Wade Looes stared at the ceiling, skin prickling with discomfort, trying to move against years of disused muscles. The legs didn't work, the arms didn't work, the neck couldn't so much as swivel the head connected to it. Everything had atrophied. It was going to have to carry her out.
Focus. Harder. HARDER.
It spread itself thinner, worked its way into every cell of her body, lifted with all the force it could muster.
A toe twitched. Then a hand. A fist clenched. An arm jumped.
Wade dug deeper. He saw his daughter on the floor, in a puddle of her own blood, already drying in her hair and clothes. It was like electricity, a live wire of anguish.
Kaycee Looes shot upright in bed like a marionette whose strings had been suddenly jerked. Her eyes were wide but still lifeless. Her jaw dangled limply, open. She spun in the bed, legs hanging over the side, slumping out onto wobbly legs. The shadow worked each limb, pulling and tugging with the power of its own soul.
Keep thinking about her,
it thought.
Think about her
. It plumbed the depths of its own memories, birthdays and bedtimes, smiles and tears. Whatever was left. Anything it could remember it threw into the furnace of its own soul, chugging forward like a lumbering steam engine.
It worked the body across the room, missing the door entirely, slamming headfirst into the wall. Kaycee backed up. Turned. Moved forward again. The shadow was pushing the body forward as if it was working levers from the insideâevery move disconnected from what it actually had to do to make it happen. Each step was a chore, painful, agonizing.
But worth it.
Into the hallway. Step. Step. Step.
It thumped into another wall.
“Oy! What the bloodyâ” called a voice from farther down the hall.
A tall, limber man in his early thirties appeared, a tangled mop of black hair in a T-shirt and boxers. It was Jirra, who had years before taken a blade to the arm to secure the very body now standing in the hallway before him. He was older now, rugged, wise wrinkles setting in where his youthful vigor and good looks had once been.
He looked at Kaycee, confused for a moment. Then he smiled. “Oh, you're awake.”
The shadow panicked.
Shit!
“Yeah,” it forced out, working the jaw and tongue as best as it could manage while managing to remain upright.
“Well, where are you off to?”
“Out.”
“Well, careful out there. It's a long walk, wherever you're goin'.”
The shadow gave a clumsy, instinctive wave, stomping as quickly as it could toward the door.
The man rushed past, quickly unlocked the door, held it open, a beaming smile on his lips.
This had to be a trap.
Run
, it thought. It barreled out the door, uneasy feet barely able to keep it standing.
I'm coming, darlin'. Dad's coming. I'm gonna make this right. I'm gonna make this right.
He couldn't let her down. Not again. Not ever again.
Y
ashar was right, you know,” said Seere, still sitting atop his horse. “You won't make it through this. Not as you were.”
“I'm doing fine so far,” said Colby. The dark of the mountain still closed in around them, but he felt safer now, with the angel so close.
Seere laughed as much as he could, a stifled chuckle that came out more like a cough. “Already Bune's words are devouring you from the inside. I can feel it, his arguments sitting on the tip of your thoughts. You're wondering if he's right. If you've just been looking at it all wrong.”
“Is he?”
“The difference between angels and demons is more than just whether or not we've fallen and given ourselves over to something . . . else. Angels see morality as a simple set of laws; there is right and there is wrong. There is no room for deviation, only law. Demons, on the other hand, believe that right and wrong are based solely upon the outcome, not the act. Measuring that outcome in years or decades or even millennia creates a decidedly different set of morals. Bune is a master of rhetoric, but he's also the bearer of Hell's fire. His philosophy is blunted by the hundreds of thousands he's charred to ash at the behest of others. A thing like that forces you to distance yourself as far as possible. He's not wrong, but his view is . . . corrupted . . . by his need for perspective. It's the humanity in him.”
“I didn't see much humanity.”
“That's because you, like most of your kind, only use that word to describe your best qualities. To be fair to Bune, you really weren't looking for what little of those he still has. When this is all over, the same might even be said about you.”
Colby stared, unwavering, at the angel. “You know the gift I asked for.”
“We
all
do. Even now, as we speak, my brethren are no doubt convening to decide what should best be done about you, to parse out what you might be up to. Make no mistake, when I'm done here, I too will return to their conclave and I'll have to tell them what you asked
me
for. What we discuss here is in no way said in confidence. Every word, every gesture, plays a role in your future.”
“You're saying it's only going to get harder.”
“No matter whom among us you choose.”
“And this boon Bune gave meâ”
“Only serves to let you know you are being tempted and to resist the supernatural attempts to overcome your free will. You can see through the lies of spirits, but you still have to make your own decisions. So, with that in mind . . . who's next?”
“You.”
“Me? You already have my service.”
“To take me to see whichever of the Seventy-two I choose. What I need, I can only ask you for.”
“And what, exactly, is that?”
“I need you to take me somewhere,” said Colby. “Somewhere your brothers don't tread.”
“Of course. But there were several of us that could have done that.”
“Yeah. And you're the only one of the Seventy-two whom I can trust to keep me safe while I do what needs doing.”
“Colby, where, exactly, are we going?”
“There is a house, in Arnhem Land, that belongs to a Clever Man where I lived for a while as a child. And I need to go there.”
“But Arnhem Land is inâ”
“I know where it is.”
“She has the ring! If she finds us, she could bind me as she did the others.”
“Even if she were still in Australia, which she isn't, she won't come near us. She won't set foot in Arnhem Land.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because that's where her body is kept.”
“It's too dangerous. I can't risk servitude again. Not for this.”
“Then it's a good thing for me that you don't have a choice.”
Seere looked bitterly at Colby, silently grinding his teeth.
“Are you going to make me say the words?”
Seere shook his head. “No. The less you treat me like them the better.”
“Then take me there.”