Darkling (2 page)

At last I reach the end of the glowing tunnel and find a carriage waiting for me. Not a carriage, really, but a hay wagon that hasn’t been used in a year since there is no more hay. It has been adorned with pine boughs. I can’t imagine where they found the greenery, since no one dares enter the woods anymore. That’s where the darkness began.

No one really knows why the light dimmed. It started about five years ago, when I was twelve. Hunters noticed shadows in the forest. Shadows that grew and spread as time passed. It had always been dim beneath the boughs, but now to venture into the forest means to walk into blackest night. The hunters can no longer see to aim their arrows. Our crops are dead. Our cows dried up then died. We are starving.

Midsummer used to be a day of feasts and dances and bonfires. A day when cares were set aside for the joy of grass between our toes, warm hands in our palms, laughter in our hearts. Our celebrations dimmed with the light. Our ancestors said our bonfires asked the sun to keep burning beyond the solstice. But something has upset the balance of our woods. Something so deep that even our bonfires can’t lure the sun back. And he has something to do with it. Of that we’re sure now, which is why I’m being given to him.

Today is Midsummer, I remind myself, staring at the wagon that will bear me to my fate. Jasper climbs onto the bed, having trouble getting in because of his short legs. He is small for his age because he hasn’t been fed properly his whole life. I take my seat beside him, careful not to snag my mother’s wedding dress on the coarse wood. Several men pull the cart. The last horse in our village died three months ago.

The people of Morrot follow, their torches forming a glowworm behind the wagon. They begin to sing Midsummer’s Song low and slow. I remember it being sung fast when I was a child, dancing around the bonfires, my skin golden from the sun. Now it is so pale that it nearly glows in the darkness and the song is a dirge.

“
Behold the joy of children

Behold the joy of men,

Behold the burning circle

That never has an end.

Through falling leaves and winter snow

The sun will visit those below

And warm the Netherworld will be

But it’s not there that you’ll find me.

Behold the joy of children

Behold the joy of men,

Behold the burning circle

That never has an end
.

Through spring meadows and summer sky,

The sun will shine on you and
I

For we are young and dance around

Bonfires shining above ground.
”

The chorus is repeated as the cart rattles on. I revel in the scent of the boughs adorning the wagon. I had almost forgotten what pine sap smells like.

“Why can’t I come see you?” Jasper asks in a whisper.

“Because it’s your job to take care of mother and father now.
You know they’ll be sad without me at home.”

“I’ll be sad, too.”

I wrap an arm around his thin shoulders, hugging him to me. I don’t tell him that I am already sad. That at the sight of his pain, if I could take all this back, I would. But it’s too late. I’ve gone through the glowing tunnel. To turn back now would not only insult our village elder, who approved of me, but also bring such shame upon my family that we would become outcasts. Food is already hard enough to come by as a community. I could never let my loved ones be cast out to fend for themselves, no matter how much time I want to spend with my little brother.

The wagon stops so far from the village that the bonfires on the hills are now mere specks of light. They look like they’re floating in the dark. Like golden stars.

“
Whether in this life or the next,

Even after sunset in the west

The light will return from high above…
”

I lean in to Jasper’s ear. My throat is tight and my vision blurring with tears. Tears that I won’t let fall as I whisper the end of the song in his ear.
“For it is my heart and you are my love
.”

“Hail!” the villagers yell as one as they finish their song.

Elias, our village elder, stands upon a stump, bearing a torch. The drums continue and Elias holds out a withered hand, his long nails curving at the tips of his fingers. I kiss Jasper’s cheek then slide off the wagon. Elias has been our leader my whole life.

I can feel the heat from Elias’ torch as I approach. I can’t tell how old he is, but his lithe form is still limber and spry. His pale blue eyes shimmer in the light as he looks down at me, his red lips wet, as if he’s been licking them. But his gaze is somewhere below my eyes, like he is looking at my chest.

“Welcome,” he shouts, flinging his arms out and addressing the crowd. “To this most glorious occasion.”

The villagers ring the stump, their torches casting such strange shadows on their faces that I can no longer tell who is who, which is just as well. I’m not good at goodbyes. I look back for Jasper but can’t find him. Elias continues leading the ceremony while my eyes frantically dart about, hunting for my little brother. I have no idea what Elias is saying because my heart is now hammering so loud that it’s nearly drowning out the drums and I can’t find Jasper. Then I spot him, off to the side, my father’s large hands resting on his shoulders. I can’t go to him. I just needed to see his face once more.

Elias has finished, I realize, for he steps off the stump and bows to me. The drums pause as the rest of the villagers bow, as well. In the quiet, all I hear are distant whispers. I am tempted to steal another look at my family but know that it will only make it worse if I do. They are no longer my family.

I belong to him. And it is time.

I hold my head high and gather my mother’s wedding dress, lifting the front enough to walk. I tug the veil out my hair and set it down on the stump. It’s worth too much to take with me and my family will need whatever they can get their hands on to trade.
With a deep breath, I turn my back on Morrot. My home. My brother. Draven. The drums begin as soon as I turn, slow and heavy. Facing the woods, I can only see the trunks of the trees and smell the scent of musky earth and rotting leaves. The drums pulse louder, urging me onwards, so I take my first step into the darkness.

I am the sacrifice.

T
he drums pulse in the distance. I don’t know what will happen once they stop. My mother’s wedding dress rustles as it drags along the forest floor. Lace adorns the sleeves that aren’t really sleeves, just straps across my biceps. Off the shoulder, I think she called it. In the dim light of the torches, I can see that the hem is already browning with dead leaves and small pinecones clinging to the lace. A train adorned by the trees, as if they’re also urging me onwards with the drums.

Sacrifice Rock is in the clearing ahead, though I can hardly see it outside of the light of the torches. It’s just a vaguely grey blob out of the corners of my eyes when I turn my head. We discovered long ago that in dim light, we have better vision from the sides of our eyes than looking straight at something.
Probably to detect predators attacking from our flanks. Predators. My heart feels like a rabbit’s.

The drums are hammering behind me as I approach Sacrifice Rock. It is the size of a large table and slanted, leaning into the forest floor at an angle. From what I can make out, vines cling and curve around its surface. I briefly wonder how they have survived when I am distracted by a dark stain in the middle.
Blood.

In the beginning, we laid out a share of our meager crops, hoping to appease the Bringer of Darkness, even though we weren’t sure who or what that was. Nothing changed. Realizing we’d have to give more, each villager was assessed. My friend Draven had the largest remaining flock of chickens, so one was selected and sacrificed on the rock. When still nothing changed, we tried a sheep then a cow and despite worry over wasting whole carcasses, a pig. All the offerings were slaughtered and left at Sacrifice Rock. But no matter what the Bringer took, he wanted more, and the darkness continued to spread.

Parties were sent to seek help outside of our mountain valley but never returned. The steep slopes are dangerous in the dark and if the men didn’t fall to their deaths, they froze. Without the sun, glaciers have grown in the mountain passes and we’re trapped.

There is nothing left for us to try but a live human offering.

A roar rises in the distance. The villagers have cried out in unison with the final bang of the drum. I was meant to be on the rock by then. Running the few feet left, I hurl myself onto its chilly surface.

For a moment I think I can still hear the drum,
ands then I realize it’s my own heart pounding in my ears. I am panting, not daring to move off of the stone as if, somehow, it will keep me from drowning. My pale arms glow almost as much as my mother’s dress in the shadows. I do my best to quiet my breathing and listen.

He will come. I am his.

Lying down with my back on the rock, I close my eyes and try to relax my mind. My soft belly makes me feel far too easy to shred. Cold creeps across my skin and for the first time since leaving the house, I realize that I'm chilled. I’ve been forced to grow used to the cold, yet even so, lying against stone, I wish I was wearing more. Opening my eyes, I wait for them to adjust to the shadows. I used to think it was impossible to see on a moonless night but after five years, my eyes have changed. Now I wonder if it would be hard to see in the sunlight.

I have no means to measure time. The drums stopped long ago, that much I know. The only sounds around me are the dripping of the trees. As I lie and wait, my body relaxes and I almost feel comfortable, as if I wasn’t waiting for my potential death. Then again, we’re all waiting for our deaths from the moment we’re born.

It’s nearly noon. It must be. My dress is damp from the dew and my joints are stiff so I know I’ve been here for hours. A spark of irritation warms me and for a moment I’m amused by my annoyance that my killer isn’t on time. Then again, I don’t believe he really is a killer, which is why I volunteered. He is troubled. I will listen to his secrets and help him, just as I have always done for friends and strangers. That’s how I’ll spare my family.

My mind is snapped back into my body by a noise. Something near me shifts and I hold my breath. That was no drop of water or falling branch. That was something on the forest floor. Like a foot. And it was inches away from my head.

A new cold slithers up my spine, tingling behind my ears. All this time I have been waiting for the Bringer to come when I needn’t have. He was already here. Watching me.

My heart is picking up again and I try to breathe deeply to slow it down. There’s another shift then an exhale on my skin. A cold finger rests on my collarbone, sending a jolt through me.

Instinct takes over and it’s all I can do to keep from pulling away.

“Please,” I whisper.

All I can see above me is a vaguely darker shadow. Can he feel me shaking?

I wait for cold steel in my belly, wanton hands on my flesh, claws on my skin, anything. The finger slides down my collarbone and falls off my shoulder, as if tugged by gravity. The shadow pivots and his footsteps retreat.

I sit up, my curls sliding over the goose bumps on my shoulders. I try to watch him walk away but can no longer make out his outline amidst the gloom.

I could go back to my family. I could warm my skin by the hearth and wrap Jasper in a hug. Hear my father play his fiddle. I could find Draven and tell him that though his falcon died, I haven’t. But doing all of this would mean admitting failure.
Surrendering to starvation.

My heart is still beating fast so I make the best of it. Gathering up the hem of the dress, I dart into the forest. The animal in me screams not to turn my back on the candles of
Morrot, but I ignore it and press through the shadows.

The dead and dying branches and shrubs of the woods are shredding the lace of my mother’s dress. Something deep inside is tugging me forward and I
know I am headed in the right direction. I continue at a jog and once or twice slip on ice, but pick myself up and keep going for what feels like miles.