Darkfall: Shadows of the Deep, page 5
Then, the man looked up and caught eyes with Max. Though his face was still pained, the worker cocked an eyebrow, then a concerned frown drew over his face. It was almost as if he were embarrassed to have been caught in pain.
Max didn’t want to draw attention to himself, especially this early in the investigation, so he spun on his heels and walked back to the doss house. He’d regroup with Jack and plan the next move.
He was confident that the Skivington, Chambers & Co. business still didn’t know that the intended target of the spawn was now dead. As far as they were concerned, he hoped it was business as usual. That bought Max a little time before suspicions were raised, and it made the next step clear: he needed to dig into the company and find out more about them. First and foremost, where were they getting the spawn from, and why were they in league with Cora?
But where to start?
Max decided to put the question to Jack, to see what the Deathborn could come up with. It would be interesting to see what Jack’s lateral thinking was like when pushed.
Jack had impressed Max thus far. Firstly, for how he’d fought against the creature that killed his son, but also from the stories he’d heard about how Jack had overcome a banshee and how he’d performed at Dalby Forest. There was clear potential there. However, Max needed to know Jack could be more than a mere blunt instrument, and had the mind as well to make the next step.
But that was getting ahead of himself. There was still work to be done in Whitby. Something big was happening in the coastal town. Max felt it in his gut.
CHAPTER NINE
Assandra was restless. She paced around her home, moving from the living room to the kitchen, then back again. Anger bubbled inside her, and she wrung her hands.
Leave! her mind screamed. Get some essentials together and run!
She hated the thought of leaving her home behind. She had worked hard on it, was proud of it. Loved it.
It was hers.
And now those men were forcing her to run away. That, or stay and live under their command like a servant. What other choice did she have? By helping Max and Jack out at Whitby, Assandra assumed she had bought herself a little time before she was checked on again, which meant she had the perfect chance to leave and find somewhere safe to hide for good. But then, could she ever rebuild another life without always looking over her shoulder?
Not knowing what else to do, Assandra grabbed the package that contained the spawn, lifted the floor hatch in her kitchen, and descended to her basement before closing the hatch behind her. The basement was a place she’d always used to shut out the outside world and try to find clarity when needed.
It was a good-sized space with bare brick walls mostly covered by bookshelves and cabinets. She had effigies and symbols dangling from the ceiling, as well as specimens and animal parts stored and ready for use in spells and incantations. While Assandra worked hard to make the house above feel homely, she was perfectly happy with the basement being cold and detached. This was where she carried out her studies, research, and experiments.
The anger coursing through Assandra was hard to control. She needed an outlet—and she realised she had one. Assandra opened the package and box within, then freed the large jar that had been cased up inside. She set it on the table and once again studied the dark, leech-like creature within. The wytch leaned her head closer as the lifeform slowly rolled in the yellow water surrounding it. The jar was large, but not so much to give the spawn much room to manoeuvre, so it simply hung there, suspended.
Poor thing.
Assandra then walked over to some of the shelving and reached up to the top, taking down another jar that had been covered with a hessian sheet. That jar was also filled with liquid, but this one didn’t contain a spawn. A decapitated head floated within, the eyes open and staring blankly out at her.
When the Deathborn had first invaded her home a couple of days ago, a group of them had tried to kill Assandra, so she’d been forced to fight back. In the battle, she had taken this man’s head. That had then proven useful in finding out what the blood from the spawn could do. Now, she wanted to test it again.
She removed the lids from both jars, and after a little struggle, managed to capture the spawn in her hands. Its slimy body felt firm in her grasp.
‘Sorry about this,’ she said to the writhing creature. ‘But I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’re resilient, aren’t you? Just like your brothers and sisters.’
Assandra held the spawn over the jar containing the head and squeezed it. Immediately, the head of the spawn opened, revealing a circular mouth inside and a thin tongue that started wildly probing the air.
Assandra was able to squeeze out some black, viscous liquid from the bottom end of the long creature. The dark fluid fell into the yellow water in the jar below. It swirled around, but did not merge with the surrounding water, much like oil, and instead remained a separate entity and slowly drifted down. Once the substance got close to the decapitated head, it sped up as if sensing the head, then swum inside, entering through the open mouth and nostrils.
The blood moves like it’s alive, Assandra thought to herself.
Not long after, as expected, the suspended head of the Deathborn began to twitch. First, there was a spasm in his cheek, then his left eyelid twitched. Then the dead man’s eyes opened wide in sheer panic.
Where am I?
Alf’s vision was clouded in yellow. The images before him were wavy and somewhat distorted.
What’s… what’s happening?
A face peered towards him. It tilted to the side as it eyed him like a curiosity. It was female and beautiful… but cold. Familiar, maybe. Alf opened his mouth and tried to scream, but no sound came. He felt liquid flood inside through his mouth and nose. His mind crackled, overloaded with a million thoughts at once.
Why am I here? Help me, please help me!
Soon, however, his vision faded, and a darkness overcame him once again. He grew still.
There was a thunderous bloom of light. He spasmed as his brain was shocked into activity again. Another silent scream.
Help me!
Assandra studied the horrified man, if she could even call him that anymore, given he was no more than a floating head. She couldn’t help but marvel that the spawn’s blood was able to bring him back. Maybe not back to life, as she wasn’t sure she could clarify his state as truly alive, but he was certainly somewhat aware; his futile attempts to scream and his wild, panicked eyes were evidence of that. She noted that after a few moments, his movements stopped, and death seemed to claim him again—only for his consciousness to suddenly swim back like a chasing wave.
It was astonishing. Assandra was reminded of her experience in Dalby Forest. Her thoughts ran to the living monolith, as well as the mysterious entity she had sensed out there. The spawn had forged a connection with it, she had little doubt of that, though she couldn’t explain how it happened. However, Assandra had to admit to herself that she felt a great pull to know more.
Though her sister had gone down a road Assandra didn’t think she could follow, she could understand Cora’s drive to learn more about forces that seemed so powerful. Perhaps if the life she had known was now truly over, following in Cora’s footsteps was not such a bad idea. After all, what else did she have?
She heard a knocking on her front door above. Her stomach dropped. The Deathborn are back already, she thought. No doubt with another task for me.
Assandra debated on whether to even answer it. However, after the knocking came again, she had to admit to herself the Deathborn wouldn’t just leave. If needed, they would enter her house without her permission.
Though maybe not Jack or Max, as those two seemed a little different from the others.
She then shook her head. No! They’re still Deathborn. None of them can be trusted.
Seeing no other options, Assandra hid the spawn and the decapitated head of the Deathborn, then walked back upstairs and closed the hatch behind her. She pulled the rug over the trap door before she walked to the living room and peered outside through the window, tilting her head to see the space just outside her front door. She frowned.
No one was there.
Assandra quickly marched to the door and pressed her ear against the wood to listen.
Are they hiding? Trying to play games and intimidate me?
She tightened a fist in anger, then yanked open the door and stepped outside. ‘Who’s out there!’ she demanded, casting her eyes across the area. As her gaze crossed a nearby tree line, Assandra froze, and her body tensed. A figure clad in a dark red hood and matching robes stood looking back at her. Though the face was hidden in shadow beneath the hood, Assandra guessed it was male, judging by the figure's build. His hands were clasped together at his midsection, with fingers interlaced, and the stranger made no effort to hide.
‘Who are you?’ Assandra forcefully asked.
After a pause, the man replied. His voice sounded aged, though certainly not frail. ‘The name I go by is the Crimson Lord.’ He offered nothing else.
Assandra was stunned. She frowned again. The Crimson Lord? She had never heard the title before, but the level of pretentiousness he’d said it with—like it meant something—caught her off guard. The stranger certainly didn’t appear to be any kind of lord, as far as she could tell. The dark hood and cloak were dirtied and aged, and even at this distance Assandra could see fraying to some of the edges. At the base of his robes, Assandra could just make out his boots, which were caked in mud.
He doesn’t look like any kind of lord or nobleman.
‘Is that supposed to mean something to me?’ she asked him. ‘I find it hard to believe you are a lord of anything.’
‘I understand that,’ he said in reply. ‘It is a title I have claimed, but not one most people know.’
Then why claim it? Assandra thought. ‘So it carries no significance, then,’ Assandra shot back.
‘Maybe. But only because most stumble forward with their eyes closed, blind to the truth, and blind to what matters.’
‘The truth?’ Assandra asked.
‘Yes. One you have actually glimpsed before.’
Assandra was in no mood to be spoken to in riddles.
‘I don’t know why you’re here,’ she shouted to him, ‘and I don’t much care. Leave now. That is the only warning you will get.’
She saw the man nod beneath this hood. ‘If that is what you want, then I’ll go,’ he said, surprising her slightly. ‘I know that if you wanted to, you could kill me, even from this distance. You’re powerful, Assandra.’ She tensed up at hearing her name, but the man went on: ‘Every bit as powerful as your sister.’
Assandra’s blood ran cold. How could he know of my sister? Was he some kind of Deathborn, or something similar, like Theodore? However, for some reason, Assandra didn’t think that was the case—but she couldn’t shake the feeling this man was something different.
Unable to help herself, she asked, ‘What do you know of my sister?’
The man took a moment before responding. ‘I was helping her. I was there last night when she died. I saw you, and the others who forced you into helping them. I watched as you burned to the ground everything your sister had built.’
Assandra clenched her fists tighter. ‘Liar!’ she shouted. ‘No one else was there!’
‘I know this is hard to hear,’ he said with a gentleness in his voice. ‘But I was there, watching from the trees. I had to keep hidden, shameful as it was, since there was nothing I could do to stop you.’ Assandra said nothing. She was shaking, though she wasn’t sure why. Anger, maybe. If so, who was she angry at? Herself? Perhaps it was guilt. ‘I don’t blame you for not believing me,’ he went on. ‘So, allow me to offer some proof. If I wasn’t really there, would I know that you set your sister alight and allowed one of the others to take her head?’
Assandra lifted her hand and gripped the jamb of the door, feeling a little dizzy. He was there.
‘After that, you burned the monolith.’
‘What was that thing?’ Assandra demanded.
‘A way to communicate,’ the man explained.
‘It was an abomination!’ Assandra snapped.
‘I can understand why you think that. But if you only knew the truth, you would see things differently. You would see why your sister walked down the path she did.’
‘Cora was always hungry for power,’ Assandra said.
‘Ambition isn’t inherently a bad quality,’ the man replied. ‘And it also doesn’t mean she was wrong about what she was trying to do—not just for herself, but for all of humanity.’
Assandra let out a humourless chuckle. ‘I find that very hard to believe. As far as Cora was concerned, humanity could burn.’
‘That might have been her view once, I agree, but the sister you killed out at Dalby was not the same woman you knew all those years ago.’
‘I’m well aware. She was a monster! Twisted into something I couldn’t even recognise.’
‘That was a sacrifice she made willingly. I know it was hard to see, because our eyes aren’t attuned to see anything beyond our lowly understanding of the world around us, but your sister was becoming something… more.’
‘More what?’
‘More than what we know. More than we understand. I believe she was going to bridge the gap.’
‘You’re talking in riddles,’ Assandra said, growing annoyed.
‘To the uninitiated, that is how it sounds. I appreciate that. However… I can help make things clearer.’
‘I don’t want anything from you. You’re a stranger to me. Leave.’
‘As I say, if that’s what you truly want, then I’ll go. But is it really so hard to imagine that your sister, your own flesh and blood, wasn’t actually the monster you thought she was? Isn’t that a possibility you want to consider?’
Assandra hesitated with her response. Seeing what Cora had become had crushed her—and killing her had made Assandra feel even worse.
Despite what the stranger was telling her, Assandra still felt that stopping Cora was the right thing to do.
‘Please,’ the cloaked man went on. ‘Allow me a small amount of your time. Let me reveal certain things to you. Then, if you believe what I’m saying, I will ask that you accompany me on a short trip so I can show you more. Much more.’
Assandra shook her head. ‘A strange man in an old, dirty hood shows up at my door and promises to enlighten me about my own family, and you expect me to take you at your word? You were right about one thing,’ she said. ‘I could kill you where you stand. And if you don’t leave, that’s exactly what I’ll do.’
She saw his shoulders sag in obvious disappointment. ‘As much as it pains me, I will respect your demand. But please, one final thing… the Deathborn, and those that command them… they aren’t to be trusted. They aren’t your friends, and they will think nothing of killing you if it suits them.’
‘I’m not aligned with the Deathborn,’ Assandra said through gritted teeth. ‘I never have been.’
The dark red hood shifted as the man appeared to nod. ‘You were forced to help them. I suspected as much. Threats, lies, subterfuge, coercion—these are the tools of the Deathborn. Get away from them, Assandra… if you can.’
‘I plan to,’ she said, hoping that would bring this bizarre encounter to a close.
The man started to turn away, but then stopped. ‘If I can offer some friendly advice: always keep moving. Don’t try to set up a normal life or a normal home, especially one as nice as yours here. The Deathborn and their brethren are everywhere, and they’ll find you. Keep running. Cora and I underestimated them, which I blame myself for, and they came back for her before she could finish her work. Don’t let them take you as well.’
Assandra said nothing. The involuntary shaking in her body returned: anger, sadness, regret, all of it overwhelming.
Don’t say anything. Let him walk away.
However, as much as that made sense, she was still conflicted. Where would she run to? Could she really live a life like that?
Try as she might, Assandra couldn’t let go of the notion that Cora might not have been the monster she had presumed. It was an enticing thought. If there was a chance that was true, did she owe it to her sister to hear the stranger out? Because if that was the case… Assandra had ended Cora without justification. That thought made her stomach cramp up.
No. Don’t listen. You don’t know him. You shouldn’t trust him.
The stranger started to make his way back through the trees.
Don’t do it.
She took a breath. ‘Wait!’
The Crimson Lord had gambled.
Assandra had put up a strong front—and he’d seen through it. The doubt on her face was all too evident. Even so, he knew that to hook her fully, he needed to use tact, and a measured approach. Give her just enough to get a bite. Then threaten to pull it all away, forever.
But the truth was, he needed her. So, when she called out for him to wait, he couldn’t help but let a smile form—then he quickly wiped it away before he turned back around.
He didn’t say anything. He just waited. Let her speak. Let her ask to know more. Seeming too eager could push her away again.
‘How… how can I trust you?’ she asked.
The Crimson Lord took a moment. There was a wavering in her voice. ‘I suppose you can’t, really,’ he said. ‘It will take a little faith on your part. I could tell you more about what I saw out at Dalby, to leave you in no doubt that I’m at least telling the truth and that I was there. But… I get the feeling you already believe that part. As for the rest… if you accompany me, I can tell you more on the way, but anything I do say will pale in comparison to what I have to show you. The things you will see with me… they will remove any doubt you may have. More than that, I believe it will start you on a path where you never need to worry about men like the Deathborn again. They would never be able to intimidate or bully you. And… you will change the world, simply put. You will show humanity a new way, and you can finish what your sister began.’
