Page 29 of Return of the Darkness
“I’ve missed you,” Soren murmured. “Are the others okay? Is someone taking care of you?” Seiko brushed her arm with his paw, signalling to continue with the scratches behind his ear. She did not know what Nyzaia had done with her remaining wolves in the waking world and swallowed back the lump in her throat at the thought of Baelyn. She hoped to remember this when she awoke, so she could ask. It was only when her knees felt damp that Soren tore her focus from Seiko to look below her at the grass. Over Seiko’s head were luscious green fields, coated in a layer of glistening morning dew. The towering oak tree she knew all too well stood not far in the distance. If she walked over, she wondered if the space that held the talisman remained, along with the bloodstains of her fallen family. For a moment, Soren felt the blood of her grandmother drench her hands as she slit her throat, and a chill ran up her spine.
The field had not been like this when she had last dreamt of it with Caligh. The grass was crisp, long since dead, and the tree branches were bare of leaves. Everything was overtaken by darkness. Soren hesitated. When she turned this time, no dead plants crunched beneath her feet; the only sound was Seiko’s light panting as he neared her side under the sunlight. Soren did not know what to make of the sight before her or what it meant. The crumbled castle of her mind remained, with its half walls and collapsing bricks. One wall was completely missing, allowing her to see the small courtyard where she so often stood. Still, ivy clung to the walls and the spiderwebs lingered, but they seemed far less haunting as they glistened beneath the sun. Licks of shadow painted the walls, twisting around the ivy and bricks as if trying to find purchase, hoping to stay there for an eternity. The same shadows coated the floor. As a whole, the castle was as she remembered it: the same dark shadow, the same state of decay, but when she looked at the iron cell bars he was always intent on keeping her from, her mouth parted. Deep within the cell, flower-coated vines writhed along the floor and up the walls, reaching for the sunlight. Thevibrant green vines moved slowly, as if afraid sudden movements would alert the shadows. Soren raised her eyebrows. She had never seen such colour here before. Inhaling the luscious, floral scent from the hundreds of delicate white flowers beginning to bloom, she savoured the moment of beauty in a place so haunted.
Soren’s steps were slow as she inched towards the cell, desperate to see what Caligh had hidden from her for all this time. She had always assumed it was where he entered her mind; perhaps reaching it would offer her a way to find him on her own terms. Or perhaps that was where his true form hid when he appeared before her disguised.
Soren paused, glancing at the shadows in her periphery before continuing her approach. She waited a moment until the shadows twisted again before taking a final step into the blanket of flowers. Moving carefully, she reached for the bars, making sure not to crush the delicate white flowers beneath her feet. She recognised them. Something tugged in her mind. There was something familiar about them. The petals were like velvet as Soren grazed a finger over one of the flowering buds wrapping around the bars; they felt like an extension of herself. Soren’s breathing hitched when they did not wilt at her touch. She could not recall the last time she had held a flower for so long. Soren thought back to the memory of Sadira stuck in the tree, still unsure if it was real. Was that one of the last times she had used her power to wield such life? For far too long, Soren’s power had been dark vines and decay; she no longer remembered how it felt to wield something with such beauty.
A clink of chains sounded from behind the bar, making Soren jump. Seiko did not growl beside her, though, nor did his hackles raise. He simply sniffed the air. The sound of a chain dragging against the floor sent shivers up Soren’s spine, but she remained rooted in place, peering into the darkness between the flower-clad bars. A gasp escaped her when a pair of bright green eyes glinted in the darkness before a small, pale face peered through the cell, reaching to stroke the flowers.
“Hello Soren,” murmured the girl in a voice Soren knew all too well. “I’ve been waiting for you to find me.” Soren stumbled at the girl’s golden braids dangling through the bars, brightening the glow in her eyes. Her forehead was smooth, with no frown lines yet sinking in or scars marring her skin. “Is it odd looking at your younger self and wondering what went wrong?” The girl murmured. Her eyes glowed as they widened with surprise, assessing Soren, who shook her head.
“My mind is not right. Something is wrong with my mind,” Soren mumbled to herself. “You’re right. Something is wrong with it, but it is not me—weare not the problem.” Soren’s younger self squeezed her face further between the bars. “You were curious, weren’t you? About why the Lord of Darkness was so adamant to keep you from these bars?” Soren could not meet her younger self’s eyes as guilt crept over her skin. Though she could not place why, Soren had an inherent feeling this was her fault.
“What are you, exactly?” Soren finally asked, her voice wavering. The girl smiled: a face of pure innocence.
“I am you on the day he took us. I am your mind, your sanity, your true self.” The girl’s eyes watered, and she averted her gaze, staring at the floor. “I am you before you sacrificed yourself for…”
“For what?” Soren snapped. “For Caligh? Is that what you were going to say? Were you going to condemn me?” The girl did not look up at Soren’s harsh tone, causing guilt to skate over her again.
“I’ve been here all along, Soren, but the longer he was here, the weaker I became, until I was simply a distant memory in the back of your mind, suffocated by his darkness and control.”
“Caligh did not control me,” Soren snapped, and her younger self tilted her head.
“Were your actions entirely your own? Everything you did was by your own volition?” she asked. Soren opened her mouth but closed it. She had always felt compelled to act, to do as he requested. She never had a reason to question the consequences when her actions felt so natural. “I would not havebeen hidden behind these bars if everything was your choice.” Soren frowned, and her eyes clocked the remaining shadows. They changed direction, creeping towards the florals.
“Someone wake her up,” a voice echoed throughout the castle, a voice Soren imagined she would be accustomed to soon, while her torture continued. The girl behind the bars giggled.
“I like her,” she said.
“Who?”
The girl grinned; a joyfulness lit her eyes. “Nyzaia,” she strung out her name, like it was the title of a poem.
“How do you know about the Queen of Keres?” Soren asked, keeping her tone low and cautious. The girl sighed.
“You are not understanding. I am always here, watching behind the bars while you act, led by the lord’s commands. I see and hear everything; I spend my days wondering what could be if you were whole again.” The girl reached a hand out through the bars, “If we were reunited.” The girl squeaked, jumping back as shadows lashed out towards the bars. Soren watched the darkness twist around the slowly wilting flowers.
“Wait! Let her through!” Soren screamed, wishing to speak more with the girl, desperate to understand.
“Try harder.” Nyzaia’s voice echoed through Soren’s dreamscape.
“You should trust her,” murmured the girl, cradling her arm behind the bars. A dark wound bloomed across her wrist where the shadow caught her skin. “No one ever sees me,” the girl sobbed. “But I think she would understand what I have been through.”
Chapter Eighteen
Caellum
The Diary of Wren Balfour, Entry Two
I was right to be suspicious, and I expect my end is inevitable. While I still feel like myself, he is there, a presence in my mind. I find myself doing and saying things without realising. It has only been a day since I returned from the Neutral City. I entered the castle estate and shoved a servant when they stumbled into me—why would I do that? I try to resist, but the darkness coils tighter around my mind, twisting until I submit. I do not know how long I have until I become like my father: devoid of emotions, actions unexplained. Until I reach that state, I will continue to write. Perhaps one day one of my children will find this, and should the same fate befall whoever rules in my place, it may help them uncover ways to help.
It was him. The Historian. Except he wears a different face and bears a name he would not tell me. I approached him in the small office within the temple, hidden down the single staircase accessed through a door only I and the other rulers know about. It was clear I should not have been there; he was not expecting me. In the brief glimpse I caught of the room, I saw all manner of unusual artefacts: statues I did not recognise, iron contraptions, maps of places I had never heard of. I could take in no more before he pushed me from the room with a force a man of such an age should not have managed.
“I’ve been waiting for a moment to have you alone,” he sneered in my ear, his voice far younger and sinister than I had ever heard it. “It is time you follow in your father’s footsteps.” The next thing I knew, darknessovercame the hallway. Mysterious shadows slammed the temple door shut, and when I looked back at the Historian, he was changed. No longer frail, old, or wise. A man with a presence that ebbed around me, and a chill that threatened my end. His hands reached for my temples. I had no chance to challenge him and ask of the three pins or my father. I had no chance to beg him not to take my mind or hurt my children. For when his nails dug into my skin, shadows invaded me. I recall my eyes rolling back, and within my mind, a place that should only belong to me, his face appeared. I stood in a nursery; a mural forest painted on the wall beside an expertly engraved mahogany crib. I knew the room instantly. It was Caellum’s. The Historian peered down at my most recent son with a sneer.
“My torment will end with this generation one day. My trusted servant sees things, and I will not invade this one's mind.” The Historian reached into the crib and trailed a finger along my son’s cheek. “I will simply have him as vengeance against your god for far more than you know.” I stepped towards him, but Caellum vanished into smoke in my mind. I stared again at the old man’s face; we were back in the temple. He simply commanded I leave, and I did without question. I walked from the temple and did not turn back to say all I wished to. I simply mounted my horse and returned to the realm that could be ended at my hand one day.
Caellum turned the page with a trembling hand and read through the next few weeks of entries. The sunlight shifted around the room. Still, Sadira leaned against his shoulder, a small comfort. Neither had moved since they had first sat down to read; he imagined Sir Cain would eventually begin searching for them when they missed dinner. The entries continued in a similar manner, depicting his days. Occasionally, he acted out of character and referenced the Historian—Caligh’s presence in his mind. His actions worsened the more he slept and dreamed of him.
