Page 41 of Return of the Darkness
The crash did not sound again, but as Alvan and Larelle quickened their pace along the hallway, they heard other indistinguishable noises crawling toward them.
“There,” Larelle murmured, pointing at a slither of light in the darkness.
“The bottom of a doorway?” Alvan suggested, and Larelle was inclined to agree. Their feet slowed as the noises soon became murmurs; someone was talking—occasionally shouting—to themselves, but neither could discern his words.
Sea-salt tinged the air. Even within the walls, Larelle knew they had ventured closer to the edge of the city towards the sea. Alvan tugged Larelle’s hand, stopping them. Still several feet from the slither of light, Alvan lifted the lantern, illuminating whatappeared to be the front of a house in a soft glow. Larelle frowned, puzzled by a tunnel connecting a house to the church. It was definitely a house; she could see its dark wooden door, and a square she assumed was a window, covered by a thin piece of hanging fabric to shield the light. The house appeared like any other on the outskirts of Mera, meaning the house was likely built first and was then connected to the church shortly after. Larelle wondered why anyone in Mera would hide a tunnel between two locations. She recalled the last row of homes before the city met the beach, the end ones built directly in front of the cliffy rock that eventually met The Bay. If this home was in front of the cliffs, it seemed plausible that an underground tunnel had been created through it to reach the church.
Alvan placed the lantern at their feet before they carefully approached the door, avoiding bringing the light too close to the hidden window to avoid getting caught. Larelle jumped when a voice shouted from inside, their words incoherent.
“Are you certain about this?” whispered Alvan, reaching the door and covered window. Larelle nodded and touched the brown woven cloth, like the sacks used to collect olives in Amoro. Stepping aside, she pressed her face against the stone, the dampness seeping into her skin. Ignoring the small tremble in her hand, Larelle moved the fabric aside—just an inch—and peered through. Alvan mirrored Larelle on the other side: two faces peering into the unknown.
The light seemed to drift from a single window on the opposite wall, yet there was nothing but an alleyway through it. For some reason, the house was completely penned in. That small glimpse of the outside world allowed a view of a small home, a dirty home at that, as though the resident, whose back was turned, had no regard for daily chores. A single bed was shoved into one corner, draped in once white sheets, now crumpled and yellowing. The long table beside it filled the length of the wall and parchments scattered the surface, held down by old, dripping candles, collecting wax on thepages in lumps. Trickles of black smoke from the candles stained the wall behind, having been left to burn too close. A yellow tinge tarnished the remaining bricks; the only difference in colour was a white patch beneath the window, where a piece of furniture must have sat for some time. A billow of smoke drifted around the mumbling man, holding a pipe.
Larelle inched her fingers to where the window was partially cracked open and trained her eyes on the man. He had little hair, except for a few white strands barely covering his scalp, indicating where it had either fallen or been pulled out over time. His wrinkled hands trembled as he removed the pipe from his mouth and lifted it again, appearing discontented at the lack of substance. Larelle pulled the window slightly, so she might better hear what he was saying. When the window creaked, his hand stilled and his mumbling stopped. Alvan grabbed Larelle’s free arm and tugged her away from the window, flattening them both against the wall. The pair listened with bated breath as the window creaked again. The drape twitched, and Larelle knew the man peered outside into the tunnel. The lantern, an arm’s reach away, was the only sign someone was outside of his home. Larelle jumped when he rattled the door handle from inside, but it did not open.
“Locked in,” he mumbled. His voice was clearer now as he opened the window further, peering out. “Locked in. She locked me in. Still locked in. Locked in.” Waiting until his voice drifted back to the centre of the room, Larelle pulled away from Alvan.
“One abides, one rebels,” muttered the man as Larelle inched towards the widened gap in the drapes and crouched, looking inside. Alvan rested a hand on her shoulder to peer in, too. “Listen, listen, listen to the land—LISTEN!” he shouted, beginning to pace. Only when he reached the other end of the room did Larelle recognise him from her occasional church visit as a child—Father Zoro, the priest of the very church they were visiting. Upon their first visit, Vivian said he had not wished to see Larelle, given her family’s loose connection to the church. Today, the acolyte said thepriest was sick. Larelle was inclined to agree, though his sickness appeared to be of the mind. “A reverse, a reflection, beneath—beneath you all.” Father Zoro screamed before hurling his pipe at the mirror leaning against the wall beside the window, cracking the glass. Staggering over, he smacked his forehead repeatedly with his fist and then rested his hand along the fracture. He stilled, staring closely at the shards before pressing his other hand on the other side to peer closer at the crack. “A reverse, a reflection, a sister, a mirror. A MIRROR!” Father Zoro laughed hysterically, his eyes moving to where Larelle’s reflection could be seen behind him, peering through the window. The old man spun and ran, his movements spider-like, as he bridged the distance and pushed his hand against the window, where Larelle jumped back with Alvan. The window did not budge; a locking mechanism appeared to stop it from creating a gap large enough for him to crawl out of. The man’s eyes bulged in their hollowed-out sockets as he shoved his face through the gap, revealing rotting teeth. He stared at the pair.
“A queeeeen,” the man sang. “A queen has come to see me?” His voice lilted, like he silently questioned if she was truly present or a figment of the mind. Alvan gripped Larelle’s hand and shook his head, telling her not to answer. Larelle’s gaze drifted to a glint of gold around the man’s neck, a long chain dangling from beneath his shirt. Larelle squinted but she was too far away to see the detail. “Tell her to let me out! Get that sorceress bitch to let me OUT!”
“He doesn’t sound particularly religious,” Alvan murmured.
“Who, sir?” Larelle asked, though she suspected she knew the answer. The man trained his eyes on Larelle.
“I’m meant to keep the balance, the balance, the balance between three.” Father Zoro shook his head, hitting the window as he did.
“What balance, Father Zoro?” asked Alvan, earning a grunt from the old man who ignored him, watching only Larelle with manic eyes.
“Useless, useless. There is a price, a price for the curse.” Larellestepped forward.Curse. Osiris’s lands were cursed.
“What curse?” she asked.
“The ancient one. There is always a price, always a way to undo and keep the balance—I must keep the balance.” Larelle stepped closer to the priest, prompting Alvan to hesitantly release his queen’s hand.
“How do you break the curse?” she asked. The man’s face saddened, softening his manic features until tears pooled in his eyes.
“Now? Or later?”
Larelle frowned. “Is there a difference?”
“Two curses, two sides of a coin. Linked.”
“The first curse,” Larelle demanded, though her frustration rose at the possibility there was more than one.
“Find the beneath,” Father Zoro breathed. “A reverse, a reflection, a sister, a mirror.” Larelle did not ask what he meant. By the look in his eye, he would give no sane response.
“The second curse?”
“Sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice who?” Larelle asked.
“Sacrifice and fulfil the prophecy; sacrifice and reunite the lands.” The priest bowed his head, and his sudden laughter morphed into a coughing fit. The chain around his neck dangled over the window ledge, and something inside Larelle urged her to take it. Never one to doubt her intuition, she reached for the gold circle in one swift move and tugged, snapping the chain. The priest’s head snapped up, yet he was oblivious to her theft, too lost in his delusions.
“I am still the balance, still the balance,” the priest murmured, stumbling back from the window and into his room. Larelle’s chest twinged as Alvan approached her again, holding the lantern.
“We should help him,” she whispered, gripping the talisman-like object in her hand. Alvan stroked her back.
