Darkling (23 page)

“Will you ever forgive me?” she asks.

Tristan kisses her shimmering knuckles. “I already do.”

“I’m frightened without you.” Her eyes are glistening. “What is beyond the Netherworld?”

My mind tightens and it’s as if I’m no longer standing on the floor as realization strikes. My gift is suddenly illuminated. The only dead I can hear are the restless, because only the restless linger in the Netherworld. The rest pass on. To where or what, I don’t know. And neither does Victoria.

That’s why I’ve only ever heard my sister when she wanted to help me end the darkness. To bring her killer to justice. To save our family. But unlike Victoria, Scarlet is not afraid. If she was, she wouldn’t have used all of her strength helping me last night. She would’ve used it to ask for my help instead, like all the others. Like Victoria fighting to remain in her body. Not because she loved Tristan, but because she was afraid of what lies beyond.

“Don’t be afraid,” I whisper.

I don’t know what lies beyond, but I know from Scarlet that it isn’t any more frightening than anything unknown. Like kissing a boy without knowing if he’ll kiss you back, we either have nothing to lose or everything to gain.

I can sense Victoria. I welcome her fear into my body and fill her with my assurance of hope. “Don’t be afraid.”

Victoria closes her eyes and her shimmering body drifts apart, piece by piece, into snowflakes. A gust of wind cuts through the hole in the wall and she scatters, shimmering flecks spinning about in the room. I hear a whisper of thanks in my mind. Then the snowflakes fade into the darkness of the sky.

As Tristan lets out a shaky breath, I wrap my mind around what I’ve just done. I brought her peace. Like so many other restless spirits. It just took much more to get her to accept her fate.
To let go of the living. To build the courage to move on. And now I know why I came to this house. Why I was right all along. It had to be me.

Tristan sits up. As he looks to me, the wound on his cheek
appears, the wound Victoria gave him as she clawed at his face in agony before he killed her. It streams blood for a moment then slowly closes itself up. He rolls up his sleeves to examine his arms. The burns are ugly but so long as they don’t pain him, I don’t care. His half-living over these five years has allowed his body some healing.

He looks away from me. I cross over and kneel beside him. Once again, I tear off part of my dress and clean the blood off his face. And I smile because now I know he is real.

Pale scars from her fingernails run down the side of his face from his temple to his cheek. His skin is no longer perfectly smooth, his beauty no longer vulnerable. Fine lines rim his eyes. Though he’s clean-shaven, the shadow of stubble is on his jaw. Cares and hopes and pain have etched his gaze with age. Experience. He is a man. Yet as he timidly returns my smile, I realize that I was right. Nothing could take away the innocence of his beauty.

I throw my arms around him in a hug then kiss him. Tristan holds me, shaking slightly, and I know all of the sensations of being fully human again are bombarding him.

“Come,” I say, tugging on his hand. There is something I need to do.

He rises and follows me as I gently pluck a rose from the vase. We leave the room behind. As we head down the hall, I feel as if a weight has lifted from the house. I descend the stairs without worry. I light a candle and take it with us. Remembering the snow, I put my slippers back on. Once outside, we pick our way to the back of the house. I shove aside the metal gate and we cross over to Victoria’s gave. I rest the rose beside her tombstone then hug Tristan’s arm. His scars are smooth and lumpy under my fingers. I kiss them.

The rose on the grave slowly brightens in color. At first I think it’s a trick of the candle’s flame, then Tristan tenses. He sees it, too. The rose is slowly blossoming, coming back to life. Its red and green are beautiful. Made all the more beautiful when I realize that I’m not only viewing it from the light of the candle. I can see the snow falling around me. I can see Tristan’s face. I can see the faintest outline of the clouds. The darkness is lifting.

Tristan grins. I wrap my arms around his neck. Laughing and crying at the same time. He spins me about, lifting my feet off the ground. I feel like I’m flying. He sets me down and kisses me. I would kiss him back longer but I’m still laughing.

Pulling away, I hold out my arms. I watch as snowflakes drift about. They’re gathering in our hair, on our lashes. The snow on the ground seems unnaturally bright as the world lightens. It’s like getting my vision back after being blind. I can’t get enough of gazing at everything. I can’t get enough of Tristan’s face, and he can’t get enough of mine. He tucks one of my stray curls behind my ear.

Then I hear something in the distance.
A man screaming for help.

T
ristan has heard it, as well. His smile fades. We both look to the woods. The growing light is like dusk. It’s difficult to make out shapes. I step away from Tristan and towards the sound. The new snow makes the forest appear clean.

“Help!”
I hear again.

My eyes dart to movement in the distance. A brown shape is making its way through the snow, stumbling.

“It’s a man,” Tristan says, stepping to my side. “Look.”

He points out something I didn’t see. They’re hard to glimpse through the shadowy air and falling snow, but lights dance through the trunks deeper in.
Lanterns. A hunt. The lottery. They’re going to kill someone. Draven was already weak, an easy victim.

Gathering up my skirt, I run towards the man.

“Willow!” Tristan follows me. “You’ll catch your death.”

“It might be Draven,” I shout over my shoulder.
“Or my mother. My father.”

Tristan jogs to catch up. He keeps pace with me for several yards until I slow. The man fleeing from the mob appears encumbered. My breath fogs before me and I have to keep blinking in the brightness of the snow. It will take a while to adjust to this light.
For all of us. But I welcome the challenge.

“There.” Tristan touches my arm as he points out the figure.

The man is running towards us. I am about to jog out to meet him when I realize why he’s encumbered. Robes. Brown robes. Elias.

This changes everything. If Elias is fleeing a mob then Draven was successful. The lottery ignited rebellion.
Morrot has turned on its leader. Tristan lets go of my arm and starts to dart towards the man but I stop him.

“Don’t. It’s Elias. He’s the Bringer.”

Tristan’s eyes widen as he snaps his head back to look at the face of the man who caused so much pain.

Elias is nearing us. His cheeks are flushed, his pale eyes wild. “Help!” he screams again.

The lanterns are nearer. I can make out the shapes of their bearers. A figure is racing ahead of them. Impossibly fast and graceful upon the fresh snow. Long legs. Draven.

“Good people,” Elias sputters as he nears.

I look over my shoulder. We’re close enough that he can see the house. He must think that he failed. That Tristan and I are the couple he tried to kill. That we’ll seek to help a stranger in need.

“Please. Help me!”

Tristan darts from my side. He runs towards Elias. I’m close enough to see Elias’ face break into a smile of relief as Tristan approaches. I gather up my dress and follow.

“Thank you, good sir! Thank you!” He holds out his hands, tripping as he runs.

Tristan is near him but doesn’t slow. Elias’ smile starts to fade as he notices. But he doesn’t notice fast enough to avoid Tristan’s fist ramming into his temple. He collapses with a sputter, sinking into the snow, cupping his bleeding ear.

“She suffered for days!” Tristan roars. He kicks Elias in the head, knocking the elder man onto his back.
“You heartless bastard!”

Tristan is about to kick him again but Elias is so frail he can’t take much more.

I grab Tristan’s arm. “You’re not a killer!”

Tristan yanks away from me and readies to kick Elias again. The older man cowers, whimpering as blood pours from his nose. I can hear the shouts of the villagers. Tristan restrains himself and meets my gaze. His eyes have a fire in them I’ve never seen, the fire of flowing blood and taut muscles.

“You’re not a killer,” I repeat.

He looks back to Elias with a sneer. “You’re right,” he says, taking a step back towards me. “I’m not.”

I know Elias killed my sister. He’s the reason she’s not here and so much more. But looking at him now, I only see a frightened old man. A weak excuse for a human being.

Someone in the mob is shouting at us to stop him. They’re near enough that I can just make out their faces. My heart leaps when I realize that my family may be among them. I can’t wait to feel their arms, to share them with Tristan. Draven is nearing us, crossbow in hand.

I look back to Elias. He is shaking, staring at me with frightened eyes. Like an animal in a snare. Then recognition flashes. He knows who I am. I can’t look at him anymore. The old man is fading. I’m seeing my sister’s killer. And I don’t trust myself to have the restraint that Tristan has shown. Neither does he, apparently. Tristan is tugging on my hand, leading me back to the house. I spit on Elias then follow. Let the villagers deal with him.

Hugging Tristan’s arm to my side, I march towards the house. We’re several steps away when I hear the scream.
A maddened, desperate sound. I look over my shoulder and see Elias on his feet, his weakness faded. Sprinting at us with a raised knife.

I am about to shove Tristan out of the way when a bolt sticks in Elias’ wrist. He drops the knife and lets out a howl. Gripping his wounded arm, he falls to his knees.

I spot Draven in the distance. His bandage is blood-stained, his hair wild. But his body is cool and calm as he lowers his crossbow. Falcon eyes indeed.

He casts the weapon aside then pulls out his hunting knife and stalks towards Elias like prey. I realize what he’s about to do but I don’t try to stop him. Tristan may not be a killer, but Draven is.

Elias is whimpering, writhing about as he clutches his wrist. His sounds grow more panicked as Draven nears. I squeeze Tristan’s arm and he grabs my hand, hugging it to his warm chest.

“No, no please,” Elias is pleading. “Please, boy.”

Draven’s boots crunch in the snow as he straddles the wounded man. Readying the knife, he yanks it across Elias’ throat without even blinking. Elias’s pleading becomes gurgled wheezing. He thumps as his body sinks into the snow. Then Draven cleans his knife and straightens, as calm as if he’d just killed a deer and not a man. And so the Bringer of Darkness leaves this world. No pomp and circumstance. Just metal and blood.

The mob is nearing. Their lanterns are dull in the growing brightness. They slow as they notice their quarry is no longer stirring. As they notice the house. Draven pivots and sheathes his knife in his belt. He stands before his kill, facing the villagers.

Tristan cups my face and turns it towards his. He doesn’t want me staring at the body. He rests his forehead against mine and I smile. I lay my hand over his on my cheek. I can hear the crunching snow of the approaching villagers. Friends and family.

The clouds part and the sun
illuminates the forest. It is so bright against the snow that I nearly have to shut my eyes. Then Tristan jerks and a puff of breath hits my lips. I open my eyes. He hasn’t moved but something is wrong. It’s too bright. All around us is glowing whiteness. All I can see are his eyes. They’re colored with surprise but the surprise fades. All that remains is affection. Then his hand falls away from my face and I scream. I scream because I know what’s happened before I see it.

Catching his waist, I fall to my knees with him as his legs give out. His blood is spattering my mother’s wedding dress. A crossbow bolt is sticking out of his heart. I scream again. A woman in the crowd gasps and shrieks, as well.
Hurried footsteps dash towards her. I hear Draven yelling.

The sun is no longer too bright as I look upon Tristan’s pleasant face once more. He isn’t pained. He’s reposed. I cup his cheek.

“Tristan…”

Tears are pooling in my eyes and I try to blink them away. I won’t let them mar my last view of my beloved.