Dark Days: Dark Days, #1

Chapter One ~ After the End

Dinah looked upon the wretches who would feed her army. Whatever had become of gleaming nobles and men with flesh to hold between her teeth? These were skeletons, better meant for the ranks of the God-fed.

Ash rained from the sky, obscuring the twisted silhouettes of buildings and slowly burying the multitude that filled the rubble-strewn square before her. Men with scars and missing limbs still clutched the rusted remains of their rifles. Women and children stared with empty eyes set in faces hollow from hunger. They had fought beyond reason, beyond endurance. Now there was nothing left. Husks. What sort of offering was this for her Lord?

He comes!

He comes! the black-winged angels cried as they perched on the broken machine that had been the last defense of the newly conquered city.

Heads bowed around her in a rustle of cloth and scrape of metal. Dinah fought as long as she could, until the tendons in her neck were taut enough to thrum and droplets of sweat beaded on her lip. In the end, even she, Bringer of All, looked down at the dirt and the savaged captives she must call a meal.

She fell to her knees as the Presence washed over her, a shadow across the sun and the sun itself. The Last God was with them.

Dinah felt him beside her, a glimpse of creaking leather, or was it ancient skin? She had never set eyes on her Lord, but she felt His power every moment of her life. It ran through her veins, made her beautiful, immortal, and it bent her will to His.

He has come, she heard herself intone with the masses. The Last God has come.

A breeze and brush of feather against her cheek as the angels flexed their wings in rejoicing.

Hear me. The god’s words reverberated through her bones. To all who called this world theirs, know it is mine, as you are all mine.

Always, Lord, Dinah echoed the rest.

She felt a putrid familiarity with the captives at that moment. She and they were the same. Nothing.

Then she saw a small face, wide-eyed and curious. A jolt disturbed Dinah’s holy restraint. Her docile emotions, calmed by the god’s presence, were rippled by a stone, a tiny pebble, a child in the crowd.

The boy sees him.

Was she dreaming? She had not slept for millennia. Was she mad, finally, after all these years?

She would never have noticed the child if her neck weren’t fixed downward, might have spent all eternity as she was now, trapped. No. Everything changed as she met his innocent gaze and felt a fragment of her mind free to think, free to feel ... hatred.

A face was reflected next to hers in the boy’s pupils. Its features were obscured by the glow of captured suns burning within its eye sockets. The face of her god. She was seeing it for the first time—and she was not dead.

RALEN GREW ANGRY AS he looked into the man’s golden eyes. The light in them was warm and whispered of home, making him think of sweet scents filling the air and of arms holding him, his mother’s arms. His mother never held him like that. All lies. The ache in his chest pushed the untruthful thoughts away.

The Last God has come, the crowd said reverently. They were on their knees now, all but Ralen, mud and fresh blood soaking into their clothes.

God has come for me. He shivered, still dripping with water from the river. He had tried to run, to take a boat, but its motor had rusted solid in the latest attack. Magic, miracles. Whatever it was, no one stood a chance against the invaders.

An acid taste coated his tongue. His neck stung where the Grey Men’s claws had dug in when they pulled him from his hiding place in the shriveled grass beside the poisoned water.

You are all mine, God said. His face was twisted, the corners of His mouth turned down, and His voice held no joy.

Ralen had nothing, but even he was not so empty. He looked away from the glowing eyes, preferring the glow of the fires chewing at the edges of the city. Ash caught on his eyelashes in thick clumps. He blinked, and the flakes fell away. He was the only one not staring at the ground. The lady and the bird men noticed. The bird men were like no angels he had ever imagined.

Despair, the bird men said, as their black eyes studied him. Our Lord God departs. Weep and pray for his return!

As soon as their high voices quieted, God vanished. Ralen saw it happen, saw the light beneath crystal skin grow bright, blinding. When it faded, the brief, deceitful happiness bestowed by those golden eyes was gone, and he did despair.

Mommy. Ralen gasped the word. He searched for his mother’s yellow hair and saw it everywhere, but none of the women were her. She was dead. He had waited for her to push the fallen bricks aside and come out of the house, but she never did. And now God had come to punish him, just as Mother always said He would.

People stood up around him. He hugged a woman’s bare legs, not minding the sharp feel of stubble against palms as his tears soaked into her ragged dress. He was nine: too old to cry, Mother had said, and too old to believe in monsters, but the monsters were real.

The woman’s hand shook as she patted his head. I want my mommy too. He clutched her tighter, but she pried loose his fingers and pulled away.

The End has come, a wrinkled old man with an overripe strawberry of a nose whispered, as though it were a secret. The End. The man’s clownish cheeks were caked with white ash except for two thin lines where tears had washed away the grime, as he stared at the broken fountain in the middle of the square. Its water boiled, cooked goldfish bobbing on the surface.

The old man was wrong. Nothing ended, especially not suffering. Today was only the start.

Grey Men descended into the crowd, picking people at random and dragging them up the broken steps to where the lady waited. Calm and sure, ash swirling around her, nothing touched her skin or stained her red gown. Not even the cries of people torn away from their families and chained in rows disturbed her. She understood this new world, Ralen knew. She was the way.

The lady stared at him as she had throughout God’s speech. Her gaze did not stray as she whispered to one of the Grey Men, and the creature went back into the crowd to fetch more people. Ralen was one of them.

He did not fight this time. He looked at the monster’s hand on his arm and saw that it wasn’t grey: there were rainbows in the scales. Each thick claw was longer than his longest finger, the tips colored silver. The monster fastened a heavy shackle around his wrist. The loop was too large, and it would be easy to escape, but he didn’t try. They ate anyone who ran.

Thunder rumbled through the warm air. He looked to the black sky and saw a thread of lightning fork cloud to cloud. When he looked down, he saw them choose her—one child among hundreds, a girl with hair like his mother’s.

She didn’t wait to be shackled but hid among the legs of the adults. The monsters let her be.

Hello, Ralen said.

The girl’s lip trembled. Hello.

He slipped out of the manacle and crouched beside her. It felt safer with tall legs all around, like a forest of trees where the monsters couldn’t find them.

The Bringer of All descends. Only one bird man spoke this time. The other swooped across the massive square and alighted on a pile of charred metal and broken glass. Ralen felt him watching.

The lady glided into the crowd like a mist, bare feet hovering just above the ground. There were thousands of people crushed together between ruined buildings, but they somehow found space for her to pass. When she was in the center of them, a hush fell.

Dark hair and pale skin, eyes unnaturally green and bright, the lady was as perfect and unreal as a picture from a magazine when she smiled. Join with me.

She held out her arms, and a murmur began, close to her at first and then spreading to the outer edges of the crowd. The murmur turned to hisses and screams. One by one people fell, shriveled and blackened like burnt wood. Waves of death poured from the lady until she was surrounded by a sea of dried skin and polished bone.

When everyone in the city was dead—everyone except for the invaders and their captives, including Ralen and the yellow-haired girl hiding among the legs of the other prisoners—the lady took a deep breath, loud enough for him to hear in the silence.

She turned and smiled at him. Let us go home.

DINAH WAS NOT THE ONLY one to notice the boy’s unbowed head. Ashkal and Amseel saw all, knew all, spoke all. Angels, messengers, trophies, even they had not seen their Lord’s face until it was reflected in a child’s eyes.

Ashkal stayed behind and watched as the boy was herded into the Lady’s wagon with the survivors and then trundled towards the Portal. The child would be taken to another world, one conquered long ago, while the Last God’s armies finished destroying this one.

Interesting, Ashkal whispered into his twin’s mind.

Should we snatch the boy up and offer him to our Lord? Amseel asked.

It is our duty, Ashkal thought, except...

What?

When has our Lord ever needed our protection? When has anyone ever resisted?

Never.

So, this cannot be. We do not see what we see, thus there is no need—

—to do anything. We do not see?

No. The Watchers are blind.

Amseel stretched a wing, eager to depart. The boy will be eaten anyway.

Perhaps. We do not guide Fate. We only see.

But not the boy?

Never. Except, we must continue not to see him as long as possible. We must learn what becomes of this, Ashkal insisted.

Dinah noticed the child.

I know. This is what we must watch, my brother.

Chapter Two ~ Darkness

The Last God took form again in His private chamber. His citadel was carved from the iron heart of a meteorite, a dead world crashed into the plain of this one to scour it of life. He stroked the twisted white Tree in the center of the craterous room. The thing continued to cling to existence. The meteor had not worked as well as He had hoped.

A multitude of windows surrounded the Tree. Some were set in the metal walls, some rested on the sandy earth, while others floated, unsuspended. Each looked upon a different scene—winter, summer, flood or fire—and His soldiers marched across every land He beheld.

It was not enough.

He studied each scene, feeling the itch of something forgotten, something overlooked.

He did not realize He was alone until the angels emerged from a pane, from the world He had turned to volcano and ash, and He was alone no more. Alone. What an imprecise term. The presence or absence of the angels made no difference to His state of being.

What did you see? He commanded them to answer. Every breath, every syllable was a command. His creatures had no choice but to obey.

Ashkal and Amseel shared a glance and then said as one, Nothing, Our Lord. We saw nothing. No Daemon, Shadow or minor god.

There are no other gods.

Forgive us, Lord. We are flawed, foolish. We meant there was nothing but a curious child and a crowd humbled before your glory.

How disappointing. All the gods were gone, torn apart by His hands, and He missed the feel of greater beings, missed how their power shredded and was so easily subsumed to His. Nothing since had provided so much pleasure.

What did my Bringer do?

Dinah fed greatly. She was severely weakened by the battle, Ashkal said.

She failed me.

The weapons of that world were surprising.

Do not defend her. He wanted so much from her, yet she continued to disappoint.

Yes, Lord. Your Presence was a gift undeserved.

It is time to choose another Bringer. Past time. Send Adarmis into the field. Let it be known that I will watch and judge ... and that Dinah is in disgrace.

That should please him, Lord.

"All that matters is my pleasure."

Yes, Lord.

The angels departed, silent and invisible to all but Him, and He returned to studying the windows. He knew what was wrong. There were more worlds beyond His sight, beyond His Presence. He felt them: tiny sparks of power yet to be claimed. Time to build another Portal.

The Last God closed His eyes and gazed upon the Void.

RALEN WAS IN CRAMPED darkness, the air still and thick and filled with inhuman whispers. Cloth rustled as the others twitched in fear. They were all damned, he knew, so they had best get used to fear. To pain. He went to stir patterns in the dirt as he often did whenever he was waiting for something, but there was no dirt on the cave floor. Instead, his fingers walked across cold stone and found the soft hand of the girl beside him. She laced her fingers through his, and he didn’t feel like Ralen anymore. Together, they were something more, something that wasn’t afraid of the dark.

The whispers drew closer. Hungry.

It’s touch-ing me, a man said, his words clipped and horror-stricken.

The man screamed, and people tore in different directions, the chains joining them rattling like some uncoiling snake until they were pulled up short. Ralen, long free of the shackles, stayed where he was and held tight to the girl. She shivered and put hands over her ears to block out the sounds of crunching bone and the shrieks of the dying man. Ralen wished he could cover his ears too, but he needed to still her shivers. The girl trembled so violently he thought she might fly apart.

Back. A husky voice cut through the chaos, and fires burst into life in the small cave. It was the lady in her red dress. At her feet, green-skinned ghouls gnawed on human limbs. She kicked at them, and the monsters scattered.

These are not for you, she told the creatures. They whimpered into bloody hands, like children scolded for doing what they could not help but do.

Grey Men, rainbow scales flashing in the light from the torches they held, came forward with short rods. One by one, they branded people. Ralen felt the cold metal touch the top of the hand he used to clutch the girl’s shoulder. The brand did not burn, but still it left a glowing red symbol behind.

You are the Bringer’s now, and the gobels cannot touch the Marked, the Grey Man said.

We work for you? a bearded captive huddled with the others asked.

The lady curled her lip. No. The Drakein and the gobels and the Conquered work for me. You are food for later.

NO ONE SPOKE DURING the long hours after the gobel ate a man and the lady’s monsters branded them. Ralen heard the girl’s moans when he woke from a restless sleep full of strange images he could not describe. He shook her, but the nightmare held her tight. It was some time before she escaped it. When she did, her eyes opened wide, and tear-filled whites reflected the reddish light put off by the new Marks on their hands.

Are you alright? he asked. He had seen enough during the war to know that some injuries were invisible and that some could never be mended.

The girl shook her head. Hungry. Just hungry. She lay back down and buried her head in his shoulder, but he knew she didn’t sleep. He felt her muffled sobs through his skin.

He thought a day had passed, but there was no sunlight to be sure. The Grey Men, Drakein they were called, returned, leading more people behind them who were already Marked. The newcomers had faraway looks, like those who had seen war too, and worse.

The new people carried woven baskets. Shriveled apples and brown-spotted vegetables lay at the bottom of the basket held under Ralen’s nose. He took a carrot, but when he reached for another for the girl, an old woman slapped his hand. The empty look she gave him held no anger, but he had broken some rule. The girl had to stand on tiptoes to reach in and take her share. He’d been starved for so long he ate every bite, even the yellowed leaves at the thick end.

The adults hadn’t finished their breakfast before they were herded toward the exit. Where are you taking us? the bearded man with all the questions asked.

Work, a Drakein said. The monster glanced at Ralen but left him and the girl behind.

My name is Anjee, the girl said when they were alone.

Names are not important, Mother always told him, only our sins. That was what God saw. What He judged. Still, he told her, I’m Ralen.

I... She looked down.

His stomach rumbled, and he thought of the half-full baskets of food the others had taken away.

Are you still hungry? he asked.

She nodded. He took her hand and led her out of the cave.

They followed a line of smoking torches down limestone stairs to an underground lake. Water dripped from ancient stalactites, and the peaceful sound echoed through the vast darkness beyond the reach of firelight.

He stopped. There were thousands of people in the cavern. All silent. A few Drakein walked among them, prodding stragglers into the river of people that poured up a dirt slope to a blinding white opening in the stone that must be the surface. So many human faces, except ... they stared at nothing, mouths open in unvoiced screams, scratching at their skin, at the glowing brands on their hands. It was how he’d always pictured this place. No burning fires, no sound of cracking whips, just silent pain. Unending pain.

We’re in Hell, he told the girl. Anjee. He thought her name over and over, letting it fill up his head and push out the fear.

We can’t be. We’re not dead.

Death doesn’t make any difference. He looked at the red light streaming from the half circle and lines branded on his hand. A devil’s mark to claim his soul. The Bringer’s Mark. That’s what the Drakein had called it. It was supposed to keep gobels away, but scores of them lurked in the shadows, whispering, waiting for another bite of blood and marrow. Ralen would never forget the slurps they’d made.

He sucked in mouthfuls of water from the still lake. It tasted sour and old, despite its enticing color. The water glowed turquoise, like the lagoon of some far off paradise. More lies.

Away from the torches, he noticed that the stones all around glowed too, putting off a cold blue light. He reached out and touched something soft. He pulled and came away with a broad worm that shone brightly against his palm.

Anjee poked at it. Eew.

He put the worm back and then held Anjee around the waist so she wouldn’t fall in as she drank.

A scream echoed from some dark corner. Anjee lifted her head like a startled yearling. He heard struggles, the scrape of feet on stone, and glimpsed a moon-faced woman just before she was dragged deeper into the caves by Drakein. Food for monsters.

Ralen saw his food in baskets on the other side of a finger of lake. He couldn’t swim, so he kept to the edge of the water. Anjee’s hand never left his as they hopped from stone to brick, feet wet again, until they reached the pile of stores.

They crept past the vacant-eyed adults tasked to watch the supplies. Stealing was for the weak, but hunger would make him weaker. He held Anjee’s ankles as she rooted inside the deep basket and came up with three figs. Sticks cracked, and the basket broke apart, spilling a meager stream of fruit. An apple rolled against the foot of the old woman, and she woke from her daze with a gasp. She cast stones at them but threw poorly and missed.

They hurried back to the small cave—one among a honeycomb of caves along one side of the cavern—where they had spent the night. It had no torches or glowworms and was unoccupied, a good place to hide. They ate quickly, even though the old woman did not come to reclaim what they stole.

Three blind mice ... three blind mice... Anjee sang. Her voice was sweet and rose above the constant mutters of the gobels. Ralen made his fingers dance on her arm like a mouse on two legs, and she laughed. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

If we grow up, he said, wondering if anyone grew up in Hell, we’ll get married. People got married when they were older. His mother had told him that when she showed him a picture of his father. Ralen couldn’t imagine marrying anyone but Anjee. The moment he saw her, it felt as though he had always known her and always would.

She kissed him quick, missing his lips. Okay. They held each other for warmth, and he fell asleep to her singing.

When he woke, the room was quiet, the adults not yet returned from the surface. The gobels were quiet too. He sucked in a breath and held it. The monsters were never quiet.

His eyes adjusted to the red light emitted by his Mark. A leathery form hunched over his feet. He tried to stand, but the gobel grabbed his ankles.

Don’t hide the little toes. I love to see little toes. The creature wiped thick mud from Ralen’s foot with an emaciated hand and then licked the remaining smears of dirt away.

Ralen shivered and pushed the glowing Mark into the gobel’s face. It squinted but kept licking. These are not for you, Ralen repeated the words the lady had used.

The Bringer is cruel to bring little toes and not let me taste. What harm a nibble? She won’t know.

Ralen scratched at the monster, fingers digging into silver eyes. It hissed and caught his wrists in a long-fingered hand.

One little toe. It bent forward and sucked Ralen’s small toe into its mouth.

No! he cried, waking Anjee.

Sharp teeth stung his skin. The pressure grew and grew, and he gaped at the pain, strings of saliva dangling across his open mouth.

Crunch. Suck, suck...

He couldn’t move, couldn’t draw breath. The pain.

Bad! Bad! Bad! Anjee slapped and kicked the gobel with a flurry of arms and legs.

The monster ignored her clumsy fists and drew Ralen’s blood into his throat like a babe at the breast. Ralen felt lightheaded, his veins weakening and collapsing, empty tunnels with no use. Darkness closed in, the sucking sounds faint with distance, his heartbeat drumming against his skull.

After a last, longing lick, the gobel pulled away. The stump oozed then sealed as the saliva dried. The monster crawled toward the exit. Anjee gathered gravel from the floor and threw it. Stay away, she ordered.

It held up an arm to shield itself from the stones and chuckled. The Bringer will never notice a little toe... now and then. As it disappeared down the tunnel, it whispered a new chant, Many, many, little toes. No one to know. Tomorrow, tomorrow. Time for more to grow....

Ralen stared at his mangled foot, the skin clammy. All his skin was pale and shivery. Pain twisted his guts.

Stupid monster, Anjee said. Toes don’t grow back. Do they?

I... He shivered. I don’t know. Tomorrow. He’d find out then. Unless ... he wasn’t here anymore.

He would run away. There was supposed to be no escape from Hell, but it was stupid not to try. After everyone came back from working on the surface, they’d be tired. When they slept, he would climb up the path to the cave mouth and never look back. All he had to do was wait. Even monsters must sleep.

Chapter Three ~ The Other Side

Ralen peered between stalagmites at the Drakein who blocked the path to the surface. He’d been wrong. The monsters never slept.

Is it still there? Anjee whispered.

Ralen nodded. His foot ached where his toe had been. He needed to escape. There was scrabble on either side of the rise, the only way not guarded. Come on, he said.

The glowing Marks on their hands were wrapped in cloth torn from Anjee’s dress, and they crept through the deepest shadows to avoid being discovered. He put a foot on the shale, and bits broke apart, clattering together like dried bones.

I see you. The Drakein turned, and its yellow eyes reflected the light from the torch it held.

Ralen scurried up the slope on all fours but only managed a few feet before sliding back down. Anjee grunted, caught beneath him. She pushed, and he was lifted into the air, surprised to feel dry scales on his neck. The Drakein held him in one clawed hand and took Anjee’s arm with the other, nearly singeing her with the torch in the same hand. She scowled.

Return to your sleep den, it ordered.

The gobels will eat him! They ate his toe! Anjee said.

The Drakein hissed. Impossible. They cannot touch anyone with the Mark. Come this way again, and I will eat you both.

Ralen squeezed the creature’s wrist, trying to make it let go. He punched and kicked, but the Drakein didn’t budge. It carried them, kicking and wriggling, back to the caves and tossed them onto the ground. Ralen’s breath left him, but he climbed to his feet, smiling for the first time since the war came to his city. It felt good to fight.

You should be cowering, the Drakein said.

Why? You said you wouldn’t eat us unless we tried again. Ralen swiped the torch and took Anjee’s hand. They ran until they realized no one was following.

Gasping, he said, Well, we can’t go that way.

You have to do something. Don’t worry about me. You need to go. Find another way outside.

Let me think. For now, there’s fire... He used the stolen torch to navigate the uneven ledge outside the caves. He stuck his head into every cave mouth they passed, searching for a good one with people that didn’t snore too loud or weren’t too smelly. ...and we can always steal more fruit.

Stop smiling. It’s scaring me. You said we are in Hell. It’s nonsense, of course. My parents taught me there’s no such thing as Hell, but you seem certain.

Why can’t I be happy in Hell? For now. I know I won’t be happy when the gobel comes back.

What will you do then? Laugh at it?

Ralen ignored her and stepped into the cave he’d chosen. A few sleepers littered the floor, grumbling at the light, but once Ralen extinguished the torch they quieted.

Why did you do that? she asked. I hate the dark.

I know how to start a fire when I need. For now, we rest. Ideas always come to me in dreams.

I don’t like the things I see when I dream.

Anjee eventually stopped grumbling and leaned her head on his shoulder. He stared into the dark for a long time, thinking. On the verge of sleep, he had the answer.

We kill it, he whispered.

Yes.

THE NEXT DAY, THE CAVE was theirs, the adults gone up to the surface to work, nothing but the drip of water from stalactites and the whispers of gobels for company.

Ralen gathered broken metal and dried reeds, grunting until he had a spark and then a flame to relight the torch. Then, he and Anjee gathered every loose stone they could find, feeling for them in the cracks