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The Heart of Darkness - excerpt
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The Heart of Darkness - excerpt |
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Silkdragon Member
since 2000-06-24
Posts 65 |
This is a short excerpt from a longer story that I have planned. It would be much too long to post the entire thing, even if I had it all written, but I think this part is capable of standing alone, to an extent. As far as the names go, here are pronunciations (people are always asking): Sha' Ryzand: shah-RYE-zand Dhajion: DAH-hee-on, with a gutteral sound between the first two syllables Attaurus: ah-TAR-us Darminon: DAR-mee-non Valahria crouched against the wall, resting her head on the stone in despair. She would never get out of this dungeon. She would never see her father again, never see Attaurus again. She swallowed back foolish tears. She was the princess of Tyear. She would keep her dignity, no matter what happened to her. A rat peered at her from the darkness, its eyes glinting in the slivers of light that came through the bars on the door. She returned its gaze, wondering if it was trapped in here, as she was. There was the staccato beat of running footsteps, and the rat vanished into the gloom. “Wha-what the-” the guard outside her door spluttered. “Get off yer arse!” barked the newcomer, “His lordship has arrived, and he ain’t too happy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he chops yer balls off when he gets down here. He’ll get all of us fer this, that’s fer sure!” Her guard cursed and there was the sound of him scrambling to his feet. They continued to talk, but Valahria paid no attention. “What’s he got ta be upset about!? We done our job, and....” She swallowed, then noticed that she was shaking. Dhajion, the Prince of Darkness was coming. She had tried to prepare herself for this, but found she had done an inadequate job. Her mind was on the brink of gibbering terror as she tormented herself thinking about what he would do to her. She pictured herself chained to a bed, raped repeatedly, being used for some dark ritual, being slowly tortured. She began to whimper, then abruptly pressed her lips together. She was of the Sha’Ryzand royal line, a princess, engaged to Prince Attaurus Darminon, the Star of the Morning. She would not disgrace herself. The click of booted feet rang down the corridor. Valahria closed her eyes. The Prince of Darkness had arrived. “Y-Yer Grace, w-welcome home. We-” “Silence.” The word was soft, precise, a clean flow of sound. It was terrifying. For all its lack of volume, it was incredibly cold, incredibly dangerous. The voice spoke again, too quietly for her to make out the words, but no less horrifying for its softness. “Yes, yes, m-my lord,” the guard stammered. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “Get out of here!” The words cracked across the air like a whip. “Yes, Yer Grace,” the guard whimpered. There came the sound of running feet as the man fled. For several moments there was silence. Then a quiet stir of movement and a key grated in the lock. Valahria had never believed that the sound of a door opening could inspire such dread. The door creaked open, and light flooded her cell. It wasn’t so very bright, only the glow given off by the torches, but it seemed blinding after her long darkness. She winced, half shutting her eyes. Squinting as her eyes slowly adjusted, she struggled to make out the form of the man who had her at his mercy. She shut her eyelids for a moment, then opened them again. Valahria stared at the person standing in the doorway. His hair was blond. The thought ran stupidly through her head. The Prince of Darkness, the dreaded sorcerer, the creature of the night, had blond hair. She didn’t know why she was so amazed, but her thoughts were bordering on hysteria. She swallowed and forced herself to observe him rationally. He was not what she had expected. His height was no better than average, and his blond hair was long, hanging just past his shoulders. She couldn’t make out his features with the light pouring in from behind him, other than catching the impression, of high, sharp cheekbones. His body was slim and athletic, broad shoulders narrowing to sleekly muscled flanks and thighs. He was dressed in knee-high black boots, dark breeches, and a loose white shirt, tight at the cuffs. She had expected something flashier, and likely all in black. He was not particularly intimidating. Then he stepped forward, and all her fear rushed back. His movement was fluid, brimming with grace, and filled with an air of leashed power. She tried painfully to swallow, to keep from cowering, and succeeded at neither. “Lady Valahria Sha’Ryzand.” His voice was mellow, no louder than it had been in the hallway. “How sporting of you to pay me a visit.” Valahria attempted to give back a stinging retort, but only succeeded in producing a strangled sound. “What? No answer?” he mocked, “I expected more from you.” “*******,” she finally hissed. “On the contrary,” he said blithely, “My parents were legally wedded. Really, my dear, couldn’t you manage to return something better?” Valahria found that she could say nothing, merely bowed her head and firmly reined in tears of frustration and fear. The Prince of Darkness stepped across the cell and paused when he stood next to her. Reaching down, he grasped her arm and drew her to her feet. Her legs were trembling, weak from lack of food, and she groaned, fumbling for a moment before she felt steady. The sorcerer’s grip on her arm tightened until she winced, then abruptly loosened. He pulled her toward the doorway, and her breathing quickened in fear. Once they were in the corridor, moving toward the stairs at the end, she glanced at him. His features were harsh, sharply defined. He had, as she had thought before, high cheekbones. His nose was firm and straight, his mouth hard and uncompromising. His appearance was interesting in a dangerous way, but not particularly attractive. Then the dark prince spared a glance at her and she tripped. His eyes were a stunning mixture of blue and green, hard as chipped diamond and bottomless. She became slightly dizzy and closed her eyes, stumbling again. The mage jerked her upright. “Strange,” he sneered, “I hadn’t heard you were so unforgivably clumsy.” He drew her up the stairs at a quick pace and she gasped out, “What will you do with me?” She attempted to sound commanding, but her voice emerged tremulous. “So frightened,” he said with a dark laugh, not answering her question. She endured in silence as he pulled her down a new hallway, then turned into another. They went up another short flight of stairs, then turned yet again. He walked her around until she had no idea how many twists and turns they had been through. The walls were mostly featureless, but for a window here and there. There was nothing to mark in one’s memory. She was so exhausted that, to her shame, she found herself leaning on her enemy after a time. It was that or humiliate herself utterly by falling on her face. He adjusted his stance to compensate for her weight, never slowing his pace. “Are you going to kill me?” she questioned, relieved that her voice came out steady. “I haven’t decided yet,” he said coldly. He dragged her through several more hallways before finally pausing before a door locked from the outside. He pulled a key from his pocket, said a few words under his breath, and inserted it in the lock. The door opened soundlessly. Her blond tormentor stepped aside and motioned her through. Valahria held her head high, refusing to give in to weak-kneed terror, and entered the darkened room. The dark lord moved in behind her, shutting the door. The room was absolutely black. No light entered from anywhere. She heard her breathing become louder in her own ears and cursed herself for her lack of courage. “You have my apologies for the lack of a window,” said the arrogant, unshakable voice. There was a rustle of movement as he stepped past her. “You must understand that it would not be in my best interest to let you observe what is outside this room.” There was a flash of light, sillouhetting the sorcerer, then a gentle glow filled the room as he set the lamp on the mantle of a fireplace. The room was of an average size, the walls were painted a warm peach, accented here and there with a pleasing emerald green. There was an elegantly carved oak chair near the fireplace and a mirror bordered in silver on the wall. The floor was also of smoothly varnished oak, covered by a rug woven in varying shades of green. And there was a bed. It was large, covered by a green spread and with two plush green pillows, along with several smaller peach ones. It was a four poster, and the headboard and posts were of rich cherrywood, cleanly curved. There were no curtains. Valahria’s throat became painfully dry and she almost gagged. She tightened her muscles to keep from trembling and struggled to continue thinking rationally. Her mind couldn’t accept what was happening, and the whole situation took on a surreal aspect; it couldn’t be true. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on breathing normally. She felt she was on the urge of breaking, but couldn’t allow it to happen, couldn’t let the monster next to her win. She had never known real terror until this moment, never truly experienced absolute horror. She did not know how she could survive this thing that would happen to her, it was something out of a nightmare, and she wanted to scream and sob hysterically, but couldn’t give him that victory, or herself that release. Out of pure will, she forced herself to square her shoulders and slowly, slowly turn toward him. She raised her eyes to his face. He was watching her, his eyes slitted, observing her reaction. His expression was darkly amused, but, as she turned to him, shadowed by something else that she couldn’t name. He held her gaze and she felt her heart pounding in her throat, even as she locked her knees to keep herself from collapsing. She curled her hands into fists to keep him from observing their trembling, though she felt that he saw everything, that he knew of her terror, knew her thoughts. And perhaps he did. But she refused to look away from him. “Bravo,” his smooth voice said softly, derisively. Turning from her, he lifted the lamp from the mantle as he said, “This is where you will be staying.” Carrying the lamp with him he began to move about the room, using its flame to light the wicks of others, mounted on the walls, until the room developed a cozy glow. “I’m sure you want to be able to see... everything.” His suggestive smile sent a chill down her spine. “The flame in this lamp,” he said, indicating the one in his hand, “will not go out. The others will. Use this one to light them.” He set it back on the mantle. Turning, he let his eyes travel lingeringly, sensually, over her body. He stepped toward her, reaching out and gathering a lock of her long, dark brown hair, ignoring her flinch. His gaze shifted to her face, but now she could not meet his eyes. He rubbed her hair between his fingers for another moment, then moved back, releasing her. “My dear, you are desperately in need of a bath.” She stared at him, in her terror hardly understanding what he’d said. It didn’t correspond with anything she’d expected. “I’ll have one prepared for you immediately.” “Y-You’ll, a b-b...” Valahria babbled. He smiled and gave her a faint, mocking bow, before turning and leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind him. For long moments she couldn’t look away from the door, couldn’t believe that he had actually left her alone. She understood that this delay was only temporary, but she was desperately relieved. She wanted the time to gain control of herself. Yet why would he leave her? Why give her a bath? She looked down at herself. Her clothing was damp and streaked with dirt and muddy water. She stank of the dungeons, a smell of mold and decay and excrements. Her sweat added its own unique fragrance to the mix, and the state of her hair was horrendous, a mass of lank, greasy tangles. She had been in the dungeon for days, she knew, but wasn’t quite certain of the actual extent of time that had passed. He found her disgusting. That had to be the explanation. He wanted her to cleanse herself before he had his way with her. A flash of anger surged through her, helping her break free of the suffocating fear. He expected her to make herself presentable for him? She laughed grimly. He could take her just as she was. Was he truly arrogant enough to presume that she would wish to make herself more appealing to his senses? Just then there was a light tap on the door and it opened a moment later. Two burly men entered, bearing a pristine white tub filled with steaming water. They set it down before the fireplace and one of them placed a wrapped package on the mantle while the other set soap and neatly folded towels beside the bath. Turning to face her, they bowed, then left as silently as they had entered. Valahria looked at the water for a moment, then, squaring her shoulders, walked to the oak chair and sat down. Her head itched. She wondered if she had somehow acquired lice. The scent of violets drifted to her nose. She tried to ignore it. The room began to grow warmer as the water steamed. Against her will, she turned and looked at the bath. When would she get another chance to clean herself? Maybe never. She swallowed. There was really no point to refusing the bath. It was a meaningless gesture, the dark prince would take her anyway. And maybe she could feel good again, just for a short moment. She rose to her feet. Stepping to the side of the tub, she slowly began to pull off her clothing; black boots, leather belt, deerskin tunic, dark leggings, undergarments. Her legs trembled with weariness as she stepped into the hot water. Sighing, she sank down until she was enveloped up to her shoulders. She tipped her head back, dipping her hair into the bath, turning her head so it drifted from side to side. She closed her eyes, her muscles relaxing as the heat penetrated to her core. Now, when she was somewhat at ease, her emotions surfaced. Her throat tightened. She was alone and frightened; she didn’t know what to do. She was going to die, or, if not that, be reduced to an existence of absolute wretchedness. She pressed her lips together. She would bear whatever was thrown at her. She could not disgrace her people. She shook her head. It would not do to dwell on her circumstances, she would only end up driving herself to despair. Sitting up slightly, she reached over the tub and picked up the bar of soap resting on top of the towels. Scrubbing it between her hands, she worked up a lather and began to wash her body. She smoothed the slippery soap over her arms and legs, her breasts and belly. When she raised her hands to wash her face, the scent of the soap assaulted her. Water lilies. She choked out a gasp as a wave of crushing loneliness swept over her. Her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. The fragrance brought back all the memories of home, of her mother, who had died just four months before. She had always smelled like water lilies. Valahria pressed her hand to her mouth and a sudden urge to fling the soap away from her rose up. Just as quickly it died. She was unable to part with this thing that brought her pain, that was such a poignant memory of her past, of her beloved mother. She drew in a harsh breath and with shaking hands began to work the soap into her hair. Her fingers massaged her scalp, and when her hair was almost white with suds, she sank beneath the warm water. As she rinsed her hair clean, a clear, sudden thought flashed across her mind. She could simply remain under the water. She didn’t ever have to surface. She could end it all now, before the dark sorcerer could bend her to his will. All the fear would go away. She would see her mother again. But as her lungs started to burn, Valahria knew she could not take her own life. The desire to live was too strong, she was unable to give up on herself. To die was to accept defeat, to become yet another victim of the Prince of Darkness. She sat up abruptly, gasping, water streaming down her face. Shakily, she rose and stepped out of the tub, letting the lily-scented soap slip to the floor. Reaching down, she picked up one of the deep green towels, finding it to be soft and thick, pleasantly fuzzy. She slowly dried herself, burying her face in the towel. It smelled clean, fresh, with no hint of water lilies. Dropping it, she picked up the other and wrapped herself in it. It covered her from her breasts to mid-thigh. Her eyes turned to the package on the mantle. She had a fairly good idea what she would find in it. Some sort of alluring garment that hid nothing, only served to arouse the viewer. She smiled grimly. Still, she might as well see where the dark prince’s tastes lay. She walked forward and lifted the package, setting it on the oak chair and untying the string that held it closed. On the top lay a hair brush, the handle beautifully carved ivory, elegant rather than showy. She picked it up and set it aside. Beneath was a shimmery, dark green material. Reaching in, she lifted it apprehensively. It spilled out to its full length, and she stared at it stupidly. It was a robe, that in itself was not surprising. It was beautiful and it was alluring, but not as she had expected. It was completely opaque. Though the material caught and held the light, drawing the eye across the silky folds, in no place was one able to see through it. When she put it on it would cover her from shoulder to ankle. She ran her hand across it, trying to decide what the sorcerer’s purpose was. The material was silksheen, rare and extremely valuable. It slipped through her fingers like liquid, weighing little more than a feather. Her enemy’s taste, she found, was exquisite. She bowed her head. He was toying with her, playing mind games, making sure she had no idea what to expect from him next. Nothing else could explain the robe, the soap scented with water lilies. He wanted to keep her off balance, keep her guessing. Firmly swallowing back tears of despair, Valahria dropped the towel, slipping into the robe. It settled lightly over her shoulders, and she almost felt that she had nothing on. The material brushed against her body, its touch more gentle than a lover’s. Her hands trembled as she tied it shut. She then retreated to the chair, wishing it was large enough to curl up on. She had no desire to lay upon the bed. No sooner had she seated herself then the door opened soundlessly and the Prince of Darkness stepped into the room. Her muscles tightened in fear and she pressed back against the chair. He shut the door behind him and took several silent paces toward her. When he stopped his eyes swept over her carefully, from her damp, tangled hair to her bare feet. “Lovely,” he said finally, his voice touched with that ever-present hint of mockery. Anger thrilled through Valahria’s body, forcing her fear to take a back seat. “You son of a *****,” she hissed through her teeth, her rage rising to murderous proportions. He raised his eyebrows. Her face flushed with fury and she snapped to her feet, reason fleeing. Groping behind her, she found the handle of the brush he had given her. Snatching it up, she hurled it at him with all her strength, her deadly aim sending it on a collision course with his head. The prince reacted swiftly, plucking the brush from the air with lightning speed. Her failure to hit him did nothing to stay her anger. “How dare you!” she screamed, her hands curled into fists in a show of impotent strength. “What are you talking about?” he asked coldly, his strange eyes showing banked anger. “How dare you do this to me? Why play these mind games? If your going to rape me, then do it!” Her throat was becoming raw, and her sudden anger fled, leaving her shaking and terrified. “Why are you doing this?” She barely kept herself from sobbing, “How in Eldrion’s Name did you know that my mother smelled like water lilies?” A strange expression flitted across the sorcerer’s face, she could only think to call it surprise. Then it was gone and his expression was again carefully shuttered. He set the brush on the mantle and turned back to her. She awaited her punishment in silence, swallowing convulsively. At that moment there was a light tap on the door. “Come.” He didn’t look away from her. The door swung open and a short, dark haired man entered, carrying a small wooden table. He walked quickly across the room and set it softly in front of the chair. As he was leaving another man entered, holding a china plate and a glass decanter. He set them on the table, along with silver fork and knife and a crystal goblet, then bowed to the Prince of Darkness and followed the other man out of the room. She looked down at the plate, suddenly realizing that she was ravenously hungry. The food on it was simple: several chunks of dark bread, yellow cheese and some cold slices of meat, but it could have been from Eldrion’s own table, it was so welcome a sight. The sorcerer lifted the decanter and poured the liquid, a deep red wine, into the sparkling goblet. Raising hard, brilliant eyes to her face, he said only, “I imagine it’s been long since you’ve eaten.” She looked longingly at the food. What was he playing at now? She didn’t know what to think. Was it poisoned? Would it make her violently ill? She frowned, realizing that there was no reason for the prince to kill her by poisoning when he could do it more easily another way. She looked back up at him. His expression was closed, impenetrable. After a moment he said mildly, “I suppose you won’t know until you try it.” He was right. If she did not eat, she would die anyway. Slowly, she pulled the chair away from the table and sat, lightly holding the fork. Her mouth was watering and her stomach rumbled impatiently. Her hand was trembling slightly as she cut a small piece of meat and raised it to her lips. As she chewed it, she barely stifled a moan. It was lean and tender, cooked to perfection. Hunger was truly the best seasoning. She abandoned any hesitancy. If the food was going to kill her, so be it. She would enjoy it before it did. All her attention was focused on the meal, she almost forgot that she was in the company of the most feared man on the continent. The wine was well-aged, made from red grapes but with the lightest flavor of pears. The bread was light and airy, fresh and faintly sweet. The yellow cheese was firm and sharp. The food was simple, but its quality was excellent. She ate quickly, as though at any moment she might run out of time. Her hunger made her clumsy as she ravenously devoured the meal. Valahria reached for the goblet, needing a drink of wine, only to find it empty. The dark prince she had nearly forgotten silently lifted the decanter to refill her glass. She stared at his hand, not wishing to observe his face. The fingers that held the crystal bottle, though strong and callused, were slender, well-formed and graceful. On the fourth was the only piece of jewelry she had seen on him: a ring formed of a pure, jet black metal, set with a perfect ruby and inlaid with veins of silver. The colors of his family’s royal house. He lightly returned the decanter to the table. She took a small sip of the wine. It was delicious, its light, tangy flavor sliding silkily over her tongue. She set it down abruptly. Perhaps his intention was to get her drunk. Across from her, the sorcerer shifted his weight, folding his arms across his chest. “It must be difficult to live with such paranoia.” She stiffened, anger brushing across her. “I believe I’m more than entitled,” she said, her voice low. “My word,” he said with mock incredulity, “What have I ever done to earn such animosity from you?” Valahria tightened her grip on her fork, refusing to grace his comment with an answer. “Pray, tell me, are you now planning to fling the silverware at my head?” She found the idea tempting, but contained herself, instead grinding out, “You disgust me.” “Indeed?” he returned, his voice assuring her that her words affected him not at all, “Enlighten me.” She decided to rise to the bait, to say what she thought of him to his face while she was still able. “You toy with your prisoners, like a cat with a mouse. You are incapable of acting with any kind of honor. The concept is as far beyond you as the sky is beyond a worm. You are not satisfied with owning people’s lives, of forcing them to terror, you must also break their spirits. You don’t rest until you ruin them utterly. You take your joy from the suffering of others, by inflicting pain upon the innocent. And I am only your latest amusement.” The Prince of Darkness stared at her for a long moment, his body utterly still, and for a shocked moment, she swore she could see pain beneath the anger in his eyes. When he spoke his voice was colder than ice. “Then perhaps you’ll have time to consider this while I toy with you: I am showing you only what you wish to see.” Turning from her, he silently left the room. |
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Alwye
Moderator
Member Elite
since 1999-06-16
Posts 3850In the space between moments |
A great read, even the second time around Erin!  I love your writing...you pull me in like few amatures have been able to do. Your imagery is wonderful, not too much, not too little, and you convey emotion so well... I am envious, lol. Exellent work, keep it up my friend! *Krista Knutson* "You never lose by loving. You always lose by holding back." -Barbara DeAngelis |
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
I hope you forgive me for my last misunderstanding, but I really did like this tale, as always your writing is concise yet evocative and your characters breathe.. I'd like to see where you take this one. Abrahm Simons "Keep on dreamin' boy 'cause when you stop dreaming it's time to die" - Blind Melon |
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Alicat Member Elite
since 1999-05-23
Posts 4094Coastal Texas |
Silk, this small portion held me fast as the words painted pictures in my mind. Wonderful read, and I would very much like to see the finished product. Alicat |
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Dark Angel Member Patricius
since 1999-08-04
Posts 10095 |
WOW WOW WOW !! Where is part two??? This was fantastic, It held me captive! Loved it! |
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Dawn Eclipse Senior Member
since 2000-01-31
Posts 637The Horsehead Nebula |
AWESOME STORY ERIN!!! KEEP UP THE GREAET WORK!!!! "Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. No other course, no other way... No day but today" ~Broadway Musical RENT~ *Cassandra Roseen* |
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Silkdragon Member
since 2000-06-24
Posts 65 |
Thank you all much for your replies! Abe, of course that misunderstanding was nothing, ridiculous in the first place. LOL As for part two, i guess i could write one, if people would like to read it. I enjoy this story, and Dhajion is possibly my favorite original character. Also, I know "prince of darkness" is quite cliched, but that was a great part of my reason for using it. Dhajion certainly does not think of himself as the Prince of Darkness or any kind of nonsense like that, LOL. It is merely the fear of the people that comes up with such ridiculous names. LOL. And since it was from Valahria's POV, i thought it would be appropriate that she only use's Dhajion's name one time in the entire story. Don't know why I felt the need to explain that, but thanks again! LOL Erin |
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