Rising Dark (The Darkling Trilogy, Book 2) (11 page)

I had no way of knowing whether or not
Auria or Onyx would be able to survive the blaze, but if they did,
it would not give me much time for what I planned to do
next.

Gathering Julia’s corpse in my arms, I
disappeared into the trees.

The one I wanted the most was the
first to see me. Alden. He was standing in the cotton field
talking, or I should say shouting, at the man I had seen carry out
the whipping two days ago: The plantation foreman. Although the sun
had already begun to set and rain was falling, the slaves were
still bent double, working methodically with a fearful urgency, as
if the devil himself was indeed at their heels. Alden glanced
toward the trees and then halted in mid-flow as the colour
completely drained from his face. I imagined that this is how Lot’s
wife might have looked as he stared past the rows of cotton and the
dark figures working between them, to me. After a few moments he
staggered back, his eyes never leaving mine as I stood at the edge
of the field by the trees with Julia in my arms. By that time, the
foreman and a few others had noticed his odd behaviour and followed
his gaze. Fear and horror quickly spread through the field like a
tsunami and a few screams pierced the warm summer
evening.

Alden turned and fled. The main house
was at least a twenty minute walk away. At a run he could perhaps
reach it in five. I would save him for last.

I gently laid Julia’s body—no, her
corpse—on the soft grass as more screams joined the others in a
pitiful chorus of horror as the acrid stench of their fear drifted
to me. It almost overwhelmed the scent of their blood which
sweetened the twilight air. The sound of their feet hitting the
earth as they began to run away was like a multitude of heartbeats
beating frantically. To me, it appeared as if they were moving in
slow motion, the sluggish flight that characterised nightmares, and
for a few seconds, I almost felt remorse because they all knew that
most, if not all of them, would be dead before they could reach the
edge of the field. But the rage, along with the cold, sharp thorns
of bloodlust, had pulled me in too deep to allow me to feel
anything for them. I tore my gaze away from them to look down at
Julia’s hard, bloated face. Her skin was purple under the light of
the setting sun and her eyes were milky white. The corpse now
looked nothing at all like my dear, sweet wife, but I knelt and
stroked her hair, kissing her gently on the forehead.

“
I know your kind heart
would never approve of what I am about to do, especially in your
name. But I hope you will forgive me this one last
thing.”

The sightless eyes of the corpse
stared past me, neither seeing the darkening sky or the setting
sun.

I straightened and surveyed the
fleeing figures, welcoming the pressure in my gums as my incisors
lengthened and the red veil descended. Then I drew that dark power
to me and became weightless as I transported myself into the
field.

I caught the first slave by the front
of his shirt. I didn’t give him time to scream but brought my mouth
down savagely on his neck and tore his throat out. Hot, sweet blood
spurted from the wound, but as enticing as it was, I let him go and
he slowly sank to his knees with his hand to his throat, his gaze
on mine, his expression a strange mixture of confusion and awe. He
was slowly tilting to the right when I moved on to the next slave,
a female.

She merely stood frozen to the spot
screaming in terror as I advanced. This time I took a few moments
to savour the warm crimson nectar before I broke her neck and threw
her body away from me. I went from one to the next, snapping necks,
ripping into and tearing flesh, crushing bone. I was utterly
merciless and felt no remorse for the lives I took. These people
had all conspired against me and Julia. They had all known the
danger we were in but had merely averted their gazes, their silence
lining the trap into which we were being led. It seemed I was
caught in a frenzy, a tornado of blood which swept me through the
field, their screams and cries of pain a deafening roar that
spurred me on from one to the next until silence descended around
me.

I came to as if waking from a feverish
dream, glancing around at a field full of dead bodies, their blood
soaking into the earth along with the rain. Only a few minutes had
passed.

Pausing for only long enough to glance
at Julia’s corpse, I dove into the woods, following my prey as he
raced through the trees, his heavy frantic footsteps disrupting the
stillness all around. Hatred blurred my vision to the point where I
almost couldn’t see anymore as I chased him.

I disappeared and materialised again a
few metres in the direction he was headed. He came to a stumbling
halt, a half-scream caught in his throat. His eyes were bulging and
sweat running down his face as he turned and fled in the other
direction. But I was once more blocking his path, and this time,
the scream that had caught in his throat was wrenched free and he
darted to his left, screaming, his eyes oddly glazed. This time I
let him run for a few seconds before I appeared before him once
more and knocked him to the ground. He lay there staring up at me,
whimpering as tears filled his eyes. He didn’t try to fight me when
I took the whip that was tied to his belt and hauled him to his
feet. I wound it around his neck, and leading him like an errant
dog, I disappeared, pulling him with me into the ether.

A male Negro was walking down the
front steps of the mansion. He practically leapt out of his skin
when we materialised in front of him. He backed away along with a
few others and screams once more filled the air as they ran into
the mansion. I let them go, knowing I would not have to wait
long.

Foster came to one of the downstairs
windows a few seconds later, his face an ugly shade of red. He was
breathing so heavily it looked as if his chest would burst out of
the opulent teak coat he wore.

“
Alden! Alden! Let him
go!” he bellowed.

He disappeared from the window and I
could hear his footsteps as he moved to the door. Other footsteps
joined his and it seemed as if some kind of scuffle took place. I
heard a mumbled curse and then the thick, sharp sound of a
slap.

“
Let me go!” he roared
before the front door was wrenched open a few moments
later.

His rage had begun to subside and raw
fear marked his features. “My son, let him go. Take me
instead.”

“
Invite me inside,” I said
softly.

Foster tried to step outside, but dark
hands grasped him, holding him back, a few terrified faces peering
from behind his large bulk. He violently shrugged them off and
stepped outside. Another voice joined the others and I recognised
Mrs Foster screaming his name, the most I had heard her say since
we arrived. More footsteps descended toward the door and the
multitude of voices raised in panic from within the house became a
loud rumble.

“
Take me instead, don’t
harm him!” Foster pleaded.

“
Invite me
in
!” I roared.

When he merely stood there trembling
in the gathering dark, I pulled Alden’s head back by the hair,
exposing his throat, my teeth bared. Foster’s eyes widened in
alarm. He was in a blind panic and I took the opportunity to reach
into his mind to heighten his fear and confusion.

“
Come inside, come
inside,” he blurted. “Just don’t hurt him.”

I felt the energy holding me back from
the house loosen. I grasped Alden under the jaw, my other hand on
his shoulder, and began to pull. Foster’s eyes widened in alarm,
his mouth opening in a wordless cry as he tried to run toward his
son. I concentrated my telekinetic energy on Alden’s neck. He was
only able to utter a gurgled half-scream before I tore his head
off. The blood gushed like a dark red river but I was already away
from the dead son and before the father as he reached for his son’s
dismembered body. I grasped Foster by the shoulders, lifted him off
of his feet, and slammed him down on his back with devastating
force. I heard his bones crunch, and the back of his head smashed
inward like an egg, blood and brain matter oozing out onto the
grass.

I did not allow myself to savour his
death, for there were still many more left for me to
kill.

I entered the mansion. Again they
tried to escape but there was nowhere for them to run or hide. I
chased them from room to room, slaughtering, their blood filling
and exciting every inch of me as I rampaged through the mansion,
led on by grief, revenge and despair. I completely surrendered
myself to the malevolence that now inhabited my soul, caught in the
red veil that pulled me into the dark bosom of evil.

I was in the kitchen when the veil
lifted.

I had hold of one of the house slaves,
a tall, lanky male. I was about to sink my fangs into his neck but
something tugged me out of the crimson net I was trapped in. I
pulled away and merely peered into the slave’s terror-filled eyes
in confusion whilst he mumbled incoherently. I then became aware of
what had actually pulled me out of the vermilion chaos.

Beneath the sound of his incoherent
mumbling, and beyond that, the sound of some of the house slaves
who had been fortunate enough to escape, running for their lives
through the rain. Beneath the dark cries that characterised the
Mississippi night and those of the woods, I heard another sound.
Quick, shallow breaths and a rapid heartbeat. I do not know how
that sound reached me above the din and the strident voice of the
call for blood, but it did. I turned to the sound.

It was a child. A boy. He sat on the
kitchen floor cleaving to the empty-eyed stare of a corpse. A
female who was no doubt his mother. I remembered vaguely she had
been the first person I killed when I pursued Mrs Foster into the
kitchen. Her corpse was lying near the back door. The child’s eyes
met mine. Surprisingly there was no fear from him, only shock. For
him, the worst—the corpse by his side—had already
happened.

I released the lanky Negro. His
mumbles faded and he scrambled away from me to the door that led to
the corridor. Before he could reach the door, I materialised in the
doorway eliciting a low moan of despair from him which turned into
a terrified cry when I grasped him by the arm and pushed him back
into the kitchen, where he fell to his knees.

My gaze was drawn to his neck. The
scent of blood was strong in the room, from the corpses all around,
and especially from his strong vibrant flesh. I looked down at the
ground, but even the floor was smeared in swirls of blood. I took a
breath and tried to still the beast within trembling for more
blood.

“
Get him out of here,” I
hissed with only a cursory glance at the boy.

He stared blankly at me for a few
seconds and then his frightened gaze took in the child. I stepped
to the side, leaving the doorway clear. He rose into a half-crouch
and stumbled toward the boy, slipping and sliding in the blood on
the floor. He pulled the child to him and rose with the boy to his
chest.

He stood staring at me for a few
moments, his mouth clamped shut and clearly trying to fight back
the tears in his eyes. Then he took a slow, deliberate step to the
side. With his gaze darting from me to the doorway and freedom, he
inched his way toward the doorway and then broke into a clumsy run
with the child still clutched to his chest. I listened to the sound
of his footsteps long after he left the mansion into the
night.

It was something I did not give much
thought to at the time, but which I continually revisited in the
years that followed. How had I heard the child’s breathing and
heartbeat amidst the frenzy of the bloodlust? But it had made me
stop. I stood completely still now and desperately fought against
the bloodlust. I had already killed hundreds, and drank and drank
and drank. But I still wasn’t sated. If anything, the more I drank,
the more blood I yearned for.

I’d had my vengeance,
enough blood had been shed. I had to leave before I was drawn back
into the crimson snare. But then another sound came to me. It
wasn’t those of the ones who hid in closets, or underneath beds,
hoping I wouldn’t be able to find them. This one was a deliberate
and distinct sound. It was the
clink
of glass against glass and
then a muted
thud
. I knew immediately who had made the sound. I disappeared
into the either and entered the drawing room.

Kato hadn’t bothered to
run, but was sitting at the table in the drawing room, a glass of
wine in his hand. When I entered, he merely downed the glass and
set it down. His thoughts were calm and he only appeared to be
concerned about the fact that he’d fulfilled a long sought after
wish; to be able to sit at his master’s table and drink his
master’s favourite wine, and pretend, if only for a few brief
moments, that
he
was the master of the house. His gaze was belligerent, but
there was no trace of fear as his eyes met mine.

At least it will be
quick,
he thought to himself, and an image
flittered briefly through his mind of a young male Negro, his naked
body marked by sores and wounds that no human being should have had
to endure.