Darkness Rising 1: Chained

  ***

  In the confines of a back room Jem tended to Emelia. He had tidied the room, organising the packs in his own precise manner. Jem had been putting off attending to Emelia’s wound dressing. He drew a deep breath and knelt by her bed.

  “Easy, Jem, control yourself,” he muttered. His sweating hands lifted the pus soaked cloth from the wound. The erythema had spread onto her chest and a sweet odour assailed his nostrils.

  He gingerly removed the dressing and looked around for the basket to throw it in. A blob of blood and pus ran onto his skin as he turned. He dropped the cloth in a panic.

  “Damn it. Damn it.” His heart thudded fast in his ears and he felt faint. He reached for the bowl of water and began scrubbing the slime off, harder and harder.

  “Jem?”

  The Goldorian froze and stared at Emelia. Her eyes were red and sore and her skin pale.

  “Emelia. You need to rest. I’m sorry I awoke you. It was just…”

  “I know. Jem Gem. Diamonds… I’m scared. He’s after me. After, happily ever after. Can we live happily ever after?”

  “You’re not making sense, Emelia. You need to rest.”

  “Voices, Jem, there’s too many in my head. Dead. Are they dead voices calling? He is dead but alive. Chasing me. The Darkmaster. Is this the Moon? The malady?”

  “You’re running a fever. Rest, Emelia, please. I’m looking after you.”

  Emelia smiled and eased her head back onto the pillow. Within seconds she was asleep.

  Jem looked pensively at her. It was like hearing the voices calling from the poorhouse in Parok once more. After a minute he dipped some soap in the water and gently dabbed the wound. The soap was pungent. Hunor had said it smelt like a tart’s powdered corset when he had given it to Jem on the journey. He’d procured it from an apothecary in the town of Hayford as they had skulked past. Jem had been so happy he could have kissed him.

  “Who is this Darkmaster, Emelia?” he asked softly. “Why does he haunt your dreams?”

  Jem gently touched her flushed cheek. “I am sorry that you have been put in such danger, my young friend. When we took you from your servitude that night in Coonor I felt what we had done was correct—was noble and just. Yet now I see you clinging to life, your wound turning like the last fruit of autumn.

  “Hunor still has reservations in which I have never shared. Yet now I find myself doubting for different reasons. I doubt whether I had the right to bring you into our chaotic world, away from your closeted life in that keep in Eeria. What price your freedom should the demon’s savage wound take its toll?”

  Jem took a deep breath, an icy sensation in his chest. Tears were starting in his eyes and he could feel the magic pulsing within him like water boiling in a kettle. Focus, Jem, harness your emotions, he thought.

  “I saw the potential for the Wild-magic within you, aching to be realised. Yet is it always right to open the stable door knowing that the mare may fall at the hurdles in the fields beyond? Is it better to gallop and leap, with the wind on your face, or stay safe and secure in your stall?

  “Truly I have failed you, Emelia,” Jem said, his voice cracking. “You tried to tell me of your dreams of darkness, of the dark wizard in Bulia, of your sense of trepidation as we came to Thetoria. Yet I was so preoccupied with my anger at Hunor landing us into trouble, yet again, that I did not give it the credence it deserved.”

  Jem reached into his pouch and pulled the blue crystal out. He held the glass up before him, watching the dregs of light from the adjacent kitchen filter through its deep colour. He could sense the power within it, far more easily than the time he had first seen it in Coonor. What was this crystal that a demon of the Pale should be brought forth to secure it? Why did the Air-mage covet it so before his grisly end?

  “I have been found wanting as a teacher and mentor. You have learned so much in such a short time, but the passion that Hunor imbues within you for thievery and swords craft has diluted the discipline necessary to control the Wild-magic. For it curses the mind.”

  The slim Goldorian shook as he spoke now, his hand trembling as he tentatively touched Emelia’s lips.

  “And finally I have failed myself because I have not found within me the courage to admit how I truly feel about you. Hunor’s words cut me deep those nights ago. I am certain that, despite every attempt to the contrary, I am falling in love with you.”

  If Emelia heard she did not stir and Jem sat in silence his hand on her face, the neat room the only witness to his confession.