The Girl With Golden Eyes

“NO, CASSANDRA!” His screams fell on nothing but an empty room. The landscape on the wall before him dissolved, dripping down the wall like a glass of water spilling over a watercolor painting. Stephen leapt up from the floor and ran towards it, but when he hit the wall, his fists only smashed against hard plaster and paint.

He shook his head in disbelief. There had to be another way, therehad to be. He ran back to the blanket and threw his clothes on haphazardly, then stumbled into the living room. There, from the corner, blinked a ray of hope. The table of crystals was still there, and at the very center, a single blue crystal shone brightly. When he touched the crystal, a surge of energy shot through his body as if he had picked up a downed power line. It was a frightening sensation, but incredible at the same time.

Stephen clutched the crystal in his hand, its blue light shining out between his fingers. He had no idea what its purpose was, and yet, the energy that coursed through his body made him feel as if he was capable of anything. Wondering how much time he had, he glanced at the front window. It was still pitch dark outside, and he was thankful, but—

He froze in his tracks, his mind barely registering the sight before him. He stepped closer to the window, his jaw hanging open.

There, in the street, were dozens upon dozens of figures, marching in a slow procession.

“My God, it’s true,” he said to himself, his voice a terrified whisper, “it’s all true.”

The figures had a translucent quality to them that was unmistakable, and they glowed with an energy that Stephen had never imagined. He stared at the procession that seemed to come from nowhere as it moved off into the distance. As his eyes shifted back to the street directly in front of Number Seventy-two, he could see, among the hundreds of spirits, a single solid figure, a living figure.

It was Reggie. His black skin stood out against the stark white of the dead, even in the darkness of the night. He stared straight at Stephen, his eyes engulfed in a blue glowing haze. His left hand was clenched into a fist, and Stephen could not see what was inside. In his right hand, Reggie held a jack o’ lantern, into which was carved a face of unimaginable horror, an orange flame flickering behind its empty eyes.

And the dead ignored him, walking on into oblivion.

“Reggie,” Stephen whispered from behind the glass pane. Reggie only stared back at him, his head shaking, his lips forming imperceptible words.

“I’m sorry, Reggie, I don’t have time to help you,” Stephen said, stepping back from the window. “I’m sorry, my friend.” His voice cracked a little. Though he dreaded leaving his friend outside, surrounded by the spirits of the dead, he knew he had little time to rescue Cassandra. He convinced himself that Reggie would be safe, that he knew much more about what was going on than he had let on to Stephen.

The golden eyes have seen more death than you can imagine, Stephen. Reggie’s strange words echoed through Stephen’s mind, though they made much more sense now.

Stephen darted quickly back into the dining room and stood directly in front of the wall where the window to the Otherworld had stood before. The crystal clutched so tightly in his hand he thought he might crush it, Stephen stepped forward, placing his hand against the wall.

But there was no wall. His hand passed straight through, as if he had touched a cloud.

And when he was sucked in, he didn’t even have enough time to scream.

* * *

First came the sensation of grass beneath his hands and knees. Then came the dizziness, the queasiness, so unbearable the he knew he would vomit. Even the sweet, flowery smell of wildflowers that drifted into his nose could not save him from emptying the contents of his stomach into the grass. He squeezed his eyes shut as his head spun out of control, so badly that he would have given anything just to vomit again.

And yet, the horrible sensations eased, the knot in his stomach very gradually undid itself, and Stephen sat back in the grass. He breathed heavily, the sour taste of vomit making him feel ill once again. He spat in the grass to his side, suddenly thirsty. His attention was caught by a blue glint in the grass nearby, and he reached out, picked up the blue crystal he had had clenched in his hand. Just feeling its coolness in his hand soothed him slightly, and he released a deep breath in the night air. A moment later, he shoved the crystal into the pocket of his jeans.

The nausea passing, Stephen looked around in wonder. He was there, in the picture, or what he had thought was a picture. Behind him, a dark patch of trees spreading far into the distance. In front of him, the mountainous landscape he had seen that evening on the wall. Only this time, it was real, so real he could reach out and touch it. The grass in his fingers, the earth beneath him, all tangible.

And, off in the distance, a black hole, darker than even the darkness surrounding it. The castle. Cassandra’s home. Once again, Stephen could see torches moving along the walls. The night guard, according to Cassandra.

There was something pounding in Stephens ears, something he simply could not ignore. The sound of silence. There were no cars in the distance. No sirens. Not a single airplane in the sky, and even the steady hum of power and electricity was gone, the sound that most people in the city never even realized was there. In its place, only the light swish of the breeze in the trees, crickets, rustling—

Behind him. There was, in the dark of the forest behind Stephen, something moving. A rustle, coming closer. He rose, terrified, to his feet, prepared to run anywhere but where he was standing.

A figure approached out of the darkness, and Stephen dropped to his knees in relief. But her face was frozen in shock and horror, and her hand clenched over her open mouth.

“Stephen,” Cassandra said breathlessly, “Stephen, how—oh, what have you done?”

She stepped forward out of the darkness to stand before him, wrapped in a dark, heavy cloak. She did not touch him, only stared at him in complete disbelief.

“I came for you, Cassandra. I figured it out too late, but I’m here for you now. I love you, Princess—“

“Shh!” she hissed at him, dropping to her knees before him and pressing her fingers to his lips. “Do not speak so loudly, my love. There are many ears in this forest.” She stared at him for a moment, her golden eyes full of fear. Then she leaned forward and kissed him, her hands clutching at his desperately. She pulled away, and Stephen could see that her eyes were now full of tears.

“Oh, Stephen, you never should have come. It is so dangerous here.”

“I came to take you back, Cassandra. You have to come with me, I’ll save you from this place.”

She gave him a pitiful look, then shook her head. “I cannot go back, Stephen. Not now, not this way.” She glanced back at the forest, then bowed her head sadly. “It is too late, Stephen. You cannot save me now. But it is not too late for you to—“

Cassandra’s voice cut off in a terrified gasp, a guttural choke that sent a shiver through Stephen. Her eyes stared off into the distance behind him, towards the castle. Staying completely still, Stephen could hear the sound of a galloping horse approaching.

A tiny whimper escaped Cassandra’s lips, and she reached for Stephen’s hand. “Go, Stephen, go now, you must hide—“

“Cassandra, I won’t—“

“Do it! You must! If he finds you here, with me, he will—he will kill you Stephen, he will kill you without hesitation. Go, hide. I will find you again.”

Cassandra rose to her feet, wrapping her cloak tightly around her and pulling a hood over her head. Stephen glanced behind him, and sure enough, the flame of a torch was approaching them out of the darkness. He glanced at Cassandra, who gave him a pleading look.

“Please go, Stephen. I beg you.”

Stephen watched her for a moment, then hurried off into the forest to find shelter behind a giant, gnarled tree. He ducked down behind a protruding root and watched, trying to catch his breath.

Cassandra stood patiently at the edge of the forest, her arms wrapped around her chest, as the robed figure approached atop an immense steed. The animal snorted and whinnied as it stopped next to her, avoiding trampling her by mere feet. Cassandra, however, did not move, did not even flinch, even as the figure jumped down from his mount and towered over her.

The man had to be easily a foot taller than Stephen, and twice as broad. Cassandra dwarfed in comparison to the giant figure, and Stephen could see from his vantage point that she cowered in the man’s presence.

The voice that flowed forth from the hood of the black robe was not much more than a low snarl, though the accent was similar to Cassandra’s. “Where have you been, Princess? The entire castle has been up in arms since you’ve gone missing.” The voice was terrifying, but the tone was calm and collected.

“I—I have been out, My Lord,” Cassandra answered in a wavering voice.

“You’ve been out,” the man snarled, “you’ve been out of the castle, after dark, in the forest?”

Cassandra took a deep breath and straightened herself before the man, reaching up and pulling back her hood so that she could eye him more directly. “There is no crime in taking a walk in the forest, My Lord. Perhaps you and your guards should tend to your own affairs, and let me live my life.”

The man’s immense shoulders dropped a bit, and he turned from Cassandra. It was dark beneath that hood, and Stephen could barely make out the face beneath it.

Without warning, the man whipped back around, striking Cassandra hard across her cheek with a gloved hand, sending her smashing against the trunk of a nearby tree. She cried out in pain, and Stephen made a move to run to her, but he noticed her glance in his direction out of the corner of her eye with a stern frown. Stephen clutched the root of the tree, his hands trembling in rage.

The man advanced on Cassandra, and grasped her throat in his huge hand, pushing his hooded face close to hers.

“Your life ismine, My Lady, and you would do well to remember that,” the man said. He pressed her against the tree, pinning her easily with one hand, and Stephen wondered how it was that her neck had not snapped. But through it all, Cassandra still glared at the man.

“My life belongs to no one, Lord Kirsahn,you would do well to rememberthat.” Her eyes once again shifted slightly in Stephen’s direction, and for one terrifying moment, he thought he saw the man, Lord Kirsahn, turn his hooded head in the direction of her gaze. But he turned back to Cassandra, lifted his head, and took in a deep breath through his nose. Stephen could tell that he was trying to sniff something out.

Kirsahn clutched her neck harder and pressed near her, his voice not much more than a savage growl. “You smell different, Princess... you smell...strange.”

Cassandra’s hands clutched at the big man’s wrists, trying to ease the pressure on her throat. “I am sure that is only your opinion, Kirsahn,” she said in a hoarse whisper, but he quieted her with another squeeze of his strong fingers.

“No, youlook different as well. There is something...” he was dreadfully still for a moment. He raised a gloved hand to his mouth, pulling at the fingers with his teeth and dropping the glove to the ground. Cassandra could only watch him, her eyes wide with fear.

“I’m sure you won’t mind if I check something, My Lady.” With startling quickness, Kirsahn’s bare hand shot down between Cassandra’s legs, recklessly tearing into her cloak, then shredding the light material of her dress. Her eyes squeezed shut, her teeth gritted in pain, and she tried to hold back a cry as he violated her. Stephen’s own body trembled in utter fury, and he found himself looking around for something, anything, before he settled on a heavy tree limb lying on the ground at his feet. He picked it up and tested its weight, deciding that it would have to do, though he wasn’t sure if it would be enough to bring the large man down.

He prepared to attack, but Cassandra shot him another warning glare. Stephen knew she would signal him when the time was right. Or would she?

But Kirsahn released his savage grip on her neck, and stood back, his bare hand raised before him, a trickle of blood running down the finger he had used to penetrate Cassandra. His other hand reached up and threw back his hood, and Stephen clutched a hand over his mouth to stifle a scream.

Stephen wanted to believe that the man didn’t exist, he wanted to believe that the mancouldn’t exist. And yet he stood in full flesh, his eyes blood red, his teeth now gritted in a furious grimace, all sharpened to needle points, like the teeth of a piranha.

It was not these characteristics, however, that brought Stephen’s heart to a stop, that made him wish he had never set foot in Number Seventy-two in the first place. It was the man’s face, pure and simple, that brought a scream to the end of Stephen’s tongue. When Stephen looked upon Lord Kirsahn, this devil from another world, it was his own face that he saw.

Kirsahn stared at the bloody finger with wonder and fury. He looked back at Cassandra, his eyes glowing redder than the blood running down his fingers.

“You,” he said, creeping closer to her, “you have been broken by another man.”

Cassandra looked back at him wildly. “I—I—you don’t understand, Lord, I didn’t—“

Stephen waited for another blow, as did Cassandra, but it never came. Kirsahn only pressed close to her, his face, Stephen’s face, coming close enough that his breath swept against her cheek. He spoke in a low tone that Stephen had to strain himself to hear.

“My Princess, you know, of course, that I have no need for a used up whore such as yourself.” Kirsahn held his fingers to his nose, breathed in deeply, sneering in disgust. “And with anearth-dweller?”

Cassandra started to object, but Kirsahn grasped her jaw with his free hand, running his blood-stained finger along her lip. “Do not deny it, Princess. I can smell the seed of one of those mud-crawlers, I can smell it from within you. Do you love him?”

Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her cheeks as he squeezed her jaw so tightly it threatened to shatter in his grasp. But then, she opened her eyes, and despite the pain, nodded her head. Kirsahn released her and stood back, an amused smile on his spiny-toothed mouth.

“Of course you love him, you simple girl. And now he has stolen your virginity, which no doubt makes you love him more. But he, too, is a simple creature. He lives protected in his own little world, growing soft, with no concept of what is soon to come, as do all of the other earth-dwellers. And did you tell him, my dear?”

Cassandra gritted her teeth, her eyes narrowed into a furious golden glare, and she shook her head.

“Of course you didn’t tell him. Because he would never knowingly allow you to take the place of one of his own, would he?”

Kirsahn once again pushed his face close to hers, his mouth barely brushing against her ear. She flinched, but did not pull away, only listened to him in horror.

“He would never love you enough to let you take the place of one of his own. So you had to find another way...” his voice trailed off, his mouth turning up into a sickening grin. “But you have crossed over, My Lady, and I shall see you burned at the stake for a witch. Or perhaps I shall see you hanged for your infidelity to your future husband. But first they will remove your eyes, your tongue, and—“ he glanced down between her legs, “—your womb, which they shall serve to me on a silver platter.”

Cassandra sucked in a deep breath, then looked at him calmly. “I would rather be hanged, rather be burned, rather have every bit of me removed and served to the dogs before I marry a reeking swine such as you,Lord Kirsahn.”

Kirsahn paused for a long while, and then, without warning, he lunged forward, his sharp teeth closing around Cassandra’s earlobe. She screeched as he tore away her flesh, leaving only a trail of blood oozing down her neck. Her hand went to her ear as she started to run from him.

Kirsahn casually spat the piece of flesh onto the ground, then drew a massive sword from the scabbard which had been dangling beneath his cloak. He took two long steps forward, easily catching up to Cassandra and smashing the base of her neck with the hilt of the weapon. She dropped immediately to the ground.

He stood staring down at her for a long moment, and Stephen knew that if Kirsahn meant to rape her, then it would offer him the opportunity for an ambush. He clutched the tree limb tightly in his hand, but it seemed pitifully inadequate next to the mass of steel that Kirsahn held in his hand. And Kirsahn, Stephen knew, was a warrior. He would never stand a chance attacking him straight on.

Kirsahn had no such plans. He bent down and effortlessly picked up Cassandra’s limp body, slinging her over the saddle of his steed. He turned and began to lead his horse back to the castle, and Stephen knew he would have no other opportunity.

He stepped out from behind the tree, trying desperately to keep his feet from crunching on the dead leaves and broken branches beneath them. His effort was in vain, however, and he knew he was making far too much noise, though Kirsahn made no indication that he heard anything. Hoping that the sounds of the wilderness would mask his approach, Stephen raised the heavy tree limb and set forward and a full run, dashing towards the bigger man, poising himself to strike.

As he came within yards of Kirsahn, the big man turned, and smiled his awful smile, reaching his hand out for Stephen’s throat, deftly catching him. He held Stephen in a shockingly strong grip like a vice, and continued to smile in delight.

“Earth-dweller,” he snarled, “what a pleasant surprise! You came back to save your little bitch. What a noble gesture.” Kirsahn pulled him close, eyeing him with fascination. “Your face—my face—I thought I should never see the day. Do you know what this means?”

Stephen had neither the strength nor the inclination to respond. He could only hang from the man’s death grip, staring back into his glowing red eyes, the eyes which shone from his own face.

“This means, my dear, pathetic brother, that I shall have your intestines on my plate to accompany your whore’s womanhood.”

Stephen grimaced as Kirsahn’s hand clenched over his throat, his eyes feeling as if they were about to burst from their sockets. He grabbed the wrist of the massive hand that threatened to choke the life out of him, but before he could make a move to free himself, he felt the bone shattering pain of Kirsahn’s sword hilt against his skull.

Then, all went dark.

* * *

Stephen awoke as a throbbing pain threatened to split open his skull. He blinked his blurry eyes, and once again felt the need to vomit. His grasp on consciousness, however was weak, and black shadows passed over his eyes, blocking out any hope of light.

He felt coldness, a chill like no other, creeping through his skin, his muscles, his bones. He did not know where he was, but he could feel someone beside him, he could hear light breathing, he could smell a sweet scent. It was Cassandra, but he could not reach out to her, he could not speak to her.

“My love...” he heard her voice only vaguely, like a song on the wind of a chill winter night.

“...am truly sorry...”

The aching throb pulsed through his head again, and he groaned. He felt a cool cloth drape over his forehead, only subduing the pain a little.

“They have given me one last chance to speak to you...before...I do not have much time.”

A warm hand grasped his own, though he barely had the strength left to squeeze back. He would have given anything to be able to fully awake, to take her in his arms, because he knew it would be the last time he would be with her.